Night Beach (13 page)

place
–
his
beverage
of
choice
at
big-‐deal
meals.

‘Not
for
me,
thank
you,’
Mum
says,
with
tone.

So
I
gather
Brian
is
partially
responsible
for
her
mood
then.

It’s
probably
about
Melbourne.
Mum
uses
Brian
as
some
kind
of
shield
against
the
world

at
large,
me
included.
Although
he
travels
a
lot
for
work,
he’s
normally
only
gone
for
two

or
three
nights.
But
this
time
around,
she
will
be
defenceless
for
the
next
four
weeks
or

something.
I
look
from
her
face
to
Brian’s
tightly
pursed
lips
and
feel
my
stomach
drop.

It’s
going
to
be
a
fun
dinner.

‘Abbie?’
Before
I
can
answer,
Brian
is
pouring
me
a
glass.

It’s
a
generous
pour.
He
likes
company
when
he’s
drinking,
even
if
it’s
underage.
‘How’s

that?’

‘That’s
good,
thanks.’

‘A
little
more?’
He
tilts
the
bottle
again,
tempting.

‘No,
I’m
okay.’

God,
why
do
they
always
have
to
fuss
around
so
much?
I
wish
he’d
just
sit
down
so
we

could
start
eating
and
get
this
over
with.
I
wonder
what
Kane
makes
of
all
this
–
the

wine,
the
candles,
the
opera.
The
answer
is
probably
‘a
big
wank’,
which
makes
me
feel

even
more
embarrassed.
I’m
sitting
directly
across
from
him,
on
the
side
with
a
view.

For
the
record,
I
never
drink
much
at
home.
I
can’t
see
the
point
of
drinking
unless
it’s

with
your
friends.

‘Beer
for
you,
Kane?’

Kane
scratches
his
chest,
leaning
back
in
his
seat.
‘You
know
what?
I
think
I’ll
try
a
bit
of

wine.’

‘Oh.’
Brian
blinks
for
a
moment,
his
rhythm
thrown.
He
fetches
Kane
a
wineglass.

While
Brian
is
pouring,
Kane
picks
up
his
knife
and
fork
and
starts
eating.

That’s
different.

‘Great
fish,’
Kane
mutters.
‘What’d
you
put
on
it?’
But
he’s
scraping
the
wilted
herbs
off

while
he
says
it.

‘Basil,
thyme,
preserved
lemon,
capers,’
Brian
says,
frowning
at
Kane’s
plate.
‘A
splash
of

wine.’

‘Fantastic.’
Kane
grins
at
him,
his
mouth
full.

Brian
pours
his
own
wine
and
then
sits
down,
raising
his
glass.
‘Well.
Welcome
back,

Kane.’

‘Right,
right.
Sorry.’
Kane
puts
down
his
cutlery
and
grabs
his
glass.

‘And
may
this
time
in
Melbourne
pass
quickly.’
Brian
exchanges
serious
looks
with

Mum.

Mum
relents
and
picks
up
her
empty
glass,
and
then
we
all
chink.

I
do
it
too
hard,
and
my
glass
sings
a
warning.
Another
shipwreck.

‘Careful,’
Brian
snaps.
‘They’re
Riedel.’

I
want
to
die.
I
mean,
honestly,
why
can’t
we
just
have
a
barbecue
like
normal
people?

‘So
did
you
have
a
good
trip,
mate?’
Mum
asks,
helping
herself
to
the
salad.
The
‘mate’
is

patronising,
but
her
voice
is
all
care
and
concern.
She
likes
Kane.
She
likes
to
mother

him.

‘Yeah,
great.’

‘Your
sponsor
arranged
it,
did
they?’

‘Nah,
did
it
ourselves.
Got
a
photographer
onboard,
organised
a
charter.’

Brian
pushes
primly
at
his
glasses.
‘Sounds
like
an
expensive
thing
to
do.’

‘Yeah,
I
guess.’
Kane
grins.
‘I
look
at
it
as
an
investment.’

He
sucks
back
a
healthy
mouthful
of
wine
and
carefully
positions
his
glass
on
the
table.

I
am
chewing
quietly,
willing
Brian
to
back
off.

‘Isn’t
that
sort
of
thing
generally
organised
by
the
magazines
and
sponsors?’

‘Well,
Brian,
you
can
wait
around
for
them,
or
else
you
can
make
something
happen.’

I
take
a
sip
of
wine,
afraid
to
look
up.
God,
it’s
so
Brian
to
do
this,
to
just
bulldoze
his

way
through
personal
boundaries,
not
caring
that
it’s
none
of
his
business.
I
wouldn’t

mind
so
much
if
he
was
like
that
with
everybody.
But
he’s
not.
Around
big
wigs,
Brian

goes
all
tight-‐mouthed,
offering
little
pieces
of
information,
not
opinions,
as
though
he’s

kneeling,
holding
them
up
on
a
satin
cushion
for
inspection.

When
Kane
doesn’t
answer,
Brian
adds,
‘It
seems
to
me
that
it
would
have
been
more

sensible
to
wait
until
you
were
invited
on
an
organised
trip
with
one
of
the
magazines.’

‘Might
be
dead
before
that
happens.’

Brian
turns
his
attention
to
his
fish,
peering
at
it
over
his
glasses
and
prodding
it
with

the
tip
of
his
knife.
‘A
little
over-‐done,’
he
remarks
to
Mum.

