The Bay (11 page)

He was an attractive man, about her own age with a pleasant voice and easy manner. Probably married with kids, she thought, and was surprised that she should consider this. Holly shook her head. ‘What rally?'

‘You should come. Dog owners in the shire are protesting on Saturday week; the council wants to ban dogs from here. That only leaves two beaches, one some distance and one quite small.'

‘Oh, that would be a shame,' said Holly.

‘That's why we're marching through town – with our dogs. We're meeting at 9 am in Station Park.'

‘I'm not sure I'm ready to go that far,' she said, hesitantly.

‘You must come if you can. The more who do, the better we can make our point.'

‘I've never actually taken part in a protest,' said Holly with a small smile.

‘You
are
new,' he said kindly. ‘Well, welcome to the end of the rainbow where good things happen, or people make them happen.' He gave an exaggerated courtly bow then plonked down on the sand next to her. ‘You name a cause close to the hearts of the New Age alternative thinkers and you find advocates and followers here. Save the planet from global warming, save the rainforests, organic food is the only food, don't eat anything but veggies, get that compost or worm farm working overtime. Every do-good slogan gets an airing around this patch.'

Holly laughed. ‘I'm not sure if you're an advocate, a follower, or sending up the scene.'

‘Well, to be honest, I'm not sure either,' he chuckled. ‘But I like a lot of what I hear. I like the energy created by some of these causes. Sometimes the ripples of sense and sanity travel a long way.'

Holly enjoyed his easy flow of words and the fact that he wasn't taking himself completely seriously. ‘And a dog rally fits in with all that?' she asked.

‘I have news for you. This issue is not going to change the world, but finding a practical solution to problems such as dogs on beaches is very much what a sense of community is all about. This town is the greatest mix of people and philosophies I've ever come across, but somehow we all feel we form a real community.'

Holly raised a clenched fist in the air and called, ‘Where dogs matter. Hear, hear!' They both burst out laughing. ‘Okay, I'll march,' she said.

‘My son tells me I shouldn't carry my soapbox around with me,' he conceded.

‘You've been here since the hippy years?'

‘No, unfortunately. I've only been here five years. I woke up one morning and felt like I was lost in a maze with no way out, which I decided meant I must be looking for some purpose in my life.'

‘I know what you mean. For me it's been a growing sense of restlessness,' said Holly slowly, articulating aloud what she'd only recently identified.

‘So came the great re-evaluation of life, career, friendships and I was compelled to make a change,' he continued. ‘Which meant dragging my wife and son in my wake.'

‘What did you do?' asked Holly. ‘Did your family feel the same?'

‘I confess I was an advertising executive in Sydney.' He pretended to hang his head in shame. ‘The full-on yuppie with all the trappings. I guess we were all ready for a change, but I'd never go back,' he added. ‘What about you?'

‘Oh, it's too early for me to say one way or the other. I've only been here a few weeks – also from Sydney. Been mothering and doing the executive wife bit. I think it's beautiful here, but then Mosman is rather nice. Lovely home, harbour view, smart friends, busy social life –'

‘And bored to tears and feeling empty. You don't have to say any more. I won't pry. You might like it here, just give each day a chance,' he said softly.

‘I like that,' she said.

‘Like what?'

‘Give each day a chance,' she repeated.

They both sat quietly looking at the sea and the dogs. Eventually he broke the silence. ‘I think I can see where you're coming from and I can tell you from experience that one day you'll want to run, run away in near panic. You'll feel you're sinking into the quicksand of indecision – stay, run, stay, run . . . stay . . . run . . . '

‘Sounds depressing.'

‘It can be. But stay calm and in all probability you'll be rescued.'

‘By a knight in shining armour?'

‘Who knows? You might be that lucky. Just remember there's quicksand in Mosman too.'

Holly turned to him and grinned. ‘Don't tell me you also fled from Mosman. That would be too much.'

‘No, but I'm interested in whales and the history of whaling in Australia. Mosman, or Great Sirius Cove as it was known, was once a stinking whaling shore station and the social scene there was dominated by prostitutes and carousing whalers.'

