Page 60 of Nothing Without You

Finally, she started walking, her footsteps bringing memories of the beach at Yeppoon, Baker and Matilda. Her chest hurt and she walked faster. Quickening her pace, she strode northwards towards the headland where she had so often walked with her parents when she was little and later with Chris and his sisters. Saltwater Place. It was a good place, she thought. Breathing deeply, she splashed the water with her feet, the spiralling seagulls squawking and reeling above her. She passed a couple of older fishermen, their feet planted squarely, their long surf rods in their hands. Stopping to talk to them, she was surprised at the sound of her voice. She had not heard it for a while, and her words sounded surprisingly calm and confident.

Both men looked to be in their eighties, and they seemed surprised at her questions about the bait and gear they were using.

‘Caught anything?’ she asked.

They smiled, and one bent down and lifted the lid on his bucket. ‘Seven bream and a good-sized summer whiting. Enough for a feed.’

‘Plenty of bait around?’

‘Always pipis and worms on this beach. This gutter’s been giving us good fish this week. It’ll move with the bigger tides coming though.’

She talked to them for a bit longer before saying goodbye. ‘I’ll keep going. Happy fishing.’

‘Seeya, love. Come and fish with us. We’re here most days.’

She laughed as the wind whipped her hair around her face. ‘I might just take you up on that,’ she called out, as she walked further up the beach.

By the time she turned around and walked home, the fishermen were gone and the sun was high in the sky. She figured a few hours must have passed. She had simply kept putting one foot in front of the other and, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was starting to get hot and she was hungry and thirsty, she might still be walking north.

Hungry, she thought. There’s a new feeling. It must be the salt air.

Chapter Seventy-One

It had only taken her a couple of days to settle in. Now she had the fishing gear sorted, some fresh bait she’d caught in the fridge, and the old blue Datsun parked next to the house, ready to use. Tomorrow she would go job searching and buy some more supplies, but today, she was calling, Evie’s Day. Today, she would choose a book from the shelf, lie in the recliner in the shade, and read.

She looked at the title. It had been a long time since she had read, so she chose a small book compared to some of the thicker ones on the shelves. Turning it over in her hand, she read the title, ‘Puberty Blues’. A review on the back said it was raw, humorous, and an Australian classic. It would do, she thought.

During the day, the only time she got up off the recliner was to make some sandwiches and a cup of tea. It had been so long since she’d read, she devoured each word, amazed at how she hadn’t been the only stupid one to make bad choices, and let a man rule her. Why had she left it so long between reading books? When the sun finally started winding down the western reaches of the sky she put the book down, placing the open pages on her stomach. Staring up into the intricate tendrils of the paperbark trees, she watched the colour of the sky change. Soon, dusty pinks and pale oranges filled the sky above, and she let her body relax even more. Maybe, like Debbie and Sue in the book, she would find a purpose in her life.

A new determination filled her and she closed her eyes, resting her hands behind her head. The cool of the evening washed over her and, like the refreshing breeze that came and went, so did some of her anxiety about the future. The past wasn’t good to look back on, so she decided to push most of those memories since the day she met Bob, under a rock. It was time to move forward.

Although Flinders Beach hadn’t changed much, Point Lookout had. There were signs of wealthy people building large, fancy holiday homes, their bulky shapes pressed against the hillside to gain the best vantage point. The new buildings gave a different look to the quiet village. Once, this part of the island had consisted of small seaside fibro shacks set on large blocks. Now, larger concrete buildings were scattered between the old, and she grimaced as she passed a large resort with fancy signs and layers of rooms for rent.

The pub still looked the same though, as did the headland where she had so often sat with her mum and dad and eaten fish and chips. She drove slowly, peering through the windscreen, trying to recognise some of the buildings from so long ago. As she rounded a corner she spotted a new building, the bottom floor consisting of a row of shops: a coffee shop, a clothing shop and …’ she slowed even more, Vivre, Chris’s latest surf shop.

As she rounded the corner, another sign bearing the same name caught her eye. A charming fibro hut came into view. Its weathered exterior hosted a display of surfboards leaning against the wall, while colourful towels and surfing attire hung on lines attached to the building. This must be the original shop he had bought and started his business from. The hut looked exactly as Rose had described it.

She stopped to let some boys cross the road. They looked like they were about fifteen, and they had boards tucked under their arms, their long hair and tanned bodies reminding her of the boys from the seventies. Nothing much had changed. The place might have some new fancy houses and a few more significant buildings, but the vibe and pace of life remained unspoiled.

Pulling into the carpark, she peered through the windscreen, taking in the sight of faded signs and old baskets and racks displaying wares at the front of the building. This was the place she was looking for. Yesterday, she had scoured the jobs section in the local paper. Ignoring the job going at Chris’s surf shop, she had noticed a similar ad for the bait shop.

A swinging sign hung from two posts: "Bert’s Tackle – Hooked on Quality". She smiled; at least the catchphrase was creative.

Although she had no references, or a ‘resume’ as the ad requested, she knew the job would suit her. Nothing ventured nothing gained, she thought to herself as she quickly ran a brush through her hair and got out of the car.

A bell chimed as she stepped through the door and entered the shop. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim light filtering through the aisles leading to the back counter. The interior looked like it hadn’t been touched for fifty years, a nostalgic relic itself. Every shelf was laden with fishing gear. Hooks in plastic containers were strewn across a long shelf, along with sinkers, swivels and fishing lines. She picked up a loose hook that was threatening to fall off the shelf and onto the floor. Dust lined every surface and she wriggled her nose, a sneeze coming soon after.

An old man sat behind a counter at the back of the shop, an old Alvey reel in front of him, which he was attempting to mend.

She stood in front of him, waiting until he finished what he was doing. When he looked up at her, she smiled. He had to be at least eighty, his hair white and his well-trimmed beard white to match. Blue twinkling eyes peered back at her through the wrinkles of years, and she noticed how tanned he was. It was a fisherman’s face, and his arms matched the signs of a life spent in the sun.

‘G’day. What can I do for you?’ he asked, putting the reel down and standing up.

She held out her hand for him to shake. If she was going to get this job, she needed to be confident. ‘Hello. My name is Evie and I saw your job for a shopkeeper.’

He took her hand, his grip firm. ‘Yes, yes. Pleased to meet you. I’m Bert. My son Ezra put that ad in the paper for me. He usually works for me, but he’s moved to Melbourne so I need a worker. Is your husband with you? Has he had experience in this sort of work?’

Suppressing her annoyance at his assumption, she kept the smile on her face. Some people had progressed in their thinking about females and work, but more often than not, others hadn’t.

---