The Keeper (4 page)

10

‘You don't seem like a biker really.' I'm down at the boatshed with Dev, planning our next drop-in.

‘Is that so?'

‘You look like one. But you don't seem rough enough.'

‘How do you mean, mate?' It's early; Dev's doing up his bootlaces.

‘I thought you'd be tougher, you know.' The laces are pulled tighter.

‘What sort of tough?'

‘Fighting and all that.'

This time Dev grins and I feel stupid again like I've said two and two make five. Dev reaches behind him. ‘Here. I've got you something.'

‘A helmet! That means—' He's going to take me for a ride at last!

‘Yep. Jump up. It's about time we gave her a spin.' I snap the strap under my chin and climb behind Dev.

We end up at a crossroads where once a tiny township had been. No one's around and I wonder why we've come.

‘Gran told me about this place. There was a post office here and a store over there. A school on that side and a blacksmith. The roads ran through the middle.' I'm stepping out where the road would have been. ‘It was the people from this little place that brought in the survivors of the
Clan Ranald
wreck. The piano that was in the hall is in the museum now where Gran helps. See this?' I pick up a piece of blue. ‘Now there's nothing but bits of blue pottery and trees that couldn't have grown here by themselves.'

Dev's right behind me. ‘You're a great kid to talk to. How do you keep all that in your head?' Shoot my foot! Me? Keep stuff in my head? But he's right, though I've never thought of it before – sometimes I
can
see stuff in my head like it's forty whiting lying out on the jetty in rows. But other times it's like a murky pool – I'd need scuba gear to find a
thing
, and in a maths test there's just not enough time to dive.

Dev's taking off his leather jacket. Those tatts are totally wild.

‘Were you a real biker once?'

Dev doesn't get pulled into that one. But I don't mind – there's stuff I won't talk about either. ‘Come here, mate.' As if he hasn't heard me. And the Lesson starts. ‘This is just for self-defence. Don't ever let me catch you using it for anything else. You just practise with me.' It's like swearing on the Bible before a witness stand and I know without being told that if I don't agree Dev will put his jacket back on and it'll all be over red rover. I try to listen to only Dev. It's hard, concentrating on one sound.

‘How will I know when to use it?'

‘You'll know.'

Dev shows me this lethal throw. He says we have the choice whether to fight or not. That I can change what's going to happen by thinking first. Fear and anger – he's saying we can turn the tide, change the aggro into something else.
It's all up here.
Guess Dev reckons fighting's not to be enjoyed nor does he seem too excited showing me – more like explaining how to find water in the desert. Something you have to know. Just in case.

11

Fishing's still what we like doing best. I hardly see Zoe even though she's moved in with us now. Maybe Gran needs the money which is odd when you consider the size of the property Grandad had. At least there's a spare room. Zoe's nice enough, but the excitement of spending time with Dev rules my whole holidays. Just imagine if school was still in – I'd be skipping days for sure, especially the windy ones that turn the waves into white horses and bring in the fish. I've already shown Dev most of my favourite fishing spots (next time's Rogue's Point) and Dev seems happy enough.

Just sometimes, especially when everything's quiet at night, I get this niggle in my stomach as I remember my ‘promise' to Gran. That's when I wonder why Dev answered the ad in the first place. Dev's a bit like a box with a lid on – I still don't know much about him – he rides a bike, is kind enough, doesn't make trouble, but what does he think about when I'm not there? Does he really want a kid? One like me? And who, except Gran and Grandad, have ever wanted me anyway? Then I start thinking the worst thing possible – what if Dev doesn't care at all? What if he doesn't like the way I am sometimes? Maybe I should have handled this ad thing better – I mean how long will it last? Dev said to try it for a few weeks so I guess it's just a holiday thing, but wouldn't it be cool if Gran knew about Dev and he could move in too, like Zoe? A dad forever is better than one for a few weeks, surely? Gran would flip her lid for sure. Dev's a stranger to her. But then, so was Zoe two weeks ago.

One look at Dev in the daytime blows my doubts out to sea. Dev gets a gleam in his eye when I come down the slope to the boatshed. And when we stand together, reading the beach or the sky, I know I'll never have to worry about another thing again. As long as Dev stays. And so I do the best thing I can to make that happen, to make Dev care. I show him Grandad's best fishing spot off Rogue's Point. The one where Grandad never went alone. It works, though not for the reason I first had in mind.

