The Byron Journals (27 page)

A nearby window, the morning sun and all that thin air to the concrete. He knew that freedom, light and the rest of his life were on the other side. It was the window from the lighthouse with the ocean smashing over the rocks beneath it. It was the peaceful black and nothing at the bottom of the ocean. Voices rasped and crunched. There was the window. He lined it up and ran. And he saw himself falling through the light, through all that airy nothingness, and he felt the God-punch of concrete and the peaceful rest beyond it. But he was on the floor now with the hands clamping him. He looked down at his stomach and saw it bulge, squirm and split open. Snakes poured out of him in a steady, oozing stream that slopped onto the floor. The world folded in. The room, the city, the universe turned inside out.

There was a pinprick thousands of kilometres away, a distant part of him.

Then there was nothing.

thirty-five

‘He's waking up.' It was a familiar voice.

‘Andy?' Another familiar voice. ‘Are you okay?'

He tried to sit, then groaned and slumped back on the pillows. When he opened his eyes, the light was so bright he thought he was lying in the cellar back in Byron. His stomach was empty and his head throbbed. ‘Dunno,' he said. ‘I feel pretty…weird.'

‘What happened to you two?' Jade asked.

He craned his neck. ‘Where's Heidi?'

Tim pointed along the hall. ‘A couple of rooms up.'

‘Is she okay?'

‘No one's spoken to her yet. Apparently she dropped you in Emergency and ran away. The police arrested her and brought her back a couple of hours later.' Tim sighed and rubbed the side of his face. ‘What happened?' Andrew yawned and looked away.

‘We're going to have to move the hydro as soon as we get back to Byron,' Tim said.

Jade glared. ‘Oh, shut up—as if he cares about that.'

‘I might as well tell him now.'

‘What?' Andrew's eyes were heavy. ‘Why?'

‘They sold the house and the new owner wants us gone as soon as the lease runs out,' Tim said. ‘He wants to knock it down and rebuild. Can you believe that? I love that house!'

Andrew knew it was the house that Tim had planned to buy. ‘How much did it sell for?'

‘Eight hundred thousand.'

Jade laughed. ‘How much deposit had you saved?'

He turned to her, defensive. ‘About fifteen grand.'

‘Did you sell the weed?' Andrew asked.

He nodded. ‘I sold the bus, so that's another four— and the next crop is ready for harvest…'

There was so much more Andrew wanted to say, and so much he wanted to ask. But Jade and Tim's voices faded and he fell asleep.

Andrew woke alone in a dimly lit room. What time was it? What day? He pushed the call button for a nurse and waited. When no one came, he stumbled along the hall until he found Reception. A woman looked at him over her glasses. ‘How are you feeling?'

Andrew shrugged. ‘I was wondering which room my friend—'

‘She was checked out late last night.'

‘Oh…what time is it?'

‘Four-thirty.'

‘In the morning?'

‘Yes.'

‘Can I go?'

‘We'll need a doctor to take a look at you, then we can sign you out later.' The woman flicked through some manila folders on her desk and paused before handing him a sealed envelope. ‘One of your friends left this.'

He took the envelope and, to his surprise, saw Jade's handwriting. The address of the hostel was scrawled on the outside and there was a twenty-dollar note inside.

By the time Andrew reached the hostel, the sun had edged over the horizon.

Heidi was half-asleep and wrapped her arms around him. ‘Are you okay?'

He nodded. ‘You?'

She tried to smile, then led him to the edge of the bed. Jade and Tim were asleep on the bottom bunk in the corner of the room.

Heidi lowered her voice, ‘Colours are still brighter than they should be. Aside from that, things are returning to normal.' She frowned. ‘I can't remember anything. In a way, I'm glad I can't.'

She stretched out on the bed and he lay beside her.

‘I'm sorry—about everything,' she said. ‘I never meant for things to happen like that.'

‘I know.'

‘From now on, I just want to lead a normal, accident-free life.'

Andrew hesitated. ‘I'm going to book a ticket to Adelaide.'

