I walked to Loretta’s the next morning, munching on a piece of Vegemite toast, with a scarf pulled tightly around my neck. When I got there, Loretta wouldn’t stop grumbling about extracurricular sport, which Mr Hounds was making her do on account of her not being able to properly do any of the activities in class. The weather had eased off, but there were still lots of branches and strips of bark everywhere on the footpath and deep puddles where the roads dipped.
‘It’s inhumane! Why should I have to do early-morning runs?’ She pulled shut her front door and sighed. She was wearing a pair of striped stockings under her shorts.
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Yeah, but you’re a freak! No normal teenager wants to go running this early. I want to be in bed, stalking people on Facebook. This is horrendous, Gwendolyn.’
I shrugged. ‘How’re the shoulder and the head?’
‘Not sore enough to get me out of this run,’ Loretta complained. We started walking towards school, our breath a foggy mess in the cold.
‘So, Songbrooke,’ I said.
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot you guys spent yesterday spying on the neighbours.’
‘We didn’t spy!’
‘Did they know you were there?’
I thought of the new guy catching my eye and smiling. ‘On some level.’
‘Well, that’s spying,’ Loretta insisted. ‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘Give me the details!’
‘Not much to tell. Two teenagers, as reported.’
‘He’s hot, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but not in an over-the-top way.’ I frowned. ‘It’s more how he moves and talks and stuff. Does that sound weird? He said the coast is beautiful.’
Loretta wasn’t listening to me. ‘Which means he’ll get immediately nabbed by the surfer girls.’
‘How do you know? He might hate surfing!’
‘It’s hard to dream about a guy with Ruby May latched onto his arm.’ Loretta shuddered. ‘Remember when they filled my locker with wet toilet paper?’
‘Only because you’d told Ruby May she looked like a sausage in that dress she wore to the social.’
‘So?’
‘What would you do if someone said I looked like a sausage?’
Loretta considered this for a moment. ‘Probably fill up their locker with toilet paper.’
‘See?’
‘Shut up.’
Mr Hounds was waiting outside the school and Loretta made a noise somewhere between a groan and a retch when she saw him.
‘I injured my shoulder,’ she said. ‘My head still hurts.’
He crossed his arms. ‘Lucky you run with your feet. Let’s go.’
Loretta just stared at him. ‘I hate running. My locker’s full of turnips.’
‘That’s a shame. Ten laps before the warning bell or you’ll be late to home room.’
Pulling the ugliest face I’d ever seen her pull, Loretta started off at a jog. I jogged along next to her, listening to her puffing and swearing as we went around and around the school block.
***
At lunch, Loretta and I sat by the paperbark on the beach side of the school. You could see the water from the upper storeys of the place, but not from the ground. You could always smell it, though. And from this side of the yard you could hear it, too.
Loretta had been in a foul mood since her forced morning run, but she suddenly perked up a bit, setting aside her yoghurt.
‘The new kids,’ she said and we both craned our necks. I could see the boy and girl we’d spotted at Songbrooke.
Tony Marks wandered by and Loretta latched onto his sleeve, which nearly sent him toppling over. ‘Hey! Know anything about the new kids?’
Tony tugged his sleeve free. ‘Ben and Amber. They’re from Sydney.’ He nodded impressively. Sydney was like New York to us. We couldn’t really fathom such a bustling metropolis.
‘Where in Sydney?’ Loretta demanded.
‘Loretta, shush,’ I said. ‘Seriously? Sydney?’
‘That’s what Amber keeps telling everyone.’ Tony shrugged. ‘Do you know where they’re living?’
‘That old place near Gwen’s. Songbrooke.’
Tony blinked. ‘What’s Songbrooke?’
‘Used to be an artists’ commune,’ I said.
‘Oh. What’s it like? Got a pool or something?’
‘We’ve never really been there,’ I said. Which wasn’t strictly true. Apart from our stalking, Loretta, Tyrone and I had snuck down there a few times on our bikes when we were younger and poked around the collection of sheds and cabins, hitting sticks against the ground and walls to warn snakes that might have been hiding in the long, scraggly grass.
‘Where in Sydney?’ Loretta asked again, her voice slightly shriller.
Tony slowly backed away and disappeared towards the oval, where a footy game was going on. Loretta stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, feeling suddenly tired. Sometimes, it was pretty exhausting trying to keep up with Loretta.
‘They’re from Sydney! They live at Songbrooke!’ She closed her eyes. ‘And the guy said the place is beautiful.’
‘You were listening.’
‘I always listen!’
‘So?’
