The Survivors(10)

‘Definitely,’ Mia said, then waved a couple of baby sunhats at Bronte, who was frowning at the cash register. ‘Bye. Thanks again for these.’

‘Oh.’ Bronte looked up, her concentration broken. ‘No worries. You’re welcome.’ Her smile faded as she dropped her eyes from Kieran and Mia to the register, the frown a little deeper now.

The road outside was dim compared with the brightness inside the Surf and Turf, only the occasional streetlamp casting a weak orange glow as Kieran, Sean and Mia walked through the sleeping town. Kieran could hear the wash of the tide and within minutes the sea was back in view as the shops and businesses thinned out. They passed the petrol station and the small red-brick police station and, up ahead, he could see the halo of the marina’s security lights cutting through the night.

‘So did Liam give you a hard time?’ Sean said. ‘Or was his revenge limited to a bucket of water?’

Kieran shook his head. ‘We didn’t speak.’ That was true. In the dark, he felt Mia take his hand.

‘I meant to warn him you’d be there, but I got caught up out at the wreck.’ Sean paused. ‘Shit. Maybe I should have warned you, too.’

‘Doesn’t matter. If I didn’t see him there, it’d be somewhere else.’ The marina was close now, the vessels still and shining white under the lights. ‘Does Liam work at the Surf and Turf full-time now?’

‘No, just casual shifts for the summer. Got him helping me on the boat the rest of the time.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Yeah, well. He was at a bit of a loose end after he finished school. Anyway –’ Sean had come to a stop outside a light-brown weatherboard beach house. ‘This is me.’

Every window was dark, but as Sean opened the gate a security light tripped on to illuminate a slightly sagging verandah and an immaculately maintained front yard. A board fixed to the fence advertised the name and website of Ash’s landscaping business.

‘Listen.’ Sean stopped with one hand on the gate. ‘I’m sorry about Liam. I’ll have a word with him.’

‘Don’t bother, mate. I heard him talking a bit to that waitress, but he didn’t even speak to me. It’ll be fine.’

Sean didn’t reply, but ran a hand over his stubble in a way that implied he knew his nephew a bit better than Kieran did. He seemed like he was about to say something else, then changed his mind. He pulled out his phone.

‘I’ll have to be down at the wreck most days this week –’ He opened a weather app and checked the forecast. ‘Actually, shout out if you want to come, conditions are pretty perfect tomorrow. Not as good Monday and Tuesday, but I’ll still be there. Either way –’ Sean raised a hand in farewell. ‘– good to see you both. Like Liv was saying, let’s do it again when she’s off, yeah?’

Kieran and Mia watched him climb the wooden steps, unlock the door and disappear inside, jangling his keys as he went. Kieran looked over at Mia. He was tired, but suddenly couldn’t remember the last time it had been just the two of them. It would only have been three months ago, he knew. It felt like a lot longer.

‘Quick look at the beach?’ he said.

Mia smiled. ‘Sure.’

They walked hand in hand towards the sound of the ocean, turning away from the marina and to the inky night beyond. They took their shoes off as they hit sand and headed down to the water. The horizon was a jet-black line, giving way above to the bright moon and a splash of stars.

‘Did Liam really not say anything earlier?’ Mia said.

‘Not to me. Just to that girl, Bronte. I overhead them in the kitchen.’

‘What did he tell her?’

‘What you’d expect.’

They fell quiet, not needing to say anything more. Kieran was glad. That had always been one of his favourite things about Mia, right from the night they had met – re-met, technically – in a too-loud student bar in Sydney’s city centre.

He had been draining his beer and feeling, as he always had in those first couple of years, exhausted by everything. Tired of his studies, of friends that were no more than acquaintances, of the effort of opening his eyes every morning and shutting them every night. Of life in general. The fog had grown so thick, he’d become used to navigating his days half-blind.

‘Yep, sounds about right,’ the campus doctor had said matter-of-factly when Kieran had been forced to make an appointment after repeatedly falling asleep in lectures. ‘Mental overload. Pretty common post-trauma. Feel like sleep’s the only time you get a proper break from yourself?’ He’d tapped his teeth and considered. ‘Maybe think about giving the counselling another crack? Fresh pair of eyes might help.’

Kieran had left the clinic with a couple of numbers and reluctantly gone to the bar, where a few girls had tried to give him a couple more. What he’d really wanted was to go home and sleep, but it was someone’s birthday – he couldn’t remember whose – and the blokes on his course were already giving him shit for never coming out. He bought one drink and nursed it, pretending it was his third or fourth.

He’d finally reached the point where he felt he could put his empty bottle down on the counter and leave quietly without saying goodbye, when someone had stepped out of the Friday-night crowd and into his path.