A gull floated overhead, suspended in the headwind. Flying hard but staying still. She watched the bird and felt her own fast-beating heart.
‘You can still visit. Stay for dinner most nights . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Phoebe shook her head and looked out past the choppy sea to the jagged rocks of the island in the middle of the bay. ‘No. You know that’s not possible.’ She affected a light, spirited voice, filled with falsity. ‘Yeah, let’s just be friends.’ She sounded like Asha. Her voice darkened. ‘There are some people who can’t just be friends, Jez.’
‘I can’t lose you from my life forever.’ His eyes were shining. He was crying. He leaned back against the bonnet of his car and hid his face with his hands.
She weakened then. She wanted to reach out for him but instead she looked out towards the island, steeling herself. ‘I feel like I’m dying. Not because I’ve lost some big plan for my life, like with Nathaniel. You weren’t even meant to be in the plan. It was a crap plan, a terrible plan. A plan that hurt. I just . . .’ Her voice faltered and she took an unsteady breath. ‘It’s like something has been ripped out of me. And it’s never going to fill back up.’ The fast-moving clouds bathed them in a moment of sunlight.
Jez looked up. His eyelashes were wet. ‘I’d do anything to hold you right now.’
She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She thought of that motel only metres away, imagined the feeling of him, close. This was his moment of weakness. He would regret it tomorrow. They both would. She opened her eyes and the sun was gone. ‘Jez, you need to go home to Asha and try to make it work.’
He wiped his arm across his eyes and nodded, swallowing until he could speak. ‘That’s what I came here to tell you. I have a child to think about now. You’re a better person than me, Phoebe.’
‘I know you still care about Asha.’
‘Yep.’ His voice was clipped. His hands found his pockets.
She turned towards her car. ‘Please don’t write me any more letters. It’s too hard.’
‘It’ll look strange if you disappear completely.’ He was starting to think rationally, about what other people would think. He was drifting away from her.
‘My dad’s coming down. That’ll be a good excuse not to be around. It’s the anniversary of Karin’s death this week.’
‘I’m so sorry, Phoebe.’ He rubbed his temples and pressed his palms into the sockets of his eyes. She could see he was trying to suggest something, help in some way.
‘Don’t, Jez. It’s okay.’
‘Not really.’
She paused, steadying her voice. ‘No. Not really.’ Then she turned abruptly, got in her car and started the engine. He was still standing there as she drove away.
CHAPTER 18
To get Jez out of her mind, Phoebe worked. She was glad of the distraction of her dad’s arrival. She scrubbed the benchtops until her fingers pruned, vacuumed and swept until her lower back ached. She stripped the beds and washed the sheets, hanging them to dry in the warm morning sun. Finally, she’d conceded to moving off the lounge, taking the bedroom she’d once shared with Karin. The room still smelled the same, like sunshine and varnish. It faced north and had two single beds arranged neatly along each wall. The room had been stripped of their childhood: the soft toys, the band posters. She wondered if it had been Karin who had got rid of it all when she did up the cottage. It had assumed the beige blandness of a guest room. Sometimes Phoebe felt as though life was like that. Childhood was so saturated in colour and detail, so alive, but as she’d moved through life the colours had faded. She suspected it had something to do with freedom, though she couldn’t say exactly what. She lay on her old bed now and the nights telling scary stories came back to her in a flash. She would get so scared she’d hop into Karin’s bed and fall asleep balled into her sister’s back.
Her dad wouldn’t want to take the master bedroom, which had become Karin’s, so Phoebe put him in Camilla’s old room. She folded a fresh towel on the end of the bed. It hadn’t seemed strange to them back then that Camilla got her own room, that was just how Camilla was.
Phoebe was washing some dirt off the tomatoes in the sink when she heard the crunch of a car in the drive. She’d been so focused on cleaning up for his arrival, on not thinking about Jez, that she hadn’t considered what it would be like to have her dad stay here. What they’d talk about. What they’d do. It seemed strange suddenly that in all her thirty-seven years they had never spent any time together like this. Did she know who her dad actually was?
