The Banksia Bay Beach Shack

by Sandie Docker

  On the third day Laura suggested they have lunch together on the deck before she headed off.

  With a raised eyebrow, Virginia agreed.

  ‘I don’t know how you get any work done in there.’ Laura pointed behind her shoulder to the shack. ‘When this is right at your feet.’ She looked out to the ocean.

  Virginia smiled, for the first time that Laura had seen. At least, the first genuine smile.

  ‘Confession time. Some days I do just sit out here and stare into the sea. Especially in winter.’

  Laura could certainly understand that. ‘Have you lived here all your life?’

  Virginia’s expression hardened. ‘Yes. What about you? You’re from Sydney, aren’t you? Been there all your life?’

  ‘Yep. I don’t have views like this where I am, though.’

  ‘I dare say.’ Virginia leaned back in her chair.

  ‘This really is very peaceful.’

  ‘Well, not for long. The Banksia Bee Festival starts in three days and then you’ll see this place in a whole new light.’

  ‘The what now?’ A memory of something Charlotte had said on the bus her first day here teased her mind.

  ‘The Banksia Bee Festival. Every autumn, the Bay celebrates the honey industry we have in these parts. Did you know we had a honey industry? It’s very big. The festival.’

  Surely it couldn’t get that busy.

  ‘Shame you didn’t bring your family. Kids love the festival.’

  Laura stared out to the ocean. ‘Oh. It’s just me.’

  Virginia looked at her.

  ‘Not married.’ Laura held up her left hand, showing no ring.

  ‘Any other family?’

  ‘Dad died when I was young. Mum’s been kind of in and out of my life since then. Mostly out.’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear.’

  Laura couldn’t believe she’d told Virginia that. Her mother’s absence had always been a topic she didn’t like to talk about. At least she hadn’t slipped up and said anything about Lillian. ‘It’s kind of nice having some time to myself, away from the office.’ And that was the truth.

  ‘Well, make the most of it. This place will be overrun before you know it.’

  Laura huffed.

  ‘Ah, you don’t believe me. You’ll see.’

  A mischievous look crossed Virginia’s face, but she said no more.

  Seriously? How big could a honey festival be in a town no one had heard of?

  ‘Famous last words’ came to mind as Laura walked through the packed main street of Banksia Bay three days later.

  Paper beehive lanterns were strung from every lamppost and power pole, and lining both sides of the street were marquees showing off local wares, all with some sort of bee theme – cheeses infused with honey, honey-scented candles, paintings of bees, honeycomb-shaped jewellery, hexagonal chopping boards made of local wood, and jars and jars of honey.

  Laura wandered the stalls, the sweet aroma filling her nose as she walked. She snaked her way through the throngs of people, smiling at the children wearing bee antenna headbands.

  In one tent, Kaftan bustled about between racks of loose flowing dresses, which had sequins and beads sewn around the neckline to look like tiny bees.

  ‘Good morning. Laura, isn’t it?’ She waved, and Laura stopped to say hello.

  ‘Yes. Hi.’

  ‘Welcome to your first Bee Festival.’ She spread her arms out wide.

  ‘Thank you, um . . .’

  ‘Trish. Sorry. We met on the Bodhi Bus.’

  ‘I remember. This is quite something.’ Laura indicated the festivities behind her.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Three people walked into the tent.

  ‘Customers.’ Trish sashayed forward. ‘Will we see you at the bar-bee-cue tonight?’ She accentuated the middle of the word.

  Laura nodded, not sure what Trish was talking about. She left the tent and was jostled by a family carrying yellow and black striped bags, stuffed full of goodies.

  Off to the side was a tent selling cold drinks and Laura ordered a honeycomb milkshake. She took a moment to sit and watch the passing crowd from within the relative quiet of the tent.

  Children skipped by with faces painted, either done up as actual bees, or with bee motifs on their cheeks. Even some adults were sporting face paint.

  A child with a bee mask bounced up to her.

  ‘Hello,’ Laura said.

  The boy removed his mask. ‘Hi.’ Aiden’s sweet face stared back at her.

