‘Be serious.’
‘I am. A cheap reno, rustic tables, a small daily menu featuring the day’s freshest seafood straight from those trawlers. Jake’s Beach Shack Café. Ta-dum!’
‘Dream on, little brother. All I’m doing at this stage is looking. I thought being here might help me decide what to do about the information in the letter.’
Jake pressed a calloused hand over the creased envelope Sidney had found while transferring paper from the kitchen bin to the recycling container. She had been tsking to herself, muttering something along the lines of How hard can it be to put paper in the recycling, Mum? With the recycling bin already bursting with wine cartons and discarded tissue boxes, she had started tearing and flattening them when the note fell out of a tissue box and floated down to land on her foot. The sight of her father’s name on the envelope, and the handwritten forwarding address, had piqued her curiosity. More than ten years had passed since his death. Why, or more importantly how, would someone know to forward a letter to his wife in the Blue Mountains?
‘And do you know where the Mid North Coast Correctional Centre is in relation to where we are now?’ Jake asked.
‘About an hour’s drive inland.’
‘And the solicitor has addressed the letter to Dad so they assume he’s still around.’
‘And whatever happened between Dad and his parents must’ve been more serious than them not being keen on his choice of a wife, as Mum tells it. We’ll have to take things one step at a time so we don’t tread on anyone’s toes.’
Jake sat up straight, launching into his all-too-common meerkat pose. ‘We?’
‘You don’t have to stay, or get involved,’ Sid smirked, sounding deliberately cocky. ‘I’m happy to get in our grandfather’s good books all on my own. I’ll let you know how things go.’
‘Yeah, sure you will. That’ll be like the tooth fairy all over again.’
‘I’m serious, Jake. Give me a few days to arrange a visit to the jail, then you can take my car if you want to head off.’
‘You want to stay here so much you’ll let me take your new car?’
‘Now you know why I insisted on bringing my bike. I can get by on that if you decide to go on to Byron to check things out.’
‘And you’re planning to cycle that thing all the way back to the Blue Mountains when you’re done?’ Jake chuckled. Then his head cocked to one side. ‘Come to think of it, sis, you’re starting to look a bit beefy in the backside. Some exercise might help keep that middle-aged spread at bay.’
‘Thirty-five is hardly middle-aged. You’ll know that yourself in ten years. And nothing’s spreading, thanks very much.’
‘Something’s different about you. I mean, what’s with the soft drink? Unless . . . Hey, are you preggers? That would account for the humungous arse you’ve been cultivating.’
‘Very funny.’ Sid spoke down at the loose-fitting top she thought hid her belly quite well. ‘Wondered when you’d notice.’
‘Ha! My big sis is going to be a mum. Woo hoo!’
‘Shh, Jake,’ she said with a finger pressing against her lips. Sid wasn’t announcing her pregnancy to all and sundry yet. At her last visit the doctor had been a bit concerned about the baby’s small size. He was monitoring both Sid and her little bump carefully, but Jake didn’t need to know that detail, in case he told their mother, who would surely have something to say about Sidney not taking care of herself properly. ‘I figured if you hadn’t worked it out by the time the kid turned one I’d have to tell you.’
‘Oh, you’re hilarious, Sid. Cheers, big ears!’ Jake raised his glass and Sid realised how lucky she was to have him as a brother.
‘Yes, so, like I was saying . . . I can take the train back from here, or if the timing’s right you can collect me on your way south.’
‘Hmm.’ For a moment Jake seemed to contemplate his options, but then he grinned at her. ‘I’m your brother and you’re preggers. No way are you getting a train.’
‘Pregnant ladies catch trains all the time, Jake.’
‘Yeah, well, not my sister. And stay off the bike.’
Sid smiled. ‘Pregnant women can also still ride bikes.’
‘No one in their right mind would ride a bike in this town. Look at those hills.’
Sidney squinted into the sienna-coloured fireball of sun now scorching the hilltops gold. The mountainous terrain sure was steep. Perhaps she should’ve anticipated as much when her quick Google search described Watercolour Cove not as a town but as a tourist attraction–the actual point where the Great Dividing Range escarpment meets Australia’s east coast.
