Home to Turtle Bay

by Marion Lennox

  ‘How do you expect me to understand that?’

  ‘I guess I don’t.’ But I hesitated for a moment and then deliberately turned my back on everyone else, concentrating only on Richard. He’d come so far to try to save me, and in his terms—maybe on anyone’s terms—he’d been wonderful. He’d tried to protect my career. He’d supported me and protected me and invited me to join his family. He’d helped me have a sense of identity when I had none, and for that I’d always be grateful.

  ‘Richard, do you remember showing me where I’d write my name in the Nurhymer family Bible?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Your family Bible gives you your place in the world,’ I told him. ‘What would you do if someone said your name had to be rubbed out?’

  ‘It never could be,’ he said blankly. ‘I was born into it.’

  ‘As I was born into this place.’

  But his incomprehension was only growing. ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘No,’ I said softly. ‘It’s not. My grandfather lived here, and in his own way he loved me. He loved Muriel, he loved my mother and he loved me. And he’s here. I can feel it. He’s made mistakes—huge mistakes—but he’s bequeathed me everything. He’s handed me my very own Family Bible, and Richard, I know the honour you’ve done me in asking me to be included in yours, but I want my own.’

  The whole beach was hushed to awed silence.

  ‘You’re really serious,’ Richard said at last.

  ‘I’m really serious.’

  ‘You’re throwing it all away.’

  ‘I’m throwing away nothing. I’m taking everything.’

  ‘Jennifer …’

  ‘Accept it, Richard,’ I told him, my voice softening still further. ‘You’ve been wonderful, flying halfway around the world to save me, but I don’t want to be saved.’ I hesitated. ‘Maybe you could stay and try surfing for yourself. You could see that I’m not so much a fool as you think.’

  ‘You have to be joking,’ he said, and I managed a smile.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. But Richard, do wish me joy—as I wish you joy.’

  ‘Joy.’

  ‘It’s not such an impossible concept,’ I whispered. ‘If you know where to look.’

  He stared at me for a long minute and then looked around the beach, taking in the motley crowd of assorted spectators that his ex-fiancée was electing to join.

  ‘Joy,’ he said again, blankly.

  ‘That’s what I’ve got,’ I told him. ‘In bucketloads.’

  ‘I’ll stay in Sydney for two nights,’ he said at last, absently, as if he couldn’t take in what was happening. ‘In case you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind. But Sydney’s good. The weather’s great and you could use some down time. Check out Bondi Beach. Maybe have a surfing lesson.’ I smiled then, knowing that things were going to be okay.

  Things were going to be splendid.

  To my amazement there was the trace of a smile on Richard’s face and I smiled back, relieved beyond measure. ‘Thank you, Richard.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  His shoulders braced a little then, and my ex-fiancé turned away, breaking contact. It was one of Richard’s principal skills. Moving on. Forging ahead to conquer the world.

  I had a world to conquer, too, and I couldn’t wait, but they were different worlds. Very, very different.

  ‘Are you returning to Sydney, too?’ Richard asked Al.

  ‘I might wait a while,’ Al told him, with a cautious glance across at his ladylove. Muriel did look very becoming in her bathing suit. ‘I might just stay.’

  ‘At least that lets me out of being seasick again,’ Richard said. ‘I guess all I need is that taxi.’ He held up the phone. ‘You’re sure this will work?’

  ‘It’ll work,’ Fraser told him, like a man hardly brave enough to break the silence.

  ‘Do you want your gear from the boat?’ Al asked, and Richard waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘Send it on. I have my papers in my wallet. Jennifer, I leave you to your surfing school and your … what was it … turtles? I accept what you’re saying but I still think you’re crazy.’

  ‘Maybe I am,’ I told him. ‘Maybe I need to be.’

  And that was that. He met my eyes one last time, challenging me still to change my mind, but I knew I wouldn’t.

  My way was clear.

  And then Richard was walking away, up over the sand dune and out of sight.

