The Lost Summers of Driftwood

by Vanessa McCausland

  ‘So, you think I’m imagining it.’ She said it without bitterness.

  ‘Of course, I have my doubts too, but I don’t think we should stir things up too much. It’s hard enough for your mum. She might not have shown it, but it’s been very hard for her.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know it.’

  He reached out and patted her hand. ‘We all have our way of dealing with things.’

  Phoebe knew what he was implying. She knew the conversation was over.

  CHAPTER 19

  Phoebe watched the slant of sunlight inch across her bed. She couldn’t move. The anniversary of Karin’s death was tomorrow. The one person who could have helped her through it was lost to her. How would she have coped if she was still with Nathaniel? He would have kissed her on the head and told her to get on with it, not to dwell. He’d often accused her of ‘dwelling’. That was the difference. If she was with Jez right now he would have held her, told her it was okay to cry, be happy to talk about it. And that would have taken away the loneliness. How had it taken until now to realise she’d been so often lonely with Nate? She buried her head in her pillow and wondered what her dad would think if she stayed in bed all day. Jez felt like something she’d imagined. He and his life at Driftwood were like a dream. She wanted to go back to sleep.

  She heard her dad in the kitchen and willed her feet onto the dusty floorboards. Raindrops spotted the window pane. She shrugged on the raincoat at the door, slipped on a pair of old rubber thongs and went out to the letterbox. She’d done this each day, morning and evening, even though she’d told Jez not to write anymore. There was a soggy newspaper, some pamphlets, and a letter addressed to Karin.

  Phoebe’s heart jumped, even though it looked like a bill of some kind. She carefully prised open the damp paper.

  Dear Ms Price,

  Further to our last correspondence, this is a reminder that your custom-made dining table is ready. Please contact us to arrange delivery or to pick up at our Merimbula workshop.

  Please find your invoice enclosed.

  Kind regards,

  Woodend Hill

  Yes, she remembered this. She remembered Karin telling her about meeting a furniture designer down the coast in Merimbula and how much she’d loved his work, hewn from local wood and made by hand in a workshop that smelled like sawdust and saplings. She said when she expanded her florist into a tea salon, she intended to have a beautiful table made for the centre of the shop. And here it was. Phoebe flicked to the invoice. It didn’t make sense. Karin was well into her plans for expanding the business, had paid a hefty fee for this custom-made table, and she’d fallen in love with a dog. Why would she just abandon everything? Phoebe looked at the sender—Woodend Hill. It was so like her sister to support the local artisans, and in turn they would buy flowers from her.

  She remembered the way Karin described her beloved shop—the natural wood of the front door, with ‘Miss Botanical’ in cursive white writing; the delicate Parisian bird cages hanging from the ceiling; the vintage mirror she’d found in a garage sale that ran the length of the shop, and the blackboard on which she’d inscribe the specials and thoughts of the day. She planned to eventually advertise tea on that blackboard—herbal blends served in heavy cast-iron teapots. And the flowers, arranged with Karin’s love and artistry, wrapped in brown paper or hessian, with a tag bearing a positive affirmation. Phoebe had encouraged her to set up an Instagram account to showcase her business, but that had been a work in progress—Karin hadn’t liked social media and they hadn’t moved past a few pictures she’d sent to Phoebe.

  The business had sold quickly after Karin’s death. Camilla had handled it all. But perhaps the table had taken many months to make. Phoebe wondered if Camilla knew about it. She wished she could get in the car right now and drive down the coast to pick it up. She would suggest to her dad that they make the journey before he returned to Sydney.

  It was raining harder now and Phoebe headed back into the house. She found her dad fixing a broken latch on a window. She told him about the table and they agreed they’d make the trip, even though they weren’t sure where the table would go or what size it was.

  The rain wasn’t easing, so Phoebe suggested lunch at the club in the Bay. Something to get them out of the house.

  The club was a concrete and reflective-glass monstrosity that sat opposite the ocean; the type of place that had once been astoundingly modern and now looked like a cheap pair of reflective shades. It had been their family tradition to lunch here at least once during each holiday. As children they’d always been fond of the all-you-can-eat buffet, where the ice cream squeezed out of a machine and the sprinkles were infinite. The place had kept with the times; the buffet had been replaced by a Thai restaurant.

