Canton Abbey is neither a place to find good Chinese food, nor is it a religious community. Rather, it is the name of the sole beach house on the tip of a peninsula at the southernmost end of a rather famous island connected to the mainland by a long bridge.
To say Canton Abbey is off the beaten track is an understatement. It's been in my mother's family for generations. It did start off life in the 30's as a humble beach house among the golden dunes of this unspoilt coastline, but over the years, it has been updated and extended into something akin to a fortress mansion. No one know where the name comes from. It's though great great great Uncle Oliver Boliver (that was actually his real name!) christened it after the locations of the two businesses that made him.
I'm David Boliver, by the way. I'm twenty-two, and I'm a twin. My fraternal twin brother, Simon and I literally split for opposite sides of the globe the minute we could. Not because we don't get along. More like so we could live as non-twins for a while. Dad popped his clogs when we were young and mom spent her energy raising two reasonably well-balanced kids. The money helps, but she is an amazing woman. And a fine artist when she takes the time to herself.
Canton Abbey is where generations of Bolivers spent their summers. These days, there's so many of us, we time share it between us. And this was our month to enjoy the seclusion. I packed mom up in my car and we took off early Friday to make Canton by lunch. Simon had already been travelling for two days and would fly in to the nearest big city and take a chopper to where we had a launch berthed. He'd then take that to the island to meet us early afternoon. The delectable Aunt Peg, Mom's sister and Uncle Frank, her husband, would be there already, opening windows and stocking the refrigerators. Peg and Frank were great fun. And would be no hardship. They'd never had kids and always treated Simon and I as if we were theirs. That meant they'd be stocking the bar too.
We pulled into the carport beside Frank's new Porsche just shy of 12.30. Traffic had been light and we'd made great time. I unpacked the bags while mom went inside to say hello to her sister and brother-in-law. By the time I arrived, laden down with mom's overpacking, I felt like I'd walked into the sad aftermath of a Monday night in a nightclub. Mom stood, back to the kitchen island, arms folded defensively, Frank was sitting awkwardly to one side, legs crossed, and Peg was just yanking open the fridge door like she wanted to rip it off the wall. I'd heard voices on my way into the kitchen, but they died just before I entered. Grown-ups stuff, I decided. Within a split second, the spell was broken, and Peg raced over and mashed her ample bosom against me, covering my face with kisses. Frank waved lazily from the chair. Mom looked like she was trying not to look strained at whatever they had been talking about and ordered me to drop her bags to her room.
Feeling a little humpy at not being offered a beer at the least, I stomped off, struggling to carry all the bags. I deposited mom's massive hoard in her room and toddled off to pack my few belongings into the drawers in my own bedroom.
The house was a familiar hug. Every year, it seemed smaller, but the furnishings and artworks were like old friends I'd known all my life. I collapse on the bed to release the kinks from the drive and allowed myself a few minutes to daydream and let the grown ups finish their grown up conversation. I detested an air. I'd always been sensitive to the mood of the room and would do anything to avoid unpleasantness. I found an old pack of Marlboros in the bedside drawer and contemplated popping out on the veranda for a cheeky summer smoke. Probably just dust by now, I thought.
By the time I heard Simon's boat put-putting up to the jetty, I was in good form again. Having re-joined the others in the kitchen, I found the mood had turned jovial with a little light reminiscing going on. Frank playfully joked with mom and Peg about their adolescent crushed on the island. Simon burst in like a whirlwind. I'd always been the quiet one. Simon, the Tasmanian Devil. He whisked Peg off her feet and kissed her on the mouth, slapped Frank on the back and pecked mom before he'd even dropped his duffel. He looked amazing, mahogany, compared to my pasty complexion, fit and strong. His blonde hair was long and almost hippyish. I looked like an Ivy Leaguer with my dark locks and round glasses.
"Ma famiglia" he greeted us. I awkwardly accepted his bearhug, and finally, beers were broken out.
Over dinner, prepared by the wonderfully gifted Frank, Simon regaled us with tales of Australia, New Zealand and a smattering of Asian countries. I once again found myself in awe as his easy nature and conviviality. I was an awkward conversationalist even with people I knew well. Simon could talk or listen with equal attention to everyone in the room. We all warmed up under his gentle interrogation, and hung on his ever tale of derring-do.
Dinner ran late as they always did at the Abbey. Simon and I washed up while the others took their drinks out onto the veranda. By the time we'd joined them, Frank was passing a joint around, and it seemed we'd finally reached the age when we were allowed our fair share.
"David! You've given it a duck's arse!" Simon accepted the joint from me, gazing at the damp business end with disgust.
"Leave your brother alone." Mom smiled, obviously delighted to have us both here. As the evening wore on in laughter and story after story, I thought I sensed a strained look on mom's face. She appeared a bit drawn and I wondered whether it had taken being here on the island for me to realise it may have been there for some time. Frank and Peg were their usual relaxed selves, but mom seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. I guessed whatever had been bothering her had been the subject of the awkwardness I'd walked in on earlier. I filed it away for later when I'd have the chance to talk to Simon about it.
Beers and wine gave way to long drinks as the sun set. I wandered off at some stage to have a shower, Simon to unpack. It was like we'd both picked up on some unspoken request to allow the oldies to talk amongst themselves. In the shower, as I soaped up, I looked ruefully down at myself. As young men, Simon and I had often seen each other naked and I had always been jealous of his manhood. His was long and thick, even flaccid, mine could reasonably be called average in every way, and virtually disappeared in the cold. That pretty much summed up our love lives too. Simon was always bouncing from girl to girl, they seemed to just fall at his feet. Me on the other hand, never really had much luck, bar the odd fumble here and there when people realized how rich I was.
Boardshorts and a tee were requisite eveningwear, and I laughed when I saw Simon wearing almost identical clothes to me later. The Canton Uniform. Laughter and joy was short lived, Simon almost immediately announced he was taking my car into town to meet some old friends. As with everything in our relationship, what was Simons was Simons. I wasn't invited and immediately felt like a spare wheel in the adult sandwich, to mangle some metaphors.
Mom and Frank were engrossed in an animated conversation that I tried my best to earwig, to no avail. Peg, catching my separateness from the evening, declared herself 'a little squiffy' and asked if I'd walk down to the jetty with her. I assented chivalrously and abandoned my deck shoes. Peg was dynamite, even if she was mom's sister. She was short, thin but athletic, with amazing long blonde frizzy hair that fell in long ringlets. Mom was a little taller than her, a little rounder, darker and had long ago taken to dying and straightening her hair. So, although there were similarities of feature, to the casual observer, they didn't look much like sisters at all. Peg wore a tiny little orange bikini with a light beach blouse open over the top. It did little to hide her big breasts and perfect butt, and I forced myself to look down at me feet as we sauntered across the sands.
"So, how's the love life." She asked gaily, then immediately regretted such a crass question. "I'm sorry. Occupational aunt hazard." She said smiling as I smiled beside her. "I won't pry. Just hoping to live vicariously for a moment or two." She added wistfully. That made me wonder whether everything wasn't rosy between herself and Frank.
"Nothing to report, anyway." I said glumly. "Simon's the one you need for salacious conquests."
She took my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze as we walked, a little unsteady on the sand and on the quantity of booze ingested. I was feeling a little giddy myself. We made it to the end of the jetty, out of sight of the building and sat on the end, swinging our legs over the quietly lapping water below. She was uncomfortably close to me, squashed against my side, arm still hooked through mine. I recited mantra after mantra in my head, reminding myself not to get an erection beside this woman who had played a leading role in so many of my damper dreams growing up.