  ‘I hope Jed’s not watching the football this afternoon,’ Muriel whispered, and I gave a choke that started as laughter but ended in the beginning of tears.

  But the tears never stood a chance.

  In three fast strides Jack had me in his arms. Holding me as I truly should be held.

  ‘Jen?’

  ‘Jack.’ My certainty had faded. I’d just taken the leap into the unknown.

  ‘Your Richard seems to have left,’ he said, and I nodded.

  ‘He’s not my Richard. But I guess he has left. If Jed’s not watching the footy, that is.’

  ‘Clive’s up there,’ Fraser told us, grinning. ‘I’d be thinking he’ll be just finished milking. He’ll give him a lift to the seaplane if Jed’s not around. I’ll go and check, shall I?’

  But no one was listening to Fraser.

  ‘So what just happened?’ Amazingly, Jack’s voice was steady. So were his eyes. He was asking silent questions that had already been answered—and both of us knew it.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ I told him. ‘Not when Muriel needs me. Not when the surfing school needs me. When everybody needs me.’ Then I focused fully on my beloved. My Jack. ‘I’ll expect your full support,’ I told him.

  ‘You have it.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I whispered, but every person on the beach could hear. Even the sea seemed to hush to listen. ‘For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health … I’m sure those vows include holding me up on the surfboard until I’m as good as you are, Jack McLachlan.’

  For those watching, the transition from business to vows must have seemed extraordinary, but to me it didn’t seem extraordinary at all. I knew, so why not say it?

  ‘Of course they do,’ Jack said. ‘I’m not sure it’s physically possible but I’ll give it my best shot. We’ll include it in the ceremony if you like.’

  ‘Uncle Jack …’ Bridget was the first to find her voice. ‘Are you going to marry Jenny?’

  ‘She’s the mother of my turtle.’ His gaze didn’t leave mine. His eyes seemed to be caressing, but the laughter was there in spades. ‘She’s going to be a grandmother and it’s the only way I can get access to the kids.’

  He was holding my hands. His warmth was spreading through me and it felt fantastic. It felt … right.

  But it was all too much for Bridget. ‘Our turtle!’ Her voice raised in a whoop of triumph. ‘Myrtle’s having babies. I forgot. Everyone, come and see.’ She turned to the man from the foundation. ‘You can come, too,’ she told him. ‘You and your friends. I bet they’ll be really, really cute.’

  ‘Won’t they be eggs?’ Fraser asked, but his question seemed irrelevant.

  ‘Bridget, would you mind taking everyone up to the house?’ Jack asked, his eyes still dancing. ‘I realise birth’s a medical imperative, but sometimes family has to take precedence. This is one of those times.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bridget demanded, and Jack seized me around the waist and swung me up into his arms. He whirled me around and around, his joy sounding out over the waves for all the island to hear.

  ‘It means I need to kiss my Jenny,’ he told us all at last, when breathing was again possible. ‘I need to kiss her senseless. And she has to kiss me. So the rest of you can go watch turtle birth, and leave me and the proprietor of Dr J.R. Kelly’s Surfing School to get down to the serious business of happy ever after.’

  Late that night, when darkness fell and the rest of the island seemed to sleep, I opened and read the last of Henry’s letters.
I’d skipped a few—a lot—but there was time enough in the future to read them all. I needed the end.

  Dear Jennifer,

  Let me tell you about my last surf.

  Maybe I should be weeping but somehow it doesn’t feel like the time for it.

  My last wave, my very last wave, was perfect. It curled in from the east, lifting my board with an ease I still find awesome.

  This was my wave, and somehow the universe seemed to know it. I was surfing on a rail, carving, slicing, working my way to the lip and sweeping down again as my board drew lines on the cool, sapphire face. The wave enclosed me, sweeping me forward in a mirror of translucent glass.

  This place is surfing heaven—this place of shipwrecks and rainforests, of breathtaking beauty and the shadows of the past. This place of my despair.

