swimming goggles wrapped around her hand.
Senior Sergeant Harvey, he said when he got to her.
Fred, she replied.
She swapped arms, holding her right arm out in front. Shoulders freckled.
I’m Paul, he said. I came in to the station.
I know. Elliot Darling. I told you to talk to the Missing Persons Unit.
So you’ve read the report?
Fred pulled the rubber strap of her goggles over her head and pushed the goggles up to her forehead. She looked at him. They’ll tell you if they find anything, she said. As soon as they’ve got anything solid.
She pulled the goggles down over her eyes.
Can I come? he asked.
Fred scanned him, head to toe. You swim? she said.
Yep, he said. This wasn’t untrue. Both brothers had taken after their mother’s gift with technique. But it had been a long time, perhaps years since he’d swum any real distance in the ocean.
You don’t have goggles.
Don’t need them.
Fred looked down at his yellow board shorts. Be like swimming with a parachute wearing those, she said.
Paul looked down at them. Be fine, he said.
I swim out a fair way. South towards the point, about halfway. Right down to where the reef starts. It’s a good mile there and back.
Paul looked down the beach, took in the dark beyond the sandbank. Okay, he said.
I’ll be going my pace. Not waiting around.
He nodded. The woman looked puzzled by him. He was puzzled by himself. What the fuck was he doing?
Fred inhaled. She stepped into the sea.
After a pause, Paul followed. Water foamed around his ankles, cool. His breath went as each churning wall hit his legs and waist, the waves small but loud, rumbling from within, whooshing and sighing as they passed.
Fred stepped through each one, comfortable. A swell above head height reared in front of them. Paul took in the green dark within it as the wave flexed on the sandbank, glimpsed the ocean beyond it, opaque, like looking through a window when the lights are off. Paul stopped where he was as the wave broke in a clean uniform arc ten metres in front of him, a blade coming down. Then the boom and thump of water, the synchronisedupshot of vapour, suspended in front of them. Fred slipped under it. Paul crouched on the sandbank. Waited the half second for it, eyes closed. Gripped the sand with his fingers. When it hit him he felt the weight move over him, through him. It took his legs from the sand.
When he came up he had hoped the wave had washed him back towards the beach. He hoped Fred had continued on without him. But she was there, looking back at him, turned on her back and adjusting her goggles, the now-quiet sea smooth as fish-oil slick.
Before Paul was level with her Fred rolled over, put her face to the sea, hunched her shoulders and kicked out in one movement.
Her skin glowed in the murk. Salt hot in his nostrils. He tasted it at the back of his mouth. They were only just beyond the breakers but Paul was surprised at the depth of the sea. The sandbank fell steeply away and he ignored the trench it disappeared into and the misting dark and instead took his breath on every fourth stroke, when his head was turned towards the beach. The dunes bobbing in his vision, looking further away than he expected.
So he watched the rippled bottom beneath him and the whiting that hovered over the sand, the fish almost transparent but given away by their thin shadows. Closed his eyes on each breath.
He looked down along his pale abdomen. Saw how his board shorts glowed in the murky sea, a beacon.
Then he stopped and threw his head to the surface. Tried to settle his breath. He was aware of his dangling legs. Saw blood in the water around him. There was the overcoming surge of adrenalin and then he was all animal, crazed limbs and short breaths and a bleating sound that shamed him as he heard it but that he had no control over. He kicked out towards shore andfelt the sand under foot, the water still at his neck, and began bounding towards shore.
In the shallows he felt
Senior Sergeant Harvey, he said when he got to her.
Fred, she replied.
She swapped arms, holding her right arm out in front. Shoulders freckled.
I’m Paul, he said. I came in to the station.
I know. Elliot Darling. I told you to talk to the Missing Persons Unit.
So you’ve read the report?
Fred pulled the rubber strap of her goggles over her head and pushed the goggles up to her forehead. She looked at him. They’ll tell you if they find anything, she said. As soon as they’ve got anything solid.
She pulled the goggles down over her eyes.
Can I come? he asked.
Fred scanned him, head to toe. You swim? she said.
Yep, he said. This wasn’t untrue. Both brothers had taken after their mother’s gift with technique. But it had been a long time, perhaps years since he’d swum any real distance in the ocean.
You don’t have goggles.
Don’t need them.
Fred looked down at his yellow board shorts. Be like swimming with a parachute wearing those, she said.
Paul looked down at them. Be fine, he said.
I swim out a fair way. South towards the point, about halfway. Right down to where the reef starts. It’s a good mile there and back.
Paul looked down the beach, took in the dark beyond the sandbank. Okay, he said.
I’ll be going my pace. Not waiting around.
He nodded. The woman looked puzzled by him. He was puzzled by himself. What the fuck was he doing?
Fred inhaled. She stepped into the sea.
After a pause, Paul followed. Water foamed around his ankles, cool. His breath went as each churning wall hit his legs and waist, the waves small but loud, rumbling from within, whooshing and sighing as they passed.
Fred stepped through each one, comfortable. A swell above head height reared in front of them. Paul took in the green dark within it as the wave flexed on the sandbank, glimpsed the ocean beyond it, opaque, like looking through a window when the lights are off. Paul stopped where he was as the wave broke in a clean uniform arc ten metres in front of him, a blade coming down. Then the boom and thump of water, the synchronisedupshot of vapour, suspended in front of them. Fred slipped under it. Paul crouched on the sandbank. Waited the half second for it, eyes closed. Gripped the sand with his fingers. When it hit him he felt the weight move over him, through him. It took his legs from the sand.
When he came up he had hoped the wave had washed him back towards the beach. He hoped Fred had continued on without him. But she was there, looking back at him, turned on her back and adjusting her goggles, the now-quiet sea smooth as fish-oil slick.
Before Paul was level with her Fred rolled over, put her face to the sea, hunched her shoulders and kicked out in one movement.
Her skin glowed in the murk. Salt hot in his nostrils. He tasted it at the back of his mouth. They were only just beyond the breakers but Paul was surprised at the depth of the sea. The sandbank fell steeply away and he ignored the trench it disappeared into and the misting dark and instead took his breath on every fourth stroke, when his head was turned towards the beach. The dunes bobbing in his vision, looking further away than he expected.
So he watched the rippled bottom beneath him and the whiting that hovered over the sand, the fish almost transparent but given away by their thin shadows. Closed his eyes on each breath.
He looked down along his pale abdomen. Saw how his board shorts glowed in the murky sea, a beacon.
Then he stopped and threw his head to the surface. Tried to settle his breath. He was aware of his dangling legs. Saw blood in the water around him. There was the overcoming surge of adrenalin and then he was all animal, crazed limbs and short breaths and a bleating sound that shamed him as he heard it but that he had no control over. He kicked out towards shore andfelt the sand under foot, the water still at his neck, and began bounding towards shore.
In the shallows he felt
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