by Di Morrissey
‘Okay,’ said Jean-Luc glumly.
‘Try to think of something fun we can do together when I’m next over there,’ said Jacqui brightly.
‘All right.’ He paused a second or two. ‘Maybe we could go to the Camargue like we used to and stay at Aunt Monique’s mas des platanes when the herdsmen round up the wild bulls!’
Jacqui smiled. Staying at Monique’s large rambling farmhouse amid the plane trees had been a wonderful escape during her ‘other life’ when Jean-Luc was little. Along with young Jean-Luc, their labrador Sam and a picnic hamper, she’d jump into her battered old Citroën 2CV and leave the stress and oppressive atmosphere of her mother-in-law’s house behind. They’d drive the half-hour to explore the Camargue National Park, with its manades of semi-wild white horses and bulls. Jean-Luc had so loved watching the flocks of flamingos and all the other birdlife there. They’d often ended up in the walled medieval city of Aigues-Mortes, which fascinated Jacqui, who tried to imagine what it might have been like back in 1248 when France’s King St Louis set sail from there to do battle in the Crusades.
‘Yes, that would be fun,’ she said. ‘See, we’ll find things to do. Just think how special it is that you are a part of such different worlds!’
Jean-Luc seemed mollified and asked about the blockade and the protests. So she told him of her trip to Perth and how impressive Eddie had been.
‘Eddie’s grandfather was right to see him as their leader,’ she told him. ‘His resistance to this project is so strong, but he shows it in such a calm and powerful way that it has a lot more impact than it otherwise might. His commitment to his people’s cultural connection to their country really brought the story home to the city people; the lawyers, the media. Lydia and her group are planning a huge awareness-raising concert to bring everybody together. So many big-name musicians and singers are coming. It’s going to be on the beach. No protests, no placards, just families, community and friends standing together.’
‘Will that make a difference, though, Maman? Oh, I wish I could be there.’
‘As Lydia explained it, this will be everyone declaring themselves for something, not against something. The theme is “Family, Country, Culture”, standing up for what you think is right.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ said Jean-Luc quietly.
Although Jacqui had tried to be positive and optimistic during the phone call, she felt a great pain in her heart as she hung up. She missed her son so much.
*
Damien had called her a couple of times since the disaster in Perth, but Jacqui hadn’t answered the calls. There had been no notes, flowers or anything else to suggest an apology.
‘He’s probably waiting for you to simmer down and then he’ll try to charm you and make excuses. Would you start seeing him again?’ asked Lydia when Jacqui mentioned it over coffee the next morning.
‘I never gave him a chance to explain what happened.’
Jacqui felt herself wavering, but Lydia jumped in with, ‘Sounds like it was pretty bleeding obvious what happened. Personally, I think you were lucky not to have got in too deeply. You’re well out of that, I’d say.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Enough of Damien.’ Jacqui knew what Lydia thought, and she didn’t want to go there. She had enough to worry about dealing with Jean-Luc’s father. She changed the subject.
‘How’s the concert coming along?’
‘We had a meeting with the musos and some friends last night. We’re going to hold it on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone will bring a picnic. The stage will be on a large catamaran with big speakers, just offshore. We’ll stick flyers all around town and get our social media working overtime. People will come in droves, especially when they hear the talent we’ve got lined up. I’ve organised a TV camera and a chopper. Film of this concert will go viral on the internet and news media.’
‘I love it!’ said Jacqui.
‘We want Chamberlains to get the message that they’re not wanted here and that we’ll stick to our guns even if it takes years. I mean, look how far we’ve come already,’ enthused Lydia. ‘We started out with all sections of the community suspicious of each other – even the media was divided. Local people all had different views, you know, “We’re not greenies”, “We’ve got kids who might get jobs with the company”, “We never see Aboriginal people out on country, so how do we know it’s important to them, let alone us?”, “Blow-ins from the eastern states shouldn’t stick their noses in our business”, all of that sort of thing. Now the vast majority are united.’
