Once the court case was over, Luke and Anna’s plans to get married again became the new hot topic around town. The number of people who came up to Tom during a break in the court proceedings was phenomenal. Good to hear about your mum and dad . . . Always thought them splitting up was a shame . . . blah blah.
Oh Yeah. Whatever! Thanks. Tom couldn’t get excited. He said congratulations and the rest of it, but basically it went into the way-too-bizarre basket. They’d had the murder and the trial, got that born-again fuckwit Jed out on a suspended sentence, then put Jonty away again for a few years and so then it was time to have a . . . wedding?
But on the day, well . . . Tom has to admit that the day went well. His father was obviously so happy and Anna looked great. Even Tom got happy for a few hours. He hung out with Nellie and Ned for most of it, and their exhilaration was contagious. He felt good from the time the ceremony began at five in the afternoon until one the next morning. And he wasn’t even drunk. Eight hours of feeling good should never be sniffed at, but particularly when your general level of levity is only this side of morose.
‘We made good time,’ Luke mumbles, looking at his watch.
‘What time is Mum expecting us?’
‘One I think.’ His father turns to him, ‘She’s glad you’re coming, Tom. We both are.’
‘As though I’d miss it!’ Tom is embarrassed to think that he has turned into the kind of wanker who might not come to his mum’s fiftieth birthday party. Apparently it’s going to take the whole weekend, but he’s up for it. There is no great social life waiting for him back in town, so why not? There’s today’s family lunch, followed by a party in the evening, then a garden party being thrown by an old friend of Anna’s the next day. Not that Tom is actually looking forward to any of it, but he figures he might as well be there as anywhere else.
Jonty had been as white as death in the dock, his voice so faint and low at times that it near-enough broke Tom’s heart. Inside that baggy suit he looked like someone else; someone older, tougher and more hardened. And yet at odd moments he could have been a fifteen-year-old, caught for some trivial shop-stealing offence. The suit had obviously been bought off the rack in some department store or specials counter, but Jonty either hadn’t tried it on beforehand, or else they’d parcelled up the wrong size by mistake.
But he answered most of the questions put to him and he didn’t fudge either, not about his relationship with Lillian or his father, not about the drugs he took, and not about . . . what happened.
Tom had to get up there, too, in front of the whole town, and tell his part in it. He figured that it was the least he could do for Jonty. In summing up, the judge gave them both credit for being honest.
Luke persuaded Jonty to plead guilty to manslaughter. He got ten years with six non-parole. The police prosecutor appealed that it wasn’t enough. Most people thought it was a satisfactory outcome considering . . . Luke brought in a few shrinks who were able to make a pretty credible case for his head being done-in by a combination of illegal and prescribed drugs and years of sustained abuse.
Alice resigned from the job with Luke the day after they’d been out at the caves. After the trial was over she went back to uni.
Ah . . . but he’s sick of thinking about it!
Tom winds down the window for some air and then uses the vanity mirror to check his neck for about the millionth time that morning. The weird rash is itchy and gets hot sometimes and, worst of all, he thinks it might be growing. There is a little patch under one ear that wasn’t there yesterday. He’s got to get some vitamins into him. He’s got to eat more. Got to get some sun for Christ’s sake! Maybe he should go into rehab and detox or whatever it is that they do there. Can you get detoxed from a state of misery? What about a broken heart?
It would be wrong to say that Jonty never met Tom’s eyes during the sentence hearing. After both barristers had summed up, two days passed before everyone was called back to court for the sentencing. Jonty was standing in the dock, the judge was at his bench and the public gallery was full of rubbernecking locals. The judgement was read out, and Jonty turned to Tom as the bevy of short-sleeved, stony-faced coppers closed in around him. Jonty looked straight past them to Tom. He seemed to be asking: How did I get here, Tommo?
It was hard to explain, but in that instant Tom saw again the young kid he’d first encountered at Wattle Bank Primary – the wild, clever kid with eyes so green and clear and bright that you couldn’t help knowing he was up for anything. Within the first hour of knowing Jonty, he’d discovered stuff that he’d never learn anywhere else. More than anyone, Jonty had been someone who lived as though just being alive was enough. That was his gift and . . . he gave it away for free.
Fuck drugs! Fuck the dealers who don’t care whose lives they ruin! Fuck the doctors and shrinks who dish out the legal ones like lollies . . . And fuck that moron Jed who thinks you can undo it all by doing some kind of penance.
And fuck Jonty too, for his wild pride . . . and the way he never knew when enough was enough.
Tom’s eyes had stung with tears as he watched Jonty being handcuffed and led away. He was crying for Jonty, of course, for . . . the waste. But he was crying for himself, as well, for all those days that he’d never have back and the fact that not one iota of any single thing that happened could ever be changed. Fuck. He was crying for Lillian, too, and for Alice, and the way that time marches on leaving everything behind.
‘Hey, Dad, can you let me off here?’
