by Jeff Gulvin
‘I know.’ Bree was still staring at the front of the house. ‘I read about it.’
‘Let’s see if anyone’s in.’
Leaving their cases where they were, Libby led the way down the path: bird tables hung from the trees and seed had been freshly scattered on the lawn. The sun was behind them now and high, warming their backs through their clothing. Libby knocked on the front door. ‘I suppose our bit is next door.’ She pointed to the right where a second porch overlooked the path running across the front of the house. A box of logs was stacked neatly to one side.
There was no reply. Libby knocked again but still received no answer.
‘Great,’ Bree said. ‘We come all this way and there’s no-one here. What’re we going to do now?’
‘I’m going to think for a minute, if you’ll let me.’ Libby looked at her then, one hand fisted on her hip. She tried the door and found it wasn’t locked. They peeked inside: one large room divided into kitchen and living area, two chairs and a settee, the walls vertically panelled in wood, ornaments littering the stone mantelpiece. A wood-burning stove was set on a raised fireplace in the near corner and a box of kindling stood next to it. The place smelled musty, as if no-one had lived there for a while.
‘I booked through Fiordland Ecology Holidays,’ Libby said. ‘Let’s try and find the office.’
‘How can we carry the bags?’
‘We’ll leave them here.’
Between them they shifted the bags into the carport and Bree made a closer inspection of the telephone box, which was old, the paint chipped, but the phone itself was still there. There was a fridge and a chest freezer, and a bag of seed — looking as if mice had been ransacking it — hung from a hook in the ceiling.
They walked the few yards to the main road then turned left and a little further on the lake came into view. Libby stopped and stared across the vast expanse of water. Mountains thrust at the sky in the distance, their tips a swirl of white cloud which hung mist-like and unmoving. A boat moved leisurely across the surface of the lake heading for a promontory of rocks, which jutted from the southern shore.
Bree came alongside her and stood for a moment. A sense of peace descended; both of them could feel it. They could hear no sound save the rustle of wind in the trees and the faint hum of the boat on the lake: no cars, no voices, only birdsong rising behind them. Libby took Bree’s hand. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s only a couple of streets in this town, we’ll find the office.’
Turning onto Waiau Street Bree spotted the office, painted green and standing in a little wetland where cabbage trees were sprouting. They crossed the wooden bridge to the porch and Bree stopped to watch silvereyes feeding on scraps of bread thrown down for them. She had never seen the little birds before but had bought a booklet in Christchurch and recognized them from their picture, small and blue-backed with their eyes marked in silver.
Libby opened the sliding door and they stepped into a large room with a counter on one side and partitioned at the back. A couch was set under the window and a TV and video stood opposite. The door to an inner office was open behind the counter and she could hear somebody talking on the phone. Bree stood at the window and watched a group of young people sitting at an outside table next door, at Possum Lodge, the local backpackers’ hostel. One boy in his late teens saw her watching and waved. Bree went red and came away from the window. She sat on the couch and then a dog poked its head round the side of the counter and looked thoughtfully at her. Brindle coloured, it seemed to have the head of an Alsatian. For a moment they looked at each other, then the dog yawned and wandered over. Bree beamed as she rested her chin on her knee.
Libby was at the counter. A woman in her forties sat at a computer screen in the smaller office beyond it, talking on the phone. She swivelled round: she had shortish hair clipped at the ears with pins, and very blue eyes. She smiled and lifted a finger to indicate a minute. Libby leaned on the counter and watched Bree and the dog playing together by the couch. The woman put down the phone and came through.
‘G’day,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hope so. I’m Dr Bass and this is my daughter Bree. We’ve rented the place up the road but there’s no-one at home.’
The woman’s face fell. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I thought that was all organized.’
‘You mean it’s not?’
‘Don’t worry.’ The woman smiled. ‘I’m Alex. I spoke to you on the telephone. Look, have a seat, let me make you some coffee and I’ll call John-Cody on the radio. It’s been a difficult day, I’m afraid, and things have run away with themselves.’
