3
Alex watched his father drive off the tee. Ed Palmer focussed on the ball and adjusted his grip, his brow creased in concentration. Alex watched the motion carefully, noting how he locked his elbow, moved his knees and followed through. He hadn’t played much golf before. It was time consuming, time he didn’t usually have, and although he enjoyed the challenge of mastering a new skill he was only really doing this because Dad wanted him to. So far, his first day in Marshall Bay had not been disappointing. The surf this morning had been a good one; it wasn’t quite Misty Cliffs or J-Bay but it was all right, and he had seen a few nice-looking girls on the beach. Mom had, to her relief, found a Woolies Foodstore and had laid on a good breakfast before he had left for the golf club with Dad. Anna was still sulking. Now he was on the course with Dad and his friend Charles, who was grey and slightly overweight but a better golfer than Dad. There was the prospect of lunch at the club later, and another surf this evening. As Charles stepped up to the tee, Dad came over to the golf bag and replaced his club.
“Did I mention to you that Charles is a doctor, Alex? A cardiologist, too.” Dad pulled out a club and handed it to him. “Try the two iron. I think that’s your best bet.”
Alex took the club, looking at Charles with new respect. What Alex wanted most in the world was to be a doctor, a heart surgeon, to be that person standing on the brink of death, literally holding life in his hands. There had never been any fireman or astronaut dreams for him – just that one clear ambition. He had written ‘MEDICINE OR BUST!’ on the inside of his schoolbag, knowing that it was a goal he needed to keep firmly in mind if he wanted to get there.
“I hear you’re planning to study medicine, young man,” said Charles, peering down the fairway at his ball soaring towards the green.
“I am. Great shot, Sir,” said Alex.
“It’s not a career for the faint-hearted,” said Charles. He looked expectantly at Alex and Ed, who both half-laughed at his joke.
“Funny, Charles,” said Ed. “How often do you drop that one?”
Charles shrugged. “No need for the ‘Sir’, Alex. You’re not at school right now. It’s good to know there are young people who still have ambition. From what your father tells me, you shouldn’t have a problem getting into UCT.”
“I hope not,” said Alex. He stepped up to the tee and placed his ball. He stood still, holding the club for a few seconds, recalling the motion he had practiced, remembering his dad’s smooth swing. He swung, and the ball sailed out, the tee standing empty in the grass.
“Not bad,” said Charles. “You have a natural swing. If medicine doesn’t work out you could always take up golf.”
Alex smiled politely and slid the club into the bag. These old guys with their old jokes – did they know how dumb they sounded? This was one sport, though, where age and experience had an advantage over youth and talent. He shouldered the golf bag and followed the two grey-haired men across the grass, looking forward to lunch at the club. There were only three months until he turned eighteen.
Maybe today he could even convince Dad to let him order a beer.
Later that afternoon, when the sun had dipped in the sky and the heat of the day had subsided, Jill and Simon took another stroll to the beach. They had spent the day making pancakes and Simon’s favourites, sugar cookies with jelly tots in them, and Simon had showed Jill his school report and his schoolbooks.
“Miss Strydom likes me,” said Simon, as they strolled down the path. “She always lets me hand things out and gives me gold stars. I think she feels sorry for me because I don’t have a mom.”
“Well, you have an Aunt Bert and you have me,” said Jill. “I don’t think anyone needs to feel sorry for you, do you?”
“No,” said Simon. “But I wish Dad was coming this Christmas.” “So do I,” said Jill. After she said it she wasn’t so sure it was true. When Dad came back to South Africa for visits, Aunt Bert went to stay in Port Elizabeth with a friend, and Jill much preferred a relaxed Christmas with Aunt Bert than strained time with her dad. When they arrived at the beach the tide was quite low, perfect for bodysurfing.
“Are you going to swim, Jill?”
“I think I’ll just watch you from the shallow waves, Squirt,” she said. “Don’t go in too far.”
“I don’t want to go too far, I want to catch a wave and come zooming back right up to your feet!” said Simon. They put their towels beside a rock and Simon bolted off into the waves, screeching with delight as he ran, the water splashing around him.
Because of the low tide, Simon had to go quite far out to wait for the perfect wave to catch back to shore. Every few steps he turned around and waved to Jill, who stood in the shallow waves to watch him. Every now and then he would pick a wave he hoped would work, turn his back and leap into the water in front of it. Most of the time he got his timing wrong, and the waves would pass over him. Once he caught one almost half way back to Jill, and he jumped up and yelled something to her. She gave him a thumbs-up, thinking she really should get into the water with him. Someone needed to show him where to aim and how to hold his body so the wave would carry him up the beach. She felt an unwelcome stab of annoyance that Dad wasn’t there to do it; he had loved the sea as much as Simon did. But she really didn’t feel like getting into the water right then.
