SIGMUND FREUD
I am nude hiking in New Zealand. The sun is shining. The usual man approaches.
‘I made you a possum skin coat.’ Strangely, he doesn’t have a New Zealand accent anymore. He slips the coat over my shoulders. It is soft and warm.
I notice his face for the first time. He is Jay.
In the morning I wake with a start. I am in Jay’s bed. Alone.
The clock on the bedside table tells me it is nine o’clock. My flight to Tokyo leaves at one and I have to get to the airport two hours before. Sally is coming around at ten to drive me.
I sit up. It seems crazy, but I haven’t told Jay about Tokyo. I can’t believe I haven’t told him about Tokyo. First we weren’t talking, then I thought there was time. And now I am leaving.
A note is propped up on the table next to the bed.
Edie, my father just texted me to say the guy from the record company wants to hear me play this morning. His flight was delayed so he didn’t make it last night. I’ll be back about ten.
There is a gap and I can imagine him thinking about what to say next.
My brain’s kind of shot and anything I say is going to sound all wrong in writing so I won’t even try. See you soon,
Jay
I read this last part several times, but it is unyielding. My paranoid side reads it as that was nice, check you later even though I know rationally it is nothing like that. I sit up in the bed, clutching the note, a lead weight settling on my chest. What am I going to do? Stay here and wait for Jay? Miss my flight? Try and find him?
There is a knock on the door. I clutch the sheets to my chest, sit up, hoping it is Jay, although, of course, he wouldn’t knock.
Rochelle peers around the door. ‘Oh, Edie.’ She looks taken aback.
I blush. ‘Jay’s gone out. To see a record guy.’
She gives a tentative smile. ‘Great. Dad was just on the phone, checking he made it. Amazing, first time in his life he’s come through.’ She looks at the clock. ‘Aren’t you going soon?’ Something about my face must show the state I’m in. ‘Are you still going?’ Rochelle comes over to the bed, sits down and gives me a big hug. ‘So, you and Jay, huh?’ she says over my shoulder. It’s hard to read what she thinks about this.
‘He doesn’t know I’m going.’
‘What?’ Rochelle backs off and looks me in the eye.
‘We haven’t been talking. I didn’t get around to telling him.’
‘Oh, Edie.’ Rochelle gives me a long look. ‘You can’t make plans around Jay. He’s just not ready.’
I shrug her hands off my shoulders. She is probably right, but something about the way she says it makes me angry. How can she know what it is like with us? Hadn’t he said it was different with me? ‘I never said I was. I need to pack.’
‘Hey.’ Rochelle gives another tentative smile.
I wait.
‘Happy birthday.’
‘Oh. I forgot.’ It doesn’t feel all that much like a happy birthday.
‘Konichiwa,’ yodels Sally up the stairs at ten o’clock.
I have been in my room alternately packing and crying for half an hour and have now reached a kind of washed-out acceptance.
Mum’s notebook has been sitting on my pillow while I pack. It is only a small notebook and there is room for it in my bag. I pick it up, hold it for a moment, then open it at the last page. I read the end one last time and return it to my bedside chest. It will still be there when I come back.
Lifting up my backpack, I trudge down the stairs. I don’t know if I want to see Jay coming in the door or not. What would I say?
‘Hey, babe,’ says Sal.
‘Yo.’ I look her up and down. ‘Hey, new hair.’ Her blonde tips have been replaced by streaks of red and copper. ‘Let me guess. New guy?’
‘You remember the sexting guy from the supermarket?’
I nod.
‘He’s been upgraded from the virtual to the real world.’
‘He must have been a good sexter.’
‘He was, but he’s even better in the flesh.’ Sally gives a lewd wink.
She makes it all seem so easy.
Sally pulls something out from behind her back. ‘Ta da.’ She hands me a parcel and gives me a hug. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ I unwrap it. It is a paperback edition of Wuthering Heights.
‘I figured it was time you re-read it, seeing as you’ve forgotten all the good bits.’
‘Thanks, Sal. I’ll read it on the plane. Too much Heathcliff is never enough.’
