An Endless Summer (The Summer Series) (Volume 2)

One

Summer of ’96, Onslow.

There he is!

My best friend, Tammy Maskala, was deeply, madly in love with Sean Murphy. Like, truly stalkerish type love.

Tammy and I had been friends forever. We turned sixteen on the same date, snuck out, hung out, and did everything together, but what Tammy wanted to do more than anything, or anyone, was Sean Murphy. We had spent an entire footy season freezing our butts off sitting in the football stands every home game to watch Sean ruck for the Onslow Tigers. I had personally been more enthralled with my bucket of chips than Aussie Rules, but every time Sean even so much as touched the ball, Tammy would elbow me, squealing in delight. I just got annoyed if it knocked a chip out of my hand.

Of course, Tammy was absolutely terrified of talking to Sean or engaging in any activity with him other than deep, longing sighs from a distance. That summer, Tammy said things were going to change and that was it. The only thing Tammy needed was a little helping hand from – yep, you guessed it – me.

You know him, Tammy pleaded with me.

I don’t know him.

"You see him all the time."

He’s best friends with my cousin Chris.

Exactly! Tammy sighed in dismay. "You are so lucky!"

Many of my friends thought that growing up in a pub was the coolest thing ever. However, it wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed. More often than not, I was something that was underfoot, shooed out of the way from oncoming traffic, a.k.a. patrons. I was ushered from forbidden places, lectured for loitering on the stairs, or chastised for eavesdropping on adult conversations. I always felt in the way and come summertime, when the season picked up and the tourists flowed in, I was always in the way.

By a young age I had learnt to entertain myself and tried to stay out of everyone’s way. I remember on my thirteenth birthday, I had been given my first set of rollerblades, a

brilliant ploy to keep me outdoors. I would race around and around the cemented verandah of the Onslow Hotel; it was like my very own roller rink. My rollerblades were presented to me with strict instructions, though: No rollerblading down Coronary Hill. I knew that. I mean, come on, did they think I had a death wish?

On the very day I got my rollerblades I had been gingerly rolling back and forth on the verandah, gaining my confidence, when Sean and his mates Toby, Ringer and Stan, rocked up for their usual Friday night drinking session. Every Friday night, without fail, they came in after work for a parma, some pool and so much beer they usually ended the night with an air guitar competition. I could always hear them from up in my room at three in the morning, arguing over the winner. I was not eavesdropping. Okay, so maybe a little. Anyway, they arrived all freshly showered and changed from their day’s work and I watched them swagger across the car park in a chorus of animated conversation and laughter. I skidded to a halt on my blades and grabbed onto a beam for balance, peering out from behind a verandah pole as they approached.

They skipped every second step up to the verandah before Ringer noticed me standing awkwardly, knock-kneed in my netball skirt and with knee and elbow pads on, clasping the pole.

Look out, what do we have here? Ringer announced, playfully pulling on one of my plaits as he passed.

Looks like we have ourselves a roller-girl. Come on, show us what you got, Sean teased.

I’m not showing you, I said with a sneer. Truth be told, I was terrified of falling flat on my face. I couldn’t go more than five metres without wobbling, flailing and crashing into a wall.

Hey, Chook, is Chris behind the bar? Toby asked.

I nodded. I was always nice to Toby. He was my favourite of all Chris’s friends.

Sure you won’t show us a trick before we go in? asked Stan as he turned towards the door.

Well … I lifted my chin. I can do this … I pushed myself off the pole and gathered enough momentum to work myself into a full three-sixty spin. It was going so well and was pretty impressive until my blade clipped a rough bit of concrete and I swayed sideways.

The boys’ reflex reaction was to flinch; they all raised their hands at me in an ‘easy’ motion. But it was fine. I caught myself. Their bodies all visibly sagged with relief when I didn’t face plant into the concrete. After successfully completing my Evel Knievel stunt, I smiled sweetly with my best ‘Oh yeah! Look what I just did!’ expression.

They all seemed rather impressed, except for Sean who stood leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, his lips twitching as if fighting a smirk. I glowered at him.

Bloody hell, you gotta do it faster than that, Chook.

Sean reached out, took me by the hands and pulled me along the concrete.

Sean, don’t! I screamed.

