Indigo Girls

by Penni Russon

  We sat like that together. We didn’t say anything. But you know . . . it kind of didn’t suck to have him there. After a while, the wind seemed to change direction, to spring right off the sea. There was a chill in the air that made me shiver. Without saying anything both of us got up as the cool change drifted in and we walked side by side, back down to the emptying beach.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tilly

  Although I’d spent the whole day complaining about being in the hospital, when Dr Liew came to see me at breakfast the next morning and declared me fit to return to the campsite, I suddenly wanted to bury my head under my pillow and stay.

  That is, until Dr Liew said, ‘But before you go, I’d like you to have a quick chat to one of our resident counsellors.’

  I sat up. ‘Do I have to? My mum’s a psychotherapist. Couldn’t I just talk to her?’

  The doctor smiled apologetically. ‘Your mum suggested the counsellor. But I think you’ll like Jo.’

  She wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I might have liked her if we’d met at uni or something. She was youngish, and kind of, well, out there, with a big blue streak in her hair, thick-rimmed black glasses and really dark lipstick.

  Jo asked to see my arms. That was weird. Was she a head doctor or an arm doctor? It was only as she was running her fingers lightly over my pale flabby arms that I realised she was checking to see if I was injecting myself with drugs.

  ‘Please!’ I said, giggling because her finger tickled my inner elbow. ‘As if. I am the most boring person in the world.’

  ‘Well, people don’t usually do drugs because they find themselves wildly fascinating,’ Jo pointed out.

  ‘What about rockstars? And supermodels?’

  Jo made a noise that sounded like pishaw. ‘Spoilt rotten, the lot of them.’

  ‘That’s your professional opinion?’

  Jo tilted her head and looked at me as if she was thinking about it. ‘Well, okay. If you want an honest answer, I think it’s an industry that’s very big on surfaces. These people are being constantly judged, assessed, objectified, based on outward appearances. Even talented musicians or actors, especially women, are constantly being held up to unachievable, unhealthy standards in terms of body image. Perhaps there’s a disconnect between mind and body that they seek to rectify artificially through drugs. But I still think that being spoilt is part of it. Many of them are used to having things come easily. Drugs are a quick shortterm solution and only serve to compound the long-term problem.’ Jo pointed at two chairs by the window. I got off the bed. It made me feel better to be sitting at her level.

  ‘Well, my mind and body are fine. No drugs for me.’

  ‘Sometimes, in my work, I find that intelligent people have a similar disconnect, but it’s the body, the exterior, that’s missing in the equation rather than the mind.’

  ‘Huh. Is that so?’

  ‘Tilly, do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘Did my mum ask you to ask me that?’

  ‘No, of course not. You know this is confidential.’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t anyway.’

  ‘Are you sexually active?’

  ‘Uh . . . no.’

  Jo had a habit of pausing after each answer, as if she was giving me time to elaborate. Mum did the same thing. So I sat there and said nothing. But I knew silence could be interpreted too.

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ Jo asked finally.

  ‘Dandy. Can we talk about something else?’

  ‘Sure. What would you like to talk about?’

  ‘Well. I guess you want to know why I went surfing at night.’

  ‘Sure,’ Jo said again. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I don’t know why. I just did. But I wasn’t trying to . . . you know. Top myself or anything.’

  ‘Okay. Have you ever thought about topping yourself?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to write this stuff down in a notebook?’

  ‘Would you like me to write it down?’

  ‘I’m just thinking about saving you a bit of work later on,’ I said sniffily.

  ‘Have you talked to your parents about what happened?’

  Jo asked.

  ‘Some. I know I’ll have to talk about it a lot. Mum will want to psychoanalyse my guts out. The surfboard, the foaming waves. It’s all totally Freudian.’

  Jo smiled. ‘Do you get on with your mum?’

  I leaned forward with my hands clasped and said, ‘So . . . vot do you zink about your mother?’

  Jo leaned back in her chair. ‘Look, Tilly, here’s the lowdown. I don’t get the sense that you’re a danger to yourself or others, nor that you’re particularly disturbed, so I’m fine with you going home today.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ I muttered ungratefully (but secretly I was quite pleased to hear it).

