They are staying at the Kingfisher Hotel, right on the beach. The rooms nestle in thickly thatched huts, with seagrass matting on the floors. Julie is sharing with Nadine, but as soon as she’s dumped her bag on one of the beds, she is outside, two steps and onto the white sands of the beach. The sea is improbably turquoise, the sands pure and salt-white, the palm trees whispering and swaying in a benevolent line. Two seconds later, Nadine tears past her, whooping, in her bathers, and plunges into the waves. Julie sees Simon in the doorway of the next-door hut. Sudden, unreasoning happiness bubbles inside her.
‘Are you coming for a swim?’ she calls.
‘Just getting Dad settled.’ He disappears back inside, and a few minutes later he re-emerges, carrying a towel. Julie has changed into her bathers, and side by side they wade into the water; it’s warm, lapping at their ankles. Julie tries not to stare at his bare chest. He is much less skinny than Ryan, filled out and muscular, probably from heaving sacks of coffee beans around all day. His skin is smooth, almost hairless, walnut brown. Once again she realises that Simon is a man, while Ryan is still a boy.
She dives into the water, pleasantly conscious that she is the most graceful swimmer among them. She grew up at the beach; for the others, it’s a rare experience. They’ve been in the sea for about half an hour when Julie becomes aware of a figure on the sand, waving and gesticulating. She stands up, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘What’s the matter? Is there a shark or something?’
Nadine lets out a melodramatic scream and falls backward into the water with a splash.
‘Probably nothing.’ Ryan turns away. ‘Mum’ll tell us if it’s something important.’
Barbara is sunbathing on the sand, reading a magazine, her face hidden under a floppy hat. Simon frowns and begins to wade out, and instinctively Julie follows him. The figure on the beach reveals itself as a man, a national, wearing an official-looking cap. He speaks to Simon in Pidgin. Simon’s chin thrusts up and he answers sharply.
‘What is it?’ says Julie. ‘What’s wrong?’
Simon’s eyes spark with dark fire. ‘He’s checking that I’m a guest of the hotel. This beach is reserved for guests only.’
‘But you are a guest!’
The man backs away, spreading his hands, murmuring an apology.
Julie looks at Simon. ‘That’s horrible. Does that — that kind of thing — does it happen a lot?’
‘It won’t happen after Independence,’ says Simon. ‘One day, all the guests in this hotel will be Papua New Guineans. No one will ever question it.’ He stares along the beach.
On her towel, Barbara turns a page. She has ignored the entire scene.
‘Are you coming back in?’
Simon shakes his head. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’ He splashes up onto the beach without looking back, heading for his room.
Ryan comes up behind Julie. ‘Hey.’ He pulls at her hand and Julie lets him drag her back a few feet into the water, until the waves are rolling past their knees. He glances around furtively. Barbara is absorbed in her magazine, Nadine busy jumping the waves. Ryan pulls Julie close and kisses her. She tastes the salt on his lips. ‘Come out deeper,’ he says. ‘Come and swim properly. You’re a great swimmer. I’ve been watching you.’
‘No, I’m not.’ But she can’t help smiling. His hands are on her waist. She lets him pull her out, step by step, into deeper water, and she lets him wrap his arms around her. The warm water suspends them, embraces them. She presses her lips to his mouth. It’s easier than thinking about Simon, thinking about Tony. But when Ryan slides his hands beneath the elastic of her bathers, she pulls back.
‘Come on,’ he says. His hands creep over her skin. ‘No one can see us.’
She shakes her head; involuntarily, her eyes dart toward the beach.
Ryan gives her a little push away from him. ‘He’s not looking, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Ryan flicks his head so that his wet fringe slaps against his forehead. His eyes are narrow. Then without speaking, he turns and dives clumsily beneath the water.
Julie says, to herself, to the sky, ‘I was just getting out anyway.’ She begins to wade back toward the beach. Behind her, she hears Nadine shouting at Ryan, and a tremendous volley of splashing, but she knows that Ryan is still watching her.
