Surf Sisters

by Laurine Croasdale

  When Tilly had gone, Marlee jotted down her expenses:

  2 weeks/14 days/42 meals

  INCOMINGS

  Contest winnings

  $500.00

  Phone and iPod

  $60.00

  Job earnings

  $800.00

  Piggy banks

  $50.00

  OUTGOINGS

  Airfares

  $1500.00

  Freight for boards

  $500.00

  Transport to airport/back

  $120.00

  Trip to Shipwreck from airport/back

  $300.00

  Travel insurance

  $????

  Accommodation

  $??????

  Food

  $500.00

  Sleeping bag

  $100.00

  At the very least it’d be two thousand dollars for fares and freight with accommodation and food on top of that. With the money from work, her piggy bank, the sale of her phone and iPod, and contest winnings, she had a whole one thousand, four hundred and ten dollars – and about four months to find the rest.

  The sea and sky had collaborated on colour, the inky blackness of one colliding with the grey-greens of the other. Fran gripped her jacket tightly across her chest, video camera tucked inside. The wind, howling and mournful, slapped across her face, flicking her hair up in tentacles, stinging her with sand. Only the die-hards were here today enjoying being in a place where two wildernesses met, where one world slid into the other.

  Running away from her was a set of footprints, evenly spaced, not too indented, a light-footed runner with a nice steady rhythm. In the distance she saw Marlee’s hair flying all ways as she ran into the thickening storm. Fran called out to her but the wind whipped away her voice so she kept filming as Marlee ploughed towards the cliffs at the far end. The curve of her footprints gave Fran an idea. She filmed up close as the waves lapped over them, softening the shape, already seeing in her head how they’d look on paper, then waited for Marlee to come back.

  ‘How’s the training going?’

  Marlee bent over, hands on knees, panting hard. ‘Not too bad.’ She straightened up, taking in long slow breaths. ‘I’ve got a bit of a system worked out and one of the teachers at school’s helping me. Evelyn’s been great too.’

  ‘I’ve got some film from your session with Mum yesterday. Want to come to my place and take a look?’

  ‘Sure, won’t be going surfing today. It’s all over the place. Hey, Fran, are there any jobs going at the Jellyfish?’

  Fran pulled up her hood to protect herself from the wind as they walked back up the beach. ‘Not sure. But how would you find the time to work there?’

  Marlee had no idea. She just knew she needed the money. She shrugged. ‘If there were a couple of shifts going I’d make time. Will you ask?’ The wind whisked her words away but Fran smiled and nodded.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Fizz Davenport sat cross-legged in the middle of the picnic table, a pale green iPod tucked into her jeans pocket. Her body moved to a beat that only she could hear and she flipped through her book of extra CDs like she was checking photos.

  Tilly raced towards her, jumping onto the table. ‘Hey, Fizz! You’re back! How were the Maldives?’

  Fizz straightened up, her fingers gently pushing against Tilly’s shoulder. ‘Guess who got the cover shot?’ She tucked her fingers under imaginary braces and puffed up her chest.

  Tilly laughed, ruffling her hand through Fizz’s spiky bleached blonde hair. ‘That’s excellent! So, are you going to help me while you’re here?’

  Fizz nodded. ‘I’ve got some more promos to do so I’ll be away on and off but the master’s here for you, grommet,’ she joked. ‘So step up, Tilly, I’m going to make you work!’

  Standing awkwardly next to the table, Marlee noticed the flash of a tongue stud and the curl of a tattoo on the top of Fizz’s bare foot. She’d only ever seen Fizz in surfing magazines, either taking off on some mammoth wave or cranking up sound at a party. She fidgeted, trying to think of something to say to join the conversation, but Tilly was so busy talking she gave up and turned to the surf, spotting Kyle as he carved out a series of wide arcing turns along a curling green face.

  His whole style had changed since the last time she’d seen him and she watched in awe at the strength and power he now poured into his manoeuvres, flipping the board into the air and crouching like a cat as it spun around and landed back on the water. Everything was finely tuned, his style fluid, acrobatic. Marlee watched, mesmerised.

