The Bay (30 page)

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Authors: Di Morrissey

BOOK: The Bay
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‘Healing too?'

‘As much as one can heal from a deep wound to the heart,' she sighed. ‘We are seeing a lot of disturbed people. Deeply depressed and confused.'

‘Young people?'

‘One or two, mainly middle-class, middle-aged women, along with two men. One is trying to recover from his wife's apparent suicide.'

‘Why apparent? And why are affluent, intelligent, middle-class people so depressed?' asked Amber.

‘He thinks his wife was brainwashed into leaving this world. And what is more alarming, they've all been involved with the Shahvanas.'

‘Oh, that's frightening. Sounds like a familiar pattern around the world. Who runs them?'

‘Some leader from Midwest America has found the way into the everlasting light where all is warm, beautiful, peaceful. It's called On High. They try to reach the High where everything is blissful. I wish,' sighed Bonnie.

‘It's a bit scary. How come these people are at the Dolphin Centre?'

‘They're so depressed we're worried about them taking their own lives. With their families we are trying to pull them through, but the effects of this On High program are deeply ingrained. Heaven knows what's happening to those who are still in the group.'

‘God, how can this mob be allowed to function?' Amber said angrily.

‘Hey, this is The Bay, home of spiritual tolerance,' said Bonnie with some bitterness. ‘They're registered as a church, a quasi religion.'

‘Do the members have to hand over their money and stuff?'

‘You've got it. It seems this master leader of the group has a money radar that can figure out to the dollar what to get out of people. The church is acquiring land, houses, shares and cash.'

‘I don't suppose there's any point in going public with this?' said Amber. ‘They're just one of many groups that say they have the key to eternal happiness.'

‘When I first came here I couldn't believe some of the stuff that was available,' Bonnie said. ‘I thought I was escaping from the wild city to a sleepy seaside town that embraced holistic health. Instead I found a hell of a scene. Well, that's all old news.' There was a touch of bitterness, regret, in her tone.

‘Everyone is looking for answers,' said Amber quietly.

‘If only people would drop the garbage, expecting demigods to give them answers when it's all in front of their noses.'

Amber glanced at her. ‘Meaning?'

‘I couldn't be in more pain, yet the most effective healing is what's around us.' Bonnie pointed to the sweep of the bay, shining in the sunset, the curve of sand where the wetlands bled into the lushness of remnant rainforest. Above that were the hinterland and hills, lush, tropical, fecund. ‘Nature. It's what people have instinctively known all along; it's a balm for the soul. Poets and musicians tell us. It's why we lunge lemming-like to the sea and the bush to escape, even briefly.'

‘I wish my mum understood that. It might help.'

‘How's she doing?'

‘Good days and bad days. I feel so helpless. She's so . . . closed up. She shuts me out. She's just waiting to die. In pain, filled with anger and bitterness. She feels her life has been for nothing.'

Bonnie took Amber's hand and squeezed it. ‘I'm sorry, Amber. Don't take it on board as your trip. We parents are a hopeless lot. We inflict hurts and stupid actions that damage our kids without realising it half the time. I'd give anything to have my time over with Erica. But I can't.'

‘Yet she understood, she forgave you, she loved you,' said Amber insistently.

‘Oh, I know that now,' Bonnie said calmly. ‘Like Kimberley said, Erica taught us all something. Which is why I'm trying to help others. I'd like to help you and your mother.'

‘Bit late for that, but thanks anyway. I wish I could take away some of the agony she feels. I don't just mean the pain from the cancer, but her whole attitude about what a bad deal life has dealt her. That she deserves it somehow. Life has never treated her gently. She always railed against the world, thinking everyone was always against her.'

‘I know what's hurting you,' said Bonnie quietly. And when Amber didn't or couldn't answer, she said, ‘You're afraid you'll be like your mother.'

‘Please God, no,' cried Amber. ‘That's what frightens me the most. I'm too scared to get involved with anyone; scared that I'll ruin it. Like she did. She gave me this idea I'd never be happy. Life doesn't treat you fairly, so don't expect to be happy.' Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘That's her problem. Not yours. Listen, Amber, take me to meet your mother.'

‘Oh, she'd hate it. She doesn't like pity, she hates how she looks, the way she is. Yet when someone does walk in, she is charming and sweet and it kills me.'

‘She's probably faked her true feelings all her life. You know, if nothing else my time here in The Bay, turbulent as it's been,' she paused, almost allowing herself to smile, ‘has allowed me to let go of all my old stuffy inhibitions. For a short time I was a wild, free woman. Not wise, but hell, I lived for a few months like I'd never lived before.'