‘You’ve done such an amazing job,’ said Jacqui warmly.
‘Thanks, Jac.’ Lydia glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to run. See you at the concert?’
‘You certainly will.’
*
The concert was all ready to go. Everyone seemed to know about it and there was a festive buzz around town in the days leading up to it. There were impromptu sightings of both local and more widely known musos, and jam sessions at pubs and parties around town as the singers and musicians arrived in Broome. Jacqui was quietly thrilled when two members of one very famous national band cruised into her bookshop and bought some books.
Concert day dawned beautiful and clear – a perfect Sunday. Jacqui wrapped a sarong around her swimsuit, grabbed a hat and her basket and headed to the beach.
She was amazed when she saw the crowd that was already there. A helicopter circled overhead, and TV cameras were on the beach and on the large catamaran floating just offshore. The audience, mostly locals plus a few curious visitors, had settled on the sand on this lazy afternoon. Picnics were spread out, children and dogs chased each other along the waterline, people leaned back in beach chairs or stretched out on towels, while others swam in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean. A small flotilla of little boats hovered around the big catamaran, which carried a banner – Family, Country, Culture!
Shading her eyes, Jacqui scanned the beach for Lydia and her family, and spotted them under some beach umbrellas with Phillip and Peggy. After she’d joined them and greeted everyone, Jacqui quietly told her friends of Jean-Luc’s father’s decision to keep his son in France for the foreseeable future. They were dismayed and sympathetic.
‘He’s a difficult man. I just need to figure out what to say to him,’ said Jacqui, trying to sound more positive than she felt. As yet she had no clear plan about how to handle Jean-Luc’s father over the visitation issue. She had to present him with a clear, firm rationale.
Later, after their picnic, Jacqui wandered along the sand, stopping to chat with other friends. She was delighted to see Sami Barton, Lily’s daughter, sitting with Lily and Palmer.
‘Sami, this is a wonderful surprise,’ Jacqui exclaimed. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘Got in yesterday! I was hoping to bump into you,’ said Sami as they hugged.
‘Gosh, I haven’t seen you in, what, eighteen months? How are things in the big smoke?’ asked Jacqui, sitting down beside her.
Sami wrinkled her nose. ‘Professionally, fantastic. Did Mum tell you that the museum where I work as a curator is putting on an exhibition about early Asian art influences within Australia; Macassan, Afghan, Japanese, Chinese?’
‘Wow, sounds amazing. Wish I could see it.’
‘I’ll send you the catalogue.’ She lowered her voice and added, ‘Mum wanted to put in a few sentimental pieces like the piece of the sail from the Georgiana that Biddy patched up!’ She mimicked, ‘“Not quite what the museum had in mind, Dr Barton”, I was told.’ Sami chuckled.
‘You’re so lucky to have such a connection to this place,’ sighed Jacqui.
‘Yes, our family saga is an incredible story. You should read what my mother is writing, I really think it’s good.’
‘I can’t wait. How long are you here? We must catch up. Don’t you miss it?’
Sami smil
ed. ‘Of course I do. But for now I’m carving out a career and I know I can, and will, always come back. My family roots run deep here.’
‘I’m glad you’re here to support this. What a turnout,’ said Jacqui, looking around. ‘I think everyone I know in Broome is here.’
‘I know, there’s a fantastic vibe. Let’s definitely catch up later – I’ll call you. And thanks for all you’re doing, Jacqui, to help save this wonderful place.’
At the end of the concert, everyone gathered along the beach, cheering and waving towels, hats, flags and banners as the chopper flew in low over them.
The picture of six thousand residents gathered on their treasured beach, waving and jumping, was the image that flashed around the world’s media.
It was past sundown when Jacqui walked slowly back along the beach. Some of the local bands were still performing on the catamaran, and those staying to listen were building a huge bonfire on the sand. Others were packing up to move to a Sunday night at home, or perhaps out to dinner with friends. Lydia and her group were staying on, and while Lily, Palmer and Sami had asked Jacqui to join them, she felt it was more of a family get-together, so had politely declined.