  Tilly nudged her. ‘Hey, listen to this.’ She pulled Marlee up onto the table close to Fizz and plugged her into a rich, fluid groove of music. It was a fresh wild sound unlike anything Marlee’d heard and she desperately wished she hadn’t hocked her iPod. Reluctantly, she handed the ear bud back to Tilly.

  ‘Hi, I’m Marlee,’ she said shyly, smiling at Fizz.

  Fizz winked, raising a finger slightly in acknowledgment.

  ‘Great music!’ Tilly passed it back to Fizz. ‘I haven’t heard of half those bands.’

  ‘So take it for a few days,’ Fizz said. She pushed the player into Tilly’s hand. ‘Give it back to me at the end of the week.’

  ‘No! I couldn’t take that. You’d go crazy without your music.’

  ‘Nah, that’s okay. This is a second-hand one I picked up when I got back to Diamond Beach. I was just giving it a try-out. It’s got a good little sound.’ She stretched, unfolded her legs. ‘I’m going for a few waves. Coming?’

  Tilly ran her finger over the initials MF scratched under the iPod screen and turned towards her friend inquiringly. Marlee squirmed, unable to look at her, unable to look at Kyle, who was out of the water and headed their way. She edged backwards. ‘Bye, Til. I’ve got stuff to do.’ She turned quickly and crossed the road.

  Tilly, torn between Marlee and Fizz, checked her watch as the final decider. ‘Okay, I’ve got time for a surf but it’ll have to be quick. I’m s’posed to be home for some lunch thing. Hey, Marlee,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll come round later.’

  Marlee tapped on Evelyn’s door. ‘Hello, Marlee. I’m glad you decided to come.’ Evelyn led her through the house to a warm, sunny room out the back.

  ‘Is Fran home?’ Marlee kicked off her shoes, waiting for instructions.

  ‘No. She’s still at the markets. So …’ Evelyn indicated for Marlee to sit on the yoga mat and settled herself on the floor. ‘Ready to give this a try?’ Marlee nodded, not sure what to expect. ‘Just try and relax and let all your thoughts drift away so your focus is on your breathing. Then later on we’ll start to focus on your surfing.’

  Evelyn crossed her legs. Her eyelids folded down like shutters, shoulders pulled back, hands relaxed in her lap, motionless, like a statue you could pick up and place under a leafy branch in the garden.

  Taking her lead from Evelyn, Marlee closed her eyes too, expecting the same serenity to drift over her, but the inside of her head had other ideas. Coloured patterns flashed across the inside of her eyelids and thought bubbles burst like popcorn. All the people she liked and some she didn’t were in there. She never realised that that’s where they hung out.

  She squirmed and wriggled on her mat. Even though her eyes were closed they only masked a peak hour of thoughts rushing about inside. In real life she could avoid Kyle and his cold, distant looks that cut through her. She’d changed to a later school bus, often surfed further up the beach, and ducked into doorways at school if she saw him coming, but in this floaty world Evelyn had introduced her to she saw his soft, gentle expression and it took her breath away. If felt like she and Kyle were two planets set to orbit each other endlessly without ever touching.

  Marlee struggled, the restlessness running through her body, occasionally opening an eye to watch Evelyn. But Evelyn didn’t move except for breathing, and even that was barely discernible.

  After twenty minutes Evelyn said softly, ‘Okay, that’s enough to s
tart with. How do you feel?’

  Marlee shrugged. ‘Crazy.’ It was the most truthful thing she could think of to say.

  Evelyn smiled. ‘It is at first. But the mind’s a powerful thing. It can make all the difference to your performance.’

  Marlee didn’t want to be rude to Evelyn but she was stumped. How was fidgeting on a mat with her eyes shut going to make her surf better? She just didn’t get it. If this was Evelyn’s strategy for changing the way she surfed, then she’d better start thinking about a Plan B.

  Tilly’s arms ached as she carried her board up the beach. She never expected that Fizz would push her so much and the last few sprint paddles had worn her out. She was fun, though, and Tilly readily agreed to be available whenever Fizz was around. Passing the picnic table, Tilly thought again about Marlee’s iPod. Marlee would never part with her iPod. Something was wrong and she had to find out what.