Amber gave a wry grin. ‘So that can't be all bad. I haven't felt free to do that yet, Mother wouldn't approve. It's like she knows everything I think or do. And it holds me back. I hate to say this, but I think she's hanging on refusing to die because she doesn't want me to be free of her.' Amber dropped her head in her arms. ‘Oh what an awful thing to say. It's like she's spinning some web around me so when she does die, I'll be caught; I'll never be free to be me. I'll always be trying to be what she wants me to be.'

‘And what's that, Amber?' asked Bonnie gently, rubbing her shaking shoulders.

‘I don't know. To be like her, I guess. And you know what,' she lifted a tear-stained face, ‘I don't want to be like her! I don't like my mother!' She started to cry again. ‘Oh God, I shouldn't have said that. I'm going to be cursed for saying that.'

Bonnie shook Amber, forcing her to look into her face. ‘It's all right to say that, Amber. Listen, you and your mother need to come to some understanding, some resolution or she is going to die and you're going to suffer for the rest of your life. Your mother is an emotional mess. Whatever happened in her life before she got sick has nothing to do with you. Believe it or not, deep down she wants you to be happy more than anything else in the world.'

‘No she doesn't, she goes to great trouble to make me miserable,' retorted Amber.

‘She doesn't know anything else.' Suddenly it was so clear to Bonnie. ‘Let me visit. Trust me, Amber. Hell, what have you got to lose? Your relationship couldn't be much worse.'

Amber wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘The thing is, we don't acknowledge there's any problem. We do this weird dance of me being the caring, dutiful daughter, her being the frail, grateful mother. Behind that facade there's an incredible battle for dominance and power going on.' She gave a bit of a grin. ‘If it wasn't so sad it'd be funny. I swear I won't be sucked into her game, but she gets me. Every time. And I come away furious with myself for fighting and losing yet again.'

‘So like I said, you've got nothing to lose. She'll be perfectly lovely to me and you'll think I'll think you're mad and been grossly unfair on your mother.'

They rose and began to walk along the beach. Bonnie linked her arm in the young woman's beside her. ‘But Amber, I'll know how it really is. Without you saying anything. So don't fight it.'

As they walked towards the town they both felt calmer, accepting, and grateful for each other. A skittish twilight breeze cooled their faces and the tangy smell of the sea began to lift their spirits. The Bay was working its magic once again.

H
OLLY GLANCED OUT THE
F
RENCH DOORS ONTO THE PATIO
where Andrew was fanning a barbecue soaked by a passing shower less than an hour ago. She knew by the set of his mouth that he was cursing under his breath.

‘Marcus, go and see if you can help your father with the fire.'

‘You need a proper gas barbecue instead of that old iron plate. Or just use the griller. You know Dad is not the happy camper type.'

‘That old thing out there
is
a proper barbecue. If you guys don't watch out, I'll produce a camp oven to cook in for the rest of the weekend,' Holly retorted.

‘You've been roughing it here too long, Mum. I bet you could swing an axe with the best of them,' teased Marcus. ‘I'll take some of the dry wood from the firebox.'

Holly gazed up at the twilight sky where the last of the rain was heading out to sea. Between the grey clouds was a deep bruised expanse of greeny blue and arching across the bay was a pale rainbow. How lovely it looked. Mitchell had told her with winter they'd be going into the rainbow season. He promised her double rainbows. She was about to call to Marcus and Andrew to look at it, but saw they were in a heavy discussion over the state of the fire. She returned to the kitchen.

‘Salad, new potatoes, garlic focaccia and corn on the cob. Sound okay?' Holly asked. ‘With rib eye fillets I bought in Casino. It's close by and the best beef in the country!'

‘Um, yes. Whatever.' Melanie had her head in the current issue of
The Beacon Bugle
. ‘God, just listen to some of the things in the Classifieds: massage therapists, Buddhist teachers, and every kind of yoga. What's dolphin brain re-patterning? And listen to this, “Come to satsang and enter the space of silence. Be part of the psychic circle, ecopsychology workshops, prophetic and aura-soma readings”. How about Tibetan pulsing healing, or cranio sacral balancing? What a load of rubbish. How do you cope with these weirdos up here, Mum?' Melanie said, laughing. ‘Though I suppose your circle isn't into any of this stuff.'

‘My circle of friends might surprise you, Mel. Perhaps you'd like to make the salad.' There was a touch of tartness in Holly's voice.

‘No rush is there? Where are we eating?'

‘In the garden, unless you guys think it's too cold. I have some flame torches we could light.'

‘The garden? It's been raining!'

‘I thought it might be romantic. The moon will be out, the lighthouse is shining, the rain has gone.'