He gave her a slightly rough, slightly awkward hug, as though she was a small animal he didn’t want to crush. He looked tired from the drive, and with the objectivity of a little time and distance, Phoebe could see the old man he had become. His brown eyes were more watery and there was a puffiness about his face now. Capillaries made tiny red rivers from the corners of his nose across his cheeks. She realised with a pang that she hadn’t looked properly at her dad for many years.
‘Place looks good,’ he said, hands on his hips, squinting against the sun.
‘There’s quite a bit that needs doing but you’ll be happy to know I haven’t broken too many things.’
‘I’ve been glad to have someone stay in it, truth be told.’ He gave her a warm smile.
‘How did Mum feel about you coming down?’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, you know your mother. She wished we’d sold it ages ago. She calls it the money gobbler.’ He shrugged. ‘She’s right, of course.’
‘It has slightly more sentimental value than that,’ Phoebe snapped.
A look of concern crossed his face. ‘How’ve you been down here, by yourself, anyway?’
She smiled. She didn’t want to explain the whole thing with Driftwood and all the time she’d spent there, it would only make him want to pop in to visit. Her dad had that easy way with neighbours. ‘I’ve been okay,’ she said, running a finger along the red dust on the car bonnet. ‘I just needed some time away from everything, you know?’ She dusted her hands together. ‘I’ll grab your bags,’ she said.
‘I’ve only got the one. And a new fishing rod.’ He shooed her away when she tried to help.
‘I wondered if you’d fish,’ she said. ‘The boat got stolen, you know.’
‘Really? Someone wanted that old dinghy? I’m shocked it didn’t sink as they took it away.’
‘The police came round and everything.’
‘Did they find it?’
‘Yeah, some bikie types, apparently, but I said we didn’t want it back.’
He rubbed his hands together and chuckled. ‘Well, good, that’s one thing less on my “to do” list.’
They went into the house and Phoebe put the kettle on and set out a plate of biscuits. She had gone into the Bay specially to buy his favourite Lipton Tea and ginger biscuits. She’d also got some steaks and beers for dinner. She’d take him to the club for lunch tomorrow and maybe they’d have fish and chips one evening. It felt good to focus on someone else’s needs.
She placed Karin’s gorgeous French-style tea tray on the table outside and sat down, feeling her lower back protest after all the sweeping. The afternoon sun streamed through the gum trees, arranging itself in warm patterns across the deck. Lorikeets squabbled in the bird bath near the lemon tree and a kookaburra sat in the branches nearby, a single eye trained on them.
Her dad picked up his mug, his hands trembling slightly. ‘You don’t realise how special this place is until you come back.’
He sat down on the wooden bench and Phoebe noticed he was wearing shorts despite the cool clip in the air. He always wore shorts, even in winter. She put it down to his English heritage. She felt protective suddenly of his skinny legs and watery eyes, of the slight tremor in his hands. How heartbreaking it was to see time slowly exact its tyrannies on the people you loved.
She was about to ask what he wanted to do tomorrow when she saw that his head was bowed, chin to chest. Her heart skipped
a beat. ‘Dad?’
He straightened and wiped his arm across his eyes. ‘Sorry, love, it’s just . . . emotional being back after . . . last time.’
Tears spiked Phoebe’s eyes. There was little that could dissolve her quicker than her father crying. She reached out and put her hand over his, the skin rough and leathery. ‘It must be hard.’
‘Your sister and I kept it together. We had to . . . viewing the body and getting everything sorted, throwing out all the food in the fridge. We didn’t have time to think too much, there was too much to do. But now being back . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Your dad has become emotional in his old age.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘It’s okay. It’s nice actually to see I’m not the only one still feeling sad. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be by now.’
He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. ‘It feels like last week to me. As you get older the years speed up. It feels like yesterday that you were all born. All those summer holidays here. You think your children will always be little. You think things will last, but they don’t.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘Yep, I think I’ve learned that lesson lately.’