Simon cheerily made his way deeper again.
Soon he was into the water above his waist, and Jill was about to cup her hands around her mouth and yell to him that he had gone far enough, when she saw that he was talking to someone, a surfer, on his way back to the beach. Jill watched as Simon, true to form, struck up a conversation with him. Of course, she couldn’t hear what they were saying above the noise of the waves. Simon was bouncing up and down, jumping high as each wave broke. The surfer was right beside Simon, leaning down to his height and showing him how to tuck his head down. A wave approached, and suddenly he put his hands around Simon’s waist and pushed him in front of the wave. Simon tucked his head in, and the wave took him. He caught it at exactly the right moment, and Jill almost jumped with excitement herself for the thrill her little brother must be feeling as he hurtled towards her. As he approached she could see his face more clearly, and Jill clapped her hands at his ecstatic expression as he skidded to a halt in the sand.
“Shot, Simon!” she said. “That was amazing!”
“It was a MILLION times amazing!” spluttered Simon, water streaming down his face. “It was totally AWESOME!”
“That was a very kind surfer who helped you,” she said.
“He showed me what to do!” said Simon. He stood up and turned towards the sea. “Thank you!” he yelled as loudly as he could. He turned back to Jill. “I’m going to try AGAIN!”
Jill looked out to see if the surfer was still there. He was making his way to the beach, and she lifted her hand in a gesture of thanks. He waved briefly, and as he did she realised she had seen him before. It was the boy from earlier, the one who had reminded her of Percy Jackson, although this time he was in a wetsuit. Wow, she thought, adjusting her previous judgement of him. He still looked as if he had just stepped out of a photo shoot, but he had taken time to talk to and help a little kid. She was impressed.
Later, when Simon was finally tired of swimming and they were on their way home, she noticed him again, sitting on the low wall near the showers, his wetsuit peeled off to his waist, his board leaning on the wall beside him as he drank from a bottle of water. He was talking to one of the female lifeguards, laughing at something she had said as he ran his hand through his hair and it fell, effortlessly, into its perfect flick. Jill and Simon walked right past him to get to the parking lot, but Simon was distracted trying to fasten his towel around his waist and didn’t notice him, and the boy didn’t look up. He must be another tourist, she thought. Someone from one of the big cities; maybe Joburg, but probably Durban or Cape Town if he was a surfer. If he was a local she would have noticed him before. Everyone would have noticed him; she had no doubt about that.
4
The next day Jill woke early again, still enjoying the wonderful feeling of being at home rather than in the dormitory at school. She showered, dressed and went to the kitchen. Simon had already been up and helped himself to cereal: the tell-tale spilt milk and sprinkling of sugar was on the counter. Other than that, the kitchen was for once sparkling clean. As Jill waited for the kettle to boil she looked around at her handiwork, satisfied with the results of yesterday evening’s labour, and the faint, lingering smell of Handy Andy. Aunt Bert was not especially committed to keeping her house clean, so when the holidays came around Jill usually spent a few days vacuuming, dusting and scrubbing. She didn’t mind the work, although it was a little disheartening to leave things shiny and fresh when she went off to school and to come home to dirt and dust every time.
Aunt Bert, despite her faults, was a sweet old lady in her late sixties, rather eccentric in dress and habits, and Jill did not bear any grudges against her for her lack of interest in house cleaning. She more than made up for it with her genuine affection and care for Jill and Simon. When her niece had died and Duncan O’Dowd had proved himself not up to the task of raising Jill and Simon on his own, she had retired from her long career as a lecturer and academic in French literature at Rhodes University, sold her cottage in Grahamstown and bought the little house at Marshall Bay to live there with the children, very glad that her brother and his family lived there too. Not having ever been married or had children of her own, it had meant a huge change in her lifestyle, yet she had taken on the challenge of a bewildered nine-year-old and a one-year old baby, and given them the love and security they needed. She was a small woman with long grey hair usually loosely twisted into a clip, and she favoured long skirts and loose colourful blouses. She wore slip slops every day, often in winter too, and loved to spend hours outside pottering in her flowerbeds.