Jake got up to go to the bar. ‘One for the road?’ he asked Sid, but she shook her head and he walked off.
The final arc of sun behind the range was barely hanging on, the hills now a dark backdrop to the small seaside town nestled at their base. From the closed-in deck of the club, Sid peered beyond the smeared plastic awning and through the sea mist at the fuzzy yellow lights of the village. One by one lamps flicked on, lighting the breakwall walk, while the crescent-shaped cove fell into darkness, only the white crests of small waves visible where they rolled onto the shore.
‘Starry night,’ she said as her brother returned with his second beer. ‘It’ll be cold.’
‘Not in Byron.’ Jake’s cheeky grin was so wide Sid could feel it spreading to her own face.
She poked out her tongue and wrapped her jacket around her body before pointing at the speck glowing at the top of the dark mountain range behind the town. At first she’d thought the spot was a star. ‘See that tiny light? On the highest peak?’
‘Sure. What about it?’
‘I wonder what sort of person would want to live up there?’
‘Easy answer,’ Jake said. ‘Someone who doesn’t ride a bloody bike!’
2
The Greenhill Banana Plantation, 1979
‘Get off those bikes, you two, and help Albie and Matthew. These bananas aren’t going to pack themselves. And put your jumper on, David, or you’ll catch your death.’
‘Yeah, moron, what Dad said. It’s winter now. Or maybe you’re planning on painting yourself some sunshine.’
Tilly shot David’s older brother a look, wishing his father hadn’t been in earshot so she could deliver the mouthful of expletives Matthew’s wisecrack deserved.
‘Hey, Dad,’ David said, ignoring his brother. ‘You’ll never guess what Tilly and me did today.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I can, boy.’ He looked at his teenage son with a mix of love and tolerance.
‘Let’s show him, Tilly.’ David was already flipping open the satchel that hung by her side. She always draped the bag with the strap between her breasts to make them look bigger and now David’s hands were inside the bag and grabbing the sketchpad. He put a drawing on an upturned box where his father stood de-handing bananas from thick stems with a thin-bladed knife. ‘Look,’ he said, stepping back as if critically appraising the artwork. ‘I was teaching Tilly about the rule of reflection. How everything has one.’
‘One what, son?’
‘A reflection, Dad.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Of course. I’m planning on a study in reflection for my final year assessment work at school. See this?’ David pressed his finger at a point on the drawing. ‘If an object leans to the left its reflection will also lean to the left.’
Tilly wished David wouldn’t show her drawings to anyone, especially with his brother so close. Without even looking, she knew Matthew and the other workers in the packing shed would be grinning and rolling their eyes at each other.
‘Reckon she learns quick, Dad?’
‘If you say so, son. Now, I want you cleaned up quick smart. Wash the charcoal off your face and hands before you touch the bananas.’
‘Yeah, no marked bananas here, hey, Albie?’ Matthew and his packer mates grinned like the idiots they were, shoving each other in a silent show of solidarity. More like stupidity, T
illy mused. ‘And no Marhkt bananas either,’ Matthew added.
Morons! Tilly turned around to poke out her tongue at them, and at Albie Marhkt for letting them make fun of his surname.
‘Back to work you lot. And Tilly?’
She turned, and in a voice sweeter than the scent on Mrs Hill’s favourite roses, said, ‘Yes, Mr Hill?’
‘I’d be giving your hands a good scrub before your mother sees you, too.’
‘Okay.’ Tilly rammed her hands in the pockets of her pants and looked across at David, who was already doing what he’d been told, his hands in a lather of soap over the washbasin at the rear of the shed. No one had to tell David twice. At seventeen, two years her junior, he was the good and obedient son–and smart. She’d figured that out the very first time she saw him, in 1974. She’d been fourteen years old at the time Ulf had introduced them on the steep trip up the Greenhill plantation road.
Tilly fingered the lumps of charcoal in her pockets, knowing she’d be in trouble for getting her pants dirty–not that she cared about Hilda’s rants. Trouble and Tilly went hand in hand and she had bigger problems than grubby trousers. Five years on she was still here, still stuck on this mountain. David at least made things bearable.
