Losing Faith (Surfers Way)

by Jennifer Ryder

  I wipe my jacket sleeve under my eye and draw in a shaky breath. “Heaven is lucky to have an angel like you.” My voice chokes as I prepare for my final words. “You’ll forever be in our hearts. Best friends forever.”

  I turn to Mack and pull her into a bear hug. Tears barrel down my cheeks, smearing against hers as I hold her tight.

  “Thank you,” she breathes. I can’t even respond for fear of choking and spluttering into a bout of ugly-crying, in front of everyone.

  We slowly step down from the podium. Mack returns to her seat beside her family, and I sit between Mum and Dad. My parents take a hold of my hands, their firm grips steadying me as the emotions of the day try to strangle me.

  ---

  I close the squeaky door of the cubby house behind me. This was our go-to place. All three of us would retreat to the wooden hut in Faith’s backyard. For the better part of our primary school years, we practically lived here. I used to grip a hold of the doorframe, protesting when Mum came to take me home.

  I trace my fingers over each of our names etched into a giant pink graffiti heart on the plaster wall. In our younger years, it said ‘Best friends forever’, but before the end of high school, ‘friends’ was crossed out and ‘bitches’ scrawled in its place.

  Below our names are at least a dozen smaller hearts where over the years, each of us declared our crushes. For me, there was only one. ‘I <3 O’, but it was meant to be a Q. Mack and Faith thought I meant Ollie Stevenson, but when he came out of the closet, the jig was up. I never wrote another one after that. I could never declare my feelings for Quade because I couldn’t bring myself to tell one of my best friends that I had a whale-sized crush on her brother. It wasn’t a crush. I was in love with him. I’m guessing that’s what love feels like—when your heart hurts like a mo-fo each time you see them and you desperately wonder if they feel the same way or if you’re just a stupid teenage stalker.

  I run my finger over Faith’s heart drawing, representing her love for Byron. A week ago, they were going to take it all the way. Faith never got to lose it; instead, she lost everything. Her future. Her dreams. Her life.

  Life sucks so hard. Of all the people who deserved happiness, who had everything going for them, life was taken from her, leaving a whole town in mourning in its wake.

  I plonk myself down on the small white timber bench seat, take the bottle of Midori out of my bag and crack the seal. Please let each gulp of this sugary green liquid make me forget. The blood. The glass. Her hair matted with clumps of red.

  Her eyes …

  When two-thirds of the bottle is gone the dizziness sets in. Where is Mack? Why was she in such a hurry to leave? We were once three, inseparable, and now I’m here … all alone. I never thought our summer would start like this. We had our whole lives ahead of us. We were going to tackle it together. I know I have no idea what I want to do with my life, but Faith was the one friend I relied upon to push me, to stand beside me. Who’s going to push me now? Who can I trust with all my weaknesses, my fears? No one understands me like Faith did. Mack and I are close, but not like Faith and I.

  Hot tears stream down my cheeks and once the blubbering starts, so does the ugly-crying. I would have thought the last week would have dried up any tear reserves, but they just keep on coming.

  A light knock on the door has me sniffing back a cavalcade of snot. I wipe my eyes with the sleeves of my black jacket.

  “What?” I grunt out. I don’t care who’s out there. I need time in here alone. Unless it’s Mack, and I’ll apologise for yelling, but then again she left as soon as the service at the cemetery was over. It wouldn’t be her. I can’t believe she’s moving to Sydney early. We were supposed to have the summer together. The three of us.

  Today Mack was so quiet. I swear she’s dropped a few kilos in the last week. I totally get that because my appetite is non-existent. Yet I insist on drinking a stupid amount on an empty stomach.

  The door creaks on its hinges as it’s slowly pushed open.

  When I see his familiar dreamy face, I swallow down a sob. I need to keep myself together. He’s lost his sister, and I can’t even comprehend how that would crush your world. That usual sparkle in his eyes is lost, and his face looks as though it would crack if he so much as tried to smile. He’s a ghost of the outgoing guy I’ve known pretty much my whole life.