‘How come?’ his old man says sharply, but he has his foot on the brake and they are slowing down.
‘I want to walk into town along the beach.’
The Hopkins River bridge is just up ahead. A sign points left, up through blocks of housing to the beach. Logan’s Beach is mostly sparse and wide, with a wonderful empty curving grandeur of its own, but this spot, where the river estuary runs into the sea, is a favourite of Tom’s. He likes the sheltered nature of it and the outcrop of sandstone rocks, some of them massive and craggy, with hidden crevices and crannies big enough to hide in. The rocks are like old people in overcoats looking out to sea, waiting for lost relatives, sad and hopeful but not expecting too much too quickly. Every million years or so someone might turn up!
‘Why?’ His father wants to know.
‘Just feel like it,’ Tom shrugs. ‘I’ll be home in an hour.’
‘Okay. Don’t be late. You know what Anna is like.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Tom gets out, trudges to the end of the road, through the empty car park and onto the rough dirt path that runs down through the rocks to the ocean. He stops a moment before his descent, zips up his jacket, even though the breeze is more a light caress than anything else, and breathes it all in. It is an absolutely brilliant day and he’s got it to himself, hardly another person on the beach. The ocean spreads out as far as he can see, clear and bright as shimmering glass, the narrow band of waves along the shoreline like a fine lace trim on a girl’s shirt. The sky is a flimsy canopy of duck-egg blue, punctuated only by the occasional swooping gull on a mission to find the next meal.
Far out! Tom’s heart lifts as he makes his way down through the rocks onto the sand, glad to be away from his father and the melancholy Chopin. He pulls off his runners, rolls up his jeans, goes right down to the shoreline and wades in, bending to watch the sea sloshing and pulling at his toes, white now with the cold. As the waves suck back out again he feels a small part of himself go too, off into the deep unfathomable world of the deep.
He looks at his watch and sees he’d better hurry . . . There is his family to see and a party to get to. Reluctantly he walks back up to the dry sand and puts on his shoes. Head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket he begins the walk into town at a sharp pace, only stopping occasionally to throw some bit of driftwood or rubbery seaweed back into the water.
Fifteen minutes into the walk, he notices the hazy dark shape of someone in the distance, rollicking ar
ound on the sand halfway between the cliff and the shoreline. What’s going on? Then he sees the black shape of a scruffy little dog darting about the human figure like a mad thing. Whoever it is is throwing sticks and the wild hairy little ball is careering about, yelping and barking, chasing and retrieving, not letting up for a second.
Soon he sees that the figure is a girl – she’s wearing a mid-length dark skirt and flat boots, and her hair is blowing about in the breeze. When she notices him approaching she stops playing so gaily with the dog and retreats further up the sand, still throwing the stick. Tom heads down to the wet sand. Don’t mind me. But she’s obviously embarrassed to have been caught playing so boisterously. He resolves to pass by quickly so she can have the beach to herself again.
As he gets closer it begins to dawn on him that it could be her! Of course it isn’t her! She doesn’t have a dog for a start.
He turns away, looks out to sea and tries to think of something else. Get over it! he tells himself angrily, it’s been nearly a year since you had anything to do with her. But when he turns back, the girl has walked down to the shoreline and he can see that it is her.
Alice Wishart.
Tom stops dead.
The look of absolute disbelief on her face when she recognises him makes him want to run in the opposite direction. Does he keep walking towards her or . . . not? The crazy little dog is circling her, yapping noisily, wanting more games with the stick. But she isn’t paying it any attention now. She is staring out to sea, probably trying to pretend that it isn’t happening. Tom grabs a nearby stick and throws it towards the cliff face as hard as he can. The dog is off immediately.
Slowly, they edge towards each other, stopping only a few feet apart.
‘Alice!’
‘Tom.’ She isn’t smiling.
‘Has your grandmother died?’
‘No,’ she says in surprise, ‘at least, not last time I looked.’ A faint lift at the edge of her mouth. ‘Have you heard something I haven’t?’
Why the hell did he say that? ‘Sorry!’ He picks up the stick that the dog has brought back and throws it again. ‘I thought that you might have come home for it,’ he mutters stupidly.
‘It being the funeral?’ Alice’s smile widens.
‘Well . . . yeah, I guess.’
‘Last time I saw her she was arranging flowers,’ Alice says dryly and looks at her watch, ‘about two hours ago actually.’
‘Oh, that’s good’ Tom nods enthusiastically.
Alice laughs.
Tom clears his throat and looks away, knowing the sooner he gets off this ridiculous topic the better.
‘You back living here?’
‘No,’ she shakes her head, ‘I’m back for a birthday party. Do you know the twins? Sylvie and Leyla Cassidy?’
Tom frowns trying to think if he does.
‘You mean those two weird girls?’
‘They’re my best friends,’ Alice says calmly, ‘so watch what you say.’
‘Sorry,’ he says hurriedly, ‘I haven’t seen them in years. They’ve probably changed a lot. Do they still live out of town on a farm?’
