The Islands (32 page)

By the time she made her way back down to the beach, there was a small driftwood fire blazing with a group around it, surfboards – their silent partners – lying close by. Bottles were being passed, cigarettes flared and voices relived the moments of the past few hours.

She felt shy at breaking into this intimate circle of young men who shared the bond, a communal oneness, of their individual experiences with a common element. She stood back and took a picture of the circle of lean figures in front of the sparking wood, the glowing clouds hovering on the horizon.

PJ spotted her and waved her over, shifting his body to make a spot for her. She sat on the cool sand, trying to recognise the faces lit by sunset and driftwood fire – Lief, Doobie, others she'd noticed at other times on other beaches, and Damien.

‘Hi, Damien! Didn't know you were here,' she said giving him a big smile.

The normally cheerful Aussie gave her a wave but was restrained, a bit withdrawn. He seemed to be in some intense conversation with a fellow next to him. Catherine realised that she was an interloper here, an outsider, not just because she was a woman but because she was not part of this culture. She sat quietly, feeling chastised, out of place. PJ noticed her mood and gently touched her arm, giving it a squeeze. He didn't look at her, but continued giving all his attention to Lief who was talking about a wipe out.

Catherine wished she could leave. She was an intruder in this private male post mortem.

Suddenly she was aware there was a shared cigarette being passed. PJ murmured, ‘Do you smoke?'

‘Nope, never took it up.' But across the fire she saw Damien drag deeply on a smoke, cupping it in his hands, inhaling deeply and passing it to the man beside him. She caught her breath as she realised they were smoking pot, hash, marijuana!

The reefer was passed. PJ took a drag and casually handed it to her. Already the girls had made her feel unworldly and naïve and since she didn't want the men to think that about her as well she took the smoke and copying the way she'd seen others take a toke and hold their breath, she took a long drag, trying not gag. She coughed slightly and someone handed her a bottle and she took a hefty swig of the claret.

She sat quietly as the joint was passed around and watched Damien busily rolling fresh smokes.

Then she stared into the flames of the small fire, tuning out of the talk and bursts of laughter. Pictures began to flare and form . . . a bushfire at
Heatherbrae
where gum trees had exploded into flame, scenes of the war in Vietnam she'd seen on television, Bradley's face flickering for an instant, then a volcano was erupting.

She became aware that PJ was nudging her.

‘What do you see ?' he whispered. ‘In the fire?'

‘A volcano going off!' And she started to laugh. Suddenly it seemed terrifically funny.

Catherine had little recall of the drive back with PJ except they talked and laughed a lot. Dinner was underway and several more people had dropped by and with music blaring, food and drinks circulating, the night had turned into a party. As the evening wore on Lief played his guitar and Summer sang, and the mood became more mellow. Some people were in deep intense discussions, others simply sat alone, lost in their own trip. Several of the women were gossiping and there was much laughter. No-one was being a host or hostess, everyone did their own thing. It was relaxed but stimulating and fun. Catherine had drifted between various groups, people were friendly but nothing was expected of her and she felt wonderfully contented. She kept remembering the board ride and it began to assume huge proportions, the wave was bigger, the ride faster, PJ's touch more intense. She could feel his skin on hers as though it was burning. She rubbed her arms.

‘Are you cold? Okay?' PJ sat beside her.

‘Hot, not cold. I was thinking of that ride on the board with you. I'd like to do it again.'

‘Any time.' He smiled in the soft light from the lanterns strung around the verandah. ‘Be careful. You might get hooked.'

‘I need a walk.' The music, candles, incense were suddenly cloying.

PJ took her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Good idea.'

They walked in the moonlight along the narrow dirt road. She breathed deeply. The perfume from the night flowers seemed almost overpowering, she could hear the surf out on the reef and the call of a night bird on the hill. She held PJ's hand tightly as all her senses seemed so fine-tuned, so alert, her nerve ends close to the surface. She'd never felt so alive. Or so happy.

‘I have no idea why I feel so . . . great,' she said.

PJ chuckled. ‘It's the pot. Don't tell me that you've never smoked before.'

They got to the beach and Catherine suddenly dropped his hand and sprinted along the sand, skipping, dancing and twirling until she fell over, laughing in delight.

PJ reached her and took her outstretched hand. ‘You all right?'

‘Fine, never better. Let's go for a swim!' she danced towards the water's edge and PJ followed her.

Catherine waded into the water, her cotton skirt getting wet, sticking to her legs, before she tripped and sat in the water's edge with a splash. PJ sat in the water beside her. They looked up at the moon. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world for PJ to lean over and take her in his arms and kiss her.

PJ's kiss electrified her. She kissed him back wildly as if afraid to lose the sensations rolling through her body. Together they fell back, half in the water, half on the wet sand. She pulled him on top of her, clinging to him, trying to absorb his body so it flowed into her own.

She didn't recall their lips or their touch parting as clothes were ripped and pulled until they were naked, the coarse wet grains of sand grazing and sticking to their bodies as Catherine lay on top of PJ and he drew her to him, before rolling her beneath him where she clung to him as they made fierce love.

Catherine didn't know it, didn't hear it, as she moaned and howled aloud, her hair sunk in the sand, a wavelet trickling under her burning body as PJ continued making love to her as if it was a final act, a desperate, wild save-me-before-I-die plea, too pleasurable to let go.

Later, she remembered they swam, they laughed, they kissed, naked in the sea before calmly, quietly, walking back to
Nirvana.
Candles burned, the music was low, there was a murmur of voices in the darkness. No-one seemed to notice or care about the bedraggled figures moving slowly around the verandah, looking for towels and drying their sandy bodies before sliding into a hammock together, to fall asleep entwined and satiated.

