Chapter 43

 

 

The Fremantle Doctor chopped the sea into triangles, the afternoon onshore having once again waged war against the city’s heat.

Only dogs and their thoughtful owners walked Leighton’s windblown beach. Only the bravest kite boarders with the smallest kites took to the water. The waves, their peaks washed white by the Doctor, had emptied the sea of surfers except for Ewen. He paddled out, crashing into the folds, spray stinging his face. Up the wind swells he scratched, head butting his way towards Rotto, determined to surf the unrideable back to shore.