  ‘But I do think you have some unresolved issues,’ Jo went on. ‘You’re edgy when I ask you about boyfriends or sex, and you keep bringing Freud up – clearly there’s something going on that you’re not telling me. I think you’re deflecting my questions so you don’t have to face these issues. What worries me is that you participated in uncharacteristic and extremely risky behaviour, resulting in what could be considered a serious accident.’ She looked at me seriously. ‘You could have died, Tilly.’

  I stared down at my hands. ‘I don’t want to die,’ I said.

  I looked at her and this time I made myself hold her gaze. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘I believe you. But you need to face things head on.’

  ‘Like that’s easy.’

  ‘You don’t have to do it alone. It’s up to you, Tilly. We can end the session now if you want.’ Jo sat poised, looking at me.

  ‘I really don’t know why I did the night surfing,’ I said.

  ‘Do you want to find out?’

  ‘What you said before, about bodies and brains . . . I used to wonder, why do we even have bodies? I mean, our minds do all the important things – think, dream, imagine, create. Our bodies, well, they just seem to be all about sustaining our minds. You know, we eat and procreate and defecate . . . it’s all about keeping the body healthy so we can make more bodies. It seems so inefficient.’

  ‘Is that really what you think your body is for?’

  I thought about Sawyer, about the ecstasy I’d felt for that fleeting moment last night when I’d finally caught a wave. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Our bodies let us communicate, experience touch, sight, sound, smell, taste. Our bodies let us interact with our environment. Our bodies sing and dance and play the piano, kiss, wave goodbye, cry, laugh.’

  ‘But how do we trust what our bodies tell us? All these sensations, these conflicting feelings . . . How do we know the right thing to do?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Jo asked me.

  ‘We use our judgement,’ I said. ‘We learn from past experience. We use our imagination. It still comes back to our brain.’

  ‘Some people would say the brain is the erotic centre of the body.’

  ‘Eew.’

  ‘Do you think of your body as your friend?’ Jo asked me.

  ‘I hate questions like that.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘You know, all that do you love yourself? stuff. I mean, if you say you do love yourself, then you’re arrogant or vain. If you say you don’t then you have self-esteem issues.’

  ‘Do you think you have self-esteem issues?’

  I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘Not everyone goes surfing in the dark and nearly dies,’ Jo pointed out.

  ‘I wasn’t the only one, you know,’ I said.

  ‘I know. But you’re here. If your friend wants to talk to me she’d be welcome too.’

  I looked out the window. It wasn’t a great view, I could see into the concrete carpark, could see the other brown stained hospital buildings. I looked at the tips of my fingers resting on t
he arm of the chair, then down at my body. I thought again about kissing Sawyer, how far I had wanted things to go with him, and how far away I’d pulled. Were some risks worth taking? Had I stuffed everything up?

  ‘You know how I said I don’t have a boyfriend,’ I said.

  ‘Well. There is this one guy . . .’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zara

  I was standing by the gate waiting for Tilly when they arrived. The cool change hadn’t stuck; the next morning the sun was hotter than ever. I didn’t know what time Tilly was due back, but in the end I’d gotten tired of hanging around the caravan with Mum hovering nervously over me, so I headed up to the roadside to wait. I felt bad that I hadn’t been to see Tilly at the hospital but I was also scared of facing her – facing her whole family. Did Tilly hate me? Did all the Doves hate me? That lovely family, was I public enemy number one? I just wanted to see her now, to get seeing her over and done with.

  But it wasn’t Tilly I saw. Of course they caught my eye, two full-on city girls walking up an otherwise deserted road in the middle of nowhere. I recognised Kayla first, her distinctive blonde-streaked hair that sits up in elastic coils all over her head.

  It was surreal to see them walking towards me. They didn’t belong here. They were plastic, bright and shiny but totally fake, compared to the dusty gums, the brown road. Sooz tall like me, Kayla ever so petite, like a doll.

  But it was all part of The Plan. That stupid plan which had been born at the mall after school one day near the end of term.

