Before the Storm

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Ellie, I’m impressed. You’re not exactly roughing it away from the city. No wonder you seem so happy here.’

  ‘So tell me about your interest in old buildings. Is this to do with your new success?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘Well, yes. Long story short, I’ve been creating an app. It was just something I was tinkering with, nothing important, but I got swept up in it.’

  ‘Something to do with heritage buildings? How does that work?’

  ‘Yep. It probably hasn’t really come up between us before, but I love heritage architecture, have for years. It’s long been a hobby of mine to research the construction and details of old buildings all around Victoria, the different periods and styles. So it occurred to me to start a database recording the features of our heritage homes and buildings. That led to developing an app that would be useful for architects, builders, interior designers, history buffs, but especially for people who’re renovating old homes. So, for example, if you want to know what colours to paint the interior of a 1920s worker’s cottage, you can check out the original colour schemes and swatches on the app.’

  ‘Oh, wow, Mike,’ said Ellie. ‘I never knew you were keen on old buildings. This is a great idea. I love it.’ She grinned at him. ‘You’ll have to take photos of the details in Poppy’s house. I don’t think it’s been changed since it was built a century ago.’

  ‘That would be great. In fact, from what I’ve seen of Storm Harbour already, it would be the perfect subject for the app, with the whalers’ bluestone cottages and so on.’ Ellie could hear the excitement in her friend’s voice. ‘Another feature is that you can use the information on the app to determine a building’s approximate age from the details in its design.’

  ‘Amazing. There’re so many possibilities, Mike, and you have the IT know-how to do it at far less cost than having someone else build it,’ said Ellie, starting to share his enthusiasm.

  ‘Yes, apps can cost a bomb, but that’s because people usually have to pay someone like me to design and develop them.’

  ‘But how will you collect all the data and information?’ Ellie asked. ‘You’d need images, architect’s drawings . . .’

  ‘I know, I know, and it’s purely part-time for me so I can’t do as much research as I’d like to. I’ve put the word out on social media and letters in a couple of journals and already people are emailing me with old drawings, and some historical societies have come on board. I’m starting small but I have big plans!’

  ‘So you said you have interest already?’

  ‘Yes. When I’d finished the prototype I tentatively put it out there to see what interest there might be, and I’ve been really surprised at the support. A few people have come on board as investors and others are considering it. Like I say, the R and D takes time, but it’s so satisfying.’

  ‘Wow, Mike, I’m so happy for you, and almost envious. I wish I had something I could lose myself in and get enthused about.’

  Mike leaned back. ‘Now you know my secret passion, Ellie,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll hang onto my IT job for the time being, though.’

  ‘You never know when an app just appeals and suddenly takes off and becomes a lucrative side hustle,’ said Ellie. ‘Look at all the apps on our phones! No wonder people are trying to come up with a winning app all the time.’

  ‘Aha, a celebration?’ came a voice over Ellie’s shoulder.

  Ellie turned to see Dave Ferguson standing behind her.

  ‘Hello there!’ she said brightly. She introduced the two men. ‘Mike is a friend from Melbourne, an IT colleague. Dave is the manager of the community bank here.’

  ‘Please, don’t get up,’ Dave said as Mike rose. ‘You here for the long weekend?’

  ‘You bet. My first time here. Amazing place. A bit of a secret.’

  ‘We try to keep it that way,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Whereas I’m not against advancement, done in a sensitive way,’ said Dave with a chuckle.

  ‘He’s saying that to annoy me,’ said Ellie.

  ‘That’s the job of a bank manager, isn’t it? To support local advancement?’ said Mike.

  ‘Only if it’s appropriate,’ said Dave quickly. ‘Well, I’ll let you get back to it – enjoy your lunch, I can recommend the lime meringue pie. Catch you later, Ellie, and enjoy your visit,’ he said to Mike and sauntered over to join a table with two other men.

  ‘Seems pleasant. He likes you,’ said Mike pointedly.

  Ellie wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s nice. But he moves in a different circle and has friends who come and visit, looking for “investment properties” here.’

