Read Online Darkwater by Georgia Blain - Free Book Online Page A

regularly sharpened our skills on each other. I knew how to make a quip, fast as lightning, giving me an air of confidence that could fool. But for the first time I was finding myself without a quick response. Silent, I just tried to fit the board in my bag, hoping I could manage it on my bike.
    Kicking the rotten figs out from under my gym boots, I wheeled out onto the bitumen, still warm from the day’s heat and cracked from the roots of the tree. He had one foot on his board and was ready to start the long push up the hill, but he turned to look back at me once more, the smile still on his face.
    â€˜You haven’t told me.’
    I looked at him, puzzled.
    â€˜Your name. Louise? Diane? Jessica?’ He had his head cocked to one side, and he rubbed at his chin with the palm of his hand, the mock quizzical expression on his face enough to make me also smile. ‘A deal’s a deal.’
    I hated my name. I always had.
    â€˜Why?’ I used to ask Dee. ‘What mother imposes a lifetime of suffering on her child?’
    â€˜What mother doesn’t?’ she would always reply.
    I kept my face impassive, daring him to mock me. ‘Winter,’ I finally said. ‘It’s Winter.’
    I was used to it, the jokes about the cold, the rain, the frost; I’d heard them all. I’d been through it each year as new teachers got to know who we were, as I had to respond to rollcalls, or answer to directives. I waited for what would follow, but he just turned his back on me, waving as he did so.
    â€˜Nice,’ he called out, the wheels of his board almost drowning out that one word, and he began to push himself, in smooth, easy glides towards the peak of the hill, leaving me alone in the oncoming evening.
    I waited for a moment, not wanting him to think I was following, and then I headed out of there as fast as I could.

eight
    Fact: The police want to question Amanda’s friends again.
    That was a truth, and around it there hovered a whole host of ugly possibilities. Did they think one of her friends knew what had happened to her and hadn’t said? Worse still, did they think one of them had killed her?
    Dee said they were simply treating her death as suspicious. Suspicious meant she was either murdered or had killed herself. At least that was how Dee explained it to us. And the police had to investigate both options thoroughly.
    Two detectives had visited us the night after I had my first skateboarding lesson. They had called Tom during the day to arrange a time. ‘They promised it will be informal,’ he had assured Dee. ‘They’re talking to all of her friends, and thought it would be best if they had a chat to Joe at home.’
    Dee didn’t respond at first. She was leaning against the kitchen bench, arms folded, a fine sheen of sweat across her face from the heat of the dishwashing water. Her hair, which is curly, had gone even frizzier in the humidity, the long reddish ringlets escaping from the scarf she had used to tie it up.
    Tom was still in his tennis clothes. He always played on Fridays after work. Dee used to join him, but in the last six months she had stopped. She was a terrible player and it bored her. ‘Besides,’ she explained. ‘I have too much to do.’
    She put the tea towel down. She had seen Roxie at the greengrocer’s that afternoon. ‘Poor woman.’ Dee shook her head. ‘I didn’t know what to say to her.’ She unplugged the water from the sink. ‘And that stupid cow who’s taken over the grocer’s wouldn’t let Roxie pay with a cheque. She said the last one bounced. Even if it did, which I find hard to believe, she could have been a bit more tactful, or let it go considering the circumstances. I just told her to put it on our account and that Roxie could fix us up when she wanted.’
    Joe was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to the window, the night sky soft and dark behind him,