‘See here?' I'm hauling down the big white bucket that had been Grandad's, his rock-fishing rods and tackle box. Dev's got the other gear: bait, hessian bag for the catch. ‘If we're quiet, since the tide's in, they'll come up close. I've caught heaps here on evenings like this.' With Grandad. I'm talking over my shoulder. ‘And if you're careful on the rocks nothing will go wrong, even if the swell comes up later on.'

It's like a premonition; the wind does come up, splashing the waves onto the rocks, roaring. It'll be okay if we're careful but I think it's Dev's boots that cause the problem. I should have warned him about those. Not enough grip for smooth wet rocks, for when his line starts to run and he stands to set his hooks a wave suddenly spews up, higher than the rest, washing water over his feet, his knees, splashing his face even. He jumps back. Anyone would – who likes getting wet? On a none-too-hot October evening? But you can't do that on the rocks, and I shout, ‘Careful!'

I know what these rocks are like. If you're not used to them, you have to stay still, wait till someone leads you back to the dry. That's why Grandad said not to fish on these rocks alone.

‘Here!' The smashing of water falling back onto the rocks below is louder, but Dev hears me. I hold out my hand, inching forwards; my sneakers have a better grip than his boots. And then Dev does it. He turns towards me – that's okay – but he lifts his boot.

‘No! Don't shift your—!' But I'm too late. You'd think he'd know; in that simple move, Dev's boots lose any traction they've gained. I watch, stunned, as Dev's legs bow under, his arms beating the air as if that could stop the slipping. Then another wave comes. It's too soon. ‘Hang on!' I make a lunge but I'm not quick enough – the crust on the rocks turns to slime in the wet – and I hear the splash as Dev falls. Feel it too. I lean over. There's Dev in the white froth, using his legs to keep off the rocks, and I throw in everything I can lay my hands on: the Coke bottle we've drunk from, the bucket – maybe Dev can keep afloat. I hurry along the rocks, careful (can't slip too), as Dev drifts down the coast. He's got hold of the bucket, legs pushing where they can.

I shout, even though I doubt he can hear me. ‘Swim with the tide. Just hang on!' But how long can he? All that water, tons of it, and look what it does to debris as it's dashed up onto rocks. I don't dare leave – there are holes and submerged caves. I've seen them when the tide's out. I have to find a break in the rocks where Dev can swim in. And keep him in sight. It's hard, this time of evening, but if I don't . . . There's a place along here somewhere; when I was here with Mei we used it as a bay. And suddenly I find it – a few metres of pebbly beach, half circled by smooth low rocks – a sheltered place where Dev would be able to climb up. If he can get into it.

‘Here!' I keep shouting and pointing. I'm nearly hoarse, but if I don't shout I'll cry. ‘Swim in!' It's not that easy. Dev's strong, but strong men have been lost off these rocks before. Maybe that's why it's called Rogue's Point. I watch Dev try. I think he's seen me. He swims in, on the swell. Straighter, Dev, straighter, not near the rocks. I get down, reach out but a wave crashes in and lifts Dev away. His arm's still up, groping. I hang on to my rock, soaked, as the water pulls at me. Gran would expire on the spot if she could see me this instant.

‘Try again!' I'm screaming now. ‘You can do it.' If he can't, he'll be dragged further down the coast, or smashed on the rocks, for each time the water brings him in he's that much further down. I don't want to run for help; I'll never find him again. It's the way it always happens – once you leave them . . . and what would life be like now, without Dev? ‘Come on, Dev!' Screams and tears, I don't care. ‘You can do it! You've got to.' If only Dev can read the tide, come in with a wave and miss the drag of the wash pulling him back. But the wind's fickle on nights like this – the waves don't keep to a pattern.

Here he comes again. I get down, ready, my right arm out, the other gripped into the crevice of my rock. Dev's pushed in, touches my hand! I let go my hold on the rock, get a grip on Dev, but the heavy water crashes down again. It breaks our clasp apart. And I watch him being dragged out, closer to the jagged rocks on the other side of the inlet. Only one more chance. The next time the drag will dump him right into the jaws of those rocks.