He abruptly stopped me before breaking into a wicked smile. Then, he dragged me along some more in the opposite direction, his height and strength the only things preventing me from falling as he flung me around on my blades.

I screamed in terror, begging for him to stop as I barely missed knocking my shin against a giant terracotta pot plant. I just knew I was going to break a leg if he didn’t let go. All the boys watched on, laughing, as Sean finally slowed to a stop, grabbing my shoulders to steady me. I grabbed onto a verandah pole, my voice hoarse from screaming, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Now that’s how you do it! Sean laughed before following the others in the front door.

You’re such a bloody child! I yelled after him. He winked and disappeared through the bar door. It was a place I wasn’t allowed to go, so I glared at their backs furiously as their laughter was engulfed by the closing door swinging shut behind them.

I had never really had much to do with Chris’s friends when I was younger, except when they used to come and taunt me at the pub. When I started waitressing at sixteen, however, I saw them a bunch more.

I tried to convince Tammy to waitress as well, as it would be her best chance to talk to Sean, but she was way too shy. So instead, Tammy lived vicariously through me, asking after every single shift if I had run into him, or seen him at the hotel. She begged me to tell her everything. Waitressing also gave me privy information as to where ‘the Onslow Boys’ would be. I wasn’t sure why they were nicknamed that (I mean, there were other boys in Onslow), but it was something most girls called them so I figured I may as well, too.

They’re heading to MacLean’s Beach after lock-in tonight, I said with a sigh into the phone. It seemed like all Tammy and I ever talked about was where Sean was and what he was doing. Just for once, I wanted to have a conversation about something else.

Oh. My. God! Tammy said, squealing. Amy, we have to go.

I rolled my eyes. I was no stranger to sneaking out. I’d done so only last week to go down to a party by the lake when Dad said I couldn’t go, but the last thing I felt like doing was stalking the Onslow Boys. It sounded boring.

I don’t know; they usually don’t finish up from the lock-in until after one in the morning.

Oh, please, Amy, you have to come with me. I’m going to talk to him tonight. I’ll do it. I swear I will.

I wanted to bang my head against the receiver and come down with some mysterious twenty-four-hour bug that rendered me housebound. But, like I did every other time, I caved.

Okay, but you better do it! I told her.

I would sneak out, sure, but if there was one boundary I would never dare cross, it was stealing booze from my dad’s pub. I knew Chris kept an up-to-date inventory down to the very last drop and messing with the stash wouldn’t be worth my life.

So that was Tammy’s area: I would agree to come and she would supply the booze. She’d raid her mum and dad’s stockpile from their garage, like she always did. Apparently, they never suspected a thing.

Come one-thirty a.m., after changing and waiting impatiently for the sound of the front bar room door to slam, I legged it for the back staircase. Tiptoeing carefully downwards, I winced at the sound of a creaking step underfoot. I froze, hoping not to be heard. But it was okay – Dad was long asleep; if George Michael wailing from the jukebox failed to stir his slumber, then nothing would. As meticulously planned via in-depth phone conversations, I met up with Tammy a little way off from MacLean’s. Giggling, we propped ourselves on top of a sand dune overlooking the sparkly, dark stretch of Lake Onslow.

Wait here, Tammy whispered. I’m not sure why she was speaking so quietly since we were on our own.

Tammy disappeared behind a bush and I heard the rustling of a plastic bag. Under the white glow of the full moon, she returned with something in her hand.

Ta da! Tammy produced a cask of peach wine and two plastic cups.

Classy! I mused.

I call it Dutch courage, Tammy said.

She squeezed on the tab, trickling a clear, fruity wine into her cup, then mine. We pressed them together in a mock clink, giggling Cheers!

Here’s to me talking to Sean Murphy tonight, Tammy said. She took a deep breath and skulled her wine.

I just shook my head and followed suit.

After a cask of wine and a shared six-pack of smuggled VB cans from her dad’s stash, we were feeling good and zigzagging our way towards MacLean’s Beach. Falling in the soft sand, we laughed hysterically over how uncoordinated we were. How we stumbled to the actual clearing of MacLean’s, I will never know, but we did. Then, we attempted to be suave and sophisticated and walk as straight as possible through the crowd, give or take losing it in hysterics every now and then. I made a mental note to avoid my cousin Chris, but luckily through my blurry vision I couldn’t spot him.