Jacqui wondered if she should ring Jean-Luc and tell him how amazing the concert had been, but then she thought that since he was so upset about not being able to return to Broome, this might make him feel worse. She’d wait a few days and email some photos.
Suddenly, Jacqui ached with loneliness. And a slow, hurtful burn began deep inside her; anger at Damien, at Jean-Luc’s father, at Cameron, who’d been calling her – calls she had ignored. But it wasn’t just people who had rattled her composure and sense of security. It was also the fact that she’d found herself in this fight for her particular part of the country. She had only lived here a short time, yet she’d felt happy and at peace with herself at last, and not only because of her lifestyle, friends and the beautiful location, but because of the feeling of belonging this place gave her. The landscape oozed timelessness, the continuity of thousands of years, and there was a sense of collaboration between those first inhabitants and those who came and saw opportunities here. Jacqui felt she had just as much right to fight for this place as did the traditional owners, the old families, the businesspeople, the environmentalists and the diversity of locals whose colourful history all made it a symbol of how ‘a mixed-up mob can rub along’, as Wally had once put it. She was furious that Chamberlains had threatened this precious community.
She was putting her basket into the back seat of the car when a voice called out, ‘I hoped I’d find you!’
Jacqui spun around to see Cameron loping towards her in white shorts and a T-shirt, a towel slung over his shoulder.
He gave her a big smile. ‘Incredible music. For a good cause, of course!’
‘Very amusing,’ said Jacqui crossly. ‘Anyway, Cameron, what does it matter to you? I really don’t have anything to say to you.’ She slid behind the wheel, but he leaned against her door so that she couldn’t shut it.
‘But I have things I need to say to you, Jacqui. I’m truly sorry about the dinner, about Daryl, the whole damned thing. I want to apologise. I’ve been trying to ring you.’
‘Cameron, I don’t want to hear excuses. What happened at that dinner was unforgivable, very embarrassing. You set us up,’ said Jacqui, feeling her outrage bubble to the surface.
‘Honestly, I had no idea what Daryl had in mind! I know he and the shareholders are rattled by the vehement opposition from the local population, especially as it’s proving so effective. I hoped Daryl might get a better handle on things if he could just talk to Eddie and Arthur, who came across so well on TV.’
‘Surely Johnson wasn’t surprised at the indigenous reaction to their land being taken and trashed!’
‘Please, Jacqui, you know as well as I do that many Aboriginal people think that the profits from mining can do a lot for them. I think Daryl wanted to see if Eddie and Arthur could be persuaded to that view as well,’ said Cameron.
‘Well, Cameron, the proposed development at The Point is not just an indigenous issue, you know, important as that is. The town is split over the plan. Old friendships have been damaged. There are families who have been torn apart by this whole thing. I know one couple who are firmly against it, but their son is a tradie with Chamberlains and wants to keep his job. He’s moved out and isn’t speaking to them. It’s hard. A big corporation thinks they can just walk in and do what they want without any awareness of the damage they bring! Nor do they seem to care. It’s their arrogance that upsets me. It seems that what ordinary people feel and want and care about means nothing to the big end of town. The people proposing these changes have generally never been here, and those who have, don’t care. Money isn’t everything, Cameron!’ She was close to tears. Would her life ever feel calm again?
Cameron held up his hands placatingly. ‘Seriously, Jacqui, I really want to make you understand where I’m coming from –’
‘Why, Cameron? Besides, it’s a bit late for that. We’re on opposite sides of the fence here, and I don’t like you using me just because we have a remote connection from years ago.’