Sally looks me up and down. ‘You look like shit, Ed. Burning the candle at both ends?’
‘Crab larvae emergency.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Think what you like. Crab larvae drawing is a fast-paced field where rapid response is sometimes necessary.’ Jay is a secret I want to keep to myself for now.
‘You make it sound like a commando-type thing.’
‘It’s exactly like that. I am a crack crab larvae drawer, called in for surgical strikes in the laboratory.’
‘Is there abseiling involved?’
‘I can be inserted by land, sea or air, pencil in hand. In this case, I drove.’
‘What’s Ralph going to do without you?’
‘He says he’s keeping my job open for me. Maybe he’ll get a five-year-old in to hold the fort. Hope they don’t show me up too much.’
‘ANT.’ Sally smacks me on the shoulder. ‘You’ve got to stop that. You are an expert and highly valued staff member.’ She nods at me.
‘I am an expert and highly valued staff member,’ I repeat.
‘It’s a pity you’re going,’ says Sal. ‘I think you’re getting the hang of this. Hey, I wonder what your dad’s got you for your birthday.’
My father’s inappropriate birthday presents are a running joke between Sal and me. On my fifth birthday my father gave me my first surfboard. It was pink and soft. It made a nice shelf for my picture books. Undeterred, he followed up over the years with:
A body board and flippers;
A wetsuit;
A book called The Girls’ Guide to Surfing;
A short fibreglass surfboard;
A longer fibreglass surfboard; and
A surf mat.
After that, he got creative.
‘Remember that pink lycra bodysuit?’ asks Sal.
Possibly deciding that the reason I wouldn’t surf was that I didn’t want to get sunburnt, on my twelfth birthday Dad gave me a full-length bodysuit and a hat with straps to hold it on in the surf.
‘There was no way I was ever going to be seen in public in that get-up, with or without a surfboard.’
‘You would have looked like a cheerio,’ says Sal.
Despite the fact that I avoided the water from then on, the gifts continued: framed surf photos, a paperweight in the shape of a surfboard, Roxy Girl T-shirts, Hawaiian-print board shorts…
‘I can’t wait,’ I say.
Dad and Rochelle are waiting on the verandah to say goodbye. A parcel sits on the table next to them. It is about the size of a coffee-table guide to surfing locations around Australia.
Rochelle gives Dad a surreptitious nudge as we approach. She mutters something out of the side of her mouth. It sounds like Tell her.
‘Sally,’ says Rochelle, ‘let me show you the Japanese garden.’
‘I’ve already seen—’ Sally catches Rochelle’s look. ‘Oh, okay. Great.’ They wander off along the balcony.
Dad’s moustache is drooping, as it does when he is worried. He gives me a hug then lets go. His hands hang by his side looking like they don’t know what to do with themselves.
Dad has the awkward hand gene too. I have never noticed before. At least that is something we share. If I inherited that from him, who knows…
‘Maybe we’ll go for a surf when you get back? Now that you’re…’ He trails off.
‘Swimming?’
He nods.
‘Sure. It’s a date. You and me, six am, out the Point.’
He smiles.
I smile.
‘You mean it?’ His moustache is looking perkier already.
‘Hey, why wouldn’t I?’
He coughs. His face goes a bit red. He opens and shuts his mouth, then speaks quickly. ‘I’m so proud of you, Eddie.’
‘You are? Why? Since when?’
‘I always have been. I know I haven’t shown it, but I’ve always felt you were something special.’ He thrusts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.
‘You have?’ This is so unlike Dad, to talk about feelings.
‘You’re the only one on my side of the family who’s ever gone to university. And now, look at you, off to Japan. All by yourself.’ He blinks and for a moment I’m afraid he might cry.
Tears aren’t that far from my eyes either. I step forward and hug him again.
He wraps his long, muscular arms around me. ‘You look just like your mother. She was beautiful too. And clever. I couldn’t believe it when she chose me. I’m just a dumb surfer. She was amazing, your mother. And you’re amazing too.’