She turned toward his older brother, Matthew, and then looked at Albie, David’s best friend, who lived with her on the Marhkts’ plantation next door. With a quick flick of her middle finger, she strutted up the hill to the fork in the road that would take her home.
• • •
The smell of smoked haddock made her want to gag as she sneaked through the front door and down the hall on tiptoes, keen to reach the bathroom and see her face before Hilda did.
‘I’m a Zebra!’ she said, quickly grabbing the face washer from the shower and scrubbing back and forth over her forehead, down her nose and across both cheeks until her skin tingled.
She and David had been down by the sea drawing, too engrossed to notice the time. They’d panicked, tossing pens and paper and pastels into their satchels before racing to their bikes at the start of the breakwall. David had chased Tilly, who–lighter, nimbler and faster–had managed to stay well ahead at the start. But running and laughing slowed her down, and as David closed in, Tilly faked a stumble and fell to the ground, grasping an ankle with both hands and crying out.
‘Are you okay?’ he’d asked, panting for breath when he reached her, worry streaked across his brow as his hands–soft and sexy–gently prodded her ankle to look for swelling.
Tilly’s first response was a whimper and a puckered face to squeeze fake tears to the surface, knowing David would draw close and she could stroke his cheeks.
‘I am now.’ She barely managed to hold back a grin as her charcoal fingers laid stripes with each caress. ‘I love the way you look after me,’ she managed to say straight-faced.
‘Can you walk okay?’
She was tempted to say ‘no, you’ll have to carry me’, only David wasn’t like his brother–tall and athletic like a lot of the men in Dinghy Bay, a small town surviving on a mix of commercial fishing and the banana industry. Tilly had no doubt David could support her weight. In fact, she’d enjoy the feel of his arms wrapped around her. She wanted nothing more than to have his hands touch her in places he hadn’t yet dared. But that wasn’t part of her plan right now.
‘Maybe some water?’ She thrust the small plastic drink flask in his direction. ‘Can you fill this from the bubbler on the breakwall?’
He trotted off dutifully, and within seconds Tilly was up and running, squealing in joyful victory as David yelled, ‘Hey, that’s cheating. Wait till I catch you.’
She beat him back to the pushbikes and stopped, knowing when David caught up he’d grab her, tickle her and she’d get to tickle him back. They’d played those kinds of games for years, although lately Tilly had noticed the tickles seemed to be lingering a little longer in some places. Once on their bikes she’d let him lead the way to the bottom of the plantation road where they’d again stop and regroup before tackling the steep track up the mountain on foot.
They had spent a little too long down by the cove that afternoon, too caught up in leaving their mark on the most out-of-the-way rock on the breakwall. They’d started their pastel drawing escapades years before, climbing down at low tide to the rocks closest to the waterline where they’d remain out of sight, and the high tide would wash away the evidence. Some locals called David and Tilly vandals, their work graffiti. That only encouraged the pair.
‘One day I’m going to choose the biggest rock on the wall and I’m going to paint you a message that will last forever,’ David had said earlier that day. ‘And I won’t care if everyone sees it.’
‘What will the message say?’ Tilly had asked.
‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’
3
Watercolour Cove, 2015
‘Wait?’ Jake’s outburst caused curious glances from the other Fisho’s Club patrons at the bar. ‘For how long, sis?’
Sidney shrugged and slid her phone back in her pocket. ‘How should I know? I asked for him by name and enquired about visiting and the woman on the other end of the telephone said someone would phone me back in business hours.’
‘They have business hours?’
‘A prison isn’t like a hotel. I guess they don’t transfer phone calls to cells or have twenty-four hour concierge.’ Sid’s smile was short-lived. ‘It was dumb to even ring at this time of night. Besides, they probably have to verify callers. Make sure we’re legit.’
‘You didn’t ask anything about him.’
‘They’re hardly going to say much over the phone, Jake, and I wasn’t about to cross-examine the woman.’
‘But you interrogate so well.’
‘Very funny.’ Sid stared at the now pitch-black cove over her brother’s shoulder. ‘Here I was thinking the hardest part was deciding what to say to the man.’
