Page 58 of Summer, in Between
‘What was I doing?’
‘Jumping off Sueys as a preschooler, apparently,’ says Mum.
Tommy starts clambering all over Dad, Mum opens the fridge, berating Matty for the teeth marks in the parmesan, which he strenuously, ear-piercingly denies.
‘Let’s go.’I grab Paul’s hand, forgoing our coffees in favour of escaping my family.
We walk down the boat ramp, the sea a perfect shade of tourist postcard blue; it could be photoshopped.As I squint into the horizon, a gazillion diamonds reflect off the surface of the water.The tideline is a hundred metres away from where the boat ramp’s concrete abruptly ends.The sand is hard underfoot, the heat baking it like concrete.Our feet barely make an impression as we walk.In the distance, fishing boats scatter across the deep water between Australia and Antarctica, today as smooth as a sheet of cardboard.In front of us, the coast curves and the farms on top of the cliffs look as yellow as the sand.In a few short months they will be as green, according to my Nonna, as the hills of Italy.
We cross the Bay, Nonna’s favourite beach.It’s a small beach with a gentle slope where Tommy and I watch the sunset most nights, and calm, sheltered water, favoured by families dragging both their kids and their mountains of beach paraphernalia.The Bay is also where the lifeys deliver their training programs for little kids.As we pass, some lifeys are dragging huge paddleboards to the water’s edge, shooting dirty looks at anyone, man, woman or child who dares move to the water or across their path.
It’s a beautiful beach, despite the behemoths in their red and yellow uniforms.On the edge of the dune, I see Nonna’s spot.It’s where she and my grandfather always sat, long before I was even born.I never met him, but through Mum’s stories and a photo in Nonna’s bedroom, I can see it in my mind’s eye – my Nonno in his work pants, rolled up to below his knee, the top button of his long-sleeved shirt undone in a concession to the heat.The two of them on matching yellow striped beach towels, sitting upright under a beach umbrella, also striped in yellow and white with fringing around the canopy.
Nonna kept that umbrella, although one of us carries it for her, and it now lives permanently in our garage.I picture Nonna sitting there, watching us pass, and she would not be impressed – me a good catholic girl, wearing a lime green bikini with denim shorts, Paul wearing even less.He’s holding his thongs, chest bare, t-shirt tucked into the top of his board shorts, flapping against his thigh as he walks.The weight of his t-shirt on the super light fabric of his board shorts drags, pulling them down below his hipline.The juxtaposition of his tanned torso and the white of his hip bones startles.His abdominals descend in a deep v.It is actually offensive how good he looks, and I have to admit walking beside him feels pretty amazing in a shallow, superficial, vacuous way.Every female gaze on the beach follows him.We pass a group of young mothers watching their kids play in the shallows and they look me up and down, wondering no doubt, what kind of charity case the living god deigns to support with me by his side.
‘What?’says Paul.
‘What, what?’
‘Your face.’
‘What about it?’
‘You just looked really angry for a second there.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Hmm, weird.’
He takes my hand and he’s leaning over me, kissing me in full view of the entire beach, mean mummies and all.Nonna would be apoplectic.The thought tugs the corners of my lips into a smile.
‘Better?’
We pick our way across the rocks.They’re covered by a furry sea mat of lichen that are dry to the touch but slimy and slippery below the surface.They’re laced with mollusks, tiny cone-shaped shells that dig into the flesh of my feet.Rock pools are everywhere.When we were kids, Matty and I would spend hours out here at low tide looking for blue ringed octopuses, excited yet terrified at the thought of finding one, picking over each individual rock pool, lying in the larger ones, warm as bathtubs from the sun.
We reach the end where the rocks form a small, flat platform and beyond lies, well, nothing, just the undertow that could drag me out to a platoon of sharks waiting to tear me apart.Paul’s friends say hi to me and give him some sort of convoluted secret handshake.If I weren’t scared shitless by being at the edge of the rocks, I’d roll my eyes.Directly below us, where the rocks end, is the sheer drop to the water, still, tranquil and sun-glinted.It could be a suburban swimming pool if it weren’t on the most dangerous stretch of coastline in the whole freakin’ country.
‘Coming through!’One of the guys launches off the rock, dropping and landing with a large splash that doesn’t even reach the lip of where I’m standing.
‘You want to go first, Cat?’Paul drops his t-shirt and thongs in a pile on a rock ledge.
‘You’ve banged your head against your surfboard far too much,’ I say.‘If you think I am jumping to my death you are out of your freakin’ mind.’
He laughs and walks to the edge, turning to me.He grins that perfect smile, then backflips into the air.My breath catches as he disappears beyond view.I peak over the edge and see him treading water.He wipes the ocean from his face and behind him, it’s dark and still, barely a ripple from where he submerged.Bubbles float around him, reflecting the sunlight.
‘Come on, Cat.’
‘No way.’
He dives deep, before scrambling up the rock face on all fours like a monkey, using his feet and his hands to grip and pull himself up and over the edge.He wraps his arms around me, and his hands are freezing against my back.I rear back.
‘You’re so cold!’I put my hands flat on his chest, pushing away.It’s like trying to push the cliffs; he doesn’t yield.
‘Yeah well, you’re so hot.’He kisses my neck before releasing me.
‘Get a room,’ Ant yells, then runs hard across the rocks.He pushes off the cliff edge on one foot and somersaults through the air.The thwack of skin hitting water is matched by our audible winces.Ant climbs out, and a red smear reaches from hip to shoulder blade across his back.One of the guys, Tom, slaps it, and the handprint stays white before fading to mottled red.
