chapter 9

Steven called it his private beach. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that. It was where he came to be alone and think, and was a tiny, hidden-away place that could be accessed only by turning off the main touristy track, walking across rough terrain and sand dunes, then down through a large mass of slippery stones and finally jumping across the rock-pool.

Here there was a small cove in which to take shelter from the sudden storms or blistering heat, inside which, as if mindful of its future guest's comfort, over the years the sea had carved out a flat, almost chair-like rock seat, where Steven could sit and admire the panoramic views over the sea. Across the way, Devil's Leap, an infamous and deadly narrow gap in the cliffs, gave out spectacular sunrises and sunsets; on particularly clear days the distant landscapes seemed to stretch forever and, when the mid-day sun sizzled and blazed, the little costal towns across the water, with their pretty, sun-bathed houses and backgrounds of rolling cool green hills, shone as brightly as early technicolour films.

Despite its surrounding beauty and popularity with sea creatures (the area teemed with marine life and crowds of gulls, flapping their wings and squawking noisily, often flocked to select the tastiest small silver fish from the rock-pool as though it were their very own fast-food restaurant and the views across the sea their very own drive-in movie) few people ever discovered its enchantment, for much of the rough sand was strewn with sharp stones and pebbles. Once Steven had been dismayed to find the sand disturbed by a winding set of footprints and paw-prints that had run in every direction, telling the tale of some enthusiastic dog sniffing out every nook and cranny as its owner vainly called it back to his side. But, much to his relief, for he thought of this beach as his and his alone, dog-walker and dog never returned and in the fullness of time the prints were washed away and it was Steven's beach again.

Now the rhythmic swish of the sparkling water and the echo of the gravel scrunching underfoot gave everywhere a satisfying aloneness. Drinking in the peace, Steven leapt across the rock-pool and felt his heels sink into the crumbling sand while a handful of sea birds watched him warily from a distance, as always never giving their trust with ease, but waiting until their solitary visitor was safely ensconced in the little cove and his world before returning to their own.

Breathing more slowly now, he sat down on the rock-chair, slid a strap down from his shoulder and unzipped a black case. The guitar flashed momentarily in the bright morning sunlight. Steven rested it on his lap and began strumming idly on its strings, tuning in the guitar, listening with a keen ear to the sounds, and thinking. It had been a white lie when he told Tom he had to go help out at the talent contest. He wasn't due to meet Lance until much later. Although Lance had been blessed with a beautiful voice, he had never quite mastered the art of guitar playing and the song he planned to sing to impress Kathy Murray needed guitar accompaniment. But everything in life came easy to Steven Matheson and learning the guitar had been no exception. Yet he'd never created a tune before and somehow he knew he never would again.

Steven stopped playing the more popular songs and slipped again into the tune that had been playing in his head for days. It was as if the melody had always been sleeping in his heart, waiting to be woken. Because this music was home. It was Mum and Dad. Every memory. Every yesterday. The notes streamed into the air, the intro a soft, gentle pace that became a quickening speed, and Steven was lost in them.

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Kathy Murray cringed. Summer Bay was a small town and small towns didn't like ripples in the river. (Kathy had once won $25 third prize for a sweet little poem called Ripples in the River and had never forgotten it.) And, although she worked at Summer Bay Primary and therefore didn't answer to Donald Fisher, principal of Summer Bay High, small town politics dictated that small town principals were treated with the utmost respect.

Kathy may have been a high-flier, passing all her exams to become a fully-fledged infant school teacher before she was even twenty-one (the local newspaper had even run an article about how she got to be Summer Bay's youngest ever teacher) but she also had a younger sister.

One Jennifer Mary Murray, aged sixteen, going on twenty-six, (or, on alternate days, going on six) red-haired, fiery-tempered, freckle-faced (wow, you didn't dare remind her of them though!) and with an opinion about everyone and everything.

"...see, there isn't any talent here," she was finishing off saying to Fisher.

"There isn't...?" Donald Fisher, known as affectionately as "Flathead" to his students, knitted his brow. As far as he was aware, Summer Bay, just like every one of the coastal towns round these parts, had its fair quota of talent. No more and no less. And, okay, the talent show wasn't exactly the Logie nominations, it was being held simply to raise money for charity. But their visitor had spent a good deal of that morning watching many of the acts practising for the show tomorrow so perhaps her views should be taken on board.