  “Didn’t you see the ‘no boys’ sign on the door?” I choke out, wiping the wetness from my cheeks.

  “I’m not a boy.” He’s got me. Quade is far from a boy, and that is more than evident in the cut of the black suit he’s wearing.

  He sits beside me, the bench wobbling with both our weight. “You’re drinking?” he asks, in the “big brother” tone he used to take with Faith when he’d find us from time to time out here sneaking a swig.

  “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “We both know how this will end. You can’t handle your booze.”

  He’s right. I’ve puked in his garden more times than I care to count. Once he had to sober me up and walk me home because the other girls were in the same state and useless to help.

  “I don’t know what else to do.”

  He tugs the bottle from my stiff grip and sets it down beside his black leather shoes. “How about not drinking, then?”

  I loop my hand through the crook in his arm and lean my head against his shoulder. As I take in slow breaths, his divine aftershave teases at my nostrils. Holy hell he smells delish. I will myself not to break down. I know he saw me ugly-cry that night, but I don’t ever want to do it in front of him again.

  “Thank you for saying something today,” he says and clears his throat. Quade loosens his tie and rubs his straightened fingers across his creased brow. “I wanted to …. I just couldn’t.”

  I place my hand on his shoulder. “No one blames you for not being able to.”

  “Nah, they blame me for other things.” He shakes his head and rests his elbows on his knees, knotting his long fingers together in front of him.

  I turn to him and stare him down. “Who and what on earth are they blaming you for?”

  A heavy sigh leaves his lips, but the tension doesn’t budge from his broad shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I weave my hand between his and he grips it, so hard that I fear he’ll cut off my circulation. I don’t move because the distraction and the pain feels good. For a million years I wanted to hold his hand, but never, ever like this. His pain and sorrow bleed into my fingers, seeping into my bloodstream and choking the pathways to my heart.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, but I know the answer. Quade remains silent for the longest time, staring at the chipped timber wall behind me. Did he hear what I said?

  “My baby sister is gone. Nothing about that is okay.” He swipes the wetness from his flushed cheeks and storms from the cubby house. “I came to tell you that I’m leaving tonight. I can’t be here.”

  “You’re going?” I call out after him, my voice more of a shriek as it chokes under the fear of losing him too.

  He doesn’t turn back, leaving me more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  I turn to the one friend I have left.

  Midori is her name.

  ---

  I wake the next morning with a slamming headache and a warm body lying next to me. Oh no. Even though he’s face down, arms gripped around his pillow, with that wavy chocolate hair I know exactly who it is.

  The last thing I remember I was in the cubby house ... I went in search for more alcohol and then …

  My stomach does a giant back-flip and I cover my mouth, sure that I’m going to vomit. The wave doesn’t come, but a deep ache centres in my heart.

  He was getting in his car out the front of the Kelly house when I stumbled down the driveway. I asked him to drive me to the shops. He comforted me when no one else was around. He was nice, but then what on earth happened?

  I sit up and look beneath the bed sheet. I’m naked and droplets of dark
blood stain the striped sheets, a smear crusting against my inner thighs. Oh God. Muscles ache down there that shouldn’t. My heart hammers in my chest and I clutch at my throat as I struggle for breath. No.

  I lost my virginity to Jamie Fairfield.

  My heart sinks into a pit of bubbling acid in my stomach. I was saving myself for Quade.

  What have I done?

  Wait.

  Did we even use protection?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Almost three years later

  Four sharp knocks land on the glass sliding door to my granny flat. Mum’s knock.

  I’ve lived out here for years, and I love how she still gives me my privacy and knocks. It’s not like I have boys in here, Mum.

  “Come in, Mum,” I call as I flesh out a paragraph in my final assignment for the year, which is due soon.

