Mothers and Daughters (35 page)

‘Are you finished?’ she said. ‘It doesn’t look like it.’

‘No, I’m done,’ said Macy, passing over her plate. ‘I was full anyway.’

‘I was just telling the others about the night markets up at Roebuck Bay,’ Tess said, leaning across the table. ‘They’re only on on the nights of the staircase. Mum and I went last time we were down. They’re really cool—lots of different food and craft, and sometimes they have a band.’

Macy had been drifting off again, but her ears pricked up at the last word.

‘Cool,’ she echoed. ‘We should go.’

‘I think everyone’s pretty settled.’ Bronte nodded towards the mothers, who were cackling uproariously at something one of them had said.

‘By ourselves, I mean,’ Macy said. ‘Why would we want them anyway?’

‘Mum,’ Tess piped up, ‘can we go to the night markets?’ She had to repeat herself twice before Amira heard.

‘I guess so,’ Amira replied. She looked around at her friends. ‘There are some markets up at the park at Roebuck Bay, about ten minutes from here. Tess and I have been before, and they’re busy and well lit. What do you think?’

‘Fine by me.’ Fiona waved her glass dismissively in the air. ‘Knock yourselves out. Embrace that local culture.’

Macy saw Caro and Morag exchange a look.

‘Only if you stay together—don’t talk to anyone else,’ Caro said. ‘And just to the markets, OK? No heading into town. Did you hear that, Janey?’

‘Yeah,’ Janey mumbled.

Macy pushed back her chair. The room tilted as she stood up, and she grabbed onto the table to steady herself, then pretended she was reaching for her bag.

‘And be back by . . .’ Morag checked her watch, ‘ten?’ she confirmed with Caro and Amira. ‘It’s not quite eight thirty now. That should give you enough time.’

‘Plenty,’ Amira agreed. ‘Ten it is. And stay together, like Caro said.’

Already halfway out the door, Macy nodded without turning around.

She could hear it almost as soon as they were outside, a base line pulsating in the warm night air, lodging itself deep in her chest. A thrill went through her and she had the sudden urge to run, to find it, to hunt out its source and swallow it whole.
Now that they’d left the restaurant she felt more intoxicated, not less; high on the possibilities of the night, of finally being free of the adults.

‘Slow down,’ Janey complained. ‘I’m getting a stitch.’

‘Shouldn’t have worn those heels then,’ Bronte said. Janey pulled a face but didn’t argue back. A gecko darted across the path in front of them, and suddenly there was the park, all floodlights and people, colour and noise, the moon, now fully risen, reduced once again to a minor role.

‘I’m going to see the band,’ Macy said, spotting a small stage that had been set up not far from the waterline, a hundred or so people crowded around it. It was pulling at her, she thought, reeling her in.

‘Too loud for me,’ said Janey. ‘I need a Coke. That calamari was so spicy.’

‘Your mum said we had to stay together,’ Bronte said.

‘But she won’t know, will she?’ Janey gave her a pointed look.

Tess shifted from one foot to the other, taking everything in. ‘I’m not really interested in the band,’ she said, ‘but the markets aren’t very big. We could meet up later. It’s not as if anyone’s going to get lost . . . Last time I was here, Bronte, there was a guy tossing firesticks up and catching them in his mouth. Let’s go look for him.’

Bronte hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And there’s a local woman who does these amazing screen prints of fish—barramundi and salmon,’ Tess went on. ‘They’re just beautiful. They’d make a great present if you wanted to take something back for someone.’

‘Really? They do sound good . . .’ Bronte exhaled. ‘OK, but we all meet at the stage at ten to ten. Don’t forget.’ She glanced at Janey and Macy, then allowed herself to be led away by Tess.

Maybe it was the cider, but it all seemed to happen in a blur. One minute Macy was pushing herself to the front of the crowd, singing along with the cover band; the next it seemed she was being beckoned up onto the stage and a microphone thrust into her hand. The lead singer smiled encouragingly at her, and she slipped into the song as easily as getting into bed.

