The Lost Summers of Driftwood
Page 28
A memory came to her, fresh, alive, as though time had played a trick and it was yesterday. Karin, lying on the pontoon of the dam, a lazy arm under her head, book in hand. A daisy chain adorning her hair. And it was Tommy beside her, legs kicking at lily pads, his shoulders burnished by the sun.
Phoebe knew what she had to say. ‘Your brother,’ she said. And Tommy turned to her. ‘You can’t leave Jez. You can’t put him through what I’ve been through.’
He was looking at her but he couldn’t even see her. ‘Please, Tommy. I don’t want you dead.’ Even though it was the truth, it hurt her to say it. ‘It won’t bring Karin back. It’ll only hurt the person we both love.’
He went under then, and Phoebe knew what she had to do. She jumped and saw stars, it was so cold. The water was black. It felt like the beginning and the end of all things. It felt like death around her body, but there was a heat inside her and it made her arms and legs pump hard. She kicked down until she found his underarms and hauled him to the surface. His body was weightless despite the bucket around his waist and he didn’t struggle. Her feet found traction on the slippery rocks close to shore and his body became newly heavy with gravity. She got him onto the sand and he coughed until he vomited.
‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his face turned upwards in her lap, his body uncontrollable with cold. ‘I loved her so much.’
He was a shell of a man, hollowed by the same pain Phoebe had known, tormented and whittled down by it. She smoothed the wet hair from his eyes. ‘I know you did, Tommy. I know you did.’
EPILOGUE
Phoebe saw the boat from a distance, a dinghy with a single figure, silhouetted against the setting sun. The craft seemed stationary, but when she looked closer she saw it was being carried slowly downriver by the tide. There was no fear now when she thought of her sister. At first she believed that avenging Karin had freed her from the fear and the darkness, but she understood now that it was saving Tommy, not jailing him, that had given her peace.
The evening softened around her, the rustle of leaves, the coo of doves, the tinkle of cutlery and laughter from up at the house.
Jenna’s voice sounded from the balcony. ‘Dinner, Phoebe.’
‘Coming,’ she said and wound in her line.
The smell of garlic and onions piqued the salty air. She liked to sit here each evening, alone. Or sometimes Jenna joined her. There was something about the closing down of the day that Phoebe needed to witness. She knew Jenna understood. Sometimes they talked, but mostly they sat and let the stillness fill them up. She understood why Jenna had moved to Driftwood, even though it was the source of her pain. When you lost things in life, the hole where they had been was folded into your body anyway, to be carried always. Jenna had lost the man she loved. She had lost her ability to trust. Phoebe had thought Jenna would hate her but the two of them were bound together. Their sadness and their loss came from the same source. And by being here, Jenna was no longer alone.
Phoebe thought about Tommy, the muted timbre of his voice in the courtroom. His downcast eyes, the nervous twitch of his shoulders. The quiver of his lips as he described the moment he let Karin drown because he was angry at her for leaving him. Jez told Wendy the defence team had wanted him to call it an accident, had wanted him jailed for the lesser sentence of involuntary manslaughter. They wanted to argue that he had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from his work. But Tommy told the court exactly what he’d told Phoebe. It hadn’t just been an accident. He was sentenced to six years for voluntary manslaughter. It wasn’t enough for Camilla, their mother or their dad. But for Phoebe, it was enough.
And Jez. He had stood stiff in shirt and tie at his brother’s side the whole time. He had stayed at the Canberra house even when Jenna abandoned it for Driftwood and Tommy went to jail. It was strange now, that Tommy and Jez’s childhood home harboured the rest of them, like secret stowaways. Phoebe had tried to speak to Jez. He knew about Tommy trying to take his own life, and that she had saved him, but he was shut tight to her.
She stood now and squinted upriver into the low, late-winter sun. She was waiting for him to come home.
Harry was in his flannelette pyjamas just inside the French doors when Phoebe reached the house. She banged the dirt from her shoes outside and lined them up with everyone else’s. She could see Wendy pouring wine and the Texan thumping the table dramatically, laughing at something Flick was saying. Jenna spotted her and held up a bottle of white wine. Phoebe nodded. She opened the door and the warmth of the house, the smell of food, flooded her. She was about to step into it when something behind her, a sound, a feeling, made her turn.
Jez was standing there.
‘Phoebe, you’re letting the cold in,’ said Flick, gesturing madly towards the door.
