‘Who else would you expect to come? Those are just her friends.’
‘Did you know her?’
Vicky looked at him but didn’t answer. She turned her head to look up the beach. The sky was pinking. She sat down in the dry sand close to the grass. He sat down too and took his boots off. She buried her feet, letting the loose white sand run through her fingers and watched as she did the same to his feet. He felt a sort of sickness about what could happen next — her strong legs, the width of her hips.
‘That poor boy,’ Vicky said, ‘they had him in for questioning. God only knows what they did to him.’
‘The boyfriend — they think he did it?’
‘He didn’t do it. The one that did is most likely a million miles away by now.’ The sea pulled at the sand and spat it out again.
‘But do they think Johno did it?’
‘They?’ Her voice was faraway and flat, like the questions didn’t mean that much to her.
‘I suppose he wouldn’t be around if they thought he’d done it.’ Vicky didn’t answer, not even a shrug. They sat in the quiet until the sun was setting and a large, smooth, black piece of petrified driftwood that had long ago washed up and planted itself on the sand cast its shadow long and dark up the beach.
‘Couple of days ago Ian Mackelly went to have a talk to Johno. Took along some of the marina boys. Bob went.’
‘What happened?’
‘They went to his house — place he lives with his parents and his grandfather. Little kids there too. They didn’t take along anything but they rolled up their sleeves. Bob said they really just wanted to talk.’ Vicky smiled and shook her head like she couldn’t even believe the fact.
‘Well, maybe that is all they wanted to do.’
Vicky looked at him. ‘You don’t have kids.’ She pushed the balls of her hands into her eyes and there was a small wet noise from them.
‘They asked for Johno to come out and he didn’t, so they stayed there all night. Four of them, big men, waiting with their flaming shirtsleeves rolled up.’
‘I can’t believe they would’ve hurt him, Vick. Bob wouldn’t let it happen.’
‘It’s like I said. You don’t have kids.’
The waves were quiet, the birds didn’t sing, and ghost crabs scattered on the surface and disappeared into their holes. The wind must have shifted because smoke came down and threaded slowly out to sea. It blew in through their hair and Vicky sniffed. ‘No spirit sticking to me,’ she said.
He saw the difficult lines of her face, the hair that hooked in her eyelashes, smelt the oilskin coat.
‘Bob told you about Emmy?’
Frank nodded. He wondered if he should mention those bruises on Bob’s face, but it wasn’t for him to stick his beak in. ‘Think maybe we should go home?’ he said, even though it would have been nice to feel her hot and sinking into the sand underneath him.
She held out her hand, laid it palm up on the sand. He put his over hers, not to hold it, just to cover. ‘Why are you here, Frank?’ she asked and he found that, really, he didn’t know.
The next day the southerly still blew at work and it dried him out, leaving the skin of his hands tight and old-looking. He couldn’t stop touching his right eye, which became blood-lined and weepy, and he could feel some bit of grit in it, like his eyeballs were drying out and sand was getting in. When work was over he went into the pub toilet and rinsed his eye, soaped up his papery hands and washed them until they looked pink. The men had gathered round a set of tables by the front window of the pub, so you could look out and watch surfers on main beach. There was hardly any swell, but still the water was speckled with them, some lying flat, some sitting upright, dangling their legs in the water and looking out to the horizon, willing a wave to come and knock them off.
‘You look pretty ropy mate,’ offered Bob, as he sat down. He pushed a drink across the table.
‘Ta for the beer,’ Frank said. ‘Got some grub in my eye.’
‘Listen, Vick told me about yesterday.’ Frank bit his tongue. What had she said? ‘Thanks, mate. Should’ve gone meself, just couldn’t face it.’
Frank nodded and took a long drink simultaneously so he wouldn’t have to talk.
Linus cleared his throat. ‘How’s the bass, Stuart?’
Stuart leant forward and set himself more comfortably in his chair. There was no sign that he was put out by the previous week. ‘Yeah, she’s pretty good, thanks, Linus mate. She’s getting pretty tame.’
‘Stuart keeps a bass in his pool,’ said Linus, looking at Frank. There was the suggestion of laughter round his mouth.
‘Really? It’s okay with the chlorine?’
‘Aw, mainly rainwater, mate, more of a pond right now than a pool.’
‘A mosquito pot,’ Linus said. ‘An’ a stinking one at that.’
‘You’re just jealous, mate.’
Linus no longer looked like he was taking a rise. The old man’s eyes narrowed as if he was seeing something different from the rest of them.
‘Sure thing, she’s a pretty bass.’ There was a general quiet reverence while apparently everyone pictured the fish.
‘You teach her any tricks?’ asked Bob.
Frank was on the verge of laughing out loud.
‘Aw, she’s coming on. Last weekend got one of the kids to take some footage of me feeding her. She’ll come right up and take it out of my hand.’
Everyone nodded, impressed.
‘Aw, and then — it was unreal!’ Stuart sat up tall, smiling, leaning back on his stool. ‘The kids caught a skink and threw him in, and Bassy came up and hit it — took the bloke in one go!’ He used his hands to show how the fish went. ‘I was spewing we weren’t filming. She was too full to take any more — gonna give it another shot this weekend. Been thinking about throwing a mouse in there too.’
‘Sweet as,’ said Bob.
Everyone drank.
‘So,’ asked Frank. ‘What’s your plan, is she a pet or are you going to let her go?’
Stuart eyed him suspiciously, then seemed to decide it was a genuine question. ‘Well, I catch her about once every two weeks — jus’ using a lure — an’ then at some point I’ll go an’ release her.’
‘Righto — where at?’ It had seemed to him to be a perfectly normal question, but the atmosphere at the table changed. Everyone sat up a little straighter, Linus moved his beer in concentric circles, Bob snorted and cleared his throat.
‘That’, said Stuart, ‘is for me to know.’
Later in the evening the drink seemed to sort out the creakiness of Frank’s body. His joints felt lubricated, his head light and he felt unusually spry as he kept his eye on a girl at the bar, thinking perhaps he should buy her a drink. When it came to his round, he sidled up to her. ‘Anything for you?’ he asked.
She looked at him like she might laugh and for a second his good feeling died in his boots, but she smiled. ‘Sure — rum and lemonade, please.’
He put in the order and leant against the bar. ‘You work around here, then?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly — what about you, been down at the marina?’
‘Yeah, been packing nails today.’ It wasn’t the keenest line he’d ever used.
‘Nice one.’ She said.
‘Ta.’
‘So…?’
‘Yeah.’
And as easily as that it was over and she had on one of those looks again like she might laugh.
‘Guess I haven’t been up to much lately.’