Chapter 70
Chapter Seventy
E arly morning summer sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, waking Evie just before five o’clock. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering all the times she had slept in this very bedroom. Now, though, she was no longer an innocent child or a teenager who just wanted to search for pipis and go fishing in the afternoon. Now she had responsibilities. She needed a job. And money.
The cleaner had left a basket of food. The attached card read, ‘Compliments of the owner.’
Evie put the food items in the cupboard, the tea and coffee on the bench, and the bottle of wine in the fridge with the milk, butter and jam. Chris had been in touch with the caretaker, and he seemed to have thought of everything. She would keep a tally of what he provided and pay him back when she got a job. She made a list of what he had bought. That way she wouldn’t owe anyone anything. If there was one thing she had learned, it was not to rely on others. Now she was going to be a solo player. No men. No family and, a heavy sadness filled her, no friends. She had no friends. She had lost contact with them all when she moved, and in all the years she lived in Yeppoon, she had only made friends with Baker and Matilda. Her life had been taken up with work, and trying to avoid the jealousy and wrath of Bob. If not for her mother’s wedding, she wouldn’t even have had contact with Chris and his sisters.
It was strange sitting at the same kitchen table having a cup of tea, as she did as a kid. Only the beds were new. The daybed and other chairs and tables were all still the same. When she sat on the front steps and leaned back on the rough veranda floorboards, she closed her eyes and soaked in the ambience. The sun warmed her arms and legs, and she revelled in its touch. When she sat up, she looked up into the limbs of the weeping paperbark trees that lined the front yard. They had grown, their branches and canopy stretching out, providing shade and a perfect place to sit. Maybe she would put the recliner chair from the veranda under them this afternoon and read a book. There were two shelves of books in the lounge room and she had looked at them this morning. What would it be like to spend a day just reading a book?
Grabbing an apple from the fridge, she made her way out of the house, up the path and through the front gate. She munched as she walked, forcing herself to eat something. The trouble was she wasn’t hungry. If she didn’t eat until the afternoon, she didn’t care. No wonder she looked thin. Maybe the sea air would make her appetite return.
When she reached the end of the sandy path, she stopped. There, on the stretch of beach in front of her, was where she had her first kiss. She could still feel the coolness of the evening breeze that night, the gentle caress of Chris’s lips against hers, and the warmth of his arms as they wrapped around her. Her favourite floral dress had been firm on her body, and she could visualise the thick cotton fabric adorned with large printed flowers. She hugged herself; memories. Memories of a beautiful childhood, before everything had collapsed around her. It was all so long ago, and so much water had flowed under the bridge since.
The sand was warm under her feet, and she pulled her hat further down on her head as she made her way down to the water. The cool waves splashed over her feet, the sinking sand soft underfoot as she wriggled them looking for pipis. Maybe there was still a fishing rod in the shed? She popped a plump pipi into her pocket, its wet shape soon to be followed by a dozen or so more. There was no one on the beach as far as she could see. Overhead, a small plane flew past, its wings dipping as it turned and veered out over the ocean. The ocean was as she always remembered. The water was so clear you could see through the depths to the sand below and she spotted a school of either bream or dart, speeding through the curl of a wave. The waves’ cylindrical shapes pounded on the beach, each set bringing in a fresh surge of water over her feet. She lost track of time, her mind focussed on the water and the waves, as she stared out to sea.
Finally, she started walking, her footsteps bringing memories of the beach at Yeppoon, Baker and Matilda. Her chest hurt and she walked faster. Quickening her pace, she strode northwards towards the headland where she had so often walked with her parents when she was little and later with Chris and his sisters. Saltwater Place. It was a good place, she thought. Breathing deeply, she splashed the water with her feet, the spiralling seagulls squawking and reeling above her. She passed a couple of older fishermen, their feet planted squarely, their long surf rods in their hands. Stopping to talk to them, she was surprised at the sound of her voice. She had not heard it for a while, and her words sounded surprisingly calm and confident.
Both men looked to be in their eighties, and they seemed surprised at her questions about the bait and gear they were using.
‘Caught anything?’ she asked.
They smiled, and one bent down and lifted the lid on his bucket. ‘Seven bream and a good-sized summer whiting. Enough for a feed.’
‘Plenty of bait around?’
‘Always pipis and worms on this beach. This gutter’s been giving us good fish this week. It’ll move with the bigger tides coming though.’
She talked to them for a bit longer before saying goodbye. ‘I’ll keep going. Happy fishing.’
‘Seeya, love. Come and fish with us. We’re here most days.’
She laughed as the wind whipped her hair around her face. ‘I might just take you up on that,’ she called out, as she walked further up the beach.
By the time she turned around and walked home, the fishermen were gone and the sun was high in the sky. She figured a few hours must have passed. She had simply kept putting one foot in front of the other and, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was starting to get hot and she was hungry and thirsty, she might still be walking north.
Hungry, she thought. There’s a new feeling. It must be the salt air.