Libby bit her lip, trying hard to be accommodating. She was going to have to work with these people for at least two years. ‘The floods,’ she said.
‘Among other things, yes.’ Alex went behind the partition and put the kettle on. She came back and saw the look on Bree’s face, the dog still lying at her feet.
‘I see you’ve met Sierra, Bree. She’s part Australian sheepdog and part wild fox. She came over from Sydney when we got the boat.’
‘Boat?’ Bree looked puzzled.
‘The Korimako.’ Alex sat down next to her and fondled Sierra’s ears. ‘You know what, Sierra hasn’t had a run today. How would you fancy taking her down to the beach for me?’
Bree’s eyes widened. ‘I’d love to. Will she come with me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do I need a leash?’
‘No. Just tell her what you want her to do and she’ll do it. John-Cody trained her and she does pretty much what she’s asked.’
‘Who is John-Cody?’
‘John-Cody Gibbs: he’s the boss. This is his business. He’s on the boat right now in Doubtful Sound.’ Leaning back on the couch Alex pointed to the map on the ceiling. ‘You see that thin stretch of water the other side of the mountains? That’s Doubtful Sound: it goes all the way to the sea.’
Bree was on her feet. ‘Come on, Sierra,’ she said. The dog got up and padded down the steps with her and crossed the little bridge over the patch of wetland. At the kerb Bree stopped and Sierra sat and then the two of them crossed to the grass and the dirt track leading down to the lake. Libby leaned in the doorway with her arms folded.
‘That’s the most contented I’ve seen her since I told her we were coming.’ She smiled at Alex. ‘Can I step out here and smoke?’
‘Of course: I’d join you only I quit.’ Alex looked longingly at the pack of Camels Libby took from her bag. ‘I’ll see if I can get hold of the boss.’
John-Cody steamed gently back into Deep Cove and watched the fishermen from Ned Pole’s mini fleet tying their boats together. A couple of the crew were handing boxes of crayfish from one deck to the other and laying them on the communal wharf. Pole had six boats in all and four of them were tied up there: John-Cody had seen another, the Brigand, by the Nee Islands late in the day.
After he had scattered Mahina’s ashes he trawled First Arm looking for the dolphins, but he found no trace of them. His sense of loss was more acute than ever. There was a weakness in his limbs and his eyes burned. He was doing his level best to let Mahina go — but how could he let her go when there was such hopelessness in his chest? He fingered the ends of his hair where he had cut it and steered using the wheel, not the pilot, something he rarely did these days; but right then he needed the feel of wood under his hands.
The VHF radio crackled where it was housed on the dashboard.
‘Korimako, Korimako, Korimako: this is Kori-base. Do you copy, Boss?’
He picked up the transmitter. ‘Loud and clear, Alex.’
‘Listen, I have Dr Bass here in the office with me.’
‘Who is Dr Bass?’
‘The scientist from England, the one who’ll be studying the pod in Dusky Sound. The research programme — remember?’
‘Oh, shit.’ John-Cody passed a hand across his brow. ‘That’s not today surely?’
‘It is today. She’s right he
re and due to move into the homestay. What shall I do?’
That was the one bit of preparation Alex had asked him to do, her way of getting him off the boat, prompting him into some kind of action. For a full year he had stagnated, given up on himself and the business. Let everything go to pot. She had told him about the homestay rental and asked him to arrange a cleaner. He had clearly forgotten.
‘Alex, nothing’s ready. I never got it organized.’
Silence.
‘Did you get that, Alex? Over.’
‘Loud and clear: are you coming back over the hill?’
John-Cody thought about it. The boat had been his home for a year. He glanced around him at the bridge and saloon, steps for’ard and aft, galley on the starboard side.
‘I guess I better, huh.’
‘I think it would be a good idea. Look, I’ll call Lynda and see if she can clean. And I’ll get them booked into the Motor Inn for tonight.’
‘OK.’ John-Cody thought for a moment. ‘She’s got a daughter, right?’
‘Yes.’.
