Chapter 1

Nova slices the avocado in half, then hammers the knife into the seed, wedging it until the seed dislodges from the flesh.

She drops the avocado seed in the bin, and then scoops avocado into the salad.

Fuck, I forgot cucumber,' Nova says.

'I always forget cucumber.

Do you reckon you could run down to the shop and grab it?'

As she looks up at me she pushes white-blonde hair behind her ear with the heel of her hand, because her fingertips are covered in avocado.

She's my twin – slightly taller, with a pointier chin, but most people can't tell us apart.

'It's almost close time,' I say, looking at the clock above her head.

It has shells instead of numbers, glued around the wooden surface.

The minute hand is pointing towards a pretty pink scallop shell, indicating that it's ten minutes to five.

Come on, Penny, just run,' Nova says.

'You hate cucumber,' I say.

She rolls her eyes.

'Yeah, but Mum loves cucumber.'

'Fine,' I say.

I walk to the top of the stairs, where my sandals are.

I slip them onto my feet and then take the stairs two at a time.

As I push open the door I almost run into Mum, who is carrying a box full of records into the house.

I hold the door open for her, letting her through.

Mum's car is parked on the driveway, with the boot open.

There's one suitcase and two boxes still to be brought inside.

We only arrived an hour ago.

It's the first day of our summer, and for as long as I can remember my family has spent our summers at Zoey Cottage, the little house looking out over the ocean.

As I walk down the driveway I glance at the house next door.

It's bigger and fancier than our little ocean bungalow.

There's an expensive four-wheel-drive parked in the driveway.

The Olson-Pratts have spent their summers in their own summer home next to ours for just as long as we've been there.

Their oldest son, Peter, is the same age as my sister and me.

But when their four-wheel-drive pulled up this afternoon, only their daughter, Marina, emerged.

Peter mustn't be coming this year.

As I'm about to step onto the road I see a little red hatchback coming along the street.

I step back onto the footpath and watch as the car pulls into the driveway of the Olson-Pratt house.

From the driver's side emerges a girl about my age, with brown hair pulled into a messy bun, and a camera hanging around her neck.

She doesn't glance back at me, but the guy who steps out of the passenger seat – Peter Olson-Pratt – looks over at me as he closes the car door.

He's wearing board shorts with a floral print on them.

His hair is darker than I remember, but I'm sure by the end of summer it will be back to sandy blonde.

He averts my gaze and walks to the back of the car, pulling a suitcase out of the boot.

I take a breath and turn away, all thoughts of cucumbers lost from my mind.

Instead I find myself walking across the road, through the park and onto the beach.

I haven't stepped onto this golden white sand for almost two years, but nothing has changed.

The ocean is still just as blue as ever, the sand just as white.

Even at five o'clock the sun is bright behind me.

My shadow is long and dark on the sand.

The wind tugs at the dress I'm wearing, forcing me to pull it down and hold it around my thighs so I don't flash the few people on the beach.

Nothing has changed on the beach, but everything has changed in the houses behind me.

It's been so long since I've been here, and I was wrong to think I would be coming back to the same thing.

It has been almost two years since I last saw or spoke to Peter Olson-Pratt.

Of course in that time he found a girlfriend, and he's brought her to his beach house.

I was silly for not even considering that would be a possibility.

Did I expect him to be here, waiting for me?

Did I think we could spend our summer flirting like we've done every year previously?

Had I hoped that maybe this year our flirting would turn into something more?

Clearly the thought of coming back to the beach house had brought up idyllic and naïve fantasies.

I sit on the sand, watching the final surfers coming in at the end of the day.

Two women jog along the beach, and a couple walks hand in hand.

A young mother is trying to convince her small child that it's time to go home.

Seagulls swoop around a group of friends who are eating fish and chips.

They throw chips down onto the sand and the gulls dive, fighting over the chips.

Eventually I walk back to the house, thinking I'll just take a warm bath and wash my hair, but in the kitchen Nova and Mum are waiting.

Where have you been?' Nova asks me.

I stare at them.

'Well?

Did you get cucumbers?' Nova says.

I bite my lip, realising my mistake, and then look up at the shell clock on the kitchen wall.

It's half past five.

'The shop was closed when I got there,' I lie.

Nova groans.

'It's okay,' Mum says.

'The salad doesn't need cucumber.'

Nova turns to Mum with an exasperated look on her face.

'Penny always does this.

Just wanders off and leaves everyone else lost.'

'Give her a break,' Mum says.

'Penny, can you set the table?

We'll eat out on the balcony.

It's such a nice evening.'

I grab cutlery and the placemats decorated with dolphins, and take them out to the balcony.

But when I'm out there I see Peter and his girlfriend are still unpacking their car.

I shrink back inside.

'It's a bit windy outside,' I say, and I set the table inside instead.

Mum doesn't comment, but I notice Nova cast a knowing look down towards the Olson-Pratt driveway.

I'm on the beach to see the sun rising, and I'm not even the first one here.

There is a streak of orange across the horizon, and the silhouettes of surfers etched against the orange sky.

I walk into the ankle deep water, my board resting on my hip.

When the water reaches my waist I push my board out in front of me.

I sink onto it, enjoying the cold water on my skin.

I push myself over the smaller waves until I get out beyond the breakers and into the back, where the other surfers are waiting.

I don't see anyone I know by name, but I recognise a few of the locals.

It's a slow morning for waves, but it's the first day I'm here and there was no way I was waiting to get out into the surf.

It's been too long since I've surfed Lucentian waves.

I did try out some of the waves while I was in Nimbus, but I didn't have my own board with me, and I wasn't as familiar with the conditions.

But now I feel like I'm home.

My first wave is a disaster.

I paddle too soon, get too keen, and end up in the water.

But I paddle out again, determined that I'll get a good set before heading back in for breakfast.

I watch a few of the locals catch waves, and then eventually it's my turn.

It's getting busier now, and warmer.

The sun is already hot on my back, but I love it.

I see a good wave coming and I get ready.

But there's another surfer just in front of me, and I can see he's spotted the same wave.

I almost sit back, thinking that I'll let him catch it, until I recognise the dark blonde hair and the broad shoulders.

It's Peter.

I didn't even see him come out.

He hasn't noticed me.

He's started paddling, and I paddle hard too, ready for the wave.

I get onto it this time and when I stand up I'm eye-to-eye with Peter.

He has to pull up short, and the wave breaks over him, dumping him.

I cut through the wave past him, laughing.

I look back to see him spluttering in the water, trying to turn his board back over.

He's already reached the shore by the time I'm paddling in. By the time I'm untying my leash rope he's halfway up the beach, and I have to run to catch up to him, which is hard while carrying a huge surfboard.