the place where the dolphin pool was, to stand on the spot and remember the time when all her dreams had seemed so close she could touch them. She spies another hole in the wire fencing and sees a flight of broken, uneven stone steps. She begins to make her way down, doing her best to hold back the brittle branches that scratch her at every opportunity. A spider’s web catches on her forehead and she stops while she pulls off the clinging threads. She peers ahead of her and sees they are everywhere, strung across the pathway, a few of the large arachnids spread-eagled in the centres of their lairs, waiting. No one must have come this way for a while.
Hastily she retraces her steps, and eventually finds another path running alongside a small stone wall. She passes a statue of a seal that towers above her, only just recognisable, huge chunksof its body missing, a smile still visible on its bashed-in face. The walkway eventually curves around and opens out into a wider track. In some places, the pathways are visible; in others, the sand has smothered them, along with more debris and the ever-present broken glass. She walks quickly over the bowed planks of a half-broken bridge, only realising she has gone too far when she reaches the rubble of a man-made waterfall that had been part of the boating lake. She retraces her steps and relocates the huge water tank in the middle of the scrub. If she gets across there, she will be able to orientate herself better. She walks through the bushland again, going slower this time, keeping a careful lookout for the spiders, which have trailed their webs between cars’-width gaps in the bushes. She almost treads on a large bobtail, frozen so still that if not for the catchlight in its black eyes she would think it were dead. She keeps going until she is next to the water tank, searching around for evidence of the pool. She must be practically on top of it now, but all she can see is the long, dry grass. After the close call with the bobtail, her thoughts have strayed to snakes.
How can she not find the right spot? It had been enormous – four metres deep and twenty-three long by thirteen wide. How could it disappear so completely? And it wasn’t just the pool. There had been a grandstand, stage backdrops, gates, ice-cream vendors. She can still see the crowds gathering, smell the burgers and raw fish, hear the dolphins’ creaking, squeaking calls. How can there be nothing but wasteland? If the water tank wasn’t there, she would have no idea at all where the pool should be.
She goes across to the tank and slides down until she is sitting with her back leaning against it. Disappointed, she closes her eyes so that the landscape falls away around her. And then she sees it all again.
Desi is nearly eighteen, about to take part in her first show. She has been waiting for months, trained first as an understudy, desperate for someone to leave. Now she is standing to one side as people take their places in the grandstand. She has already spied her family: she can see Jackson looking for her, while Hester chatters to Marie, and Charlie stares at the pool. Rebecca is jiggling her knees up and down as she always does when on edge. Desi says a silent thank you that Rick isn’t there.
Marie spots her and waves, and Desi raises her hand quickly then turns away. She doesn’t want to be distracted; she is nervous enough as it is. She is wearing a silver one-piece swimsuit, with silver cuffs around her wrists and ankles, and her face is smothered in make-up. She’s sure that by the end she will look like her features have melted.
The sun beats down mercilessly, as it does most days of the Western Australian summer. If she moves a fraction, she can see over the rest of the park to a small patch of sea peeping at her from the horizon. Everything today feels like a pair of eyes on her: the squat water tower looming over them; the other performers regarding her nervously as an unknown quantity; and a
Hastily she retraces her steps, and eventually finds another path running alongside a small stone wall. She passes a statue of a seal that towers above her, only just recognisable, huge chunksof its body missing, a smile still visible on its bashed-in face. The walkway eventually curves around and opens out into a wider track. In some places, the pathways are visible; in others, the sand has smothered them, along with more debris and the ever-present broken glass. She walks quickly over the bowed planks of a half-broken bridge, only realising she has gone too far when she reaches the rubble of a man-made waterfall that had been part of the boating lake. She retraces her steps and relocates the huge water tank in the middle of the scrub. If she gets across there, she will be able to orientate herself better. She walks through the bushland again, going slower this time, keeping a careful lookout for the spiders, which have trailed their webs between cars’-width gaps in the bushes. She almost treads on a large bobtail, frozen so still that if not for the catchlight in its black eyes she would think it were dead. She keeps going until she is next to the water tank, searching around for evidence of the pool. She must be practically on top of it now, but all she can see is the long, dry grass. After the close call with the bobtail, her thoughts have strayed to snakes.
How can she not find the right spot? It had been enormous – four metres deep and twenty-three long by thirteen wide. How could it disappear so completely? And it wasn’t just the pool. There had been a grandstand, stage backdrops, gates, ice-cream vendors. She can still see the crowds gathering, smell the burgers and raw fish, hear the dolphins’ creaking, squeaking calls. How can there be nothing but wasteland? If the water tank wasn’t there, she would have no idea at all where the pool should be.
She goes across to the tank and slides down until she is sitting with her back leaning against it. Disappointed, she closes her eyes so that the landscape falls away around her. And then she sees it all again.
Desi is nearly eighteen, about to take part in her first show. She has been waiting for months, trained first as an understudy, desperate for someone to leave. Now she is standing to one side as people take their places in the grandstand. She has already spied her family: she can see Jackson looking for her, while Hester chatters to Marie, and Charlie stares at the pool. Rebecca is jiggling her knees up and down as she always does when on edge. Desi says a silent thank you that Rick isn’t there.
Marie spots her and waves, and Desi raises her hand quickly then turns away. She doesn’t want to be distracted; she is nervous enough as it is. She is wearing a silver one-piece swimsuit, with silver cuffs around her wrists and ankles, and her face is smothered in make-up. She’s sure that by the end she will look like her features have melted.
The sun beats down mercilessly, as it does most days of the Western Australian summer. If she moves a fraction, she can see over the rest of the park to a small patch of sea peeping at her from the horizon. Everything today feels like a pair of eyes on her: the squat water tower looming over them; the other performers regarding her nervously as an unknown quantity; and a
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