‘And the mosquitoes and cane toads will be out in squillions.'

‘You guys,' Holly sighed, trying to be good natured. ‘No soul, no feeling for romance.'

‘Talking of romance, take a look outside at the sky,' Marcus said as he walked into the kitchen.

Melanie gasped. ‘You mean there's something out there better than a website pic?'

‘Ha, ha, very funny. Yes, take a look at the real world out there. Great show under way,' he replied.

‘Yes, that's the clincher,' Holly declared, ‘we're eating outside. Setting the table or making the salad, take your pick.'

‘I'll do the salad,' offered Marcus.

Melanie flounced outside with the tablecloth, plates and cutlery.

Marcus began ripping up the lettuce from the crisper. ‘Mum, I hope you don't think I've gone overboard with this computer scene, lost touch with the real world.'

‘So you're telling me, again, how great your web, e-commerce dotcom company idea is?' she said with a wry smile.

‘No, I wasn't at all. It's just . . . You seem so tetchy, defensive. Different from how you used to be. You challenge us all the time. Like we're trying to put you down or something. You've changed since you've been here.'

‘For better or worse?' she asked, trying to speak lightly. But her heart was twisting.

Marcus didn't come back with a flippant response as she expected. ‘Now that's not easy to answer. Sometimes you seem really cool, really with it. And then you seem so strange, well, different. You talk about things, do things, you never did before. You even look different.'

Holly took a step back and looked down at herself.

‘I think it's good,' he said. ‘Great. Really natural, relaxed, casual. You don't look like you did at home – just from the hairdressers in clothes that would have paid my rent for a month.'

‘Oh, Marcus, that's nonsense.' She laughed but felt strangely pleased. ‘Anyway, as I said, I've decided to help you out with your dream. So don't mention anything to your father, or sister. Let's keep it between us for now. Okay?'

‘Whatever you say, boss. Now what else goes in this?'

There were flowers on the table, the food was spread out, Holly had lit citronella candles and placed them around the lawn, and the wind had dropped. Everything was perfect at last, she thought.

‘All those candles could start a bushfire,' Andrew said, pulling the cork from the shiraz.

‘They're pretty and practical. I've been eating out here a lot,' Holly explained. ‘I'd love to have the garden subtly lit. Imagine lights shining into those old palms. Be gorgeous for dinner parties.'

‘Yours or for the paying customers? If I were you I'd be serving meals indoors. Keep it simple or you'll be a slave to a bunch of people you'll never please,' said Andrew.

‘Remember, Mum, how you always complained about our dinner guests,' Melanie reminded her. ‘They wanted to smoke, half the women were on a diet and wouldn't eat the food, there was always someone with an allergy. You used to make Dad's secretary keep a file on every dinner guest.'

‘And what they ate,' added Marcus.

‘That's so I didn't serve the same people the same dishes,' Holly protested. ‘We did do an awful lot of entertaining, didn't we, Andrew?' She winced as she thought of the work she'd put into those dinner parties. Then she'd sit down to a bunch of faces around her dining-room table whom she didn't know well, if at all, and couldn't have cared less if she never saw again.

Andrew poured the wine. ‘You knew it was part of the job. It probably would have saved a lot of friction if we'd just taken clients to restaurants.'

Marcus jumped in, deciding it was time to change the subject. ‘So, Mum, what's the big news in the district at the moment?'

Holly was lost for words. She couldn't imagine anything that would count as big news by city standards. ‘Well, a few problems with drugs and young people, but that's hardly news. It's been a long time since there was anything happening around here that made the headlines. People keep writing to the local paper complaining that the council needs to have tougher regulations governing development in the future. That's about it.'

Andrew reacted instantly. ‘The radical fringe, probably. The lotus land dwellers.'

‘Have you put me in that category, Andrew?'

‘No, darling,' he said, without showing that he had felt the edge in her voice. ‘You're not one of those types, despite the doggy demo.'

Marcus and Melanie exchanged a quick glance.

‘Enjoy the golf this morning?' asked Holly in a quick change of subject.

‘Ah, not bad till it started to rain. Cruddy little course; pitch and putt. Anyone else for more corn?'

‘Butter?' Marcus asked.

‘Not for me. Fattening,' Andrew said, reaching for the salad.

‘Since when? You've always loved butter on your corn.'

‘Don't knock him for watching his health, Mum,' said Melanie.

Holly bit her lip. The dinner was a disaster – bickering, jibes and no conversation of any consequence. She thought back to their family meals, had it ever been any different? Andrew was usually late, rushing off to his study, or not there at all. Sometimes he would ask the children about their school work, but it was like reporting to the chairman of the board, scarcely a two-way conversation where he showed genuine interest in what they had done.

