Thursday 27 March 1975
Abby
We’re at the Happy Valley campground in Caloundra, with the northern tip of Bribie Island in sight across a sparkling sapphire inlet and a white-sand beach a dozen feet away from our car. Because we’ve arrived a day before the Easter holidays begin, we have the place to ourselves and pick the best spot – close to the beach, far enough from the road that all we hear is the whoosh and crash of waves, surrounded by pandanus pines, casuarinas and a strip of green grass, kookaburras and rainbow lorikeets in the branches above us.
The four kids help unload the car then whine their way through a few tasks until Mark frees them to go exploring with Woof. Beau offers to stay with us, and proves unnervingly competent with tent ropes and pegs. When he sees the fire pit, though, he stops in his tracks. Noticing this, Mark says, ‘We’re good, mate. Why don’t you go find the others?’
Mark and I work companionably to set up an area where we can store the food and fold-out table. I feel certain that getting away from the house will be a balm for all of us. And this place is perfect. No TV, no phone, no work or school, and no chance Finn will show up unannounced. It’s a place where we can start to replace Beau’s bad memories with good ones, as much as that’s possible.
‘Charlie decide if he’s joining us?’ Mark asks as we lay the kids’ tent flat on the ground. I kneel close to him. The sandy soil is hot on the surface, cool just an inch below.
‘I’m not sure. Hope so. But if he does it’ll only be for a few nights. He and Ryan are keen to push ahead with their shop plans.’ I pass lengths of metal rod to Mark one at a time and he assembles the supports that will hold up the tent’s thick canvas sides. ‘They want to open in June.’
‘It’s not a terrible idea,’ he says, and flicks a fly away from his mouth. ‘People are obsessed with Bali, and since they know someone who can arrange the exporting –’
‘Ketut.’
‘Ketut. I reckon they can make a go of it.’
‘Ryan’s dad’s still furious. Charlie said he yelled that Ryan had become a merchant.’
Mark laughs. ‘My God, not a merchant!’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘The shame of it.’
We stand and pull the tent up one section at a time. I push each roped peg into the dirt with the heel of my thong then Mark hammers them down further with the mallet.
‘Well, I guess you can reassure Ryan that working in a law firm isn’t everyone’s path in life.’
‘At least he has a path,’ I say.
‘You’ll find yours.’ He smiles at me, points to a stray peg near my feet, which I hand to him. ‘And once you do we’ll be your cheer squad.’
A salty breeze wafts over us. It’ll be cold tonight. I’ve brought sweatshirts for the kids, and had thought we’d sit around the fire roasting marshmallows. I’m not sure about that now. I never know what will trigger a memory for Beau, but I’m kicking myself for not thinking that the commune would’ve had an open fire. Of course they would. Maybe Beau helped Finn make the campfires. Or sat on logs squashed between his friends, laughing and nudging, singing songs. I decide to assume his memories of fires are happy ones.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve looked for opportunities to ask Beau about his life, tentatively, pulling back and changing the topic if he showed any discomfort. I’ve asked if he’d ever had anyone check his teeth, then explained what a dentist is, asked if the kids ever had red spots that weren’t from mosquitoes, if he was used to sleeping in the same bed every night. I’m drawing a deer into a clearing, murmuring encouragement, offering treats.
And comforting. Late last night, Beau and I sat on the couch in the dark, after Sarah had come to our room complaining that he was crying again. My arm around his shoulder, I told him that when I was young I’d lost my mother, too, but that sometimes I could feel her with me. He’d let his eyes roam the living room, lit by a full moon beaming through the glass veranda doors. ‘I don’t think she’s here now,’ I said. ‘But when she does show up I’ll let you know. She’ll like you a lot.’ He’d nestled into my side. Woof joined us on the couch, sprawled across Beau’s lap for a tummy rub, and made us both laugh. ‘Maybe your mum will visit you,’ I’d said, then held him until he fell asleep, laid him gently on the couch next to Woof and woken Mark to carry him to bed. I wish Maria had told us more.
I ask Mark if we should give up on the campfire idea. He understands why I’m asking, and says he’ll think about it. A few days ago, Mark met with Jim’s brother, a psychologist, to ask how to help Beau adjust to his new life. But I’m not convinced that we need someone with experience in easing adults out of cults. The adoption lawyer will, I think, be a more useful ally.
