Surf School Read online

  ‘Yeah, well the locals weren’t too friendly.’

  Kyle’s laugh was mild and gentle. ‘It’s just the poo shooters.’ He jumped up, arms wide and flapping, bum stuck out at an awkward angle, as if he was a learner. Marlee laughed in spite of herself and Kyle sat back down. ‘It’s our break. Locals have priority, especially over learners,’ he added defensively, running a hand under his chin for bristles that weren’t quite there. ‘It was the same for us when we were groms.’

  Marlee refused to back down. ‘Is that right? I thought the beach was a public place – for everyone. Aren’t there enough waves to go around without bullying little kids?’

  ‘There are never enough waves. Geez, be fair – I copped heaps when I was a grommet. We all did. It’s how you learn.’ He shoved the crossword into his backpack. ‘It was a toss up between who hassled me the most in the surf: your old man or mine.’

  He smiled like it was a good memory but Marlee cringed. Her father’s unopened letter in her school bag seemed to give out heat and she pushed her bag further under the seat, guilt rising then sinking quickly in her gut.

  ‘Mind you, my old man’s mellowed a lot these days.’ Kyle’s voice was soft and Marlee leaned closer so she could hear him, happy to be distracted. ‘You missed a great right-hander at Rocky yesterday.’

  Marlee knew Rocky Point well. Phil often took her and Tilly there after school.

  ‘Pig slop everywhere else.’ Kyle waved his hand dismissively at Diamond Beach.

  ‘Yeah,’ she smiled, ‘maybe, but we still have fun.’

  ‘You and Tilly?’

  Marlee nodded.

  ‘She’s going to be a great surfer.’ Kyle tapped his index fingers like drum sticks on the seat in front of him. ‘Hey, you trying out for the Pro Juniors? Did you hear Graham outline the training schedule?’ He whistled through his front teeth. Mr Graham, head of sports, had a clipboard and stopwatch approach to sport. Marlee found him only slightly less annoying than Kyle.

  And I’m sure you’re about to tell me, you big know everything about surfing BORE, she thought, crossing her arms, jaw taut. ‘I’m not really into that whole scientific approach to performance. Anyway,’ she added, irritated, ‘it’s not all about competition. Some things should just be for fun. That’s the main reason I surf.’

  Kyle stopped drumming, his fingers held poised in the air. He laughed like she’d just told him a really good joke. ‘Give me a break. Jack Finn’s daughter not competitive? Yeah, right.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t competitive.’ Marlee glared at Kyle which seemed to amuse him even more. His eyes creased around the edges and he chewed the side of his lip. ‘And leave my father out of this. I’ll be surfing long after any competitions are over. Anyway, I don’t even know if I’m good enough for the Pro Juniors.’ Marlee quickly glanced out of the window. Why’d she do that? Blurt out her innermost fear – and to Kyle Parker of all people. She bent down to fix her shoelace, hoping he hadn’t heard.

  Kyle leaned towards her and said quietly, ‘You’re a top surfer.’ Then added as an afterthought, ‘For a girl. I’ve watched you heaps. You’ve got talent and guts. If you can get a bit of sponsorship, you’ll be set.’ He sat back, still talking but almost to himself, fingers tapping a slow beat. ‘But I reckon the head part’s the hardest. No-one can teach you that. Mr Graham says that’s what really makes a champion.’

  Marlee felt like she was sucking in air but none was going in. Her mind raced. A compliment from Kyle Parker? Well a half-compliment, if you take out the patronising bit at the end. The realisation fizzed into a million tiny bubbles throughout her body. She checked his face for signs that he was making fun of her but his green eyes were sincere. He held her gaze briefly, then glanced away, confusing Marlee even more. She expected to see anger, amusement – scorn even – but instead she saw something she’d never figured on. Was it shyness?

  The bus pulled into their stop. Kyle smiled brightly, bravado back in check, indicating for Marlee to get off first. She smiled back, hesitant. How polite. Could this morning get any weirder? she thought, standing. Kyle jumped up quickly then and they jostled together down the aisle, competing to see who’d be first off.