  Heath came in after him. ‘I told you not to run off,’ he reproached Aiden, but there was only gentleness in his tone. ‘Hey, Laura. Enjoying the festival?’

  ‘Yes. It’s different.’

  ‘Ah, but different good, or different bad?’ He pulled a face.

  ‘Good, I think. I’m not sure I understand it, though.’

  Aiden pulled Heath’s arm.

  ‘Okay, buddy. We’re going.’ He looked at Laura. ‘Have you been down to the beach?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘There’s stuff for the kids down there. Walk with me, and I’ll try to enlighten you about the festival.’

  On the beach a huge obstacle course stretched a hundred metres down the sand, away from the jetty. Aiden ran through the blow-up beehive entrance, waving to Heath as he threw himself onto the honeycomb-shaped climbing wall.

  ‘Is Charlotte here?’ Laura asked, looking around.

  Heath shook his head. ‘She had to work. This is the first festival she’s ever missed. I’ll buy her one of those giant blocks of chocolate-covered honeycomb to ease her disappointment.’

  Laura had seen that tent. She had no idea how anyone would ever be able to get through that much chocolate honeycomb, but plenty of people were buying the huge chunks of confectionary to try.

  ‘She’s always had a sweet tooth,’ Heath said.

  ‘I’ve never seen this much honey-ness in one place before.’

  ‘Ah. And you probably never will. It’s Banksia Bay’s only claim to fame, this festival. It started in the seventies. A local apiarist realised that because the banksias around here bloom best in autumn, his bees had access to good nectar all year round. Then a lot of the dairy farmers got on board, caring for their own hives, and we became one of the biggest honey-producing areas in the country.’

  Not once in Laura’s life had she ever wondered where her honey came from. Actually, she never gave much thought at all to where any of her food came from.

  ‘A couple of local guys,’ continued Heath, ‘started the festival back when I was a kid, and now that “artisanal” is back in fashion, the festival has become huge.’

  Laura couldn’t argue about the size of the crowd that had invaded the town. She wondered why the festival hadn’t come up in her Google search. Now there was a missed opportunity.

  Aiden waved to them from the top of the climbing wall and Ian walked by, camera in hand, taking photos of the festivities.

  ‘Lovely day for it.’ He stopped in front of Heath and Laura, and took their photo.

  Laura put her hands up in front of her face.

  ‘It’s okay. Ian’s a bit of a professional amateur with that thing. Only time he’s without his camera is when he’s in the water. Some of his photos will end up in the local paper. But most will go into his studio.’

  His studio? Laura’s mind began to tick over.

  ‘Hey, you should check it out some day. It might help with your story.’

  ‘What’s Ian’s last name?’

  ‘Holland. But he’s not famous or anything.’

  Ian Holland. One of the photographers from Banksia Bay Bush Tracks? Laura nearly fell over.

  She had to stop herself from demanding that Heath take her there right now.

  ‘How long has he been at it?’ she asked, ensuring her voice stayed neutral.

  ‘Um, I’m not sure. Forever, I think.’

  A tiny speck of hope crept into Laura’s heart. She watched Ian pick out hi
s next subject, a family eating honeycomb fairy floss. How could she snaffle an invite to his studio?

  Aiden came running towards them. ‘Can we go see the bees?’ He pulled on Heath’s arm.

  At the end of the beach one of the local apiarists had set up a real live hive with real live bees, and was demonstrating how he extracted the honey. Aiden watched on, fascinated. So did Laura.

  As the sun began to sink low in the sky, they headed past the obstacle course towards the shack, and the most delicious aroma wafted up the beach.

  Along the jetty, a line of barbecues had been set up, and the sizzle of cooking meat and vegetables made Laura’s stomach growl. Steak, sausages, fish, lamb, corn on the cob – every food that could be barbecued was being grilled.

  Heath got himself and Aiden some steak and Laura tried the lemon honey fish, which melted in her mouth.

  ‘You know,’ Laura said as they finished their dinner, ‘this could be so much more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Heath looked into her eyes.