‘The homestay’ll be too cramped, Alex. Besides, I can’t go back. They can have my side of the house. Get Lynda to clean my side and shift the stuff I haven’t already moved down to the green shed. Tell her I’ll pay her double if she can do it tonight. And Alex’ — he paused for a moment — ‘tell her to be careful with Mahina’s clothes. They’re in boxes in the wardrobe.’
‘OK. Look, I’ll wait here in the office till you get back. Over and out.’
John-Cody put the handset down and brought the boat round in an arc to berth on the port side. Two of Pole’s men looked up from their work. John-Cody ignored them: already the Southland Tours catamaran was tying up on the big wharf. They would be loading the bus and he needed a ride over the pass. He berthed the Korimako in one fluid movement, for’ard at the dock then wheel to starboard and hard astern, neutral and she glided in on the port side with barely a bump against the tyres. Outside he put on the for’ard spring to keep her where she was and switched off the engines.
Quickly he made the checks, closed the doors and tied off to stern and bow. He was at the top of the black metal steps as the Southland Tours bus came up from their wharf. Jim Brierly was driving and John-Cody flagged him down. The passenger doors opened with a hiss and Brierly, a heavy-set man from Te Anau, squinted at him.
‘G’day, Gib.’
‘I need a ride, Jim.’
‘We’re full, mate.’
‘I can stand.’
Brierly smiled. ‘Go on then. I shouldn’t, but seeing as it’s you.’
John-Cody climbed the steps and stood with his back to the windscreen, looking at the faces of the tourists who stared back at him.
Brierly drove the bus across the mountain pass. He gave no commentary on the return trip; the passengers had been out for five or so hours and were weary. He pushed the microphone away from his mouth and looked at John-Cody. ‘So how you going? I’ve not seen anyone on your boat for a while.’
‘I haven’t felt much like clients, Jim.’
Brierly looked at him again. ‘You cut your hair. I knew there was something different about you. God, I never thought I’d see the day. It’s still bloody long but it’s a start, I reckon.’
John-Cody raised a grin and fingered the frayed ends at his shoulders. ‘Does it look bad?’
‘Awful.’
They passed Pole’s men on the wharf by the hostel, their truck loaded with crayfish boxes.
‘Looks like they had a good day: Old Ned’ll be pleased. From what I hear he needs the money.’ Brierly looked round again as they started up the hill. ‘Is he still after your wharf?’
John-Cody nodded. ‘And the boat. He’s not getting either.’
‘You two still don’t get on then, eh.’ Brierly shook his head. ‘Pole’s all right, Gibby. He’s just trying to make a living, same as the rest of us.’
‘Like the gold mine in Australia.’
Brierly made a face. ‘Fair play to him, mate. He had a go. That’s all anybody can ask.’
‘I heard he stretched himself too thin. It’s why this Dusky deal is so important.’
‘Possibly. People gossip, Gib. Pole’s a big man, there’s those that’d like to see him take a fall.’ He looked keenly at John-Cody then. ‘Same as there’s those who wanted to see you take one.’
John-Cody nodded.
‘The funny thing is, mate,’ Brierly went on, ‘you and Pole are alike in lots of ways.’
John-Cody thinned his eyes.
‘You both know the bush, the water, better than just about anyone. You’re both decent blokes. It’s a pity you don’t get along.’
‘We stand on different sides of the fence, Jim.’
Brierly nodded, working the steering wheel through his hands. ‘I suppose that business with Eli didn’t help.’
John-Cody stared at the floor and he heard the crashing of waves on the bow, the flapping of the jib on the luff spar.
‘I’m sorry, mate.’ Brierly looked at him, red-faced. ‘I shouldn’t have brought that up.’
Libby had heard what Alex said on the radio, heard the response through the static and her heart sank. What with all the stress she had been through with Bree, this was the last thing she needed. Alex came over and sat down next to her on the couch.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘You must think we’re awful.’ Libby tried to smile.
‘I should never have left it to him, not today anyway.’