She recalled how he always came home, kissed her cheek and asked how her day was and then tuned out. She often joked that she could have told him she'd shot her grandmother, lost the kids and sold the house, and he'd say, as usual, ‘That's nice, dear,' as he disappeared into his study with the newspaper and the TV guide.

‘I had a bit of excitement today while you guys were out,' Holly said, making one last stab to rescue the conversation.

‘Oh, what was that?' said Marcus dutifully.

‘A snake. A big brown, deadly thing.'

‘My God, where?' Melanie glanced around the darkened garden.

‘Just there, near the barbecue.'

‘What! Why didn't you tell me?' Andrew exclaimed. ‘I wouldn't have been cooking if I'd known.'

‘Oh, it's all right, it's gone. Mitchell was moving the old woodpile when it came out. He was so calm, held the fort and told me to call Frankie the Snakeman. We got rid of it, no problem,' said Holly airily.

‘Good ol' Mitch,' grinned Marcus.

‘Oh, sure. Had to be the hero of course,' said Andrew.

‘Well what would you have done, dear?' asked Holly mischievously.

‘Called the gardener. Like you did,' he shot back. ‘If you move a pile of old wood you'd expect to find a snake up here.'

‘Mitchell is not the gardener. He moved the rubbish as a favour. And snakes don't usually come out at night,' said Holly.

‘Better watch Curly, Mum,' said Marcus.

By the time they'd finished the second bottle of wine and the rich local ice-cream, the tension had eased but it still didn't feel like an intimate family dinner. Holly was not relaxed, she felt as if strangers were visiting. What had happened to her family? When she'd first come to The Bay she'd been uncomfortable with the close warmth people exuded; how everyone hugged each other, linked arms and was so open about sharing feelings. Now she appreciated such demonstrative affection and wished she could get her children to open up more to her. She'd love them to talk to her about how they really felt, or ask her what she really felt. But as she cleared the plates, she looked back at the three of them at the moonlit table and she knew it would never be. She didn't love them any less, but she promised herself that when grandchildren came along she'd make sure they learned to show and share love.

As they prepared for bed Andrew must have sensed her melancholy and he made a gesture of reconciliation. ‘Are you really happy up here, Holly? If this whole idea is too much, we can sell Richmond House and you can come back to Mosman.'

She stopped brushing her hair and swung around to stare at Andrew propped up in bed. ‘Why do you say that? I wouldn't give up this project. I like it here, I'm happy.'

‘You seem uptight. Is there something bothering you?' He made the remark lightly but he was tense.

Holly put down her brush and went and sat on the edge of the bed. Andrew suddenly thought how attractive she looked. She was slimmer, tanned, healthier; her hair was shining and she had the skin of a thirty-year-old. She looked sexy. He hadn't thought of Holly as sexy in a long time. He pushed aside the memory of the whippet-thin body of Letitia. He held his breath as Holly tugged at her nightgown.

‘It's us, Andrew, all of us. We don't seem much of a family. We don't really communicate about things that matter.'

‘Like what? The kids are fine. You look great.' He gave a smile but she didn't seem to register his compliment.

‘By things that matter I mean little things as well as big ones. Feelings, enjoying a rainbow, having the kids tell us what's really going on in their lives . . .'

‘They're not about to do that!' said Andrew. ‘Listen, money, success, learning about hard work, they're pretty important and our kids know these things. Oohing over a sunset isn't going to help them get ahead in this world.' He took her hand. ‘Come to bed, stop fretting over nothing.'

She looked down at their linked fingers and said almost to herself, ‘You don't get it, do you? You really don't understand.'

Andrew made love to her for the first time in a long while, but she felt strangely detached. When he fell quickly to sleep Holly lay on her side staring out at the tops of the palm trees in the bright moonlight and felt overwhelmingly lonely.

Kimberley parked in Rous Street after cruising round the block twice looking for a parking spot. That would be noted in her next report. Parking was becoming a year-round problem, not just in the holiday season like it used to be. She left the council-issue clipboard on the back seat of the car; she hated being seen as officious and she gleaned more information over a cup of coffee or leaning on a counter than ticking off questions on some survey sheet.

She'd been to see Ian in the library, Cathy in the bank, Ron in the newsagent and Linley in the bookshop. They all had some anecdote, observation or a comment passed on by a local or a visitor. They understood Kimberley's role now and trusted her. They saw her as a conduit to air their grievances about the council or life in The Bay in general. Kimberley was circumspect in her judgement of what she considered petty whingeing and what had a basis for legitimate complaint. This interaction with the public was the most pleasant task on her long list of official duties.

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