We fell into a distressed sleep, lying with our heads at the bottom the bed. Floating in and out of consciousness, I was aware of Michelle walking in and out of the room, and of a blanket being thrown over us and the light being turned off. When I woke up properly, it was at the shrill ringing of the phone, which had started in my dream then turned into reality. I sat up in the darkness. My legs were cramped and sore. Justin lay on his side, facing away from me. I wondered whether to wake him. Then, he sat up on his elbow and mumbled:
“Abby.”
“I’m here.” My stomach tightened as Michelle’s cries echoed up the staircase.
“Abby,” said Justin again.
I shuffled across the mattress and held him so my chest pressed against his back. Michelle’s footsteps rose towards the bedroom. She opened the door and curled onto the bed, pushing her head against Justin’s.
“They found him,” she coughed, her voice husky. “He’s alive.”
Justin burst into a rush of grateful tears. Michelle reached her arm over both of us.
“The boat was wrecked on the reef. But he’s alive. He’s alive.” She repeated it over and over, her hair clinging to her wet cheeks. I was going to say ‘I’m so glad’, but it didn’t seem like enough. Instead, I just lay beside Justin and felt our bare arms press together.
It was four in the morning when he walked me back to the caravan park. Twisted palm branches lay across the road. Bark had washed up from the gardens and thatched the bitumen. Seas of bugs clapped their wings around the streetlights.
I stood on the doorstep and took Justin’s hands. “I’m so happy your dad’s safe.”
He stared vacantly into his sneakers. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “For staying tonight.”
I could hear the dull drizzle of the gutter overflowing into the mud.
“Are you going to school tomorrow?” Justin asked finally.
“I guess. Are you?”
“I guess.”
He held my glance. I shuffled backwards and thumped into the door.
“I’d better go,” I said, fumbling for my keys. “Thanks for walking me.”
Inside, the house smelled of wet towels. The lounge was full of drenched campers, their clothes dangling from a drying rack in the corner. A young woman sat up and turned over her pillow. I climbed over the maze of sleeping bags and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Nick was sprawled across the bottom three steps, his head lolling against the wall like a rag doll. I knelt down and rocked him gently.
“Nick…” He didn’t move. I took a blanket from the linen cupboard and tossed it over his body. “Jesus Christ,” I mocked. The blanket slipped off his shoulders. I sighed and pulled it back up towards his neck, careful to cover the deep purple bruises on the folds in his arms.
I opened my eyes the next morning to an orange glow seeping through the matchstick blinds. The red numbers of my clock radio glowed eleven-thirty. I rubbed my eyes; glad my parents had let me sleep.
I turned onto my back and stretched. The rest of the house was silent, but I could hear voices coming from the park. I pushed aside the mosquito net and swung my legs out from under the covers. My feet touched something hard. I looked down in surprise. Beside my bed lay a long black instrument case. I knelt down and opened the lid. Let out my breath. Inside lay an antique violin, polished in a deep chocolate brown. Beside it, a bow and new block of resin. I threw on my clothes and carried the violin to school.
I swung open the music room door when Andrew’s piano lessons had finished. I held the violin out to him. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“I already told you I can’t take your violin. You know what my mum would say. Besides, if I take this, you’ll have nothing to play on.”
He stood up. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone left this at my house last night,” I said. “And I have a feeling that someone was you.”
“Someone left a violin at your house? Are you kidding? Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and find a Ferrari in my driveway!”
“Don’t be stupid! Just take it back! You know I can’t accept it.” I forced it into his hands.
“It’s not mine, Abby. My violin’s in my basement. I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”
I paused. “It wasn’t you?” I opened the case and ran my fingers over the glossy wood. “Then who was it? Maybe I have a guardian angel or something.”
“Maybe,” he laughed. “That’s a Pollastri. It must be worth a fortune.”
I lifted it carefully out of the case and bowed the bottom string. “It’s beautiful,” I agreed. “But I feel bad just taking it.”
Andrew smiled. “How can you give it back when you don’t know where it came from? Take it, Abby. It was obviously meant for you. Just keep it out the way of your mum.”
I looked him in the eye. “You really had nothing to do with it?”
He laughed a little. “You think I’d be brave enough to come to your house and drop off a violin?”
I smiled.
“Come round tonight and have a play. We can go over the Elgar.”