‘This time, you've got to.' I'm not shouting now. I know this is the last time. I crouch, ready for anything. This time we'll do it. Dev's gulping water. He's swimming slower. Where is he? He's gone under. So hard to see. You beauty, there's his head! He's here – in the miniature bay. I have his hand. I grunt. I grab his jacket, his arm, anything; I'm not giving up. But Dev's too heavy. I can't do it. The white water's coming again. My grunts sound like a wild pig surrounded by twenty dogs. ‘Come on, Dev! Up! Up!' And up he crawls, moving one leg, then the other. ‘Faster! Come
on
!
' When the wave hits us, we slide back. I'm screaming again; we'll both slip down! But the rock holds us. Until the next time. Another wave will come. Dev can hardly move. I half drag, half shout him up the few metres to the cliff base.

Dev looks awful. He's covered in dark wet scratches and he just sits there, leaning against the cliff, staring at me, getting his breath back in shuddering gasps. Coughs a bit too. I suddenly realise how cold I am when Dev reaches over and pulls me closer – hugs me tight like men would in a tribe or gang. It's a huge feeling – makes me feel a part of something big, a part of Dev. And when he lets me go I know the thanks are there, in the ‘you-did-okay-mate' of his lopsided grin. More wet stuff runs down my face. Dev's eyes are awful bright too. Nothing's said about it and I guess it never will be.

12

‘You'll have to come home. Get a hot shower.' Even my teeth are chattering.

‘Aren't I a secret?' Dev's getting his humour back between the coughs.

‘The bathroom's at the back. Separate from the house. It's one of those old ones. Gran won't notice, if we're careful.' I suddenly remember the one bag Dev brought. ‘Do you have other clothes?'

‘Yep. One change. So I can't fall in tomorrow, eh?' That thought is too close, too black. I think of something else.

‘There might be some sneakers of Grandad's in the boatshed. I should have thought of it before.'

Getting Dev a shower isn't so easy. I should have remembered about Zoe. Letting Dev into the backyard and into the bathroom is plain sailing. I even remind him not to sing – you can hear stuff like that in the kitchen. But as usual I forget what else can be heard from the kitchen. It's times like this when I wish my brain would go the extra mile.

Just sneaking into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘Joel!' Uhuh. Zoe's already there. ‘Why aren't you in the shower? You know Gran doesn't like the water wasted and there won't be enough hot tonight if you leave it running.' Zoe even heads for the door as if she's going to turn it off. Jumping dolphins! I cut her off at the fridge.

‘I wanted a towel.'

‘The towels are all out there.' Wow, Zoe knows this place like it's her own now. And calling Gran that too. For my benefit most probably. Totally unnecessary – can't they see I'm grown up? She can call Gran ‘Monika'. So what?

‘Umm . . . I sort of forgot.' I can't think of anything clever to say yet it seems to have an effect on Zoe. Her face softens up.

‘Go on. Hurry up. I want a shower tonight too.' Phew.

It's when Zoe comes outside to hang up some tea towels that I think the game's up.

‘Finished already?'
Now
how can I explain being on the wrong side of the bathroom door? And at that very moment Dev opens it.

‘D-does it look like rain?' The only thing I can think of saying but it works. Zoe turns, squinting up at the sky and I give wild signs to Dev to shut the door but not before he gets a full back view of Zoe. I make a dive for the bathroom just as Zoe goes back inside.

‘You better clean it up, Joel.' And the kitchen door bangs behind her.

‘Who was that? Not your gran?'

‘Shhh! Course not! She's the boarder.'

Dev peers rather closely at me when I say this. ‘Sounds like a big sister to me. Want to be careful, mate. They'll run your life if they can.'

‘Tell me about it. Look, I'm sorry I can't get you a cup of coffee or something but Zoe will come out here again any minute. Gran used to watch me like a one-legged gull at a picnic. Now they both do.'

‘Why don't I just meet them?' Dev's whisper is louder than a whisper should be and I try not to panic; I mean it must be lonely in the boatshed. I should have thought about it before. What did Dev eat? Fish and chips every night? Then the memory of Gran's voice crowds in, pleading with me not to talk to strangers. Nah. Too risky.

‘I don't want to lose you—'

Dev looks up from zipping his jeans. ‘Lose me? Meeting them will lose me?'

‘You don't know what they're like. Gran's a big red panic button in a tracksuit. Look, this can't be much fun for you but I'll make it up to you in the morning, I promise.'

Great idea but the morning brings another problem.