Hey Kat,
I’m sitting on the beach in front of Jed’s old shack. It used to be one of my favourite hangouts, but today I had to force myself to come over here. The whole place is scary. And it’s lonely too without you and Jed. It’s the second time I’ve been here since you left and I don’t think I’ll come again.
It was great to see Blissy the other day. I didn’t recognise her at first with all that heavy bruising, but I’m glad she could make it to the funeral. Jed would’ve been glad too. It wasn’t a happy occasion, but afterwards things seemed to improve a bit because Blissy and I spent some time together, and I finally got to know her. Until then we’d barely met. I think she’s wonderful, and so like you – it was kinda like sitting
down with you again. Except having you here would’ve been a lot better than wonderful.
The coolest thing about seeing Blissy though – way coolest – was the letter she gave me from you. It’s really good to know that you’re okay and that the trial your dad’s involved in is going well. Still, it must be pretty horrible for you – hidden away under wraps with no phone, no email and no freedom at all. But at least they’re giving you proper protection this time and, as you say, it shouldn’t be for too much longer. And we can write to each other. Blissy gave me a postbox address and I’ll send this note there. (Hopefully, they’ll pass it on without cutting half of it out!)
The best part of your letter was the bit about missing me and wanting to see me again. I’ve read it over and over again – and believe me, I feel the same way. There were things I wanted to say to you, but I didn’t get a chance after the rescue. Everything was just a blur. They whisked you away in that police chopper so fast and it seemed like a great chunk of my life had gone with you. Afterwards, I just felt empty. Still do, really.
At least I’m mobile now. Somehow I inherited Jed’s motorbike, and I use it every day, down to the jetty
and back. Even got my provisional licence. It’s great, but really, I’d much rather come home each night like we used to, squashed up in the ute together. Dad did a deal with Jed’s lawyer for the bike – I reckon a couple of crates of beer probably changed hands. We came over here last Saturday to pick it up. Dad said I didn’t have to come with him, but I wanted to. Maybe that was a mistake. Everything was just as Jed had left it. Nobody seemed to have disturbed anything at all – and it was horrible. Scary too. I know those bastards are back in Australia now, banged up in jail, and I know it’ll be years before they’re released, but I couldn’t shake them out of my head. There seemed to be someone skulking in every shadow. I didn’t go near the boatshed and when we’d loaded the bike, I couldn’t get away quick enough. Felt like a real wimp – and I guess that’s why I came back today. Wanted to prove to myself that I could handle it. But it’s not working.
The weirdest thing though is that everybody’s treating me like a hero. Even Burger – whenever we bump into each other it’s all high fives and stuff like that. As if we’re old mates from way back. Not that I mind. It’s better than being threatened with his shit
shredder. But I’m not a hero, and it feels really strange to have the whole town treating me as one. Heroes are brave. They’re people like Jed and Kreigler – the kind of guys who don’t worry about danger, and I feel a bit of a fraud because I’m not like that. I guess I just wanted to be with you, and somehow we got tangled up in a mess together. But I was practically wetting myself the whole time. Nothing brave about that. One good thing came out of it – the whole town came to Jed’s funeral, and they’ve stopped thinking of him as a shifty bastard.
It would’ve been great if you’d been able to come over for the funeral, but I know it wasn’t an option. In any case, Blissy told me she doubted if you’d ever be able to face Cooksville again. I think I know how you feel – and I don’t think we’ll be here for much longer either. Mum came rushing home from Europe in a flurry of panic. It’s really good to have her back with us, but she doesn’t like it here. Too many evil vibes from the past – and the firebugs don’t help either. They stopped for a while after that house was gutted, but they’re at it again now and it’s freaking her out. It’s all bad karma, she reckons, so she’s applying for
work elsewhere. Wants us to make a fresh start. She thinks she’s got a good chance of a position in Sydney teaching music. I’m hoping like hell she gets it. That would be really, really cool.
Say hi to Blissy and tell her she’s just as filipticious as Jed claimed. But so are you, Kat – even more so. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know you’re in lockdown, but soon as you can, please write.
Cully