‘So? We have to make friends with them!’ Loretta pulled me up after her. ‘We just have to.’ Loretta dragged me over to where the two new kids were by the canteen, Ben staring at the chalked-up price list outside the serving window and Amber sitting down on one of the benches.
‘What do you want?’ Ben asked.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘C’mon! Salad sandwich?’
‘Don’t bother. All they sell is lumpy pumpkin soup and Ovalteenies,’ I said.
Ben turned around and smiled. Up close, he had a little scattering of freckles over his nose that I immediately wanted to reach out and touch. I dug my nails into my palms.
‘See?’ said Amber. ‘I’m not hungry anyway. I’m going up to the computer labs.’
Ben glanced at her. ‘Why?’
‘I have homework, Benjamin.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘See ya,’ she said to Loretta and me.
Ben watched his sister run up the stairs towards the computer lab and then shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m Ben.’
‘I’m . . .’ Who was I? I stared at his hand. The hand of the boy who thought the coast was beautiful. Something starting with G . . . I had completely lost my mind. I glanced helplessly at Loretta.
‘This is Gwen, I’m Loretta,’ Loretta said, elbowing me in the ribs.
He frowned at me and I felt my heart rate pick up.
‘You look kind of familiar,’ he said at last, raising an eyebrow. It used to happen a lot, but these days it was relatively rare. My mum’s photos and things were still occasionally circulated. Sometimes strangers recognised me. I looked a lot like her. Everybody said so.
‘She was on Saturday Night Live once, playing the harmonica,’ Loretta said, completely deadpan. She and Ben stared at each other for a moment and then Ben burst out laughing.
‘You’re hilarious,’ I muttered.
‘You guys lived here long?’ he asked.
‘Our whole lives,’ Loretta said, her voice very flat. ‘It doesn’t get any more exciting. This is it. Peak excitement. How’s Songbrooke? At least that place has got a bit of sass. I live in a boring old town house.’
Ben grinned. ‘I love it. I love working outside and running, and I’ve always wanted to live near the beach.’
‘What about Sydney?’ Loretta asked. ‘Isn’t that, like, all harbour?’
Ben flushed. ‘Um. We lived in the western suburbs.’
‘Whereabouts?’ Loretta asked. ‘My aunt’s from Redfern.’ She glanced at me, clearly impressed with herself for sounding so cosmopolitan.
‘Right, cool place,’ Ben said. He was craning his neck towards the computer labs. ‘Sorry – I’d better go see how Amber’s doing.’
Loretta tugged on his sleeve. ‘Did you just say you like running?’
‘Yeah.’
Loretta sighed. ‘Such a shame. Well, if you need someone to run with, Gwen’s insanely into it. She can show you all the good tracks and stuff.’
I shot Loretta a death glare, but Ben looked pleased. ‘Oh, that’d be great! I tried to run into town, but there’s that bit of beach with all the rocks, and when I tried to cut onto the road, I got completely lost.’
‘Amateur,’ Loretta said. ‘Gwen’ll have you dodging and darting around all the tracks in no time.’
‘I’d really like that. Um, I’ll see you later,’ Ben said, jogging off towards the computer labs.
Loretta dragged me away.
‘Why’d you have to say the thing about the harmonica?’ I moaned.
‘Better than him realising it was you who was stalking him yesterday,’ she said, as we neared our little paperbark. ‘I think he might like you,’ she added.
I snorted. Loretta had been fabricating the adoration of various boys for one or both of us since year six. Some of them had actually liked Loretta, but no one had ever been interested in me. Not really. I had the feeling that when most of the boys at school looked at me, they only saw my story. Loretta squeezed my arm. ‘I’d bet a hundred bucks.’
‘You’re on,’ I said. I could do with a hundred bucks.
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
When I first started running along the beach to Wade’s Point, it felt like ages away, although it actually wasn’t really that far. I’d have a pounding headache by the time I got back home, but I never stopped running. I was ten then. Dad thought I was too young to be running alone, but I told him it was the only way I could sleep and so he let me. I guess he knew what it felt like to be awake at night. It was also one of the only things he and Biddy argued about. Late at night, back when Tyrone and I had to share the only bedroom with a non-leaking roof, we’d hear them fighting in hushed voices.
‘You’re so stupid, Eddie! She could get killed!’ Biddy would hiss. ‘She could be abducted, Eddie.’ A pause. ‘She could drown!’
And there’d be a pause when Dad would see if she was going to apologise and Biddy wouldn’t and they’d keep going round in circles, like each one of them had to have the last word. But the next day, they would just have bags under their eyes and Dad never stopped me running.
