Page 15 of Summer, in Between
‘You were saying?’Paul shifts beside me, stretching out a leg, leaning back on an elbow.
‘What was I saying?’
‘That I’d have a crack at a light pole, or something like that.’
‘Actually, it was a stop sign, but my point stands.Listen carefully – I know you think that something’s gonna happen between us, but anything you think is going to happen is never going to happen.’And to mortify myself more, I spell it out.‘N-E-V-E-R.’
‘What exactly is it that you thinkIthink is going to happen that’s never going to happen, Cat?’
‘You know.’
‘I really don’t.Enlighten me.’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.It all goes back to the stop sign.’
‘Yes, the stop sign,’ he says.‘That’s it.That’s beautiful.Touching.Can’t wait to tell my mum that’s what I’m known for, she’ll be so proud.And of course, I know who you are, Cat.It’s a small town, and a girl like you?I’d be dead if I hadn’t noticed you.It does go both ways, though.You’ve never even looked me in the eye.Would it have killed you to say hello to me?Even at Sadie’s yesterday, I’m trying to talk to you, and you ignored me.’
‘Number one: I didn’t ignore you.Number two: you weren’t trying to talk to me, you were...who knows what you were doing?’
‘Number three: I was just saying hello.It’s not that deep,’ he says.‘I’ll be at your house all summer, so it’s weird that we don’t talk, don’t you think?I wanted you to come out tonight so we could talk, have some fun.Notthatkind of fun, obviously.Which you already know, don’t you, private school girl, so much smarter than an ignorant, dumbarse tradie like me.’
‘Wow, that didn’t take long,’ I say.‘What’s next?You going to call me a Stuck-Up Bitch too?’
‘I’d never call you that,’ he says.‘N-E-V-E-R.See, I can spell too.’
‘Impressive.’
‘Thank you.I’ve been reading the dictionary all arvo, hoping I’d get the chance to spell something out to you.’
The low boom of a firework echoes from a bonfire down the far end of the beach.
‘Merv will be in all kinds of pain tomorrow,’ I say.Like a horrible case of chicken pox, the Batter’s Cove foreshore is dotted with signs prohibiting open fires.Apparently, the local authorities issue severe penalties to people caught building fires, which is patently unfair given the huge number of constituents that have barely evolved beyond the wheel.Every day of summer it’s almost impossible to walk on any local beach without coming across the scattered remains of the previous nights’ bonfires.I’ve never heard of anyone being fined for it.No one seems to police the no-fire decree.No one except Merv, a man employed to manage the camping grounds.He wears his quasi-officialdom well, like he’s wearing an invisible sheriff badge.He flies around the back streets and camping ground trails in a tiny little car.He’s always harried and busy, fuelled by self-importance, like one of those people who talk with their hands, waving them around to make it harder to see that if they stopped the incessant moving, you’d realise they weren’t actually saying anything at all.
‘Oh man, I can’t stand that a-hole,’ says Paul.‘Although, he gave me the best laugh of my life a couple of years ago, I’ll give him that.’
‘When he had the fight with the fire brigade?’
‘Yes!Were you there?’
‘The whole town was.’
And it was: Batter’s Cove had come alive the night some brainiac set fire to a rubbish bin.We’d seen the lights of the fire engines from home, and we jumped in the car with Dad to bolt down to the foreshore to see two massive fire trucks, monoliths of red lit against the black of the night sky.Twelve big burly men in full firefighting get up were arguing to the point of a brawl with Merv, who had dialled it in as a major outbreak threatening people and property.
‘How did I not see you?’says Paul.
‘There were a lot of signs fighting for your attention.’
‘Funny.Shall we go to the party now?Or would you like to talk more about me and my attraction to road signs?’He stands and holds out his hand.This time, I take it, and he pulls me to stand before him.
‘Thanks,’ I say and go to wipe the sand from my legs.‘Um, can I have my hand back now?’
‘If you must,’ he says but pulls it against his chest.I can feel the heat of him against the back of my hand.‘Cat, everything you think you know about me is crap, I just need you to know that.’
‘Okay, whatever,’ I say, keeping my eyes firmly on my hand still pressed against his firm chest.
‘Whatever?That’s not very convincing.Good thing the night is young, hey?Let’s go, yeah?’
He turns, and my hand goes cold at the absence of his heat.He starts walking, and after picking up my sandals I trail him up the beach before remembering that this is not the twelfth century and that I, Cat Kelty, walk behind no man.I scurry to catch him, kicking up sand, and match his step.I mean I’m tall, but he’s taller and has a good thirty kilos on me, so instead of walking casually I’m doing a little half skip-limp thing.Very glamourous.The music gets louder and as we follow a curve around the cliff, we enter the Gap, a small beach with a narrow bay formed by a split in two cliff faces eons ago.The Gap’s lit with the orange glow of a huge bonfire.We’ve arrived.