  ‘You don’t approve? I noticed a lot of land ripe for development on the outskirts of town, and along the coastline. As Dave says, it can be a good thing if it’s done sensitively,’ said Mike.

  ‘Storm Harbour is wise to treasure its heritage,’ Ellie said. ‘It has a great setting, high-quality food and a good vibe. It has a lot to lose if new developments aren’t in keeping with the rest of the town.’

  ‘You’re right, Ell. No wonder it’s attracting people like Lucy and James and their business.’

  ‘Yes, and Cassie and Steve, who run the caravan park. It’s not just a summer place. I love it here in winter. Always have.’

  ‘Does this feel more like home than the city?’ Mike asked gently.

  Ellie didn’t answer for a minute, then said slowly, ‘It’s more than that. Might sound silly to the generations who’ve lived here, but I do feel a sense of my roots being here. That sense of place and belonging people talk about. I hadn’t realised it so much until this trip.’

  They stopped talking and quickly studied the menu when the waiter came to take their dessert order. Then Mike leaned his elbows on the table and said gently, ‘You were very fragile when you left Melbourne. Now you seem stronger. Happier. But you’re not just burying your problems, are you? I don’t mean to sound like a shrink, but I know enough pop psychology to know that avoiding problems never helps solve them.’

  Ellie was thoughtful. ‘I don’t think I’m doing that. Actually, the other day I was thinking that in a strange sort of way I’ve come back here to face them properly.’ She looked at him and gave a small smile. ‘Your branching out with a sideline has me thinking. Maybe I should do some travelling, stay a couple of months overseas, Europe, perhaps. Write something. I don’t know. I’d never considered any such thing till this moment.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Mike cheerfully. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve just decided I’m not making any plans. I’ll take it as it comes. Who knows where I’ll be in, well, who knows when?’

  They clinked glasses.

  ‘Send me a postcard now and then,’ said Mike.

  *

  Ellie surveyed the dining table set for Patrick, herself, Mike, Roly, Meredith, Cassie and Steve. She and Cassie had caught up for coffee a few times and had started going for morning walks together, giving them time to build the foundations of a strong friendship. Ellie found she really enjoyed Cassie’s company. She’d asked Lucy and James, too, but they were busy with guests and the café.

  Mike had come over early to help and now he was sitting on the verandah, yarning to Patrick, while Ellie took care of the final preparations.

  She’d kept the meal simple, using fresh ingredients: a leg of lamb with pickled figs, crushed potatoes with herbs baked with butter, broad beans, roasted beetroot and home-baked olive bread that Meredith was bringing. The lamb came from Roly’s breeder mate, so it was ethically bred at a small-scale local farm. Dessert was a lemon custard tart Ellie’s grandmother had taught her to make, baked with their own lemons.

  Mike had brought the wine. He now had a local favourite and was taking a case back to the city, along with a loaf of Meredith’s olive bread she’d offered to make especially for him.

  ‘It�
��s seriously delicious. She worked in a bakery once,’ Ellie had explained.

  The room was cosy, candles burned, and Ellie’s grandmother’s favourite vase was filled with the last of their roses for the season. As the guests arrived and mingled and chatted over wine and a cheese board, Ellie put the finishing touches on the meal and served up as the guests took their seats around the table.

  Roly was in fine form, and Mike kept roaring with laughter or shaking his head in a bemused fashion at the older man’s wild stories.

  Steve recounted the tale of a huge seal that had hauled its bulk out of the river onto the fishing landing where Roly and his friend Nino were cleaning their catch. It had started barking aggressively, demanding a feed.

  ‘I heard this racket, and there’s Roly waving his fist at the seal and demanding that the beast “cease and desist”, and Nino screaming at it in Italian. The next thing I know, the old bull puts his head down and charges them!’

  ‘What happened? They can be dangerous,’ exclaimed Ellie, who couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Nino was the hero. He flung the bucket of fish at it just as Roly turned around and charged back at the seal, yelling, “Leave me the bloody mulloway!”’

  As everyone laughed Roly said, ‘Well, mulloway are getting damned rare around here these days.’

