Quinn had an idea. As president of the Kiawa Canegrowers’ Association he had some local clout. Why not ask members to take on one or more of these kids, provide them with a job, and train them for a career in agriculture? It was a big ask. Sugar prices had hit an all-time low, and the region was still recovering from last year’s devastating floods. But, despite all this, the scheme had taken off. He’d spent a lot of time talking to families, trying to match each kid’s abilities with the work on offer. A start-up government wage subsidy helped convince members, but so far most farmers had kept their PWSY employee on after the initial funding cut out. Some had even taken on another, and more growers were coming on board as word got out. Kiawa was rallying to help its own, and now over twenty local cane farms were part of the project. So many young people gaining confidence and independence, realising their potential, forging a future. Pity Josh wasn’t one of them. Quinn had tried hard to involve his brother in the day-to-day running of Swallowdale. Josh wasn’t interested. Maybe he wasn’t ready for more responsibility. Maybe he’d never be ready.
Quinn reached the house as Mal Owen and his son Shane pulled up. The teenager grinned and nodded a greeting. Not much older than Josh and already his father’s right-hand man. A worm of envy squirmed in Quinn’s stomach. ‘Good turnout,’ said Mal. He was right. The drive was crowded with vehicles. ‘And no wonder. That young feller you sent me? Dylan? He’s keen as mustard, sharp as a tack and a whiz with machinery to boot. Worked at the family truck repair shop, apparently, just for the fun of it, until his grandad retired. Then he couldn’t get a job because he’s deaf. Well, some other feller’s missed out badly, because Dylan’s the best new worker I’ve had in donkey’s years. Never takes a sickie, never late . . .’ Mal dug his son in the ribs. ‘He could teach this shirker a thing or two, I can tell you.’
Shane grinned again. ‘He already has. He’s teaching me Auslan. I can swear at you, and you don’t even know.’
Mal tousled his son’s hair good-naturedly. ‘Watch out, mate. I’m picking up that signing stuff too.’
Dylan’s was a common success story. Young PWSY workers were earning themselves a fine reputation. Quinn employed two autistic kids himself to help with the harvest, both of them reliable and enthusiastic. Not like Josh. Josh, who mooched round the house all day playing online computer games, or spent his time fooling about with the dolphins. Half the time he even slept at Leo’s shack next to the Reef Centre, so he could be there early the next morning. The kid was utterly unmotivated to do anything useful.
The raucous bass-and-drum sound of Metallica boomed down from the balcony, startling them all. They looked up to see Josh playing air guitar, lost in a loud, distorted riff. Quinn shook his head and smiled. Josh might not be responsible like Shane. He might not be keen-as-mustard like Dylan. He might never be either of those things. But for all his brother’s faults, Quinn wouldn’t have swapped him for the world.
CHAPTER 7
Zoe stood on the deck of Seafarer, the Reef Centre’s nifty little runabout, while Bridget lowered what looked like a four-pronged grappling hook into the water. ‘Won’t that damage the coral?’
Bridget pointed to the red buoy bobbing beside the boat. An improbable thing to see in this vast expanse of ocean. ‘That buoy marks this as a designated anchor point, a bare rocky spot. We dive here all the time. And anyway, I’m using a specially designed reef pick that won’t do much harm.’
‘Confession time,’ said Zoe. ‘I’ve never been to the Great Barrier Reef. Can you believe that?’
Bridget looked up, her expression disbelieving. ‘What, not ever?’
‘Nope.’ It seemed a shameful admission, but Bridget was the sort of person you could trust to understand.
‘Where did you learn to dive?’
‘Sydney Harbour.’ Zoe wasn’t an experienced diver, only recently qualified. Her theory classes had been held in a historic sandstone building not far from Sydney’s CBD. Lessons were conducted from a nearby wharf, among floating litter and stormwater pollution, and with the roar of city traffic in her ears. A far cry from this pristine place.
‘Muck diving?’ scoffed Bridget, and threw her an amused look. ‘Well, you’re in for a treat today. This reef is in a Green Zone – no fishing allowed. It’s teeming with life.’