‘Getting to see him is going to prove harder still. Maybe we have to rob a bank to get inside the joint.’
‘Hmm.’ Sid didn’t laugh. She’d lost her sense of humour when she’d lost her job, her partner of seven years, and most of her friends.
‘Why do you want to see him so badly, Sid? Did it bother you, not having a proper family and grandparents and all that? I never thought you really cared.’
‘At school sometimes, hearing the other girls talk about having a big extended family and sisters to borrow clothes from. You?’
‘Massive family feasts would’ve been pretty cool. All of us sitting at a huge table picking at platters. The worst thing was seeing so few people at Dad’s funeral,’ Jake said, serious now. ‘Having no one from his side of the family made the whole thing sadder.’
‘Most of the family died young. Isn’t that what we were told growing up?’
‘Yeah, and I used to believe what I was told. Like I believed you about the bloody tooth fairy.’ Her brother rolled his eyes.
‘This isn’t a joking matter, Jake.’
‘Neither is upsetting Mum. Maybe you should give up on the idea.’
‘We’re here now and with the jail not far away I could drive there tomorrow. Fronting up and making enquiries in person, and with ID, might speed up the process, or even clear us for visiting on the spot. But if we have to wait, all joking about inheritances aside, I really am happy to wait on my own.’
Jake eyed his sister. ‘No. I’ll hang around Watercolour Cove, too. This could get interesting. Hey, love!’ Jake nabbed the attention of the young female bar attendant collecting glasses from an adjacent table. ‘Know of any temporary work going in town for a big, burly bloke like me?’
The girl raised a well-shaped eyebrow and shrugged, jerking her head towards the bar. ‘Noticeboard sometimes has the odd thing, or you can ask at the co-op tomorrow.’
‘And a place to bunk down?’ When the girl glanced in Sidney’s direction Jake was quick to clarify, ‘With my sister. So a couple of rooms.’
‘Try th
e caravan park. They have two-room villas with a sofa bed. Nice, but not cheap. Entrance is behind the petrol station, over the road from the breakwall.’
‘Yeah, we know it. Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you around.’ Jake winked at the barmaid, then gulped the last of his beer before burping a short tune.
Sid laughed, grateful to have a brother like Jake. ‘I love you, you big ape. Come on.’
• • •
‘Problem solved,’ Jake announced the next morning.
‘Shut the door–quick,’ Sid demanded before the wintery sea breeze blew through to her bones. ‘Which problem would that be?’
‘We have a place to live for free as well as a paying job.’ He plonked himself down victoriously in the chair opposite to Sid at the small round table under the villa’s air conditioner, now rattling hot air into the room to take the chill out of the morning.
‘Seriously? How?’ Sid asked in between mouthfuls of the healthy, homemade muesli she’d cooked and packed before they left home: no salt, no sweeteners, no surprises. ‘Where is this too-good-to-be-true opportunity?’
‘I went for a run while you were snoring your head off.’ Jake had taken an apple from the plastic bag Sid hadn’t unpacked yet and was busy polishing the skin with his shirttail. ‘Geez, you’d wake the dead.’
‘Yeah, yeah, get on with your explanation.’
‘Figured I’d check out if there was any work going on a local trawler, or something.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing on the boats, so I was checking out the fish co-op–at the same time checking out the blonde behind the counter. Her and I got talking and there’s work going on a local property–perfect for you and me.’
‘For both of us? Doing what?’
‘Chuck some of that horse chaff of yours in a bowl for me and I’ll tell you.’
Sidney complied, but she was worried. Jake had the worst employment record of anyone on the planet. Their mother was constantly on at him about being more responsible, while in the meantime spoiling him rotten and doing his weekly laundry. The rambunctious, rebellious and restless Jake had been a bit of a wild one and a big dreamer. He’d failed to get good grades at school and missed out altogether on their mother’s creative genes–and her ambition. Now he flitted from one seasonal hospitality job to another because the pay usually meant six months working and six months skylarking. With his boyish crop of dark curls, Jake had grown up to be the image of their father, but that was where the resemblance ended.
Other Side of the Season Page 2
