The Broken Wave by Matthew Ryan Davies

Author:Matthew Ryan Davies [Davies, Matthew Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-22T22:38:12+00:00

26

All night, images of twelve-year-old Tom slipping from my grasp and sinking into the depths of a dark bay mingled with images of an adult Tom doing the same. The white light was there, flashing in my mind.

Adam’s revelation had shaken my subconscious. I didn’t know how to broach the subject with Tia the previous night so avoided it altogether after Adam and I emerged from the shed to eat our vanilla slices. Instead, Tia and I talked about TV shows we liked and cities we wanted to visit until another bottle of wine—the one she’d been saving for Christmas—was empty.

Now, as morning light glowed at the edges of the shades, I sat on my bed sipping instant coffee from a sachet I’d found by the electric kettle. I read one of Curtis Sittenfeld’s stories. It was about a man who exchanged daily emails with his sister-in-law about classical music they liked. Neither spoke of it to the brother and it felt to them more intimate than was appropriate.

While I read, my subconscious idled. I had to talk to Tia. Adam was obviously upset by what he’d overheard; I couldn’t just let it drop.

Morning, I texted her. Thanks for dinner last night. Are you up for a walk on the beach?

While I waited for a response, I took a shower.

By the time I stepped from the bathroom, a towel tucked around my waist, Tia had replied.

How about 11? I’m dropping Missy at a friend’s.

I bought a couple of toasted ham-and-cheese croissants and a coffee from the bakery where I’d run into Samara and sat on a park bench overlooking the heads.

An orange boat bobbed on the horizon, waiting to guide a ship through the channel. I watched as the pilot boarded the ship. I envied the captain—to be able to cede control and let someone else do the heavy lifting for a while.

I met Tia at the lookout between the white lighthouse and the football club. Campers in trailers and tents circled the ground, but it looked to be purposefully organised that way—a strange location for a holiday park. Tia wore bug-eyed sunglasses, so it was difficult to read her mood, but she seemed upbeat enough, her smile on seeing me genuine.

We descended the wooden staircase to the sand, slipped off our shoes, and walked west along the tideline, the Point Lonsdale lighthouse in the distance.

‘I remember walking this beach with Tom,’ I told her. ‘He said something about it constantly changing—the shoreline, I think he meant—and wondering what it would be like when we were old.’

Tia swung her arms gently, flip-flops dangling from the hand closest to me. ‘I never pictured us walking on this beach when we were old.’

‘No?’

She shook her head. ‘We had an unspoken pact. Once the kids had moved out, we’d go back to New Zealand.’ Her voice was dreamy, far away.

‘You could go now,’ I suggested. ‘Make a fresh start.’

‘I couldn’t uproot the kids like that.’

Two boys, no older than ten, sprinted past us, racing to an invisible finish line.

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