  ‘So anyway,’ Kayla had said as she adjusted a skirt over her hips. ‘I told my parents, how can you buy a holiday house without even asking me. Don’t you care about me at all? I mean, where’s Alder Springs anyway? No one’s ever even heard of it, am I right?’ Then she turned to us. ‘Does this make me look fat?’ She turned back to the mirror. ‘I said, I hope it’s got a sauna and a pool. They think it will be a good chance to spend more time together. What’s with that? Like we don’t see enough of each other! We all live in the same house.’

  Sooz made commiserating noises.

  ‘I know where Alder Springs is,’ I said, flicking through the belts hanging up outside the changeroom. ‘It’s about thirty minutes inland from Indigo.’

  The Plan, mostly devised so that Kayla didn’t have to spend more time with her parents, was that Sooz would go to Alder Springs with Kayla and they’d both come and visit me in Indigo; and then another day, Dad would drive me to Alder Springs to hang out with them. I’d terminated The Plan in my head the second I walked in on Marcus and Kayla. Only I realised now that I’d never actually texted Sooz to call it off.

  Sooz saw me first. ‘Zara!’ She swiped me on the arm.

  ‘Don’t you answer your phone anymore?’

  ‘Hi.’ I said.

  Kayla sashayed up and air-kissed my cheeks. She looked around. ‘Oh my godfather, is this, like, the total wilderness or what?’

  ‘Well, it is camping,’ I said, edgily. ‘It’s not supposed to be a five-star resort.’

  ‘Kayla’s parents dropped us off in Indigo this morning.

  We’re going to meet them at the golf club for dinner. You’re invited too, of course.’

  ‘Great.’ What if I didn’t want to be invited?

  Sooz looked a bit hurt. ‘You did remember we were coming?’

  I shrugged. What could I do? They were here now. I started walking down the gravel road, back into the campground and Sooz loped along beside me. Kayla tottered after us.

  ‘So what is there to do in this place?’ Kayla asked, placing her strappy sandals preciously on the ground, one foot after another, as though she was scared dirt was permanent. She looked around distastefully at the bush. ‘The town was, like, totally one-horse. Apart from the beach, that is, and you know I don’t do sand.’ Kayla was the kind of girl who thought everything about her was cute. Like, she thought it was cute that she didn’t like going to the beach. Being helpless was cute. Having a thing about her shoes was cute. Having sex with my boyfriend behind my back, that was probably cute too.

  ‘You’re going to get pretty bored, then,’ I said. ‘This place is pretty much all about the beach.’

  ‘Isn’t there a pool or something?’ Sooz asked tactfully.

  ‘This isn’t a resort. It’s a foreshore campground.’ I turned to Kayla and said, in a slightly challenging tone, ‘Come on, Kayla. There’s a big, beautiful ocean right there. We’ve even got a spare surfboard.’ Though actually, we didn’t. Ivan’s was still lost. I wasn’t going to tell them that, or how we’d lost it.

  Kayla was about to say something, her eyebrows arching, when Tilly’s car approached. We all stepped back off the road. Tilly was riding shotgun, her dad was driving. He pulled over and Tilly’s window slid open.

  ‘Hi, Zara,’ Julian Dove called, as if everything was normal.

  ‘Hi.’ I leaned into the car. ‘Hey, Tilly,’ I said, selfconsciously.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Tilly pulled a face. ‘I wish people would stop asking me that.’ She glanced briefly at Sooz and Kayla then back at me. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, quietly.

  I wanted to say how sorry I was. But I couldn’t with Sooz and Kayla standing right behind me. I stood back. ‘See you down there?’

  ‘Want a lift?’ Julian asked.

  I shook my head. ‘We’ll walk.’

  ‘All right. See you on the flip side,’ Julian said. The car continued to crunch along the gravel driveway.

  ‘Who was that?’ Kayla asked. I thought I could hear a sneering tone of judgement in her voice and for a moment I pictured Tilly how Kayla would have seen her, a little overweight, her pointy features, her plain clothes, no make-up.

  ‘Just a friend,’ I said.

  ‘What was with her face?’