  6 DECEMBER

  Has Kyle Parker taken a pill or something? Not only did he tell me today that I was a top surfer (for a girl, mind you) and that he’s watched me in the surf heaps (errrr … creepy) but he played a trick on me as I got off the bus. Can you get a late-blooming humour gene? Of course, he’s reverted to type now – he just totally ignored me at lunch. He’s so moody. I can’t be bothered with that. Hope your day is going a bit better.

  Where were you this morning??!!

  Mxx

  The last week of school was always a joke. Fran shoved her sewing assignment into her backpack and sauntered around the corner, expecting to hear Tilly’s wolf whistle splitting the air at any moment. But Tilly wasn’t there. Typical, Fran thought, checking her watch. She wandered across to the beach for a quick look at the surf and wished she hadn’t. There was hardly a soul on the freshly graded sand and only a couple of locals bobbed contentedly out the back, waiting for the next set to roll in. She spotted her mother paddling for a wave, then weaving across its face. Fran checked her watch again. The school bell would be going just about now, she thought.

  She hoisted up her backpack and crossed the road back to Tilly’s. The driveway was empty, the front door and flyscreen shut. Boards were lined up against the wall but Fran noticed that Tilly’s, Phil’s and Sam’s boards weren’t even wet. Her heart began to thud. In all the years she’d known Tilly her front door was always open. It opened in the morning when Phil went for a surf and stayed like that the whole day with just the screen door locked to keep out the flies. The only time the front door had ever been shut during the day was when Tilly’s mum had died.

  She dialled Tilly’s mobile. Voice mail. Phil’s. Nothing. She banged on the door but no-one answered. Fran ran all the way to school, hoping her friend was already there, waiting to give her heaps for being late. But when Fran got to the place where they hung out, Tilly was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Hello, I’m Doctor Marshall. Your father’s through here.’

  Tilly did not want to go through that door. She did not want to know what was in there. Whatever it was she wasn’t sure she could face it. Sam yanked on her hand and reluctantly her feet began to move again, one at a time, towards the bed, towards her father.

  Phil lay perfectly still – not something Tilly saw very often – his eyes closed, his face the colour of clay. He looked weird in a hospital gown. So not his colour, Tilly thought. It was such a Pink thing to say. And so absurd. She laughed loudly, hysterical. Tilly snorted as she tried to suck in air, gagging as she gulped back tears. Sam glared at her, shocked, and she dropped her head, embarrassed, grabbing her forehead and squeezing it hard, trying to choke down the emotions flowing out of her. ‘Sorry.’

  One of the nurses squeezed her shoulders. ‘Don’t be sorry. It’s good to let all that emotion out.’

  Tilly broke down again, crying this time, confused, frightened, feeling guilty that she could even think of laughing. Every emotion she had poured out of her like sweat, in no particular order and all at the same time, so that she struggled to regain some composure. She rubbed her forehead from the top of her nose to her hairline. Up, down, up, down, nice and steady, forcing herself to breathe evenly as she inched towards Sam, who was standing at the top of the bed.

  ‘He’s in an induced coma,’ Doctor Marshall said gently. ‘When people come in with head injuries we put them into a coma to help recovery. In a day or two, when we know the extent of his injuries, we’ll bring him out of it. I know it looks very frightening but he’s strong and already he’s showing signs of improving.’ The doctor answered Tilly’s thoughts as she looked at the tubes and the beeping machines.

  Somehow between last night and now, Phil had shrunk, as though the tubes had taken all his air. Was her dad, who alway
s seemed so strong and protective, really this person? Tilly eased into the chair beside the bed, lifting his hand into hers. It felt cold and she rubbed it gently to bring the warmth back, pretending not to notice Sam wiping away tears. Phil was covered in bandages, plaster and dried bits of blood, and as the hours ticked by Tilly checked out each bit, listening to the machine feeding air in and out.

  As the dawn whittled down to day Tilly stood up stiffly, stretching her body, then leaned against the wall, pushing her body into it, her head trying to sift through wave after wave of information.

  ‘He was riding his bike home,’ she said to Sam. ‘Why didn’t he walk after the party, leave his bike at the restaurant? It’s so unfair, Sam. He finally leaves that job and now this.’ She rocked her heels against the wall, its roughness prickling her skin. ‘Everytime something good is about to happen for Dad, it goes wrong. Why is that?’ she cried, her voice shrinking. ‘What if he dies, Sam?’ Her voice was now a whisper.