Jenny sighed heavily. "Nope. I mean, the guys here, they're ooo-kaaay, but they're nothing to write home about, are they? Not that I'll be writing home, of course. I never do, and, anyway, the olds are on holiday so it'd be a waste of time, even if I ever did, which I don't, wouldn't it? But when Kath was at TAFE in Melbourne now the talent there, heaps of good-looking guys..." puzzled when Fisher suddenly roared with laughter, Jenny finally paused for breath.

Kathy smiled, gritting her teeth. "G'day, Mr Fisher. Can I talk with my little sis for a min?"

"No problem, Miss Murray." Donald Fisher smiled back.

He liked Kathy Murray and had high hopes for her future. Kathy genuinely loved kids and, even outside of the extra curricular activities that already made up a teacher's life, would often give up her free time to be with them. The garden project had been an excellent idea. Shame either the school cat or one of the children had trampled it, but apparently, nothing daunted, Miss Murray had coerced friends and colleagues into fixing it up again. Usually shy and unassuming, Kathy Murray, by all accounts, was a force to be reckoned with when it came to fighting for her kids!

Kathy dragged her younger sister to a quiet corner of Summer Bay Town Hall and...well, okay, let's not exaggerate here.

Summer Bay's "town hall" was actually one of the Bay's oldest buildings, a long, draughty affair, with a roof that was prone to leaks, strange, unexpected slopes in the floor (generations of Summer Bay children had played the game of "running up the hills") and peculiarly narrow, high windows that never caught much sun, but liked to cast dismal shadows with what little they did, dating back almost to the time of the Bay's founding and built, but never used as, a courthouse, due to the incompetence of its architect, the low crime rate in the Bay, and Yabbie Creek having a far superior courthouse anyway. But the Summer Bayers were proud of their "town hall" for all that and always used it for important occasions when both the Bay's schools, the Diner and the open air beach arena were equally unavailable, and Kathy retreated to one of its corners and brought Jenny up to speed.

"Omigod!" Jenny had the grace to blush. "He's a principal? I thought he was just a nice old guy."

But she recovered quickly from her faux pas and happily dismissed the residents of Summer Bay as straw-chewing country bumpkins. "He seemed like one of the locals. You know, someone with not much else to do other than watch boring talent contests. Ah, well, he's not your principal though, he's only top dog of Summer Bay High so no harm done, he doesn't count. But I've been thinking, Kath. How do you stand it here without any decent, good-looking guys? Don't you miss Robert?"

"No." Kathy firmly closed the subject of Robert. Robert may have been a Brad Pitt lookalike but he had also broken Kathy's heart. "Anyway, a guy doesn't have to be good-looking to be a decent guy. And who said there aren't any decent guys here in Summer Bay?"

"Like who...?" Jenny grinned with interest.

"I was talking about you," Kathy lied. "About Mike Langford."

"Gimme a break!" Jenny raised her eyes Heavenwards.

It was true Mike Langford, who never failed to look Jenny up whenever he heard she was in the Bay, was a decent guy and not bad looking, and they'd even been out on a couple of casual dates. But there was no spark. Both of them knew they'd never be anything more than friends. A sudden breeze at that moment drew Jenny's attention to the door. And to the tall, slim, dark-haired guy, so deeply tanned that he could have been from some hot European country, who'd just walked in and made Jenny's heart flip.

"Wow! Who's that?" She asked with interest.

Kathy glanced up briefly. "Dunno. Oh, no, wait, I think I do. One of the Fletcher foster kids. Frank Somebody-or-Other. I saw him picking Sally Keating, one of their other foster kids, up from school once."

Kathy frowned. Sally Keating was worrying her. She'd seemed even more troubled than usual lately and Kathy had a feeling it had to do with the Phillips brothers. She'd seen them in the playground yesterday, huddled in conversation and casting frequent glances at the little girl, who stood all alone, leaning her back and one raised foot against the wall, deep in thought, as though she was about to start one of her counting phases. Sally had become well known for her compulsive counting, and, like the staff usually did, Kathy went across to try and calm her.

"Hey, Sal," she smiled. "It sucks doing playground duty on your own. I really need someone to talk to. Would you mind coming round with me?"

Sally nodded uncertainly. She liked Miss Murray. Her own teacher was okay, but she had a tendency to shout and raised voices made Sally uneasy. They reminded her of when the Spanish people had been shouting and screaming, the day the terrible sea had taken her parents away forever.

Kathy gently took the child's hand, and, after racking her brains for something to say that would take Sally's mind off her anxieties, decided to chat about Reception's flower garden as they strolled, and was pleased when little Sally, although she didn't speak, smiled once or twice and seemed comfortable with her.

