Book extract for Vanessa McCausland’s new book The Lost Summers of Driftwood
In this exclusive extract from Vanessa McCausland’s The Lost Summers Of Driftwood, escaping the pain of the present means confronting the tragedy of the past.
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Extract from The Lost Summers of Driftwood by Vanessa McCausland (HarperCollins), out now.
The road snaked before her, long and black and empty. Phoebe had never felt more alone, and now she was heading towards the loneliest of places. Her stomach twisted at the thought of reaching the cottage in the early hours of the morning. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, only that she needed to escape, to be alone to grieve the end of her domestic dream. The end of Nathaniel.
He hadn’t been cruel. Every night he’d tried to find the courage to tell her that he couldn’t marry her and every night he’d failed. He’d been afraid of hurting her, he’d said. And then on that last night he had looked so sad on that balcony and when she looked into his eyes, even before he spoke, she knew.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She shook her head, not wanting to hear what was coming next.
‘I can’t.’
Her voice was tiny. ‘Why?’
‘It feels like we’ve been planning this instead of actually living, you know? It feels like some kind of military operation instead of something … I don’t know, something natural.’
She took a step away from him and he reached out for her but she pushed his arm away.
‘I’m so sorry Phoebe. I know how much this means to you.’
‘How much this means to me? This is my life. This is our life.’ She could hardly get the words out.
‘I know, I’m sorry. I just … I need something … more. Different. It sounds horrible, I know, but I have to be honest. I’ve been wrestling with this for days. Weeks.’ He sighed deeply and shook his head.
‘Oh my God. Why did you make me go through all this? Buying the ring together? Planning the trip. Telling people?’ Her face was wet with tears.
He put his head in his hands and was quiet. For a few hopeful seconds she thought he was reconsidering.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe I just went along. I knew how much you needed it. After Karin and everything that happened. I wanted you to be happy.’
‘But you don’t love me.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple.’
She laughed now, at how naive she’d been. Of course it was simple. Nathaniel’s unhappiness had probably been there all along and she’d just refused to see it. She’d been running too hard from the pain of Karin’s death. And now look at her. She was driving through the darkness, running from everything and everyone. The headlights of her car fell on the trunks of tree after tree, white and still, like ghosts.
Phoebe thought about Karin making this trip, alone in her little vintage VW. It had felt like an abandonment when her sister left Sydney to move to the Bay but Karin was excited. There had been a florist business for sale in town, and the rent and lifestyle was so much more affordable than Sydney’s lower north shore, where they’d all grown up. Karin had moved into the cottage, always intending to get her own place when the business was more established, but she was a lover of old things. The house had belonged to their grandparents, and where Camilla and Phoebe saw old people’s stuff and dust, Karin saw treasures. She loved the lace curtains, and the faded orange lamps. They all knew the lure of the move had been the house just as much as the business. Karin had seemed so happy.
Phoebe wound down the window. The night air was still warm on her face. She could hear the earth breathing, the insects humming with the leftover heat of the day. She remembered this part of the trip, her sisters on either side in the back. The sunlight flickering through the trees was like looking through a kaleidoscope. She could still taste the hard-boiled butterscotch they were given as a treat on the drive. A wave of sadness rose through her body. How could that be so long ago? How could so much have gone wrong?
When someone you loved took their own life, all you were left with were questions. Questions about Karin’s mental health, even though she had their father’s emotional stoicism. Questions about how she had died. Phoebe had been so sodden with grief at the time that the details had seemed almost irrelevant. It was Camilla who had viewed the body and talked with police and the coroner. Her practical, together sister had pulled them all through it. The coroner had concluded that Karin had taken her own life in the river. But something deep inside Phoebe had said ‘no’, very clearly, very loudly, right at that moment of being told. Karin was afraid of the water, no one knew that better than Phoebe. But it was the coroner’s verdict, the narrative that had wound itself about her family, whispered in hushed tones, a filmy, sticky web, almost invisible to the eye but felt on the skin.
The gravel crunched as Phoebe pulled into a petrol station, fluoro-bright on the side of the road. She filled her tank and smiled at the lanky teenage boy behind the counter as he looked up from his phone. She realised she hadn’t eaten properly in days. She remembered all the elaborate meals her and Nathaniel had shared overlooking sun-bleached beaches. She’d been so expectant, waiting so naIvely for her perfect life to begin.
Originally published as Book extract for Vanessa McCausland’s new book The Lost Summers of Driftwood