Music From Standing Waves (29 page)

I follow him through the house and into the
back yard. A square of long grass is fringed with a tangled daisy
bush. The roots of a tree fern are pushing up the tiles of the
patio. I sit in one of the plastic chairs on the veranda and lift
the ashtray off the arm. I can hear the sea. It’s kind of nice.
Nick ducks inside and reappears holding hands with a tall, thin
redhead.

“This is Marina.”

She flashes me a broad smile. Her ears poke
through the waves of her hair. She is wearing long, beaded earrings
that dangle onto her shoulders. Her bell-bottom jeans are frayed
and she wears an off-the-shoulder peasant top.

She kisses my cheek. “It’s so great to meet
you. Nick’s told me heaps about you. A musician, hey? That’s pretty
cool.” She speaks with a slight lisp and waves her hands around
when she talks. I can tell Nick finds it amusing because the
corners of his mouth turn up and he kisses her on the chin.

“Are you laughing at me?” Marina sings, and I
know it’s an old joke. I’m glad my brother is happy.

I take my things into the lounge. Nick has
made a half-arsed effort at packing. A couple of boxes lie beneath
the bare bookshelves, but the only things inside are a few DVDs and
a handful of loose photos. For a second, I want Nick’s life: a life
of bare bookshelves and empty boxes. A life of throwing everything
in the back of a car and heading off wherever the wind will take
me.

I drop my bag onto the couch and stare into
the mirror. My reflection has changed. My straggly brown ponytail
has been cut in layers and I wear it flowing over my shoulders. I
had never worn make-up in Acacia Beach, but before I had left
Melbourne, I had spent twenty minutes in the bathroom underlining
my eyes, blotting my lips, covering the pimple that had sprouted on
my chin. And I’m surprised at just how much weight I’ve lost this
semester. I can feel the bottom of my hipbone, without the little
cushion of flesh that has always covered it. My stomach is hollow
under the bodice of my sundress.

When I come out of the lounge, Nick is
pottering around the kitchen. The windows are steamy.

“Wow,” I say. “You even cook now?”

He laughs. “I do something that vaguely
resembles cooking. Is spaghetti okay?”

“Sounds great.” I pick up a fork and stir the
bubbling pot. “I had no idea things had gotten this good for you. I
guess I’ve been worrying unnecessarily.”

Nick doesn’t answer straight away. “It’s nice
that you worried.”

“So,” I say. “You’re clean?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly? What the hell does that mean?”

He sighs. “Don’t give me that up-yourself
tone, Abby. You know what it means.”

“You told me you were giving it up! You lied
to me!”

“Calm down, okay. I knew you wouldn’t come if
you thought I was still using. And I really want you here for
this.”

“Does Marina know?”

Nick gives a short burst of laughter. “What,
you think she’s never touched it?”

“That’s great,” I say. “Fantastic.”

He puts down the jar of pasta sauce and
sighs. “Look,” he says. “I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my
whole life. Things are finally working out for me. So what if I
take some stuff every now and then? I don’t need you being all
fucking judgemental.”

I don’t look at him.

“Things have changed for me, Abby. Can’t you
tell?”

I don’t reply. I can see the difference in my
brother; the colour in his face, the light behind his eyes, but I
don’t want to admit it.

“I’m not addicted,” he insists. “I could stop
if I wanted.”

I scoff loudly.

“I thought you’d be happy for me.”

I rub my eyes. “I am,” I say flatly. “It’s
just been a long day. Let’s just go eat, okay.”

The storm hits in the early evening. We sit
on the back veranda and watch the silver sheets of water fall from
the sky. Nick and Marina roll cigarettes and drink three beers to
my every one. Marina climbs out of her chair and kicks over a
cluster of empty bottles.

“Can I read your aura?” she asks me.

“Can you
what
?”

Before I can stop her, she is waving her
hands over my head, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

“You’re being corrupted by impure energies,”
she announces, ashing onto my lap.

I suggest I’m not the only one, but I don’t
think she hears me over the rain.

The rest of the night passes in much the same
manner; Marina crapping on about my imbalanced chakras and Nick
half asleep in a banana lounge. Then they stumble off to bed and go
at it like dogs in a car park.