  But strangely, on this my last day, there was no despair.The sea can bless if you have the patience for the benediction, and today that blessing came in spades. My legs trembled but I didn’t care. My chest clamped as it does now when I push too hard, but after all this time the pain seems nothing.

  Today nothing could destroy perfection.

  The wave rolled onwards, folding closed behind me, but the curving wall of water was still building.

  This was the surfer’s green room, sweeping forward, enclosing me in translucent water.

  Magic.

  Finally the wave surged into the shallows, spent. I dropped to lie full length on my board, dangling my fingers in the last foamy moments of the once powerful wave.

  You must see this, I thought, as I rolled into the shallows.You must know what this feels like.

  Will you come? Muriel, Sonia and now you? Third time lucky?

  But this time there’ll be no luck about it. I’ve set it all up. I hope I’ve made it perfect for you. And this time I won’t be here, so maybe, finally, it will happen.

  Will you bring Muriel with you? I hope you can.With me gone, maybe Muriel can find a peace of sorts. Maybe she can find it in her heart to forgive me.

  Maybe I should have sent all these letters. I’ve thought of it over the years but I’ve done too much damage. I have no right to be part of your lives, but today, my last wave … somehow this feels like I’m passing this wonder on.

  The final sweep of my wave, too spent to carry my board further, swept up the shell-littered beach, forcing long-legged sandpipers to dart to dry sand. But pippies and mudworms and soft-shelled crabs were washing from under their covers and the birds returned as soon as the wave receded.

  I can’t return. Somehow I know today was my last surf.

  I lay in the shallows on the face of my board, being rocked to and fro by one tiny wave after another. I turned my face to the sun. Sometimes the warmth seems like the only thing that keeps me alive and that won’t be for much longer.

  Drifter loped down the beach, nosing me in concern. Drifter. I’d found her and cared for her.

  What was a man to do?

  I loved her.

  I should have loved Muriel.

  I did love Muriel.

  Jennifer, that’s why you need to come. To make me feel that something’s come from this wreck of a life.To carry on …

  Will you love this place?

  You must.

  If love is everlasting …

  It’s up to you to prove it.

  23

  golden fold n. right on sunset, the setting sun shines gold on the curve of a breaking wave; a blessing before surf’s end.

  Our wedding was destined to be magic. It was to be a day where the islanders came together to celebrate, and of course a celebration of this importance needed the accoutrements to go with it.

  Because plain Jennifer Kelly decided that for such a day, plain wasn’t suitable. Muriel and I therefore made a fleeting trip back to Manhattan, and, for the first time since childhood, I allowed her to help me choose my gown. To her credit she didn’t make a single comment about my size ten figure, though apparently I’m now a size fourteen—Australian sizings are terrifying! Enough of that, though. The gown I finally chose … okay, I know this is dumb but when I looked in the mirror I burst into tears.

  ‘Very suitable.’ That was Muriel’s only comment but I swear there was a shimmer in her eyes.

  Muriel also spent a king’s ransom on clothes for herself but I wasn’t welcome to help. Nor did I want to. The places where she shopped left me feeling … well, underdressed was too mild a word for it. I bought sensible. Island sensible. Jeans, shirts, half a dozen bikinis.

  I did buy wedding shoes that were entirely inappropriate for island wear.

  I also bought negligees that weren’t sensible either.

  After we’d both replenished our wardrobes, we checked out the hippest kids’ clothes places in Manhattan. We spent almost as much on Bridget as Muriel had on her wardrobe. Dumb? Maybe, but we had a ball and Muriel didn’t say ‘suitable’ once.

  Finally, while Muriel caught up with friends and spent a full day with her beloved Jeremy, I packed up my apartment, sending what was left of my old life on to Turtle Bay.

  My only regret was that Isabella and Charlie were with her parents in California while I was there. I wrote to her though, from my empty apartment. Richard would have said there was no need, but somehow it felt right. The professional lines between patient and treating doctor are clearly defined, but there was nothing defined about my letter. I pretty much told her everything, and I smiled as I posted it.