  ‘There are a lot of talented people here. The food, the art and craft – and, as you said, artisanal anything is back in fashion. This could be a real draw for the area. Outside of the festival, I mean.’

  Heath’s face lit up. ‘I think we need to talk about this some more.’

  Aiden took off down the jetty, running towards the shack. Heath and Laura followed, and as they walked through the crowd they were pressed together. Their hands touched, heat shooting through Laura. Heath looked down and his eyes bored into her.

  Laura stepped to the side. What did he think he was doing? Had he forgotten he was married? No wonder Charlotte didn’t like her. The woman’s instinct had been right. Laura should have known. There was a universal truth about men and it wasn’t what Jane Austen claimed, all that fortune and needing a wife nonsense. No. The universal truth was that they were all jerks who, given the chance, would cheat.

  They reached the shack and Virginia was serving coffees. She looked busy, so Laura excused herself and went to see if she could help.

  Fifteen mugs of caffeine later, Virginia turned off the coffee machine.

  ‘Thank you, dear, for helping. You’re a good girl.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  Laura started to clean up. As she bent over to pick up the bag of rubbish she’d dropped, her necklace popped out from under her shirt and she quickly put it back in. She heard Virginia clear her throat, but when she looked up she saw her on the sofa reading to Aiden. Heath was busy cleaning the coffee machine.

  Laura said goodnight and took her leave. She sped home, glad to be out of there. Away from scrutinising eyes.

  Away from Heath.

  As soon as Heath and Aiden left, Virginia jumped off the sofa and closed up the shack.

  She’d nearly blown it. Nearly let out a scream when she saw the pendant around Laura’s neck.

  All doubt was gone now.

  Laura was here for her. To destroy her. How could this be?

  A knock on the shack door made her jump.

  ‘Need any help in there, squirt?’ Ian let himself in.

  The last thing Virginia needed was that old codger under her feet. ‘I think I’ve got it all under control.’

  ‘Another successful festival.’ Ian lowered himself into the armchair.

  Virginia knew what that meant, so she poured him a glass of beer from the stash she kept hidden at the back of the fridge.

  ‘You look like you could do with one too,’ he said.

  He wasn’t wrong. Virginia poured herself a glass and sat opposite him on the sofa. The silence between them was comfortable and comforting. Ian had always been there in her life. A friend. A brother. A constant.

  ‘I saw Laura helping you again today.’ He took a long sip of beer.

  A pest.

  She simply nodded. Did he see it in her too? The resemblance? Did he even remember Lily?

  ‘Funny how life can throw twists at you.’ He looked into the distance.

  Virginia sat up straight. ‘What do you mean?’

  He turned back to her. ‘I just mean that she’s a stranger, but right when you need help, she happens to turn up. One of life’s funny coincidences . . .’ His voice trailed off.

  This had to end. Now. Ian may not be known for his insight. Or intellect. But he could easily bumble his way into a conversation Virginia wanted no part of. He knew her well, and if this continued it wouldn’t take long for him to figure something was up.

  ‘I hear Farmer Clarke is selling up.’ Virginia would try anything.

  ‘I heard.’ His eyes didn’t leave hers. This was getting unnerving. She stood up and pretended to busy herself behind the counter.

  When Ian finished his beer he walked over to her.

  ‘Goodnight, squirt.’ He raised his hand and she ducked her head, expecting him to try to ruffle her hair.

  Instead, he hugged her. He hadn’t done that since . . .

  She hustled him out of the shack with a goodnight and the excuse of exhaustion.

  Once he’d left, Virginia rearranged the cushions on the sofa and wiped down the coffee machine again, her hands shaking the whole time. She paced back and forth. She picked up the phone to call Yvonne, then put it back down again.

  Today was a busy day for her friend, running visitors back and forth between the Bay and Ocean Heights from dawn till, well, actually, she was probably still driving, taking the last of the revellers back to their hotels.

  She wouldn’t trouble Yvonne with this tonight. Lord knows she’d burdened that woman with too much for too long. Telling her about the pendant tonight would achieve nothing.