In the morning, Catherine awoke with a dry mouth, her skin irritated by sand and initially only vague memories of the previous night. She sat up and Pink was beside the hammock. She could smell coffee and something baking. The sun was shining and a bird was singing.

‘Hi, Catherine. You've been asleep.'

‘Hi, Pink. I certainly have. Is it late?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Where is everyone?'

‘Around. What're you doing today?'

‘Gosh, Pink, I'll have to go back to my hotel.'

‘Coffee?' called Summer.

‘Sounds good.' Catherine swung her legs over the hammock looking at her dishevelled skirt and sandy T-shirt. Summer handed her a mug of coffee and made no comment about her appearance or the previous night.

‘Sadie's baked banana bread. Plenty of eggs. Help yourself. I'm taking Ziggy to the beach,' said Summer. ‘Get him out of Pink's hair while she has a lesson.'

‘Thanks. What lesson is that?'

‘Sadie is teaching her to read and write. Can't start too early.'

Catherine went to the outdoor bathroom and brushed her hair, put on some make-up and tried to piece together the night before. Only Lief was around, so she assumed the other boys had all gone surfing. She was glad PJ wasn't there, she didn't know how to face him. But it was a momentary sense of awkwardness.

Fragments of their lovemaking flashed through her mind and made her tremble. Had it been as mind-blowingly wonderful as she thought or had the pot confused her and made it all seem more magical and passionate than it was? She knew she could claim that she'd smoked and drunk too much and had had no control of her actions. But who was she going to make excuses to? The women seemed unfazed, Sadie had waved, pointed at the breakfast table and mouthed ‘Help yourself' as she listened to Pink recite the alphabet. Somehow Catherine knew PJ would be frank and honest and not expect her to demean what had happened by saying she didn't know what she was doing. And Bradley didn't and wouldn't ever know. For the moment she had no guilt. This was not the setting, place or people to make excuses for what had happened. It had happened. It wouldn't happen again. Move on.

Over breakfast Lief, Summer and Catherine talked about their early schooling experiences, Lief passed on the news that a chopper had been flying low through the valley and that there was talk of a hotel being built on their side of the coast.

‘Development for Japanese tourists apparently. Be a pain in the ass if it goes ahead. It will bring too many tourists. We might have to move on from Hawaii, to Indonesia, to other islands.'

‘Would you do that? Just up and move and live somewhere else to surf where it's unspoiled?' asked Catherine. ‘At least here you have the quiet part of the coast but over the other side of the island is civilisation.'

‘It's what we've all been doing, moving around where the wind takes us,' said Summer. ‘But with kids, you need doctors and stuff.'

‘Enjoy it while we can, I say,' said Lief. ‘I'm heading out. See you, Catherine.'

He left and Catherine helped wash up. ‘I'd better be going. I'm supposed to see some Hawaiian friends. Thanks for letting me stay.'

Summer shrugged. ‘Any time. I'm sure we'll see you again.' She gave Catherine a hug.

Catherine wasn't sure whether her comment was just a casual remark or whether she was hinting Catherine would no doubt be back to see PJ.

Catherine said goodbye to Sadie and kissed Pink. ‘See you again, Pink. Thanks, Sadie. I feel I've known you all for ages.'

‘It's how it is. Come by before you leave the island.'

‘I'll try. I only have a few days left. And a lot to do.'

Before she left, Catherine took a few more photos of
Nirvana
nestled in its lush surrounds, a place where people cruised in, stayed a while and moved on. She wouldn't forget it easily.

No-one saw her return to the Palm Grove. Her room was spotless and neat, the bed still folded down for the night with a flower on the pillow. She tugged at the sheets, rumpled the bed and stepped into the shower. As the water ran over her, rinsing away the sand, she started to tremble and suddenly she had her face in her hands, weeping uncontrollably.

10

I
T WAS COOL IN
the coconut grove. There were few early morning risers about. Catherine wandered by the ponds where the wild ducks paddled among the water lilies. The Palm Grove buildings might need a freshen up but the grounds and the grove were beautiful, mysterious, romantic. Catherine imagined them to be like the secluded gardens of a maharajah's palace, the grounds built for a prince and his concubines, or, perhaps, she thought, they were perfect for a dreamy Hawaii Hollywood movie set.

It was a calming place, with the serenity of still water, stately palm trees and silence, save for an occasional bird sweeping through the grove and the sounds of Eleanor's caged exotic birds.

It had taken a day to start to deal with the enormity of her encounter with PJ. It was as though it had been a dream, except – if she allowed herself – she could still feel his physical imprint on her skin and in her body and she quivered at the recall. But no matter what she felt and no matter what the circumstances, the bald, damaging fact remained. She'd been unfaithful to Bradley. She tried to put the whole thing out of her head, pretend it had never happened. But sneaking into the pores of her skin came the remembered sensations of PJ's touch and the exquisite power of his lovemaking, something more wonderful than anything she'd ever experienced before. But, she thought, it will never happen again. I'll never ever let Bradley down again.

A long canoe, paddled by one of the torch lighters standing in his malo, slid along the canal under flowering trees. Sitting in its centre was Mouse, the Hawaiian gardener and balladeer, strumming his guitar and singing an Hawaiian love song. He gave Catherine a quick wave and she remembered that a sunrise wedding was to have taken place under a flower-bedecked canopy by the main pond. The wedding breakfast must be underway and Mouse was providing part of the entertainment.

Catherine felt a sudden tear trickle down her cheek, shocking herself. It was so little time ago that she and Bradley were here, newlyweds . . . looking forward to a future together, lives entwined, adoring each other . . . At least that's what she had believed then. How could she have made love to another man such a short time later? She berated herself. What had happened to her?