The cave at Mayfair Bay was long and dark and narrow, with an entrance that was submerged by the waves. The entrance was the scariest part—you had to hold your breath and swim under the rocky overhang before you came up again inside. Once you were inside, it was fine. There were enough cracks of light to see by, and plenty of fresh air. It was protected by the tide—there was only a narrow window of time when the tide was right on the turn that you could get in and out quickly. If you didn’t, you’d be stuck inside for hours, waiting it out.
Right at the top of the cave, up a narrow, rocky path, it opened into a chamber that was big enough to fit ten men and nobody would have to elbow anyone else for room. Not too many people knew about the cave—even me and Button John hadn’t until Young Harry, who couldn’t get up there anymore because of his knees and his cough, had told us about it.
It was another thing that Nipper Will wouldn’t approve of—so I was never going to tell him.
We gathered up the packages and wandered along the beach to the entrance to the caves. It meant following a spur of rock out as it curved into the water, then swimming down into the rockpool on the leeside where the entrance to the cave opened. I went first—even with the tide on our side now, it was hard work to push through those first few metres before the cave opened up and I could surface, especially dragging a bag with me.
Button John surfaced behind me, spitting saltwater in my direction. I splashed him with my free hand and scrambled out of the water onto the sandy floor of the cave. We headed up what we called the stairs—the narrow, rocky path that led to the uppermost cavern. It was slippery, but we were surefooted, and we’d done this what felt like a million times. We could do it in our sleep, probably.
Twenty minutes later we were back on the beach, gathering up our shirts and shoes before we began the trek home across the island.
I didn’t get home until late, because me and Button John had got caught up talking shit while we cleared out his back shed—Big Johnny and Aunt Jane had been at him to do it for months, but not without help, since Button John had a habit of steering into disaster if there wasn’t anyone there to stop him—and we’d lost track of the time. It was almost dark by the time I left. Button John lived at the top end of the village, which was only a ten-minute walk from the bottom end at the harbour wall. About half that if you ran, and I ran once I realised that I was late, hoping to beat Nipper Will home.
Our place was a street back from the harbour wall, beside the old church. The house was the same as all the others in the village—a two-storey sandstone cottage that felt as old as the island itself. Ours had a rickety front fence that was in danger of falling down because of the weight of the vines tangled on it, and a back fence that already had.
I didn’t go into the house when I got there. Instead, I headed around it into the back yard, so I could wash away some of the dirt I’d got covered in helping Button John. Our house didn’t have a laundry—just a tin lean-to that had been tacked on to the outside wall beside the back door, with a tub and an old hand-cranked mangle in it. We had a washing machine and a dryer inside the kitchen, and only used the tub outside if the power ever went out for long enough that we got desperate. Will used the tub to clean his gear. Fuck if we’d ever bothered with the mangle though.
I groaned as I rounded the corner and spotted the tub, because yeah, Will’s clothes were in it, bundled up just under the surface of the soapy water. He’d beaten me home.
I dipped my hands in the still-warm water and rubbed them together to get the worst of the grime off. I didn’t look up when the back door opened.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
I caught one of his buttons between my thumb and forefinger under the water. Squeezed it until it hurt, and only then turned my head to look at him.
Nipper Will leaned in the doorway, wearing a scowl that made him look like he was closing in on forty instead of thirty. His hair was damp and messy, hanging in wet strands over his furrowed forehead, like he’d just got out of the shower. The light from the kitchen spilled out behind him, framing the angles of his face. We didn’t look much alike, at least I didn’t think we did, but then I couldn’t grow a beard for shit, and I also didn’t have ten years of lugging full nets behind me. Will had wide shoulders, and a strong neck, and actual muscle definition, whereas Button John once said I was built like a Chupa Chup.
“I was helping Button John clean out their shed,” I said, pulling my hands out of the water and wiping them on my shorts.
“Yeah, well there’s no fucking dinner on, so it looks like we’re having toast.”
His glower left no doubt whose fault that was, so I didn’t bother arguing. “Okay.”
I followed him inside. He thumped around in the kitchen, and I left him to it.
Mum was in the front room. She usually was, except on the days she didn’t leave her bedroom. She was sitting on the floor in front of the empty fireplace, working on another blanket. This one was made up of knitted blue and green squares, all different shades. A whole ocean. The squares were spread out all over the floor, and she was moving them around and then sitting back to inspect them, like they made a picture only she could see.
“No,” she said softly to herself, and switched two squares around.
Mum was thin and pretty, a faded photograph of herself. Some days it hardly felt like she was here at all.
I sat down on the floor beside her. “Hi, Mum.”
She turned her head and looked at me, and she smiled. It took a long moment for the smile to light the spark behind her eyes. “Natty, your hair is getting so long.”
I leaned forward so she could fiddle with it, combing her fingers through it and tucking it behind my ears the same as when I was little. She hummed a tune under her breath. I didn’t recognise it.
Mum’s attention never lasted for long, like a butterfly alighting on a flower for only a second, so I drank it in while it lasted. Mum’s smile made me smile as she smoothed my hair back into place.
My chest felt tight when I stood up. I thought about going to see if Will needed a hand, but I went upstairs instead. I went into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Leaned on it.
Sometimes I hated this house. Sometimes it felt so small and crowded, even though it was only the three of us, that I couldn’t breathe.
I was so angry with Will, and with myself, and with my whole life and the whole fucking world that it took me a moment to realise that something was different—I could see a light out the window. I crossed my floor, still in the darkness, and leaned on the sill.
There was a light on upstairs at Short Clarry’s house. Well, it wasn’t Short Clarry’s house anymore. The former mayor had jumped off the top of the lighthouse while trying to murder Red Joe, who was our current mayor. I’d missed the whole thing, being at school in Sydney. Anyway, Short Clarry was dead, and his house had been empty ever since. A few months ago some suit from the mainland had come over and announced we were getting a police station—that went down like a lead balloon—and a few weeks ago some blokes came over and fitted out the bottom floor of the house, and now it looked like someone had actually moved in.
I caught a glimpse of a shadow passing the window of one of the rooms upstairs, and my stomach twisted.