I don’t see Sean anywhere, whined Tammy. She collapsed into the sand, her face crumpling with sorrow.

Shhhh, I said, as I waved her words away. Be cool!

I am never going to get to talk to him, am I? she asked, looking as if tears would start dribbling down her cheeks at any moment. Never, never, never.

I blocked out her incessant complaining and kicked into friend mode: I needed to find Sean. I squinted my eyes at the sea of bodies dotted around the beach.

I spotted Alex Keegan; he was friends with the Onslow Boys, surely he would know.

Hey, Alex! I called out, stumbling a path to him. He turned, surprise dawning on his face as he saw me.

Past your curfew, isn’t it, Amy? he asked as he looked me over.

Rather rich, I thought, coming from Alex who was only a year above me.

In a cocky move, I swiped his beer from his hand and took a long swig. I smacked my lips in appreciation.

I won’t tell if you won’t.

Alex shifted uncomfortably, like so many of the boys did. Dad had threatened half of Onslow with very bad things if they so much as looked at me.

It was absolutely mortifying.

Where’s Sean? I asked with my best smile and then lifted the can to my lips again.

Alex frowned and snatched the beer back from me. Who wants to know?

I rolled my eyes, snapping quickly out of the sweet-girl act. Just tell me!

He eyed me sceptically, weighing up whether to tell me or not. After a long pause, Alex tilted his head to his left. I followed his gaze out onto the lake.

He’s on Stan’s boat with a few others.

In the darkness, I could make out a distant light on the water.

Okay, that was not part of the plan. I didn’t want to be the one to break it to Tammy, but she was right. It seemed she wasn’t finally talking to Sean tonight. Ugh!

I coaxed Alex into giving me a few beers and he begrudgingly obliged. As we drank together, he noticeably relaxed, which was made obvious when his hand snaked out and settled around my waist.

My eyes flicked out towards Stan’s boat, much to the annoyance of my new BFF, Alex.

Hey, what’s he got that I don’t got? Alex pulled me into him; I could smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke on his breath against my neck.

Gross.

I pulled away and smiled at him sweetly before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

A boat.

I walked backwards, away from Alex, beers in hand, and made my way back to Tammy who had passed out on the sand.

I knew what would wake her up: It was time to put this Sean matter to bed once and for all.

Dumping the beer stash next to Tammy’s corpse, I walked towards the edge of the water, peeling my top over my head and tossing it onto the shoreline. Cat calls sounded from behind me.

Yeah, baby! Take it off!

I flipped my middle finger at no one in particular as I flicked off my shoes and struggled to unbutton my denim cut-offs, shimmying out of them while trying not to fall over.

The warm water lapped at my toes and a thrill shot through me as the sensation tingled around my ankles, my calves, and then my thighs as I walked into the lake in just my bra and knickers. My feet sunk into the muddy bank, slowing me down as I made for the light of the boat and the distant laughter offshore. I was going to swim out to them and give them a piece of my mind – those anti-social pricks!

Oops, I giggled, losing my footing.

A breeze blew and gooseflesh rippled along my skin; all of a sudden the water didn’t feel so warm anymore. But I had to do it. Tammy needed to talk to Sean and she needed to do it tonight.

I heard distant calls from the shore as I dived into the lake. I resurfaced, gasping at the unexpected chill of the water. I pushed forward, breast-stroking towards the light. I couldn’t tell if the noise of people talking and yelling was from behind or in front of me, but it wasn’t like it mattered; they weren’t talking to me. I could only kick into the oblivion. It wouldn’t take long to get to the boat. I was a good swimmer and Chris would soon be dragging me onboard giving me a lecture. Then I’d tell them all off for ditching the party and Sean would come to shore and meet Tammy, whom I was certain he didn’t even know existed. He would see how amazing she was and they’d fall in love and Tammy would finally leave me in peace. I would never have to hear the name Sean Murphy again.

My breath laboured. I blinked against the water that splashed in my face with each stroke. I couldn’t see the light anymore; my arms were cold now, heavy, and refused to work. I wanted to stand up and head back to shore, but there was no bottom.

