Five Parts Dead (12 page)

Everyone talks up New Year's Eve. Each year it's going to be bigger and better than before, which, in theory, should be a shoo-in given how much the last one sucked. Seriously, it's the one night of the year that is guaranteed to over-promise and under-deliver.

Experience tells me I shouldn't get my hopes up but I can't wait for tonight. The sky is clear and windless. New Year's Eve ripples with possibility.

Mum and Dad have hit the road again, motoring off to a secret beach where they reckon there's a chance they'll spot a greater speckled something or other. They actually asked if I wanted to come with them. I made like I was thinking about it and replied, ‘Maybe next year.' There's a certain greater freckled someone I'm much more interested in spending the evening with.

This morning, after Mel convinced Mum and Dad to drop her at the farm-stay so she could bond with her favourite tour guide, I went back to bed. Well, back to sleep. No point getting up when I could be recuperating horizontally.

After a late breakfast, Pip and I took her camera gear down to the rocks to get some shots of the seals. Okay, Pip hid in the rocks and photographed while I lay on the boardwalk and snoozed some more. Now we're back at the cottage, locked in combat over a Scrabble board, waiting for the others to cruise in.

We hear a vehicle muttering as it crests the hill. Pip stands and, in a mock-elderly voice, says, ‘Visitors. Better put the kettle on, love.' I laugh, thinking of us as an old married couple. Right this second, I kind of dig that idea.

Turns out it's not the bus but a dodgy-looking campervan that lurches and grinds down the gravel track to the cottages. Hiroshi shrugs apologetically from behind a bug-blasted windscreen as a beaming Mel swings from the seat and kisses me on the cheek. Wow. Mel's had crushes before but I don't think I've ever seen her bubbling like this. It's…kind of cute.

‘Hello you,' she says. ‘Had a good day? Rosh and I picked up stuff for a picnic but Pip and I need to get changed before we go anywhere.' And then she skips off inside, leaving me to rub my cheek and wonder when was the last time I hugged my twin. Better put it on the To Do list, Dan.

Hiroshi and I circumnavigate the van, borrowed from his boss, who needed the minibus. It looks like it hasn't been washed since...ever.

‘Maybe it would go faster if you weren't carrying half the island in mud.'

Hiroshi chuckles and slaps an arm around me as we wander inside.

Buggered if I know why the girls want to dress up for New Year's Eve. I mean, it's just the four of us having a picnic.

Laughter leaks from the girls' room as Hiroshi and I flop on the lounge chairs. There's an awkward silence that jars with the festive mood. Time to make an effort, Dan. Get to know Hiroshi better. Do some detective work about him and Mel.

‘Hey Rosh…' He looks at me as if he's glad I spoke first but he's apprehensive about what I might ask. Here goes nothing…

‘So were you and Mel together when she was in Tokyo? I never really asked her about the trip.'

He looks at me, an eyebrow cocked. Then he grins. ‘No. I want to. I am interested…but she is younger… my sister and her friends they don't let me near. And my father—he wants me to concentrate on studies—no time for girlfriend. So, I was just…you know Jack Johnson music?'

I nod, surprised.

His eyes glint. ‘I was like that song with Ben Stiller…
Sitting, Waiting, Wishing
.'

‘So what did your dad think when you got the job as a tour guide?'

‘Aaah…he was not happy. Said, “Guide is not a job to make a career of.” He says I should go to the university instead. I told him practising my English will make me better businessman—make more opportunities. I did not tell him I needed a holiday, a break from him…It is tough for him. Expectations are very high for the first child in Japanese families. His friends tell him I have made bad choice.'

Hiroshi stares at the ceiling. ‘I feel sad for him…He wants what is best for me. We live in small apartment and he works extra hours for us to go to good school. I do well with my studies but I dream of…different things.'

Nice one Dan. Change the topic. Fast.

‘So did you know we were going to be here? Did you get in touch with Mel about meeting on the ferry?'