"G'day, Miss Murray!" Kane Phillips suddenly appeared at the teacher's elbow, making her jump. "Nice day, innit? Me and Scotty and Milko thought we might walk down by the sea later. I sure hope Milko don't fall in and drown 'cos he's talkin' too much." Kane sounded oddly like he was quoting something he'd been primed to remember, concentrating hard, gazing at the sky as if for inspiration and taking new breaths with each sentence.

For some reason, Sally blanched. Maybe the kid was feeling a bit crook with the heat.

"I'm sure he won't, Kane," Kathy said gently.

Kane was puzzling her lately. As well as gaining an imaginary friend called Milko (Kathy had overheard on the kids' grapevine that Sally Keating had an imaginary friend called Milko too, which was a strange coincidence, but the government had lately been running a series of cartoon TV commercials in a campaign to persuade kids to drink more milk) he seemed to have acquired an imaginary dragon (Fred) and an imaginary dog (Deefa). The four all sat together (Reception Class desks were set in groups of four) and were the best of friends although, apparently, there were occasional problems such as when Fred accidentally fire-breathed on something or when Deefa wouldn't stop barking.

Kathy had covered the subject as part of her teacher training coursework and was aware that kids with imaginary friends tended to be lonely and sensitive only children. But Kane didn't fit this picture. Although he had always sat on his own on a desk-of-four it had been partly because, in the best Phillips tradition, he was inevitably disrupting lessons or picking on someone, and partly because he considered himself much older than his peers, preferring to hang out with Scotty and his mates.

But since the arrival of Kane's invisible friends a wonderful peace had reigned in Reception. Apart from needing to give Milko, Deefa and Fred his attention, which, fortunately, didn't impact too much on lessons, Kane had got on with his work and allowed the other kids to get on with theirs. It was as though the real child behind the tough guy facade had finally begun to emerge and Kathy was finding him to be a likeable and intelligent little boy. From her coursework, she knew that the best way to deal with imaginary friends was to simply accept them - they would disappear soon enough, as the child grew older and developed real friendships. Kathy was quite happy to go along with that. The longer Milko, Deefa and Fred stayed as her invisible students, the more chance there was of Kane behaving long enough to actually learn something!

She jumped again as Scott Phillips abruptly appeared at the other side of herself and Sally and fell into step beside them.

"Ah, but Milko might fall in the sea," he chipped in. "Ya know, if he wasn't listenin' to what me and Kane was sayin' 'cos he was too busy talkin'." Scotty gave Kane an approving wink. His kid bro had done pretty well to remember what Scotty had told him to say. Scotty was determined to make as much cash as he could out of the freak and she needed a timely reminder not to dob them in.

"Oh, I'm quite certain Kane will take good care of him, Scott," Kathy said lightly, bewildered by the Phillips brothers' concerns for Milko's welfare, especially as Scott was a deal too old and a deal too cynical to believe in invisible companions. "Milko will be perfectly safe," she added, deciding Scott was obviously preying on Kane's worries to tease him.

"These things happen," Scotty said mysteriously. "Folk cark it all the time. Ya turn ya back for a minute and...whooosh! They're gone!"

"I really don't think Milko will drown. He's probably an excellent swimmer." And Kathy smiled reassuringly at Kane, who, despite the fact he had introduced the idea himself, was looking rather alarmed at the prospect of Milko's sudden demise.

The bell rang out end of recess and Scott looked up at the school. He sighed and shook his head as though he pitied Kathy Murray's naive trust in humankind.

"Well, I guess, for all our sakes, we just better hope Milko don't keep talkin'. See yas around, guys!" He swaggered off, whistling.

"Yup...see yas around!" Copying Scotty, Kane too swaggered off with his hands in his pockets.

Kathy felt Sally's small hand clutching her own tightly. She couldn't shake off the weirdest feeling that they'd just been threatened.

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"One of the Fletcher foster kids?" Jenny's voice repeating her earlier answer broke into Kathy's reverie. "Isn't he a bit old to be a foster kid?"

"Mm. Maybe he was fostered late. Some reason," Kathy said vaguely, her mind still on Sally.

"What, like he stood waiting outside their door for a few years? Not that I'm complaining. Now he's exactly the right age!" And Jenny looked with great interest at Frank Somebody-or-Other, who was exchanging paperwork with the country yokel who moonlighted as a principal.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Carly, Lynn and Lance. They'll reappear in later chapters:o)