Once we’re finished setting up, Mark and I sit in our fold-out chairs and face the waves. From here, we can see the kids noodling about on the beach: Petey, Beau and Woof are crouched next to a shallow pool made by the low tide, all three heads down as if staring into a well, Joanne is dragging a long branch behind her and making wavy lines in the sand, and Sarah follows, rubbing them out with her foot.
Mark turns on the transistor, ‘just for the news bulletin, I promise’, because he’s convinced another storm is about to come.
I point up at the clear blue sky.
‘Not that kind of storm,’ he says.
Even as I roll my eyes, I feel the wind blow sharp sand against my legs.
After lunch, we put on our bathers, collect towels, a bat, tennis ball, zinc cream and other items deemed essential, and regroup on the beach. Mark, Petey and Beau play cricket on the wet sand. The girls make a sandcastle.
Mark’s not feeling great about this beach and has suggested we move tomorrow morning. ‘It’s too rough,’ he tells me after he’s had a swim. ‘We’re too close to where the tide comes in.’ I sigh, but I can see he’s right. The stretch of water to the north looks infinitely better. This will do for one day, though.
Sarah calls out to Mark to come watch her do cartwheels, jealous, I suspect, of him being so openly impressed by Beau’s cricketing skills. The other children paddle about in the shallow water. I lie back on my towel, oiled in Coppertone, dozing, reading, listening to the screech of seagulls and the crashing waves.
I wake up when I feel water drip onto my belly. Beau is standing over me, a hand outstretched.
‘I think this one has an animal inside,’ he says, kneeling down beside me, holding a striped cone shell on his open palm. He watches the shell intently but the small creature is not tricked into peeking out. ‘Can you mind it for me?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Maybe it’ll pop its head out later. When it thinks we’re not looking.’ I prop myself up on my elbows. ‘Where’s everyone else?’
He points to Sarah, plopped down on the sand, her back to the sea, digging, and tells me that Mark took the twins back to the tents because they were hungry again. ‘Who could’ve predicted that?’ I say. And we share a smile.
‘Are you going to swim?’ he asks.
‘Sure, yes. You go ahead. I’ll join you in a sec.’
I watch him walk down to the water, skinny, arms like twigs, knock-kneed but striding. I feel a stab in my stomach at how vulnerable he is, and know that it’s our job now – mine and Mark’s – to keep this boy safe and happy. I fold the corner of my towel over Beau’s shell. The wind has picked up and I worry it might get blown away.
I follow Beau out into the sea, ploughing forward as the water deepens, holding my balance against the current, which is stronger than I’d expected. I look out at the inlet, the boundless expanse of sea, out to where the whitecaps are spaced far apart. I rise and fall on the ocean’s breath, lifted slowly then lowered.
There is nothing but ocean around us, water so clear the sunlight marbles my thighs and I can see the red nail polish on my toes. The swell raises my arms up. ‘Wave,’ Beau calls. He points at the water rising behind him. He’s excited, not scared. I give him a thumbs-up. He disappears under the churning water to come up on the other side. I marvel at how he knew to do that. He flicks wet hair from his face and we grin at one another. I turn and watch the wave melt to a spill as it touches the beach.
But something isn’t right. I feel sudden panic as Beau grows smaller right before my eyes. This current is dangerously strong. I should’ve noticed the rip. I call out to him, trying to hide the worry in my voice. He’s moving away from me quickly. There are no whitecaps where he is now. The water is darker. ‘Swim to the sand,’ I yell, but he’s not in control of where he’s going.
‘Sarah, Sarah.’ I want her to run for Mark, but she can’t hear me. We’re already too far out.
I tread water in my safe spot outside the rip while I figure out how I can get to Beau. There’s no easy way. I need to swim a large arc around the edge of the current then cut into it and allow it to pull me to him. Summoning my muscles and resolve, I remind myself I’m good at this, that the water was once my second home. ‘I’m coming,’ I shout to him.
I push through the water, strong arms and breath powering me. I pause, check I’m on track, adjust, then swim again. Once I’m close enough to feel the tug, I give over to the current and it flings me, like a slingshot, towards Beau. When I can, I reach out and grab his arm. He’s scared, panting.
We’re in the slipstream, being pulled out to deep water. But I know what to do, and that I can do it. And that he can, too. I nod to where the current swoops close to the shore. ‘We let the water take us there. Then swim diagonal to the beach.’ I draw a line in the air to show what I mean. ‘Breaking waves go to the sand.’ Entrusting ourselves to the waves. ‘We’ll be okay.’
With his arms tight around me, my eyes fixed on the shore, with full lungs and a strong heart, I swim.