19
I ’M sitting at one of the inside tables at Sadie’s with the newspaper while Matty and Tommy play pinball.
Matty uses his whole body to move the small silver ball through the obstacles, standing on tiptoes, his arms spread like an eagle across the top of the glass.
It’s a stretch for him to reach the buttons on the side to move the levers, and he lurches from left to right, twisting at the hips.
Through the window, I see the surfers emerge from the bush track.
Like a school of fish, they cross the road and come into Sadie’s .
I just referred to them as surfers, not as the Neanderthals. This is a strange development.
Paul leaves the pack and drops into the seat beside me, Ant close behind. He calls out to Sadie, ordering himself a burger with the lot.
‘Hey, Cat.’ He reaches behind me and grabs a surfing magazine, so close I can feel his chest against my shoulder. He smells of sea and salt. If I turned my head there’d be centimeters between our mouths. I look down at my phone.
‘Hi, guys! You want a burger? Chips?’ says Paul.
Tommy shakes his head, but Matty leaps at the offer for a burger like he hasn’t eaten for days. Ant sits opposite and calls out the same order.
‘Why don’t you guys actually go to the counter and order like normal people?’
‘Sadie knows we’re going to pay,’ says Ant with a shrug.
‘That’s not what I mean. It’s called respect and basic manners, something you Neanderthals would know nothing about.’
‘What are you talking about, Neanderthals?’ says Ant. ‘We’re the model of respect. Look it up in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of us. Isn’t that right, Paulie?’
A woman walks past the window, weighed down with a boogie board, a beach bag and a bucket and spade.
A beach towel drapes over a shoulder. She has three small children with her and as she pauses to shepherd them along, she drops her towel.
She bends to pick it up and Steve stands behind her, thrusting his hips rapidly.
The four Neanderthals outside with him laugh.
I spread my hands, gesturing at the foolery outside, and raise my eyebrow so high there’s a chance I’ve given myself an aneurysm.
‘You’re right. You guys are the model of respect and decorum. It’s a crime against humanity that you haven’t been nominated for a community award.’
‘That was just really bad timing,’ says Ant. ‘You can’t judge all of us from the one dickhead.’
‘I don’t see any of those guys outside telling him off.’ I cross my arms and lean back in my seat.
‘They’re not his mother.’ Paul flicks through a surf magazine. ‘We’re not responsible for anyone but ourselves, so I don’t know why we cop your Neanderthal crap.’
Sadie places orders on the table, complete with a side of chips, on the house.
‘You’re the one they all look up to,’ I say. ‘That makes you King Neanderthal.’
‘Cat, stop hinting.’ Paul bops me on the nose with a chip. ‘You can be my Neanderthal Queen.’
I shake my head and look out the window.
‘Wind’s turned.’ Paul grins like he’s just won a prize. ‘We’re hitting Miller. Come for a surf, Matty?’
Matty nods enthusiastically, the one time in his life electing not to speak with his mouth full.
His legs are swinging on the seat like a toddler.
As he shoves another handful of chips into his gob, possibly more delicious because they haven’t come out of his pocket, Paul taps my thigh under the table.
‘Matty, you’re with me,’ says Paul. Matty high-fives him.
‘And me too?’ says Tommy.
‘No way in hell are you surfing Miller Point,’ I tell him. ‘You know how dangerous that beach is. Mum and Dad would kill you. And they’d kill me if I let you go in.’
‘Please, Paul?’ He pulls out the puppy dog eyes that do laps around Nonna.
‘Why are you asking Paul? You think he’s the boss of you? I’m the boss of you, and I just told you, you’re not going. It’s too dangerous for Matty, let alone you.’
‘Shut up, Cat,’ says Matty.
I point a chip at him. ‘Say that again and see what happens.’
He gives me a look, that look, but thankfully turns his attention to the remnants of his burger, scooping up every crumb.
‘You coming too, Cat?’ asks Ant.
‘I’ll come, but I’m not surfing.’
