Floundering (8 page)

Do you miss Gran? I say.

No, he says.

Would you rather be with her or Loretta?

He scoffs at me. What do you reckon? he says, but I feel wrong inside because I don’t know what I reckon.

I finger the sleeve of my new T-shirt. It has Winnie the Pooh on it. I put it on inside out so that Pooh is facing to my chest. I like him in there. Jordy skols the beer and gets up, throws his too-big singlet to the sand, and slips out of his shoes.

I’m goin’ for a swim, he says. He pegs his can at me. Beer pools out.

The ocean is shiny, blue and much rougher here than at the curl of the bay where the caravans are. The dumpers dig at the beach. Jordy times the waves, dives. He swims straight out until he’s through all the breakers and I can only see the dark spot of his head.

I get up to follow him but I’m so dizzy I have to lean down and steady myself halfway. I pick up a shell. There’s mostly just flat ones with oil slick insides, and little tiny snail shells. I see the edge of one, half in the sand, lean down, dig it out, tap the sand out of it. It’s a white shell as long as my palm. The snail’s body inside it would be the shape of a spiral, going right up into the
tip. I look up. Jordy’s way out in the ocean. I stand up slowly. I put the shells in my pockets. I feel the jumble of sandy shells in there.

I walk to the edge of the waves, so that I can keep his head in sight. I imagine what I’d do if I saw him get eaten by a shark. I’d see the fin, and then thrashing, and then blood in the water. A headache booms out at me from nowhere.

Come in, I whisper to myself, come in, come in, come in. I dig my feet deep into the cool sand and wait. A seagull swoops down to check me out, then catches the breeze back up into the sky. Come in, come in, come in, come in. The pain in my head keeps time.

Where’ve you been? says Loretta.

At the beach, says Jordy and bangs the screen door shut behind him. It’s hot under the awning and the beer carton hairdresser sign has blown over.

You have to tell me where you’re going. How am I supposed to know where you are? she says to Jordy’s back. And where’d you get that shirt? she turns to me.

Nowhere, I say. Still standing in the sun. I inch into the shade.

Don’t lie to me, Mister.

Jordy gave it to me, I say. I’m not lying.

Don’t talk to that old man, he’s a drunken weirdo, okay? She comes and holds my face in her hands. You’re burnt to a crisp, she says, again.

Her hair looks like a windsock in the hot northerly.

Okay, I say. Have you had any customers?

Don’t be a smart-arse.

I wasn’t. I was just asking.

I pull my face away and go into the caravan. Jordy’s in there, sitting up at the table. I can see the fan of sweat across his cheeks and nose. He’s got a plastic cup full of water. I get my own cup and pour from the container. Wipe my face on my sleeve.

How’s your ear? Loretta yells from outside.

Fine, I say quietly.

What?

Fine.

Jordy sniggers at me. His singlet slips off his shoulder and he shrugs it back up. I take the shells out of my pockets one by one, line them up on the table. Sometimes it feels like having a mean older sister.

The night is at that bit where it’s not black yet. It’s the darkest blue. Loretta opens a can of spaghetti and pours half each on a plate for Jordy and me. The plates here are plastic and so cut from knives and forks that the plastic has gone furry. The other plates are still dirty in the sink.

Aren’t you having any? I say.

Nah, she says.

It’s cold, I say.

She shrugs, steps back down the step of the caravan and we go out too. I’m careful not to tip my plate of red and worms. She lights a cigarette, leaning over, like she’s going to burn her hair. I fork the spaghetti into my mouth and mosquitoes bite me. Every couple of minutes is the sound of us slapping them.

Jesus, says Loretta and goes back into the caravan. I can hear her rustling around in there. She comes back out shaking an old aerosol can. The rattle of it. She leans over
me and sprays my legs and arms.

Owww, I yell. That kills.

What, she says, what?

It kills.

The spray is right in my scratched sandfly bites.

Jordy looks at us both and says, No thanks.

