What is it about the ocean? Why are we bewitched by that wide expanse of blue and grey, why does it mesmerise us so?
Tamsyn watched the long, Atlantic rollers tumbling onto the beach, the sky swollen with granite clouds and the sun glinting fitfully.
Her mouth was dry and tremors racked her body. She hadn’t been back in the water since that night, since she’d nearly died, and since she’d learned the truth about George Mason. Her lip curled in a sneer: Uncle George – a murderer, a drug dealer, a liar – a monster hiding in plain sight.
His lies, his betrayal, it had all taken so much from her – her belief in him, in herself, and soiled her memories of childhood.
“I’m not going to let you take the sea away from me, too. I won’t let you!”
Only Mo was there to hear the bitterness in her voice.
Tamsyn’s fingers felt thick and uncoordinated as she fumbled with the zip on her wetsuit. Her legs were rubbery and she couldn’t stop shaking. Even so, she tucked her battered surfboard under her arm and stared out across the grey expanse.
She’d never been scared of the sea: respected it, yes; feared it, no.
Now everything had changed.
But she wasn’t going to let the fear win. Not now.
Not ever.
Mo sighed heavily, and Tamsyn leaned down to ruffle her wiry fur.
“Look after my stuff, scruff-a-lot. I won’t be long.”
Mo lay down on Tamsyn’s towel, resting her head on her paws, her expression mournful at being abandoned.
Tamsyn didn’t have it in her to smile, not yet, but if anyone could change that, it would be Mo.
She stared at the walls of water as they charged towards the beach. She’d spent her whole life swimming and surfing and playing in the water. She’d always loved the sea … now, a part of her never wanted to be near the water again.
Her hair tangled around her face as she stared at the horizon.
“I won’t let you take this from me, too,” she whispered again. “I won’t let you.”
She took a step forward, letting the water swirl around her feet, then slowly waded out through the foam, feeling the first bite of cold water around her thighs.
When the sea reached her waist, she jumped onto the board belly down, and began to paddle. A five-foot wave started to break over her and she duck-dived through it, her heart missing a beat as the cold water closed all around her. Then she was through and popped up on the other side.
Her confidence was slow to return and the surf was pumping on the north coast, the gusting wind making it choppy. Muscle memory helped her cut through the water with long, fluid strokes, duck-diving another set of waves that towered over her.
The waves were ragged but powerful, and the salt water poured from her hair and face as she emerged into the light again.
After duck-diving twice more, she was beyond the breakers, and swung her legs to either side of the board, sitting astride, eyes closed, feeling the slow rise and fall of the swell beneath her, the tentative sun on her face, a breeze stirring her wet hair.
She’d made it.
The tears came slowly and silently at first, like the loss of innocence, the loss of childhood. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel everything. George Mason had been there her whole life, her father’s best friend, and he’d betrayed them all. The grief that she’d hidden away spilled out of her, the shock, the fight for survival, the cold breath of death.
Her shoulders shook as she cried and cried, her tears mingling with the salt water ebbing and flowing around her.
And something inside her hardened, born of a new determination that the Masons of this world couldn’t hide in plain sight – she wouldn’t allow it. She’d do her job and find the evidence that would convict men like him.
She didn’t yet understand that when your broken heart mends, it is harder in all the damaged places.
She screamed out her anger, fury burning her from the inside. Despite what her grandmother’s beliefs taught her, Tamsyn didn’t think that George Mason had suffered enough. Dying was too easy compared to living with his crime, paying for what he’d done. He should have paid more, suffered more.
She listened to the sea lapping against her board, the distant shriek of seagulls echoing across the water, and wiped away her tears impatiently. Staring out toward the blurred line of the horizon, she waited for a set to come in and carry her away from her thoughts. And finally, she felt the first whisper of peace since that night.
On the beach, Mo had sat up at the sound of Tamsyn’s screams and trotted to the water’s edge, whining softly, too afraid to follow her.
From a distance, Rego watched, wishing there was something he could do or say to help. But there was nothing. All coppers knew what she was feeling – the rage that bad men could do bad things, that the innocent paid, and that good officers paid with bad dreams, too much booze and broken marriages.
He’d shared a pot of tea with her grandparents then headed up to the north shore, following the directions he’d been given to the scrap of land that surfers used for a car park. Only one surfer was out today and he’d recognised her immediately.
He walked down the beach, his lace-up city shoes sinking into the soft sand.
Mo turned around at his approach and stalked back to the towel, guarding Tamsyn’s things jealously.
Cautiously, Rego sat next to her and the scruffy little dog relented as he stroked her fur, leaning her small body against his.
“Sorry I haven’t got any treats,” he said, and Mo gazed up at him, frowning. “She’ll be alright,” he said, hoping, believing it was true. “She’s strong.”
He watched Tamsyn as she caught a wave, paddling hard, then leaping to her feet in one swift motion, crouching down slightly, working the wave to get the best ride.
Rego thought she’d ride it all the way to the beach, but as soon as the wave’s momentum began to slow, she spun the board around and lay flat, stroking through the water and back out to the line-up.
He lit a smoke and watched her for several more minutes until his cigarette had burned down to the filter, then he ground it out in the sand, put the stub in his pocket and headed back to the car.
Mo watched him leave in silence.
And when the waves began to drop and Tamsyn had finally surfed enough, all she saw were his footprints in the wet sand.