  The glass door slides across and Mum appears. She’s wearing her pale blue scrubs, and her greying blonde hair is pulled up into a loose bun. Ready for another shift at the hospital. I don’t know how she does it sometimes. She’s already worked a good five hours helping Dad in the shop this morning, and then she entertained my baby while my head was buried in my laptop. I’m convinced my mother is Wonder Woman.

  “There’s a certain little someone who’s been turning the house upside-down, busting to see you.”

  My heart aches the moment I think of his dark chocolate eyes and fluffy brown hair. Then the guilt sets in. “Sorry, Mum. I feel awful, but I had to get this done. I promise I’ll make it up to him with snuggles later. Has he been okay?”

  “Charlie clearly likes spending more time with you than with us.”

  Awwwww. “Who knew poodles were so fussy?” I joke with a shrug. “I promise I’ll take him for a long walk tomorrow.”

  “Sounds lovely. Can you please bring him in now though, because Fran from work is on her way over for a coffee. We know how Charlie hates humans.”

  “No worries.”

  Mum takes a look at her pocket watch. “It’s going on four o’clock. Your father will be expecting you soon, sweet,” she says, and then steps over the destruction of dirty clothes strewn across the floor.

  I grit my teeth to stop myself from whining. Sure I get paid but I have stuff to read. Dad needs me. Plus, I haven’t eaten much today, and I reckon I could swallow the house special in a minute flat. The perks of working in the family pizzeria.

  “I know. I just need a few more minnies and then I’m gone. Promise.”

  “Lacey, I hate to nag, but you know what I’ve said to you about your clothes.”

  Don’t roll your eyes at her.

  Blink. Blink.

  I divert my attention from the glowing screen once more and give her a cheesy smile. “Yeah, I know. They won’t wash themselves. I’ll do laundry tomorrow. I promise. It’s a done deal.”

  “Okay then.” Her jasmine perfume wafts around me as she leans down and kisses me on top of my head. “You’ve had your head buried for weeks on the computer. Same assignment?”

  Since I started my diploma, Mum and Dad have been nothing but supportive. For the past two years, even though I’ve tried to hide my motivation for taking up studies in this field, I can tell that they’ve known. My parents back me and Dad, much to my surprise, hasn’t given me grief about working less hours in the shop. What with it being a family business and all, and with my love-sick older brother, Ricky, overseas, I was sure the pressure would be on me to spend more time in the shop, but they’ve just kind of let me … evolve. Let me work out what I want to do. It means the whole frickin’ world. I just wish part of my evolution into grown-up land wasn’t as a result of losing Faith.

  “Yeah, same one. I’ve got a bit to go yet. Sorry. I’ve kind of only been coming into the house for food lately.” Who knew that the Australian legal system could hold my undivided attention? The Parliament stuff I could do without. It has me to the point of tears at times, but it’s the court stuff that holds my attention. The coroner’s court in particular.

  “Don’t be sorry, sweet. I’m proud of you. We both are.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” On her way out, she whisks the clothes off the floor and piles them on top of the other clothes already overflowing from my wash basket.

  Tomorrow. Washing.

  ---

  Five hours later, the smell of wood-fire clings to my skin and clothes. It was busy tonight, but I wasn’t completely run off my feet. Aunt Cat helped out with phone orders and the register, clearing the tables in the courtyard during quieter times. Sometimes the customers have trouble understanding her thick Italian accent, but the English lessons she’s taking are really helping.

  Right on schedule, a familiar man in uniform enters the shop, fifteen minutes before closing. His bald head gleams beneath the fluorescent lights as he stands at the cash register.

  “How are you?” I ask Sergeant Wilson, as I dust the flour off my hands onto my apron and walk towards him.

  “Fine, thanks. Is my order ready yet?”

  I have to try and hold back a grin. He doesn’t want small talk. He wants to get straight down to business, but he should know by now that I’ll never give up the fight. “Just coming out of the oven.”

