Title: That Summer

Fandom: Seachange 

(http://abc.net.au/seachange/)

Author: cgb (luberluber@yahoo.com.au)

Category: Max/ Laura

Archive: Yes, please. 

Rating: PG

Summary: " No matter how he tried to avoid it he

always seemed to be where the bombs were going off."

Author's Notes: Written for the backwards fic

challenge at the Bordy. To Tea goes anything that's

worth anything.

*

He blamed it on the cold air that blew in from the bay

hinting of Autumn. He blamed it on the boathouse, the

finality of carrying Elena's books away from the place

she had last opened them. To all things an end and in

a rare moment of optimism he had hoped for a new

beginning. 

"I used to dream of this," she told him as they looked

out across the bay.  She was already in long sleeves -

a thin knitted pullover that didn't look warm enough.

"I dreamt of somewhere like this." 

"Pearl Bay? You have strange dreams, Laura Gibson." 

"You were born here - you don't appreciate it like I

do." 

He did. He didn't say so often but there were nights

in Tel Aviv or Kosovo or Capetown or wherever the hell

he was that he truly believed he'd lost paradise.

Wasn't that what he'd told a young merchant sailor in

Sarajevo? Dan was looking for a home and Max just

happened to have one. 

He appreciated it then. He appreciated it with her and

them and all their memories leading up to that moment.

He kissed her. He kissed her because he thought it was

time. Later he remembered he'd always had lousy

timing. It made him a great war correspondent. No

matter how he tried to avoid it he always seemed to be

where the bombs were going off. Dan said he either had

a calling or someone was trying to kill him. Dan knew

how to put things in perspective. 

And it was all wrong, of course, and there was no

poetry to everything that happened afterward - nothing

he could write in a novel or in verse. He wondered

when he'd started to believe and he knows it was that

day in the Court House when Meredith had fired a gun

outside, and the Summer had started with a siege. 

The wind was cold across the bay now. The Summer was

finally over. 

*

January turned into February leaving him to wonder

where the days went. He slept in most mornings,

preferring to stay up late and go about his business

in the cool night air. 

Carmen nagged him about the paper. "We need a regular

edition, Max. How can we get advertisers when our

distribution is so sporadic?" 

"Advertisers? How very entrepreneurial of you, Lois.

Quite the capitalist you are." 

Carmen rolled her eyes. He was beginning to admire the

way she took him with good humour. 

He started writing the columns then - meandering

pieces about the Bay and its curious inhabitants. It

was a love story in its own strange way, because it

was Laura who suggested he turn his talent to

something close to home. She would have been pleased

to know she was right. 

The anniversary of his wife's death came and went and

the incessant inquiries about his wellbeing weren't

unbearable this time. 

Laura brought him a casserole and somehow it was just

the right thing to do. 

"I was so pleased when she came here," she told him.

"I thought I'd finally found someone I could talk to."

"You couldn't talk to Diver?" 

"It was different." 

"Of course." He smiles. On this day, of all days, he

smiles.  

"She would have been proud of you," she says. And he

doesn't know how to answer because she's right again

and that makes three for three. 

There's meaning in all this and Elena probably knew

what it was which is why she left Laura that note. 

There had to be a time, he knew that, but he wanted

something more than a date on a calendar to know when

his period of mourning was over. He wanted a sign and

he wasn't the kind of person to notice when he

received one so he wondered whether this was the limbo

he was destined for. For a person who didn't believe

in answers he spent a lot of time looking for them. 

But if this was all anything amounted to then, he had

to admit, he could live like this. 

She swirls her wine in her glass and looks at him with

a furrowed brow. One day, he thinks, she'll figure him

out.

*

He woke up from a dream about his high school Maths

teacher. He woke up quickly, his hearing on full

alert, listening for the sound of missiles - gunfire.

And then he noticed the dark, rotting wood of the

boathouse, heard the sea lapping against the boats

tied to the jetty and he let out his breath in one

great puff, pushing it from his lungs as though it

refused to leave. He woke from dreams like this.

His high school Maths teacher was called Miss Swenson

because in those days they still called women "Miss".

She was short and blonde but in the dream her hair was

darker and he knew that Laura Gibson was starting to

infiltrate his dreams. 

Which shouldn't have surprised him - but it did. 

He took his swim earlier that morning and he was

heading home to the boathouse by the time she arrived.

"You're done early today," she said. 

"I couldn't sleep," he said. 

"Must be the heat." She passed him a mug of tea and

her fingers brushed his as he took it from her.

*

"You carried me out of the pub?" It was his third

coffee for the morning. On days like this he thanked

god for Dan and, more importantly, Dan's coffee

machine. 

Laura sipped a short black. "Well Angus helped. I

could hardly have done it on my own." 

"Did I... did I say anything? To anyone?" He loaded the

'anyone' but they both knew who he meant. 

"You were comatose, Max. We had to check your

breathing to see if you were still alive. Especially

after we banged your head on the boatshed steps." 

He rubbed his still sore head. He had blamed it on the

alcohol. "Ah."

"Sorry." 

"Don't be. I hope I didn't ruin your evening." 

"Not at all. In fact it was rather timely. You passed

out just as the kissing started. I got to wave

everyone off and attend to your needs."

"Everyone?" 

"Griff, Simmo, Bucket..." 

He laughed. It made his head hurt but he laughed

anyway. "Laura Gibson - the prize catch of Pearl Bay."

"Shut up, Max." She took another sip of her coffee. 

He emptied another packet of beans into the grinder.

The sun was less scorching today. A balmy 32. It was a

summer full of small mercies. 

*

She told him she only learnt to hold her liquour in

her late twenties and he laughed. 

