The Banksia Bay Beach Shack

by Sandie Docker

  Laura stood up and stepped away from Virginia, her brain trying to decipher the words. Virginia had killed her grandfather. Her grandfather, who’d forced himself on her. None of it made any sense. She paced back and forth.

  Of all the scenarios Laura had imagined, this was so much worse. Virginia had warned her. What if what you uncover isn’t pleasant and paints people in a different light to what you believe to be true?

  ‘If you can bear to hear more, there’s just a little to go.’ Virginia looked so weary.

  Laura hesitated. She didn’t know if she could hear any more. She didn’t know if she wanted to. But what was a story without an ending? She had to know. ‘Go on.’

  Virginia continued. ‘A year is a long time in the memory of a small town. Stories get twisted, truths become warped. History is rewritten. But now you know what happened. And this is how the story ends.’

  January 1965

  No one spoke of the events twelve months ago. No one uttered the Tinellis name. Todd had returned from training, a junior police officer, but mostly stayed out of Gigi’s way.

  On the surface, you’d never know that night one year before had even happened.

  But scars run so much deeper than that.

  Gigi had accepted her life helping her mum run the caravan park. Dad had tried to bring up the idea of going to college, but Gigi couldn’t bear the thought of it. Guilt and loss and shame ate away at her every day. She didn’t deserve a life outside of Banksia Bay. She didn’t deserve a future. Not after what she’d done. Not after Costas had given up his future for her.

  It was one of those special mornings in late summer that Gigi had always loved. The tourists had all gone home, the days were still long, the beach was quiet.

  Barefoot, she walked along the sand, skipping small stones across the water. It had taken her a while to be able to come down here again and not be overwhelmed with fear, but now it was her place of solace, the tide of the ocean renewing each day.

  From the north end of the beach, Yvonne came running towards her, something in her hand.

  ‘Gigi,’ she called. ‘Gigi.’ Yvonne stopped in front of her, trying to catch her breath. ‘I don’t know what this means, but I’m guessing it’s for you.’

  She held out a little mouse, carved from the seed pod of a banksia tree.

  Gigi took the carved mouse and ran up the beach, through town and over the banksia-covered hills.

  Puffing, she slowed down as she reached the old cheese factory. She dared not call out his name. Dared not hope.

  She picked her way through the ruins. ‘It’s me. Are you here?’ she whispered.

  Out of the shadows Costas came towards her. She threw herself into his arms and sobbed into his chest.

  ‘Shh.’ He stroked her hair. ‘It’s all right.’ He held her tightly.

  When her tears subsided, Gigi stepped back, taking in the sight before her. Costas was thin, terribly thin, and his face was gaunt. A thick black beard covered his chin.

  ‘I know. I’m a mess,’ he apologised. ‘But I had to see you. See if you were okay.’

  She cradled his face in her hands, and with that gentle touch, his bravado faltered and tears streaked a path under his eyes. They slid to the floor and Gigi held his shaking body. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been through in the last year. She didn’t want to.

  She held him till his breathing returned to normal.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d understand my message.’ His fingers trailed over her arms, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘Or that you would come. I couldn’t risk going to the caravan park.’

  ‘I knew instantly what the mouse meant.’

  ‘How have you been?’ He looked deeply into her eyes.

  ‘Me? What about you?’

  ‘I manage.’

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘A few hours. Then I’ll have to move on.’

  Gigi understood. Him being here at all was a miracle. She would be happy with whatever time she could steal.

  ‘Wait here.’

  ‘No. Don’t leave.’ His voice cracked.

  ‘I’ll be right back.’ She kissed him and held his gaze. ‘I promise.’ She ran off into the bright day.

  When she returned, she had with her a knapsack. Inside was a change of clothes – Ian’s, which she’d lifted from Mum’s washing pile; a wet towel and a bar of soap; a paper bag full of food.

  ‘I made sure no one saw me. I wasn’t followed.’