15
Julie finds Patrick Murphy sitting on the verandah under a huge fringed umbrella. It’s hotter here than in the Highlands, though a cool breeze blows off the ocean. Julie slides into a chair.
Patrick nods to the beer in front of him. ‘You old enough for one of these?’
She smiles. ‘Not really. I’ll have a lemonade.’ She leans her chin on her hand and gazes across the tranquil, sapphire-coloured sea. ‘I can’t believe how beautiful it is here.’
‘Yes, it is beautiful. Even I can see that.’ Patrick gestures to his eyes. ‘They aren’t what they once were. I can’t see to read, these days.’
‘That must be awful.’
‘I won’t lie to you; it’s been a help having Simon home the last few weeks, doing the paperwork and what-have-you. Not looking forward to him going back to university.’
‘He doesn’t want to go back, you know,’ says Julie. ‘He wants to stay and work at Keriga.’
Patrick blinks at her and takes a long, slow sip of his beer. ‘Is that right? Is that right? Well, can’t blame him for that. It’s God’s own country up there. You coming out to visit us again?’
‘I’d love to. But I think I’ll be leaving soon. After — after the funeral. My mother’s coming up to get me . . . ’ Her voice trails away. For minutes at a time, she forgets about Tony; and then, all at once, the knowledge rolls over her like a cold wave drenching her heart. After a pause, she says, ‘I wish I could show my mother this place — and Keriga. She’s got no idea what it’s like up here.’
‘Last time I was in Wewak was during the war.’ Patrick closes his eyes. ‘Wewak was the biggest Japanese air base in New Guinea, did you know that?’
‘I saw the planes crashed in the jungle, as we flew in.’
‘We lost a lot of men here,’ he says.
Julie wants to ask him about the war; she wonders what he saw, what he did, if he killed anyone. She remembers what Simon told her about the violence of first contact, one side with bullets, the other side with arrows. But she doesn’t know how to ask.
There is a sudden flurry as Barbara and Allan, Simon and Ryan and Nadine all arrive at once. In the bustle, Julie and Patrick become separated, and the conversation breaks off. That night at dinner, Julie finds herself seated between Simon and Ryan. Ryan scowls. Julie tries not to look at Simon, but she can’t help being aware of his knee, so close to hers beneath the table.
Allan taps the side of his beer glass with a fork. ‘I want to propose a toast. To Mac.’
‘To Mac,’ everyone murmurs.
Under her breath, Julie whispers, ‘To Dad.’
She’d never called him Dad while he was alive; they’d always preserved that slight formal distance. It’s different from her mother insisting on Caroline, which Julie always says with an internal note of mockery, as if she were putting invisible quotes around it. She is always Mum really, underneath. Tony had never got to be Dad. And now it’s too late.
Perhaps because Tony is on his mind, Allan is more short-tempered than usual. Of course, it’s Allan’s dinner that is delayed coming out of the kitchen, so that he’s still waiting while the others sit with their meals cooling in front of them.
‘Go on, start!’ he barks. ‘Don’t let your food go stone bloody cold.’
He calls over the flustered waiter, a softly-spoken young national, and gives him a bollocking. Afterwards, Barbara says, ‘It wasn’t his fault.’
‘It’s someone’s bloody fault!’ roars Allan, his face turning puce. Julie keeps her eyes fixed on her plate, very busy cutting up her steak.
When Allan’s
meal finally arrives, he pokes it with the tip of his knife. ‘What the hell is this? What’s this muck all over it?’
Julie keeps her head low. Beside her, Ryan is also studiously keeping his eyes turned away. At last the inevitable explosion comes. Allan pushes his plate away. ‘I’m not eating this shit.’ He beckons to the waiter. ‘Hey, you! Take this back to the kitchen. It’s bloody inedible.’
‘Allan —’ begins Barbara, but Allan talks over her.
‘I didn’t come all this way to eat crap!’
‘Sir —’ The waiter fumbles with a napkin. ‘Let me —’
‘Forget it!’ Allan picks up the plate and smashes it on the floor. ‘And I’m not bloody paying for it either!’
