Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved.

. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A Bantam book Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd Level 3, 100 Pacic Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060 www.randomhouse.com.au First published by Bantam in 2012 Copyright Sara Foster 2012 The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Every effort has been made to acknowledge and contact the copyright holders for permission to reproduce material contained in this book. Any copyright holders who have been inadvertently omitted from acknowledgements and credits should contact the publisher, and omissions will be rectied in subsequent editions. Extract from T. S. Eliots preface to Harry Crosbys Transit of Venus, 1931, reproduced with kind permission from Faber and Faber Ltd, England. Permission to quote from Dr Jane Goodalls interview on Sixty Minutes in October 2010 kindly granted by CBS and the Jane Goodall Institute (www.janegoodall.org). Words from Worlds In Harmony: On Compassionate Action for a Better World, 2008, by His Holiness The Dalai Lama reproduced with kind permission from Parallax Press, Berkeley, California, www.parallax.org. This is a work of ction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/ofces. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Foster, Sara, 1976 Shallow breath/Sara Foster. ISBN 978 1 74275 399 7 (pbk.) A823.4 Cover design by Nada Backovic Cover photographs by Alamy and Arcangel Internal typesetting and design by Xou, Australia Printed in Australia by Grif n Press, an accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004 Environmental Management System printer Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

For Jiyu

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

I
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly nd out how far one can go.

T. S. ELIOT

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

HAT WOULD YOU CHANGE? The question begins to circle her as she hangs in the freezing dark water. The surface is only a few metres above, and she kicks her ns hard. Nothing happens. She is still trapped. Alone. The suck and rush of her breathing is too loud and much too fast. Calm down, she tells herself. She checks her gauge. Five minutes of air left. Five minutes to gure this out. She will not give in to her fears. Not yet. Her scuba tank is caught on a thick piece of netting above her. She pulls her legs towards her body, and frees the knife that is strapped to her ankle. She reaches behind her, waving the blade through the water, hoping to make contact with something solid. But it is useless. She cannot stretch far enough. It doesnt matter. She can just squeeze the releases on her BCD and free herself from her snagged jacket. If she drops her weight belt, she can swim to safety. Her natural buoyancy will help her upwards. But she wont do that until she is sure there is no alternative. She is terri ed of what is hidden above, waiting. Cold water creeps over her body, nds gaps in her wetsuit and settles against her skin. She is shaking now. It had been crazy, coming down here on her own, but there had been no

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

SARA FOSTER

alternative. And wasnt she always meant to be alone, in the end? Above the water, dawn is breaking. The light swims down to her, surrounds her, lends her courage. She checks the gauge again. Her air is almost gone. She goes for the clips of her life jacket, but nds her ngers still hesitate. This is her nal moment of choice. WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE? She wants to live. She takes a few deep breaths and watches the air bubbles spin away, forming a trail for her to follow. She summons all her strength, drops her weight belt, and pushes the clips at the same time as taking a nal breath. Then she takes the regulator from her mouth, looks up towards the light, and begins to swim.

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

1 Maya

hunder wakes Maya up at dawn, rumbling through the thin walls and into her bones. The rain has kept her semiconscious most of the night, an endless drum roll on the tin roof. It had begun as the sun went down, and shed known Luke wouldnt be visiting tonight. He never comes unless he needs her help. She is sure she had been dreaming, but has forgotten the details already. Only the feeling remains of something momentous. But then, today is not an ordinary day. Today her mother is coming home. Maya hasnt seen Desi for over a year. Fifteen long months, during which Maya has taken exams, broken her toe, cut her hair short, collected her P-plates, had her belly button pierced, been to her rst music festival, and knocked back her rst legal glass of wine. Her mother has missed everything. Maya throws off her thin cover and jumps out of bed. The