‘No!' A smile spreads across his face. ‘That was… we say “umme”. Ah, how do you say it…“fate”. I was hoping, being in Australia, but when I saw her it was like…the gods are on my side.'

‘Ta dah!' Mel sashays into the room. She's wearing an inky-blue cocktail frock, a backless, halter-neck thing that she's teamed with high heels. Beats me how she managed to cram formal wear in her backpack when I barely squeezed a change of jocks into mine.

Mel spins on the spot. Hiroshi gawks at her, openmouthed. He has it bad for her. I'm sort of glad for him. Sounds like he's earned some luck.

Then Mel is at the door beckoning to Pip. She enters, treading as cautiously as a kitten and blushing. Her embroidered cotton dress is white and strapless with a flowing skirt. I take in her bare shoulders and feet and wonder if I'm gaping like Hiroshi. Pip does a self-conscious twirl on Mel's command, sending the skirt floating up. She's put her hair up, with some feathers beside her left ear. She looks…spectacular. Suddenly I feel underdressed, like I should have made an effort. It didn't occur to me that I might need party clothes…

‘Hiroshi and I thought we'd drive down to the bay,' Mel says. ‘You right to come, Dan?'

I nod. ‘Don't think I can match you ladies for glamour but give me a sec.'

In my room I rummage through my pack for shorts, a clean T-shirt and a towel. Then I attempt to tame my hair. The trick now is to look like I haven't bothered.

Before I lock the cottage I call out to see what we've forgotten. ‘Anything else you need me to grab? Shark repellent? Emergency beacon? Wet weather gear?'

Mel smiles. ‘You are such a boy scout. Dad would be soooo proud…I've already brought the swags, just in case. All you need to do is haul your arse on board, you great goose.' She winks at Hiroshi and he turns the key in the ignition.

The road from the Cape climbs through dense mallee scrub. Dad reckons the first vehicle to make it to the lighthouse by land, a mail truck, didn't find a way over the sandy, forested dunes until 1930. The keepers had been at the Cape for more than seventy years, completely dependent on supply ships.

After the second ridge we drop into a valley where the forest changes, morphing from gnarled, hunchbacked trunks to taller eucalypts with bark draped over their branches like trench coats.

Hiroshi and Mel are giggling up front, speaking Japanese. I catch Pip's eye. ‘You look great,' I mutter, hoping Mel doesn't overhear. ‘Really fantastic.'

She mumbles, ‘Thanks…You too.'

With Mel and Hiroshi so clearly paired off, it's kind of awkward for Pip and me now—like there's pressure for us to get together too. Part of me is dead keen on the idea and hoping like anything that Pip feels the same way. Another part of me has cold feet.

A thought hovers like a mosquito, making me question whether I'm an unknowing participant in one of Mel's cunning plans. A stooge in an elaborate set-up. Surely not. And even if it is the case, why not relax and enjoy whatever comes? I can't, of course. Mel reaches across and puts a hand on Hiroshi's shoulder. I grit my teeth and stare out the window at the dusky landscape.

After half an hour or so, Hiroshi turns off down a gravel track. ‘This is where we take surfers,' he calls back to us. ‘Good safe beach.'

‘Where are they tonight?' Pip asks.

‘Hotel in town,' he says, smiling. ‘Lot of dancing. Lot of drinking.'

We stop in a dusty alcove among tangled ti-tree scrub. Between the branches I spot a narrow path with steps down to the sand. On the right is a small surf beach, the moon echoing across the waves. On the left, separated from the sea by two hundred metres of white sand, is an estuary. A jetty pokes out into a serene tidal river, sequined by the moonlight. The scene is postcard perfect.

Mel and Pip each take an end of the picnic basket. Rosh lugs an esky. I grab the beach towels and drag my cast through the sand. I eye the water—I'd love a swim.

The picnic is delicious. Crusty bread. Cold chicken. Salad. Strawberries. Chocolate. Watermelon. Cider. We've got the beach to ourselves and I soak up the moment, musing over what the New Year might bring and where we'll all be in twelve months' time.