  But Sam didn’t answer. His head lolled back on the seat – he was fast asleep.

  Night had fallen before they were firmly ushered out of the ward by the head nurse.

  ‘You two can’t stay here another night. Your father’s going to be fine, we’ll take care of him,’ she said gently. ‘Go home and get some rest. He’s going to need you when he’s fully conscious.’

  They shuffled along to the waiting room where Shane and Kyle were waiting. ‘Thanks for coming,’ Sam said.

  Tears shone on Shane’s leathery cheeks. He cleared his throat, ‘How’s he going?’ he asked, his voice husky.

  ‘They think he’ll be okay but he’s got head injuries and a broken leg.’ Sam looked at Shane apologetically. ‘He won’t be working for a while.’

  Shane put an arm around each of them and directed them to the car park. ‘Don’t worry about that. I lined up another instructor today. The best ones have already got gigs for the summer but this guy said he could help out so we’ll be fine. Why don’t you kids come and stay with us? We’ve got plenty of room.’

  ‘Nah, she’s right,’ Sam said. He glanced towards Tilly for confirmation. ‘We want to be at home.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The street light wasn’t very strong, but if Marlee angled her book around she just had enough light to write. The news about Phil had travelled along the beach like a summer bush fire and as soon as she’d heard, Marlee raced back to Tilly’s, understanding now why the door was shut, why her phone was off. The step was cold and her bum was numb but Marlee refused to leave in case she missed her friend. She’d nearly finished her homework when Shane pulled up, dropping Tilly and Sam in their drive. Kyle gave her a quick wave but she pretended not to notice, laying her textbooks down slowly.

  Worry had whittled Tilly’s face into sharp lines, and her hair hung down her back, a limp rope, and her pyjamas clung to her body – a faint whiff of unwashed skin stronger than the salty air. Marlee recoiled slightly as Tilly threw her arms around her, letting out a loud sob, then felt guilty for hanging back. This scene had been played out so many times in reverse and Tilly had never once flinched, turned away or withheld understanding. It was Marlee’s turn now and she held onto Tilly, stroking her hair as she cried, hoping she could give her friend the support she needed. Sam, his face pale and tired, unlocked the door and together they took Tilly inside. Marlee put her arm around Tilly’s shoulders, waiting quietly until her sobs subsided.

  ‘It’s so horrible, Marls. It doesn’t even look like him. His head’s blown up like a football. He sounds like Darth Vader on that breathing machine and he’s got tubes stuck in him sucking things out, dripping stuff back in.’ She shook all over at the thought, and ran her fingers backwards and forwards along the hem of her T-shirt, unable to look at Marlee or Sam. ‘I know this sounds pathetic, and I want to be there for him, but just the thought of going back in there makes me feel like being sick.’

  Marlee nodded, understanding that this was more than just Tilly’s aversion to blood. ‘He knows you’re there for him, Tilly. You know what Phil’s like, he’s so fit he’ll probably be home next week.’ She picked up the phone. ‘Hey, you hungry? Why don’t I order pizza?’

  ‘Starving.’ Sam yelled from the shower.

  Tilly eyes were red and bulgy. She blew her nose and gave a ragged laugh. ‘Of course, the human compost bin is hungry. Hey, Marlee.’ She put her hand over the phone to stop her. ‘I appreciate the offer but I’m sure there’s cash here somewhere.’

  ‘No. I’ve got it,’ Marlee said, determined. ‘Let me help.’

  Tilly clung to her tightly. ‘You being here is enough. Can you stay?’

  ‘Just a bit longer. I’ve gotta do my pamphlet run. Sorry.’

  Tilly flopped back on the couch, feet in Marlee’s lap, eyes closed. Marlee tickled her feet.

  ‘I’ll stay tomorrow. For as long as you want.’

  When the pizza arrived, they ate it quickly but Tilly was asleep before they finished it. Marlee packed the cartons away while Sam fielded phone calls. Then she guided Tilly towards her bed, rolling her into the middle and covering her up, sticking the Blood Book under her pillow.