It’s an unspoken rule in our house that we never talk about drowning.
***
That afternoon, I ran to Wade’s Point fast, imagining that I was being chased. Wade’s Point was right near Songbrooke, but I wasn’t really thinking about running into Ben. I’d only put lip balm on because of the cold.
Evie had stared at me on my way out. ‘Why’ve you got mascara on to go running?’
‘It keeps my eyes moist!’ I’d snapped, shutting the door and tearing off.
Wade’s Point was a cliff jutting out into the ocean, where two currents hit. No matter the season, there was always lots of spray as the currents and waves crashed together and into the cliffs. Sometimes there were all kinds of strange things thrown up on the rocks. Wreckages of small boats. Wardrobes and bright sandals and, once, a giant painted wooden cut-out of a cartoon character spinning a pizza.
As I ran, I thought about driving. I was going to sit for my licence the day after I turned eighteen. Mum had been that age when she’d sat for hers. You can go for your licence at seventeen in our town, but there was nowhere I needed to be that I couldn’t run to. Dad had looked really confused when I told him about it.
‘The day after your eighteenth, though?’ he’d said. ‘Why? Won’t you want to drink at your eighteenth?’
And I’d pulled a face because I never drank. Cheap beer and vodka reminded me of Mum. It galled me that Dad didn’t know that. Because Mum would’ve. Mum knew everything about me.
The tide was moving in as I ran along the shoreline. Always crashing, always unsettled, even when the sky was clear and the air was still. When she was five, Evie used to say our beach was always in the middle of a tantrum. When I asked her what the sea was throwing the tantrum about, she’d very solemnly said, ‘It needs more chocolate.’
I slowed to a jog and then sat for a while, narrowing my eyes until everything blurred. The mascara stung and I vowed to never wear it again, particularly when I was running.
I wiped at it until my fingers blackened. I tried to make out the shapes of mermaids in the surf. I didn’t believe in them, but I wanted to. It was comforting to think of them out there, watching us from the sea.
By the time I got back to the beach outside our house, Evie was hanging from her favourite tree at the top of the dunes. ‘Gwennie! Gwennie!’ she yelled, jumping down from her branch and barrelling into my stomach in a kind of exuberant wrestle-hug.
‘Get off!’ I shoved her away gently. ‘I’m all sweaty and gross.’
She just grinned.
We walked along the sandy track at the top of the dunes and then crossed the road to our house. We could hear Tyrone’s awful heavy-metal music from outside. Evie shook her head and kicked at the gravel.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘He’s just got no taste in music. It’s sad.’
‘Nope. None at all,’ I said. ‘You wanna know something freaky?’
‘Always.’
‘Well, he offered Loretta and me a lift the other day.’
Evie bit her lip. ‘He’s up to something.’
‘Yeah, I reckon. Keep an eye out, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Biddy and Dad were in the kitchen, chopping up a salad together. There was a big pile of broccoli on the table.
‘You got Glenned,’ I said, sitting down.
‘He was worried about us after the rain,’ Biddy said.
We all winced as Tyrone turned up his music another notch.
‘It sounds like a garbage can being murdered,’ Evie said, rubbing her head.
‘Several,’ said Dad. ‘It sounds like several garbage cans being murdered.’
Evie nodded.
‘You okay?’ Dad asked me. My dad never hovered. Even after everything had happened, he hadn’t hovered. But he was getting close to it since the guy at the café.
‘Fine.’ It wasn’t really lying. I was having trouble sleeping, but that was nothing new. I’d work through it. I always did.
‘You’re sure about quitting?’ he asked more quietly.
‘Yeah.’ I only just managed not to roll my eyes at him. ‘I wouldn’t have quit if I wasn’t sure! When do I ever do anything I’m not sure about? Besides, I’ve got lots of school work to do.’ Which was true; everyone said year twelve was hard, and I’d be starting it next year. I was also just beginning to realise that there were big gaps in what I needed to know in class. I supposed it was to do with Mum and everything, how I’d been distracted for years. Loretta had helped me as much as she could, but it all seemed kind of fuzzy. Particularly maths.
Dad nodded. ‘Thirty by the time you were thirteen,’ he said. He said it sort of jokingly, but it annoyed me. I’d grown up quickly because I had to.
‘Well, I don’t blame you,’ Biddy said. ‘I know they said it was a freak occurrence and he was just passing through, but people are on all sorts of things these days. And that café is all by itself, right on the beach.’
‘It’s not by itself – it’s on the main street!’ I said. ‘I just don’t want to go back. I was bored there, anyway.’
‘Loretta’s going back,’ Dad said.
