Clancy of the Undertow

by Christopher Currie

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Damn right. And it means you’ve got a head start on everyone else.’

  ‘But I’ve learned it, you know, from Mum and you. Right and wrong.’

  ‘From your mum, mainly. I’ve had quite a history of forgetting which is which.’

  ‘Is that why those cops gave you a hard time?’

  Dad waves his hand. ‘They’re just doing their job.’

  ‘But they still think you’re…whatever.’

  ‘That’s their problem, really.’ The voices on the radio rise for a moment, and we both listen in. A wicket. ‘Yes! Here comes the collapse,’ Dad says, rising out of his chair before grabbing his back and sinking back into his seat. ‘So, anyway,’ he says. ‘How are things with you?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘With everything, though. Mum says you got into a bit of trouble at work? And at Landsdowne?’

  ‘Just learning right from wrong.’ Why’s Mum told him about all my crap? I kind of assumed they weren’t talking about anything.

  ‘If you need to talk,’ he says, ‘I’m here. It hasn’t been a…very normal couple of weeks. But if anything’s worrying you…’

  I nod. ‘That’s what Mum keeps telling me.’

  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘there’s talking to Mum, and then there’s talking to me.’ He laughs. ‘Don’t tell her I said that. She’d never let me out here again.’

  ‘What is it about men and sheds, anyway?’

  ‘It’s something the female species will never really appreciate,’ Dad says. ‘It’s an eternal bond.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Aren’t men supposed to create useful things in their sheds? Shouldn’t you be building a boat or writing a novel about bullfighting?’

  He sighs. ‘It’s just a little place, I suppose, where I can escape.’

  I feel a little sheepish when he says this. I think about the nightly relief when I finally close my bedroom door behind me. I think about the pleasure I take in being allowed to be alone. Maybe we aren’t so different.

  I glance up at the pinboard on the back wall and it takes me a moment to realise one of the pictures has changed. In the top left corner, there’s a small photo of Mum and Dad on their wedding day. I’ve never seen it before. It’s not the formal church-steps portrait that used to be up there, it’s a candid shot, two bodies blurred with movement, halfway through turning away from the camera. And they’re smiling. Really smiling. The embarrassed and happy grins of two young people trying to escape from a day’s attention. The train of Mum’s dress is shot through with sun and her hair is mixed up with a crown of purple flowers; Dad’s goofy tall-guy stoop looks actually elegant, liberated from a forced pose. His hand rests in the small of Mum’s back, one finger curled around the satin trail of a bow. You can tell they’re in love.

  And, now it’s decades of life later. Do they still love each other? Are you allowed not to? Are you allowed to ask? I wonder what Mum thinks of him now. What he thinks of her. I wonder if that’s why he comes out here at night, so as not to have the conversation.

  ‘If you…need to talk as well,’ I say. ‘If you need to tell me anything. I’m, um, here as well.’ Sincerity. Always a bad fit.

  ‘Thanks,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

  And with that we seem to exhaust anything like a proper conversation. Dad smiles, reaches back and turns up the radio, and we listen together until all my thoughts are blurred together and India hits the winning runs and I’m very nearly asleep.

  32

  I wake up early, and as soon as my eyes open, my only thought is Sasha. Today is the day. The morning, of course, goes so slowly it’s like the seconds are dragging themselves through honey. What if we’re too late? What if Sasha runs out of patience waiting and thinks it isn’t worth hanging around me after all? As soon as Angus gets up I follow him around like a new puppy until he tells me, inevitably, to piss off and wait.

  Finally, at half past two, after I’ve spent hours elaborately overthinking ways in which the day could go wrong, Angus knocks on my door and says he’s ready to go. I put on a blouse of Mum’s that I’ve stolen from the line, my cleanest jeans and, regrettably, my one pair of boots.

  Hating myself as I do it, I take a bag from the back of my cupboard and unroll the makeup kit Eloise gave me on my first day at work. It’s basically untouched. I give myself vampy Cleopatra eyes edged with grey shadow, touch up my brows, smack on dark red lipstick. A little blush to bring out my cheekbones. I swing out the full-length mirror, removing the safety towel. You fucking sellout, my brain says to me. Stylish yet adventurous, I say back, looking in the mirror, appraising my ridiculous reflection.