I put my headphones on and scroll through my
Ipod in search of something to block out the pandemonium. Each
track I pass has a bitter connotation. This song played at Julian’s
party. This, a piece I played with John. The next, a track from a
Standing Waves gig. I haven’t heard or played a note of music since
the concerto competition heats. I toss the Ipod into my bag and
slip out of the house.

I stand motionless. The rain has passed and
the night is still. I haven’t come so close to silence in a long
time. It is almost frightening, but in a way it is perfect. I
wander down the middle of the glistening road. I feel disoriented,
lost in time. If I listen hard enough to the quiet I can almost
believe the last two years never happened.

I realise I’m walking towards my parents’
house. I need to see it. I feel the sight of home will anchor me
somehow, even if it’s a home I’m no longer welcome in.

When I reach the caravan park, I see that
Psycho George’s haunted house has finally been torn down. I gaze up
at the pristine white units that occupy the block. I had hated
Psycho George’s. I don’t know why I’m sad.

I face my parents’ house, staring up at its
wooden awnings and the vine covered lattice around the drainpipe. A
couple of cars crawl down the driveway into the park, gravel
crunching under the tyres. It is all as it had been the day I left
for Melbourne, clutching my violin and praying for a new life.

I try to imagine what would happen if I
waltzed up to the house and knocked on the door. For a moment, I’m
tempted, but then I back away slowly.

A cicada starts to wail and I begin the walk
back to Nick and Marina’s. They’re guaranteed to be passed out by
now. In the block where George’s house had stood, the vibrant white
units seem to glow in the dark. In one room, a light shines through
heavy purple curtains.

“So you reckon they’re haunted or what?”

I hear Justin’s voice and for a second I’m
afraid to turn around. His tanned face is forced into a smile. The
sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and he digs one hand into the
pocket of his jeans.

“There was no ghost,” I say.

“Don’t be so sure. People in the units have
reported hearing footsteps up and down the hall. There’s never
anyone there. And some guy saw a face at his window.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re a sceptic now?”

I fold my arms across my chest. Am I supposed
to still be angry? Or supposed to have let two years wash away the
bad times? It’s late and I can’t think clearly.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” I
say.

“I’m not. Well- I am. I mean, Nick told me
you were coming back. But I didn’t expect to run into you like
this.”

“What are you doing out here?” I ask.

“Trying to build up the courage to come and
talk to you. I’ve started walking to Nick’s about five times. I
never get any further than the end of the street.”

I don’t answer. The cicada stops shrieking
and I feel the weight of the silence.

“So,” Justin says finally. “How’s
things?”

“Okay.” I shoo a mosquito away from my face.
The storm has brought them out and they’re eating me alive. With
any luck I’ll catch dengue fever or something. “So what are you up
to now?” I ask dutifully.

“Fishing,” says Justin. “Working for Dad’s
company. It’s pretty good.”

I nod.

Justin swallows heavily. “You’re still mad at
me, aren’t you? I can understand why you would be, but really, it
was ages ago. I hoped you’d be over it…”

So two years
is
supposed to have
washed away the bad times.

“Look.” I rub my eyes. “No offence, but I
really need some sleep.”

Justin looks a little taken aback. “Okay.
Want me to walk you?”

I force a smile then remind him that I know
the way.

In the morning, the heat is stifling. I can’t
tell if it’s hotter than usual or if I’ve just become acclimatised
to Melbourne’s grey winters. I drift out of Nick’s house and stand
outside Justin’s. With a deep breath, I click open the side
gate.

Justin has a box of fishing tackle spread
across the outdoor table. He’s untangling a length of line, wearing
nothing but a cap and pair of yellow board shorts.

“Hey.”

He looks up. “Abby. Hi.” He grabs his t-shirt
off the table and throws it over his brown shoulders.

“So I didn’t really like how last night
went,” I manage.

He drops the fishing line into the box. “No,”
he says finally. “Me neither.”

I try to give an assuring smile. “You know
I’m not mad at you. I should have told you that last night.”

“You’re not?”