  ‘What about her face?’ I snapped.

  ‘Her eyes looked all bruised.’

  ‘Oh, that. She had an accident. She’s been in hospital.’

  ‘Oh. How freaky.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Like, totally.’ I kept my voice even and measured; I doubt Kayla realised I was making fun of her. But I was treading a thin line. Did I really want to do this? What was I trying to do, pick a fight? After all, I’d finished with Marcus. What did it matter if they were together?

  ‘Shall we go back into town?’ Sooz asked, eyeing me warily. She sensed the tension even if Kayla was oblivious. ‘There was a semi-decent looking cafe. I’m sure we could get lattes.’

  ‘That was miles back,’ Kayla complained.

  ‘It would be faster if we walked along the beach,’ I said. I looked at Kayla. ‘That is, unless you’d rather go by the road,’ I offered.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Kayla said, pouting slightly.

  As we passed through the campground I looked longingly at Tilly’s tent. She was sitting on a camping chair alone, though I could see her mum darting around. Tilly flipped up her hand in a wave and I waved back. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed her company until just then. Having Kayla and Sooz with me was so wrong it gave me a pain in my gut. As we walked on towards the beach, I wondered if Tilly was watching us.

  Part of me wanted to turn to Kayla and Sooz and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t hang out with you today,’ but I couldn’t. They’d come all this way, it was only one day. Tilly would understand. And in the end, Tilly would be going back to her school and I’d have to deal with Sooz and Kayla for the rest of the year.

  Still, I felt pretty crappy leaving Tilly behind.

  At the top of the beach path, Kayla turned to me and said, suddenly, ‘Haven’t you got your phone on you? We tried to ring you, before.’

  ‘Um, no.’ I couldn’t read her expression.

  ‘We’ll wait while you go back and get it,’ Kayla said. She looked at her nails and frowned at a chip in her polish.

  Then she looked up at me and met my eyes. Her gaze was steady, wide-eyed. ‘I gave my parents your number, my phone
’s low on batteries.’

  I hesitated, looking from Kayla to Sooz. Sooz blinked, waving a stray fly away from her face.

  ‘They might need to call us if they’re running late or something,’ Kayla pointed out.

  ‘We don’t mind waiting,’ Sooz said.

  I shrugged. ‘Okay, I’ll just get it.’

  I turned and jogged back towards the caravan. I grabbed my phone and switched it on to check the power levels. Mum had charged it up again.

  As I walked back towards Kayla and Sooz the phone chimed four times to let me know I had text messages. I stopped. I didn’t want to look at them in front of Kayla and Sooz. Three of the messages were from them anyway. The last one was from him, from Number Withheld, sent yesterday afternoon. It said: daddys got a gun.

  Ugh, that was creepy. What did that even mean? Was Number Withheld calling himself Daddy? Or was it about my father?

  Maybe it was Lochie sending the messages. He knew Dad was a cop. He’d spat in my hair that night, when my dad came to pick me up. I was sitting on the kerb, feet in the gutter, arms around myself to stop myself from shivering; I’d left my long-sleeve in Kayla’s room. Dad showed up in his uniform. I looked up and there he was, standing over me. I felt relieved, ashamed. I stood up and he steered me towards our car. Lochie had lobbed a gob of spit into my hair.

  ‘You skanky cow!’ he said. ‘You fu–!’

  One of the uniform cops had Lochie up against the car in a second.

  Dad didn’t look back. ‘Don’t you ever come near my daughter again,’ he said. He didn’t say it loudly, but his voice carried across the broken car, across the street, out over the city.

  In the car Dad handed me a tissue. He said nothing. My stomach flipped as I remembered wiping the slimy, thick saliva out of my hair.

  I shook the memory off. Anyway, Lochie didn’t even know me. Why would he do this? But the point was it could be Lochie. It could be anyone. That was the real power of Number Withheld: this photo album of faces that flicked through my mind every time a number dropped into my inbox. Everyone I knew at school or work, people I’d met at clubs or parties, brothers of people I’d met at parties. People I didn’t even remember meeting. Everyone was a suspect. That’s what made me vulnerable.