Free Night Beach by Kirsty Eagar Page B

session.’
    He
stares
at
the
screen,
a
muscle
flexing
in
his
jaw.
‘That’s
Matty
Kenda.’

    Matty
Kenda
surfs
at
Walls.
He’s
a
bit
older
than
Kane
and
he
used
to
surf
    professionally,
but
now
he’s
half-‐arsed
about
that
and
competitive
about
his
    recreational
drugs.
That’s
the
talk
anyway.
I
know
Matty
Kenda,
but
I
don’t
know
him,
    not
even
well
enough
to
nod
to.
He
looks
haggard,
older
than
he
is,
but
his
brown
eyes
    blaze
and
his
surfing’s
electric.
    We
contemplate
the
shot
in
silence.

    ‘Actually,
he
stayed
over
there.’

    ‘Sorry?’

    ‘Toby.
He
stayed
on
there
a
bit
longer.’
Kane
leans
back
in
his
chair,
his
hands
behind
his
    head,
seeming
relaxed
in
every
way
except
for
that
blank
voice.

    ‘Oh.’
I
pause,
not
really
sure
what
to
say.
‘That’s
good.’

    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘So
did
things
go
okay
between
you
guys?’

    His
gaze
shifts
to
me
and
he
draws
his
teeth
across
his
bottom
lip.
I
stop
breathing,
    afraid
I’ve
put
my
foot
in
it.
    Then
he
says,
‘Nuh.’
And
he
gives
me
his
hyena
laugh,
the
one
that
lights
up
his
face
and
    sounds
slightly
deranged.
I
love
that
laugh;
it
makes
me
smile.
‘But
what
are
you
gonna
    do,
hey?’

    He
turns
his
attention
to
the
screen,
flicking
back
to
his
barrel
shot
and
then
forward
    again
to
Matty
Kenda’s,
as
though
comparing
the
two.
‘These
are
good.
These
are
the
    money
shots.
That
island
.
.
.
I
tell
ya,
that
island
was
where
it
all
.
.
.
’
His
voice
trails
off
    and
he
squints
at
the
screen,
rubbing
a
hand
over
his
shorn
hair
as
though
trying
to
    remember
something.
    Then
he
mutters,
‘The
smoke.’

    ‘What?’

    Kane
hasn’t
heard
me.
He
seems
to
be
locked
inside
his
own
head,
and
he
draws
a
    jagged
breath.

    Then
he
blinks,
coming
to.
‘Yeah-‐no,
what?
Still
jet-‐lagged.’
I
hear
him
swallow.
‘What
    were
we
talking
about?’

    ‘The
island,’
I
say,
feeling
uneasy.

    ‘Yeah
.
.
.
the
island.’
His
legs
start
jiggling
again.
‘Didn’t
think
we
were
gonna
make
it
    there,
hey.’

    ‘Why
not?’

    ‘Aw,
Marco
had
a
hard
time
finding
a
boat
that
would
take
us.
Basically
had
to
bribe
the
    locals.
And
then
there
was
all
this
extra
hassle
because
Toby
made
us
late,
and
they
    didn’t
want
to
go
at
night.’
    ‘How
come?’

    He
gives
me
this
look.
‘It’s
forbidden.’
Then
he
flickers
his
tongue
at
me
in
a
way
that’s
    suggestive,
and
I
laugh,
looking
down
at
my
hands
so
that
my
hair
hides
my
face.
    He’s
quiet,
and
I
just
know
he’s
waiting
for
me
to
look
at
him.
But
I
can’t.
I’m
frozen.
God,
    why
do
I
get
like
this?
Why
can’t
I
give
it
back
to
him,
the
way
I
would
if
he
was
one
of
    the
guys
from
school?

    I
hear
his
chair
scrape
across
the
tiles.
A
moment
later
his
lips
are
pressed
against
my
    ear,
and
he
whispers,
‘
’Cause
that’s
when
the
bad
demon
shit
happens.’

    I
duck
away,
tingling
like
I’ve
been
given
an
electric
shock,
giving
another
dumb
laugh.
    But
when
I
glance
at
him,
Kane’s
not
playing
around
anymore.
He’s
rubbing
his
hands
    together,
all
business.
    ‘Better
get
up
there,
I
s’pose.
See
old
Brazza
and
Mazza.’
    ‘Aren’t
you
cold?
Do
you
want
a
jumper
on
or
something?’

    ‘Yeah,
righto.
Give
us
a
sec.’

    He
heads
into
his
bedroom,
switching
on
the
overhead
light,
which
cuts
the
gloom.
I
    study
the
photo
of
Matty
Kenda
for
want
of
something
better
to
do.
    From
the
bedroom,
I
hear
spraying
noises
and
then
drawers
being
opened.
I
click
back
    to