‘Are you coming back to Byron afterwards?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Maybe not for a while. Should I book a flight to Adelaide for you, too?' he asked.

‘No, I'll do it myself.' She ran her hand over her clipped hair. ‘I don't want you to contact me while you're in Adelaide. It's too complicated. If you come back to Byron, then it's different—but not in Adelaide.' ‘So you
are
going back to Adelaide?'

She frowned. ‘I don't know yet.'

‘You're so close to making it, Heidi. Let me book you a flight. I promise I won't contact you there.'

‘I'm tired, Andy,' she said. ‘Let's go to sleep.'

Tim dropped a thick sealed envelope onto the floor beside Andrew as he zipped his backpack. ‘Four G's,' he said. ‘Not that you earned it.'

He shook Andrew's hand and drew him into a hug and, for the first time, Andrew hugged him back. Jade embraced him afterwards and wished him luck. Heidi was next. She hugged him and he breathed in her scent.

For the last time? There was no telling how long it would be before he would see her again. She pushed a folded piece of paper into the pocket of his shorts and studied his face, but remained silent.

‘What time's your flight?' he asked.

‘Eight' She didn't say where she was flying to, and he didn't ask.

‘What are you going to do back in Adelaide, Andy?' Tim asked. ‘Become a serial killer.'

‘Actually…' Andrew scratched his neck. ‘I was thinking about setting up a speed lab.'

Jade grinned. ‘Well, we should talk 'cause I think speed is set to boom.'

Heidi laughed. ‘I'm gonna stuff a boogie-board cover full of pot and take it over to Bali. I hear that's foolproof.'

Tim rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah—I'm gonna smuggle heroin back from Bangkok.'

‘Up your arse,' Jade said.

Tim nodded. ‘Yeah, up my arse.'

They laughed uneasily. It was an awkward goodbye and Andrew was glad when it was over.

thirty-six

Andrew woke to the captain announcing the plane's descent. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and raised the plastic blind. He squinted against the glare. There it was. Adelaide. A small city in a protected gulf on the southern fringes of a huge country. They slid over the suburbs and Andrew felt the familiar unease settle in his chest. He dug into his pocket and touched the folded piece of paper Heidi had given him. She'd only written two words on it—but those words meant more to him than anything.

There was a thud through the fuselage as the wheels hit the tarmac. Condensation beaded along the window and the air roared against the wings' raised brakes. The plane taxied towards the terminal and came to a stop. The cabin doors were still closed. What was the rush?

Adelaide wasn't going anywhere.

Inside the front door he inhaled the smell of home— roses, stale cigarettes and cat food. He switched on the hall light and opened the door to his bedroom. It was exactly as he had left it, but a thin layer of dust covered everything. There was a chill in the evening air and he pulled on a jumper for the first time in months.

His mum arrived home twenty minutes later. The summer hadn't been kind to her; she looked older than he remembered—her hair had greyed and her eyes were filled with a more complete sadness. But she still moved with the same abruptness and intensity.

She squeezed his shoulder before she hugged him. ‘Are you okay? Jesus, Andrew. What kind of trouble have you got yourself into?'

‘It's fine, Mum. It's all under control. Stay calm.'

She shot him a wry smile. ‘I
am
calm, Andrew. I'm always calm.'

He told her about Phil and Marcus, while he helped prepare a salad to go with the lasagne defrosting in the microwave.

‘Have you told anyone else?' she asked.

‘Just Benny,' Andrew replied.

‘That's okay—he won't say anything.'

‘Do you think I should tip the cops off anonymously?'

‘Why? Do you want to be tracked down and tried as an accomplice?'

‘No.'

‘We'll deal with the problems as they arise. Let's just hope things stay quiet. You should consider yourself lucky you weren't killed. What the hell were you doing getting mixed up with those kinds of people, anyway?' He didn't answer and she didn't pursue it. She opened a bottle of red wine and poured herself a large glass.

By the time they finished dinner an hour later, she'd opened a second bottle. She cried briefly and told him how much it had hurt her when he'd ignored her calls. She told him how lonely and worried she'd been. She also told him she'd started seeing a new man—another barrister. Andrew frowned and nodded—he knew the guy she was talking about and didn't like him.

