Page 95 of Summer, in Between
‘Usual shit, that the surfer’s a bit of a player, stories about him and his mates and what they’re into.Is he treating you well?’
‘What, so you’re my dad now?’
He gives me a light shove.‘We’ll be gone soon anyway, won’t we, metal mouth?’
‘You’re going to have to find another insult for me,’ I say, baring my teeth.
‘You’ll always be metal mouth to me, baby girl,’ he says.‘How’s this dickhead?’
There’s a banged up four-wheel drive parked directly in front of the access gate stopping anyone from driving down the path to the clubhouse and to the lookout, and of course stopping any of the lifeys from being able to get out.It’s rust-speckled and there’s a set of fishing rods attached to the roof racks.The silver glare from surfboard covers reflects through the back windows.Cavey.He’s clearly taken umbrage to the lifeys closing the gate, restricting car access to the lookout to the chosen few.
‘Ugh, this is the ongoing war over the keepers of this beach,’ I say, ‘the lifeguards or the surfers.Check it out.’A skinny young kid in a wetsuit framed by two middle-aged lifeys make a big show of taking down the car’s license plate number.I cannot wait to have all this territorial bullshit behind me.
JB puts his arm around my waist to lift me up over the carpark barrier before he jumps it.
‘You are such a showoff.’I swing my towel at him.
‘I’m the king of the box jumps,’ he says, ‘Google it.’
We run down into the ocean and dive under the waves.I’m so light and happy with my best friend beside me after such a long time that I’m as buoyant as an inflatable toy.The water slicks over my skin, cold and enlivening.
We bob to the sway of the waves.‘So, your dad, you doing okay?’
‘I have a mantra, Cat, you want to hear it?’
‘Not if it’s a meditation mantra.They’re so crap.’
‘What, the queen of overthinking finds it hard to meditate?There’s a surprise.Finally, something you’re not perfect at.’I splash water in his face.‘No, it’s not a meditation mantra, it’s a JB mantra.It’s “just one more year, just one more year.”’
‘That bad?’
‘It is what it is.Just bring on the end of the year and our ticket out.So don’t get too attached to your surfer.But first...’He dives under the water, grabbing my legs to drag me under.
‘Fuckwit!’I laugh as I emerge from the water.As he swims away from me, the muscles in his shoulders reflect the sea and the sun.I have no hope catching him, so I float on my back, letting my hair swan behind me, then follow him up the beach to where we dumped our stuff.
‘Hot chips?’I ask.
‘Yeah, that’d be good, I’m meeting Scampo at the shop.’
There’s a group of city kids kicking a soccer ball in the wet sand.As we pass by the lifeys, one of them says, ‘Check it out: they’re playing wogball.’
‘What did you say?’I spin around.At least they have the decency to wipe their smirks and look sheepish.Not one of them in the whole group looks me in the eye.‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.Heroes, aren’t you?’
‘Calm down, all right?’A beast of a man crosses his arms over his red and yellow oversized polo and widens his stance, pale flabby legs like two concrete pillars planted into the sand.I see myself reflected in his mirrored sunglasses, my face red, my teeth set, and man, if he had any sense, he’d back away rapidly.‘If it weren’t for us “heroes” you wouldn’t feel safe on this beach so you might want to show some respect.’
I can’t help but laugh.‘Are you kidding me?Showyourespect?You know when I feel safest on this beach?It’s at the end of the summer when you racist, redneck wannabes go back to where you came from.’
‘That’s enough, miss,’ he says, ‘we’re volunteers, here keeping you safe out of our sense of community.We don’t have to take your abuse; I suggest you leave the beach before we use our authority to demand it.’
‘Well, there’s two jokes on you, bud,’ says JB.‘We’re leaving anyway, and guess what?You have no authority.None.Although you do have a code of conduct, don’t you?And I’d bet my left teste that your code of conduct doesn’t include racism, am I right?’
‘For your information we operate under the council bylaws and your very presence on this beach constitutes a—’
‘Do you really think we’re going to debate with a racist ignoramus like you?’I say.‘Why would we do that when it will take me less than five minutes to write an official complaint to whoever sits on top of you, and to their boss, and their boss?I’m going to write to their boss, too.Let’s go, JB.’I yank JB’s hand.
‘Boom!’JB high fives me as he finishes telling Ant about the lifey encounter.The three of us are sitting at a table out the front of Sadie’s, a massive parcel of hot chips steaming between us.‘Bringing out the big guns, an official complaint!Spoken like a true private school girl.’
‘And you took it to the high ground by bringing your testicles into it, didn’t you?’