‘You’re good,’ he said in her ear as the final chords jangled to a halt. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ She nodded. ‘I thought so. I could hear you from the audience. Our regular girl couldn’t make it tonight. Do you want to stay for the rest of the set? It’s mostly recent stuff, with a few oldies thrown in. You’ll probably know most of the songs.’

It was that easy, that intuitive. She quickly lost track of the time—there was no time, there was only the music. The music, the crowd, the lights . . . She closed her eyes and felt it all swelling inside of her, becoming her, until she was nothing but one perfectly sustained note, her whole body ringing like a tuning fork. Just like sex and alcohol, performing got better the more she did it. The secret, she knew now, was to go with it, give in to it, let her own heartbeat slip away until all that was left was the rhythm . . .

‘Macy!
Macy!
’

Bronte and Tess were standing right in front of the stage, frantically waving their arms. Shocked back to reality, Macy stumbled and missed a line. The lead guitarist shot her a look.

‘Have you seen Janey?’ Tess shouted over the music.

Macy shook her head and kept singing. Fuck it, she wasn’t their babysitter. They were ruining her high.

‘We can’t find her anywhere,’ Bronte called, then Tess pulled her away.

‘Forget it,’ Macy saw her mouth to Bronte. ‘She’s no help.’ Just before they disappeared back into the night, Tess turned and pointed at her. ‘Stay right there!’ she yelled. ‘We’ll come back when we’ve got her.’

Macy closed her eyes once more and lifted the microphone to her lips. There was no problem with that. She wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Janey asked as the boy led her by the hand along the beach.

‘Somewhere private, mermaid,’ he said. ‘I want to have you all to myself.’

Janey giggled, though she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs as if she’d just swum one of her coach’s ridiculous butterfly sets. It was excitement, she told herself. That was why she was so breathless.

‘Shit!’ said the boy, dropping her hand.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Janey.

‘Stubbed my toe on something,’ he said, hopping slightly. ‘A rock, I think.’

As Janey’s eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw that they had wandered off the sand and were walking on the edge
of the mudflats, among rock pools and stony outcrops. The breeze shifted, and a stench of something rotten drifted past them from the mangroves.

‘Ewww,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back up onto the grass. We’re far enough away from the markets. No one can see us now.’

‘Keen, are you?’ He grinned and reached for her hand once more.

She didn’t answer, concentrating on picking her way out of the mudflats without getting her new sandals wet. Keen? Sort of, she supposed. She’d been both flattered and relieved when she’d run into the development squad at one of the many takeaway vans circling the night markets: flattered because the boy she’d met twice before had recognised and followed her, complimenting her so outrageously that she’d agreed to this private walk with him; relieved because at least now she had someone to hang around with, someone who wanted to be with her. It had felt strange wandering around the markets by herself. She hadn’t liked being alone. She wasn’t used to it—back home, people were always fighting to talk to her, sit next to her—but Macy, Tess and Bronte had acted as if they couldn’t get rid of her quickly enough. A wave of loneliness washed over her; a lump rose in her throat. She forced it down, angry at herself for being so needy. She wasn’t lonely, not one bit. She had the boy—who needed those girls? They were all idiots anyway. Macy, who thought she was so cool just because she wore black and could sing a bit; Bronte, that pathetic stick insect who’d ruined her phone; and Tess, who’d gone off and dobbed to her mummy about the Facebook photo. Didn’t they
get that it was just a joke? She wouldn’t be emailing Tess again. She could rot up here for all Janey cared.

‘Here we are, mermaid,’ said the boy, pulling her down beside him onto the grass that ran along the edge of the beach. He shrugged off his polo shirt. ‘You can lie on this.’

Lie? Janey felt a small tingle of panic. He’d said they were going for a walk. ‘My name’s actually Janey,’ she said, stalling. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Roo,’ he said, slipping one arm around her.

‘As in the animal?’

‘As in Rupert, my grandfather. He was white, but my grandmother wasn’t.’ One broad hand slid along her shoulder and down towards her breast.

‘Oh, that’s interesting,’ said Janey desperately. ‘Where was she from?’

