Siren Bay

I

December 12th | Nineteen Days Until NYE

I had more secrets than a murder mystery novel. I was always the person you could confide in; whether it was the crush you had on your maths teacher, your first kiss, your sexuality, or what outlandish present you were buying a friend, I was the person to go to.

You always knew I'd keep your secret buried deep without fear of discovery.

People seem to live by the old saying, 'a trouble shared is a trouble halved'. It was a brilliant way to relieve half the weight from your shoulders, to walk away with your chin held a little higher, but my friends didn't realise the toll it was having on me.

Everyone in my year confided in me like I was some cave of wisdom and shouting your secrets would echo the solution back. They forgot I was human like the rest of them and every hushed word carried weight.

Half way through my final year of school, on the night of my eighteenth birthday, I cracked under the mountain of whispers I carried. I ran down the winding roads of my home towards the beach that had become my sanctuary.

While I was a cave of secrets to my friends, the ocean was the true wonder to my soul, washing away the pressure of keeping my mouth shut.

The evening swim I'd plan to take was driven by desperation. Swimming past dusk in Australian waters was peak time for shark feeding, as well as the awakening of all other submerged creatures below the crashing surface, not to mention the fierce current that could have swept me out to sea, but I had to wash off the sins of my friends secrets.

I discovered two things that night. One of them was swimming past dusk, in winter, was a stupid idea. The other was what lead me back to the beach now, six months later, in the height of the Australian summer.

The sun bore down harshly on my lotion-rubbed back but I stared at Whale Beach from the shade of the tall trees lining the car park. The needle leaves bit into my worn thongs, the shoes snapping as I walked to where mulch met sand. It was one of the few densely shaded beaches along the Northern Beaches and as the sun set behind them, the entire sand darkened, and tourists practically hugged the cool ground with relief.

I cocked my head to the side, my tight black curls tumbling over my shoulder with the biting heat of the wind. Sand swept up around my feet, stinging my legs. I watched the tide begin to retreat at my presence as though it remembered what happened six months ago.

I crossed my arms tightly, my long cardigan brushing the tops of my thighs as I turned to see where my family had gone. My dad, Jeremiah, was easy to spot - it was hard to miss the tall, barrel-chested black man with a large grin, even without the neon yellow shorts. He loved the ocean, just like I did. It was him that convinced me to join the Nippers swimming and surfing classes as a kid, later propelling her love of sailing.

He stood next to my mum, Alice, easy to spot in an entirely different way. Her pale skin was already sunburned and they'd been outside for less than an hour. She wore the largest hat I'd ever seen, decorated with yellow flowers and intricate twining, but her gaze wasn't on the serene shade.

My toddler sisters, twins Olena and Theresa, were latched onto mum's freckled legs. Dad was laughing at his wife trying to walk to the cafe on the northern most point of the beach, waddling side to side like a drunk penguin, but his laughter eased seeing me on the cusp of the sand.

"Sylvia," his voice was a deep baritone. "Where'd you think you're going?"

I gestured to the retreating tide. "I was going to dunk my feet in."

"No you don't." He waved for me to follow them. "You're still grounded for another three weeks."

"Dad!" I groaned, slapping my hand against my forehead. "I've been grounded for six months, like you said!"