Zoe nodded. Should she tell Bridget of the surprising beauty and diversity of Sydney’s waters? Of the mysterious kelp forests, the gardens of sea tulips and the cleverly camouflaged weedy sea dragons? Of the bizarre and beautiful giant cuttlefish that grew to a metre long and were so friendly and curious they would follow you about? Of the shy Port Jackson sharks? Instead, she adjusted her mask one last time.
‘Ready?’ asked Bridget.
‘Ready.’ The next moment Zoe entered a vivid and unfamiliar underwater world. Several metres down now, and how very different this place was to Sydney. The stunning clarity of the water for one thing, as invisible as air and yet so blue she might have been swimming in the sky. And all around, more kinds of fish and coral than she’d ever believed possible. She blinked in wonder at the dazzling array of colours – colours she didn’t know could even exist in nature. Crazy neons, electric blues, and yellows so bright you almost needed sunglasses. And to think this was just the southernmost tip of the Great Barrier Reef.
Zoe ventured deeper, past a soft purple sea fan, over a spreading green coral as broad as a billiard table. She glanced up. A massive potato cod hovered above her, silhouetted against the shimmering surface. And look, there went a pale blue unicorn fish, its horn reminiscent of that mythical creature.
Bombarded by so much colour and movement, Zoe forgot the cardinal rule of scuba diving – she forgot to breathe. Hanging onto the lungful of air increased her buoyancy, and she began to rise. A feeling of being starved for breath and a growing pain in her chest alerted her to the danger. The deep draught of compressed air was expanding as she ascended, threatening to rupture her delicate alveoli, to burst her lungs. She exhaled in a panic, resisting the instinct urging her to rush upwards. Reason told her that was the worst possible thing to do. Instead she trod water and inhaled, slowly, mindfully. Next she exhaled with the same degree of conscious control. Only when she’d recovered the rhythm of her breath did she rise to the surface in slow motion, tossing aside her regulator and mask, gulping down the sweet, sweet air.
Bridget popped up beside her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Sure.’ Zoe hoped the word didn’t sound too much like a gasp for breath. ‘I just got a bit dizzy.’ Something bumped her thigh and she looked down. A hawksbill turtle. A critically endangered hawksbill turtle, the size of a car tyre, was munching on a sea sponge right beside her. Zoe laughed in delight, her fright forgotten. There was the hooked, raptor-like beak, the beautifully patterned, serrated shell and the pair of claws adorning each flipper, just like in the photographs she’d seen.
Bridget tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to their left. ‘Look.’ Black fins cut the surface, and a vast shadow passed beneath them. ‘Back down, quickly.’ Bridget vanished from sight.
Zoe followed her lead and was rewarded with a remarkable sight. Manta rays, five in all, caught up in a courtship train of magnificent grace. Nothing she’d read had prepared her for the sheer size of these animals. They dwarfed the divers. The larger female leading the dance was five metres across, wingtip to wingtip, and must have weighed a tonne.
This time Zoe’s breathing remained regular and calm. There was something immensely peaceful about being in the presence of the great rays. Like a meditation. The eager suitors mirrored the female’s every move, performing a series of backward rolls, looking for all the world like they had been choreographed. Now the female sped to the surface and seemed to vanish. Her admirers performed the same trick. Where were they? Had they breached? Seconds later they reappeared like magic, slicing back into the water many metres from where they’d left it, flapping wings like giant birds as they flew away. If only she’d seen it from up top, seen th
e rays leap from the blue of the ocean into the blue of the sky. But then she wouldn’t have witnessed their underwater ballet. The reef was filled with so many marvels that she needed two of her, at least, just so she didn’t miss anything.