He nodded. ‘It’s been a hard time for you, hey? We’ve been worried about you. Mum wants me to bring you back. I think it’s probably doing you good being down here, and someone may as well look after the place.’
Phoebe took a sip of tea and smiled at him. ‘Thanks, I knew you’d be on my side.’
He took a bite of his biscuit. ‘Thrown a line in yet?’
‘I did, when I first got here. Only nibbles, but you know me, not the most patient person.’
‘You were always in the middle. Not as patient as Karin but more patient than Camilla.’
She laughed. Deep down, her dad was more emotionally intelligent than she’d given him credit for over the years, or perhaps it was only now that he was able to show it. She wanted to ask him more—if he missed Karin, what he did with the pain, which seemed to be intensifying as the anniversary drew near—but staying with the practicalities felt more natural. ‘Why don’t we go down to the jetty now? It’s going to be a nice evening. We might even get a sunset.’
‘There would have been some good ones with the fires back in January.’ He put down his tea, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. ‘You realise it was silly to stay when the fires got so close. We’ve always got the guest room made up, you know? You could have stayed with us if you didn’t want to go back to your apartment.’
‘I helped out a bit at Driftwood, so I wasn’t alone.’ She hadn’t been going to mention it but it was only a matter of time really. Besides which, if they went fishing they were bound to see someone on the Driftwood jetty.
‘They’re still living there? The boys?’
‘Yeah, Jez lives there with his wife and Tommy’s here with his family every weekend. And they have a few house guests that live with them, as well.’
‘How’s that, seeing Jez after all these years? We all thought the two of you would get married.’
Phoebe felt a rush of blood to her face. ‘Well, yeah, that ship sailed a long time ago. Jez and his wife are having a baby now, and Tommy has a little boy, Harry. He’s a really sweet little guy but they’ve had some challenges as he’s autistic.’
‘Oh, that does sound challenging. Of course I’m remembering Tommy and Jez both as young boys, not fathers. It’s making me feel old, coming back here.’
‘You and me both, Dad. You and me both.’
He drained his mug. ‘Thanks for the cuppa.’ He paused and looked awkward all of a sudden, his fingers drumming the table. ‘I know there’s a lot of pressure these days to get everything done in a certain time frame, but, you know, life is very long.’
‘I think that’s the wisest thing you’ve ever said, Dad. I’d wish you’d tell Mum that.’
‘You know your mother. She has . . .’ He sighed a deep sigh and Phoebe saw the tiredness in his eyes again. ‘She has certain ways she thinks things should be done.’
‘Perfectly.’
‘She does love you all though.’
‘You’re always defending her, even though she’s so hard on you, too.’
He shrugged and looked around. ‘Well, she’s not going to talk me out of coming down here anymore, that’s for sure.’
‘Good.’ Phoebe paused. The sting of tears was back in her eyes. ‘I’m really glad you’re here, Dad. For this week.’
He smiled his lopsided smile and suddenly he was the same dad who had sat here twenty years ago, playing cards and teasing them. ‘Well, we were Karin’s favourites, weren’t we?’
She laughed. It was the first time she had been able to, while thinking of her sister. ‘Yeah, we totally were.’
The river was on fire, burning pink and red as it rippled below their feet, a perfect twin of the sky. Her father took a sip of his beer. ‘I see you found Grandma’s champagne glasses and one hasn’t survived.’
‘Champagne glasses? What?’ Phoebe screwed up her nose.
He pointed between his knees into the water. ‘There in the reeds, I’ve just worked out what it is. It’s been glinting at me all afternoon. I can even picture her holding that glass when I was a kid. She always said a woman needed good nails and good champagne glasses.’
Phoebe’s heart stilled, as she looked at the almost intact vintage glass lodged in the sand. ‘It must have been Karin,’ she said.
‘Hey?’
‘It must have been Karin. I didn’t use them. Why is it in the water?’ Her pulse quickened as her mind retraced itself back to her last conversation with her sister.