Suit yourself, she says, and with her ciggie clamped in her lips she sprays her own legs and arms and attempts to spray her back. She sits in her chair, stubs out her cigarette, half smoked, and lights another. I scrape the last of the spaghetti and wipe the plate with my finger until it’s clean. It tastes of Aerogard.

Let’s do something fun then, eh.

I look to Jordy but he’s looking across to Nev’s caravan. The windows are bright, but I can’t see Nev in there.

Don’t be so excited, she says.

What do you mean? I say. The spaghetti is heavy in my belly.

We’re going to go floundering. Did Pa ever take you floundering?

No, says Jordy.

I’ll teach you. It’s perfect for it here. Last time we caught millions of fish, a million years ago. You could still smell them for days after we fried them.

You caught them? Jordy says.

Yeah, I totally caught them.

Here?

Yes. Come on, we’ll be eating the secret side of a flounder soon as. She gets up, flinging her butt to the sand where it glows before fading out. We need gear, she says and goes looking in the caravan again.

I sniff in a deep breath and see if I can smell the lingering fishy smell. I hear banging from inside. She comes out with some rope, a torch and a small blunt-looking knife.

We got to get a stick from somewhere, sharpen it, she says. I can smell fish. But it’s the smell of rotten scales and guts. The screen door bangs shut behind her as she steps down.

Come on, it’s going to be great, she says.

I look back over at Nev’s caravan again, he’s not inside in the light, he’s in the dark next to it, leaning on the side looking out. He’s black except for the orange bum of his cigarette that brightens his face with each suck in. I look in my lap and count to ten hoping he’s gone by the time I look up again.

Loretta’s striding out front with the torch. She leaves us to walk in the dark. There’s lantern light at some tents, pools of it. Some glow from the inside and I can hear low murmuring. From everywhere there’s the sound of people slapping mozzies. Most tents are dark, though. The stars are low and bright. I can hear the slap, slap of her thongs. She stops.

Look for sticks, she says. I look around but there are no trees, just scrub. We need a sharp stick, she says. She points her torch into the scrub. Find us a stick quick. In you pop, she says.

No way, it’s dark, says Jordy.

I look up at them, but their faces are dark too.

Tommo, in you pop.

Okay, I say.

The bushes make scary shapes in the light. I step and push through the bush. The leaves scratch my arms. But there, in the light from the torch, is a perfect stick from a big tree. I pick it up and it’s smooth and beautiful in my hands. I laugh. It is
obviously not from here. It feels magic. I carry it out above my head.

Look, I say.

Wow, it’s perfect, she says. I can tell she’s grinning even though I can’t see her face. Come on, she says and takes my hand. Our hands go sweaty together. She steps down the path to the beach and we move with the pool of her light. The slippery soft sand is still holding the heat of the day. We stand at the edge of the water and Loretta shines the torch out there. Here, she says, where there’s a reef and rocks that hook out into the water it’s shallow and flat. It’s perfect, she says.

Really? I say.

It looks dark, says Jordy.

It’s supposed to be dark, it’s got to be dark. Can only catch them on a dark moon. They slip up into the shallows, swimming under the sand, she says. She makes her arms and fingers like frilly fins and I laugh.

What? says Jordy.

It’s true. They’ve got both eyes on the top side of their body. When they’re little they look like normal fish with an eye on each side, but as they grow one eye starts travelling to the other side. They’re easy prey when they’re all wonky. When they’re done they put their eyeless side to the sand so they can swim under it. It’s true. Your Pa showed me, she says.

Really? I say.

Yeah. Why don’t you believe me?

I look out at the dark ocean. With the little knife she cuts a few curls of bark off the end of the stick. Tests the sharpness of the stick, cuts more. She slips the knife back into her pocket.

What now? says Jordy.

We go in, she says. She steps out of her thongs and into the water. The pool of light gets further away, and Jordy and I, we’re still standing on the sand in the dark.

Come on, she says, her voice coming from the sea.

I leave my thongs at the water’s edge and walk towards the sound of the waves slapping against her calves in the shallows.

The tide is on the turn. They’ll be coming in across the shallows in a minute, she says. All three of us stand there, feet underwater. It’s so shallow it’s like we’re standing on the surface of the ocean.