  I go downstairs and Angus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t—for some reason—follow it with an insult. He seems preoccupied with packing his ute with mysterious bags of equipment.

  ‘Got to review the recordings,’ he says, as if I care about anything outside of the girl we’re about to meet. ‘Maybe start a new line of inquiry.’ Finally, he throws in Dad’s esky. Maybe I’ll get a beer, I think. Maybe we all will.

  ‘Just so you know,’ Angus says once we’re in the ute, ‘today is part of an ongoing, serious, scientific experiment.’

  ‘Right-oh.’

  ‘This means we all have to pitch in. I’ve only invited Sasha because I need all hands on deck.’

  ‘Crystal clear.’ I’m actually glad Angus is coming, somehow. Despite myself, I’m well aware Sasha’s interest in me could be part of some cruel joke. I’ve seen enough teen movies to know that people like me are often the playthings of the rich, the bored and the cruel. If Buggs is lying in wait for us, I want Angus to be there too.

  When we get to the library carpark the Monaro is there but, thankfully, Buggs is not with it. Sasha’s sitting on the bonnet smoking, looking impossibly cool. She’s back in black jeans, her eyes ringed with a smoky grey like mine. Needless to say, it looks a thousand times better on her. There’s another girl with her, some local skank in an unzipped white hoodie and a too-tight dress the colour of a highlighter pen.

  ‘Who brought the bag of oranges?’ says Angus. ‘She’d better not be coming as well.’

  He needn’t worry, because when Sasha sees us she waves and throws her keys to orange-dress girl like laters and comes over to where we’ve parked.

  I fold down the middle seat and move onto it but Sasha goes, ‘I’m in the middle otherwise I get carsick.’

  This is not how it was meant to go. I was meant to be between them, leaning into Sasha on every turn while keeping her physically separated from Angus, whose motives I still haven’t quite figured out. I get out and say, ‘Hey Sasha,’ as coolly as I can, tossing back my hair.

  ‘Hey,’ she goes. Then, ‘Cool pickup.’

  ‘Cheers,’ says Angus, even though she’s said pickup like an American and Angus is always going on about ‘cultural imperialism’ like he even knows what he’s talking about.

  Sasha gets in and shuffles into the middle and I get in next to her and our legs touch. This is good, but it probably means her other leg is touching Angus. As we drive off Sasha waves to the orange girl, who gives us this really dirty look.

  Probably jealous, I think. I stare back at her like she’s mine today, bitch.

  We drive out of town and we’re going past the observatory and I look out as casual as I can and see that Angus’s bike is still there at the bottom of the tower. He doesn’t notice it, or at least doesn’t say anything.

  ‘So, have you ever seen this beast?’ says Sasha. It’s the first thing any of us has said for a while. I definitely should have planned some topics.

  Angus goes, ‘Only in pictures.’

  ‘There’s photos of it?’

  ‘Nothing conclusive. There’s some good recreations though, from actual witnesses.’

  ‘So it’s real, then.’

  ‘The evidence points that way, yeah. At the moment I’m just adding to the knowledge base, but I’m confident it’s real.’
/>
  ‘He goes on these internet chatrooms,’ I say. ‘He talks to all these old pedos about conspiracies.’

  ‘I love conspiracies and shit,’ says Sasha. ‘The moon landing and aliens and whatever.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, backtracking. ‘I guess some of them are pretty interesting.’

  ‘When you find it,’ Sasha says, ‘are you going to capture it, or what?’

  ‘Maybe,’ says Angus, avoiding an actual answer. ‘First I want to get video and audio evidence. Once I’ve got that, I can get some funding for a proper hunt.’

  ‘So where does it live?’ Sasha says. ‘How do you know where it’s going to be?’

  Angus chuckles. He slows down and pulls over. ‘If I told you that,’ he says, ‘I’d have to kill you.’

  Sasha laughs, but she moves her body slightly towards mine, like maybe he’s serious. Nice work, Angus I think. Keep it up. Freak her right into my lap.