He scrapes his chair violently backward and storms from the restaurant. The young waiter, murmuring distressed apologies, nearly in tears, drops to his knees and begins trying to clear up the ruined food.
Barbara is tight-lipped. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says to Patrick. ‘He’s been under a lot of strain.’
Patrick mutters something about no excuse for bad manners. Julie wonders why Barbara is apologising to Patrick, rather than to the waiter. She catches Simon’s eye and he raises one eyebrow. Nadine is steadily eating her way through fish and chips.
‘That could have been funny,’ says Ryan. ‘Any other time. It could have been the start of another Curry Crabtree legend . . . But not tonight.’
‘It didn’t seem very funny to me,’ says Simon.
Barbara leans forward. ‘Do you know who turned all those stories into legends? It was Tony McGinty. You know what? Without his right-hand man, Allan Crabtree is just another rude, tiresome, unfunny old bastard. Excuse my language,’ she says to Patrick. ‘I’m very tired. I’m going to bed.’
She pushes back her chair and stalks out.
‘And then there were five,’ murmurs Nadine, spearing a chip. She seems quite unperturbed by her parents’ public performance.
With Allan and Barbara gone, everyone around the table seems to relax. Simon asks Nadine about boarding school; Patrick tells Julie about coffee farming. Under the table, Ryan gives Julie’s knee a squeeze.
‘Not sorry you came?’ he whispers later, lingering outside Julie’s door.
‘Not sorry at all.’
The waves sigh gently up the soft sands, and the moonlight turns the sea to glowing silver. The palm trees rustle in the evening breeze. Ryan leans forward and they kiss.
He whispers in her ear, ‘Want to go for a walk?’
Julie pulls away. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘See you in the morning.’
‘Night.’
Ryan slouches away, shoulders slumped. Julie closes the door, and turns the lock.
She wakes early. There is just enough light to make out grey shapes in the room: the hump of Nadine’s body in the next bed, the still shadows of the furniture. As noiselessly as she can, Julie slips out of bed and pulls on her clothes. Silently she lets herself out of the hut and walks down to the beach.
The soft, sugar-white sand is still warm from yesterday’s sun. A sliver of fire shows at the horizon, bathing the pale rim of the sky with pink and gold. And then the disc of the sun slides over the edge of the sea and lights up the empty world with blue and gold and green.
Further down the beach, she can see a figure in the water, a dark head emerging above a swirl of foam. It’s Simon, body-surfing. Julie hesitates, watching him as he swims. Part of her wants to walk down the beach and talk to him, but she doesn’t move.
She is still standing there, watching him, when Ryan comes up behind her and grabs her hand.
‘Hi. What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ she says.
‘Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.’ He pulls at her hand. ‘Come on.’
She’s at the breakfast buffet, waiting for her toast to cook, when Simon comes up beside her. His hair is still damp from the sea, or from the shower.
‘Hi.’
‘Beautiful out there this morning, wasn’t it?’ he says.
So he did see her. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It was gorgeous.’
He clears his throat. ‘Julie, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’
Her heart is hammering. ‘Yes?’
‘I don’t know if your dad — if Tony was very religious? I mean, are you planning to have the funeral in a church?’
She blinks. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. He and Mum got married in a registry office.’
‘Because I was wondering if — the cemetery in town is a bit grim, you know? Would you like me to ask Dad, when they bring back Tony’s body, if he could be buried at Keriga? Do you think he would have liked that? He’d be up in the mountains, closer to the clouds, near the sky. I mean,’ he adds, ‘I don’t know, maybe you were planning to take his body back home with you —’
‘Oh, Simon!’ She is overwhelmed. She flings her arms around him, then hastily lets him go. ‘Thank you! That
would be — Do you think Patrick will say yes? I think Tony would have loved that. Could you? Could you ask him?’
‘Sure, of course.’ He catches her gaze and holds it. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Julie grabs a napkin and wipes her eye. ‘It’s just, when you said, take him home. Well, this is his home. This is where he’d want to stay.’