You got to look for faces, she says, for the eyes. She points two fingers at her own shadowy face.

I grab at a bit of her shirt and hold on, the cotton warm and dry in my hand. The wind is whipping at us. It sucks Jordy’s singlet around him. I’m looking hard into the circle of the torchlight but all I can see is the pattern of the sand, which looks like how clouds go in an afternoon sky. I can’t see a face.

You got to spear ‘em, she says. Tie ‘em to a line and drag ‘em behind you, so you can spear more.

But we ain’t got a spear, Loretta, says Jordy.

She brandishes the stick. But we got to find one first. Just look for the eyes, she says.

Loretta walks into the black and I lose hold of her shirt. I look around for Jordy but after staring into the torchlight for so long I can’t see nothing. I feel something shift beneath my feet and I step away thinking I am standing on a face.

Jordy? I say.

I walk towards the torchlight but with my next step I’m in water up to my chest and it’s rushing much quicker. Waves
slap hard and quick against my face. I try to stand still against the current.

Loretta, Loretta, I say. It’s as if my voice is being swallowed by the sky. I can see the Southern Cross and the Saucepan and the stars feel like home. Loretta, I say. I’m too deep. I’m worried about sharks, the one that was going to eat Jordy. I’m worried one is swimming this channel looking for a feed, just like us. Loretta, I say, but I realise I’m whispering because I’m scared. I don’t want to move in case it gets deeper. I hold my arms up above the water. The waves slap my palms. The air is still hot, but my legs feel cold. Loretta, I try to say louder. I can hear the squeak of panic in my voice. Jordy, I say and look around for him, but it’s too dark and Loretta’s torch is a spot of light far away. Jordy? I slip forward, deeper. My arms are under. I take a breath of water as I slip. It’s quiet and cold. I try to tell my limbs to swim but it’s like I’ve forgotten how to. I fall deeper. I can see the top of the water like a new sky above me. My eyes sting in the salt. I feel heavy as stone. I reach my hand up towards the surface and another hand, warm and real, pulls me up.

I feel sand under my feet. I climb up it. I’m all wet now. I spit salt water and shudder.

Are you okay? says Jordy.

Yeah. He’s got both my arms tight in his hands and I try to pull free, but he won’t let me.

Okay? he says.

Okay.

I’m shaking with cold. I laugh into the shallows, but it’s the kind of laugh that hurts. The wind turns every wet bit I have to cold. My shirt’s sucked up on me, I try unstick it. Jordy lets go.

This way, he says.

He walks away, not checking to see if I’m following. I’m quick as a dog at his heels. We reach the hard sand and step out of the water. My hands are still out, like I’m a tightrope walker. I make them go down to my sides. The circle of torch is still way out and moving slowly. We sit on the beach, waiting for a long while for Loretta to come back to shore. I’m completely dry when the rising tide eventually pushes her back in. She doesn’t have the stick anymore and the rope is tangled around her arms. She lights us both with the torch, shining it in our eyes.

Tom nearly drowned, says Jordy.

I couldn’t see any, she says.

You’re blinding me, he says.

She hangs the torch at the end of her hand lighting one little bit of sand. The torch is dull.

Not even one, she says.

Did you hear me? Tom nearly drowned.

I’m okay. I’m okay, I say.

You don’t even care, he says.

Come on, I’m tired, she says.

She walks away and we follow, the sand making white socks on my feet. It feels like a dream anyway.

In the morning I can’t find Jordy. I go stand in the middle of the gravel road. The air is a haze of salt. I suck a breath in to see if I can taste it. I can taste dust. The screen door snaps shut and the awning flaps, making a sound like gunshot. I jump and swing around, but there’s no one there. I look over at Nev’s caravan but it doesn’t look like there’s anyone there either. The awning snaps again. I slip off the road, and walk around so that I’m looking at Nev’s caravan from the back, with the desert behind me. I hear a generator click on and whirr. I walk closer and step over the white border of rocks. My heart is jumping into my throat. The dirt looks like it has been swept.