  As she neared home, she wondered about lunch and why her father was making such a big deal about it. She threw her towel on the line, rinsed her board, then ran inside across the carpet, still wet, hoping her father wouldn’t catch her before she reached the shower.

  The house looked like it had been spruced up for visitors. A large bunch of flowers dominated the sideboard but, in spite of that, the space seemed empty. Something was not right. The family photos had gone. Tilly looked around anxiously until she spotted them crowded onto a small corner table in the lounge, then marched across the room, collected them in her arms, and carefully rearranged them back where they belonged, indignation burning inside her. Barb’s idea, she presumed.

  She took her time in the shower, letting it steam up good and proper, rubbing extra shampoo into the huge knot at the back of her head until her arms ached. And she continued to fume. No-one got it. Not even Marlee. No-one could see how that woman has weaseled her way into the family. The kitchen had been reorganised, dinners cooked, stove cleaned, laundry folded and photos moved – like she was taking over and eradicating all signs of the past. Tilly was not going to stick around and celebrate with someone like that.

  She stepped onto the bath mat and dried off, ignoring the tantalising smell of lunch drifting into the bathroom. She unscrewed Barb’s tiny jar of expensive face cream, gouging out a handful from the centre and lathering it carelessly across her face and neck.

  As Tilly wandered back through the lounge she flicked her wet towel across the back of Sam’s legs, annoyed that he was setting the table. ‘Owww! What was that for?’ he asked, rubbing his leg.

  ‘Just cos.’ Tilly slammed her bedroom door, threw her wet towel across the window ledge and dressed quickly. She’d go to Marlee’s before Phil and Barb came out of the kitchen. But she wasn’t quick enough. Sam was already sitting down and Barb and Phil were putting freshly grilled snapper, an avocado and tomato salad with lots of red onion – just how she liked it – and a bowl of roasted potatoes on the table. She glanced at it hungrily, ignoring her rumbling stomach. ‘Bye, have fun,’ she said, heading for the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Phil asked, surprised.

  Tilly kept moving. ‘Something’s come up. I have to see Marlee. Besides, I’m not hungry,’ she lied. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  Barb sat down, her back to Tilly.

  ‘Stop!’ Phil ordered. ‘Barb cooked lunch for us. She asked if you’d be here and you said yes. I heard the conversation so don’t even try to deny it.’ He pulled a chair out. ‘Sit down and have lunch. You can go to Marlee’s later.’

  Tilly hesitated, but kept backing towards the door.

  ‘I SAID SIT!’ Phil roared. ‘And don’t be so disrespectful. I will not stand for it.’

  Tilly glared at her father. ‘Fine.’ She stomped towards the table, ignoring the chair Phil had pulled out, and sat next to Sam.

  While the drama was going on, Sam had used the opportunity to pile his plate high with food. He passed what was left of the salad to Tilly, who scooped a few pieces of tomato onto her plate. Phil leaned across the table and filled her plate with fish and roasted potatoes. His face was flushed, angry. He pushed the plate across the table to Tilly. ‘Eat.’

  Trying to resurrect a celebratory mood, Phil pulled a bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket and poured himself and Barbara a glass and a taste for Sam and Tilly. He raised his glass and said, ‘Barb kindly made lunch today to celebrate me signing the contract for the new school at Rocky Point. So here’s thanks to Barb and cheers to our new business.’

  Sam raised his glass. Barb smiled, her face pale, and raised hers too. Tilly didn’t bother. She drank down her mouthful of champagne in one gulp, then reached across the table and refilled her glass, ignoring the warning look from Phil.

  ‘Jamie dropped by today,’ said Sam. Tilly, drinking her champagne, didn’t respond. ‘He was looking for you,’ Sam continued. ‘Said he’s rung a few times but you haven’t called back.’ Tilly felt a little dizzy and when she looked at Sam his face was centimetres away. She leaned back so she could see him more clearly. ‘What’s the deal?’ Sam asked. ‘Are you ignoring him?’