Zoe spent a marvellous half-hour exploring, trying not to hold her breath, observing the nonstop drama that was life on the reef. A purple scorpion fish launched itself from a rocky ledge, aiming for a striped angelfish, which escaped into swaying strands of soft coral just in time. Orange clownfish, identical to Nemo of Disney-movie fame, nestled among the protective jade-green tentacles of bubble-tip anemones. Schools of shining silver barracuda and trevally sailed past. A giant Queensland grouper lived up to its reputation as bold and curious by investigating the stream of bubbles from Zoe’s regulator. Then it settled on a prominent coral outcrop where little blue cleaner wrasses plied their trade, relieving the big fish of parasites, even venturing between its gaping jaws in perfect safety.
By the time she and Bridget went topside, the spell cast by Turtle Reef was complete. Zoe was in love. Not the kind of fickle, romantic love that had so often let her down. But a kind of joyful and profound passion, which moved her like the finest music, poetry or art.
‘How does this compare to Sydney Harbour?’ asked Bridget as she took off her gear. Her eyes held a smug certainty about the answer she would receive.
‘Okay, you win,’ said Zoe. ‘There’s no comparison.’ She gulped from her water bottle, then flung herself onto a seat and hung over the side, unwilling to take her gaze from the water.
Bridget shook out her long, blonde hair, towel-drying it briefly before starting the motor and heading towards the shore. ‘Next stop, the seagrass meadows fringing the mangroves. We’ll see dugongs today, I’m sure of it.’
‘Stop it.’ Zoe shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘I don’t think I could stand any more excitement.’
Sure enough, half an hour later Bridget killed the motor and Zoe spotted dark shapes beneath the surface – her first sight of a wild dugong and calf, grazing on the waving underwater fields of flowering seagrass. The pair used their front flippers to paddle to the surface every four or five minutes, breathing through nostrils on their vacuum snouts. Snouts that looked more like strange stunted trunks than noses. She could see firsthand how they were more closely related to elephants than to whales or seals. The boat drifted closer. So close, she could have reached out to touch the scars on the mother’s back as it swam in a slow circle, keeping its body between the boat and its baby. It rolled to regard her with a wise, brown eye, flicked its fluked tail and swam away.
Zoe collapsed on a seat. Overwhelmed. Stiff and sore from so much unfamiliar physical activity, but more alive than she’d ever been. Her mind ranged through the events of the day. The horse ride to the Hump and her near fall. The sad story of Aisha the Arabian mare. The beauty of the reef dive and her sudden, breathless panic. All very different to a Monday in the engineering library back in Sydney. The contrast made her laugh aloud.
Bridget glanced across from where she sat at the helm. ‘Something funny?’
‘I’m just happy,’ said Zoe. ‘Utterly, deliriously happy.’
‘Strap in.’ Bridget flashed Zoe a Hollywood smile. ‘This is just the beginning.’
‘When do I get hands-on with the dugong research project?’ she asked. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’
‘That’s the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear.’ Bridget checked her watch. ‘I’ll drop you off at the centre now.’
‘I thought you were going to give me a research briefing?’
‘We’ve run out of time. I’ll radio ahead and ask Karen to brief you instead. Can’t take you back to Swallowdale afterwards though. Dad’s mayoral campaign launch is tonight and I promised to be there.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Zoe. ‘I’ll get home somehow.’
‘Sorry. I haven’t organised your car yet, have I?’ The radio crackled and Bridget reached for it. ‘Next week, I promise.’
‘No worries,’ said Zoe. Except it was a worry. She hated being shunted to and from work each day by the Swallowdale gardener or whoever else was available, like a child going to and from school. She wanted to explore Kiawa by herself, have some independence.
Bridget got on the radio, and Zoe settled in for the trip home. Tired now, content to stare at the late-afternoon horizon, where turquoise ocean met the impossible blue of the sky. They skirted close to shore. How many people, for how many centuries, had admired the same stunning view? In Sydney the pace of change made you dizzy. Here in Kiawa, nothing seemed to change. Time had forgotten this peaceful place.