  Costas moved back into the shadows and emerged a few moments later, his face washed, clothes changed.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They sat together on the old cart and Gigi pulled out the selection of bread, cold meat and fruit she’d brought with her. Costas shoved the bread into his mouth and then smelled the banana before devouring it.

  He belched. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ She giggled. ‘You have no idea how good it is to see you.’

  Tears filled his eyes once more, but he held them back.

  She kissed his forehead. Then each eye.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered.

  She kissed his nose, then each cheek.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  Dropping the mouse she’d been clinging to, she took his hands in hers and kissed them.

  He pulled her towards him and pressed his lips against hers. He kissed her hard. She let him.

  Throwing her arms around his neck, she lifted herself onto him. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer.

  The afternoon sun filtered through the holes in the stone walls, bathing them in dappled light. With clothes half on, half off, they lay in each other’s arms.

  It certainly wasn’t the way she’d imagined losing her virginity, but it was with the man she’d dreamed of, and that was all that mattered.

  ‘It will be even harder for me to leave you now, Virginia.’ He kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Then let me come with you.’ She sat up.

  ‘This is no life for you. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘What about any of this is fair?’ Her bottom lip began to tremble.

  He ran a finger over her mouth and she nipped it.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come back. I’ve made life so much harder for you.’

  ‘No. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we . . .’ She lowered her eyes. ‘Now I know you’re still alive and that is the greatest gift of all. Where there’s breath, there’s hope, remember.’

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. Long and hard.

  When they pulled themselves apart, Costas started to get dressed. ‘It isn’t right, I know. To make love to you and leave. I’m so sorry. But I should get going.’

  ‘I understand.’ She stepped into his arms. ‘I do. I will never regret what we shared today.’

  They finished dressing in silence and held each other’s gaze. Watching Costas leave would quite possibly tear Gigi’s heart from her chest, but she knew he couldn’t stay. He’d already been here too long.

  A sound from outside made them both jump.

  A voice. Calling.

  ‘Gigi!’

  It was Yvonne. Fear and panic in her tone.

  ‘Gigi!’

  Gigi ran outside.

  Yvonne was being dragged across the clearing by Todd, dressed in his police uniform.

  Gigi turned and shouted, ‘Run!’

  Todd threw Yvonne to the ground and ran towards the cheese factory. Gigi tried to block his way, but he shoved her aside.

  ‘Where is he? Where is that no-good murderer?’ He burst into the old building.

  Yvonne came running towards Gigi. There was blood trickling down her neck from her ear. Her lip was swollen. ‘I’m sorry. He saw you running through town. I tried to keep my mouth shut.’

  Gigi could see a lump forming above Yvonne’s eye. That bastard. She ran into the factory and straight into Todd.

  ‘Stop, Todd. Please.’

  A crash from the other side of
the building echoed through the empty space.

  Todd pushed Gigi out of the way and spun around the corner.

  Gigi and Yvonne scrambled to catch up to him.

  On the north side of the building, Costas was running towards the trees.

  ‘Stop! Fugitive!’ Todd called, and pulled out his pistol.

  Bang. The deafening shot echoed through the trees.

  ‘No!’ Gigi screamed as Costas dropped to the ground. He didn’t get up. She ran towards him, but her legs gave out just feet away. She collapsed into the long grass. Yvonne knelt beside her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gigi,’ she sobbed. ‘Gigi?’

  Virginia Gilbert stared ahead, her eyes dry, her heart numb. The man she loved lay before her. The man who’d shot him stood over him, trying to make contact with the station on his walkie-talkie.

  There was no breath. There was no hope.

  Her soul leached out of her body.

  ‘Gigi?’ Yvonne shook her. ‘Gigi?’

  But Gigi was gone.

  And the parched yellow grass in front of her ran red with Costas’ blood.