  ‘It’s top secret,’ he says. ‘Once I get real evidence, people are going to try and beat me to it. All over the world there’s going to be cryptozoologists who’ll want to be the first to capture it.’

  ‘Cripto-what?’

  ‘Cryptozoologists. Cryptozoology is a parallel science. The study of creatures that have yet to be seen.’

  ‘Wow. That’s awesome.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet someone around here who believes in what I do. Unlike Clancy.’

  ‘I know where the hideout is,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, and with your sense of direction I don’t have anything to worry about.’

  Sasha laughs.

  ‘That’s not even true,’ I say. This is turning into a disaster. My makeup feels like it’s sweating off.

  ‘So it’s up in the mountains,’ says Angus, ‘but I can’t let you see it.’ He pulls out a sleep mask, one of Mum’s. It’s not a normal lame flimsy one they give you on aeroplanes—like Grandpa used to give us all the time because for some reason he had thousands of them—but has a thick fabric band around the side so you can’t even see out the corners of your eyes.

  ‘Ooh, kinky,’ says Sasha, taking it from him. She puts it on.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ is the best I can come up with.

  ‘Does it work?’ says Angus.

  ‘Bloody oath. Can’t see shit.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  We drive the rest of the way basically in silence, and I keep stealing glances at Sasha, not convinced the blindfold totally works. I want to wave my hand in front of her face to check, but I don’t.

  She’s got on a black T-shirt for a metal band or something, and it’s really tight and I can make out the outline of her bra. My ears are burning hot and I’m still touching her leg with mine, not too much: just enough. My thigh starts to cramp up from holding it so still but I don’t move it an inch.

  We turn onto the firebreak track and then Angus steers us off and stops the car. Of course he’s right: I can’t tell if it’s the same spot we stopped last time.

  We get out and Sasha’s like, ‘Cool. Feels so remote.’

  Angus hands us each backpacks and hoists a giant duffel bag over his shoulder.

  ‘What’s in here?’ I say, willing Angus to admit to more pig’s heads.

  ‘Equipment,’ he says. ‘Essentials.’

  We follow him into the bush. I swear it’s not the same way we came last time. But then we get to the clearing and there’s the hideout. It looks bigger, or something, like he’s put more branches on it, or changed the shape.

  ‘Do you stay out here?’ says Sasha. She’s hugging herself like girls do in horror movies as the killer’s sneaking up behind them.

  ‘Sometimes,’ says Angus. ‘It’s really peaceful.’

  ‘It would be, yeah.’

  I go, ‘If you like leeches crawling up your butt.’

  ‘Piss off, Pantsy. You want to see inside, Sasha?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sasha crawls in and I mouth a version of my brother back to him: You want to see inside?

  He grins at me and crawls in after her. I give them both double-barrel middle fingers and go in too. There’s room for all of us, but only just.

  ‘This is like when I was little,’ says Sasha. ‘I used to make forts and stuff. Castles. I was a total tomboy.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say.

  Sasha smiles at me and I feel little Disney birds landing on my shoulders.

  ‘Just gonna check the video,’ says Angus, flipping out the viewfinder. He takes a battery out of his bag and replaces the one already in the camera.

  ‘How do you film at night?’ says Sasha.

  ‘Night-vision,’ says Angus. ‘It came with the camera. Got a great deal on it.’

  ‘All that technology,’ she says. ‘I’ve got my phone and that’s it. Buggs loves that crap though. He gets this magazine that’s all about gadgets and shit. It’s always got chicks in bikinis on the front, though. I’m like what do they have to do with gadgets?’

  ‘Sex sells,’ says Angus. ‘Where’s your man at the moment anyway? Haven’t seen him around town.’ I wonder if Angus is as apprehensive as me. He is still an Underhill, as much as he tries to convince people otherwise.

  ‘He’s been out at Willowbank with his old man, some drag meet. Runs for like a week, but then they stay around after to dick around with the other revheads. I get to keep his car while he’s there, though, so…’

  ‘It’s a pretty sweet ride.’

  ‘He hates me driving it, but whatever.’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ Angus snaps the new battery into place.

