19
Saturday, 2 pm
Green River Campground
Lyra
‘I would never.’
‘Okay.’
‘You have to tell them.’
‘I did.’
Lyra Martin didn’t want to be in a cave with Lachy Short. With his tallness and broadness, it felt like the rock walls were closing in. She inched a bit further towards the light of the entrance as her best friend’s father looked at her with a very serious expression.
‘You know nothing happened, right?’
Lyra didn’t know what she knew, other than that she would like all the adults to stop talking to her about it. Aunt Sadie. Her mum. Aunt Liss. And now Lachy. It made her so uncomfortable she wanted to itch off her skin.
‘I don’t even want to remember last night, let alone talk to any of them about it.’
‘But not because anything happened, right?’
When Lachy Short was worried, apparently, he looked like a little boy.
His face was kind of screwed up, like his forehead was trying to meet his nose, and his eyes were rounder, and his mouth was pushed out into a mini duck face. His voice was a tight whine.
The caves gave her the creeps. It wasn’t that they were very deep or even all that dark, they were just very obviously places where kids did things they weren’t meant to do and although sometimes that was exciting, it was scary, too. There was graffiti, a melted-down candle stub, some empty Breezers on the ground and what looked like a water bottle with a bit of garden hose sticking out of it. Lyra felt a bit icky being in here at all, never mind it being the place where Lachy Short had insisted they meet.
Tia’s dad was the first grown-up who made Lyra realise that adults didn’t know everything. That they weren’t in control, and that they sometimes did stupid, irresponsible things.
Her mum, she knew, was always trying hard to be adult. Or maybe it came more easily to some people than others. Maybe some people were just born grown-up.
‘Nothing happened,’ she said, hoping that this would be over soon. It would definitely be over sooner if she just said what he wanted her to say. She tried really hard not to think about his hand being on her skin. His fingers, pushing into her waist. Stop it.
‘Are the kids talking about it?’
‘They talked about Aunt Sadie.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s insane. Completely nuts. I’m sure even Trick knows that.’
‘Trick’s not said anything.’
‘Not all adults have it together, Lyra.’
Lyra thought this was what her mum would call irony.
Even her dad, when he visited, gave the impression of being very together.
The way he’d message her with dates and places and instructions.
The way he never cried when he said goodbye, even though he always told Lyra and Brigitte he was sad to be going.
He called her when he said he was going to call her, even before she had her own phone and had to rely on Mum, who would see his name flash up and immediately hand over to Lyra.
‘Right on time,’ she’d say.
Dad was On It.
Lachy Short seemed more like a big mess.
He lived in that huge flashy house with Auntie Liss but her mum said he didn’t own it.
He called Lyra’s phone sometimes and said she deserved a better dad.
Lyra thought he was probably drunk when he did that.
He told her not to save his number and she didn’t.
Other times he bought her things her mum wouldn’t.
A pair of Dunks.
A Stüssy T-shirt.
A charm bracelet.
A voucher to spend at a skincare shop her mum said she was too young for.
Lyra had to be careful, because if her mum found out it was Lachy and not her dad buying those things she would lose her shit, so Lyra kept some of them at Tia’s house.
Lachy was also super-protective.
He would tell her and Tia that they shouldn’t go anywhere near boys.
That they shouldn’t go anywhere alone.
Her mum always talked about resilience, but Lachy never did.
He said girls had to be careful out in the world.
That bad people wanted to hurt them and it was a parent’s job to make sure that didn’t happen. He said that if Lyra’s dad hadn’t fucked off he’d be doing that job. That someone had to.
Lyra hated it when Lachy said mean things about her dad.
But there was a tiny part of her, if she let herself think about it, that liked that there was one person in the world who would say what Lyra secretly thought, sometimes.
That it was a bit shitty to leave your daughters on the other side of the world for a job.
It was different for Bridge.
She’d never known anything else.
But Lyra had seen all the pictures from when Dad did live in Australia.
She was in them, and she looked happy, on her dad’s shoulders, or eating ice cream with him at the beach.
