Surf School (18 page)

‘The computer. It's working again.'

‘Yeah, it's heaps better since I got the spyware off it,' said Sam. ‘Took me ages to reload all the School stuff though.'

Tilly opened the web page and a photo of Shane, Kyle and the girls in their Surf School T-shirts flashed up.

‘Hmmm, very
Baywatch
.' Phil laughed. ‘I can't believe you got Shane to wear that.'

‘Fran made them, but it was Pink who talked him into wearing one,' said Tilly. ‘Pink can talk anybody into anything.'

‘Hah, great class shots. Oh, profiles, and class records.' Phil laughed, ‘This is amazing. It must have taken you hours.'

‘Sam and Jamie helped, except Sam forgot to mention he'd cleaned the disk!'

There were student records, addresses, photos of all the classes and even a map locating Diamond Beach and the School. Tilly clicked and the slideshow started: the girls working at the School, students going through their stretches, Fran's Beach Bling, repainting the School, shots of Diamond Beach …

‘Arghhhh!' Phil cried as though the screen had suddenly burnt him. He pushed his chair back from the table, his face pale, sweaty. He grabbed the edge of the table, trying to calm himself while Tilly, Sam and Jamie stood frozen, staring at him.

‘Dad.' Tilly knelt down beside him. ‘What's wrong? Shall I call the doctor?'

‘Go back,' he whispered. ‘The photos. Go back.'

Tilly clicked
Back
on the screen.

Phil pulled his chair closer, his face almost touching the screen. ‘Stop!'

Tilly laughed, relieved. ‘Oh, that's some old kombi Pink liked.'

‘More like some old driver,' Sam said wryly. ‘Sorry,' he added, but Jamie shrugged.

‘What is it?' Jamie asked Phil, who was pointing at the screen.

‘Can you make that bigger?'

‘Sure.' Tilly enlarged the photo so it filled the screen. It was slightly blurred but you could still make out the dolphins and sea creatures along the side panels.

‘That's it.' Phil looked at the three of them. ‘That's the vehicle that hit me. I'm sure of it. Have you got any more photos?'

‘Pink probably has.' Tilly thought back to the night of the storm and Pink's strange behaviour. ‘She knows. I think Pink knows it was him.'

Phil tried to pick up the phone but his hands were shaking too badly. ‘Can someone please dial Mitch's number?'

Marlee knew exactly where Jordie's shop was. She detoured past it most days on the way home from school to admire the boards lined up near the front door. Jordie was the best shaper in the area but even though she'd often seen him at the beach they'd never spoken, and she'd felt shy when he'd called. Dutifully she wrote down the address. It was only after he'd hung up that she realised she'd never said thanks.

Her bike tyres hummed over the hot pavement as she rode down to the shop. She propped her bike against the wall,
stopping momentarily to run her palm down the rail of the board closest to her, shaping her hand to fit its smooth curve.

She wandered towards the shaper's bay where Jordie worked. He flicked the sander off, pushing the mask onto the top of his head. Fine white dust from the surfboard blank had settled in the curls of his hair, on his lashes and over his brown skin. He looked like he'd been rolled in snow.

‘G'day, Marlee.' His handshake was more than firm, crushing the bones in her hand. ‘Good to see you. Loved your photos in the magazine. Let's hope they're on my boards next time.'

Marlee felt like her face had split open. She tried to stop grinning, but couldn't. Nothing could stop how good she felt, hearing those words from someone she looked up to so much.

Jordie took her through to the front room and pulled out a few boards. ‘Tell me if I'm wrong, but I kinda see you on something like this, a nice strappy little bullet with thin rails. Good for charging but plenty of action in the turn.'

Marlee kept nodding. She'd unwrapped an identical board in her head every Christmas. She ran her hand down the glossy deck, already seeing it in the water.

‘Kyle tells me you've got plans to step up to the next level.'

‘Kyle?' Marlee looked shocked. ‘Is Kyle involved in this?'

Jordie shook his head, his face mask throwing off a flurry of white dust. ‘No, but he showed me your photos.'

Marlee hesitated. For once she thought she'd done something on her own merits. ‘I don't want favours,' she said abruptly.

‘Look,' Jordie scratched his head. ‘I'm a business man. You surf good and I want you on my boards. If other chicks see what you can do on my boards, they'll all be lining up for one. I'll offer you two boards a year to start with then let's see where we go from there.'

Marlee was silent. It was more than she'd dreamed of and she searched for the words to show her gratitude, hoping her voice would stay steady.

‘You're bustin' my balls here,' said Jordie, misinterpreting her silence. ‘Okay, three boards, but that's it until you've proved yourself,' Jordie finished.

Marlee smiled, nodded, laughed and nodded some more, still not trusting herself to speak. She'd had one board for six years; three boards a year sounded better than fine. ‘Thanks so much. I won't let you down,' she finally said, her voice a squeak.

Jordie shook her hand warmly. ‘I can tell that. Let's nut out the details now so you can have one in the water by Christmas.'

