25
Sunday, 9 am
Green River Campground
Liss
‘I think we should call it early this year.’ Dani was padding around HQ, filling small bowls with cereal while Liss and Juno were buttering toast that Ginger was ferrying from the camp kitchen’s one functioning toaster. ‘Everything’s off.’
‘No.’
‘But, Liss, if you’re not going to ask Sadie to leave . . .’ Dani had her efficient voice on, the one Liss knew she used at the office, or when she had decided the girls were doing something they didn’t want to do, no matter what. ‘I don’t think I can get through another whole day pretending everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.’
‘You are singing a very different song than yesterday,’ Juno said, nudging Dani with an elbow. ‘What happened to all that peace, love and understanding?’
‘I think you know what happened to it.’
‘Sadie’s going through a lot,’ Ginger said, putting another plate of dark brown toast on the table. ‘I don’t think we know how hard it’s been for her.’
‘Being on her own?’ Dani asked, mockingly. ‘I know.’
‘Come on,’ Juno said. ‘You don’t have Sadie’s . . .’ she reached around for the word, ‘issues.’
Liss had spent another night staring at the roof of the tent, listening to every rustle and scurry, every leaf-fall and dewdrop. Another night of waiting for Tia to slip through the tent flap and safe into her bed, of feeling her husband’s weight on the mattress beside her. Another night of wondering if she was wrong about absolutely everything.
Sadie’s declaration last night had sent Liss back to a moment she’d almost convinced herself hadn’t happened.
That version of her spinning around under lightning on the beach felt like a stranger.
That version of Dani, lonely and longing, like an old acquaintance from school.
And yet Sadie had been thinking about that image – the one three people had been dancing around and working through for years now – as if it was a real, meaningful thing.
Maybe it was.
‘She must have come down to the beach,’ Dani had said, last night, after Sadie had stomped out of their circle and their friends stood around in stunned silence. ‘She must have been there just before we came back up.’
‘Nothing happened!’ Lachy had said, to Ginger, to Aiden, to Juno and Emily’s questioning faces, turning as if appealing to a jury.
‘It was the storm weekend,’ Dani had offered, as if that explained everything. ‘And no, nothing happened. Sadie didn’t see what she thought she did.’
‘Again?’ Juno had murmured, turning to Emily with raised eyebrows. ‘She imagined things again?’
‘No, not like that . . .’ Dani had looked at Liss across the circle last night, as if to say help me out here. But Liss had lost her voice again.
No wonder Sadie thought Lachy was capable of the things she’d accused him of if, for five years now, she’d genuinely believed that Liss was the wronged party in . . . what? A soap-opera love triangle?
‘These weekends are never boring,’ Juno said, fishing milk from the esky. ‘This latest chapter is in keeping with the canon.’
‘I’m glad my reputation being trashed is so amusing to you,’ Dani snapped, and Liss felt a surge of irritation at her friend’s high horse. Her reputation? Still, Liss hadn’t yet told Dani about Lachy and Lyra and the cave. She hadn’t found those words lying next to her husband last night, nor making breakfasts for the kids alongside Dani this morning. Her irritation mixed with guilt mixed with frustration.
‘This might be our last time,’ Liss said, finding her voice.
Dani’s head whipped in Liss’s direction. ‘What?’
‘We don’t know the future of the campground,’ Liss said. ‘My father’s old obsession with it becoming part of the park might well be true. Or, worse, developers might get their hands on it.’ Dani’s eyes, she noticed, had returned quickly to the cereal. ‘I just get a feeling, you know, that everything’s going to change. I’d like us to have this weekend.’
She really would. She needed to think. She needed to make peace.
It was almost a year since Michael Gresky had died, maybe of cancer, or maybe of Covid, or maybe of Covid complicating his cancer, it wasn’t clear. Maybe it was actually the cigarettes. Or the gin. Like many things involving Liss’s father, there was a cloud around his death – a haze of keeping up appearances and payrolled gatekeepers and her last stepmother, the predictable woman of a certain age and fading glamour, claiming to protect his privacy.
Liss had mistimed her goodbye. Meaning, she’d missed it altogether. The call summoning her to his bedside arrived just that little too late. She could still feel the sharp stab of anger that had surprised her, arriving at that grand old house to a door closing, to not being able to say what she’d wanted to say to him, not that she’d known what that was.
Lachy and Dani had both been there for Liss when she had fallen apart in spectacular fashion.
Lachy was like a solid tree she could lean her back against when she felt too weak to stand through the funeral arrangements she was cut out of, the squabbles and accolades and sudden stabs of loss.
He also reminded her, often, that although Michael Gresky was, in Lachy’s words, a cunt, he was the cunt who had brought her up, and that was not nothing.