Before I get close enough to look up into the hanging buoys, Nev and Jordy walk around the corner. They stop but they don’t see me straight away. They’re saying something, but the wind
whips their words away. Nev grabs a hold of Jordy’s arm and pulls him in, close. Jordy sees me. Jordy steps away. Nev lets go. He sees me and crosses his arms. I notice the blurred smudge of tattoos on his forearms. It could be a naked lady and an eagle with its wings extended.

What are you doing out here? Nev says.

Nothing, I say.

Oh yeah? He raises an eyebrow at me and walks up the steps, into the caravan.

What are you doing? I say to Jordy.

Nothing, he says. He’s got a tan in the shape of the singlet already, a white strip on his shoulders, permanent. On my shoulders I’ve got freckles, a whole starry sky of them.

Hey, I say to him.

What? he goes.

It’s hot, I say.

Yeah, he goes.

The screen door opens and Nev is standing above us with a tinnie in one hand and a jar of liquorice allsorts in the other. He throws the jar at me. Steps down and collapses into a chair. Jordy takes the jar and undoes the lid, putting his hand in there. He fills his mouth with lollies and chews. They’re all stuck together and I get a clump of them out. In my mouth they’re rubbery as tyre and sweet.

Not bad, eh, says Nev and takes a long swig of beer. I take a good look at his blurred tattoos. Lean over, pull the wrinkles apart and make the skin smooth. It ain’t a lady. It’s the face of a boy on Nev’s arm. It looks like a copy of a school photo. He looks awkward, with teeth missing, his hair too neat and combed weird. The wrinkles fall back. I can see his face in the
blur of the wrinkles now that I know he’s hiding in there.

Tom, hisses Jordy.

What? I say.

Nev looks up at me and his eyelids are pink as a dog’s tongue.

You reckon you can just do whatever you want without asking? he says.

No, I say, no. I didn’t mean nothing.

Get out of here, get, he says, get.

Let’s go, Tom, says Jordy.

Why? I say.

Come on, let’s go.

No.

Let’s go, he hisses at me and grabs my arm. I drop the jar of allsorts. Sticky black squares in the dirt.

Jordy. I look up at Nev and he steps closer towards us. I try to pick up the jar but Jordy pulls me out of the yard, past the border of white rocks. The buoys sway in the wind, the heavy glass globes rocking back and forth on their ropes. Jordy pulls me towards the road.

You shouldn’t snoop around, he says to me, still with a tight grip on my arm. I wrench it from him.

You’re not the boss of me.

I am.

What were you doing with him anyway?

I wasn’t doing anything.

Did he give you anything else?

No.

You shouldn’t hang around him.

It’s better that I do.

What do you mean?

Do you reckon Loretta’s in there? he says. The caravan is in front of us now. Rusted and looking like it’s going to fall apart any second.

Probly.

It’d be hot in there.

Yeah, I say, giving up.

We walk past our caravan to the beach. I look over my shoulder back at Nev’s but there is no one there, no one watching us. I can taste the liquorice in my mouth. We walk through the soft sand to the water, the hard wet edge, then towards the point. Jordy walks ahead of me, even when I try to catch up, he’s always one step ahead. I give up, and walk slowly, and he slows too. I see a hermit crab creep from the rocks. It stands out in the open for a bit and I see that its shell isn’t a shell. Its soft body is encased in a bit of PVC pipe. It slips away under a rock.

Did you see that?

What? says Jordy.

That crab.

No.

I turn away from him and run back up the beach. I sink into the hot, soft sand. It’s like it’s grabbing at my feet. I run up the track. I open the caravan door. Loretta’s lying on her bed. She opens her eyes. I can see the sweat on her. I don’t say anything. Grab all the shells from the windowsill. Run back to the beach and dump them back on the sand, near where the hermit crab was.

Sorry, I say to it. Sorry.

Jordy says, Are you retarded?

But I ignore him. I wait there for ages, for the crab to come out and change into a proper shell. Of course it doesn’t.

I open the door to the caravan and Loretta is still there on the bed, curled up in a ball.

