by Cox, Carrie;
‘They drive me crazy, Dad.’
‘What about me?’
‘They drive you crazy too.’
He’d laughed and hugged her tightly and kissed her on the crown of her head.
And then he’d cried. In spite of himself, Beam let a single tear give way to a stream of them. He’d cried for reasons he didn’t know and couldn’t see yet. Not while he was still here.
He had to go.
44
Of all the take-offs Beam has experienced in his life, this is the worst. The plane idles up the runway—idles—as though it has another couple of kilometres to spare, which it doesn’t: the route is abruptly short, truncated to allow for a new housing development, and Beam knows in his marrow and before anyone else does that it’s not going fast enough. The nose will lift and then slam to the ground. Some will survive if they don’t explode.
Having tied up a few loose ends in his hometown, Harvey will die today. Every story is already written.
But Grace puts a hand on Beam’s arm just as the plan begins its half-hearted ascent and he breathes in sharply, then deeply, and lets his temple rest against hers.
‘That’s the worst part over,’ Grace says. ‘Easy from here.’
‘Why does it have to be so hard?’ Beam asks.
‘I don’t know,’ she says and threads her fingers through Beam’s. ‘Do you want me to say something philosophical?’
‘God, no.’
Grace laughs and it’s easily his favourite sound these days.
Directly above them in the overhead compartment is Matt’s farewell present to Harvey, carefully stowed in a box lined with damp newspaper and wrapped in a heavy-duty bin liner with small holes punched through.
He’d given it to Harvey two nights ago; said he thought the airport goodbye should be siblings only, though they both knew why he wouldn’t be there.
‘Your first bonsai,’ Matt had said, handing Harvey the small tree. No longer Amazing Grace, the handwritten label now reads: Look after me. Google it.
And Beam had. He’d printed out instructions from Penny’s computer that night.
Caring for your bonsai over time creates a deep sense of satisfaction. There is no replacement for time; it is always constant and moving forward. It is said that through the study of bonsai, one will learn more than bonsai. Apply water when the soil appears dry—never allow the soil to become completely dry.
Permission, he thinks now as the plane dips recklessly to the left, is generally easier to seek than forgiveness.
A final glimpse of Shorton River appears over Grace’s shoulder.
Matt had made it mercifully easy. Beam knows he deserves less, but he’ll take it.
45
ON AIR
‘It’s just gone ten pm, lovelorn folk, and I must say it’s been highly enjoyable filling in tonight for your resident DJ, Dr Love. And that’s his real name, apparently—it says so here on his business card. Born for the job.
‘I’ll keep taking those love song requests right through until midnight, after which I turn into a pumpkin and cab it home. That’s what we’re here for, folks. To fill each other’s ears and crowd out too much thought. Keep moving forward one song at a time. “Late Night Love Notes”—it’s so much cheaper than therapy.
‘Thanks to Kenneth for that last request, “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell, an odd choice I’ll grant you, but love isn’t all roses and sexy texts, is it, Kenneth? It’s a tough gig. Lots of collateral damage while you figure it out, by which time you’re old and requesting eighties songs because you can’t sleep.
‘Goodnight, Kenneth.’
Goodnight.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to early readers of this manuscript, each of whom gave me thoughtful and wise suggestions about everything from character names and plot devices through to the time of day people normally have sex in middle age. Monique Price, Emily Schofield-Cox, Matt Brown, Mignon Shardlow, Clint Greagen and David Cox—thank you so much.
Fremantle Press, what a great crew you are and what wonderful work you do. Georgia Richter, the understanding and warmth you extended to Harvey Beam helped me finish this book with a wellspring of confidence rather than self-doubt—manna for the first-time novelist.
A novel in progress is a game of inches, a marathon of one hundred metre sprints. It sits in the house like an extra child, often getting too much attention, sometimes getting none. The people in my house have been very good about accepting the presence of the extra house guest. Thank you Coxy, Emily, Lara, Carlton and Buddy, the under-walked dog.
Finally, thank you collectively to those family and friends who have supported my creative writing endeavours, even when they suspected I was mining their lives. This is not my story and not my family’s story; it is many people’s stories, real and imagined.
It is what it is.
First published 2018 by
FREMANTLE PRESS
25 Quarry Street, Fremantle WA 6160
(PO Box 158, North Fremantle WA 6159)
www.fremantlepress.com.au
Copyright © Carrie Cox, 2018
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover image: Shutterstock (background); Nemida; Tetra Images / Alamy Stock Photo A5KN0P; LAMB / Alamy Stock Photo LAMB / Alamy Stock Photo Printed by McPherson’s, Australia
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Cox, Carrie, author
Harvey Beam / Carrie Cox
ISBN 9781925591095 (epub)
Cox, Carrie, 1972– author.
Harvey beam / Carrie Cox.
ISBN: 9781925591088 (paperback)
Dysfunctional families—Fiction.
Conduct of life—Fiction.
Suspense fiction.
Fremantle Press is supported by the State Government through the Department of Local Government, Sport and Cultural Industries.
Publication of this title was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