  Tilly woke late in the night with the arrival of the southerly. The wind tore around the house and garage so the bells on the big chime in the garden clanged wildly. She was too tired to get up and take it down. As minutes ticked into hours she listened to it ring, her thoughts colliding like comets.

  Marlee planted her foot on the sidewalk, skidded the back wheel of her bike in a half circle and faced the surf, pulse racing. Nice even sets were lined up like corduroy, the wind clipping smoke off the crests. The air, misty with spray, frosted house and car windows, stiffened beach towels and settled in Marlee’s hair, unbrushed and tangled at the back into the flat shape of a plate.

  She hit speed dial. ‘Hey, Pink, it’s going off,’ she yelled. ‘Are you coming or what?’

  Pink groaned. ‘It’s barely past midnight and we’re going to pick Mum up today – besides, you’ve got my wetsuit remember?’

  Marlee looked at the sickly pink wetsuit wrapped around the handlebars. What is it about surfwear retailers that make them think all girls love pink.

  ‘Sorry. I was going to give it back.’

  ‘No problemo. Enjoy.’ The phone went dead and Marlee hit speed dial again.

  There was shuffling then Tilly’s sleepy voice. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Sorry to wake you, Til, but you’d never have forgiven me if you’d missed out. It’s magic down here.’ A set roared in and a groan went through the surfers as wave after wave curled over into perfect tubes. ‘It’s a day sent by the surf gods: six foot, glassy, tubing,’ Marlee yelled. ‘I know you’ve gotta go to the hospital but come for a surf first. It’ll make you feel heaps better. Fran’s gone to get her stuff. Should we wait for you?’ she said more softly, the silence on the other end making her anxious.

  Tilly groaned and Marlee pictured her turning over, poking the pillow in the middle with her shoulder.

  ‘I’ll try. Don’t wait.’

  Sunrise had done little to push up the temperature and Marlee squeezed herself gratefully into Pink’s gaudy wetsuit, her arms and legs jiggling as though they’d already headed into the water without her.

  Three days of average surf to be rewarded with one like this – on a Sunday too. Sets thundered into the bay, fanning out to give three, maybe more, excellent breaks and the beach buzzed with activity. Waves cracked like whips and all Marlee’s electrical circuits responded, running through her body until she couldn’t wait for Fran any longer and hit the sand running, throwing her board into the water and diving in alongside it, relishing the tiny brain freeze as her head went under.

  She pushed her board through the shallows, counting four bandaids along the left rail, not to mention the twenty fin chops she’d fixed over the years. There was a new cut in the fibreglass and Marlee knew she should fix it before the water seeped through to the foam inside. The last thing she needed was for her
board to snap, especially before she could win a new one.

  She paddled out, pushing each arm in deep, pulling it back as far as she could to get the maximum distance and speed. Big swells, southerly winds and clear green water were winter traits, not so frequent in summer, and she was determined to catch every wave she could until she couldn’t stand any more. She saw Jamie rip down the face of an oncoming wave and Marlee paddled harder, desperate to reach the lineup.

  Sienna, a Diamond Beach local, skimmed by on her thruster, the board short, fast and built for high performance. Marlee nodded, envious of Sienna’s sleek new board, hating her own board all the more. How much better could she surf on a hot board like that instead of her old log? One day, she promised herself, one day I’ll have so many boards they’ll need a room of their own.

  ‘Hi, Marlee.’ Fran’s mum cut across to her, paddling alongside.

  ‘Hi, Evelyn.’ They ducked as a wave curled over them, coming up together.

  Evelyn shook her head, water spraying in arcs from her hair. ‘Every time I look out the window I see you doing some kind of training. Keep it up, it’ll pay off. You going in the club contest?’

  Marlee nodded. ‘Yup. I’m going to win that board.’

  ‘Good for you. Let me know if I can help,’ Evelyn called out as Marlee pulled away.

  When Marlee rang, Tilly’s body had moulded a warm burrow in the soft curve of her bed, so soft and so comfy that she was asleep moments after switching off her phone. The sun was well up by the time she rolled sideways out of bed, her toes wriggling into the soft carpet. The sudden memory of her father’s accident and their time in the hospital jolted her to full awareness with an ache that filled her body with concrete.