  ‘No,’ she said, more forcefully than she intended. ‘Not that it’s your business anyway.’

  ‘Okay, sorry I asked.’ Sam rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t need to bite my head off. You finished with that?’ He pointed his knife to Tilly’s half-eaten lunch and pulled the plate towards him while Tilly drained the rest of her drink.

  Phil reached for the champagne bottle at the same time that Tilly did. ‘Enough,’ he said firmly, moving the ice bucket out of reach.

  Tilly drummed her fingers on the table. ‘So, new school, huh? That’s great.’ She rested back in her chair and felt the room tilt slightly. ‘So let me get this right. You put in an offer for a new school, it gets accepted, sign the contract and don’t even bother to tell us until you’ve wrapped up the deal.’ Tilly propped her elbows on the table, looking at her father. ‘How come Sam and me are the last to find out? Don’t we count anymore?’

  ‘Matilda,’ Phil’s tone was cold, ‘today was meant to be a celebration to tell you.’

  Tilly, slightly tipsy, stood abruptly, upsetting her chair. It toppled backwards and the room fell silent. ‘I hate the way our family’s changed since Mum died,’ she blurted out loudly.

  Phil put his knife and fork down slowly, his jaw pulsing with anger. Tilly watched him struggle to maintain his control, taken aback by his reaction. After a long pause he said quietly, ‘Hate is not a word that we use in this house. Not now, not ever. Go away until you can improve your behaviour, Tilly. I’m bitterly disappointed in you.’

  With an extra flick of the wrist Tilly made the screen door slam nice and hard, and she congratulated herself as she dropped into her chair, knees pushed against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs to make a tight ball, as though that’d stop the fury inside from exploding. Angry tears streamed down her face as she thought about the disintegration of her family and everything she held dear. Barb did not belong here breaking the three of them up. And her father had no right taking Barb’s side over hers. But even so the look of disappointment on her father’s face stung and, when the anger faded, the hurt took its place.

  The afternoon breeze, a southerly, made her shiver and she snuggled into the blanket, pulling the soft fabric high up under her chin, angling herself into a warm blade of sunshine. She wouldn’t go inside – not that she was welcome there anyway. She listened to the gulls crying overhead and gradually drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  She didn’t hear the screen door open, or the chair grate over the wooden boards, but stirred slightly at the gentle touch of fingers in her hair, gradually waking as a stream of liquid laced across the top of her head. It was cool, delicious and smelled of roses, and Tilly enjoyed the sensation, tension draining from her shoulders as hands gently massaged conditioner through layers of hair down to the massive knot still sitting stiff and stubborn under the surface.

  By now she’d woken enough to know that the scented cream was Barb
’s. Sleepily, Tilly shifted to get more comfortable and noticed Barb’s white skirt near the chair and, even though she wanted to jump up and leave, she was too tired to move, the sensation of having her head rubbed too nice. She feigned sleep while Barb’s fingers, firm and reassuring, massaged her head, making Tilly feel warm and filled up, an emotion she’d forgotten after her mother became ill. But why would Barb want to be anywhere near her after the things she’d said? Eventually she asked, confused, ‘Aren’t you mad at me?’

  ‘No,’ said Barb emphatically. ‘But you do dig yourself into a hole sometimes.’ There was a resigned patience in Barb’s voice, even a touch of amusement.

  Tilly sat up a little. ‘Why are you so nice to me?’

  Barb poured more cream into her hand and lifted Tilly’s hair. She leaned forward so she could look directly at Tilly then said gently, ‘Because I lost my mother when I was a girl too.’

  Fresh tears filled Tilly’s eyes. Deep shame, understanding and an ongoing ache from somewhere inside knotted her throat. She tried to force them back but the tears spilled down her cheeks and Tilly no longer had the energy to stop them. Barb’s fingers eased the strands of hair gently apart, working in the cream while Tilly fought the surges of emotion running through her. Finally she managed to say, ‘Does it ever stop hurting?’

  ‘No,’ Barb said softly. ‘But after a while you stop being so angry with everyone.’

  Tilly lifted her hand up and Barb placed a creamy hand in hers. Tilly gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry.’