‘Why? What’s today?’
Alex bit her lip. ‘He buried his wife today, his common law wife anyway.’
‘Oh my God. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He scattered her ashes on the sound. She died a year ago. It was a promise he made to her and he fulfilled it today.’ She smiled and patted Libby on the thigh. ‘So you see, nothing is ready for you. But this is Manapouri and we’re nothing if not resourceful. Tonight I’ll get you booked into the motel and the house will be ready tomorrow. There is some good news: John-Cody told me to prepare the big half of the house, his half, for you. There are two bedrooms and you’ll be much more comfortable.’
‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’
‘No worries.’ Alex smiled and collected her car keys from the counter. ‘You fetch Bree and I’ll get your bags. See you back here in five minutes.’
Libby wandered down to the beach, where she stood in the shelter of the last line of trees watching her daughter playing with the dog at the edge of the lake. The ragged heads of mountains reflected in the water like glass, so still now after the rain. The beach was a mixture of shingle and bigger stones, some boulder size further along the shore. Bree had not seen her; she was busy throwing sticks for Sierra who dived into the water, swam for all she was worth and then came paddling back, a weed-soaked twig between her jaws. Each time she dropped it at Bree’s feet without being prompted. Bree looked up, saw her mother and waved. Libby felt her heart lift for the first time since she had made her decision to come here.
Alex drove them to the motel and pointed out her house as they passed. It faced the lake across the main road, which led to Te Anau. It was hardly what Libby would call a main road: they’d seen fewer than a handful of cars in the couple of hours they had been there. Alex’s house was large and set back from the road, a massive dormer window cut into the attic. Libby strained her neck to look as they drove past.
‘That must be one hell of a view,’ she said.
Alex smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s why I bought the house. That attic window wasn’t there. I had it put in because I knew the view would be spectacular. I wasn’t concerned with the house.’
They pulled up outside reception. Libby climbed out and between them they unloaded the bags. Libby noticed there was a restaurant and something called the Beehive Bar attached to the motel. They would get something to eat and drink at least.
The room was nothing fancy but clean and serviceable. The breeze-block walls were
painted yellow and flower-patterned curtains hung at the window but the view over the lake was partly obscured by trees that Alex told them had recently been planted along the shore. It was why she had bought a house set at the back of her section, which was raised up on the hill. People who had built lower down had had their view spoiled and apparently they were up in arms about it.
‘That’s the difficulty with this part of the world,’ she said. ‘It’s always a fine balance between development and conservation.’
‘I think it’s the same all over nowadays.’
‘I’m sure it is. It’s always more acute, though, when a place depends so much on tourism.’
Alex left them alone then, suggesting they come to the office whenever they were ready in the morning. Everything would be sorted by then. Bree said goodbye to Sierra who didn’t seem to want to go. Alex told her she could walk her any time she liked.
‘So what do you think?’ her mother asked when Alex had gone. ‘Still the back of beyond?’
Bree made a face. ‘I like the lake, and I can’t wait to explore the garden. Did you see it? It looks huge.’
‘I didn’t get a proper look but I will tomorrow.’
‘One thing is bothering me, Mum.’ Bree sat down on the bed, hands under her thighs.
‘What’s that, darling?’
‘Who’s going to look after me when you’re in Dusky Sound?’
John-Cody rode across the lake with Southland Tours and walked the short distance to the office. Alex was still there when he went in. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I completely forgot. Did you get them settled?’
‘Manapouri Motor Inn, and I’ve also arranged for Lynda to do the cleaning as you asked.’
‘Great.’ He slumped down on the couch and Alex brought him some freshly brewed coffee: she stared at his unkempt hair, her brow furrowed.
‘When did you cut that?’
‘This afternoon.’
Alex sat down, hands clasped in her lap. ‘A year to the day: I’m sorry, I should have been more thoughtful. I’d never have booked those people in if I’d thought about it properly.’
John-Cody patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it, Alex. You told me the date ages ago. I should have thought about it too. Was she very fed up?’