Dani had whirled into practical action, organising a fancy meal delivery service for the kids, pink wine delivery for Liss, insisting that she leave the house and walk off the stinky film of grief that had settled on her most days there, for a while.
It was one of those times in her marriage that Liss was most grateful for Lachy’s sly smarts, because he had stepped in, spoken to her brothers, dealt with the details, mobilised their lawyer to talk to his.
All of that money side.
She didn’t care about it, not really.
It was a basket of things she couldn’t face because she was confused and consumed by her own strange reaction – a mixture of relief and sorrow she didn’t know how to name.
She didn’t believe her father’s ghost lived here at Green River, in the way that her mother’s still did.
The last time he’d set foot here, back when Grace was just growing inside her, that was the last time they’d spoken, really.
There had been family things – her brothers’ birthdays, a Christmas or two, when she had moved around rooms in a carefully choreographed avoidant dance, limiting interactions to hellos and distant nods, to the polite ushering of wiped-down children in his direction.
But that was all.
Every other overture was carefully rebutted.
He wasn’t good for her to be around, everyone from Lachy to Dani to her therapist said so.
And so it had been, right up until the call from her brother. Come, now.
It had shocked Liss that she found losing her father profoundly altering in ways she hadn’t quite expected. She was an orphan. It was a word that stopped her. A word for little lost children, not adult mothers-of-three, but that was how she felt. Abandoned, rootless. Also, she felt like someone she had railed against her whole life had stepped out of the fight and now she had a lot of resentment with nowhere to go.
And it was only now, perhaps, looking around her beloved Green River with her friendships crumbling and a grinding question in her gut, that Liss knew she wasn’t ready to leave yet, and that her father did still walk here, that version of him playing mud fights at a low sunset tide.
Lachy walked into HQ, grabbed a piece of toast and took a hungry bite. He was dressed for a run, all short shorts and tech-loaded trainers.
‘We’re going for a man jog,’ he said, through his mouthful. ‘One down, obviously, since Dani wielded the axe.’ He bared his bread-filled teeth in an ironic grin at her. ‘I see the accuser isn’t up yet.’
‘Shut up, Lachy,’ Dani snapped. ‘Go run off a cliff.’
Liss stood up, put her hand on Dani’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Dan, everyone knows it was nothing.’ And she looked around the table at her friends, authoritative and pleading. ‘Don’t you?’
Juno and Emily and Ginger nodded, slowly. Aiden, who was also dressed for running, in long boardies and tired Nikes, but with an expression that suggested he would rather be doing literally anything else, nodded at the edge of the tent.
‘I want,’ Liss said, ‘one last weekend, one final last-night party. If this is the last time we’re all together here, because the park expands, because we can’t get past . . .’ she waved a hand in a gesture that encompassed all this shit, ‘I want to remember this season for all of us. It’s been too important. To us, and to the kids.’
‘Nothing lasts forever,’ Emily said, quietly. ‘We would have had a good run.’
‘Bullshit,’ Juno replied, nudging her wife with a hip. ‘There is no reason why this can’t last forever, why we won’t all be coming back here with the kids and their kids one day. No reason at all.’
‘There seems to be one big reason,’ Lachy said, and he nodded over to Site Eight. Sadie and Lucky were leaving their tent, heading for the toilet block, towels over shoulders, wash bags in hand.
The others watched, saying nothing, for a moment. Liss felt the weight of all their eyes on Sadie and her daughter. ‘You know, things got so bad this year Sadie sent the kids to live with their dads for a while,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t ideal. Jacob has a new partner, Trick’s dad has a new baby. Nobody, including the men, wanted it to happen, but Sadie felt they’d be better off with anyone but her while she sorted things out.’
Liss knew this because Sadie had told her. She was the only one who stayed in touch with Sadie between camps anymore. In calls and texts and the occasional coffee, the odd doorstep care package when she knew things were bad-bad. It hadn’t been easy after last year, but she could see that Sadie was drowning. Others might struggle with the fine line between meddling and helping, between judgement and counsel, but Liss couldn’t let Sadie sink. Because of what she’d meant since that day she’d rallied the women, babyless, in a sterile shopping centre cafe, and also because Liss’s husband had been part of what had sent her under. Perhaps.
‘She didn’t say.’ Ginger’s forehead was creased in concern.
‘When would she have?’ asked Liss. ‘When we didn’t invite her to your place for the weekend? Or when we didn’t ask her to come to dinner when you were in town visiting Aiden’s mum? We stopped including Sadie in anything other than this weekend years ago.’
‘Because she always creates drama,’ said Dani, gesturing around the table. ‘Case in point.’
‘Sometimes drama is needed,’ said Juno. ‘Because it’s what the truth brings.’