  It could wait till tomorrow. Then she’d ask Yvonne if she could look up Laura Hamilton on that inter-spider-web thing. See what they could find out about her.

  In the meantime, Virginia did a sweep of the shack to make sure there was no more incriminating evidence that could lead Laura to anything in her past. No photos, no local histories, no knick-knacks that could lead her to Gigi.

  Virginia’s past was most definitely here, and she needed to ensure Laura didn’t find another piece of it.

  December 1962

  As the sun began to rise, the crunching of gravel on the road into the caravan park heralded the arrival of the first tourists of the season. Gigi jumped out of bed and pulled on her overalls, tied her ridiculously untamed blonde curls into a messy ponytail, and ran out the front door of the cabin. She wasn’t excited about having to help her mum book visitors in – what sixteen-year-old would be thrilled about showing strangers to their sites, helping people who clearly didn’t go camping often peg their tents correctly, unblocking the communal loos when some idiot tried to stuff too much toilet paper down the S-bend, or being called on to kill a huntsman spider who’d been innocently minding his own business up in the corner of the laundry block when the city slicker screamed blue murder at the sight of it?

  But it was a distraction, at least, something to keep her busy – and it certainly did keep her busy – until teatime.

  Teatime, when Lily would arrive.

  As the midday sun beat down from its height in the clear summer sky, the gentleman from site number seven couldn’t figure out how to use the washing machine and called on Gigi to help. It was a pretty basic twin tub, but the way he looked at it, Gigi wondered if he’d ever even set foot in a laundry before. Really, this was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She had at least four chores to do for Mum this afternoon before she could head off to see if Lily had arrived yet. What kind of adult couldn’t figure out how to use a washing machine?

  ‘Elaine always did the washing,’ the man said, looking at Gigi with such sadness that she couldn’t help but feel guilty for her uncharitable thoughts. ‘Six months she’s been gone. We’d always wanted to go round Australia in the van. Her dying wish was that I go ahead and do it. “Arthur,” she said to me, “Arthur, you go explore this great big land.” Oh, she was a peach.’ He raised his gaze to the sky.<
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  Gigi took him by his shaking hand and led him over to the machine. Slowly, simply, she instructed him on the mysterious ways of the twin tub. And she stayed with him to show him how to spin the clothes to get some of the water out.

  Arthur thanked Gigi for her help and bade her farewell, but she couldn’t just leave him there with a basket of damp clothes, even if it was only a few shirts. He’d probably never hung clothes out on a line either.

  She showed him where the Hills hoist was and helped him peg up his laundry. Arthur insisted Gigi had done more than enough but she told him she had nothing better to do and pegged away.

  ‘You might just be a peach, too.’ Arthur patted her on the back.

  Gigi raced through her remaining jobs at breakneck speed and by four her mum said she could clock off.

  Back in the family cabin, she threw off her dirty overalls and changed into a slightly less worn pair. Then she ran a brush through her hair and headed off to the rental house. As she passed Costas’ home, she slowed down, hoping he might be in the garden with his mother. But there was no sign of him. No sign of anyone. Had they gone away for the holidays?

  He’d mostly ignored her for the last few weeks of school, though she did catch him once or twice glancing in her direction when he thought she wasn’t looking. She was so confused by his behaviour. It made no sense. Boys made no sense.

  She missed him terribly, though. School was bearable when he sat beside her, when they shared lunch. When he pretended that she didn’t exist, school became even more of a drudgery. Despite their recent lack of communication, surely he would have told her if he was going somewhere for the summer.

  The only way to know for sure was to stop by every day. Luckily, Costas’ house was on the way to Lily’s, sort of – at least, if she took a certain detour – so keeping an eye out for his return would be easy enough.

  As Gigi wound her way through town, she started humming a tune by that new band Ian was obsessed with. The Beach Brothers, or Boys, or whatever they called themselves. He was always singing their songs at the top of his lungs. She had no idea what song she was humming. Or if it even was a tune, per se, and not some random amalgamation of the music that she simply couldn’t get out of her head. That Ian had so much to answer for.