Page 8 of Nothing Without You
The sun sank below the bush on the foreshore and a chorus of cicadas started to call from the trees. It was time to go back before her mother began worrying.
Chapter Eight
The smell of meat cooking and loud singing coming from the kitchen of The Magic Fish was a pleasant surprise, as Evie bounded in through the front door. She laughed when she saw her mother dancing across the kitchen floor to a tune on the transistor radio. The sound of ‘Eagle Rock’ belted out from the tiny orange radio that balanced on the windowsill. Her mother did a few more moves before leaning over and turning it down. ‘At least we’ll get a bit of music and news on this,’ she said, wiping her arms across her brow. ‘No TV for two weeks. No Molly Meldrum and Countdown for you.’
‘I don’t care. There’s more to do here than watch TV. I just went to look at the beach.’
‘I figured that was where you were. I’ve started dinner. Can you please pour me a glass of that wine your father packed for me? Get yourself a soft drink out of the fridge, and we’ll celebrate the start of our holiday.’
‘Perfect!’ her mother exclaimed as Evie placed the two drinks on the table. ‘Cheers,’ she said, holding her glass up to Evie’s. Their glasses clinked. ‘Just you and me. I know you’re disappointed your father couldn’t come, but we’re going to make sure we have a good holiday. I’m a working woman now, with my own income. Freedom, really.’
Evie didn’t really understand the freedom comment, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment by asking what she meant. If her mother stayed in this mood for the whole time they were there, maybe they could have a good time.
The first two days they spent walking along the beach and relaxing. Both loved to read, and her mother had brought books from the library for Evie and herself. While her mother read thick paperback books, Evie immersed herself in beautiful, hard-covered books like Bill of Billabong and Seven Little Australians. Sometimes she read the stories twice if she really liked them. She noticed her mother kept her books in her bedroom, and when Evie went in there one day to try and find a hairbrush, she ran her hand over the covers of the neatly stacked volumes adorning the dressing table.
Her favourite was the James Michener book called ‘Hawaii’. On the cover was an islander girl with beautiful brown smooth skin, wearing a loose piece of blue fabric around her hips. The rest of her was naked, apart from a shell necklace that hung long over her bare breasts. A young man embraced her, leaning across her as if he was about to kiss her. One hand was wrapped around her head, the other resting on her stomach. Behind the couple, a mountain rose majestically, its peak hidden by dark clouds. Dark green palm trees grew in clusters at the edge of the beach, and under the title it said – A powerful novel of grand adventure. Evie looked at the cover every chance she could. It made her stomach do little flips, and she wanted to read it so badly. When she asked about it, her mother told her it was an adult book and wasn’t for kids.
There were so many aspects of her mother that were confusing. Why did she read books with naked women on the front? The Hawaii book wasn’t the only one in the pile with naked people on the cover. Why was her mother so happy here on the island? Was it because she didn’t have to go to work and clean, or was it because Dad wasn’t here? For once her mother slept in, walked around with no shoes on, read for hours and acted as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She spent time with Evie, talked about school next year and even asked if she had any questions. ‘You know, anything you want to know about the birds and the bees?’ she asked.
When Evie quickly said no, her mother breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to remember that some topics were obviously still off-limits, and some aspects of her mother had not changed.
At first it was fun to spend time relaxing and being by themselves, but it didn’t take long for Evie to start getting bored. She persuaded her mother to drive to Point Lookout, another small township north of where they were staying. They’d walked along the headland and watched dolphins leap in and out of the waves, as well as spotting large brown turtles in a deep gorge further around the headland. Hot chips from the takeaway shop had been a bonus, and as they sat on the grassy knoll eating them, Evie closed her eyes and let the breeze dance across her face.
‘I love it here, Mum.’
‘So do I, Evie.’
By the time they returned, her mother was ready for her afternoon nap. She had got into the habit of reading and sleeping in the afternoon, which left Evie to do whatever she wanted.
The next day Evie retrieved a fishing rod from the shed out the back. The rod was old and the reel was a bit rusty, but she wound it slowly and it still worked. A small tin containing old hooks and sinkers gave her the rest of the equipment she needed.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she took out a knife and a tea towel, just in case she caught something. As she made her way out through the front door and along the street, she quickened her pace. Who needed an adult to take you fishing? She knew what to do.
She decided to stay close to where the track led onto the beach. There were miles and miles of deserted coastline and although her father would have walked a good way along the beach to find the best gutters to fish, the spot in front of the track would do for today. After all, the reel was rusty and the hooks small, so it was going to be tricky to catch anything. Twisting her feet into the sand in the shallows, she moved her toes in and out, swivelling around until she found what she was looking for. Hard shells beneath her toes. Pipis. Big ones. Again and again, she twisted her body, picking out the smooth oval clam shells whenever her toes struck them. She worked fast. Pipis were smart and could bury themselves deeper, as if they knew someone was after them. But she’d done this a thousand times with Dad, and even he said she was the best pipi collector he knew.
Soon she had filled her bucket halfway, the kitchen knife doing its job as she levered the pipis open and flicked out the meaty muscle that lay protected inside.
After manoeuvring the hook through the bait, she walked a short distance into the water and cast her line to just beyond the waves. The tide was in, and although it was a calm day, small waves pounded in along the shoreline. The Pacific Ocean glistened in front of her, the surface moving with the currents and actions of the waves. She peered out beyond the breakers. There was nothing. Not a boat, surfer or swimmer as far as she could see. Her dad always called this spot ‘Saltwater Place’—a beach where hardly anyone came, where you could catch enough fish to feed a family, and where the salt air and cool breeze reminded him of the ocean near where he grew up, in Italy.
A tug on her line broke her daydream, and she spoke the words ‘Saltwater Place’ aloud as she wound her line in. Maybe today she would catch a fish big enough to feed her and Mum. She squinted as she tried to see where her line entered the water. It was difficult to tell if there was a fish on the end of the line, or if it was just the waves dragging her line back out to sea.
When she reeled in, her bait had gone and she bent down, putting her hand into the bucket and choosing the biggest pipi to put on her hook. The sounds of people behind made her look to see who was coming down the track. She swung her head back quickly, pretending she had not even looked that way. Staring out to sea, she turned her back on the group of kids coming down the beach. She had only quickly glanced at them, but there was no mistaking it was Chris and his sisters. Their laughter and chatter grew louder, and soon they were right behind her.
‘Catch anything?’ asked the eldest sister, who she remembered was called Lily.
‘Not yet.’
‘Hi, I’m Rose. We got some bream yesterday,’ the younger sister added.’
Chris peered into her bucket. He held a fishing rod in one hand and a wicker creel in the other. ‘Pipis. Big ones. Nice work.’
She tried not to stare at him, but his blue eyes were the same colour as the sky and his blonde hair reminded her of the boys who rode surfboards in her Dolly magazine ads. He wore shorts and a striped T-shirt, his feet bare the same as hers.
‘It’s just an old rod I found where we’re staying. Usually, Dad brings better ones for me, but he couldn’t come.’
‘Where are you staying?’ he asked, twisting his feet in the sand as he spoke.
‘Flinders. The Magic Fish.’