A surge of water crashed over my face and filled my throat. I choked on the unexpectedness of it. It lapped again and my head bobbed under the surface. I bobbed up again, a panic spiking through me. This was not fun. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I wanted to get out now, but there was water everywhere. I was being swallowed up by the night; there was just black sky above and black water all around.

All I could hear were my gasped breaths and the beating of my heart echoing in my ears as I sank and surfaced, sank and surfaced again, somehow unable to float anymore. I clawed at the water. I wanted to scream, but my mouth filled again and again with water and I went down deeper. Even as I tried to kick my way free, I was consumed by the darkness of the never-ending stretch of nothing.

My insides burned as I thrashed in a panic against the engulfing blackness. This was it, this was the end, I thought. I realised I was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. It was an unnerving experience, accepting your fate like that – letting go of the fight, sinking farther into the abyss to meet the end. The fear dissipated. I wasn’t scared anymore. My death was so peaceful, so quiet, so very beautiful.

Maybe it was a dream – this wasn’t happening – maybe that surge of water and whoosh of bubbles that filtered next to me was my mind playing tricks. The iron grip that swooped around me and grasped me tightly, the one that pulled me upward with such almighty strength. I must be asleep, I thought. It was a nice dream … until I resurfaced.

Amy! Amy! Look at me, look at me!

I double-blinked my eyes to clear my blurry vision. I struggled to fix on the person yelling at me, a voice coming from a face -hovering above. Beautiful blue eyes narrowed in panic and a strong, vice-like grip on my shoulders, jolting me to focus.

Get back, give her room! he shouted.

Droplets of water dripped onto my face as hands moved and cupped my cheeks.

Amy, you’re going to be all right, he spoke softly, gently. Everything’s going to be all right.

I was drunk and passed out in my knickers, according to Tammy’s retelling of the events the next day. She told me Sean had dived into the water and duck-dived several times before he found me and dragged me to the surface. She said he screamed for someone to call an ambulance as he carried my lifeless body out of the lake. He gave me mouth-to-mouth and worked on pumping my chest until I vomited up half of Lake Onslow into the sand. When she mentioned the mouth-to-mouth detail, I could tell she was secretly pissed that I’d had Sean’s mouth on mine, but it wasn’t like she was going to admit to it.

As for me, I had lain in a ball in my room for three days after, silently wishing I had drowned that night, rather than face the embarrassment of it. My chest was still bruised from where Sean had pushed so hard that he’d nearly cracked a rib. It sure felt like he had.

My parents were furious. I had to be ambulanced to the hospital and, after the initial fear passed, they moved on to rage at me for having snuck out, and then hushed angry whispers outside my room.

I half expected I would be grounded for life, but instead it seemed as though I was to suffer a fate far, far worse.

I was being sent to an all-girls’ boarding school in the city.

I wiped away the tears, my throat scratchy from hours of silent sobbing in my room, mixed with swallowing half of Lake Onslow.

As my tears dried, my throat was parched. I listened to the silence downstairs and cautiously crept out of my room, hoping not to bump into anyone. Especially not my traitorous parents. I would just slip downstairs to the kitchen and grab a Coke, and then sneak back upstairs again, no one the wiser.

As I crossed the landing, I stilled at the sound of distant voices that filtered through from the main bar downstairs.

Before I’d even thought about it, I crept down the stairs towards the voices, cutting through the restaurant and pushing myself against the partition. I squinted through the gap in the dividers.

Sean stood in the bar facing a grim-looking Dad.

Well, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.

We appreciate it, Sean. We can’t thank you enough. My dad shook his hand.

Sean tapped him on the upper arm and offered a reassuring nod.

No need to thank me, Eric, I’m just relieved Amy’s all right.

My dad pulled Sean into a hug.

Thanks, mate! He tapped Sean hard on the back and pulled back, sniffing. I watched as they both stood there awkwardly for a long moment.

Sean scratched the back of his head.

No worries. He offered a small smile.

How about a beer, son? My shout. Dad moved behind the bar; the awkwardness gone.

Yeah, great. Sean moved to follow Dad but stilled, his eyes flicking towards the partition. I held my breath; I dared not move. Could he see me?

