The Survivors(2)

Ash nodded at Kieran’s wet shorts. ‘How’s the water?’

‘Nice enough.’

‘Reliving the good old days, eh?’

Kieran smiled. ‘Rather be swimming.’

Kieran couldn’t count how many hours he and Ash had spent as teenagers standing up to their waists in the ocean for recovery the day after a footy game, waiting for the frigid water to work its alleged magic. A lot.

Ash had been a summer face floating around Evelyn Bay on and off for years, but at fifteen he’d become a full-time fixture when his parents’ divorce propelled his mother back to her hometown.

Kieran hadn’t known too much about him, other than he was from a mining town in the west of the state so hardened that their local footy team played on gravel, not grass. Given that, Kieran probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when the new guy rocked up at training and for the first time in his life, Kieran wasn’t automatically winning the speed drills, his goal accuracy ranking was at risk, and on-field manoeuvres that had gone unchallenged for years were now aggressively contested. He had wasted a few weeks feeling pissed off, then had hit the gym and the oval even harder, only to feel pissed off again when he’d run into Ash doing exactly the same.

It had been mid-way through the season when Kieran had arrived late to the beach and waded out only to find himself accidentally standing next to Ash. Not willing to be the one to move, Kieran had crossed his arms and stared hard at the sea. They’d stood side by side in silence for the whole session. Somewhere invisible to the north lay mainland Australia, to the far south, Antarctica. In front of them, nothing, all the way to the horizon.

‘Set more personal bests this month than I did the whole of last year at my old club.’

Ash’s voice had caught Kieran by surprise. He had glanced over at the other boy, who was sometimes a shade stronger or a second faster or a beat quicker to react, and sometimes wasn’t. Ash didn’t take his eyes off the water as he spoke again.

‘Been good, actually.’

And bloody hell, Kieran had realised with a mix of annoyance and dawning appreciation, the bloke was right. It had been good. Kieran had never been better than when he was racing around after this dickhead. The coach had called time and Kieran had watched as Ash started to wade back to the beach. He had opened his mouth.

‘Hey, wait a sec.’

Ash had. And from then on, that was pretty much it.

Neither played footy too often anymore, but nearly a decade and a half down the line, Kieran was at least as fit as he had been then, and his job as a sports physiotherapist meant it was now his turn to encourage people to stand in freezing salt water. Ash seemed about the same too, Kieran thought. His landscaping business had given him the look of gnarled good health that came from throwing around bags of soil and wrestling downed trees.

‘When’d you get back?’ Ash set his backpack down on the sand and Kieran heard the dull metal clang of gardening tools inside.

‘Couple of hours ago.’

Kieran and Mia had stayed only as long as was polite in his parents’ house before making an excuse to get out for some fresh air. He could still see their back verandah from where he stood, only a white wooden fence separating their property from the beach. Kieran thought about having to head back inside and felt faintly claustrophobic.

‘How’s your dad doing?’ Ash said. ‘Haven’t run into him for a couple of weeks.’

‘Not great.’ Kieran wondered if he would have to explain, but no, of course Ash was already nodding. In a place like Evelyn Bay, people knew each other’s business. Probably better than Kieran did himself. He hadn’t seen his dad in person for more than eighteen months, when Brian had last been well enough to fly up to Sydney. Even then, Brian had been persistently confused, and Kieran’s mum Verity had spent most of the visit patiently explaining things to him. When Audrey had been born three months ago, Verity had come alone to meet her first grandchild.

Despite this flashing red warning, Kieran had still been shocked silent when they’d arrived earlier that day to be greeted by the void that had once been Brian Elliott. Kieran was genuinely unsure if his dad had deteriorated rapidly or if he himself had been in complete denial. Either way, at just sixty-six, the dementia had a throttle-hold now. Even the doctors reckoned Brian had been dealt an unlucky hand.

‘When’s the move?’ Ash glanced at Kieran’s parents’ place.

‘Few weeks.’ The nursing home in Hobart was ready and waiting. ‘We thought Mum could probably do with a hand to clear stuff out.’

‘And what’s she going to do? She’s not going in as well is she?’

‘No.’ Kieran pictured Verity, who at sixty-four could easily pass for ten years younger and still ran or biked most days. ‘She’s found a one-bedroom place near the nursing home.’

‘Right. That’ll be –’ Ash ran his tongue over his teeth as he searched for a word. ‘– convenient.’

‘Yeah.’ Kieran really hoped so, because he strongly suspected Verity was going to absolutely hate it.

Ash thought for a moment. ‘Listen, tell Verity to let me know before the house hits the market. I’ll tidy up the garden for her. For free, obviously.’

‘Really? Thanks, mate.’

‘No worries. It’s a shit situation.’