‘Sorry. Hang on. You all start, I’ll be in in a minute,’ she said, and closed the door behind her. Her heart purred in her chest. She stood very still. ‘Why do you have an oar?’ she asked.
‘You recognise it?’ He ran his hands over the worn wood.
She walked towards him. He was leaner, as though the past few months had whittled him down. ‘Should I?’
He started down towards the jetty and she followed him. How many times had the two of them walked this track? She had always followed him, without question. Even now, into the falling night, after everything, she followed him. There was a rowboat tethered to the ladder with a heavy rope. As she got closer she saw that it was filled with rose petals. Yellow, red, pink and white ones. She thought of her sister, and smiled, so she wouldn’t cry.
‘Flowers,’ she said.
‘It’s your old boat. The one that got stolen.’
‘It looks new. It’s beautiful.’
‘I painted it white and repaired the holes.’
All these months, he had been thinking of her. ‘Will it float?’ She stepped onto the jetty.
‘Do you want to test it out?’
They walked to the end of the jetty and she climbed down the ladder after Jez. The petals felt soft underfoot. Their silky scent filled the air. She picked up a handful and held them to her nose. They reminded her of a time long ago, before she had known pain.
‘They’re for Karin,’ Jez said gently, as he slipped the oar into place. He reached down and picked up a handful of petals and threw them over the bow, into the river.
Phoebe began to cry. The boat began to move, the sound of the oars in the water, their soft clunk against the hull, reminding her of being young. The five of them, piled in. Karin alone in the boat, while the rest of them jumped off the side, squealing their delight into the cool water.
‘She felt safe in this boat,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’d forgotten.’
‘I know,’ said Jez. ‘I remembered.’
It was dark now, the river black beneath them, but it didn’t frighten her. The petals floated around them like luminous jewels on the surface of the water. And the trail of them led back to Driftwood.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people who go into the making of a book. Firstly, I’d like to thank my amazing readers: Karina Ware, Kirstin Bokor and Georgina Penney. Without your encouragement, this story wouldn’t have come to be. Thank you to Danielle Townsend for reading from an editor’s perspective, Abi Lewis for the long writing chats and Bec McSherry for emotional support over cups of tea.
Thanks to Jeanne Ryckmans and Jo Bulter from Cameron Creswell Agency for championing this novel.
I’m hugely grateful to the wonderful team at HarperCollins: Anna Valdinger, Catherine Milne, Barbara McClenahan, Kathy Hassett, Di Blacklock, Lucy Inglis, James Kellow and the sales and design teams.
Thank you to the booksellers too, who are so passionate about reading and supporting writers.
To Ben and Soph, thank you for being my home. And my lovely family: Mum and Dad, Anth and Beck, for your love and support.
This book is for my nanna, whose spirit lives on in our memories, on the jetty at Stray Leav
es.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
VANESSA studied English and Australian literature at Sydney University and dreamed of one day writing fiction. She then went on to immerse herself completely in writing about real people, working as a journalist for 18 years; Vanessa has been a news, medical and entertainment reporter for the Daily Telegraph and numerous other publications. She’s happy to now finally be creating fictional characters. She lives in Sydney with her husband and daughter.
PRAISE FOR THE LOST SUMMERS OF DRIFTWOOD
‘This tender and evocative story of the power of love, grief and memories will resonate with so many readers thanks to the power of Vanessa McCausland’s storytelling and her understanding of human nature.’
Sophie Green, author of The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club
‘Tense, evocative and eerie, a story that will stay with you for days. Like the slow-moving river that flows through the story, this compelling mystery will creep up on you and pull you in.’
Josephine Moon, author of The Tea Chest
‘This book is pure reading pleasure! Evocatively written and with beautifully realised characters whose loves and losses play out against a lush and mysterious backdrop, I kept turning the pages, desperate to know what would happen, but also wishing it would never end.’
Cassie Hamer, author of After the Party
‘A tender look at love, grief and sisterly secrets. A gently flowing tale of heartbreak and hope.’
Belinda Alexandra, author of Tuscan Rose
COPYRIGHT
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2020
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Vanessa McCausland 2020
The right of Vanessa McCausland to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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ISBN 978 1 4607 5768 0 (paperback)
ISBN 978 1 4607 1133 0 (ebook)
ISBN 978 1 4607 9442 5 (audio book)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia
Cover design by Amy Daoud, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover images: Roses by Marija Savic/stocksy/669699; wooden panels by Ashkan Forouzani on Unsplash