  ‘Fuck Buggs, though. He’s screwing Courtney, anyway, pretty sure.’

  ‘Courtney Smith?’

  ‘Yeah. Bitch always has that Adidas hoodie on. The white one?’

  I wonder if Courtney Smith was the girl Sasha was with at the carpark. She had a white hoodie, but I didn’t see if it was Adidas.

  ‘Like Marge Simpson,’ says Angus.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Always wears the same thing. Probably has a closet full of the same hoodies.’

  Sasha hits him on the arm. ‘You’re funny.’

  I cough and glare at Angus, but he doesn’t notice. That Marge Simpson joke should have been mine. I’m way funnier than him.

  ‘I do what I can with what I have,’ he says.

  Sasha laughs again. A fake laugh. ‘Want a smoke?’

  ‘Sure.’ Angus doesn’t move from the viewfinder. My mind runs into overdrive. Angus never touches cigarettes. Calls them multinational cancer sticks.

  ‘They’re in my pocket,’ she says. ‘You’ll have to get them out though, I’ve got to do up my hair.’

  ‘Hey?’ Angus finally unglues himself from the camera.

  Sasha nods her head at the pocket of her jeans.

  I freeze up. I actually have a feeling like my body’s a pile of Jenga blocks and someone’s just pulled out the bottom one.

  ‘All right,’ says Angus, and sticks his hand in her pocket. He doesn’t do it carefully like I did; he sticks his whole hand in there.

  ‘Steady on, soldier,’ says Sasha. ‘These jeans are expensive.’ Then she laughs like he’s tickling her.

  I want to be sick. I get up and crawl towards the entrance.

  ‘Where you going?’ says Angus.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘I need some air.’

  ‘Hang on a sec, I’m about to bring up the footage.’

  ‘I’ll be outside,’ I say. ‘When your boner goes down you’re welcome to join me.’ I hear Sasha laugh and it feels sort of good to have scored a point but also kind of awful because of everything else. She’s showing off, I think. She’s testing me, maybe. Angus will do anything to annoy me, but surely there’s no way he knows that I like her, not really. Not in the way I do.

  I stand up and breathe as deeply as I can. I try to imagine what it’d be like to live up here in the mountains. The beast, the Big Cat, whatever,
would be pretty lonely. It’d have to have a family, though, to have survived this long. It has to have a mate. One story is that a pair of panthers escaped from the circus and fled to the hills. Another one says it’s a puma or a lion, brought out here by American troops as a mascot during World War II. Someone like Angus, though, he thinks the beast has always been here. He thinks it’s a totally new species, hiding out, waiting to be discovered. If I was the beast, and I’d survived for this long, I’d hope that no one would ever capture me.

  I scan the clearing. Part of me wants to run into the hideout and catch them fucking and then scream at them both for breaking my heart and tear down the stupid teepee and stomp on Angus’s stupid camera and throw a pig’s head at Sasha and then run off into the bush and never have speak to either of them or anyone else again.

  The other part of me—the part that’s really me, knows that I’ll just go back to the car and sulk and wait for them to finish and say I’m fine and spend the rest of my life staring out windows and being eaten up slowly by regret.

  But then the hideout rustles and Angus comes out. ‘Bloody battery didn’t even work,’ he says. He rummages through the two backpacks Sasha and I brought in, but only pulls out handfuls of electrical cords. ‘I got nothing at all last night.’

  Just like every night! I want to say, right before a raucous studio audience whoops and hollers and I stand there with my hands on my hips: the end of another successful episode of Sassy Smart Girl Who Actually Is a Big Hit in the Romance Department, Despite What You May Think. But instead I just shrug at him like so what? because it doesn’t really matter. He was never going to see anything in that camera anyway.

  ‘I’ve gotta get something really quick,’ he says. ‘Stay here, can you?’ Before I can answer he bounds off into the bush, leaving me alone in the clearing.

  Sasha comes out of the hideout. ‘Your brother’s pretty intense,’ she says.

  ‘That’s one word for it.’

  ‘I was just talking to him and he got really angry or something all of a sudden.’

  ‘He is a psycho.’

  ‘I just asked him a question and gets all uptight and leaves.’