Crisis of Identity

The next morning we were up and about early, thanks to a clear head from an uneventful night. My buzz-kill stalker from last night destroyed any chance I had of enjoying myself. His accusatory phone call kept resonating most of the night. In the end I was unable to get the taste, so I called it early.

On the upside, the forecast was for a scorcher and with only two days remaining, we took the opportunity to grab an early breakfast and hit the manicured beach.

I call it a manicured beach because in the wee hours of every morning on the Gold Coast, a tractor drags the sand to remove all rubbish, leaving a neatly swept and even sand for the new day.

There were many mornings we exchanged a drunken wave with the tractor driver, as we staggered home along the beach.

We chose a patch of neatly dragged sand within the red and yellow flags. The information board on display showed a water temperature of twenty-two degrees and a swell of one metre. It also warned of strong rips outside the safe swimming area.

With sunscreen applied and an Esky full of water and cold beers to keep us hydrated, we settled in for what promised to be a relaxing day.

By 9.30am the temperature was at twenty-eight degrees and rising fast. The gentle easterly did little to alleviate the heat. Beach umbrellas dotted the sands as hundreds of like-minded people sought respite, with others still arriving in droves.

The surf was a shore break which shortened any rides, but the glassy one metre face was ideal for body surfing. Bodies spread along each wave face like dolphins sharing a ride.

After an energetic surf session, we strolled the beach back to our patch of sand. ‘What time are the girls arriving?’ Mitch asked.

‘They said around 10-ish…’

While electing to sun dry, over towel, I scanned the beach to take in the general vibe of the place. Squawking seagulls hovered over the shallows. Kids were digging holes near the water’s edge, others were building sandcastles with their dads. People were throwing Frisbees or playing beach cricket. It was so relaxed.

It wasn’t long before Sarah and Bec arrived under the shade of stylish, wide-brimmed sun hats and over-sized sunglasses. Both girls were tall and leggy. Their suntans were natural, not bottled. Their brief G-String style black bikinis fully exposed their toned bum cheeks, leaving little to the imagination.

Our beach rendezvous was arranged the night before. By the time we received a text from Sarah last night asking if we wanted to catch up at a club, we’d already called it for the night. My reply invited the girls to join us at the beach today. They happily accepted.

‘What happened to you boys last night…? The Gold Coast pace a little too much for you Western Australians…?’ Sarah jibed.

‘Huh. Hardly…’ I scoffed, making sure our rep didn’t take a hit. I lifted a handful of sand and watched it sift through my fingers. ‘Detective Brent Dawes is what happened...’

’Is he still annoying you?’

’You have no idea. It’s a fait accompli as far as he is concerned…I am Jayden Evans and nothing will convince him otherwise.’

‘That must be so frustrating,’ Bec said.

‘You should’ve heard the accusations he made last night about Kado’s parents,’ Mitch said. I continued to watch the sand sift through my fingers, as Mitch explained. ‘Flat out says they’re the ones who kidnapped the missing kid twenty-five years ago…’ Mitch added with a disapproving shake of his head.

Sarah and Bec’s mouths fell open. ‘That is so wrong,’ Sarah said. ‘No wonder you weren’t in the mood for a sesh last night. I doubt anyone would be, after that.’

Buoyed by the girls’ support, I decided to update them with a general précis of my telephone call with Dawes from last night.

It was particularly reassuring when both girls agreed that by relying so heavily on a psychic, the cop was snatching at any evidence he could locate to suit his cause. They agreed he’s clearly desperate in his attempts to connect me to the Jayden Evans disappearance.

In the words of a thirsty old salt, the sun was over the yardarm, so I handed out the first round. ‘That’s enough energy wasted on last night’s call…We’re all unanimous in our opinion that the cop’s a piece of shit. Time for a cold one…gotta keep hydrated.’

Several hours of swimming, sunning and drinking flew by. Relaxed by the beers, Sarah decided to make her skimpy bikini even more revealing by getting her sizable girls out to sun bake topless. Bec followed shortly after.

Their choices not only met our approval, but judging from the extended stares, they also met the approval of the many blokes strolling by our patch of sand.

‘Do you need any help with that…?’ I said with a cheeky grin as I watched Sarah apply sunscreen to her exposed breasts. Judging by the lack of tan lines, it was apparent they came out to play in the sun quite often.

She smiled at my flirtatious offer. ‘Thanks… But I think I’ve got it covered,’ she said holding my gaze as she continued to massage the cream into her breasts.

When the sun repositioned west of centre, the girls re-fitted their bikini tops and we grabbed some food from the café at the local surf lifesaving club — hamburgers for Mitch and me and chicken salad wraps for the girls.

Once our hunger pangs were satisfied we returned to our patch of sand to continue enjoying the good life by the beach.

As we reclined on our towels, Sarah lifted herself onto an elbow. ‘I’ve been thinking…’ Sarah began. It was difficult to maintain eye contact now the top was off again, but I did my best behind my dark sunnies. ‘What do you think about visiting Mrs Evans? Hear me out before you decide,’ she said.

‘Go on…’

‘She could meet you and see for herself that you are not her lost boy. I’m sure a mother would know if you were her son…’

I sat up and dusted the sand from my hands. ‘I hear ya but…Wouldn’t that be dredging up a painful past…?’

‘No more than what the media has done over the last week, after her husband died… Besides… While the wound is still open from recent events, it would be a good time to see her. Less chance of upsetting her when she is already at a low from being force fed the last twenty-five years of her life all over again.’

I watched the rolling waves while I considered Sarah’s suggestion. It has merit. But what if Mrs Evans is as desperate as Dawes to find her boy? I couldn’t handle two of them telling me I’m someone I’m not. It would be a risk I had to take, if I choose to follow Sarah’s suggestion.

‘What do you think..?’ Sarah said, obviously impatient for my answer.

When I looked to Mitch for assistance, all he gave me was doughnuts by a non-committal shrug. ‘Thanks for your help, bro...’ I said, but with a grin to keep it light.

Mitch must’ve felt guilty. He sat up. ‘What would you hope to achieve from doing that?’ He asked.

‘Confirmation I am not Jayden Evans…’

‘You already know that, bro. We all do…’ Mitch said.

‘I know that… but others up here aren’t so convinced. Maybe I can put this to bed, once and for all, before we leave in a couple of days.’

Mitch nodded slowly as he lowered himself back onto his towel. ‘Then I say, why not. Suck it and see.’

‘That settles it,’ Sarah said lightly dusting specks of sand from her left breast. ‘We’ll visit her later this afternoon.’