She’d asked her mum what had changed, and her mum would just talk about Dad’s work.
She knew they had a deal, her mum and dad, not to say anything bad about each other.
She’d overheard her mum say it to friends lots of times.
Which was nice, but it was fake.
Sometimes she liked that Lachy would just say it.
It matched how she felt inside, on a bad day.
‘I need you to stay cool, alright? Don’t let anyone try to get in your head about it.’
Lyra wasn’t really sure what Lachy was getting at. But the more he kept telling her that everyone was imagining a problem, the more she could feel the way he’d pushed into her on the dancefloor, like his front was still pressing against her back. The more he said it didn’t happen, the more she could feel the way that it did. She really wanted to step out of here and into that big yellow sunshine square of the cave’s entrance, just like she’d felt that need to spin away, last night, and be with Tia.
‘Can I go?’
Lachy narrowed his eyes a little. ‘Why are you asking me that? You think I made you come here? Of course you can go, you can go any time.’
Lyra stood to go and Lachy laughed. Like a short, barking laugh. His hand shot out and landed on her wrist, closing around it. ‘Hold on, hold on! I didn’t mean now.’
‘Oh. I thought you said . . .’
‘We just need to get this straight.’
‘Get what straight?’
‘Exactly.’
She had told the others, who were building a den in the woods, that she had to go back to camp to get a hat. That her mum would kill her if she got sunburnt, which was true. Tia looked at her a bit funny because you were less likely to get sunburnt in the woods than on the beach, but Lyra said she also needed a wee, which was also true, and she was much too old to wee in the woods around the boys now.
She knew all the adults were at the beach or the rockpool. It was that time of day, between lunch and dinner, when the camp became deserted. Just damp towels on the backs of chairs and empty mugs, glasses and the odd crumb-strewn plastic plate. Just scuttling flies and lizards and buzzing mosquitos and a chip packet flapping open. Just the sound of shouting and splashing beyond the trees.
All that was on the other side of this cave.
‘What about Tia?’ Lachy said.
‘What about Tia?’
‘Lyra, you just keep repeating what I say.’
‘Sorry.’ Lyra felt dumb. She could be so dumb.
‘Some people,’ he said, slowly, as if yes, she was slow to understand, ‘would try to twist the fact that I look out for you.
Help you with a few things.
Give you a bit of advice, make your life a bit easier.
Some people would make a big stupid fuss about it.
That’s why we don’t go on about it, right?’
She guessed that Lachy had had to make an excuse about where he was too, because he’d just texted her, from the number he always told her not to save, saying, Caves, now? And he was twisting a cricket hat in his hands.
Maybe he’d said he had to come back for a hat.
‘Tia’s okay,’ Lyra said.
‘She’s just a bit upset.’
He looked irritated. ‘What’s she upset about?’
‘I guess . . . people talking about her dad.’
‘Jesus. I hope she’s sticking up for me.’
‘She’s okay. She was there. She knows what happened.’
Was that the right thing to say or the wrong thing to say? Dumb, again? Lyra studied Lachy’s face for a clue.
‘She can be a bit weak,’ was all he said. ‘A bit go with the flow.’
Tia was her best friend but they were pretty different.
They went to different schools, now.
Tia went to a really posh school with no rules and Lyra went to St Diedre’s, which was medium-posh but had lots of rules, mostly to do with God.
Tia did drama and dance and Lyra did netball and soccer.
So they didn’t see each other as much as they used to, when they both went to Bronte Public and didn’t have so much to do, but Tia was still the one who Lyra felt most comfortable with, of all her friend group.
The others, you always had to watch what you said, or sometimes you might get to school and find out – through a feeling in your stomach or in the way one of the girls was talking to you, or in how they didn’t answer or even open your messages – that there had been a shift.
That’s how you would find out you’d done something.
You were out, and you’d have to work your way back in.
It was tiring.
She was never out with Tia.
They could be silly together, like babies, or they could be teenagers together, trying on who they might like to be next.
It didn’t matter.
It was always easy.