I shake my head. “You’re right. It was a long
time ago.” I’m surprised at myself. Wasn’t sure I had it in me to
forgive him.

Justin gives a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Sorry about last night,” I tell him. “I was
tired, that’s all.”

“I’ve been scared shitless ever since Nick
told me you were coming home. I didn’t think you’d want anything to
do with me. But it’s so good to see you.” He catches my eye. “So do
you think we could still be friends? I’d really like to hear about
your course and stuff.”

“You want to know about all that? I didn’t
think you’d be interested.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I just didn’t think it was your thing.”

“It’s not my thing. But that doesn’t mean I’m
not interested. I care about what you do, Abby. You were such a
massive part of my life.”

I smile crookedly. “Past tense.”

“No.” He corrects himself with a shake of his
head. “You
are
. Always will be.”

I let him hug me. The stubble on his chin
pricks my cheek and I can smell his sunscreen.

“I missed you so much,” he says. I’m not sure
if I can say the same.

I climb awkwardly into our Antarctica dinghy,
which still teeters on the lawn. Justin watches with a smile as I
stretch my legs over the bench seats.

“Here.” He pushes his cap over my ponytail.
“You’re so white. You’re going to burn if you’re not careful.”

He sits beside me. The hems of his shorts
slide up over his knees, revealing the pale curls on his thighs. He
shuffles awkwardly in the narrow benches. I remember when we had
been small enough to lie between them.

“I have to admit,” he says. “I didn’t think
I’d ever see you sitting in this little boat again.”

I look down at my outstretched legs. Nail
polish and toe rings have replaced the dirty bare feet and grazed
knees.

“You know,” I smile. “I wish that just once
there had been no island, leaving us to fight the raging sea until
a helicopter pulled us all to safety.”

Justin laughs. His eyes sparkle the way they
had when we were children. “I wish that just once, Rachel had let
us land on Fiji.”

“Those days were so great,” I say. “I wish
I’d realised it at the time.”

He smiles at me. “Yeah, they were. But you
must be having a ball at uni now.”

“No. I’m not going back.”

“What?”

I nibble my thumbnail. “I’m dropping out of
my course.” I hear the words echoing in my ears. I can’t believe
I’ve said them. I hadn’t planned to. My subconscious mind has made
the decision for me; a decision I wasn’t aware I was even
contemplating. As soon as I speak, I feel a weight fly off my
shoulders.

Justin frowns. “But you were so sure. That
was all you ever wanted. What happened?”

I’m silent. He doesn’t ask again and I’m
glad, because I’m not able to give an answer. Not to him.

“What will you do?” he asks.

I shrug. All I know is I can’t go back to the
Con. Can’t put myself through three more years of bleeding fingers
and bitchy rehearsals. I see a hazy, different future stretch ahead
of me. An indeterminate future, but one that doesn’t make my
stomach turn. My body is confirming that I’ve made the right
choice. I sit in silence and watch two pigeons hop over the grass.
White t-shirts flutter on the washing line like sailcloth.

“I can’t pretend I’m not pleased,” Justin
says finally, covering my wrist with his hand. I feel the calluses
on his palm. “Having you back here would make me really happy.”

Back here…
I toss the thought around
my head. “I don’t know if I can stay here. My mum… She doesn’t want
me here.”

“Oh yeah,” says Justin. “Cos of that thing
with Nick.”

“Guess you heard.”

He shrugs. “Forget about what your mum wants.
She can’t stop you from being here. You’re a grown woman.”

I nod slowly. Can I really stay here after
all the years I spent fighting my way out? Everything I’d fought
for hasn’t turned out the way I planned. Here, I’m safely away from
the Con. Back where I had fallen in love with music instead of
having my passion stolen from me.

Justin leaves his hand resting on my wrist
and after a while, it becomes such a part of me I forget it is
there. I shuffle closer to him and lean my head against his
shoulder. The sun is hot against my cheek. As I close my eyes, I
feel myself relaxing; feel the muscles in my neck melt. My heart
slows and I take long, even breaths.

“I feel like I’m home,” I admit. “I didn’t
think I would.”