We can buy prawns and eat them on the jetty and drink all the free champagne you’re going to bring me out of Grandma’s gorgeous vintage glasses. I just found a set of six of them wrapped in newspaper on top of the fridge . . . I’m saving them for a special occasion.
Phoebe felt a hot surge of anger at herself. If only she’d gone to visit Karin right then, as soon as she’d hung up, taken all those useless free bottles of champagne and driven through the night, maybe she could have saved her. Instead had her sister been sitting here drinking champagne out of a fancy glass alone? Had she knocked the glass into the river? Karin had loved to sit on the jetty at the end of the day despite her fear of the water. She would have loved it here now, the sky darkening to a blood orange. She sometimes went right to the end to call on a Sunday evening as it was the only place on the property that had any hope of mobile reception.
‘Karin found Grandma’s glasses stashed on top of the fridge. She told me about them the last time we ever spoke, right before . . .’
She watched her dad’s face closely as he stared into the water. It was filled with sorrow. Did he share her doubts? She didn’t know. He had been silent the one time early on that she’d suggested to Camilla and her mother that Karin wouldn’t have killed herself.
‘I’m sure she said there were six. I’m going to see if the other glasses are still in the house.’ Phoebe got up, her joints stiff from sitting still so long. She went inside, then slid back the door of the side cabinet in the lounge room. It was where all the good crockery and glassware were kept, as was the fashion in the 1970s. The smell reminded her of her grandparents, talcum powder mixed with the sharp nip of liquor. She saw the glasses straightaway. Heavy crystal in a vintage style with a wide mouth. They were the kind you’d expect at an extravagant 1920s soirée. It had always struck Phoebe as odd that her grandmother owned and loved such beautiful things and yet was happy to live quite simply in the country. Perhaps her father had once hoped their mother possessed such a dichotomy. It had skipped a generation and manifested in his eldest daughter.
There were only four glasses. Phoebe counted again. Two unaccounted for. One glass at the bottom of the river. Where was the other glass? That same unsettled feeling wormed into her bones. It had only been two days after that phone conversation that Karin had died. Had she poured herself one last drink a
nd thrown the glass into the river before throwing herself in? It was so unlike her sister. She would never disrespect her grandmother, or a beautiful object, in this way. She would never disrespect herself in that way. Or had she accidently knocked the glass into the water and gone in to retrieve it and been swept away? But where was the other missing glass? Was she drinking with someone? None of it made sense.
Phoebe shook the chill from her shoulders and closed the cabinet. She washed some dust from her hands in the kitchen sink. She thought about the secrets people might discover if she died suddenly. Were there any, apart from Jez’s letters, smoothed flat under a lounge cushion? Would that really be a surprise to anybody though? Even her dad thought they’d been destined to be together.
She returned to the jetty. Dusk hummed over the water, the birds wrestling in the trees, frogs singing their night tune.
‘Nothing. Not even a bite,’ her dad said.
Phoebe sat down, the wood cold now. She wished she’d put on a jumper up at the house. She realised she was nervous. ‘Dad, there’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. About Karin.’
She could just make out his eyes against the darkening sky as she talked. She told him about Ginny next door, who couldn’t believe Karin had killed herself, the mystery trips away, the man Ginny had heard on the phone, the joints, so out of character, and reminded him about the time Karin had nearly drowned right here off the jetty. As she spoke, the words felt flimsy in her mouth, like a grim fairy tale. She faltered as she wondered aloud if maybe something else had been going on, if it hadn’t been suicide, like they thought.
When she finished, the dark was velvety around them. There was no moon. Her dad was silent for a few seconds and Phoebe waited, her heart drumming like a water insect in her chest.
‘I hear what you’re saying, I do. Some of that does sound a bit odd. But it’s also quite normal for all of this to be stirred up because of the anniversary. You’re thinking about her a lot.’ He sighed deeply, sadly. ‘As to being surprised to find things out about her. We all have secrets. And Karin lived alone. She liked her independence.’
The Lost Summers of Driftwood Page 19