I feel a lump in my chest. I step back so I can look at him. ‘I always thought…you would have liked a boy. One who surfed.’
‘That never mattered, Eddie. All that mattered was—’
‘Spit it out, Dave,’ says Sal. She and Rochelle have come back. ‘We’ve got a plane to catch here.’ She winks at him.
Rochelle nods in an encouraging way.
‘All that matters is that you’re happy,’ says Dad. ‘You are happy, aren’t you?’
It’s a big question and a difficult one for a girl who’s been crying all morning to answer properly. ‘Yes,’ I say. And it’s almost true.
Rochelle steps in for an embrace. She feels solid in my arms, strong and warm.
‘Say bye to Jay for me?’ I say this lightly, keeping its meaning between the two of us.
She nods. ‘He’ll be sorry he missed you.’
‘Let’s rock, Ed,’ says Sal.
Rochelle nudges Dad again.
‘Oh. I almost forgot. Happy birthday.’ He picks up the parcel and hands it to me.
It is fairly heavy. Definitely a hardback book on surfing. I unwrap it. It is a small laptop computer.
‘Because you only have a desktop. And you’ll be travelling…’ Dad looks at me anxiously.
I hug him. ‘It’s perfect. It’s just what I need.’ I run my hand over its shiny surface. ‘I love it. I love it to bits.’
Dad beams.
‘He thought of it himself,’ says Rochelle. ‘I didn’t know what to get you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
I turn halfway down the stairs and wave to Dad and Rochelle. I feel the way I always do at partings: as if I want to run back, start again, do it all so much better. Do my whole life so much better. I wonder if everyone feels like that.
Then I’m in the car with Sal, driving through Darling Head. In twelve hours I’ll be in Tokyo, but for now I’m still here in this place I know so well. I wind down the window, smell the salt air and try not to look for Jay.
It is Saturday morning and the streets are busy with surfers: getting out of cars, strolling across the road, walking languidly back from the water with an ease and calm that reeks of satisfaction.
I know I’ll be back, and perhaps next time I’ll be one of them. Next time I’ll do it so much better. I smile, thinking of what Dad said. You’re amazing. Am I? Damn it, maybe I am.
‘Look at that old dude.’ Sal slows the car to avoid hitting an old man on a bike who wobbles across in front of us. He is wearing a yellow raincoat and gumboots despite the warm morning. His leathery face is etched in a criss-cross of wrinkles. Grubby canvas bags hang off the back of his bike. He looks like an Indian sadhu with a fishing rod.
It is him; the man on the beach from that night. It is definitely him.
I lean forward, open my mouth and am on the verge of calling out. Then I stop. I no longer know why I wanted to talk to him. Jay was right. What difference would it make? Was she happy? Was she sad? Can you ever know how someone feels by looking at them? I watch him wobble away.
The last words from Mum’s notebook are still in my head.
I push off and swim, as if that is a way to leave this behind, like a cloak swept away in the current. And sometimes it seems that it might be. As my arms move through the water I can feel the darkness leaving me. If I go hard enough and fast enough it can’t catch me. But I have to stop eventually. I can’t swim forever.
‘You know him?’ asks Sal.
‘Kind of.’ For all these years I have been searching for absolution, for explanation; to be told that there was nothing I could have done. To be told she was smiling. To be told she was crying. I am surprised to find it doesn’t matter anymore. His yellow raincoat vanishes around the corner, taking all those questions with it. I can’t swim forever.
It could be that I have forgiven her. It could be that I have forgiven myself.
‘I’m expecting some Japanese-influenced erotica from you,’ says Sal, as we hit the highway. ‘They’re pretty wild over there, I hear.’
‘I can’t do that anymore.’
She looks at me over the top of her sunglasses. ‘Why not? Chance of a lifetime — hot tubs, kimonos, those kinky little fans — think of the possibilities.’
‘But sex isn’t like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Trashy and cheap.’
Sally meets my eyes. I’m expecting her to try to talk me around, to say something sarcastic to lighten things up, but she doesn’t.