No
kidding.
For
a
while
we
eat
in
silence
and
I
sneak
a
glance
at
Kane.
He’s
zipped
his

black
jumper
right
up
so
that
the
collar
brushes
his
jaw
line.
You
can
see
his
body
gets

used
every
day
in
the
swell
of
his
pecs,
the
solidness
of
his
deltoids,
the
fan
of
his
lats
–

yes,
I’m
fluent
in
muscle,
you
can
thank
my
dad
the
sports
scientist
for
that.
With
his

thick
crop
of
hair,
the
stubble
on
his
face,
his
sun-‐stained
skin,
Kane
couldn’t
be
more

different
to
Brian.

Brian
is
tall
and
thin,
his
back
rounded
as
though
someone’s
removed
wires
that
were

supporting
his
frame.
Behind
the
lenses
of
his
rimless
glasses
his
eyes
look
like

nocturnal
animals,
surprised
by
light.
He’s
balding
and
keeps
the
remnants
of
his
steel-‐

grey
hair
cropped
short.

Lips
pursed,
he
reaches
for
the
wine
bottle
and
refills
his
glass,
but
doesn’t
offer
any
to

Kane.

It’s
funny
to
me
that
power
comes
from
sitting
behind
a
desk.
It
should
come
from

spending
yourself.
For
a
moment
my
throat
tightens
and
I
wish
I
wasn’t
there,
breathing

in
prickly
air,
aurally
assaulted
by
the
wailing
of
some
stupid
fat
woman.
I
wish
I
was

still
living
with
Dad.
I
wish
Kane
could
meet
him,
so
that
at
least
he’d
see
the
other
side

of
me.
Dad
is
a
mix
of
brains
and
muscle.
Even
though
he
hasn’t
got
the
build
for
it,
he

runs
marathons.
He’s
all
about
being
active
and
learning.
He
thinks
the
human
body
is

poetry.
He
wears
rimless
glasses
like
Brian,
but
they’re
offset
by
the
grin
lurking
under

his
thick
moustache.

At
least
with
Dad,
love’s
a
given.
It’s
just
the
other
stuff
–
time,
attention,
money,

patience
–
that
comes
on
credit.
And
now
Michelle’s
come
along,
there’s
even
less
of
it
to

go
around.

I
drink
the
rest
of
my
wine
–
all
of
it
–
and
nobody
notices.

Everything’s
slowed
down,
and
I’m
apart
from
things.
I
feel
like
I’m
underwater.

‘Have
you
got
much
work
on
this
week,
Kane?’
Mum
asks,
acting
like
nothing’s
wrong.

‘So
would
you
consider
the
trip
a
success?’
Brian
interrupts,
sounding
irritated.
‘Did
it

pay
off?
Did
you
get
what
you
were
after?’

‘Yeah.’
Kane
puts
his
knife
and
fork
down
and
stretches
lazily,
but
there
is
nothing

relaxed
about
him.
And
that’s
when
I
see
it.
The
blurring
in
his
movement.
Some
kind
of

distortion.
‘Yeah.
We
got
what
we
were
after.
And
a
whole
lot
more.’

Brian
and
Mum
are
concentrating
on
their
plates,
but
I’m
staring
at
Kane.
And
at
the

back
of
my
mind
is
the
memory
of
him
hitting
Greg
Hill;
a
brightly
wrapped
little
box

that
I
can’t
open.
Something
wasn’t
right.
What
did
I
see?
Because
something’s
wrong

now,
and
it’s
happening
in
front
of
me.
I
want
to
get
up,
turn
the
light
up
high,
but
that

won’t
work.
I
know
it
won’t.

Brian
clears
his
throat
with
a
harrumph.
‘Really.
So
you
got
some
good
footage?’

‘Yeah,
it’s
good,’
Kane
says.
‘I
was
just
showing
Abbie.’

He
looks
at
me,
and
I
feel
flustered,
caught
out.
‘The
photos
are
amazing,’
I
say,
even

though
no
one
is
interested
in
what
I
think.
‘I’ve
never
seen
anything
like
them.
They’ll

sell
for
sure.’

Brian
nods
slowly,
as
though
understanding
has
just
dawned
on
him.
‘So
there
has
been

some
interest
then.’

Kane’s
eyes
are
glassy,
fixed
on
Brian.
‘Dunno.
The
photographer’s
gonna
deal
with
that.’

Brian
allows
his
voice
to
be
ever
so
slightly
tinged
with
doubt.
‘Right.’

There’s
a
moment
of
silence.
Kane
leans
back
in
his
chair
and
the
movement
bleeds
into

the
air
around
him.
I
stop
breathing,
wishing
I
could
draw
him
right
now
so
I
could
truly

see.

Not
straight,
don’t
look
at
it
straight.
And
I
obey
whatever
instinct
it
is
that
tells
me
this,

moving
sideways
so
that
my
gaze
can
slide
past
Kane
to
his
reflection
in
the
glass

behind
him.

There
it
is.
A
darkness.
A
shadow.
Not
Kane,
but
something
else.

‘For
God’s
sake,
Brian,
they
only
just
got
back,’
Mum
says.

‘Abbie,’
Kane
says,
leaning
forward.
His
voice
is
low
and
comes
from
the
back
of
his

throat.

I
look
at
him,
see
the
intensity
in
his
green-‐eyed
gaze,
and
I
know
what
he’s
doing.
He’s

pulling
me
back.

‘I
was
merely
enquiring,
dear,’
Brian
says
to
Mum.
‘It’s
quite
reasonable
to
want
some

gauge
of
progress.’

‘It’s
not
reasonable
to
mount
an
inquisition.’

They
continue
their
discussion,
voices
querulous,
because
the
subtext
is
Brian
going

away
to
Melbourne
and
leaving
her
alone
again.

As
they
argue,
Kane
and
I
stare
at
each
other
across
the
table.
And
I
don’t
know
what
the