Beach V: The Gap in the Circle

‘We need to talk about Derek,’ Chough said.

Yes, they did. And they had. Every meet-up. Derek Lee. The gap in the circle where the sun set. They had dissected his absence ad nauseum. In the early years, it had been forensic, teasing out the granular details, pulling it all apart, inspecting, questioning, then stitching the pieces back together into different shapes, patterns and textures. Each time, they would create a new narrative that made no more sense than the previous.

In the last few years, there’d been a tacit resignation from most that they might never see him again. Dissection was painful, arguments inflammatory, recovery exhausting. So his name had been mentioned less and less. The group had adjusted to the view through the gap.

Kingsley, normally straight-backed and owning his space, was bent over the pile of tinder wood, snapping each tiny twig into a smaller piece, head drooped and slowly shaking from side to side. ‘Do we have to do this again? We’ve bled it dry.’ He carefully balanced a piece of twig on his thumb and flipped it like a coin into the fire.

‘He was a bloody charlatan,’ said Christina.

‘He conned all of us,’ Folla said. There was sadness and anger in her voice.

‘Tell me what happened,’ said Chough.

There was silence. No one wanted to claim this story. Everyone looked to another for ownership.