Portraits of Celina (14 page)

Loni:
Spill
.

Me:
The usual. Wild sex in the haystacks, while the olds were chewing baccy and downing whiskey
.

Loni:
Yay you. When can I come?

Me:
Please
come soon, but I have to say haystack sex is overrated
.

Loni:
Good to see that you’re still totally cracked. Miss you
.

Me:
Yeah
.

Emotion swells into my throat. I have to log off or I am going to tell Loni everything and then Loni will know for sure that I really
am
cracked. And I don’t want that – Loni is the one person I have been able to depend on these past months.

With tears brimming, I write:
Gotta go – can’t make those poor cows wait too long. Their udders will be scraping the dirt
.

Loni:
Poor things. Go rescue those tits. Love you. Bye
.

Me:
Bye XXX

I flick out before I change my mind and go straight to my email account.

And at last there is a reply from Deb.

Ah, Robbie exists. I didn’t make him up. I am not sure if I am relieved or freaked by this revelation.

So Bob is Robbie. I slide this fact into my brain to see where it fits with the other pieces of Celina’s puzzle.

Bob is
Robbie
.

Bob!

Of course.

He is so great, Bayley. Wait until you meet him. You’ll love him to bits
.

“Wake up, Bayley! Wake up!” I open one eye to find Seth on his knees bouncing on the bed beside me. “Why are you asleep in your clothes?” Seth doesn’t give me the chance to reply before he launches back into his plea for me to wake up – now. “Hurry! Oliver is coming over in the big rower to get me and take me back to Lakeside so we can go kayaking. Like he promised. He’s nearly here. Hurry!”

I sit up and rub my eyes. My head feels heavy and my mouth furry. “Promised?” The word comes out as a croak.

“Last night in the boatshed. He said he might and now he is! Come on, get ready.”

“Why? Make sense, Batman.”

“Amelia’s sick and Gran says she’s not allowed out of the house, and I can’t go by myself. Gran says. And I don’t know where Mum is. So if you don’t go, I can’t. Please, come on, hurry.”

Bob is Robbie
. Last night’s revelation thumps me and I am not sure I want to go anywhere near the Mitchells for the time being. At least until I have sorted out what is going on and how I feel about it. I am sure my reaction to Bob had everything to do with Celina. Was I seeing him as if I was Celina? Through Celina’s eyes? Feeling her feelings? Was she driving my reaction? And what does that mean? Did Celina’s spirit slip inside me somehow? Is it still there? I shudder. That is too frightening even to think about.

And then there’s Oliver. I’ve blown it there without a doubt, acting like an absolute nutter again. I really can’t face him so soon.

Seth looks at me, eyes pleading, fingers reaching for his ears. I want to say no, but I can’t bear Seth’s disappointment. I cave. “Okay! You win. I’ll go.”

“Yo, Batman, put this on.” Oliver helps Seth thread his scrawny arms into the armholes of a life jacket.

Seth tries to squirm out of it. “I can swim. I don’t need this on.”

“Yes, you do,” I say. “Gran said.”

Seth groans.

“Rules of rowing,” adds Oliver. He clicks the safety buckles into place and directs Seth to wade out to the boat.

It is already warm. The air is sticky and thousands of screaming insects are making such a racket that I am secretly pleased at the thought of Amelia having to cope with a hangover in this weather.

I swing my bag onto my shoulder and follow Seth, holding out of the water the long cotton overshirt from the peace chest that I am wearing over my swimmers. I am hot and restless and welcome the coolness of the water washing around my legs.

Oliver holds the boat steady while we climb on board. He takes Seth’s arm and almost flings him in. I move to the opposite side, determined to be independent.
Be dignified
, I tell myself.
Act natural. Cool. In control
.
You can do it
. As I hoist one leg up and over, I am grateful for my long, spidery legs. But as I launch my other leg in, the boat sways under my weight and I plop unceremoniously onto the splintery middle bench. So much for dignified.

Oliver doesn’t appear to notice though; he bounces into the boat and plonks down beside me. He reaches for the oars and slides them into the round metal rowlocks on each side. He seems so confident and comfortable in this old rower. An expert.

Seth stands up. “Can I row? Can I row?” he asks, seemingly unaware of the boat swaying.

“When we get the kayaks,” says Oliver. “Now sit down at the front, Batman. You can be our navigator. Lead the way.”

I grin; Oliver is so good with Seth. I go to move to the back seat, but Oliver reaches across me and places an oar in my hand. “Not so fast. You don’t think I’m going to do all the work, do you? You guys weigh a tonne.”

My face flushes. “Gee, thanks!” I sit back down and take the oar with both hands, pretending to be indignant.

“Have you rowed before, crazy eyes?” Oliver asks.

“Oh … ah … yeah,” I say and flinch and smile and redden all at once as I recall the day he first called me that. “But I’m not very good,” I add.

“We’ll have to fix that. Can’t live on the lake and not be a rower.” He says it with such certainty and enthusiasm, as if it is simply not possible to live by the lake and not be infected with his passion for the sport. He holds his oar to his chest, and winks at me through his scraggly fringe. “Ready?”