Cameron was silent for a moment. Then he said softly, ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. But because we go back so far, I know I can trust you. The thing is, I need to know a bit more about the way things work around here. The local response has rather rocked the company, so I’m asking myself, why would people put themselves out in the way they have, when in fact they’re standing to lose a substantial investment in their town?’ As Jacqui went to react, he put up his hand. ‘I know, it can’t be just about the money. This attitude certainly puzzles corporate people like Daryl. But listen, standing beside your car like this isn’t the place to talk about such an important issue. Can we go have a meal, so we can thrash things out in a more conducive atmosphere?’ Before Jacqui could answer Cameron added, ‘You once promised to cook me dinner. I’d happily settle for a toasted cheese sandwich and a beer at your place.’
Jacqui’s first instinct was to say no. It had been a big day and she was feeling worn-out and sad. She didn’t want to argue with him, and besides, she had a sense he just wanted to pick her brains for information.
‘I don’t think so, Cameron,’ she said in a tired voice.
‘What’s up? Is something wrong?’
He sounded concerned, and for a moment Jacqui fought back tears.
‘Oh, I’m just a bit weary.’
‘Look, I’m in a boring hotel room. I hate eating alone. Why don’t I meet you at your place in twenty minutes?’ He moved back so that he could shut her car door.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘Bring some wine. I’ll rustle something up.’ Why was she agreeing to this, she wondered as she turned on the ignition, when all she really wanted to do was curl up on her bed and try to think what to do about Jean-Luc and his father? All the same, some instinct told her that Lydia would never forgive her if she didn’t take the opportunity to find out from Cameron, if she could, what Chamberlains was planning to do next.
*
Jacqui raced into her house and quickly changed into casual clothes. She opened the refrigerator and stood staring at the shelves, wishing a meal would suddenly announce itself. Why on earth had she agreed to Cameron coming over? Her phone buzzed with a text from Cameron.
Don’t cook.
Did that mean he was not coming, or not staying? she wondered. She put glasses, ice, mineral water and some olives on the table. She had a loaf of garlic bread in the freezer, so she took it out. She’d only picked at her picnic lunch and was beginning to feel hungry.
Moonlight was angling through the palms in her garden when she heard Cameron arrive. He called out to her as he came to the open front door.
‘Hi. You got my message?’ Cameron was carrying a food container and suddenly a tomato-y, garlicky, delicious seafood aroma waft
ed into the room. ‘Mussels in herbs and white wine, and a small pot of ratatouille on the side. Hope you have some bread?’ Cameron announced.
‘I do. Where on earth did you get this?’
‘A new little seafood place. I persuaded them that I needed some food as my friend was incapacitated and couldn’t make it to the restaurant in person. They were delighted to oblige.’
‘I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience for them. Most places here don’t do takeaways.’
‘Hey, they sold a meal and kept a table free. The mussels have to be heated for a few minutes when we’re ready. And here, to go with them.’ He produced a bottle of Margaret River wine.
‘Very resourceful,’ said Jacqui. ‘Thank you.’
They settled outside and Cameron poured the wine.
He lifted his glass. ‘Look, first off, I want to apologise again, for putting you and your friends in such an awkward position the other evening. I truly had no idea Daryl would say what he did. I didn’t see it coming and I’m not at all sure that’s what I signed up for, either.’
‘So, what did you sign up for, Cameron? What’s in this for you? What is Cameron North’s role in all this?’
‘Specifically or generally? I have an aversion to four walls and office hours. I take jobs as they appeal to me anywhere in the world and where I think I can bring different parties to a mutually successful conclusion. I aim to please everyone if possible.’
‘Gun for hire, then? Anything you won’t do?’ Jacqui knew she sounded snappy, but it was hard for her to forget that Cameron was involved with the people who, in her opinion, were actively working against the best interests of her town.
Cameron gave an easy smile. ‘I don’t shoot people. And I don’t do anything that isn’t strictly legal. But I do try to sort everyone out.’
‘Just a job. It’s not like you really care,’ Jacqui said.
He took a sip of his wine. ‘Generally, I like to see a mutually satisfactory result.’ Jacqui snorted slightly. ‘But I have to say that when big money is involved, the loser takes it hard. And issues are rarely black and white, so there isn’t always an obvious solution.’