Jill loved the pretty garden at the front of the house, with the rickety wooden bench under the avocado trees, the beds of daisies and roses, lilies and irises, and the many and various pots that were always blooming with something colourful. Aunt Bert also loved succulents, and there were scores of little pots and plastic containers of fleshy strangely-shaped plants everywhere you looked. Some of the containers were nothing more than rusty tins or old jam jars, but Jill thought they added to the charm and she didn’t mind them. There was only a waist high wire fence and gate between the house and the road, although the fence was mostly covered with flowering creepers. It was worth having a dirty house, thought Jill, to have that lovely garden.
The kitchen might be done to Jill’s satisfaction but the rest of the little house still needed a lot of attention. Jill planned to spend the morning doing some serious dusting in the lounge and bedrooms, and seeing that the weather was once again sunny and dry, getting the washing machine going with a few loads of sheets and curtains. She had once brought up the subject of housework with her friends at school and realised with surprise that very few of them ever did any at home. At school they had to keep their dormitory tidy and help with sweeping classrooms every now and then, but there was staff to make their food, do their laundry and clean the boarding house. At home her friends’ families had domestic helpers at least a few times a week, and of course they all had mothers who seemed to do most of the rest of the work. So, Jill just accepted that because she and Simon had no mother, this extra housework was her job – if she wanted their home to be clean, which she did.
Jill took her breakfast to the lounge where Simon was playing with his wooden train set. He had rediscovered it the previous afternoon when Jill, climbing on a chair to clean the top of the fridge, had found it amongst some other dusty boxes and brought it down. “That is a great train track,” said Jill, settling down on the couch.
“Yup, this is fun,” said Simon. “I made it go all around the lounge and it has three bridges and a tunnel. I forgot all about this train set. I think nine is a bit old to play trains though. I don’t know what my friends would say.”
“If you are enjoying playing with trains then nine is not too old,” said Jill.
“I suppose,” said Simon. “But I really want to go to the beach again today. Can we, Jill?”
“This morning I am cleaning this dirty house,” said Jill. “I’ve got lots of washing to do, so no, not this morning. Maybe later this afternoon.”
“Okay,” said Simon. “But I am already bored and it’s only eight o’clock.” He looked at the watch on his wrist, his birthday present from Aunt Bert.
“You can help with the cleaning,” said Jill, taking another bite of toast. “How about you take the covers off your bed and take them to the washing machine.”
“Jilly,” said Simon. “I will do that. But it will not be fun.”
Jill laughed. “No, Squirt, it won’t be really. But it will not be fun when your sheets turn brown and start growing cabbages.”
“Yuck,” said Simon. “Okay, I’ll help.”
The next hour or so passed pleasantly. Simon packed away the train set, helped hang up the sheets outside and even vacuumed his own room. Aunt Bert got up and left for a bridge game with her friends at the church hall. She hardly seemed to notice all the activity going on.
At about nine o’clock Jill was putting on the second load of laundry. The bedsheets were on the line already, and now she had taken down the very grubby floral lounge curtains, hoping they didn’t fall apart in the machine. Not wanting to get her clothes dirty, she was wearing a pair of old men’s shorts that must have been her dad’s (she had found them in a cupboard), and a white T-shirt that was so threadbare she only slept in it now. She had put on Aunt Bert’s green apron, which was voluminous and frilly and a hideous shade of green. She started moving the furniture in the lounge and dusting the hundreds of books in the bookcases, mostly Aunt Bert’s collection of French and English literature, and then went to the outside laundry room to put on another load of dirty curtains. As she poured soap into the dispenser she heard the doorbell ring. Wiping off her hands on the truly awful green apron she went to see who it was.
“Welcome home, welcome home!” It was Anya, one of Jill’s best friends. They had known each other since they were at nursery school together, and she still lived here in Marshall Bay where her mother home schooled her and her brothers. She was a tiny person with a huge personality, and today she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt with an enormous Hello Kitty on it, red shorts, a huge white straw hat on her thick blonde curls, and oversized circular pinkframed sunglasses.
“Anya! Come in, I’m sorry it’s all such a mess …”
Anya flounced in, dropping her rainbow-coloured beach towel and bag on the floor. “I should have known, you crazy girl, hardly back from school and you are being all responsible,” said Anya, giving Jill a big hug. Her parents were Austrian so Anya spoke English with a slight accent, and the kids at the church youth group called her “Schwarzenegger” because of it. “I am on my way to the beach on this perfect day, and you and Simon should come too!”
Jill laughed. “We went to the beach yesterday, twice, and today, yes, I am being responsible. I’ll go later this afternoon.”
“I suppose it is a good laundry day,” sighed Anya. “My mum is also on a mission to clean everything before Christmas, and I have escaped. But come on, leave it and let’s go hang out. You have to tell me all about your last term at school, and maybe there will be some nice new boys at the beach!” Anya giggled, perched her crazy glasses on her nose and batted her eyelashes at Jill.