  Thus endeth our professional relationship, I told the absent Isabella, and it felt fine.

  And then we returned to Turtle Bay. Back home.

  To my wedding. Which was awesome.

  The day was gorgeous. The best of Jack’s saved suits turned out to be splendid. My hair behaved itself. Bridget was flower girl, and she and Fraser trained Drifter to walk beside her, carrying the ring. There was a bit of an incident with a rabbit, but Fraser managed to get the ring back in time.

  The makeshift altar was on the headland overlooking Turtle Bay. The setting, the people, the whole beautiful ceremony … it was enough to make a professional photographer weep. Mind, that’s only my opinion, but I’m sticking to it.

  It was a midday wedding. Afterwards the islanders put on a feast to end all feasts, followed by toasts, dancing, laughter.

  Joy.

  Finally, after the last of the guests straggled home, we collected our surfboards and headed for the beach.

  The sun was hanging low in the sky. There was a fire built with driftwood, ready to form a blazing welcome. Jack had set it up beforehand, with rugs and pillows and a basket with champagne and lobster and strawberries, all on ice.

  ‘This is some seduction scene,’ I said as I saw his over-the-top setup, and my brand new husband smiled like the cat who’d got the cream.

  ‘Seduction’s not on the agenda until we’ve hung fifty.’

  ‘Fifty toes? That’s five waves each.’

  ‘It might take a while. Even Muriel can’t hang ten five times in a row. It’s lucky we have all night before us. Now, Mrs McLachlan, may I help you off with your wedding dress?’

  ‘Only if I can help you off with your Armani.’

  We had the beach to ourselves. The islanders had promised privacy and every pair of field glasses on the island had been locked away for the night. On oath.

  What better gift could we ask for?

  ‘What about night feeders?’ I demanded, trying not to feel self-conscious as we made our way into the water, and Jack grinned and kicked a warning spray out in front.

  ‘If we splash they’ll skedaddle. It’s not quite dark yet and Turtle Bay dusk feeders have a strong sense of propriety. Any self-respecting manta ray will have headed for the horizon the minute you unclipped your bra.’

  ‘You unclipped my bra.’

  ‘Whatever.’

  So I, who once worried about vipers—okay, who still worried about vipers—threw caution to the wind. The swell was perfect— how could it be anything but? W
e rode our waves with ease, cresting the rolling swells as we paddled out, easing ourselves into the power of the surf as each long wave rolled towards shore, letting the breakers take us as they would.

  Synchronised surfers. Well, almost. One of us was still a bit wobbly, but we’d get it right in time.

  As we’d get this marriage right.

  In deference to my wobbles we surfed apart but we were always intently, acutely aware of each other. On the beach, our wedding finery lay crumpled and ignored.

  This time of surfing was a wedding ceremony all on its own.

  And when we finally paddled to shore, when the dusk turned to dark, when I decided if we surfed any more I risked a nasty case of board rash, and when the only light was from the waxing moon and the flicker of the flames from our driftwood fire, Jack carried me, naked and giggling like a teenager, up the beach to our makeshift campsite.

  It was so romantic. Corny but great. We ate slowly, dreamily, lying against each other, skin to skin. And when we were sated we turned to each other as inevitably as breathing.

  The night melted as our bodies merged. The power of our love-making left us both awed. Stunned. Blessed. Overpoweringly I experienced the sensation that what was happening was perfect. That something wrong had somehow been righted.

  That a ghost had finally been laid to rest.

  Henry had brought me home, I thought dreamily as I drifted towards sleep. He was with me still, blessing my life.

  My family.

  A month after our wedding I woke for the first time in our almost brand-new house. Jack felt me stir and woke, too, his laughter surfacing almost as soon as he opened his eyes. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Richard had left—but then, neither had I. We were like a couple of Cheshire cats.

  Muriel said it was enough to curdle milk.

  ‘I thought you’d sleep for hours,’ he said, nuzzling my ear.