‘We don't talk about such things in Mosman, my dear,' Holly said in an exaggerated socialite voice, ‘and I would be much obliged if you didn't raise the subject again.'

Their laughter brought the dogs and they both stood up.

‘Nice talking to you. Enjoy the walk,' said Holly.

‘A pleasure for me as well. But now I have to run to catch up on my schedule. See you around.' He patted his dog then started jogging. ‘Come on, hound.'

Holly hoped she would indeed see him around. She suspected she would, as everyone kept telling her it was a small place. Funny, he didn't tell me his name, she thought. Then she realised she hadn't told him hers, yet they'd ended up talking like old friends.

Billy glanced out of The Teepee salon as Matty and Erica ran giggling down the arcade from the Beach Hut. Matty gave a wave then Erica turned back and stuck her head in the doorway. ‘Can you dye my hair blue, Billy? Bright blue?'

‘I could, but I won't. Your mother would shoot me. Not to mention the school.'

‘Boring. Mum'd love it. I'll do it myself. Bye.' She skipped away.

Billy continued trimming the local publican's hair. ‘That girl . . . out of control.'

‘Like her mother. Christ, Bonnie is a worry these days.'

‘Been losing it in the bar again?'

‘Yeah, and other places. One of the cops found her in a wild house full of young people, drugs, sex and rock 'n' roll. She was old enough to be the mother of half of them, he reckoned, including her boyfriend. She seems to be living there.'

‘Maybe someone better take her in hand. Get her into a retreat place or something.' Billy unhooked the plastic cape and shook it. ‘It's young Erica I feel sorry for. Wouldn't like my daughter to be running around like that. Though Matty is a good kid.'

‘If Matty was mine I wouldn't want her hanging out with Bonnie's wild child. Does Matty's mother know what they get up to in town?'

‘I've told Kim. Maybe I'll suggest she try to help Bonnie,' said Billy, then switched the subject. ‘Any hot tips for Moonee Valley on Friday?'

‘Funny you ask . . .' The two men began talking horses and didn't notice Bonnie drifting down the arcade leaving her shop unattended.

Matty and Erica hiked up to the lighthouse. Erica seemed distracted, her hands thrust in her jeans pockets, her shoulders hunched. She didn't make any chitchat, and only nodded when Matty pointed at the wheeling hawk. She watched Matty give Ramses a piece of bread and half an apple and for once didn't tease the old ram.

They sat down in their favourite spot, tucked away from the wind, the tower sheltering them. It was their special patch reserved for those times when they needed to retreat from people and be at ease, to talk and laugh, and to learn from each other. Together they were trying to find ways of coming to terms with the seemingly endless hassles of family life and being almost fifteen. Their friendship had consolidated swiftly; Matty, a popular girl, had befriended Erica, the bright loner. Gradually Erica had opened up to the idea of a close friend. She showed how much she loved music, playing her own songs on her guitar for Matty. Their shared moments at the lighthouse were times of intense conversation, music or simply two girls giggling at secrets and jokes.

Puzzled by Erica's mood, Matty decided to broach a touchy subject. ‘How's your mum?'

‘Okay, I guess. She's so wired all the time. And I hate that junkie house we live in.'

‘Why don't you and her get your own place? She can afford it, can't she?' Matty had heard tales of Bonnie's former life in Melbourne, keeping pace with the highflying social set.

‘I don't know. The business is a bit of a mess and she spends heaps on drink and cigarettes, of all kinds. She says she came here for a new life. I don't think this is what she had in mind. She keeps saying she wants new friends, but she just keeps bringing home slobs.'

Matty put her arm around Erica's shoulders. ‘Do you two spend much time together?'

Erica pulled up a blade of grass. ‘She doesn't just want to be with me. But she needs me. Much more than I need her.'

‘Wow. That's a tough thing to say,' exclaimed Matty, and she too plucked a stiff stalk of grass.

‘It's true. I'm stronger than she is,' said Erica calmly. ‘She's hanging on to pills, grog, drugs, young guys. She's too scared to be on her own. I've got used to being on my own. It's okay.'