“Anya!” said Jill, in mock defiance. “I do not go to the beach to look at boys!” But the image of the Percy Jackson surfer flashed through her mind, and she wondered how long it would take for Anya to notice him.
“Yes of course, Jill, you are waiting for Mr Right and are not interested in boys,” said Anya, hands on her hips. “And if that is what you are wearing they will take one look at you and run away anyway. That apron is unbelievable and belongs in a museum. Did you know you have a big smudge of dirt on your cheek? Even if you don’t want to look at boys we can at least go and swim. Simon can
come too. Where is that little scallywag?”
“Anya!” Simon bounced into the room and immediately noticed Anya’s towel and beach bag. “Are you going to the beach, Anya? Can I come? Please?”
“Simon,” said Jill. “I told you we’ll go later. I’m busy now.”
“I will take him then,” said Anya. “If you insist on being boring, he can come with me. I promise I will keep my eyes on him every second.”
Jill hesitated. She trusted Anya, but a little boy on a busy beach was a big responsibility that she was not sure Anya understood. “You have to be so careful, Anya,” she said. “Really, eyes on him every second.”
“Of course, of course,” said Anya. “I will be a model babysitter. Then when I bring him back we can have a big fat chat. I have sooooo many things to tell you!”
“Just a few hours, okay? Will you bring him back by eleven?”
“For sure,” said Anya. “Simon, you have a watch, right buddy?”
Simon bolted off to get his beach things before Jill could change her mind, and in five minutes the pair were heading off down the road towards the path that led though the bush to the beach.
Jill carried on with her work, looking forward to Anya’s return and a good catch-up with her friend. She took all the crocheted doilies from the couches and chairs and put them to soak in the sink. She took the various multi-coloured, hand-sewn, embroidered and crocheted covers off the couch cushions and put them in the bath to wash them by hand, then put the cushions themselves on the table outside the back door so they could freshen up in the sunshine. She found some polish in the cupboard and gave the coffee table and the mantlepiece a good shine. They looked so good that she took all the books down and polished the bookcases too. She even found the feather duster and demolished the cobwebs on the ceiling. The washing machine finished its cycle and she hung the curtains on the line, glad that they still seemed to be in one piece. The lounge looked worse than before with the furniture all over the place, no curtains, and piles of books everywhere.
At eleven o’clock Jill made herself a mug of tea and perched on a cushionless couch, thinking to herself that Anya and Simon ought to be back by now and that the cushion covers had soaked in the bath long enough and needed to be washed and rinsed. When her tea was finished they still weren’t back, so she went to the bathroom and knelt next to the bath. The water the covers had been soaking in had turned dark brown and disgusting, so she pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and started moving the sodden mass of every imaginable kind of fabric around, splashing herself a little as she did so. And then the doorbell rang.
Simon, thought Jill, relieved. She had felt a twinge of discomfort when eleven had come and gone and they weren’t back. Anya loved Simon but she really was so ditsy sometimes …
“Coming!” she called, again wiping her gloves on the green apron, which after all the dusting was a little less green than it had been earlier but still just as dreadful. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror next to the front door and laughed; there were cobwebs in her hair and the smudge Anya had pointed out was still there.
She opened the front door. This was not Anya. Simon was there, yes, grinning even more widely than usual, but the person beside him was not her little Austrian friend with the pink sunglasses. It was the boy from the beach, Percy Jackson himself, the rock star with the flick in his hair, standing on the front step.
5
Jill gave a yelp of surprise before she even knew she had done it. The boy stepped back, realising he had surprised her. “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t seem flustered. He looked as smooth and cool as he had the day before, although less wet of course. For a painful fraction of a second Jill knew he was taking in her appearance. She was so dirty, dressed in the truly dreadful apron, and the T-shirt so worn and thin that Jill knew her bra must show right through it. And the horrible old shorts! She was barefoot, probably smelling of dirty washing, yellow gloves on her hands … what on earth was he doing here? With Simon? And where was Anya?
“Anya …” said Jill, stepping back and peeling off the gloves, still struggling to take in what was happening. There was someone else on the step too, a tall slim girl with short dark hair.
“Hey Jilly,” said Simon, who had bounced into the house past his sister by now, dragging Percy Jackson in with him. The boy laughed as he was unceremoniously pulled into the lounge, and the girl, who had a look on her face that was either amusement or disdain, Jill couldn’t be sure which, followed. Simon halted and crinkled up his nose when he saw the state of the house. “Wow Jilly, what a mess! I thought you were CLEANING today, not messing it up more!” “Simon …” said Jill. “I thought you were with Anya!” She desperately wanted to take off the awful apron, but if she did she knew her underwear would be on display through the shirt. She tried to rub inconspicuously where she knew the smudge on her face was.