For a moment Julie wonders whether it would be such a terrible thing if they never retrieved Tony’s body. Perhaps he would have preferred to be at rest inside one of the planes he loved, where he’d spent so many joyful hours, on the ground and in the air. Maybe he would have liked to be hidden in the depths of the jungle, while the wreckage slowly grew over, vines coiling through the shattered glass, tendrils knitting a canopy over the plane, and his bones sheltered inside forever . . . But beautiful, peaceful Keriga would be the next best thing.
She looks at Simon. ‘Thank you.’
He doesn’t say a word; he just looks at her and gives a nod.
Back at the table, Ryan is twisted round in his chair, watching them. His face is like thunder.
16
When they arrive back in Mt Hagen that night, Caroline telephones for Julie. She sounds tired and harassed.
‘I’m still trying to organise my visa, but I should be there some time next week, fingers crossed.’
‘The funeral is supposed to be this week. A guy called Graham who lives next door is going to give the service; he’s a missionary. Do you want us to wait till you get here?’
‘God, no,’ says Caroline. ‘No, don’t wait for me.’
Julie hangs up and reports the conversation to the waiting Crabtrees.
‘Goodness,’ says Barbara. ‘It’s taking a while, isn’t it?’
‘Give her a break, Mum,’ says Ryan. ‘Pretty hard to arrange anything between Christmas and New Year, everyone’s on holidays.’
Barbara presses her lips together. ‘Of course, Julie, you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to.’
‘Ryan doesn’t want you to go home,’ Nadine sings out. ‘Do you, Ryan?’
Ryan growls, ‘Shut up, Nads.’
Abruptly Julie scrambles up and follows Allan into the kitchen, where he’s dropping ice cubes into his scotch.
‘Curry? I think it’s time I went home. Back to the flat, I mean.’
Allan shoves the ice tray back in the freezer and slams the fridge shut. The ice cubes tinkle against his glass. ‘Can’t be done. You can’t stay there on your own. It’s not safe, you know that, look what happened last time you were there by yourself.’
‘But I didn’t lock up properly that time. I’d be careful —’
‘No. Not going to happen.’
He gulps at his drink. Roxy begins to bark, and out in the living room Nadine calls, ‘I’ll get it!’
Allan cocks his head. ‘Sounds like the Spargos.’ He strides out to greet them. ‘Heard the bottle opening, did you, Andy?’
Julie stays in the
kitchen, slumped against the bench. Teddie drifts through the doorway, pulls open the fridge and peers inside. ‘Beer and pickled onions . . . No, thanks . . . How are you doing, Julie? How was Wewak?’
‘Lovely,’ says Julie.
Teddie sticks her finger in a jar of peanut butter, and licks it thoughtfully. ‘You okay?’
‘I think I’ve outstayed my welcome here.’
‘What’s the problem? Barbara — no? Oh, I see. It’s Ryan. Have you gone off him?’
‘Ssh!’ Julie casts an agonised glance at the door. ‘He’s . . . nice. But he can be a bit — you know —’
‘Clingy?’ Teddie screws the lid back on the jar. ‘Hm. Maybe you should come and stay with me and Andy for a while.’
‘Really?’ Julie looks up to see if she means it. ‘It wouldn’t be for very long. Caroline will be here soon and then I’ll be gone.’ The words seem to ring through the kitchen, echoes of a beaten gong. Julie feels hollow. ‘You’d better check with Andy.’
‘He won’t mind. He loves you. He loved Mac. He cried when Mac died. I’ve never seen Andy cry before. Don’t tell him I told you.’
‘If you’re sure it’s okay?’ says Julie.
‘Go and pack your things,’ says Teddie. ‘I’ll tell Barbara it’s our turn to have you.’
Barbara comes into Nadine’s bedroom as Julie is packing. ‘Of course it’s up to you. If you’re not comfortable here — I would have thought it would be more convenient — your mother knows you’re staying here.’
‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ says Julie. ‘You’ve all been so kind.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ Barbara, to Julie’s surprise, puts her arm around her and squeezes awkwardly. ‘We all have to help each other.’
Ryan carries her bag out to the car. His mouth is set in a mutinous line. ‘I don’t see why you have to go.’