should forget about me and leave me to rot in this place. You never did listen to me.”
Lon smiled bravely and clasped his brother’s hand in his. “We’re brothers, Ronnie. That ain’t nothing I can forget.”
As usual his brother was on the verge of tears when he said something like that. One of the guards called his name and he broke away and marched resolutely down the corridor without looking back. Visitors had to wait until the prisoners were away before moving from their seats. Then the stone-faced guards ticked them off the visitor’s log. Once back in possession of his wallet, Lon stopped by the cashier and put some money into Ronnie’s account, as he did most visits.
Paul dropped him off and left, as he had to work that night.
As usual Lon was angry and restless after he visited Ronnie. He needed to get drunk or to hit something. And as usual Lon had to carry the responsibility of being the mature one. The gym would have to do as a very poor second.
A S IT seemed to do each year, one week in December turned into a heatwave. In forty degree temperatures, everyone melted and complained. Some years the heatwave would be the week of Christmas, which was painful. Other times it decided to come early. The heatwave would be followed by cooler temperatures or a huge summer thunderstorm, as if God were saying, “Hey guys, it’s summer. Here. Have some hot weather. Oh, never mind. I’ve changed my mind.” Lon sweltered in his non-air-conditioned van and decided it was way too hot to be spending a Monday morning inside. Grabbing a towel and some gear, he headed to the beach to cool off.
He sighed as he remembered that Western Australia truly has the best beaches in the world. Lon had never believed the hype. He’d grown up with the beaches and never appreciated what was in front of him until he visited some overseas countries. Their beaches were tiny, or full of rocks, or dirty. He smiled now as he looked out over the expanse of pure white sand to the sparkling blue ocean.
Perth’s Cottesloe Beach, a bit farther north, was top-class. But really anywhere along the coast was pretty good. The caravan park had its own beach access, which led to a tiny inlet. It was small and relatively private. There were only about twenty other people there, unlike the hundreds who would be at the bigger beaches. The drawback was that it wasn’t maintained as a public beach. There were no rubbish bins, drinking fountains, open showers, or changing rooms. You had to make do with what you could.
Lon found a spot and dropped his beach bag. Perth sun could burn you in two minutes. No joke. Hats and sun cream were essential. Lon wore his somewhat dorky, broad-brimmed bamboo hat. His mates laughed when he bought it and told him that he should be wearing a trendy baseball cap, but he’d laughed back at them when they’d come home with sunburnt ears and the back of their necks lobster red. Lon had no intention of dying from skin cancer at age forty.
The wind was blowing an easterly, which meant the temperatures would soar in the afternoon as all that hot, inland air was pushed over the city. But the easterly also meant top calm conditions on the beach. In the afternoon the Fremantle Doctor would come, whipping up the beach sand as it brought the cooler sea air in. Like any person who’d grown up in Perth, he lived for the Fremantle Doctor—the idiotic name given to the sea breeze that came most afternoons. Lon snorted as he thought about the virtual gale that people in Perth called a “breeze,” but he still lived for the moment the breeze would come. The cooler sea air would drop the temperatures by as much as ten degrees in a thirty-minute period. Lon could still remember his mum telling the kids they weren’t allowed to play outside until the Doctor arrived. Ronnie and Livvy would be glued to the window, waiting for the weathervane cock to swing around in the right direction so they could play without getting
Lon smiled bravely and clasped his brother’s hand in his. “We’re brothers, Ronnie. That ain’t nothing I can forget.”
As usual his brother was on the verge of tears when he said something like that. One of the guards called his name and he broke away and marched resolutely down the corridor without looking back. Visitors had to wait until the prisoners were away before moving from their seats. Then the stone-faced guards ticked them off the visitor’s log. Once back in possession of his wallet, Lon stopped by the cashier and put some money into Ronnie’s account, as he did most visits.
Paul dropped him off and left, as he had to work that night.
As usual Lon was angry and restless after he visited Ronnie. He needed to get drunk or to hit something. And as usual Lon had to carry the responsibility of being the mature one. The gym would have to do as a very poor second.
A S IT seemed to do each year, one week in December turned into a heatwave. In forty degree temperatures, everyone melted and complained. Some years the heatwave would be the week of Christmas, which was painful. Other times it decided to come early. The heatwave would be followed by cooler temperatures or a huge summer thunderstorm, as if God were saying, “Hey guys, it’s summer. Here. Have some hot weather. Oh, never mind. I’ve changed my mind.” Lon sweltered in his non-air-conditioned van and decided it was way too hot to be spending a Monday morning inside. Grabbing a towel and some gear, he headed to the beach to cool off.
He sighed as he remembered that Western Australia truly has the best beaches in the world. Lon had never believed the hype. He’d grown up with the beaches and never appreciated what was in front of him until he visited some overseas countries. Their beaches were tiny, or full of rocks, or dirty. He smiled now as he looked out over the expanse of pure white sand to the sparkling blue ocean.
Perth’s Cottesloe Beach, a bit farther north, was top-class. But really anywhere along the coast was pretty good. The caravan park had its own beach access, which led to a tiny inlet. It was small and relatively private. There were only about twenty other people there, unlike the hundreds who would be at the bigger beaches. The drawback was that it wasn’t maintained as a public beach. There were no rubbish bins, drinking fountains, open showers, or changing rooms. You had to make do with what you could.
Lon found a spot and dropped his beach bag. Perth sun could burn you in two minutes. No joke. Hats and sun cream were essential. Lon wore his somewhat dorky, broad-brimmed bamboo hat. His mates laughed when he bought it and told him that he should be wearing a trendy baseball cap, but he’d laughed back at them when they’d come home with sunburnt ears and the back of their necks lobster red. Lon had no intention of dying from skin cancer at age forty.
The wind was blowing an easterly, which meant the temperatures would soar in the afternoon as all that hot, inland air was pushed over the city. But the easterly also meant top calm conditions on the beach. In the afternoon the Fremantle Doctor would come, whipping up the beach sand as it brought the cooler sea air in. Like any person who’d grown up in Perth, he lived for the Fremantle Doctor—the idiotic name given to the sea breeze that came most afternoons. Lon snorted as he thought about the virtual gale that people in Perth called a “breeze,” but he still lived for the moment the breeze would come. The cooler sea air would drop the temperatures by as much as ten degrees in a thirty-minute period. Lon could still remember his mum telling the kids they weren’t allowed to play outside until the Doctor arrived. Ronnie and Livvy would be glued to the window, waiting for the weathervane cock to swing around in the right direction so they could play without getting
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