By the time Jordie had taken some measurements and drawn Marlee an outline of her new boards, going through all the design points, night had fallen. She unchained her bike, conscious that her mother would be expecting her home any time for dinner.

But Marlee wanted to share her good news and her mother was not the person to share it with. Marlee could see the cold set of her face, the resigned shrug of someone who had already watched her husband live with the same passion, following the same dream, only to be crushed and bitter when it failed to materialise. Tilly was the only one who would really understand
and Marlee rode through the soft darkness towards her house. It was time to make things right with Tilly.

The air knitted busily with the summer sounds of crickets and frogs, and the steady click of her bike wheels. She turned the corner, stopping across the road from Tilly's. Through the window she could see Tilly, Sam, Jamie and Phil around the table, laughing, eating – a ‘Welcome Home Dad' sign in the background. Marlee watched for a few minutes, a loneliness creeping through her, her brilliant news temporarily forgotten. Normally she'd be at celebrations in the Hoye household and it hurt to realise she'd been excluded, even though she knew that she was largely responsible for that.

She pushed her bike towards the beach, no urgency in her ride now. She roamed, directionless, along the beach, realising how lonely it was without her friends around, then turned up the hill out of habit following her pamphlet run, lost for somewhere to go. She paused at the top, leaning on her handlebars to catch her breath, watching the swimmers at the ocean pool in the distance turning laps under the lights. Maybe her good news
was
the ice breaker she needed.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she flew down the hill, past the skate park and along the boardwalk, not dropping her pace until Tilly's house was in sight. She slowed near the driveway, uncertain once again.

‘Hi, Marlee.' Tilly was sitting on the verandah railing, her heels kicking against the rail.

She didn't look happy to see her and Marlee stayed on the bike, not moving any closer.

‘Hi.' Marlee plucked up her courage and blurted out. ‘Hey guess what?' Silence. ‘I've got some great news.' Silence. Marlee waited for a reaction but there was none. She felt deflated and wished she hadn't come.

‘That's great,' Tilly said, her voice flat.

‘Are you all right?' Marlee asked. ‘Isn't Phil home? Aren't you celebrating?'

Tilly nodded, then jumped lightly off the verandah and walked towards her. It was only then Marlee noticed the tears. ‘We found out who knocked Dad off his bike. Well, we think we did.' Her voice trailed off.

‘But that's great,' said Marlee, relieved. ‘Isn't it?'

Tilly nodded. ‘Yes. Except,' she blew her nose, ‘it was that guy Pink's been hanging out with. Dad's really upset and he's called Mitch. He's on his way over here now to talk to Dad.'

Phil's voice came from inside, ‘Tilly, who are you talking to?'

‘Marlee's here, Dad. Can she come in?'

‘Not tonight,' said Phil. ‘Come inside will you, Tilly.'

Tilly looked at Marlee. ‘Sorry. I have to go. You'll have to tell me your news another time.' Tilly walked inside and shut the door, and Marlee shivered in spite of the warm night, then slowly headed for home.

Tilly lay under the trampoline, lazily scooping ice cream into her mouth. She thought about Phil, and Pink, and Mitch, and what had happened the night before. It was all over. Finally. The sun filtered through the mat in a million tiny dots. She listened for the soft tinkle of the wind chimes to signal that
the wind was picking up. Each corner of the house had a chime, an early warning weather system she and Marlee devised one steamy afternoon while they ate their iceblocks under the tramp. Deep soft bells rang for the northerly wind, and a huge, super low chime clanged when the southerly blew in, but the chime outside Tilly's window was her favourite. Thin silver leaves spun below a painted fish, shimmering like they were underwater. It tinkled when the easterly blew. It was Tilly and Marlee's play-time tinkle, when they'd get out the big old mals, surfing the tiny waves backwards, two on a board, lying down, cross-legged. Marlee even managed a handstand once.

As the first gusts of wind lifted through the chimes, Tilly listened intently, the spoon on hold in her mouth. It came again, stronger this time. And again. She pulled herself out from under the tramp to check and sure enough, the silver leaves were spinning slow circles.

Tilly gobbled the rest of her ice cream, pushed her hair under her white crocheted hat and raced to the School. She slid out two mals and, holding them by the fins, dragged them down the sand.

She left one mal on the sand, then paddled out. After her short board, the mal felt like an ocean liner. It moved slowly, cutting a statesman-like path, as Tilly swung it in a slow arc, lined it up with the bank then steamed regally into shore. It took all her strength to push down on the board for a turn and, in the end, she let it plough onward in a straight line, tempted to put a seat in the middle for the next ride.

Tilly constantly scanned the shore, glancing hopefully up the beach and the boardwalk above. When she saw the familiar blonde hair and Marlee's bright yellow boardies Tilly shoved two fingers into her mouth and gave a long, piercing whistle. The effect on Marlee was instant. She ran down to the water, collected the second mal and paddled out as fast as she could, yelling, laughing, aiming straight at Tilly, who was now surfing a wave backwards.