Sean broke into a broad smile and winked. I expelled a shocked breath and ducked from the opening, my heart racing a million miles an hour.

Oh God! Oh God! Don’t tell on me! Please. I waited, half expecting the partition to be wrenched open and I would be plucked from my hiding place in my PJs, caught spying yet again. But when nothing happened and the conversation continued, I slowly moved to peek through the opening again.

Sean had moved and was sitting at the bar now, talking to my dad about footy. I backed away and ran towards the stairs, up and into my room, the first smile in a long time lining my face.

Two

Summer of ’99, The City.

There was a creature in my house.

Dragging its feet along the kitchen lino, it expelled a yawned, bad-odoured breath, all the while scratching its butt crack and raiding the cupboard.

Yep, Dad’s home.

I had never lived with both of my parents for a long period of time; it just never happened, not in my world. Mum lived in the city; Dad lived in the country at the pub. They weren’t separated or divorced or anything, they were very much together. They spoke every day, they liked each other; heck, they even loved each other. It was just the way it was. When I was younger, I thought everyone’s parents lived like this. It wasn’t until I was older that I started to realise my little family was seriously screwed up. Seeing how I was the only child, guess who inherited all the crazy? Yep! Lucky me!

I peered over the back of the couch and caught my sneering reflection in the lounge room sliding-glass door. My headphones sat crookedly on my head, a deep frown etched across my brow. I slipped down and resumed my position: my long legs stretched out across the couch, my fluffy, purple dressing gown twisted around my PJs. I reaffixed my headphones and cranked up the volume on my Discman as an attempt to block out the rustling sounds from the kitchen. Noises I had been trying to ignore for months. The sounds, I guessed, that would transform into animated chatter as I sensed my mother, Claire Henderson, click-clacking down the hall.

She swung into the kitchen with her breezy, sing-songy voice. I peered over the couch again and, sure enough, there she was in her long, flowing, silk nightgown, her ash blonde hair gathered into a French twist. She was bright-eyed and glowing, always looking like a million bucks even first thing in the morning. Freaky ageless genetics? Perhaps. Wasn’t sure if I’d inherited them, though. A close personal relationship with Dr Baritone and his Botox needles was more likely. My mum leaned into my dad and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips. Gross!

Unfortunately, it was not uncommon behaviour for my mum. My dad, Eric, on the

other hand, who stood there canoodling with her in the kitchen, this was not how I remembered my dad. He was big, burly, bearded Eric Henderson, a generational publican in Onslow, a country town a mere two hours away. He was funny, great with people, knew the business, and ran it well. But this man spooning out a grapefruit for breakfast was not my dad.

One night, I overheard Mum crying on the phone, offering my dad an ultimatum, and the next thing I knew, Dad was on our doorstep, moving in. My dad had decided to go on this dramatic health kick: he quit smoking, cut down his drinking, and joined Jenny Craig. He’d lost a stack of weight and even shaved off his beard. And, the incredible shrinking man was now dressing younger, too, and, God help me, had even started strutting around like a rooster in a hen house. And the worst thing? My mum loved it.

My mum’s attention turned from her loving husband and landed on me as I stared on in distaste. Morning, honey!

I sank back into the couch and thought if I didn’t move, maybe I’d be left alone.

No such luck. My headphones were peeled off from behind me.

Okay. Now I was pissed.

What’s on for today, then? Mum asked, innocently enough as she smiled down at me. There was a none-too-subtle probe to her question – with this question there always was. It was the question I was asked every day, and it was a trap.

How about we get dressed today? My dad leaned against the archway to the lounge room, taking an irritating sip of his soy, low fat/no fat, sugar-reduced, low GI drink.

I liked how he said ‘we’, as if his jab wasn’t solely directed at me. It wasn’t as if anything had changed, I did what I always did at home with Mum. The only difference was that Dad was here to point out the things he didn’t approve of.

When it came to me, it seemed like he approved of nothing. Especially since my decision to defer from uni for twelve months, the biggest mistake I could possibly have made, or so I was reminded every day. A familiar anger bubbled under my skin.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position. And what is it you two lovebirds have on for today? My voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mum straightened with interest. Your father’s taking me on a date.

Ugh. Another one? Seriously?