  ‘I went away after that. For a year.’ Virginia wiped away her tears as Laura stared at her. ‘I was pregnant, you see. I went to stay with my aunt and uncle in Brisbane. When I came back, we told everyone the infant I had with me was my cousin’s and he and his wife had been killed in a car accident. I doubt anyone truly believed our story. My baby, Steve, Heath and Charlotte’s dad, had olive skin, just like Costas. It wouldn’t have been hard to put two and two together.’

  History is rewritten, thought Laura. She wanted to be angry at Virginia, at Richard, even a little at Lillian. But it was all too tragic for any kind of concrete emotion. She just felt numb.

  ‘I will understand if you want to take this story . . . well, wherever you take such things. I have lived with this too long now.’ Virginia stood on wobbly legs.

  Laura had no idea what to do with all she’d just been told; what to think, how to feel about it.

  In silence she drove Virginia back to the Bay, and took her to the shack.

  ‘Laura, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but please, before you tell the world, just let me know. So I can prepare Charlotte.’

  Laura agreed.

  Virginia handed her a tub of pages and photos. ‘Your notes. And a few added in from me. Whatever happens now, I’ll accept my fate.’

  Laura dropped the tub at the holiday house and changed into her running gear.

  She ran across the hills and stopped when she came to the lookout. She glanced down at the rock with Gigi and Costas’ initials carved into it as she passed, and let out a long breath. The burden of truth was hers now. Lillian had never known. Virginia and Yvonne had carried it for so long. It was her turn now. But what did she do with it? What did it all mean?

  In her mind she sifted through the facts, the images, the secrets, the lies, unsure how she was supposed to feel about any of it. About Richard, Lillian, Virginia. She wasn’t sure she ever would.

  At the top of the headland she stood, looking down at the Bay below her. She imagined Heath surfing in the waves and smiled through the tears.

  From this distance you could see no evidence of the storm that had torn through the place a week ago. It was the picture of a perfect piece of paradise.

  But there was no such thing. Nothing was ever perfect. Not if you looked closely enough.

  The next morning, Laura packed up her things. There was nothing here for her now. And she needed some distance. Some time and space to think about everything that had happened – in these past few weeks; sixty years ago – and try to make sense of it all.

  Tomorrow she’d catch the bus back to Sydney, resume her life, her career. It was best to keep moving forward.

  As she packed the last of her clothes into her suitcase, she folded her coat and felt a bulge in the pocket. She reached in and pulled out the little wooden mouse.

  Gigi’s little mouse.

  Walking towards the shack, wetsuit on, board under her arm, Laura counted her breaths in her head. She sat her surfboard on the sand and stepped up onto the deck.

  ‘Hello,’ Virginia greeted her. ‘I’m glad you stopped by. I heard you were leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought I’d go for one last surf.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ‘I found this.’ Laura held out the mouse and Virginia’s eyes went impossibly wide. ‘A while back. I didn’t know what it was until you told me your story. I thought maybe you’d like it back.’

  Virginia held the memento in shaking hands. ‘Does this mean . . .’

  ‘I don’t know what it means. If I write your story, what would that achieve?’

  ‘Justice?’ Virginia cast her gaze down.

  Laura hadn’t slept all night, turning over and over in her mind what to do with the knowledge she now had. She’d played out different scenarios, each one of them leading to pain – for her, for Virginia, for Yvonne, for Charlotte and Aiden. For someone. Pain no matter what she did.

  ‘What is justice?’ she asked. ‘The way you describe it, it was self-defence. Costas’ parents are long gone, there’s no justice for them. My father died when I was young. Richard’s only living descendant is me. I came here to find out the truth. And now I know. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it’s not.’ She shrugged. She had no idea.

  Virginia looked her in the eye. ‘The truth can be a terrible burden to bear.’

  ‘Seems so.’

  ‘Before you go, I want you to have this.’ Virginia gave her the pendant, repaired, in one piece on a long silver chain. ‘I got Ian to solder it back together. He’s no jeweller, but it will do.’