I’m hungry, I say loudly. She doesn’t answer. I’m hungry, Loretta. Mum, I say.

She sits up and gives me a look from beneath her messy hair. She inches over to the edge of the bed, You want to go to town? she says. We’ll go to town. She stands up, smoothing her T-shirt. She pours herself a big glass of water and I watch it go down her throat as she drinks. The container is nearly empty. Come on, she says, grabbing the keys from the bench. Jordy is sitting outside.

We’re going to town, she says.

Can I stay here? says Jordy.

No, says Loretta, you can’t stay here.

What are we gunna get? I say.

Whatever you want.

Why can’t I stay? says Jordy.

’Cos, you can’t. End of discussion.

Shotgun, I say and jump to Bert’s front door grinning, but Jordy ignores me. He goes to the back door of Bert, pops it open and slumps into the back seat. He digs a space for his feet in among the rubbish.

Let’s go, eh, says Loretta and she leans over the gearstick and opens my door from the inside. I get in. The seat cover feels rough. I grip the armrest as Loretta drives too fast out of there. I turn around and can’t see the caravan disappearing for the dust. Jordy’s head is hanging to his chest.

Jordy, I go.

What? he says but doesn’t look me in the eye.

Nothing.

Sitting in the front, it’s like the road is too close, coming up to meet me.

Our trolley is yellow with Black and Gold. We line up behind two surfers with wide shoulders and no shirts. Loretta jiggles on the spot.

Mum, Jordy says and she spins around.

What? she says too quiet.

Nothing, he says too loud and smirks.

The men look around at us. Their hips jut out over the tops of their shorts. They have a line of hair to their bellybuttons. They look Loretta up and down. The lady at the counter beeps their big bag of chips and lemonades through. I look at my feet, ashamed, but I don’t know why.

Six-ninety, the lady says to them. How are you? she says to us.

Fine, says Loretta. Wait for me outside, she says to me and Jordy. Jordy pushes past me, and I squeeze past Loretta.

Outside I see the men in a panel van. They’ve got their arms hanging out the windows. Time goes so slow that every second stretches long into the afternoon, long enough to reach the slit of the horizon. One of them takes a drag on his cigarette and flicks it, still lit, towards us.

Come on, says Jordy.

What? I go.

He walks away, out of the carpark and up the wide empty street.

Hey, hey, I say. He ignores me and I can see the points of his shoulder blades sticking out his back through the singlet.

What? You don’t have to come, he says.

Hey, wait up, I say.

Just shut up for once.

We walk past the fish and chip shop. My mouth waters from the smell of salt and vinegar. Jordy’s walking to the highway, which is just the main street of the town. It runs all the way out of it, north. Jordy kicks a bottle cap along the pavement as he walks. It makes a tinkly sound. I run up in front of him and kick the cap before he gets to it.

Oi, he says, and trots after me.

It’s weird how the town just finishes, I say, stopping.

He walks in front again, without checking to see if I’m following. He’s left the bottle cap. I stoop down and get it, put it in my pocket. I flick it around and around in there, feeling the smooth top, the plastic inside and the sharp ridges with my fingertips.

Jordy keeps walking. There are shacks but their windows are half smashed out or so dirty they’re black. I can hear a truck and, looking up, I see it’s huge, rising up out of the hazy line between sky and road. It takes ages to get to us. Then, as it passes, the wind is so strong it pulls my hair and shirt, and tries hard to suck me in towards it.

Jordy, I say to his back, how long do you reckon it takes between when you see a car and when it gets to us?

I don’t know.

But what do you
reckon?

He turns around. I nearly bump into him. He puts his hand up in front of his forehead and makes the shape of an L – loser.

Maybe we should go back to town, I say. He turns around and keeps walking the way we’ve been going.

Jordy, do you reckon our dad’s on a prawn trawler?

No, he says. I don’t reckon our dad’s on a prawn trawler.

He could be, though, don’t you reckon?

I told you, how do you know my dad is your dad?

I take a deep breath, throw away the bottle cap and keep walking.