  “Lovely.” He hands me the correct change and takes a step to the side, as if he’s going to sit in one of the chairs we have reserved for pick-ups. Not so fast, buddy. You’re forgetting something.

  “Any new leads?” I enquire, just like always.

  He halts and turns to face me. “You know I can’t discuss that with you, Lacey.” He switches the volume down on his two-way radio, which is fixed to his hip, and then looks back up at me.

  I nod and force a smile. “I know. I just have to ask.”

  “I understand, love.”

  Dad boxes up the policeman’s margherita and vegetarian pizzas and slides them towards me. When I hand Wilson his order, he tilts his head to the side and blinks, staring at me. Am I wearing flour or tomato sauce on my face?

  He opens his mouth as if he’s about to tell me something. My breath hitches. What is it? Do they have more information? Does he have news? Without a single word, his lips come together and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile. My shoulders drop. He’s not sharing tonight.

  “See you same time next week,” he says. His heavy boots clod on the tiled floor and the bell rings, declaring his exit.

  “Give the man a break, Peppi,” Dad says and juts his chin towards the front door.

  “Dad,” I groan. By responding to him in this tone, which I know is kind of disrespectful, means he knows exactly what I’m saying. I’ll keep pushing. I won’t give up. In time, someone will pay. In time, we’ll have answers.

  Dad shakes his head and sets about cleaning the topping station.

  I head out back and fill up a bucket with hot soapy water and collect the broom and mop from the back room by the rear door.

  Seeing as there are no customers in the shop and we’re about to close, I pile the white plastic chairs into stacks, sweep the floor and then start mopping.

  “Looks like young Quade’s back in town, Peppi,” Dad says, causing my head to swing at lightning speed towards him. Dad nods towards the street.

  The mere mention of his name has my legs rooted to the floor. Blood charges to my face. Three long years, and still my stomach does this weird flippy thing that only Quade Kelly has the power to cause.

  The wake was the last time I saw him. To be more accurate, it was about five minutes before I defiled his mother’s herb garden, hurling. Probably another reason why I wasn’t welcome back after that. I miss that cubby house. It was the go-to place for us girls to hang out, talk about stuff and just be … us. Those memories are tainted with the memory of me drunk, sulking and bleeding tears. That day, Quade was in a world of hurt. He wasn’t coping. Dark rings hung from his eyes, and he looked empty. How have the years treated him? Is he okay? Has he been able to bridge the gap with his
parents? Have they realised that whether he either did, or didn’t do something, that inevitably he wasn’t at fault?

  The last I heard about Quade was that he was in a relationship, which broke my heart. A few months ago Mum overhead Mrs Kelly at the chemist, talking about how serious things were with Quade and his soon-to-be-fiancée, Nari, and how she was sure it wouldn’t be long before there’d be wedding bells and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. I had to fight back the tears that night, because I’d always thought news like that about Quade would involve me.

  I wasn’t expecting him to stay single forever. I’d be delusional if I did. I guess it’s more the point of me being disappointed with the fact that we never got to move our relationship forward. We would’ve been so good together.

  Aunt Cat goes outside to tidy the courtyard while I finish the floor, taking my time wiping down the counter-tops before I dare look outside. Just knowing he’s there has my heart beating like a trapped bird flapping its wings—desperate and out of control. Heat prickles at my face and I’d bet my life a blotchy rash is spreading across my chest. With any luck, my round-necked black T-shirt will cover most of it.

  When I look through the glass door, the first thing that grabs my attention is that smile. I swear that damn smile and those pearly whites are eighty per cent of the reason I’ve crushed on him. I can’t see the dimples due to the distance between us, but I know they’re there too. The butterflies in my stomach come to life as he lifts his square jaw in a silent acknowledgment, and then runs his outstretched fingers through his chestnut brown hair which has a touch of lightness at the ends. Does he still spend as much time at the beach as he used to? Ay yai yai.