‘So?’ I replied. ‘Just because Loretta does something doesn’t mean I have to, too.’
Evie snorted. ‘You do everything together.’
‘Well, not this.’ I crossed my arms.
***
Loretta came over as we were finishing dinner. She dumped her turnips on the table. ‘Mum said to get rid of them,’ she told Biddy.
‘So you brought them here?’
‘Please! Please take them. It’s bad juju to throw them out.’ Loretta pulled a very sad face. ‘I’ll do all the dishes from dinner if you take them!’
Biddy chuckled. ‘Deal.’
‘Thank you.’ Loretta bounced over and grabbed the closest tea towel. We were quiet, listening to the sound of Biddy and Dad pulling on their jackets and heading out for a walk around the block. Loretta thought it was cute, but to me it always seemed so stupid that they walked along the streets and not the beach.
‘You still not sleeping?’ Loretta asked as I filled the sink and started loading it up with plates.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not sleeping. Not well, anyway.’
‘Remember when you were really little and couldn’t sleep? You kept a diary.’
I shrugged. Tyrone came in and Loretta started handing him plates and he began putting them away, without a word.
‘You should keep one again,’ Loretta said. ‘It’ll help you sleep.’
‘Keep what?’ asked Tyrone.
‘I’m too tired, Rets.’ I didn’t want to tell her that I’d started keeping the diary again. That, weirdly enough, I’d written the first entry just before I went to work the day the man had smashed all the windows at the café. That Mum had popped into my head and wouldn’t budge and now I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I didn’t want to explain to Loretta that I was writing whatever came to me about Mum and everything. That none of it made sense the way a diary was supposed to make it.
‘Give it a go, okay?’
‘Give what a go?’ Tyrone asked.
‘Don’t be a stickybeak,’ Loretta said.
‘You’re such a pain,’ I told her. ‘Alright. I’ll keep the stupid diary.’
Tyrone reached down next to me to put the big bowl under the sink. ‘Bottle of vodka should do it. Put you to sleep, I mean.’
‘Ha-ha. We’re not all eighteen, you know.’
Loretta handed Tyrone a glass. ‘Shouldn’t you be out with your idiot mates?’ she asked archly.
‘Nah. Getting up early for a surf.’
‘You don’t surf though.’ Loretta rubbed at one of the glasses until it sparkled. ‘You just bob around out there like a cork.’
‘So what? If you’re on a surfboard it’s surfing.’
‘The surf kids at school would kill you for saying that! Anyway, you have to catch waves for it to be surfing.’
‘Do not,’ Tyrone said.
‘Do too!’
‘Do not! What would you know anyway? The closest you come to surfing is living on the same block as the surf shop!’
I let the water out of the sink and flopped down at the island bench, listening to the two of them bickering and wondering about the man at the café and smashing glass and mostly about Ben, who was just down the road at Songbrooke.
***
FROM THE DIARY OF GWENDOLYN P. PEARSON
Years ago, after everything happened, I had dreams. Unhappy dreams of water and big swell, tossing me around until I couldn’t breathe. Even though what had happened wasn’t anything to do with the waves. And I listened to the wind, coming wildly in from the sea, and wished more than anything that those dreams would go away.
Since the guy at the café, they’re back. It’s why I can’t sleep properly.
I’ve had the dreams for a long time. For a while, after Dad and I moved in with Biddy and Tyrone and everything felt off balance and wrong, Biddy read every trauma and psychology textbook she could find.
She went through a phase of luring me into the kitchen with large blocks of chocolate that my mum, even when she was going through her worst patches, had never let me have. And Biddy would ask me questions about how I was feeling and if I was angry and how would I like to express my true self today?
It almost made me hate chocolate; the stickiness of it in my mouth, on my fingers, as she pried and pried and pried.
‘I don’t want to talk about it!’ I’d yell through a mouthful of claggy, half-melted chocolate.
‘But why don’t you want to talk about it?’
One day she shoved a notebook and pencils at me. ‘Why don’t you draw it all, instead?’
I wrote ‘I hate Miss Banks’ over and over again, even though I didn’t really mean it. Still, Biddy had got the message after that.
The problem with Biddy is that she doesn’t keep secrets very secret. I told her about Mum dancing in the garden one time and she brought it up, over and over, for months afterwards. Dad says it’s because I didn’t tell her enough, but why would I want to tell her anything when I know I’ll never hear the end of it?
I know that Dad will have told her all sorts of secrets that are really just his and mine, seeing as Jamie and Mum aren’t here, anymore. It’s part of what makes me uneasy around her, wondering what she knows.
What Dad has told her.