In reply Roo’s mouth descended on hers. He had kissed her before, but this time, in the darkness, it was more of a shock, an invasion, and she felt herself freeze.

Roo drew back.

‘What’s the matter, mermaid? I thought you liked it last time.’

‘I did—I do,’ Janey protested. ‘I just wasn’t . . . ready, I guess.’

‘We can go back if you like. I’m not going to make you.’

Janey fought the impulse to spring to her feet. Yes, they could go back, but to what? Roo would probably just join his mates again, and she’d have to hang around by herself until it was time to return to The Mangrove with the others. The loneliness rose again. She’d been on her own pretty much all day. Besides, she told herself, there was something romantic about being out on a beach with a handsome stranger. This
was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d been thinking about it, after all. And if so, how much better for it to happen here, under the stars, rather than in someone’s parents’ bedroom at a party with half her class hanging around outside? She took a deep breath, then leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I want to stay here.’

At first it was nice. Roo kissed her back, more slowly and less aggressively than he had at Wajarrgi, his arms around her strong and almost comforting. Janey wished they could stay like that, just kissing, but before she knew it his hands were on her stomach, sliding up underneath her top to cup her breasts, remove her bra, his calloused palms rough against her nipples. She shuddered, and he took it for arousal rather than discomfort, pushing her onto her back and rolling on top of her. Janey felt his penis hard against her stomach, and her eyes flew open. The moon seemed a long way away now. If only he’d just slow down a bit, she thought. He was going too quickly. She opened her mouth to ask him, but then closed it again. He’d think she was a baby, a scaredy-cat. She wanted him to boast about her to his friends, not laugh. Roo’s hands moved lower, parting her inner thighs, and she gripped his shoulders, willing herself not to flinch.

‘You like that, do you, mermaid?’ he muttered against her neck.

Janey, my name’s Janey
, she wanted to say, but he was pushing up her skirt and pulling down her underwear and it was all happening too quickly. Roo paused and for a second she thought with relief that he’d changed his mind, but
then she heard him fumbling with his shorts. Suddenly his full weight was back on her, suffocating her, and there was something hot and hard and very determined prodding between her legs.

‘Do you have something?’ she gasped, every cautionary tale she’d ever read in
Cosmo
flooding back to her. ‘A condom?’

Roo groaned. ‘I don’t. I’ll pull out though, OK? I promise.’

The prodding resumed, fierce and elemental, like the siege of a castle. Janey bit her lip, determined not to cry out.
This is your fault, Mum
, she found herself thinking. Her fault for slapping her, for calling her a bitch, for not being on her side; her fault that she’d been all alone at the markets and had had to go with Roo. This would show her.
I hope you’re happy.
Then all of a sudden Roo broke through, was inside her. She was dry and it stung, his penis like a rasp, a chisel, something splitting her apart. She wriggled and tried to shove him away, but it was too late—he was thrusting now, forcing her against the tussocky grass that bit and scratched her where his shirt had ridden up.

‘Stop!’ she cried, but he shouted out ‘Fuck!’ at the same moment, spasmed, then went still. Janey lay back panting, grateful it was over.

‘God, sorry, mermaid,’ Roo moaned. ‘I meant to pull out—I really did. You were just so tight I couldn’t help myself. Fuck—pretty good, eh?’

A chill was spreading over Janey. ‘What?’ she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed him off her with a mighty heave. Her hand went down between her legs. Something viscous and sticky was dribbling down her thigh.

‘Oh, you arsehole,’ she said. ‘You complete and utter cunt. You promised!’

‘Hey, it’s a compliment, OK?’ Roo lay on his back, his now-flaccid penis shrunken and shrivelled. ‘You were so hot I couldn’t stop—you should be proud . . . You can get that morning-after thingy anyway.’

Janey thought she might explode with fury. She hated him. She hated herself. She had to get away. Grabbing for her underwear, she leapt to her feet and sprinted down the beach, back towards the lights and safety of the night markets, legs pumping, mouth open, ran and ran and ran until suddenly something grabbed her by the foot and she was brought down, yelping, onto the cold, wet grit of the mudflats.