Darkwater Read Online Free Page B

enough for you to sit, hidden from view. Sonia, Cassie and I used to hang there in first year with Ricky and Jez, two boys in our year. We took it in turns to kiss, giving each other commentary on technique. The thought embarrassed me now.
    To the left, the reserve stretches to an outcrop of rock that is rarely covered by the tide. At the shore are other caves, higher and narrower; they are more like overhangs of sandstone, the rock coloured in rainbow strips of ochre and yellow and orange. In one there are Aboriginal paintings, small figures of kangaroos and men, scrawled over with graffiti – who loved who scribbled in charcoal. This was where the older kids came, lighting fires, sneaking cigarettes, drinking and smoking dope. For years we had spied on them, Joe included, but now he was one of the gang that met down here after school, hanging until the sun slipped behind the bend, leaving the bush deep, dark and dense: black shadows and shapes that still had the capacity to appear menacing despite us all knowing this country so well.
    As I walked along the edge of the reserve, being careful not to make any sound or step out far enough to be visible from the caves, I came close enough to hear Joe and Kate, and then the others, Cherry, Lyndon and Stevie all talking.
    At first there were only mutterings, but then, as I stayed still and silent, watching and listening carefully, I heard their words more clearly.
    One of them was crying. I presumed it was Kate. Stevie was comforting her. Lyndon asked someone to give him a match and then he walked out onto the rock. He stood tall and thin in his long tight jeans, an old T-shirt and thongs, smoking and pacing, agitated. I moved back, sitting at the edge of the scrub and hoping he wouldn’t see me. Lyndon scared me. There was something hard and tense in him, a cruelty that made others do as he said for fear of reprisal. Sonia had told me she thought he was sexy and I had seriously questioned her sanity for the second time in our friendship (the first being the time she found God during her brief stint with the local Christian fellowship).
    â€˜He’s a bully,’ I said.
    She reminded me about the time he had stopped Brent Davis from humiliating a new kid. Brent was in his last year. Lyndon was only fourteen. Brent took the kid’s pants down and left him naked and crying on the oval. Lyndon had gone to his rescue but he had also gone berserk, ripping the pants out of Brent’s hands and giving them back to the boy. In the fight that followed, Lyndon’s nose was broken, the blood streaming down his face as he continued to struggle, despite three teachers holding him back.
    Lyndon lived with a brother who was much older. Their place was on the other side of the overpass to us, where red-brick flats were built up along the main road. Joe once told me that Lyndon’s dad was in jail, and he made me swear never to tell anyone. I wanted to know what he’d done. Joe thought it was armed robbery, but he wasn’t really sure. Once when he was much younger he had spent the night there, only to call Dee and Tom at midnight. Lyndon’s brother was drunk and angry, and Joe was scared. Tom brought them both home. The next morning Lyndon insisted on going back to the flat to see his brother before school. He wanted to check that everything was okay. Tom went with him. Later, he told Dee that the brother had been very sorry, but he had still felt bad leaving Lyndon on his own. ‘He’s just a little kid,’ he said. ‘He needs someone to look after him.’
    Lyndon stood there now, and he flicked his cigarette out into the water, before turning back to the others.
    â€˜Jesus.’ His voice was harsh and he must have been talking to Kate because the crying stopped. He had his arms folded across his chest and his back to the others.
    Kate’s reply was high and strained. ‘I was just asking.’
    There was muttering from behind her,