‘No, not when it’s good.’ She reaches out and squeezes my hand.
We are silent for a while and I am beginning to think she has found a previously unexplored vein of sensitivity until she speaks. ‘You were so good at it, you know. I think it’s your forte. If it’s a matter of money, I could probably—’
‘It’s not about money. I don’t think I want to keep writing about lust, Sally.’
Sally looks as if I have just admitted a sexual interest in cockroaches. ‘What do you want to write about then?’
‘I don’t know. Something deeper.’
‘Damn, Ed.’ She slaps the wheel. ‘Where am I going to find another writer?’
‘Do it yourself. You’ve had sex, right? You know what it’s like. It should be easy enough.’ I can’t resist the little dig.
‘I’ve tried.’ Sally gives me a sheepish smile. ‘It’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I can see where you were coming from with the manly sea cucumber now. It’s hard finding good metaphors.’
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘You’re telling me, babe.’
‘Fuck. Send me back some of those sexy Manga comics then, will you? I might be able to do something with them.’
‘You’re still doing it then? The sex counsellor thing?’
‘Shit, yeah. This stuff is big. I’m going to be setting up franchises in Sydney and Melbourne soon I reckon. There’s a job for you here any time you want, Ed.’
‘Advertise,’ I say.
‘Huh?’
‘For an erotic writer. You’ll find someone for sure.’
Sally nods. ‘Yeah. Right on. I’ll do that tomorrow.’
I get Sally to drop me off at Departures. I’ve already told her I don’t want her to wait. I can’t stand long farewells, hanging around making small talk.
She pulls over in the drop-off zone and gives me a hug. ‘I’m still your life coach, you know; if you need anything — dating advice, hot-tub etiquette, inter-cultural flirting… Can’t wait to see what bad habits you come back with.’
‘Thanks, babe. You’re the best life coach I’ve ever had.’
‘You keep up those conversational skills, won’t you? Remember start shallow, move deep.’
‘I’m not sure that I’ve mastered that one yet. I always hit my head in the shallow end because I try to go deep too fast. I’m not one of your success stories, am I?’
Sally laughs. ‘Yes you are. Totally. Look at you. Here you go, off to Tokyo. How cool is that? You’re taking control of your life, mate. You’re walking the walk. Talking the talk. High five.’ She holds up her hand.
I slap it. As I open the car door I almost take out a harassed-looking woman with a loaded trolley. ‘Sorry.’ She glares at me as she goes past.
‘Hey, Edz.’
I look up.
Surf-boy Tim is standing on the footpath beside the car. He has a padded board bag over his shoulder. ‘I’m going down to Bells.’ He pats his board bag. ‘I got a longer board, like you said.’
I eye his board. ‘Six one, is it? That’s the shot. Good luck.’
‘Where are you going?’ he asks.
‘Japan.’
‘You going to that big comp in Shikoku?’
I nod in a noncommittal way. ‘Hey,’ I pull my purse out of my bag. ‘Here’s your autograph.’
Tim’s face lights up. He takes the greasy paper bag and looks at Dad’s signature. Hey Tim, carve one up for me, it says. He folds it carefully and slides it into his pocket. ‘Now I’ll have good luck for sure. Do you mind if I tell the Rip Curl people I’m a friend of yours?’
‘Better not. I’ve jumped to Billabong and they’re a bit shitty. Tell them you know Dad. You’ve got the autograph.’
‘Yeah, cool.’ He waves and heads towards the check-in, where a broad-shouldered man is waiting for him.
‘Edz?’ says Sally.
I shrug.
‘Rip Curl?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘You’re a dark horse, Edie McElroy. Well, go get ‘em,’ says Sal. ‘Be all that you can be. Play hard or go home. No guts, no glory. Live the dream.’
‘You’d better save up some of that motivational pep talk for when I get back, Sal.’
Sally leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. ‘And look after your heart while you’re at it, Ed.’
Sally and me. Me and Sally. I wave as she goes and wish we could do it all again, only better this time.