‘Yep,’ she laughs quickly, ‘and they haven’t changed much at all, acutally.’
The dog has dropped the stick at her feet and is yapping manically. Alice frowns thoughtfully as she picks it up.
Tom takes the opportunity to sneak a close-up look at her. She is as lovely as he remembers. Those heavy eyebrows and long dark lashes, the high cheekbones and pretty mouth. He has a sudden rush of memory of putting both his hands into that long shiny hair.
‘I’m out here preparing my speech,’ she offers. ‘I was actually thinking about their unusualness and trying to work out how to put it into the speech,’ she smiles, ‘maybe I should just call them weird.’
‘So,’ Tom smiles, determined to make up for his clumsiness, ‘a party with speeches?’
‘Eric is here,’ Alice smiles, ‘and he’s giving one too.’
‘Oh, Eric,’ Tom says uneasily.
‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ she asks wryly.
‘Not much,’ Tom shrugs, clears his throat and looks away. He is messing this up big time but can’t seem to help himself. Within two minutes he’s assumed her grandmother was dead and insulted all her best friends. But when he turns back to her she’s smiling a bit as though something is funny.
‘What?’ Tom colours with embarrassment. ‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing! It’s odd . . . seeing you here.’
‘It is.’
‘Good though, Tom.’
‘Yes.’
There is an awkward moment where neither knows what to say.
‘I’m headed that way,’ Alice says eventually, pointing towards the rocks that Tom has just climbed down. ‘So I guess I’ll be off.’
Her words send a shot of panic to his belly and make him game. He simply can’t let her go now. Not after . . . so long.
‘Can I come?’ he asks abruptly.
‘But you’re going the other way.’
Tom catches the warmth in her voice and her smile, and it sends a succession of tiny blasts of crazy hope into his brain. He squats to pat the little dog so she won’t see how nervous he is.
‘This yours?’ He is caressing the dog’s ears.
‘Mm-hmm,’ Alice nods, ‘got her last year.’
‘So, what’s her name?’ Tom asks.
‘Bess.’ Alice says, and then colours up when she sees his surprise. ‘I . . . thought I’d pinch the name, that’s all.’ She is embarrassed, ‘I heard your dog died.’
‘It’s a good name,’ Tom agrees softly. He is trying to hide just how pleased he is by this bit of information.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘No,’ he laughs, ‘why would I?’
‘This one is very different, a complete maniac!’ Alice offers. ‘Not like . . . yours used to be.’
‘Ours used to be a maniac,’ Tom meets her eyes and smiles ‘until she got old. So, Alice . . . I haven’t seen you around in a while.’ Tom stands up.
‘Have you been around?’ she asks.
‘I suppose not . . . not really.’
‘So it would be pretty hard to see me if . . . you weren’t even here!’
‘Okay!’ Tom laughs. He knows she is playing him, but he doesn’t care because he also knows that she is enjoying herself; that she doesn’t want to be anywhere else right now. And nor does he. Right at this moment, this is the best place in the world for the both of them. ‘Do you and Bess want company or not?’
‘Sure,’ Alice bends down to pat the dog. ‘We like company.’
Slowly they make their way back along the stretch of beach that Tom has just come from. At the estuary they find a rock to lean against as they throw sticks to crazy little Bess. When the wind picks up, they retreat to a place between two bigger rocks and sit down on the sand. After the intial shyness they find they have a lot to talk about.
Tom forgets his mother’s birthday lunch. He forgets his rash. He even forgets how pissed-off he was feeling about everything only an hour before. But he doesn’t forget everything. He remembers Jonty – Jonty is never far away – and he remembers what happened. And before long he remembers why he fell for Alice Wishart.
Bess sits between them, panting, exhausted at last from all her running around. She looks from one to the other as though she understands and absolutely approves of everything being said.
Anyone watching the three of them walking back along the beach towards town an hour later would see a tall, good-looking guy with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, walking alongside a pretty, plump girl with unruly curly hair, and a tired little dog trotting behind them. But they pass only one other person – a middle-aged bald man rugged up against the wind, sitting on the sand reading a newspaper. Their talk and laughter cause him to look up but he quickly goes back to the article he’s reading and so doesn’t see the way their faces light up when they look at each other.
Maureen McCarthy is the ninth of ten children and grew up an a farm near Yea in Victoria. After working for a while as an art teacher, Maureen became a full-time writer. Her novels have been shortlisted for numerous awards and include the In Between series, which was adapted from scripts Maureen co-wrote with Shane Brennan for SBS TV; Ganglands; Cross My Heart; Chain of Hearts; Flash Jack; and When You Wake and Find Me Gone. Her bestselling and much-loved book Queen Kat, Camel and St Jude get a life was made into a highly successful four-port mini-series for ABC TV. Her most recent novel is Rose by any other name. Maureen has three sons and lives in Melbourne.
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