The Art of Not Breathing(50)

He remains lying still with his eyes closed. I want him to open them and look at me just for a second so he can see how important this is to me.

“It’s his resting place. I just want to see it. I was so close before.”

Tay rolls over and kisses me. He’s gentle, but his weight presses down on me.

“Rest here with me,” he groans. “We’re not otters. We’re humans. We’re meant to do other things with our time.”

Finally, I bargain with him.

“If you come with me, I’ll get naked for you.”

He opens one eye lazily.

“When will you get naked?”

“Soon,” I say.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, then covers my mouth with his.

We roll around in the sand until some kids climb over the rocks that were shielding us, sniggering. As I gather our wetsuits, Tay stares at something in the water.

“Do you see that?” He’s beaming. I have never seen him look so beautiful, with his stubble and his new long hair. The salt in it catches the light, so it looks like he is covered in glitter. I look toward the spot that he’s peering at, but I can’t see anything.

“Look closely. Can you see that reddish stone? You can see the light coming through it.”

“What is it?” I ask, even though everything looks red to me.

“It’s called jasper,” he whispers. “Actually, it’s a mineral, not a stone.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “I had a toy frog called Jasper. It had red eyes.”

He walks across the beach to the water, his soles stained pink from the sand. He crouches down and scrabbles around for a bit, lifting some of the rocks and throwing them back so they make a clonk sound when they land. Then he walks back, grinning.

“For you. Jasper quartz. I hope it’s better than a frog.”

I take the mineral and inspect it. It nearly fills my whole palm and it’s beautiful—marbled red, pink, and orange, covered in crystals. It’s smooth on one side and rough on the other and looks like a pink pear drop candy. I want to put it in my mouth.

“Can I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s yours.” Tay sits back down beside me, looking pleased. “We could always take it to the Grotto and add it to the collection of stones,” he says. “Did the boys show you all the rocks we’ve collected? We take one in with us each time we dive there. For luck. We definitely don’t have a jasper quartz in there.”

“I saw the stones.”

I remember seeing something red when I was in there with the boat boys, but I can’t remember what kind of rock or stone it was.

I curl my fingers around the quartz, and something else comes to me.

“What are you smiling at?” Tay asks.

“Just happy,” I reply. I have thought of another part of my plan.





13



NOT LONG AFTER MINE AND EDDIE’S NINTH BIRTHDAYS, I came home from school one day to find my parents running up and down the stairs with boxes and plastic bags. Eddie was sitting in the hallway, inside a large cardboard box that he pretended was an airplane. “Brace, brace, emergency,” he was saying.

My father, carrying a black bin liner under one arm and a small box in his hands, majestically stepped over him.

“The seat belt sign is on,” he said to Eddie in his announcement voice.

“Are we moving?” I asked, dropping my school bag by the door and kicking off my shoes. My parents were always talking about moving.

“We’re having a rearrange,” my father explained, and nodded for me to go upstairs. All my toys were gone from my bedroom, and in their place were Dillon’s muddy trainers and smelly swimming shorts.

“Where’s Jasper?” I asked, wanting to cry. Jasper. I couldn’t sleep without Jasper the frog and his lovely velvety fur.

“He’s in your new room!” Mum suddenly appeared behind me with an armful of Dillon’s clothes. She dumped the clothes on my bed and danced off across the hallway to Dillon’s room.

Dillon was sitting on his bed, arms folded, looking cross.

I turned to Mum, confused, and she sat next to Dillon and pulled me onto her lap. Dillon said I was too old to be sitting on Mum’s lap, but I let her wrap her arms around me, making the most of Eddie not being around.

“We think you’re old enough to have your own room now. It’s better if the boys share.”

Dillon huffed.

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I’m the oldest, and I should have my own room.”

“It’s not for long, Dil. Just a year or so until we can afford a bigger place.”

“But Eddie is so messy. He’ll ruin all of my stuff, and I won’t have anywhere to do my homework.”

My father appeared in the doorway and smiled at us all sitting on the bed. His long legs made angular shapes against the frame.

“We’ll make sure that Eddie doesn’t disturb you,” he says. “You can do your homework in here after school, and we’ll keep him downstairs.”

“But what if I want to listen to my music at night? It’s not fair!”

“Can I paint my walls green and silver?” I asked.

My father laughed and Dillon stormed past him, kicking the skirting board as he went.