She asked about Byron and used his stories as springboards for her own. She talked about her work and his father's serial infidelity. The tirade was composed as artfully as a symphony. She began with the theme of her brilliant career, then as a counterpoint she introduced his dad's failings as both a man and a father. After fifteen minutes, she brought both themes to a magnificent climax. Andrew started laughing; she still had it, there was no doubt about it. And it was only once she'd blackened her husband's name, and everything he'd achieved, that the old sadness returned to her eyes.

‘He told me that you walked in on something,' she said. ‘The day before you left for Byron.'

‘He told you about that?'

She nodded. ‘I'm sorry you had to see that.'

‘I'm sorry I didn't tell you.'

‘Oh, Andrew…It's not your responsibility.'

‘It was pretty gross.'

‘Ugh! I can't even imagine! You poor thing!' She laughed then fell silent. ‘You should call him. He's too proud to tell you himself, but he misses you.'

‘Why should I call him?'

She sighed. ‘Forgiveness is what separates us from the beasts, Andrew.'

He stared at her. ‘Have you forgiven him?'

‘No,' she replied, suppressing a smile. ‘Of course not.'

By nine o'clock she had drunk enough to be incoherent. He helped her into bed, cleared the table and washed the dishes. He thought of Heidi and wondered where she was and what she was doing.

He headed into the living room to his dad's Bösen-dorfer, the piano on which he had played his first notes as a child. He sat on the bench and lifted the fallboard. Without looking down, he let his left hand drop onto the keys. A lovely, sad E minor chord. The sound bloomed and faded through the room's still air. He played the chord again and waited. He closed his eyes and worked the chord into a slow rhythm. His fingers hopped and skipped a little melody. He continued the rhythm and repeated the melody. The song drilled deep into him, past all the things that he recognised and could identify with words or names, until it touched an unknown surface and, pressing against it, he felt that surface beginning to crack open. He added new chords and elaborated the melody, widening the fracture, until, finally, it opened and burst. The sound soaked through him, quivering with sensation. It was in his blood. It washed through his bones. He was everywhere and nowhere. His fingers danced along the keys and, like incantations, the notes and chords cast spells and opened doorways. He flew across the hills and the dry breathless plains, the pinched, folded mountains and the patchworked farms to the edge of the land and that glorious stretch of water, the Pacific.

He thought of Heidi, naked at the water's edge, drawing back her hair to look at him over her shoulder. Great streaks of rain smashing onto the café roof while they sat inside, warm with conversation. The hot blaze of love he'd felt when she first talked about her mum. The drive to the Gold Coast clinic with the clouds hanging low and heavy in the sky but refusing to rain. Later, the rain that became a flooding river that held Heidi under and nearly drowned her. The perfect, sunny day in Sydney when he confessed his infidelity over pancakes, and the way she'd stroked his hair and reassured him after the violence in Wollongong. Running through the streets of Melbourne with the clouds boiling in the sky and the voices breeding in his head. The note

Heidi had given him before he left the hostel—a childish love heart drawn around two words:
Thank you
. And the feelings of hope that bloomed inside him when he read those words filled him with certainty—that even if Heidi didn't make it home tonight, it was only a matter of time before she'd find the courage. He could almost see her then: knocking on the front door of her parents' unit and waiting outside, her heart beating madly in her chest. Her dad answering slowly, uncertainly. And Heidi going through that door, back to her family and back into the life she'd tried so desperately to escape.

The music poured through him, into him and out of him. It came from nowhere, flourished and disappeared. He had no idea where it came from or where it disappeared to, nor, after a while, whether he was playing the song or the song was playing him. It didn't matter—he was out of the mess, his imagination flying. He continued playing for what could have been a minute or an hour, until slowly, the melody drew back into the chords, and the chords folded back into the E minor from which they had sprung. He didn't fight it. The song had its own life, its own reasons. He let the song become a single chord, a pulsing mantra. He played a final chord and let it sing, fade and fall to silence.

acknowledgments