“Anya met her friends on the beach and she wanted to go somewhere with them, but I was swimming and catching waves with Alex. So, I didn’t want to go home. And Alex said we could swim some more and he would take me home. And I told Anya you knew him, because of yesterday, and Anya said that was fine. So Alex and Anna brought me home, and I want to show them that picture of Dad. You know that one, Jilly, where is it?”
“What?” said Jill. “Anya just left you on the beach?”
“No, I was with Alex,” said Simon. “And Anna. She’s his sister. They are here on holiday and they are staying RIGHT next to the beach. We went there just now to put the boards away. Like, the sea even comes up to the DOOR!”
The boy, Alex, laughed. “Not quite, kid,” he said. He turned to Jill. “I hope this is okay. Simon was confused though. I met him yesterday but I didn’t meet you. I think we just waved at each other.”
“Yes,” said Jill. “You were helping him bodysurf. That was really nice of you. Please, why don’t you sit down?”
“It was fun,” said Alex, stepping over the vacuum cleaner to get to the faded burgundy velvet chair Jill pointed him to. “He’s pretty … enthusiastic.”
“He’s crazy about anything to do with the sea,” said Jill, almost bumping into Alex as she realised there was a pile of Aunt Bert’s dusty books on the chair and reached over to get them before he sat down. She placed them in a crooked pile on the empty bookshelf, hoping he hadn’t got dust on the perfectly white T-shirt he was wearing. He doesn’t have green eyes, she thought. They were as dark brown as his hair, almost black. “Thank you so much for looking after him.” She turned to Anna, who stood to one side, staring around at the room. “My friend was supposed to bring him home … I am so sorry about this mess, I was just … cleaning.”
Oh dear, Jill thought. She would have been embarrassed enough if anyone, even someone she knew well, had come over with the house in such a state, and looking as she did. But these beautiful people! She could feel a blush starting, deep down, but she took a breath and fought it. There was no need to feel ashamed of cleaning. No need at all. She summoned all the will she could to keep her chin up and not let it get to her. She shoved the vacuum cleaner out of the way with her foot and moved another pile of books off the couch. “Please,” she said to Anna. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks,” said Anna, without looking at Jill, and sat down cautiously on the edge of the couch.
“I want to show Alex that picture,” said Simon. “I want to show him that my Dad is a surfer too. Or he used to be. Do you know where it is, Jilly? Do you? That one where Dad won the surfing competition in Jeffreys’ Bay?”
“I think it’s in the little album in your room,” said Jill.
“Oh yeah, YEAH!” said Simon, and turned to Alex. “Stay here, okay?” he said, putting his hands on Alex’s shoulders. “I’m going to get it. DON’T MOVE!” He ran off down the passage.
Alex and Anna looked at each other; Alex grinned but Anna raised her eyebrows. Jill was beginning to think that disdain was more likely than amusement now.
“Just … um, excuse me for a moment,” said Jill. She had decided it was not ruder to dash out and fix her appearance than to carry on as she was, so she left her unexpected guests and walked as quickly as she could to her bedroom, resisting the urge to run. She took off the apron, and as fast as she could, pulled on another T-shirt. She put on her own shorts, shook out her hair as well as she could and slipped on her slip slops. On the way back, she dashed into the bathroom to wipe her face, wincing at the sight of the wet floor and the cushion covers floating in the filthy water. She hoped desperately that neither of them would ask to use the bathroom.
“Sorry,” she said when she got back to the lounge. She knew she was still dirty and scruffy but she felt a lot better without the apron and the shorts. Simon was still scratching around in his room.
“Your brother is hilarious,” said Alex. “He was swimming with your friend Anya in the waves and they were doing some kind of
Jaws scene, pretending there were sharks. They had an audience.” “Oh dear,” said Jill. Anya was in big trouble.
“Then I came past with my board and he begged to ride a few waves with me,” said Alex. “Anna had her bodyboard so he used that.”
“It was AWESOME,” said Simon, reappearing with a photograph flapping in his hand. “He let me ride ON the surfboard after that. Not standing up, but Jilly I was ON it!”
“So … you went to the beach for a surf and ended up just swimming with my little brother?” said Jill.
“It was way more fun than a surf,” said Alex. “And with a few more lessons you’ll be standing up pretty soon, kid.”