  Over dessert, Patrick turned to Meredith. ‘How’re things down at the office?’ he asked.

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Still very frustrating. I’m making no headway on finding out about this potential development. Like I said before, something’s going on, but I’m still not privy to it. You know how a conversation can stop when you walk into a room? Well, that’s happened to me more than once lately.’ She shrugged. ‘By the way, do you know where Seamus O’Neill is at the moment? One of the staff wanted him for something.’

  ‘Oh, it’s that time of year,’ said Patrick. ‘For as long as I can remember, Seamus and his wife took a cruise this time every year. They’d fly somewhere and get on a cruise ship and sail around the Caribbean, South America, you name it. After his wife died, he continued the tradition.’

  ‘Well, he better come back soon, as I imagine he’ll want to be here for Kathryn O’Neill’s big party,’ said Roly.

  ‘Oh yes, good point,’ Patrick said.

  ‘When are you going to start taking it easy, Poppy?’ teased Ellie.

  ‘Me? Cruises? Never. What would I do with myself? Once a newspaperman, always a newspaperman. I learned on the job how to be a reporter and now a proprietor.’ He turned to Mike. ‘Speaking of the job, I heard on the grapevine that you’re interested in heritage buildings and have built an app? How do you make money from these apps?’

  ‘Poppy!’ Ellie laughed.

  Mike nodded. ‘Hey, this is what everyone is after, an app that a wide range of people are interested in and subscribe to. You can learn a Chinese dialect, become a superior breadmaker, like Meredith –’

  ‘I didn’t learn from any app, honey!’ interjected Meredith.

  ‘– or just play games that go from simple to silly to superior stimulation. Or give you a brain snap.’ Everyone chuckled. ‘But seriously, I’ve always had a secret fascination with buildings; I really should have studied architecture. It’s not just the way buildings are constructed, it’s the world around them that develops as a result. We spend so much time in and around structures, but how often do we really think about how a community is influenced by its surroundings?’

  ‘Which is why walking in a forest is so good for your sense of wellbeing,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Ellie.

  Roly reached for his wineglass. ‘Aspirations can lead us astray until we learn what makes us feel at home in our own skin and surroundings. Unfortunately, we can’t all afford to be in the setting we might like. I have a great concern about the way people are often lumped together like sardines. Humans need a bit of space, sun, trees, nature.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Mike soberly. ‘If governments and developers would work for the people and not their pockets, we could build integrated communities for social housing, people in their retirement, young families all together that allow for, say, a compact back garden, a shady tree, green space, and a shared community garden, or playground, perhaps. Connected by flat paths for bikes and scooters and joggers and walkers. Public transport close by. Planning is the key. These things need to be built into the concept from the start.’

  Meredith sighed. ‘Good luck selling that to the government,’ she said. ‘Money rules, and it’s wrong, but it’s a matter of reworking our lifestyle and work choices within our current circumstances, if we are able to.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ said Patrick.

  ‘But it’s still the mantra of the majority to maintain mediocracy. And what about people’s apathy about climate change?’ said Roly. ‘We’re standing at the gates of hell with the world on fire all around us, and still too many sceptics out there are refusing to take off their blindfolds. Keep pluggin’ away with your paper, Patrick.’

  ‘You’ve got a point, Roly,’ said Steve. ‘But I have to say, I’ve observed such a change in people who come through the caravan park here. When they actually stop being busy and doing stuff, and just sit in a chair under a tree, look at the river, maybe with a beer or a mug of tea in their hand, where there’s no traffic, no TV or radio, no people in your face, just a few birds, they become a different person. And I hear them say how different they feel, all the time.’

  ‘You could sell a stay at the Gardens Caravan Park as a form of therapy, like those nature clinics and spas,’ suggested Roly. ‘I will be your spokesperson. On the other hand, please don’t let the place get overrun with stressed-out city people!’

  ‘As long as I can prevent it in my little corner of the world, I will,’ said Steve quietly, and hearing his words, Ellie thought about the potential development breathing down their necks.

  ‘Let’s move to the verandah for coffee and a nightcap,’ said Patrick.

  ‘I’ll help you clear up, Ellie,’ offered Cassie.