Lyra used to envy Tia having a dad who lived in the house with them.
But then she’d thought it would be kind of annoying, and a lot of pressure, to have two parents always up in your business, two parents nagging you about grades, two parents making sure you were where you said you were going to be, and when.
And then she’d got to know Lachy better, and she didn’t envy Tia anymore.
She’d seen him say really mean things to her, words like ‘stupid’ or ‘lazy’, that neither Lyra’s mum or dad would ever say.
He’d never do it in front of Auntie Liss but didn’t seem to mind if Lyra heard.
That’s because they were family, she supposed.
‘Trick’s a bit of a spy,’ she said, because she could sense he wanted her to say something else, and she didn’t want to say anything about her best friend.
Lyra was still standing near the cave’s open face, looking down at her pink, painted toes.
‘Really? What kind of spy?’
‘Like every time I turn around he’s there.’
‘He probably likes you.’
‘Why do adults always say that?’
‘Because we know how boys’ minds work.’
‘It’s insulting.’
‘It’s true.’
‘You’d better stop texting me,’ Lyra said, hoping this could be the end of it. ‘My mum’s going to be paying even more attention now.’
‘Got it. Delete the messages, yes?’
She nodded.
‘And tell me if anyone starts talking about anything crazy.’
‘Okay.’
‘Sadie’s got an axe to grind.’
‘A what?’
‘She’s got beef with me.’
She cringed at Lachy saying ‘beef’, but also, she knew this was true. Maybe Lyra had imagined how deliberate that hand on her waist had felt. But maybe the reason Aunt Sadie saw it was because she was tuned in to a version of Lachy who might do things like that. It was confusing.
‘Have you ever heard her spreading lies about me?’ Lachy asked, not making any move to stand up.
‘Only the one everyone says.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you’re Brigitte’s dad.’
‘What?’
‘Lots of the other mums say it, and all the kids have heard it but obviously I know that’s bullshit because Mum wouldn’t do that. And, well, Brigitte looks just like my dad.’
She watched Lachy’s face as he processed this. There was a part of her that wanted him to be upset about it. He was never very nice to Brigitte. Not horrible to her or anything, but just . . . neutral. Like she didn’t count. Which was why the rumour was even dumber, if you knew anything, like she did, and Tia did, although Tia really, really hated it when the boys brought it up. Stupid Bob and stupid James. They had no idea what they were talking about. The information seemed to pass over Lachy, into his ears and then out through his mouth in a little dismissive ‘pfft’ through his lips, and then he shook his head as if to get it off him.
‘You kids talk a lot of shit in those woods,’ he said, finally. ‘And don’t say bullshit.’
‘But why would they say that?’ Lyra asked. It just came out. Sometimes she felt like Lachy might be the only adult who told the truth.
‘Small minds,’ he said.
So, no, he wasn’t that adult.
Lyra thought about the first time Lachy had spoken to her in a way that was different from how other grown-ups did. The first time she was confused.
She had been at Tia’s, and they had all been in the pool, one of the first swims of last summer. Auntie Liss had a swimming pool with an infinity edge, like you saw in fancy hotels on TikTok. Auntie Liss said it made her feel like you were drifting out to sea, as if that was a good thing.
Everyone was getting out except Lyra, because there was nothing Lyra liked more than floating on her back, looking up at the sky. Tia and Liss and the little kids had all piled towards the kitchen to get some food, but Lachy had stayed behind, and he was looking at her.
‘You look a lot like your mother,’ he’d said, which wasn’t what she wanted to hear but okay.
Then he said, ‘You know she is extremely dear to us, don’t you?’
And there had been something about the way he said it, words that people don’t usually use, a question that didn’t need an answer. Adults were always asking questions that weren’t questions, but they usually used normal words.
‘Liss would do anything for your mum. Me too.’
‘Auntie Liss is very good to us.’ Lyra knew to be grateful to the Shorts. The number of times, over the years, that she’d heard her mother say she didn’t know where she’d be without Liss.
