‘Did you get into trouble?’ she asked.
‘We haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet.’
Zara narrowed her eyes. ‘You never mentioned you went in his car. I thought you said you didn’t talk to him much.’
‘I didn’t. I got sick and he gave me a lift home, that’s all. Kevin’ll probably think I was in some sort of moral danger.’
A car tooted outside. ‘That’s Mum. Anyway, I just thought I’d warn you, in case.’ Zara shrugged. ‘Sorry.’
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘Don’t forget about my party.’
I nodded and watched her hang up her apron.
‘What do you reckon Kevin will say?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say much when he got home this arvo.’
‘Well, I hope you don’t get a lecture,’ she said.
‘I’d say the chances of that are nil.’
Little did she know that a lecture from Kevin was the least of my worries.
When I got home Kevin was out in the garage with the door shut. Some sort of power tool was whining and light spilled from the thin crack between the doors. I quickly walked my bike past, relieved he was busy.
Later, on my way back from my shower, I heard him murmuring as he spoke to someone on the phone. Still dripping and draped in a towel, I backtracked and stood near the kitchen doorway, my back against the wall.
‘… told you, Karen. There’s nothing I can do.’
A short pause and I heard a beer can being set down.
‘I’ve spoken to them twice already … He was fine, just like usual … No, he didn’t … Listen, it’s late … you need to get some rest … I know … I have to go … No, not now … Bye.’ He hung up so suddenly I had to dash to my room. Karen Koslovski phoning at 10.30pm was a bit weird. Why did she keep hassling him? I thought about Sam the cowboy’s theory and then I thought about Kevin and Gary digging a hole out there in the bush – a shallow grave.
It didn’t make sense to me. For one thing, Kevin killing someone? And for another, if you’re the kind of person that believes dreams, Dylan was in the water somewhere and not in a shallow grave.
Every day that went past made Dylan’s disappearance seem more suspicious to the townsfolk. People’s imaginations were working overtime trying to find an explanation for something that couldn’t be explained.
I was the only one who knew he was dead. And I did know it. The dream had been a message, a piece of vital information, but I didn’t know what to do with it and it was starting to chew away at me.
I climbed into bed and glanced over to the wardrobe where I’d stuck Matt’s artwork and my dad’s picture. I put my earbuds in, music blasting, and turned my back on them. I couldn’t deal.
The next day, as soon as Kevin went out to the garage, I got dressed and grabbed my mobile. I went outside into the bright morning and quickly made the short walk to the flame tree.
I sat on the old swing hanging from the branch and looked at my dad’s phone number. The grey outline of his avatar had never been more appropriate. I rubbed my eyes. Insomnia and I had spent much of the night rehearsing what I was going to say to Dad, but in the end, I couldn’t come up with anything that sounded good, so I thought I’d just wing it.
After one last glance to check the garage door was safely closed behind Kevin, I pressed call. My pulse accelerated as it rang, three times, four, and then there was a girl’s voice saying hello. She sounded young, maybe around ten.
‘Hello,’ she said again.
I froze. I hadn’t expected this. Then I heard him in the background. ‘Who is it, sweetie? Give it to me.’ My heart lurched into overdrive.
Then his voice. ‘Hello, this is Dave Moore.’
I hung up and stared down at the phone.
He had another family, probably a wife and a few kids. The girl on the phone was probably my sister; my sibling. For some reason, I hadn’t expected that. But it was logical when you thought about it. Dave had moved on. But this was positive. It had to be. My dad had settled down. He had other children. These were the signs of being a good man. This changed things a little. But I could work with it. As soon as I built up the courage to call him again.
I looked over toward the garage. Sooner or later, Kevin would come out and find me and probably give me the promised lecture about travelling in cars with boys. I needed to get away from the house and see that boy. I texted him.
Hi Matt.
Hey was wondering when you’d text.
What you doing?
Sorting avocados … slave labour.
Want help?
Nearly done. Do you want to go for a swim or something?
Sure.
Meet you on the logging track behind your place in half an hour?
OK.
When I got to the track he was waiting, leaning against a tree, and I was surprised to see him wearing board shorts and a T-shirt. He caught me staring and looked down at his clothes.
‘Something wrong?’ he said.
‘Sorry. I’m used to you being dressed differently.’
‘I do own some other genres of clothing, you know.’
I laughed, still feeling as though I had to pinch myself that I was standing there with him. How had I even had the guts to text?
I know why. It was easier than talking to my real dad. Easier than getting a lecture from Kevin.
When we reached the waterhole area, Matt headed down the track toward the water. When he reached the creek, he stopped on a rocky edge. ‘Here?’ he said.
‘Actually,’ I said, glancing nervously across to where my mother had stood, ‘do you mind if we find another place?’
He raised an eyebrow