Matty wasn't sure how much of this statement was bravado. Sometimes Erica told elaborate stories, strange anecdotes that seemed fabrications or fantasies. It was often hard with her to tell where reality, truth and dreams overlapped. She gave her friend a shrewd look. ‘You drop stuff too, you said.'

‘It's an escape. It makes the world look and feel good when you want. But I don't need them. You used?'

Matty was uncomfortable. She wanted to appear cool and hip, but drugs scared her. She remembered the time about a year back when both of them had come to this same spot to light up their first cigarettes. Erica did it with a great show of confidence and expressions of total enjoyment. Matty had hated the experience, but pretended to like it for a couple of sessions, then announced she wasn't smoking any more. ‘Been there, done that, doesn't grab me.'

‘Okay. Your choice,' Erica had said.

Now there was so much pressure from their peer group to try drugs, but Matty was frightened because of the many stories of accidental deaths. ‘I'm scared that if I use it once I'd be gone, hooked.'

‘Doesn't always work like that. Anyway, best if you leave it alone, Matty.'

Here it was again. Matty never knew which Erica was going to emerge. The wild child or the bored bright kid. The silly, funny girlfriend. The world-weary, almost adult. Matty actually loved Erica's unpredictable and complicated character.

‘What about your mum? Still hovering over the kitchen sink and ironing board?' asked Erica.

‘Yeah. Still wondering when Dad will come back. In a way it's nice having her all to myself all the time. Nice to come home from school and find the place . . .' She searched for the right word.

‘Alive,' suggested Erica.

‘Yeah. That's it, alive.'

‘No chance of my father coming back,' said Erica, almost with relief.

‘Dad will come back to stay one day. I'm sure of it.' Matty knew her father adored her, had promised her so often that he would always come back to her no matter how often life forced them apart. She knew her mother had the same faith, but sometimes it seemed to be fading, and that worried her.

‘Hang on to the dream, Matty.'

‘What's your dream?'

‘Sail. Get a little boat and sail away. Just me. Away, away . . . over there . . .' She gestured to the horizon.

‘Like Kay Cottee and that boy, Jesse . . .? Where are you going to get a boat? Do you know how to sail?'

The world-weary Erica appeared. ‘Matty, you're so . . . deadly. Deadly sensible.' But she smiled and brushed the grass from her lap. ‘Better get back to the shop. See what drama my mother is creating now.'

Billy was closing the salon as Matty hurried inside.

‘Billy, someone's robbed the Beach Hut! The money's gone, and I think a bunch of stuff. Erica's mum isn't there, what will we do?'

Billy dashed down to the little shop. ‘Don't touch anything, Erica, we'd better get the police. Where's your mother? Were you supposed to be minding the place?'

‘Don't blame me! She was here when I left with Matty.' Erica's face was tight. ‘I don't think we should call the police. I'll just wait, she'll come back.'

‘What do you think is missing? Where were you girls, anyway?'

‘We just hung around the surf club. Then we went down to the chemist to get hair dye and had a smoothie and went for a walk.'

‘Do you think your mum might be up at the pub with her friends?' Billy said gently. When Erica shrugged, he asked, ‘Do you want me to check?'

‘I suppose so. But I don't think she'll be there. She had a row with her boyfriend the other night.'

Billy glanced around the shop again, nothing seemed out of place. ‘Was the cash drawer open? What's missing?'

Erica said nothing but idly picked a pair of sunglasses off the stand and tried them on, peering into the small mirror.

Matty spoke up. ‘No, it was shut. Erica went to get some change for a drink and it was empty.'

‘I see. Listen, why don't we just shut up the shop, leave her a note on the counter – she has her key, I assume – and I'll drive you both to Matty's place. You can use my mobile and see if your mum is there, Matty.'

‘She'll be there, she's expecting me. I have to be home by six.'

‘Fine, let's go.' Billy had a feeling Bonnie wouldn't be returning to the shop. Kim could give them both dinner then run Erica home to the nearby village of Brigalow where she and Bonnie were living. With God knows who else.

Kimberley followed Billy out to his car as the girls settled in front of the television. ‘Thanks for this. You okay to take Erica home later?' he asked.