Lyra wanted to get out, to go and find Tia, but there was something about the way Lachy kept looking at her that made her want to stay covered by the water.
It was the year that eyes had started moving differently over her, at the beach, on the street. Lyra was wearing what she and her friends were always wearing, but suddenly it all meant something different. It was like a spotlight was suddenly pointed right at her and sometimes it felt good to be picked out, seen. But sometimes it felt scary. And she hadn’t ever thought about it feeling scary with people you’d always known. That maybe all men had that light with them, and could shine it wherever they wanted.
‘I should find Tia,’ she’d said from the water, but she didn’t move to pull herself up and out onto the deck. Go away, she remembered feeling. Turn away.
‘Someone needs to look out for you girls,’ he’d said. ‘Now you’re growing up. Your mum’s so busy.’
‘We’re fine,’ she’d said quickly, and then remembered. ‘Thank you.’
Lachy had picked up a towel – Auntie Liss’s house had the best thick, soft towels, big enough to wrap around your whole body – and took two steps towards the edge of the pool, where Lyra’s arms were resting. She’d put her chin on them, and looked down at where the water was licking in and out over the shiny little square tiles. Anywhere but up at him.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, squatting down, holding the towel out. ‘Let’s go and get some food.’
How many times had Lyra jumped out of this pool and run into the kitchen, in a little sunsuit, in a swimming-lesson one-piece, in a bikini? Without thinking, without even being aware of herself, of her arms and legs and tummy and chest? Why did she feel, in that moment, when she glanced up and saw the crease around Lachy Short’s eyes and the particular curve of his closed-mouth smile, like everything was different? She remembered the rough grout scratching her stomach as she’d pushed her whole self flat against the pool wall, hiding her bum, her thighs, her flicking feet.
Lachy hadn’t moved. He’d stayed, so close, towel in hands.
‘You girls should get bigger cozzies,’ he’d said, and she could hear something like a tease in his voice. Friendly, maybe, a tone that suggested everything she was feeling was ridiculous. But then, ‘If you don’t want to be looked at.’
And she remembered feeling sick in her mouth.
Tia had stopped that moment, her voice yelling from the kitchen. ‘Dad! Lyra! Come!’
And Lachy had laughed and dropped the towel, stood up and turned away. He moved quickly, and just as fast Lyra had pulled herself up, slippery feet hitting the wet deck. She remembered, now, how she had tucked that towel around her so tight it squeezed her chest.
‘Let’s go,’ said Lachy in the cave, at last. ‘You first.’
Thank God. She moved to the cave’s entrance, but just before she left he said one more thing. ‘We’re cool, right, Lyra?’
She didn’t feel cool, she felt completely crazy.
Like maybe she had imagined the weirdness of that dance and maybe she should have told her mum that it had happened but that it wasn’t a big deal.
But maybe it was a big deal and maybe she was overthinking it because she could definitely be an overthinker, not as much as Tia, but still, her anxiety might be spiking.
And maybe there was nothing weird about talking to your best friend’s dad in a cave even if you knew it was a secret and your mum had always told you that you don’t keep secrets for adults.
But she knew there was something weird about it because it was weird how Lachy Short kind of pretended to be her dad but her dad, even from the other side of the world, never made her feel this confused.
She dashed through the open space into the light.
‘Yeah, we’re cool,’ she called over her shoulder, and ran the few sandy steps back towards the campsite, and the toilet which she definitely did need now.
Her breath was coming really fast but she didn’t understand why, it wasn’t like she’d been exercising.
Calm down, Lyra, you dumb-arse.
Then, just for a second, just to the right of her, she felt someone, heard someone.
In the slight snap of twig and the rustle of some grass.
She whipped her head around, too quickly to consider who she might see.
Someone who’d seen her coming out of the cave, someone who was about to see Lachy leaving just after her.
But there was no-one.
Just a gap between two little saplings and some flattened grass.
Calm down, Lyra, you drama queen.
There was no-one.
That grass was probably always flat like that.
You haven’t done anything wrong anyway.
Only what a grown-up told you to do.