Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

December 12th

Shit! Jack is such a soft touch (or do I mean sweetie), it looks as though Jo has wormed her way in and has got an invite to the holiday. Bad news!!! Helen says Jo keeps talking about Jack and how they groped at some party and that they have unfinished business that will be finished that week. Yeah? Well have I got news for her!

December 13th

Caroline is being a bitch again—some things never change. I really don’t know what’s up with her, but she’s got all high and mighty at Dad. Don’t even know what it was about, but they were going at it tonight. Dad got really mad. Mum just sat and tried to ignore it all and that got Caroline even madder. Anyway, when it was over I tried to talk to Caroline, she just told me to FO and mind my business. Then she said that I wouldn’t understand because all I wanted was everyone to be happy and play happy families and that our family was just full of shit and Mum and Dad were just hypocrites. Christ, I only went to see if she was OK. Polly came in and said to ignore her. Caroline was really getting on her nerves as well. I don’t know what I’ve done to make Caroline dislike me so much. She doesn’t feel like a sister any more.

December 14th

OH NOOOO. Jack says his dad isn’t sure about the week any more and thinks he should be there. Helen says that the trip will be off if he goes. I mean, he’s OK, but he’s such a miserable old bugger. There’s no point in going if he’s there. Oh well, I suppose it might keep Jo away from Jack. Still, it’s really disappointing.—Caroline ignored me today. No apology, just a sour look whenever she saw me. Thanks for nothing.

December 16th

It’s all ON!!!!!! Fantastic. Daddy Mitchell (God bless him, always said he was wonderful—he, he, he) says he’s sure everything will be fine and he doesn’t want to go up there anyway. We leave in two days, and then back on Xmas eve. It has come around so quick—I don’t feel ready at all. There is so much to do. Mum got a bit funny about it all today, now she knows it’s all definite, then she started asking questions about Jack and Mike, even though she knows them (left out Duncan though—does she know something I don’t??). Polly was totally cool. She reminded Mum that she’d gone to Rotorua with her mates. Mum tried to say that was different because Polly was older. Poll put her right and said she was the same age. A bit of a lie I think. Polly just gave me that smile. Caroline grunted. She’s still not talking to me. One of the many good things about this trip will be getting away from her. SO—here we come Ohawini Bay.

December 17th

Off tomorrow. No time to chat—too busy. Went shopping for supplies and some Xmas pressies. Jack is in good form, Jo is a bitch. I’ve decided to sign off whilst away. So goodbye for a week, I’ll tell you all the goss when I get back. And boy—do I hope to have some goss!!!

T here’s something almost magical about the first taste of adult freedom. It’s an experience we wait years to enjoy and edge toward bit by painful bit. How we yearn for the moment we break free, when the world is suddenly there for the taking because we enter as a fully paid up member. Whatever our upbringing, we’re rarely prepared for this sudden jolt and often spend years coming to terms with what happened. I wasn’t ready for this onslaught and, boy, have I paid the price, but I do know when I entered the grown-ups’ club. It was during the four-hour drive from Auckland to the bach, twelve years ago with my friends Mike, Helen, Duncan, Mary and Jo.

Duncan’s father lent us his old blue Falcon. It was a tight squeeze for the six of us together with our gear and food for a week, but we rotated the passenger seat to bring some relief to the four in the back. The sky was clear when we left Auckland early in the morning and by the time we approached the sea, the sun was ferocious. At midday, I got the passenger seat so that I could direct Duncan to the bach. Finally I had the cold air blower.

We drove through Oakura Bay, the glistening sea to our right, and then along the single-file track through the rocks that divided the two bays. Across the beach was the tiny encampment of baches. Jo and Helen sat at the rear windows, let their hair blow in the wind and squealed with delight. Duncan, who until then had shown admirable restraint in his driving, slammed the accelerator and executed some well-timed handbrake turns, spewing plumes of sand off the rear wheels. He was much more careful in negotiating the concrete ramp from the beach to the houses. Once at the bach we all escaped the car as though it was a burning wagon and sprawled across the grass. Mike cracked some jokes and everyone laughed.

Mike was the closest thing I had to a best friend. I say closest because he was a friend to everyone, but seldom gave himself exclusively to one person. There were always different facets of his personality he tailored for the person and their circumstances. I suspect there were many people throughout his life who thought Mike might be their best friend but were unsure. We had become closer only in the last couple of years and we were too old to stand in the playground and announce ourselves as best friends as children do.

However, for me the uncertainty of our status was more about me than him. I never felt able to give myself to someone, never felt able to surrender. I always thought I should hold something back and keep some of myself in reserve. After all, look at what happened to Dad: he gave himself completely and then Mum left without ever contacting him again. Her betrayal left him defiled and spent. Why should I let that happen to me? So there was always this reticence with my classmates. They saw my behaviour as aloofness, even arrogance born of my gifts. A small group rejected that easy conclusion. Those at the bach at least accepted me, but the price was all of us being treated as a clique by the others in our school. I bore considerable guilt for this, but it wasn’t enough to break my fear of getting too close to them. There was just this fucking wall and I thought it would always stand. But walls have weaknesses and forces were gathering.

Duncan was more Mike’s friend than mine, but I liked him and we always got on well. Helen was destined to be Mike’s girl, we all knew that; Mary had been Helen’s best friend since primary school. As for Jo, I don’t really know how she ended up with us, although I had some history with her. So we were all friends in varying degrees and I enjoyed being with them as we laughed about the oven that had brought us to the bach.

The car took just five minutes to unpack. Once finished we headed, not for the sensible reassembly of our belongings in the house, but to the sea. This was a holiday after all. There’s nothing quite like the first sting of the sea: all those echoes of holidays past fill the ears along with the water, along with screaming children, cries of parents, salt on the lips and eyes blinking against the sharp reflection of sun from the water. We splashed and played like kids, throwing each other in the water, spraying water and running to the beach for brief rests before returning with a run and a dive. There were only a handful of people spread out on the kilometre-long strip of sand. They watched us suspiciously as we finally dawdled back to the task of setting up home for the week.

I felt strange entering the bach, even uncomfortable. Apart from Dad, and in the early days, Mum, I’d never stayed there with anyone else. Seeing all the new faces of my friends made the place different, made me feel that outsiders were in the sanctuary. Familiar routines and age-old arrangements had to be explained rather than performed by instinct. I felt out of the group: they all shared a common bond of newness. So as we set about the day I felt unattached to both the bach and my friends. This wasn’t the first time I’d experienced such discomfort and it wasn’t the last. Over the years it became a common occurrence as my science and then fame took me further from reality and the people who inhabit it. Although I reconciled myself to the bach arrangements in the days that followed, I carried a ghost of the weirdness all week.