The Survivors(107)

‘Maybe. I’m not sure they’re thinking about that, though.’

Bronte looked at him in surprise. ‘Ash is. For sure.’

‘Has he said something?’

‘No, but he’s obviously crazy in love with her,’ she said with a smile. ‘He’s dying to get serious if Liv would let herself admit how much she really likes him.’

Sean couldn’t help but smile himself at her enthusiasm. ‘So you reckon I’ll be looking for a new housemate of my own before too long?’

‘I’m afraid so. That is a solid prediction. I mean, I get that Ash might not be Liv’s usual type in Melbourne or whatever, but they’re actually really lovely together when they just relax.’

Bronte moved around the bed to her desk, which was crammed with art supplies. Sean hovered in the doorway and she waved him in with one hand while rummaging through a drawer with the other. ‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘It’s in one of these.’

The bed was the only option, so Sean moved her open laptop closer to the pillow and sat on the edge. He looked past Bronte to the window above her desk. The blind was open and he could see the black ocean beyond. He frowned.

‘Hey, listen, are you sure you don’t need that torch anymore? I really could do with that waterproof one back but I’ve got a different one at home you could –’

‘No, honestly, it’s fine.’

‘What about those noises you heard? Do you feel safe enough without it, or –?’

‘Yeah. I do. But thank you.’ Bronte glanced at the window, a little awkward now. ‘I’m pretty sure it was just that man from up the road. You know, Brian? The one with dementia. I was helping his wife go through some stuff in their shed the other day and she let slip that he’d been wandering. Maybe don’t spread that around, I think she was a bit embarrassed. She shouldn’t be, though.’ Bronte pushed her hair off her forehead as she turned back to the drawer. ‘My grandma was ill with the same thing. I didn’t like to say anything earlier in the Surf and Turf in front of your friend, because Brian’s his dad, right? It felt a bit personal – oh –’ She straightened with a smile on her face and the torch in her hand. ‘Here it is. How’s everything going with the wreck anyway?’

‘Yeah, good. Nearly ready for the season.’ Sean reached across the bed for the torch. ‘Thanks. This’ll help, at least.’

‘No, thank you for lending it. And for letting me tag along on that boat trip the other week, by the way. The photos came out really well.’

‘Which ones? The Survivors?’

‘Yeah. You want to see quickly?’ Bronte was already sitting down. The bedsprings creaked as she moved closer and she shuffled her laptop around so they could both see. The back of her hand brushed his as she reached for the keyboard. ‘Here. These ones.’

‘Yeah. Wow.’ Sean leaned in. He had seen The Survivors from the water thousands of times, but even so, the images were still striking. They were crisp and full of colour. ‘These are really good.’

‘Thanks, I was pretty happy.’ Bronte examined the picture on screen. ‘I couldn’t have got them if you hadn’t taken me along.’

She shifted a little on the bed as she clicked the keyboard and the photos moved on to the next sequence. Now Sean could see The Survivors on screen again, but different this time. Ankle-deep in water in front of a blue sky, with a thin slice of beach in the foreground of the shot. He recognised the angle immediately.

‘You’ve been down to the caves?’ he said.

‘Yeah. I wanted to get both sides.’ Bronte tapped the keyboard again and another image appeared. ‘Liam told me once that he’d gone down there with you a couple of times as a kid before the barrier went up, so I thought it couldn’t be that hard to get down. And it’s not, is it?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘The path’s still pretty clear.’

Sean frowned. ‘You’ve got to be careful down there. The tide can come in fast.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Her eyes were on the laptop. ‘I only go at low tide. It’s worth it, though. Look at the good stuff I got.’

The mouth of the North Cave flashed up, the screen growing progressively darker as the images took them deeper and deeper. Sean could follow the first few turns, then the route became less distinct. He could see why she was happy with the photos. She had captured the feel of being right inside.

‘Look.’ Bronte was pointing. ‘Isn’t that amazing? That’s one of my favourites.’

He looked at a close-up photo of lichen on rock. It was surprisingly beautiful.

‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Where was that?’

‘I can’t remember exactly.’ Bronte frowned. ‘Near that big central bit in the first cave. Where a few tunnels all break off at the same time. You don’t recognise it?’

Sean shook his head. ‘I know the junction but I don’t think I know that bit.’

‘You must’ve been there at some point, though.’ Her eyes were locked on the screen. ‘Your name’s on the wall. See?’

She clicked, then pointed and Sean looked. And there, in a hazy and unfocused photo of a part of a tunnel that Sean did not recognise, carved in capital letters that he knew were not his own, was the beginning of his name.