‘Don’t get sunburnt!’ repeated Emilia. ‘That’s exactly what I want ... I want to get tanned all over, not all patchy like when I worked in Pa’s vegie garden.’
To Sandra’s surprise, Emilia wore a bikini. Although she was slimmer, her curves nevertheless overflowed slightly, and she constantly hitched at the top.
‘I bet your father doesn’t know you wear that,’ Sandra said. Her own bikini was more like a two piece, and definitely more secure.
‘Shit no! Pa would rather I wore black, neck-to-knee.’ Emilia screwed up her nose, reaching for the suntan oil bottle.
Slathered in coconut oil they raced into the water, dodging among bathers, Emilia immediately disappearing under a wave, to emerge grabbing at her top as it threatened to slide off.
‘Golly,’ she said. ‘I better watch out or I’m going to lose something.’
Sandra noticed that several young men were watching them. The first swim Emilia had at Bondi two years ago, she’d flirted enthusiastically with the boys who swam around them both, but today she wasn’t interested, flinging the group a scornful glance.
‘Idiots, they’re only looking at my bikini.’
‘And the rest!’ Sandra said. ‘Every time you come up from a wave, you look like you’ll lose your top. They’re all waiting.’
‘They’ll be disappointed,’ Emilia sniffed, and returning to their towels, she pulled on a tee-shirt, smirking at the young men as she dived back into the surf.
Later as they lay in the sun, Emilia said, ‘I drank a lot of bubbles last night. Did you, too?’
‘Not like you.’ Sandra spread oil on her arms and legs, smearing more oil onto Emilia’s back. ‘You looked really tipsy when you went to sleep on the couch.’
‘How embarrassing,’ Emilia sighed. ‘But it was a fantastic party. ‘Ooh, Mister L’estrange is so divine. No wonder you’ve got a crush—’
‘No, I don’t any more,’ Sandra said emphatically. ‘He’s with Auntie now, and they’re madly in love.’
‘That’s obvious. Maybe they’ll have beautiful babies.’
‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that. Isn’t she too old?
‘Back where my parents come from, even old ladies in their forties have babies.’
‘That’s Italy – maybe they can’t get the Pill over there.’
It was an interesting notion: Aunt Meredith with a baby? But first Sandra had to get used to the idea of them being together, and Mister L’estrange hadn’t moved in yet.
‘Let’s get an icecream?’ Sandra was on her feet already, sunhat jammed on her wet hair. ‘I can feel my skin getting tight, I know I’m burning.’
The little shop was busy and they waited to be served, the pavement getting increasingly hot under their sandals. Running into the park, they sighed with relief to lick their rapidly melting icecream cones under the trees.
After dinner they sat in the garden trickling the hose over their feet. Sandra touched Emilia’s shoulder. ‘You’ve gone really red. Does it hurt?’
‘A bit. That tomato didn’t do any good. My back feels worse.’
‘Mine too. We’ll put on some baby oil before bed.’
‘I love Bondi and Bronte,’ Emilia said. ‘Where I live now, I can only go to the local pool, and that’s not so much fun.’
‘Do you like living there?’
‘Yep. I like Mrs Morgan’s parents – they’re real nice to me. Pa wouldn’t have let me go to Melbourne if I didn’t have somewhere good to stay. I like my course, and it’s not too far to go home for holidays.’
As Emilia spoke, it wasn’t hard to feel jealous, but Sandra brushed it off. Nick had returned to Wilga Park after his exams... it was weeks since she’d seen him. He’d almost become a dream, leaving a little hole in her heart.
‘Lucky thing, to live away from home,’ she said. ‘Do you go out much?’
‘Not much, just sometimes to the pictures with girl friends.’
‘I’ll miss you when you go tomorrow. At school, my only real friend was Carol, and now she’s at teachers’ college I don’t see her much. I know a few students at the Con – there’s a nice boy called Billy studying saxophone—’
‘Ooh,’ Emilia crowed, eyes narrowed. ‘A nice boy called Billy?’
‘He’s just in my year, so don’t get any ideas. He’s keen to play in a club and he asked if I’d be interested.’
Sandra’s best friend at the Conservatorium had turned out to be Billy. She liked his easy company, their talk always about music. The idea of a duo was tempting.
‘What’s he look like?’
‘He’s very tall with sort of ginger hair—’
‘Urk, a carrot-top ... he’s probably all freckly.’ Emilia dismissed him with a laugh. ‘Remember the pact we made?’
‘Of course I do,’ Sandra replied. ‘To always be best friends, for ever and ever – boys excluded.’
‘So, what about you and Nick?’
While she wondered how to answer this delicate question, Sandra looked across the garden. Her mother’s beans had raced up the wire trellis, and along the fence she’d grown tall flowering plants with forgettable names. So many seed packets littered the kitchen bench – delphiniums, maybe.
She hosed a mosquito off her leg. ‘I don’t know. I wish I could see him more often. We go to a café now and then, or to the pictures, that’s about all.’
It sounded very threadbare to Sandra. Well, that was about all, wasn’t it, she told herself. Nick was like a shadow, only visible when the sun shone, and it didn’t shine often enough for her.
Angela called them through the kitchen window: ‘Dinner’s on the table, girls.’
As they stood up, their clothes pulled on their sunburnt skin. ‘Gosh,’ Sandra said. ‘We’re going to peel and look terrible.’
‘No, we won’t,’ Emilia grinned, flicking newly silken curls off her face. ‘We’ll look like two water-babies who had a wonderful day at the beach.’
Dinner was quiet, and both Sandra and Emilia felt sleepy soon after they finished.
‘Off you go,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll let you off the washing-up tonight.’
Despite Sandra’s worries, Emilia’s visit had ended peacefully, all their chatter bridging whatever gaps had opened between them. They hugged goodnight, but instead of immediately going to bed, they lay beside each other on the top sheet, talking about everything they’d already talked about a hundred times, until Angela whispered at the door that it was nearly midnight.
They kissed goodnight, and Emilia touched the small china angel on the dressing table – her present to Sandra two Christmases ago. ‘My little angel will look after you while you’re asleep.’
‘She’s the first thing I see when I wake up,’ Sandra replied sleepily. ‘I love my little angel.’
‘Sssh,’ came Angela’s voice again, from down the hallway.
Tomorrow the train would whisk Emilia off to Curradeen – the long journey home to stay with her family before the study year began.
Eyes closed, vaguely dreaming, Sandra