  The shrill buzz of the pokies engulfed them as they moved past the tacky entrance foyer. It smelled like stale cigarettes and spilled beer.

  They made their way onto the deck overlooking the grey water of the Bay. The sun was cutting its warm fingers through the clouds, gulls wheeling in the breeze. Phoebe saw her straightaway—Asha sitting with her back to the sun, her hair a glowing halo around her head. A guy with dark greasy hair sat opposite her.

  A dull thump began in Phoebe’s chest. Asha was the last person she felt like seeing today.

  Her dad indicated a spot in the sun and began wiping the slightly damp plastic chair with a napkin. Phoebe must have looked distracted because he stopped and looked at her.

  ‘You all right?’

  She shook her head and blinked. Asha hadn’t seen her yet. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve just seen a friend.’

  ‘Oh, do you want to say hi? I’ll grab some drinks. I suppose you’ve progressed beyond lemon squash.’

  She laughed uneasily. ‘The house white will do, thanks, Dad.’ A wave of gratitude washed over her. She was so glad he was here.

  Asha glanced her way and Phoebe waved and made her way over. She felt a lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t seen her since Tommy’s party, since the pregnancy announcement. She felt too fragile for this but she couldn’t just ignore Asha.

  She pressed a smile onto her lips. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to sound cheery.

  ‘Hi Phoebe.’ Asha’s tone was neither warm nor cool.

  ‘You having a pub lunch?’ Phoebe hated herself right now for sounding so obvious and awkward.

  ‘Yep,’ said Asha, swirling a glass of what looked like wine in front of her. She must have seen Phoebe glance at it because she said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s watered down. Fifty-fifty.’

  Phoebe nodded in an exaggerated way, trying to hide her discomfort. ‘Oh, yeah, cool.’ She looked at the guy. He seemed young, in his early twenties, and was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

  ‘This is Aiden. He’s a friend from school,’ said Asha, her voice emotionless, steady.

  Phoebe stuck out her hand awkwardly and they shook. His hand was sweaty.

  Aiden pushed his hair behind his ears and stood, fishing in his back pocket for his wallet. ‘I’ll get another beer. Want anything?’

  ‘Oh no, thanks,’ said Phoebe, scanning for her dad. She watched Aiden pick his way through the plastic chairs.

  ‘I’m not having an affair, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ Asha said. ‘But I’m absolutely dying for a cigarette.’ She feigned smoking, breathing deeply. ‘That’s why the wine. Thought watered down wine was better than tobacco.’

  Phoebe shifted from one leg to the other, willing her dad to return with their drinks. ‘Oh, yeah, no, definitely,’ she said.

  ‘You seem uncomfortable. You want to sit?’ asked Asha.

  ‘Oh no, no. I’m having lunch with my dad.’

  ‘Is that why we haven’t seen you around?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been showing him around a bit, you know.’

  ‘Nice. Where have you taken him?’ Asha asked, stretching back and putting her feet up on a chair.

  Phoebe’s words felt stuck in her th
roat. She hadn’t taken him anywhere. She didn’t know what to say. Just at that moment, he reached the table they had saved, carrying two glasses of wine. Phoebe felt her body melt with relief. ‘Oh, there he is. I better go.’ She turned to leave but felt a cool hand on her arm. She swivelled and Asha leaned in, pulling her close. Phoebe could smell alcohol mixed with something sweet.

  ‘I know,’ Asha said, her voice low.

  Phoebe shot her a quizzical look, her heart ramming against her chest wall.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend. We all like the attention of boys. I get it.’ Asha nodded towards the bar area, towards Aiden. She let go of Phoebe’s arm and leaned back, continuing with her mock smoking routine. ‘We both know how to manipulate men. But Phoebe, make no mistake.’ She paused and her eyes flickered. ‘Jez is mine. I’m not gonna make the same mistake my mum did. I’m not gonna let the best thing that ever happened to me go.’ Asha pointed at her with her invisible cigarette. ‘I see the way you look at him.’