Even romance was done slowly here. Take Bridget and Quinn. They weren’t going to live together until after the wedding. It was the sort of quaint, old-fashioned decision that didn’t seem out of place in Kiawa. Bridget stayed the odd night at Swallowdale, but she lived with her father at Cliffhaven, the two-storey ocean-front home that lay only a few hundred metres from the Reef Centre. Zoe had tried a few times to peek in, but rocky sea cliffs either side of the property and a high front fence guaranteed mayoral privacy. According to Karen, the architect-designed house was the height of luxury, boasting its own private beach and mooring.
Zoe pictured the evening that lay ahead of her. Cooking for one. Washing up and a bit of laundry. Reading a book until bedtime. She half-hoped that Bridget might ask her to the launch party. No way to get home and change first, of course. She imagined Bridget saying, Come to the party tonight. Nothing to wear? No problem. Borrow something of mine. Then the embarrassment of trying to squeeze into size ten clothes. Still, it would be worth it for a night out, and to have a look around next door.
Zoe was an inquisitive person, more curious than most. She’d always been interested in what was on the other side of locked doors, and to discover how things worked. Her sister had another term for it. Stacey called it being a snoop. ‘Why do you always have to go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Zoe?’ Sometimes it got her into trouble. She was twelve when Dad proudly brought home a new computer. ‘Don’t mess with it,’ he said, but curiosity got the better of her. What if she clicked that icon? What did this file do? What would happen if she edited this or moved that? After accidentally deleting the operating system and disabling the security program, a virus led to a fatal error and the dreaded blue screen of death. Dad had lost everything, including a lot of family photos, and had never quite forgiven her.
Then there was the time he set up a home marine aquarium for her birthday. Soon afterwards, she found a pretty octopus during a family day at the beach. So inquisitive was she about the little creature that she smuggled it home in her swimming bag and put it in the tank. It ate all the damselfish before her father spotted it and identified it as a deadly blue-ringed octopus. Despite her tears, he took the octopus back to the ocean, and the fancy aquarium back to the shop.
Zoe’s curiosity didn’t abate as she grew older. She asked too many questions about the high staff turnover at the local café where she worked and lost her first job. It turned out the new owner was hiring girls on trial shifts and then not paying them. The owner was fined and the café closed down. Once she’d snooped around in a boyfriend’s bedroom, not realising he shared it with a two-metre-long pet python. The snake had given her a nasty bite. But it seemed she hadn’t learned her lesson, because she was bursting to get a look at Cliffhaven.
When they pulled up at the centre’s wharf, she took ages to gather up her gear, still hoping for an invitation, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Zoe chewed her lip in frustration. ‘Have fun tonight.’
Bridget nodded, waited for her to disembark, then steered her boat towards the rocky outcrops that shielded Cliffhaven’s private mooring from public view. Zoe let out a long, disappointed sigh. Maybe next time.
CHAPTER 8
Karen was waiting on the jetty when they got back. She was standing by the golf cart used to ferry elderly visitors to and from the main gate, and towing a trailer ful
l of eskies. Archie must be on the way with a delivery of fish.
‘You’re keen,’ called Karen. ‘Isn’t this supposed to be your day off?’
‘Bridget took me out to Turtle Reef,’ said Zoe. ‘I was blown away.’
‘It has that effect all right.’ Karen began unloading the eskies and lining them up along the wharf.
Zoe pitched in to help. ‘Bridget said you’d brief me on the dugong research project.’
Karen straightened up. ‘Sorry, not today. No time.’
‘But I thought Bridget rang you about it?’
‘No.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Zoe. ‘I saw her on the phone not ten minutes ago.’
‘Well, it wasn’t to me, or maybe she couldn’t get reception.’ Karen pressed her lips together in a thin smile. ‘I’ve only been here a few months myself, but there’s one thing I’ve learned about our Miss Bridget. Sometimes she takes on too much, and things, well . . . some things fall through the cracks.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Bridget’s a people pleaser. She makes promises in the moment, because she wants people to like her. No matter how unrealistic that promise is. She’s not always so great at following through.’
‘Wants people to like her?’ asked Zoe. ‘Bridget doesn’t have a problem with people liking her. Far from it.’
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