They gave me an over-enthusiastic rundown of how, after yet another day of living out their second honeymoon, they planned to come home and watch a double episode of Ally McBeal on Prime Time. I had to get out of here!

Later that night, my parents relaxed in front of the TV. Dad slinked his arm around Mum and stole a wayward chip from the bowl. Mum playfully slapped his hand away. Rolling my eyes, I crept out and shut the door on their uproarious laughter as cutesy, crazy Ally McBeal fell over her own feet, again.

I switched the phone to my other ear where my friend Mary waited.

What did you say? I asked, lowering my voice.

Where are you going to go?

More laughter erupted from the lounge. My glare towards the offending sound was my usual expression these days, and with all that frowning and scowling I, too, was going to need Dr. Baritone’s Botox before too long.

I shuddered.

I don’t know, I sighed. Anywhere but here.

I guess I should have been happy for my parents. Most normal offspring would have been relieved that they were working things out, reigniting the flame so to speak, and I thought I would adjust to the change of Dad being a full-time presence in my life. But, to be honest, it was rocking my world. In a bad way. It was rocking a world that, since I finished school, Mum and I had lived in exclusively the majority of the time. Just us. Dad didn’t belong here, he was a country boy; his role in my life was to provide me with an escape, a place I could go for school holidays and weekends. A place to get spoilt with an endless array of raspberry post mix and limitless packets of salt and vinegar chips.

My dad was the coolest. Or he had been. To all my friends in the city, I was this rich kid with a country mansion and my own multi-roomed hotel on the lake. When I was younger, I would literally bounce on the balls of my feet at the thought of going to Onslow; I longed for school holidays where I would pack up my swimmers and thongs, don the floppy hat and war paint my face with fluoro zinc cream before heading to the lake with all my country friends. Onslow was the ultimate escape; it allowed me absolute freedom and some of the happiest times of my life.

I froze, zoning out from Mary’s chatter on the other end of the line as my eyes fixed onto a photo on the fridge door. It was a picture of me from years ago sitting outside the Onslow Hotel on a picnic table, my gangly legs hanging over the edge, and a goofy, forced smile on my face. At a guess, I must have been fourteen. I could usually tell my age in a photo. Closed-mouth smile: braces. Bright, beaming smile: post braces. By the awkwardness of this photo, I was definitely sporting a mouth full of metal, but, more disturbing than that, was I wearing a …

Skort? I grimaced.

Amy? Amy? Did you hear me?

Oh, sorry, what did you say?

Seriously, you’re not thinking of leaving the city for the summer, are you? Like, where would you even go?

My eyes never broke from the goofy, suntanned, happy fourteen-year-old me, perched alone in front of the sweeping verandah of the Onslow with its heritage green roof and cream brickwork.

I broke into a toothy grin at the thought of being alone, just like that girl in the photo. I plucked it off from under the magnet.

Mary, did I ever tell you about my mansion in the country?

Three

You have got to be fracking kidding me!

Yes, I said fracking. It’s what a life of growing up with my mother had reduced me to – compromised swear words. Even though she tried her hardest to stamp dirty words out of me with the best private, all-girl education money could buy, my sailor-mouth habit was never completely cured. It was Dad’s fault, really. All the foul language I learned was a direct result of my time spent hanging with him at the Onslow. Even though I refrained from saying the real ‘F’ word, Mum still loathed my rendition and eventually just gave up trying to stop me altogether.

Speaking of giving up, I stood outside the Onslow Hotel and stared up at the building in mystified horror. I would have thought maybe I was tired and grumpy due to the bus trip from hell, or that maybe I was at the wrong place and didn’t even realise it.

Or maybe I was hallucinating this monstrosity.

But no. I wasn’t.

I had not expected this.

My heart sank at the sight of it: the overgrown lawn, the dirty ring-stained picnic tables, cigarettes, and broken glass near the front door, a couple of empty bottles on the windowsill. The windows were smudged and grotty – even the overhanging Carlton Draft sign dangled from a snapped chain, squeaking in the faint, hot breeze that blew. I half expected a tumbleweed to roll past me and a lonely wolf cry to echo through the hills. If we had wolves in Australia. Okay, a dingo, then. The atmosphere was that of a horror movie, an