"What kind of university student were you, Laura?" 

"The studious kind. I did my articles at Sachs and

Mayer, remember."

He thought he would have liked to have known her then

- when they were younger and less flexible. They would

have argued, They argue now, but back then they would

have the courage of their convictions. Now they affect

each other, gradually tear away at each other's walls.

He thinks he would like to have seen her grow.

*

New Year, like Christmas, was celebrated at the pub.

Children, the elderly, pet dogs,  rabbits, and eels

all congregated at the Tropicana to drink lemonade and

cheap champagne and to complain about the heat. At

midnight the children would run down to the beach to

wave sparklers and watch the town's meagre fireworks

display - it was a much anticipated event. 

Between Christmas and the new year the mercury rose

from 26 to 36. The town retreated indoors to escape

the heat and seek air conditioned environs. 

By New Years Eve everyone had cabin fever. Including

Max. He was at the pub by 4 pm. 

By 8 pm he was drunk and sitting in a corner next to

Angus who was also drunk. He held a beer in one hand

and a postcard from Karen in the other and from time

to time he sobbed and pleaded with Max to tell him

"why". Max patted his shoulder and insisted she would

be back. She would. 

At five minutes to midnight, Laura came to sit beside

him. "Stay right where you are," she said. 

"Why?" 

"If Griff tries to kiss me I need you to intervene." 

"Laura that's hardly in the spiriss... the spirish of

New Years." 

Beside him Angus giggled. "Spirish...," he echoed.

Laura frowned. "Forget it, I'll go find someone else..."

She got up to leave and he grabbed her arm. "Wait..." he

said, forcing her to sit down again. "You want... you

want me to kish you?" 

She gave him a look that suggested she was weighing

her options. "No," she said finally. 

"I'll kish you, Laura," Angus said. Max glared at him.

"No - no, I won't..." 

"That's very nice of you, Angus," Laura said. "But I

think I'll just go to the bathroom or something..." She

looked around furtively. 

"Ten seconds everyone!" Meredith yelled across the

bar. "Nine, Eight, seven..." 

The countdown was loud, each second pounding against

his ears. For a moment he felt the room tilting

sideways and he struggled to maintain equilibrium. And

then the room slipped again and he felt himself

falling sideways. He gripped the chair hard, fighting

to remain upright. He had to stay together. He had to

make it to midnight because the prize at midnight was

kissing Laura and he wanted this. At this moment he

wanted this like he'd wanted nothing before.

And then everyone was cheering. "Happy New Year!"  

Party poppers and singing erupted around him as he

slid from his chair to the floor. "Happieee new

yearsh, Laura," he said as the room went black. 

*

The Summer came late that year. Christmas was cold and

they wore jackets as they stood outside the pub

watching Bob's enthusiastic Santa Claus terrifying the

small children. Bob complained about being the town's

first choice for Santa but the only other volunteer

was Bucket. A tight smile from Heather and a frown

from Jules and Bob was stuffing himself into the

costume muttering about town spirit and his image as a

public figure.

"He does that every year," Meredith said. 

"Poor Bucket," said Laura. "He'll never get to play

Santa as long as Bob's alive." 

"Don't let anyone hear you say that, dear," Meredith

said. "I don't want Bucket getting ideas..." And she was

serious. 

He raised his eyebrows at them both and smiled.

Meredith gave him a cautioning look before returning

to her place behind the bar. 

Laura returned his smile with a wicked grin. "Next

year we'll start a campaign," she said. She leaned her

head toward Bob. "Bucket for Santa."

"You're evil, Laura Gibson," he said, and it was one

more thing to like about her. 

*

"I'll tell you a story," she said. She was sitting on

a towel in her usual spot, drinking weak tea and

staring out at the ocean. The days were warmer now and

they were being dragged into another relentless

Summer. Soon the entire town would complain about the

heat while living for the long, hot nights filled with

promise. "That whole high-flying thing didn't come

naturally to me - I had to fake it. I faked it for so

many years I forgot that it was all an act." 

He thought about this as water ran down the tendrils

of his hair and dropped onto the sand forming tiny

craters. "Is that it?" 

"You were expecting something else?"  

"A story has narrative and structure, Laura. Personal

insights, are not stories." 

She pushed her bare feet into the sand and shifted the

granules between her toes. "Says the great novelist -

how many words did you complete at the final tally?" 

"Oh that's low, Laura. Kick a man when he's down." 

She stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout. "Poor Max.

Terminally afflicted with writer's block." 

"When I'm in therapy don't think your name won't come

up." 

Laura was unfazed. "You know," she said. "You should

write a book about this place - about Pearl Bay." 

He snorted. "Great idea Laura, I might even follow

Kevin on his lawn mowing rounds for a day - as

research." 

She smiled. She had learned to take his cynicism in

good humour. She had learned this much from him at

least. 

"Yeah - and you know what you could call it?" 

"Amaze me."  

She stood up and shook off the sand. She threw her

arms out in a grand gesture. "'The World is My

Oyster'!"

He looked up at her, holding a hand above his eyes to

shield against the morning sun. "That's a terrible

title, Laura." 

"You know what else a story has, Max?" 

"What?" 

"An end - let me know if you ever get there." She

turned and walked away following her usual path to the

boat shed. 

He stood up and headedtowards the sea. He waded in

until he was up to his knees and then performed a

shallow dive coming up with his legs kicking a furious

rhythm. He began swimming, one arm after the other. 

Maybe this was his problem. He'd had enough of

endings. His mother, this town, Elena. Maybe it wasn't

the right time for endings. 

And besides, the Summer was just beginning. 

Fini

 

 

 

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