Page 56 of Summer, in Between
I slap him lightly on his arm.
‘Don’t be objectifying.’I make a mental note to tell Em and Sal that the hottest of the hot called me a babe.‘You’re the walking surfer god, you can’t tell me any different.’
‘I’m happy you’ve moved on from calling me a fuckwit but I’m not just a surfer, you know.’
‘You missed the “god” part in that,’ I say.‘I almost feel sorry for you, what a cross you must bear.You can’t help the impact you make.’
‘There’s only one person I want to make an impact on, and it’s my girlfriend, now that it’s official, and it’s time to take her home.’He bodily lifts me off his lap and onto the sand.He stands and holds out his hand.‘Let’s go, beautiful.I can’t let your parents down again.’
‘Ugh...’I take his hand.
He lifts me to my feet and hugs me, his mouth against my neck.
The streets are quiet as Paul walks me home.We have the roads to ourselves, and houses are in darkness.Every now and then, the glare from a television reflects through a window.We hear quiet voices from a balcony and a glowing cigarette is all we can make out from the street below.
My sandals have rubbed a blister across the back of my heel.It’s the first time in weeks I’ve been in shoes that have more than a scrap of rubber.My skin’s still on fire, and my eyes are tired.Still, the night feels light, and the stars are right on top of us.The day’s heat is replaced by a breeze that cools my scorched skin.
When we get home, Mum and Dad are still on the balcony nursing wine glasses, sitting in the glow of citronella candles.
As we reach the base of the stairs, Paul tugs at my hand to stop me.‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, especially after what, a couple of weeks?But it feels like there’s nothing more important to me than you, and far out, all I want is for you to feel the same way about me.’
He kisses me on the cheek and calls out to my parents that he’ll see them tomorrow, then takes off in his car.
‘Did you have a good time?’Mum asks.
‘The best,’ I say.‘It has now transpired that I, in fact, am officially a beautiful walking surfer god’s girlfriend.How do you like that?’I kiss them both and go to bed.
25
AT the top of the bay, the bush gives way to a car park for the world’s dodgiest boat ramp.As old as Batter’s Cove, it’s wedge of concrete peters off into the ocean through a tiny inlet of zig-zagging rocks.The only people game enough to use it are weather-beaten, shriveled old men with wizened faces and little boats with engines that seem too big for the vessels they propel.
Every now and then a tourist tries their luck, reversing a trailer only marginally narrower than the ramp, their wheels butt-clenchingly close to the edge where a two metre fall awaits.That’s when the community spirit of Batter’s Cove really comes to the fore with the clifftop filled with spectators, some with deck chairs and eskies, laughing, shouting words of encouragement and derision.
The air’s still today, the water has barely the slightest ripple all the way to the horizon.The tide has receded, doubling the size of the beach, exposing the long flat expanse of rocks that usually lie submerged.Everything has a white glare from the sun.The air feels like I could stir it.Paul’s hand is on my shoulder, the rough of his thumb moving across my collarbone, and I’m about seventeen seconds away from purring.
I’ve just finished inhaling a mango on the deck when Paul’s car turns into our driveway.He waves up at me, then goes straight under the house to talk to Dad.Five minutes later there’s the slap of thongs on the stairs.Paul grabs the railings on either side of his body and swings himself right up the next set of three stairs, taking him to the balcony where I’m sitting, surrounded by folders, notebooks and novels, and covered in mango juice.