  Laura ran her fingers over the ridge where the wings had been joined.

  Nothing was perfect if you looked closely enough.

  ‘Thank you.’ She fastened the necklace around her neck. ‘I . . . I’m going to go.’

  Laura turned her back and walked up the beach, sucking in deep breaths as she went.

  She stood in the white wash, board under her arm, watching the waves rise and break. She stood and watched, her feet sinking deeper into the sand with every ebb and flow.

  ‘Are you going in?’ Aiden came up beside her and took her hand. ‘I could go home and get my board and we could go in together.’ He looked up at her, his tiny face full of hope.

  ‘I don’t seem to be able to take the next step.’ She looked down at him. ‘Maybe my surfing days are done.’ The thought filled her with sorrow.

  ‘You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay? Is it because you’re too sad?’

  Laura’s heart ached at his simple question. All the conflicting emotions and thoughts she’d had over the last few days, and a seven-year-old boy summed it up so easily.

  ‘Yes. I’m too sad.’

  ‘I’m too sad, too.’

  Guilt surged through Laura, knowing she was going to leave Aiden and Charlotte and Virginia to fight their grief alone.

  ‘It’s more than that, buddy. I just . . . I don’t belong here.’

  Aiden dropped her hand. ‘I’ll miss you.’ With slumped shoulders he started up the beach and she watched him go, her heart breaking all over again.

  As he reached the dunes he turned around. ‘I know it’s not polite to say this, but you’re wrong.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You do belong here.’

  Laura sat by Mrs Duncan’s bed and watched her sleep. In hushed tones she told her everything she’d learned in Banksia Bay.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ she whispered. ‘What good is the truth to anyone now?’

  Could a case be built? Would Virginia go to gaol? Did she deserve to? Wasn’t she a victim in this too?

  Laura’s head hurt.

  She kissed Mrs Duncan on the forehead and headed home.

  Under lamplight in Lillian’s dining room, Lau
ra opened the other folder she’d brought back with her – the one with Ian’s photos for the story she was supposed to write. There was a picture of Heath on the roof of the bakery, one of the surfers cleaning up the beach, one of Trish in her flowing blue kaftan feeding a group of weary-looking volunteers, one of Charlotte tending to a cut forehead. Photo after photo of the aftermath of the storm. There were also photos of the Banksia Bee Festival and one of the paddle out. She held that one to her chest. Laura had no idea who’d taken it, but she was grateful someone had.

  It was a pity she couldn’t finish the story, but a happy ending was beyond her now.

  The last photo in the pile was of her and Heath, taken when they were on the beach watching Aiden on the festival climbing wall. Tears fell down her cheeks as she touched Heath’s face.

  All she could do was keep moving forward, focus on her work. Maher was certainly happy to have her back.

  Weeks passed. A month. And another.

  Every Sunday Laura went to Bondi Beach and stood where the water met the sand. But she never went in – simply closed her eyes and breathed in the salt air. She found no peace, though. Perhaps it was because, even in the depths of winter, this stretch of coast was always busy – an army of wetsuit-clad surfers, the odd swimmer brave enough to endure the cold, people walking, people jogging. A never-ending tide of humanity bustling about their lives. Or perhaps it was because she saw an echo of Heath in the waves every time she stared too long at the undulating sea.

  Perhaps it was because the burden of all she now knew would not allow her to find peace.

  At work, Maher finally put her on the story he’d told her about, the leads now giving them something concrete to go on.

  On a wet day in early September, she pushed her way through the crowded grey streets to get to her undercover assignment. Knocked and shoved and jostled, she said sorry to those she passed. No one said it back.

  Sitting in the lunch room of the minister’s office, Laura adjusted the collar of her white shirt. Plain white shirt, grey skirt suit. Nothing that would draw attention to her. Securing the position as a junior copywriter had been relatively easy, and she had her backstory memorised – nothing that strayed too far from the truth. Rule number two. This would be a walk in the park.