Free Shutterspeed by A. J. Betts Page B

places the turtle in the palm of his hand. She switches films, inserting a black-and-white roll, and Dustin has a good look at this little creature close up, with its slow blinking eyes and scratchy feet. The turtle bites solidly on Dustin’s little finger when he offers it to her. He laughs.
    Jasmine takes photos of this, then joins Dustin’s hands so he cups the turtle.
    Dustin sees in its eyes a vulnerability. ‘Does this thing think?’
    â€˜It’s an animal, Dustin. It thinks and feels.’ Jasmine smiles, adding, ‘I reckon she likes you. Lie back,’ she tells him, then before he can argue, ‘Trust me.’
    So he does. He lies back in the sand, closing his eyes against the sun. Jasmine picks up the turtle carefully with her right hand, and with her left she smooths back Dustin’s shirt, revealing his stomach.
    â€˜Hey,’ he mumbles nervously, eyes still closed. ‘This wasn’t in the contract.’
    â€˜Shut up and trust me,’ she says, placing the turtle gently on his pale skin. ‘This’ll look cool.’
    She kneels low beside him, getting the camera in line with his stomach, cutting the horizon with the turtle’s back. She flicks the camera to macro mode and takes a few shots.Dustin shakes his head at the madness of it — getting photographed with a turtle on his stomach. Luckily everyone else is at school.
    She stands above them, straddling his legs, looking down. She takes one photo of his stomach, and then — without him aware of it — a close-up shot of his face, eyes closed, smiling. It’s the most relaxed and beautiful she’s ever seen him. Jasmine doesn’t need to take another photo — she’s not going to forget this.
    It’s when Dustin sits up again that he’s caught off guard. There’s another surfer paddling out to sea now; a female in a black wetsuit, with short black hair. It hits him like a punch in the chest — it’s her. Again! It has to be. The ocean pulls at him, urging him out to sea, to follow her. To finally speak to her! She continues paddling out. But he’s aware of the strength of the undertow. He’s not a swimmer, never has been. The deepness of the ocean frightens him. The pull of waves unnerves him. The sea can swallow everything, and who knows what lies lurking below.
    Jasmine’s already up by the clubhouse, rinsing the turtle of sand. ‘Come on,’ she calls to Dustin.
    Even here in the shallows, the vastness of open water scares him. So he turns his back on the sea and walks up the beach.
    â€˜Can I borrow this?’ he asks, picking up the SLR camera.
    It’s nowhere near as powerful as the one Mrs Blackler’s lent him, but he tests out the zoom anyway. He scans the surface of the water, bumping over each crest of wave until he finds her. She’s sitting alongside the old guys out the back. And it’s not her. She looks nothing like Terri Pavish. This woman’s older, with darker skin. What the hell was he thinking?
    â€˜You taking photos now?’
    How had he imagined it could’ve been her? She wouldn’t be here anyway, he tells himself. She’d be working. She can’t be everywhere he goes. Had he made her up? He shakes his head. Fuck!
    â€˜You looked like you were in another world.’
    â€˜Let’s go,’ he says, suddenly keen to get home.
13
    He has to give Jasmine directions as she drives to his house from Cottesloe. Even though they’ve been mates for years, Jasmine’s never actually been to his house. He’s never invited her. At first she’d felt insulted, but eventually she came to understand that he likes to keep his worlds separate.
    The white Mini Minor idles in the driveway. She waits, and then, ‘Well … can I come in?’
    â€˜Do you want to?’
    She nods and Dustin swallows. There’s a barrier that isolates this house from the rest of the world. This