say.’
Melanie nodded, her gaze darting from Friday to Jack. ‘We were just going to check out the bunker.’
‘Don’t stay too long. She’s gonna be a good ’un.’ He gestured with his rod, even as the dog threatened to pull him off-balance with his aggravated pawing. At least the dog had stopped barking. ‘Good Friday,’ Jack chuckled.
The clouds were massive now, tumbling over themselves in their haste to get to shore. A misty wall of rain closed off the horizon.
‘Anyway,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got my dinner and I’m taking this dumb mutt home. Don’t get wet.’ He gave them an apologetic grin and, juggling bucket and rod in one hand, he hauled Friday after him, the dog anxiously peering behind as he was dragged away. Melanie fancied she could hear the dog’s whining even after the pair had become mere shapes in the haze.
‘Maybe we should go back,’ she said to Helena.
The woman still clung to Melanie’s arm, her eyes wide and wet and dark.
‘My God, Helena, are you all right?’
‘I’m sorry, but the dog, it scared me. It really scared me, Melanie.’
‘He’s gone now.’ She hugged Helena in close, could feel her trembling.
‘I’m sorry, Melanie, to be such a baby. I was bitten, when I was little. Dogs—they terrify me.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She held Helena until her anxiety eased. ‘C’mon, let’s head back. I’ll make you a hot drink.’
‘I … I really need to sit down, I think.’
‘Well…’ Melanie cast an eye to where the storm loomed. The clouds glowed with lightning, as though a distant war was being fought inside them and only the muzzle flashes could be seen. She couldn’t hear thunder, but she knew it was coming. The wind chilled to the bone. She had no doubt that Jack was on the money when he said the storm would be a big one. ‘I guess we can get out of the wind at the bunker, hey? It’s just around that corner of dune. Will that be all right?’
‘Yes, yes, let’s go there.’
Helena supported herself on Melanie’s shoulder, seeming to draw courage from her proximity. Melanie put an arm around the woman’s shoulder and felt Helena’s hand circle her waist. Their hips rubbed together as they walked, and Melanie was surprised by how much she enjoyed the companionship—more than that, of being able to help someone.
Thunder rumbled and they ran up the dune, stumbling but not letting go of each other.
The bunker, a solid square of off-white concrete, appeared more resigned than resolute where it squatted on the foreshore, surrounded by a haphazard four-strand wire fence and lopsided posts. Wind-driven sand hissed around its base and stung Melanie’s calves like needles. Narrow slits in the thick concrete walls eyed the approaching storm from behind a mask of bars and mesh.
They fumbled their way through the sagging wires and made their way around the back. A barred gate blocked the doorway into the bunker, but at least they were sheltered from the wind. Melanie panted from the effort and excitement; Helena returned her grin but didn’t seem breathless at all.
Rust stains leaked from the gate’s hinges. The alcove stank of stale piss. ‘Can we get in?’ Helena asked.
Melanie rattled the gate, pointed to a chain fastened with a bronze-coloured padlock as big as her palm.
‘Let me.’ Helena reached past and tugged. There was a sharp crack above the roll of thunder and roar of wind and crash of surf. The gate screeched opened.
‘Wow,’ Melanie said.
‘Rust,’ Helena said. ‘Everything rusts at the beach. The door will be the same.’
‘We shouldn’t go in,’ Melanie said. ‘It’s probably a protected site or something.’
‘It smells out here.’ Helena leaned against the door as though listening for a heartbeat, then pushed. A crack was followed by the definite, single thud of a piece of concrete hitting the ground. The heavy steel door, as thick as Melanie’s wrist, grudgingly opened into the darkness of the
Melanie nodded, her gaze darting from Friday to Jack. ‘We were just going to check out the bunker.’
‘Don’t stay too long. She’s gonna be a good ’un.’ He gestured with his rod, even as the dog threatened to pull him off-balance with his aggravated pawing. At least the dog had stopped barking. ‘Good Friday,’ Jack chuckled.
The clouds were massive now, tumbling over themselves in their haste to get to shore. A misty wall of rain closed off the horizon.
‘Anyway,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got my dinner and I’m taking this dumb mutt home. Don’t get wet.’ He gave them an apologetic grin and, juggling bucket and rod in one hand, he hauled Friday after him, the dog anxiously peering behind as he was dragged away. Melanie fancied she could hear the dog’s whining even after the pair had become mere shapes in the haze.
‘Maybe we should go back,’ she said to Helena.
The woman still clung to Melanie’s arm, her eyes wide and wet and dark.
‘My God, Helena, are you all right?’
‘I’m sorry, but the dog, it scared me. It really scared me, Melanie.’
‘He’s gone now.’ She hugged Helena in close, could feel her trembling.
‘I’m sorry, Melanie, to be such a baby. I was bitten, when I was little. Dogs—they terrify me.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She held Helena until her anxiety eased. ‘C’mon, let’s head back. I’ll make you a hot drink.’
‘I … I really need to sit down, I think.’
‘Well…’ Melanie cast an eye to where the storm loomed. The clouds glowed with lightning, as though a distant war was being fought inside them and only the muzzle flashes could be seen. She couldn’t hear thunder, but she knew it was coming. The wind chilled to the bone. She had no doubt that Jack was on the money when he said the storm would be a big one. ‘I guess we can get out of the wind at the bunker, hey? It’s just around that corner of dune. Will that be all right?’
‘Yes, yes, let’s go there.’
Helena supported herself on Melanie’s shoulder, seeming to draw courage from her proximity. Melanie put an arm around the woman’s shoulder and felt Helena’s hand circle her waist. Their hips rubbed together as they walked, and Melanie was surprised by how much she enjoyed the companionship—more than that, of being able to help someone.
Thunder rumbled and they ran up the dune, stumbling but not letting go of each other.
The bunker, a solid square of off-white concrete, appeared more resigned than resolute where it squatted on the foreshore, surrounded by a haphazard four-strand wire fence and lopsided posts. Wind-driven sand hissed around its base and stung Melanie’s calves like needles. Narrow slits in the thick concrete walls eyed the approaching storm from behind a mask of bars and mesh.
They fumbled their way through the sagging wires and made their way around the back. A barred gate blocked the doorway into the bunker, but at least they were sheltered from the wind. Melanie panted from the effort and excitement; Helena returned her grin but didn’t seem breathless at all.
Rust stains leaked from the gate’s hinges. The alcove stank of stale piss. ‘Can we get in?’ Helena asked.
Melanie rattled the gate, pointed to a chain fastened with a bronze-coloured padlock as big as her palm.
‘Let me.’ Helena reached past and tugged. There was a sharp crack above the roll of thunder and roar of wind and crash of surf. The gate screeched opened.
‘Wow,’ Melanie said.
‘Rust,’ Helena said. ‘Everything rusts at the beach. The door will be the same.’
‘We shouldn’t go in,’ Melanie said. ‘It’s probably a protected site or something.’
‘It smells out here.’ Helena leaned against the door as though listening for a heartbeat, then pushed. A crack was followed by the definite, single thud of a piece of concrete hitting the ground. The heavy steel door, as thick as Melanie’s wrist, grudgingly opened into the darkness of the
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