Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
W alking home with a bucket full of fish and a new friend, made the day one of the best ever. They talked as they walked, and she discovered they had a few things in common. Chris liked reading books and would fish all day if he could. He also loved the same sort of music as she did. ‘Your name is the same as the song, ‘Evie’. It’s one of my favourites.’
He waited while she stopped and unhooked the top of her rod from an overhanging branch. ‘I love Stevie Wright and that song too,’ she said. ‘Sometimes my dad and I sing it so loud, Mum walks away and shuts herself in her bedroom.’
He seemed pleased that she also enjoyed what he did. ‘Do you like surfing? I go with my dad and we spend hours out the back there, when the waves are right. It’s the best feeling in the world, gliding across the ocean. I’m going to make my own board. I’ve got a million ideas. Do you surf? How come your dad didn’t come on holiday?’
Pursing her lips as she remembered her father wasn’t here, she shifted the bucket from one hand to the other, grateful for the shade of the trees on the sandy track. It was getting close to Christmas; the days were hot and the nights, humid. Chris stopped and waited for her again as she wiped the sweat from her brow and pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘Dad went to Sydney for a conference. He goes there a lot for work.’
‘I’ll get my dad to clean the fish for you then. Your mum probably won’t want to do it.’
Evie laughed. ‘No, she doesn’t clean fish. That’s Dad’s job.’
Taking the bucket from her, he adjusted the creel and rod in his other hand. ‘I’ll carry it. It’s pretty heavy with all our fish in there. Do you want to go again tomorrow? Maybe early in the morning? The tide’s good at that time. Rose and Lily don’t like fishing, so it’d be fun to go together. Maybe it’ll be my turn to catch a big one.’
‘That’d be great. Usually, Dad and I go. Mum would be happier if I was with someone. She doesn’t like the beach that much; she just wants to lie around and read books all day.’
They had stopped outside The Magic Fish , and her mother waved to them from the veranda. They both waved back. ‘I’ll drop your fillets back soon,’ Chris said.
Resting the end of her rod on the ground, she smiled at him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Is that Mr McIntosh’s son?’ her mum asked.
‘Yes, his name is Chris, short for Christopher. He has two sisters, and he loves fishing as much as I do. We’re friends now. He wants me to go fishing with him in the morning.’ Evie couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice as she asked her mother. ‘Is that okay?’
Her mother watched as Chris walked up the street, disappearing into a yard further up. ‘Is his family staying in that house?’ she asked.
‘Yes. They’re here for two weeks too. His sisters are really nice, and they want me to play cards with them and go for walks.’
‘Perfect,’ her mother said, clapping her hands together. ‘You need some company your own age.’ Evie knew this suited her mother, because she wouldn’t have to entertain Evie, or talk to her when she didn’t feel like it.
When Chris brought a plate over that was filled with fish fillets, her mum made a huge fuss over him. ‘Please thank your father for me. Fresh fish. Well done you two for catching them. Evie tells me you’re going to fish together on the beach tomorrow.’
He nodded.
‘No swimming though. Her father only lets her paddle in the shallows. There are too many rips and sharks.’
‘Mum,’ she intervened. ‘I won’t swim out very far.’
‘No, Evie. You can paddle on the edge, but you aren’t to swim. ’
‘Fair enough, Mrs Romano. I go out on my board with Dad, but I’ll make sure Evie doesn’t go swimming.’
She glared at her mother and then Chris. ‘Excuse me. I’m standing here, so don’t talk as though I’m not. I can look after myself.’
Her mother put her arm around her shoulder. ‘I know you can. You’re lucky your dad isn’t here, because he’d make sure you were supervised by an adult, even when you’re fishing.’
As Chris waved goodbye and started jogging up the street, she gave silent thanks that her father wasn’t with them. As much as she wanted him to join them, if her father knew she was going to be hanging out with a boy, who was a bit older, he would probably insist that he come along, or that her mother was there. It had happened before, when she went to the local show at Beaudesert. Just because some boys were going from school in the same group, he insisted he chaperone. ‘That’s so old school, Dad.’ She’d tried to convince him that didn’t happen in other families.
‘I either come with you, or you don’t go at all,’ he’d said, his moustache moving up and down with his eyebrows.
‘I’m nearly thirteen.’
‘Exactly. I don’t trust any boys.’
Thankfully, that night it had poured rain, and the show and the fireworks were cancelled. Knowing how her father felt about her going out with boys came in handy. The next time a group was going to the movies, she lied and said it was only girls going. Perhaps her father had some inside knowledge though, because one of the boys who she thought was nice, tried to kiss her when the lights went off. It had been an ungainly attempt, and his tongue ended up on her cheek. She pulled quickly away from him, grabbing his hand that rested clumsily on her leg. ‘What are you doing, Henry?’ she whispered, trying not to draw attention.
Henry slouched back in his seat. ‘I wanted to kiss you, but you turned your head.’
‘Don’t kiss me, please. You’re just my friend.’
Henry was more embarrassed than she was, and when he hopped up to go to the toilet, he didn’t return. At least she could watch the rest of the movie in peace. Layla, sitting on the other side of her, had not been so resistant. Another boy in their grade spent half the movie with his hand up Layla’s blouse and his lips all over her face. Evie tried to keep her eyes straight ahead and focus on the movie, but it was hard when there was so much going on next to her.
‘What happened?’ Layla asked when the movie was finished and they came out into the light.
‘Nothing. That idiot Henry tried to kiss me.’
‘They’ll say you’re frigid if you don’t let him,’ Layla said.
‘I don’t care. I don’t like Henry.’