  Phoebe felt her whole body go cold. ‘Oh, no Asha, I—’

  Asha put up a hand. ‘Save it. I can see the two of you had something but you’re clearly on the rebound, hon. And he was stressing over making this baby.’ She patted her stomach. ‘But what’s done is done. Don’t you think he’ll be a great dad?’ She took a slow sip of her wine, watching Phoebe over the rim.

  Phoebe’s head was pounding, anger rising up in her. Her hand went to her throat. Asha was enjoying this. She’d played it so cool for months, but really, she’d been biding her time, waiting to be able to laud this over her.

  Phoebe fought against the tears that threatened to spill down her face. ‘I’m sorry, Asha. You’re right. I’m sure Jez will make a great dad,’ She backed away from the table, but then she felt a spike of emotion rush through her. Asha might have felt like she’d won, but there were no winners in this situation. Phoebe straightened and met her intense gaze. ‘I really hope you can make him happy, Asha.’

  Asha raised her eyebrows and an amused smile played on her lips. ‘Maybe we’ll see you around some time, Phoebe.’

  Phoebe turned and walked away, knowing that Asha meant the exact opposite and that Driftwood was no longer her refuge.

  CHAPTER 20

  The garden was misty and spider webs glistened as though strung with jewels. Phoebe walked across the dewy grass to find his letter. She knew it would be there. Today and only today—Karin’s death a year ago—eclipsed everything else. Instead of the small square she was expecting, her fingers found a long roll of thin cardboard. She stood in the cover of the eucalypt by the letterbox and unravelled it with shaking hands. A constellation of stars. Her sister’s name. He’d had a star named after Karin. There was no note—he’d kept his promise—just the gesture. Simple. Heartbreaking. Phoebe sunk to her knees on the wet ground.

  The sound of tyres on the unsealed road roused her. Was it Jez? Her heart leaped. She got up and brushed wet leaves off her knees. She was still in her pyjamas. Her heart shrank as she saw the dusty hood of the white Audi as it pulled into the driveway. Camilla wound down the window and stuck her head out. She was wearing big black sunglasses and an energetic smile.

  ‘Surprise.’

  Why did everything in life have to be exciting, a surprise? Even the anniversary of someone’s death? The wound of the failed engagement surprise party, Camilla’s selfishness, yawned in her chest. Phoebe scrambled to fathom Camilla being here at eight o’clock in the morning.

  ‘You look like a little bush princess. You’ve got leaves in your hair.’ Her sister ran her fingers through her own, foliage-free hair.

  Phoebe laughed dryly. How nice it had been to be without judgement for so long. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like. She made her voice neither friendly nor hostile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Camilla cocked her head. ‘Come on, Phee Phee. Even I’m not going to forget today.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I left at 3 am. It’s a pretty quick drive at that time. I woke at about two and couldn’t sleep. Then I realised why. I went online, cancelled everything from my planner for the next three days, woke Rich, packed a bag and came.’

  Phoebe blinked as though to wake herself from a particularly strange dream. It was all typical Camilla. The spontaneity, the intensity, the lack of thought for anyone but herself. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Camilla’s face softened and Phoebe saw she looked tired. She felt sad that she was stressed about her sister’s arrival on such an important day. She should have been thrilled to have the extra support, but it didn’t feel like support.

  ‘How about a coffee?’ Camilla grimaced. ‘I thought about bringing my Nespresso. And I don’t suppose you have the ingredients for a super smoothie for breakfast?’ She must have read Phoebe’s look of incredulity because she winced apologetically.

  Phoebe laughed despite herself and shook her head. She wanted to blast Camilla for imposing all her petty judgements and stupid food expectations within a few minutes of arriving. Instead she took a deep breath. She didn’t want to fight. Not today. ‘No kale in these parts, I’m afraid, but we do have organic tomatoes.’

  Camilla’s eyebrows rose. She scanned the garden. ‘Do you have chooks?’

  ‘Sorry, no free-range eggs from the garden but I do have some courtesy of the wonderful Coles supermarket,’ Phoebe said.

