‘She explained why she was calling. He was pretty surprised to hear from her. He explained that you two had broken up.’
‘He didn’t tell me. I haven’t heard from him at all.’ Even though he knew her grandmother was in the hospital? Even though he knew how much Phoebe adores her? She clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palm.
Without even looking at her, her father reaches one hand to her lap and quietly unclenches her hand, giving her fingers a little squeeze before returning his hand to the steering wheel.
‘You’re better off without him, love.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.’
‘That’s OK. You would have done eventually.’
Whyhadn’tshe told them as soon as he left?
‘I think I was embarrassed.’
‘You have nothing to be embarrassed about.’
‘Even though I’m terrible at relationships?’
‘You are not terrible at relationships. You just haven’t met the right person yet.’
She knows her dad is one of the most biased people in the world, but it still feels good, his unwavering belief in her. As heturns left and the car slows, it hits her where they are heading. Another winding lane and then the car is pulling to a halt, tyres crunching on gravel.
‘Dad, what are we doing here? We should get to the hospital.’
‘We’ll go in a bit. But first we need to do this. You need this. I can see it in your face and the way you haven’t stopped chewing on your nails since you arrived.’
She looks down at her hands and the livid red that rims her bitten fingernails.
‘I’m just worried about Nan. And the break-up has been shit.’
‘It’s not just that, though,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I’ve noticed it for a while. You haven’t been looking after yourself. You need a break. Come on.’
He opens the door and, once she’s out too, he throws her one of the bags, slinging the other over his shoulders. Phoebe is hit by a blast of salty air and the sound of seagulls wheeling in the sky above them. Around them are a few other cars, but mostly the car park is empty. A sandy path leads towards the dunes, where marram grass waves in the brisk morning breeze.
‘Shoes off, Phoebe Harrison.’ He is already leaning to pull off his own deck shoes, so Phoebe does the same, knowing there’s no point arguing with him.
As soon as she feels the sand between her bare toes, memories come rushing back of trips to the beach as a child. Running carefree on the sand, racing into the salty waves and swimming until her teeth chattered and her limbs ached.
He leads the way and Phoebe follows in silence. For a while,they are surrounded by sand and grass and sheltered from the wind. And then they reach the summit of the dunes and the view opens up before them: a long stretch of sandy beach dotted with shells and seaweed and a wide, open sea, glinting in the morning light. There’s something about the view that makes Phoebe feel as though her chest is opening.
‘Pretty good, huh?’ says her father, turning to catch her expression.
‘Pretty good. It always has been.’
‘You haven’t been back in a while though.’
‘No.’
‘Come on, let’s go down to our usual spot.’
They head for a section of sand that’s far enough away from the car park to always be quiet, and where the steep slope of the dunes creates shelter from the sea wind. They drop their bags, her father sitting down and gesturing for her to join him. He scoots closer and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She leans her head against him, remembering all the times they sat like this when she was little, him providing a human windbreak when it was particularly wild on the beach, Phoebe on one side of him and Seth on the other.
But as she thinks of it, other memories come rushing into her mind too, recollections of days from her childhood that were very much not beach days.
‘I remember coming here by myself one morning when I was recovering from my first depressive episode,’ her father says suddenly, as if sensing the thoughts that have entered Phoebe’s mind. ‘We used to come here as a family a lot too, of course, but there was something about coming here early inthe morning to watch the sea alone that I found very soothing. I still do it most days. I particularly like it on the wet and wild ones. More often than not, the weather will blow through before too long and the sun will come out.’
As her father speaks, Phoebe’s fingers reach subconsciously to her arm, tracing the letters of her tattoo the way she so often does.This too shall pass. It’s something her father used to repeat to himself on the tough days, something that helped him through when the clouds descended.