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

SARA FOSTER

caravan door squeaks as she pushes it open and runs to a nearby tap to ll her small kettle. She is usually good at keeping quiet her grandfather gets irate if she wakes the paying guests but the pipes groan as she shuts off the water, and she forgets to cushion the swing of the door on her return, so it slams loudly behind her. Despite the weather change, the temperature inside the caravan remains stiing, but the moisture on her skin renders her strangely cold and clammy. She shimmies through the restricted space, puts the kettle on her small camp stove and sits down on the bed. She should go for a swim. It would refresh her sticky skin and damp hair. She considers heading down to the ocean now, but the sky is still a deep grey, and there have been a record number of shark attacks this summer on the west coast of Australia. She can all too easily imagine them prowling the slumbering seabed in the glum light, their n tips glinting like slivers of metal, their eyes blackened hollows. Another roll of thunder makes her decision. She knows the statistics are on her side, but, still, she will wait for a little while, until it clears. Instead, she makes herself a tea and lls a bowl with cereal. She has learnt how to use the features of this small space to maximum effect. Her belongings are all hidden away in a network of cupboards, or stored under the bed or beneath seat tops. She is trying her best to be a careful, responsible person, even though every time Luke calls she feels dizzy and reckless. She really likes him. At rst, she just wanted to help, but now she is disappointed when he doesnt drop by. She wants him to look at her. To see her. And it is so bloody obvious that he doesnt, even though running through the dark together feels like home to Maya. She remembers the rst time he took her with him. The way he crouched close to the midnight bushes, long legs splayed like a spider. The way he had smiled at her

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

SHALLOW BREATH

worried face and said, Looks like I brought the moonlight with me. The last time they had been together, Luke had taken her hand as they ran. This is surely an encouraging sign, but he hasnt ever tried to kiss her, and Maya wonders what she will do if he does. She wishes he would get on with it, because she knows it will be different, not like the other red-faced, beer-addled boys, who can barely make out a girls features as they lean forward with eyes elsewhere. She isnt sure what Lukes kiss will be like, but it will be something. He is always able to surprise her, ever since the rst time he turned up after midnight, knocking softly on the caravan door, asking her to help him. Before then, he was someone she passed in the corridor at school, or nodded to at the shops not really on her radar. She had heard of his mother, though Patricia was known in the town for propping up the local bar. Perhaps thats why hed chosen her. She hopes not. She wants it to be more than notoriety that has brought them together. She sits on the edge of the bed, sipping her drink. She tries to keep her thoughts on Luke, but her mother insists on intruding into her daydreams. It is infuriating, because she has nothing to say to Desi. For so long her mother had been her safety blanket, always on her side, a solid presence cushioning her against the world. But now she struggles to control the shaky, buzzy feeling that hijacks her body when she thinks of what Desi did. She nishes the drink and sets it aside, then crawls back into bed. She ips over her pillow and takes out the red leatherbound book. She is going to have to return this, but she doesnt want to yet. Most of it is boring charts and gures, names and dates but she loves to read her fathers observations, to study his neat, slanting writing. Why had she never been shown this, when Connor had once held this book in his hands and

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

SARA FOSTER

turned the pages, just as she does now. It is the closest she has ever felt to him, as though she can squeeze the intervening years together, reach through them and touch him. She had found the book in Desis bedside drawer. Her mother had never mentioned it. Perhaps she thought it wouldnt be important to Maya but how could she? More likely Desi didnt want to share, in the same way she was so guarded with her memories, when Maya longed to hear them. Maya is halftempted to keep the book to spite her. Shed rather have this than the pearl necklace that Desi had solemnly taken off and handed over, as though it might assuage her absence. That had been stuffed into one of the many drawers of the caravan as soon as she got home, and had remained there ever since. She ips the book closed and puts it aside. The light is increasing, and in the distance she hears the quad bike start up. It will be her grandfather making sure all is well in the campsite. She wonders if he has lain awake all night too. She doesnt think so, somehow. Charlie never mentions her mother. He may not even realise she is coming home today. If it werent for the unexpected circumstances, Maya would barely know him. Before she came to live in Lovelock Bay, she had only met him a few times, and always by accident, never design. She had been nervous when she rst arrived, but while Charlie didnt go out of his way to talk to her, he was civil when he saw her, and would ask if she was okay. Since he only let her stay as a courtesy, she knew that the answer should always be a grateful yes. She often wonders if he is lonely. Mayas grandmother Hester has been dead for over ten years now. When Charlie isnt in the ofce or out on errands, he keeps himself to himself, behind the closed curtains of his house. Maya has been in there a few times; it is gloomy and smells damp. Her grandfather has two

Copyright Sara Foster 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

SHALLOW BREATH

steadfast companions: the small staffy that often sits panting in the shade of the verandah, and the large at-screen television that dominates his small lounge. Maya hears the quad bike near the caravan, and draws the curtains to peer out. Charlie sees her and raises his hand in acknowledgement, then turns back to the track. He pulls over to empty a bin and slings the black bag onto the trailer. Then he is gone. Maya keeps watching, focusing absent-mindedly on the tracks left in the dust. Will he allow her to stay here now that her mother is coming home? If necessary, she will have to persuade him. One thing is for certain: she is never going to live with Desi again. Not after what she has done.