  Camilla waved a hand and flashed one of her most charming smiles. ‘Perfect then.’

  Phoebe rustled up the best breakfast she could for her sister. Poached eggs with tomatoes and basil from the garden, toasted sourdough, and a cup of free-trade coffee in the good mugs. She made enough for them all—her dad was happy to have a second breakfast and she knew she should try to eat something. They sat on the deck in the soft morning sun.

  ‘I’d forgotten how pretty it was down here,’ said Camilla, gazing out onto the river, arm stretched elegantly along the bench seat. ‘And how quiet.’

  It was a Friday and the river was mostly free of craft. A waterbird’s cry echoed across the way and there was the rising insect-hum of the day warming up.

  ‘Well, this is a treat, to have my two girls here today.’ Her dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners and glinted in the sunlight.

  Phoebe smiled. She knew he was feeling as emotional as she was.

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate it, Dad,’ Camilla said between mouthfuls of egg. ‘Mum would have come but someone had to handle the business. There’s so much going on right now.’

  Phoebe was relieved their mother wasn’t here. Her father seemed to soften some of Camilla’s spikier edges, as though his humility rubbed off just a little on her.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ Camilla fluffed up her hair and looked at Phoebe. There was no wondering how anyone was feeling or what she’d been doing for the past few months. She’d finished her breakfast and now she needed a new task. There was no stopping with Camilla. ‘So, I was thinking . . .’ She threw Phoebe a sidelong glance.

  I’m not going to approve of this, Phoebe thought.

  ‘Something small. Very low key.’ Camilla flattened her hands on the table, her Hermes bracelets jangling down her arm. ‘Dad, you could fire up the barbecue and I’ll make my famous punch. I’m assuming they have guava juice down here.’

  Phoebe flinched as a quiver of frustration brushed along her arms. Camilla hadn’t even mentioned Karin’s name yet or what they were ‘celebrating’. For her, each milestone in life could be contained to an event rather than let loose as a feeling.

  ‘Just a little gathering. Neighbours,’ she went on. ‘I can go and tell them now. The boys from Driftwood. Phoebe, you said they were around on weekends. We could do it tonight, or tomorrow night, depending on . . .’ She checked the heavy watch on her slim wrist. ‘Availability.’

  Phoebe clenched her hands into fists under the table. This wasn’t some business lunch for high-flying executives, it was a day to remember their sister. ‘I don’t understand why everything needs t
o be marked by a celebration. We’re talking about Karin’s suicide here, Camilla. Maybe it’s just enough for the three of us to be here.’

  Camilla looked confused. Phoebe ignored the feeling of guilt building in her stomach and went on. ‘I appreciate you wanting to do something nice, I really do, but it’s not really like that round here. Anyway, people will already have plans.’

  Camilla’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What plans?’

  Phoebe bit her lip to stop the words that were forming from coming out of her mouth. She waited a beat and changed them. ‘Despite what you think, people do have lives here. They might not be rich but they still have plans for a Friday or Saturday night.’

  Camilla’s cheeks flushed. ‘I’m just trying to do something nice for our sister, Phoebe. I may not be able to abandon my entire life and move down here, but I can do my bit.’

  Phoebe was angry now. ‘You think that’s what I did? It was just a decision I made one day? To abandon my life? You think I should have just gone and harassed Nathaniel until he agreed to stick to the original plan? To make your perfect engagement party a success? Is that what this is about, Camilla? Are you still angry that I ruined your party?’

  Camilla’s head jutted backwards as though Phoebe had slapped her. ‘What are you talking about? You think I’m that shallow?’

  Phoebe laughed without humour. ‘No. No, not shallow at all.’

  Camilla turned to their father, that wide-eyed, disbelieving look in her eyes again.

  He held up his hands. ‘I don’t want to get into this. Can’t you girls just be nice to each other, today of all days?’

  Phoebe stood and started stacking the plates, enjoying the violent clanging. ‘We’re not having a party.’ It felt good to say it, to take control. Camilla’s mouth was pursed, her arms crossed tightly against her body. ‘And if you must know, yes, I abandoned my life because I was so sick of comparing it to yours, Camilla.’