I nod, dip my oar in the water and drag it back.

“Hey, you feeling better?” Oliver stares ahead, not breaking his rhythm as he speaks.

I manage a “Yeah … much better. Thanks …” and try to smile. “I felt like a such an idiot,” I add.

“Nah, you were okay.” He snares me with one of his killer smiles.

“Holy cow,” says Seth after our first precarious strokes take us zigzagging away from the shore. “Can’t you guys row straight?”

Oliver bats his oar into the water and sprays Seth. “Watch it, Batman, or I’ll call my mate the Joker.”

“You’re the jokers – I thought you said you were fast.”

The two continue to spar, leaving me to concentrate on matching Oliver’s strokes, so that the boat doesn’t list in my direction constantly.

“Are you going to Tallowood High?” Oliver lobs the question in my direction.

“Yep.”

“What year?”

“Eleven.”

I curse myself for my mastery of the one-word conversation stopper, as Oliver focuses his attention on superhero talk with Seth. I am mostly relieved; with each stroke, we are moving closer to Lakeside and Bob/Robbie, and I am growing increasingly uneasy.

By the time we reach the shore, the sun is scorching my back through the flimsy cotton of my shirt, my head is pounding and I am nauseous and dizzy again.

Oliver bounds over the side of the boat and then reaches in and grabs Seth out. “Fly, Batman,” he says as he wheels him through the air to solid ground.

He wades back in and takes my hand to help me out. My legs and hands are shaking, and I hope that Oliver won’t notice. I drop my bag onto the shore, and my nauseousness increases. I feel as rotten as I did last night. I pull off my shirt, wade back into the water and dive under. When I break the surface, I see that Oliver and Seth have followed me in and the three of us loll about in the shallows. No one seems in a hurry to move.

“Maybe it’s too hot to take the kayaks out today,” says Oliver.

“Aw,” moans Seth, dog paddling over to him, his life jacket bobbing along the surface, making him resemble some new species of turtle. “You promised.”

I float on my back and look from the sky, cloudless and leached of colour, to the nest of buildings in among the trees. There is no sign of Bob or Annie, and I am relieved. But there is something about Lakeside that makes me unsettled. As unreasonable as it sounds, there is something sinister about it and I need to get away from here – and soon. I pull myself to my feet, and raise my eyebrows at Oliver.

“To the boatshed, Batman,” he says.

The lake is tranquil and the shade of the cliffs on this far side is welcome.

Oliver manoeuvres his and Seth’s two-man kayak to circle mine. “Crazy, eh?”

I nod, awed by the towering stand of rock, rippling scars of blue and rust streaming down it.

“Wanna go to The Circle or the creek that heads up into the gorge? Should be out of the sun and pretty cool up there,” says Oliver.

“Wherever is coolest.” I turn my kayak to fall in behind Oliver’s.

“To the gorge, Batman,” says Oliver.

“To the gorge!” repeats Seth. “Stroke. Stroke.”

Oliver and I join Seth’s chant. “Stroke, stroke.” And as we enter the gorge, our laughter bounces off the cliff walls and veers into the bush.

I tilt my head and take in the wildness of it all: the craggy steepness of the gully; the majestic stance of the rivergums, lording it over the tangle of scraggly trees and thorny blackberry bushes tumbling to the water’s edge. The depth of the isolation. We could be hundreds of kilometres from home, rather than merely a stone’s throw away.

We paddle around a small curve, Seth yelling at the top of his voice and almost wetting himself with excitement every time his words come bouncing back. Up ahead, the gully widens and a pebbly bank emerges on one side. We row into the shore and drag the kayaks up onto the pebbles.

“Mum packed some snacks,” says Oliver, pulling out a daypack. He looks inside, then grins. “Actually, I think it’s the stuff your mum and gran made for last night.”

I do my best to ignore the reference to the previous night – I don’t want anything about it slinking back into my mind.

We hunker under the shade of some boulders and devour the warm and sun-mushy chocolate muffins and the almost-melted melting moments. I savour the sweet bursts of flavour across my tongue and, exhausted from rowing, I flop onto my back.

Seth wiggles out of his life jacket and lies beside me, muffin smeared from ear to ear in a large chocolaty smile. I reach over to wipe it off, but he rolls away, leaps to his feet and heads off to climb the boulder behind us, Batman cape hanging from his knobbly shoulders.

At the top of the boulder he stands stock-still. “I am the Batman,” he says solemnly to the trees and sky.

“He’s sure into Batman,” says Oliver.

“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to go into it further, to reveal the sad reasons behind his fixation.

“You be careful up there,” I say, then lie back down and close my eyes. I sense Oliver lying beside me. It is thrilling.

“Haven’t been up here for ages,” he says.

“It’s great,” I say, keeping my eyes closed, the sun making oranges dance across the insides of my eyelids.

“Yeah. I used to come up here when I was little, about Seth’s age, I guess, collecting stuff with my pop, you know, for his collages. Used to love it.”

“It’s like some kind of paradise. It’s surreal.”

“Guess. The city’s okay for some things. But nothing beats this.”