  ‘No, that’s my job,’ said Mike.

  It was late by the time Ellie and Mike joined Patrick in the old rattan chairs on the verandah, where a gas streetlamp-style heater hissed above, wrapping them in a soft gush of warm air. Sam had found the direct downdraft and was snoring faintly.

  Cassie and Steve had given Roly a lift back to the caravan park with them, and Meredith had left soon after.

  Patrick had broken into the whisky Mike had brought him, and had persuaded Mike to share a noggin as Ellie nursed a good shiraz.

  ‘This is a bit hard to take,’ said Mike, stretching his legs. ‘I didn’t know you were such a decent chef, Ellie. I want your grandmother’s lemon tart recipe.’

  ‘Ellie learned a lot from her nana. Sandy, her mum, never felt at home in the kitchen, I fear.’

  ‘That’s okay. Dad’s a dab hand on the barbie,’ said Ellie. ‘He always made my school lunches too. Some were not as successful as others.’

  ‘I got a bit spoiled working overseas so much, mainly in Asia. The office always gave us a joint with a cook,’ said Patrick.

  ‘I think I might have mentioned to you, Mike, that Poppy was a foreign correspondent for the ABC,’ Ellie said.

  ‘Yes, but I had to learn the ropes, starting with regional radio. What an eye-opener that was after the big city. At first I thought I was in clover. They paid me fifty quid a week to sit in the sun all day drinking brandy and ice from a long glass, eating home-cooked meals at the Railway Hotel three times a day, roaming the countryside at weekends breathing in smog-free air. Then I’d sit in a cool office punching out little stories to amuse the locals.’

  ‘Sounds pretty cushy,’ said Mike.

  ‘Yeah. But the loneliness, the lack of people I could talk to about ideas, theories, thoughts and plans, got to me. The rest of the world d
idn’t seem to exist in that small backwater. And to tell the truth, the work was dull and didn’t come with any challenges, so I started to feel I was missing out on everything that was going on in the city. I was in paradise on the edge of hell.’

  ‘Were you there on your own, Poppy? A one-man band?’ asked Ellie, who’d never heard much of Patrick’s early days as a journo.

  ‘Well, my predecessor had left a list of regular correspondents, including one in my town. I spent weeks trying to find this cove and finally rang my predecessor who told me, “He’ll make contact when he hunts down a story. He works off the beaten track.” So I had this vision of an ABC stringer correspondent with a white pith helmet, Commonwealth of Australia–issue notebook in his hip pocket, pencil clenched between his teeth, poling a bamboo raft up the rivers of the region looking for a story off the beaten track. Never did meet him.’

  ‘When did you first go overseas?’ asked Mike.

  ‘Early sixties, to help run the Port Moresby newsroom while the senior fellow went to report on how self-­government was coming along in Dutch New Guinea and check out the increasing Indonesian threat to its stability.’ Patrick chuckled and added, ‘I’d heard the ABC offices were basic but I was stunned to find that the studio and record library were in a rusty tin shed built sometime before the Second World War. Accommodation was a post-war prefab with no air conditioning. We had a couple of local cadets, with one doing bulletins in pidgin English and the other in Motu dialect. It was a great experience but the after-work parties and shindigs on the weekends took their toll.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Nana always said that Vietnam was a turning point for you,’ prompted Ellie, as she could see her grandfather was enjoying reminiscing and Mike appeared genuinely interested.

  ‘Yeah. For so many. I was sent up on the heels of the Viet Cong’s ambush of a small unit of Aussies, mostly kids of nineteen or so, in a rubber plantation at Long Tan. I was only in my twenties myself,’ Patrick said, sounding far way for a moment. ‘I was in the Caravelle Hotel in Saigon, near the great French-style boulevard, Tu Do, and the famous Continental Hotel. Sipping G & Ts on the terrace where Somerset Maugham and Graham Greene had been. But my favourite place was the roof terrace at the top of the Caravelle, to hang out with people like our cameraman, the legendary Neil Davis. We’d watch the light show on the edge of the city near the Mekong Delta as the war trundled on.’