Mel and Hiroshi crash my daydreaming when they stand, stretch and announce that they're going for a walk along the beach. Pip and I watch them go. They disappear over a dune and then there's silence, apart from the steady wash of waves and a gull cawing in the distance.

‘I'm wondering whether, if I dug a trench from the estuary, I could make a pool where I could swim without getting this cast wet. A half-body spa sort of thing.' I know it's the wrong conversation and I panic. This is supposed to be a magical moment and I'm talking about digging holes. Just keep on digging, Dan, until you bury yourself completely.

Could Pip be as nervous as I am? I'm wallowing here, completely unsure if I've imagined there was-is-could-be anything between us. Phan would know how to handle this. Even Carlo would have said something suave. Well, something, anyway. The silence is killing me. And Pip's not making it easy. She's lying back, looking up at the stars. Waiting for me to…

I speak in a rush, like a tap turned on too fast. ‘It's funny, isn't it? You and I spend the day together and it's great. No pressure. And then we come here with those two and they disappear and it suddenly feels…different. A bit like we've been set up. Um, I mean I…'

I don't get to finish the sentence. ‘It's no set-up if this is something we both want, Dan. Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you need to think about whatever it is you want.' She snatches up her bag and storms off.

I watch her go, shattered, as she disappears into a grove of trees, emerging a minute later in her bikini. She strides to the end of the jetty, drapes her towel over a bollard and dives into the river. She surfaces metres away, then I lose sight of her in the night.

Shit! Shit! Shit! I think of a hundred things I could have said instead of spewing out useless words. And so much stuff I could have done—I could have taken action, moved closer and kissed her maybe—but then I never take action. And I always regret it.

I'm a loser. I'm jumping at shadows, psyching myself out with shit that has nothing to do with Pip, Mel or anyone but…me.

If I could run, I'd be sprinting down the beach until my lungs were molten in my throat. Shit! Shit! I thump the sand, once, twice,

Maybe I should chase after Pip. Jump into the estuary, swim until I find her, and not give a toss about the plaster cast. Then again, I might sink to the bottom and be anchored in the mud forever. Maybe that's exactly what I should do.

Things were going so well. Pip and I…were good together. It felt right, like we were, or could be, I dunno, more than mates. Yes, I did, no…I do want to hold her. Kiss her freckled skin. But I'm afraid. Afraid that I'm too messed up. Not good enough for such a sassy, smart, unusual girl.

Love your work, Dan. Another New Year's Eve disaster.

I lift the last cider bottle and hold it up to the moonlight. Empty. I want to smash the glass all over the beach, swear at the stars, curse the night, scream at Mel. Instead I limp down to the tide-line, gathering fistfuls of stones. I throw one, straining to see and hear where it smashes into the waves. I keep throwing them until my arm aches.

Then, as I stoop to gather flat pebbles for skimming, an idea surfaces from the haze. More than an idea. A hope.

C: AFFIRMATIVE/CHANGE OF COURSE

I wait, nervier than an emo kid at a death metal party, clear what I want and clueless about my chances. Time grinds more slowly than in a dentist's waiting room, but it's not as if I have anything better to do.

When I hear a series of rhythmic splashes, my pulse surges. Steady Dan…don't get ahead of yourself. It could be fish somersaulting…or a midnight-snacking pelican… or a homicidal prison escapee in a rowboat.

It feels like twenty minutes before Pip climbs the ladder at the end of the jetty, the moon at her shoulders. She shakes her hair and steps over to her towel. ‘Ow!' She treads on a pebble, stoops, grabs it and tosses it angrily into the water. That was a risk I had to take. Maybe I can offer to rub her foot later.

As she straightens up, she spots the trail of stones arranged along the jetty timbers. With a wry smile, she wraps her towel around her and begins to follow them.

She doesn't take any short cuts. She loops and arcs with the pebbles, her smile widening. As I throttle the tree branch I'm holding, she halts two-thirds of the way down the jetty where the smooth beach stones spell a message: ‘U R AMAZ-N.'