‘That wasn’t truth she was telling last night, Juno,’ Dani said, ‘and she’s had five years to ask me what really happened that day, if she had given a shit about finding out.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Let’s go, Aiden,’ Lachy said, with a performative sigh. ‘The women are making irrational decisions on our behalf, best leave them to it. How’s your pace these days, anyway?’ Aiden threw Ginger a yearning look as he followed Lachy out of HQ, and down the path to River Road.
Liss watched the men retreat, watching Lachy’s straight shoulders and sure feet pad away as if there were no problems in his world at all.
‘Dani, you’re right, Sadie should have asked us about the storm weekend years ago, but we haven’t exactly been there for her, have we?’ She felt her heart picking up pace as she went on. ‘While she’s been trying to make big changes in her life, we’ve been backing off. Her problems were inconvenient for us, weren’t they? And now we’re acting surprised that some of that resentment is coming back our way.’
Dani, Liss could see, was softening under her words, blinking a little as she fiddled with the cereal boxes, making sure, as she always did, that all the labels were aligned and facing the right way. Liss stopped one of Dani’s hands on the boxes with hers.
‘One more night. It might be the last one.’
Dani smiled. ‘You’ve always been good at a guilt trip.’
‘I don’t want to go anywhere,’ Juno said. ‘Another shot at disco night will be great for content.’
‘I don’t know if it’s up to us.’ Emily sighed. ‘Sadie’s probably thinking of packing up right now.’
‘I’ll deal with that,’ Liss said, and she meant it. She couldn’t have Sadie thinking the things she was thinking about Lachy. Or about her. Her marriage. Her family. ‘We’ll wipe the slate clean.’
‘That slate’s been rubbed almost to nothing.’ Juno snorted. ‘You might need to lower your expectations.’
Breakfast was ready, the stage set for another invasion of hungry children. As Ginger whistled loudly to bring the kids running, Liss wiped her hands on a tea towel and started for Site Eight. She nudged Dani with a gentle shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Dan.’ She hoped it was true.
As Liss leaned on the bonnet of Sadie’s car and waited, she took in the familiar chaos of Site Eight. There were towels on the muddy ground and dangling from the car’s wing mirrors. There were plastic laundry tubs crammed with a hotchpotch of pans and plates direct from a home kitchen. The tent was leaning heavily to the left, straining at its far pegs. And a plastic bag hastily tied to a pole to serve as a bin was ripped, flapping open, showing its contents of biscuit wrappers and aspirin packs.
‘Hey.’ It was Trick. Appearing from the tent, a hoodie over his ears despite the building heat. ‘You looking for Mum?’
Liss nodded. ‘You okay? There’s breakfast over there, you know.’
He looked away quickly. ‘I’m coming. Just been talking Mum into staying. Again.’ Liss hadn’t expected a full sentence out of Trick, never mind one as honest as that.
‘Then you and I have something in common today.’
‘Lyra’s mum yesterday, you today.’ Trick lifted his head and looked Liss in the eyes in a way she hadn’t seen before. He’d probably seen a lot, and Liss got a heart pang at the thought. Tia seemed like a clear-eyed baby next to this mature young man.
She shrugged. ‘We want everyone to enjoy the weekend.’ It was a bullshit thing to say to a teenage boy and Liss was irritated with herself as soon as it came out of her mouth.
‘Yeah.’ Trick passed her, heading towards HQ and food. ‘It would be nice not to have to do so much rebuilding every morning.’
Liss was still staring after Trick’s back when Sadie and Lucky returned. Sadie didn’t seem surprised to see Liss leaning on her car. Even with her newly scrubbed face she looked tired, beaten down, and Liss knew she hadn’t been the only one who’d spent the night staring at the tent’s canvas instead of sleeping.
‘Have you come to ask me to leave?’ asked Sadie. ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘No. I want you to stay,’ Liss said, not moving to touch or hug her friend, but trying to strike a balance with her voice between kind and a little formidable. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
Sadie nodded, swallowed, moved from foot to foot. Behind her, Lucky hung back, as if waiting to see if it was safe to head off to get breakfast.
‘You really didn’t see what you thought you did on the beach that year,’ Liss said. ‘I know exactly what you did see, and I know exactly what happened next, and what’s been happening ever since. It’s not that.’
Sadie shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Let’s just revert to the original plan,’ Liss said. ‘We give Lachy a wide berth, we enjoy ourselves because this is our break, our holiday, our place.’
‘It’s your place,’ Sadie said, quietly. ‘But the kids do love it here. I’d have to tear Trick’s fingernails out to get him to let go.’
‘Well, then.’ Liss pushed down the last remaining twinge of uncertainty. She would tell Dani about Lyra and Lachy as soon as she found the words. She just needed some more time. ‘Let’s make sure this last night’s a doozy, yes?’
Sadie laughed. ‘You’re very forgiving, Liss. Lachy and Dani are beyond lucky, I hope they know.’
‘Oh, they know.’