‘No, you won’t. I don’t need a babysitter,’ says Matty.
‘No, you need a keeper.’ I lean across the table and wipe his mouth with a napkin. ‘You don’t own the beach; I’ll go where I want.’
‘You surf, don’t you, Cat?’ asks Ant.
I shake my head.
‘But you’re a local! Haven’t you ever had a crack?’
‘At the risk of offending present company, not that I give a rat’s how offended you are, in a place like this, surfing is the most sexist of pastimes of all the sexist pastimes,’ I say. ‘I’m completely uninterested in being objectified while trying not to die off the reef.’
‘Sexist? That’s bull,’ says Paul. ‘The surfer with the most world titles is a woman.’
‘Yeah, but she has balls, so it doesn’t really count,’ says Ant.
‘ Grazie mille, Antonio . That’s what we call “Exhibit A”.’
‘You’re a dick, Scampo,’ says Paul. ‘Come on, plenty of girls surf.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Seriously? That’s not an argument,’ says Paul.
‘Do you really think I’m going to waste my energy arguing with white crayons like you?’
‘White crayons? Ahh, because we’re useless, I get it. Come on, Cat, we’re just getting started.’
‘Give me that magazine,’ I say. ‘This is the highest selling surfing magazine in the country, isn’t it? Let’s look inside, shall we? Let’s see how women are represented.’
I flick through the pages. He doesn’t need to know that I spent an hour last night looking at that magazine for my issues assignment. He’s almost stroking it like a pet.
‘Ooh, look, we’re twelve pages in, no women.
Hmmm. Interesting. Let’s flick the page.
Oh look, here’s a woman, oh wait, it’s a woman’s knees.
Charming. What else do we have? Oh, this is a new angle, an ad for a travel company.
“ The ultimate wedding gift .” Here’s a woman, sipping a cocktail all alone on her honeymoon, watching her beloved surf. How romantic.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Paul’s shifted in his seat to pass Tommy some chips, and his thigh leans against mine. I do my best to ignore it.
‘Hang on, I’m sure there’s more.’ I keep flicking to find the article.
‘Here we go – a woman at the forefront of professional surfing, dating another professional surfer, and his perception of her. They haven’t even asked for her opinion.
That’s equality right there.’ I flick a few more pages and clap my hands with glee.
‘Boom!’ There’s a beach, the water blurred, and the focus of the image is a muscular woman covered in oil, wearing dental floss where her bikini should be.
Maybe I’d be more inclined to give it a try if I thought I wouldn’t be objectified like this. ’
‘You think too much.’ Paul puts the magazine back on the shelf.
‘And you don’t think enough. I hope you have seven daughters just to give you a smidge of karmic retribution.’
‘Careful what you wish for, Cat.’ He winks at me.
‘Wait, what? No, not me!’
‘Wow, way to make the dad of your seven daughters feel good. Thanks a lot.’ He stands, pushing his chair back into place. ‘Are you coming to Miller or not?’
‘Such a charming invitation, how could I refuse? I’ll meet you there.’
‘Okay, see you soon. Matty, let’s go get your gear.’ They walk to the door, Matty with a skip in his step to keep up.
‘What about me?’ says Tommy.
‘You can walk with me,’ I say as we follow Paul and Matty.
‘I don’t want to walk with you,’ he whines. ‘I want to go with Paul.’
‘Well, I don’t want to walk with you either. Just for that, you can go with Paul, and then you can stay home, ungrateful little shithead. Matty, make sure you ask Mum or Dad – don’t just disappear, and make sure you put on your seatbelt. And listen to Paul.’ He flips his middle finger at me.
As we leave Sadie’s, I tug Paul’s wrist. The two boys continue ahead on route to Paul’s car.
‘Paul, wait. Matty’s not as good a swimmer as he thinks he is,’ I say. ‘This is a really bad idea.’
‘Cat, he’ll have a ball. I’ll be on him,’ says Paul as he puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘He’d better be. If he’s not, Nonna will make you into passata .’