Hey, he says, hey, Tom. He touches my shoulder and I shrug him off.

Get lost, I say. I can hear his footsteps behind me. I look back and I see the smudge of a yellow car coming. It’s Loretta, I say.

He turns around and grabs me, pulls me towards one of the falling-down houses. His fingers dig into my arm.

Stop it, I say. Stop it.

Come on.

Jordy, it’s her.

Come on.

You’re hurting me.

He pulls me around the back of the house, through the open door. My heart beats right into the roof of my mouth. It stinks bad of cat piss in here. The floorboards creak. I feel ready to fall through them. There’s newspaper in the corner of the room and the place is dirty as, but there’s an old hat still hooked on the wall, like the owners just stepped out the door, like they’ll be back.

I hear a car pull into the driveway. We’re at the window. Shit, says Jordy.

But it’s Loretta, I say.

I know it’s Loretta, you retard, he says. This close I can see the flecks of colour in his eyes.

I am
not
a retard, I say.

Shh, he says.

Guys, this is no fun, she says from outside.

He sighs, gets up, and I follow him out onto the veranda. The wooden boards sag onto a garden made of weeds. Loretta is out there, sitting on the old orange and green swing set. Her bum squished into the kid-sized swing.

Hey, she says.

We don’t say anything. I step down to the ground. I kick into the dirt and just under the surface is the leg of a plastic doll and faded blocks of Lego. The earth gives them up for me.

You two wanna give me a heart attack? she says and jumps off the swing. She walks back to Bert and we follow her. The car is full of shopping bags. Jordy gets in the front and slams the door shut.

Hey, I had shotgun, I say.

He ignores me and Loretta. Sits there in silence. I get in the back and try slam the door harder than him. Loretta accelerates away. I look back at the house. The black windows are like gaps between teeth.

Bert’s engine tick ticks. We all sit in the car too long, looking at the caravan until Jordy opens his door, gets out and walks down to the toilet. I look across to Loretta and she tucks her hair behind her ears. The hair falls out and she tucks it back again. When she looks up there’s surprise in her eyes. It’s like she has forgotten I’m there.

Hey, she says.

Hey, I say.

We get out of Bert. I let my hand run along the dirty metal, leave a long stripe on him. Loretta stands outside the caravan and lights a cigarette. She’s fidgeting. She blows smoke and doesn’t sit down.

I open Bert’s back door and get a bag of shopping out. It’s heavy, the plastic cuts into my hand. I carry it to the door of the caravan and nudge my way past Loretta. I push against the door with my shoulder in the way I’ve figured out will open it. Inside it’s hot. I chuck the bag on the table and cans roll out of it.

I go get a water from the container and it’s nearly empty, right down to the bit that’s kind of brown. The other container is empty too. I sip it and it’s hot, but I still drink it in one long gulp. I wipe my sweat off onto my shirt and leave my glass with all the other dirty ones at the sink. I stumble down the metal steps, out.

There’s a woman in bike pants and a Winners are Grinners T-shirt out there. She’s got a little girl on her hip. She stands just outside the square of shade. I jump to see a stranger there. I stand still as a statue. Look at Loretta out of the corner of my eye.

Hi, says the lady.

Loretta says, Hi, from behind her hair.

I saw the sign, she says, the other day. You still doing that, cutting hair?

Yeah. No, says Loretta.

’Cos, she says, adjusting the girl on her hip, my hair is just hopeless. She puts her hand up and scrunches her fingers into it. I don’t get a chance to go to the hairdresser, you know, she says. Not with this little fella.

The little girl puts her thumb in her mouth. The woman smiles a smile that makes her look pretty. Loretta flicks her fringe out of her eyes and for a second she looks just like Jordy. The smiling lady looks at me.

What’s your name? she says to me.

Tom, I say.

That’s a
cooool
name, she says.

I laugh, try to stop my grin.

This is Jenny, she says. The little girl hides her face in her mum’s shirt. Where are you guys from? she says.

East, says Loretta.

Oh yeah, she says, I’ve never been over that way. Is it nice?