Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘You’re on,’ said Josh with a grin. He looked happier than Quinn had seen him for a long time.

  ‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ said Quinn. ‘We’ll be hours.’

  ‘You didn’t ask,’ she said. ‘I offered, and it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. It’s my day off.’

  ‘I want Zoe to drive me,’ Josh’s face set into an expression of stubborn defiance that Quinn knew all too well. ‘Otherwise I won’t go.’

  Quinn scratched his beard. ‘Okay. We’ll take your new toy for a spin, but I’m coming along.’

  ‘Great. I’m dying to try this thing out,’ said Zoe. ‘It seems very flash for a council car.’

  Quinn snorted. How naive was she? ‘When I said that’s Leo’s Lexus, I meant his own, personal car. And Leo doesn’t lend his vehicles lightly.’

  ‘Oh.’ Zoe looked bewildered. ‘It’s probably just temporary, until he can organise something more suitable.’

  ‘Probably.’ He hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but Zoe gave him an unhappy look. ‘Josh, go tidy yourself up,’ he said. ‘And hurry, or we’ll be late.’

  Zoe looked down at her crumpled clothes and ran a hand through her hair. ‘I might go and tidy myself up too.’ Quinn sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  ‘I’ll park the car,’ said Zoe. ‘You two go in.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Quinn shepherded Josh to the enquiries desk at the outpatients department of Bundaberg Hospital. ‘Josh Cooper,’ he said. ‘Here for his three-thirty with Ann Carter.’

  The receptionist checked her computer. ‘Down the hall to room nine. Last on the right. I’ll let her know you’re here.’

  The bespectacled therapist beamed as they came in. ‘Hello Josh.’ He ignored her and started to fiddle with a wooden puzzle box on the table. She turned her attention to Quinn. ‘I hope you’ll reconsider my offer of a live-in place for your brother at the Biala Special School. It would be a fantastic opportunity for him to make friends, and the teachers there are terrific. They really understand kids like Josh.’ She peered at Quinn meaningfully over her glasses. ‘I can’t hold it forever.’

  A mutinous-looking Josh began to back out of the door. Quinn pushed him forward. ‘Thank you, but we won’t be needing it. My brother stays with me. Nobody understands him better than I do.’

  The smile on the woman’s face slipped a little. ‘Very well, if you’ve made up your mind . . . We’ll be at least an hour. Josh missed his last session and there’s a lot to catch up on.’

  Quinn ducked out of the clinic’s double glass doors to where Zoe waited in the shade of a tulipwood tree. She wore a green-striped sleeveless cotton shift that looked a size too big for her and a wide straw hat. The tops of her shoulders showed red, peeling from too much sun, exposing small patches of skin the colour of wheat. The wind blew her dress against her legs, outlining their shape. Today was the first time he’d seen her in a dress, and it suited her.

  ‘Have we got time to look around Bundaberg?’ she asked.

  ‘Not the best day for a walk. It’s blowing a gale.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’d pay for a tour of that post office. There are some beautiful old buildings here.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘Living somewhere all your life, you don’t take much notice.’

  ‘It’s the same with me and Sydney,’ she said. ‘You know, I’ve never been to Bondi Beach.’

  He had a sudden desire to show off the town. ‘We could take a look at the churches. The Catholic church is designed like a Roman temple, and built in the shape of a cross. The Anglican one is more Gothic, with pointed arches and spires. I think St Andrews is the oldest. It has a massive pipe organ and a carillon in the tower – a set of musical bells. They’re quite beautiful to listen to.’

  ‘That all sounds great,’ said Zoe. ‘But I want to see the river first.’ She handed him the keys. ‘You know where you’re going.’

  They stood in Anzac Park and watched the broad Burnett River wend its lazy way to the bay. ‘See that bridge?’ said Quinn. ‘Over a hundred years old. Used to be a tollway. They charged a penny for pedestrians and threepence for carts.’

  ‘Who says the cost of living never goes down.’ Zoe smiled, two dimples appearing, in the middle of her rosy, wind-whipped cheeks. ‘Oh no.’ A sharp squall stole her hat and carried it down the bank towards the water. They both leaped at once. Quinn reached the river first and snatched it from the air in the nick of time. Zoe couldn’t stop and cannoned into him. They both lost their balance and crashed to the ground, their fall cushioned by the lush spring grass. Quinn’s own hat fell off and Zoe sprang to retrieve it. Despite the tumble and the wind, her short hair still lay strangely flat, all in one direction, like she’d just surfaced from a dive.

  Quinn climbed slowly to his feet. Zoe put his Akubra on her own head, stood on her toes and twirled around. The action seemed so natural, so uninhibited, so unlike anything that Bridget would do, that it caught him by surprise. Her skirt lifted and spun, its shadow dancing over the grass. On an impulse he lunged for his hat, but she lightly sidestepped him and ran for the trees. In a trice he gave chase, cornering her behind a white fig, resisting the urge to take her hand and pull her to him. They laughed, swapped hats and sat side by side on a low wall overlooking the river’s wide waters.

  There was a lump in his throat. Quinn brimmed with an unfamiliar kind of carefree happiness, like the fall had knocked all the stiffness out of him. He turned to Zoe, felt the drawing power of her eyes. What was it about this odd girl that stirred him so?

  ‘Tell me about your mother,’ she said.

  It was the last thing he expected and it was none of her business, but for some reason he didn’t care. ‘Mum died a long time ago, soon after my brother was born.’ He kicked his heel against the wall. ‘Josh was completely unexpected. Mum didn’t think she could have a second baby, not at forty, not with kidney disease. Doctors advised ending the pregnancy but she wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘When she died? Fifteen, same age as Josh is now.’

  ‘Did your father ever remarry?’

  ‘No. I don’t think Dad ever really stopped grieving for Mum. A lot of the joy went out of him. He raised the baby on his own, with a fair bit of help from nannies, and me, of course. Josh was a real bright spark. Dad absolutely doted on him, and so did I. A little bit of Mum, alive in the world. Raising Josh gave Dad something to live for.’

  ‘He had you to live for too.’

  Quinn shifted in his seat and gazed out across the river. ‘I was fifteen. Didn’t need raising.’

  Zoe was quiet. He turned to find her unsettling gaze upon him. ‘Bridget told me about Josh’s accident.’

  This surprised him. It wasn’t Bridget’s place to tell. ‘Josh almost died in that fall. When he was diagnosed with a brain injury, it was like losing Mum all over again for my father. The hopes and dreams he had for Josh? Gone. Dad was never the same after that.’

  ‘Bridget said he shot Josh’s horse. That doesn’t seem fair.’

  Quinn’s light mood was evaporating as the conversation grew more and more personal. ‘You weren’t there.’ He stood and strode towards the river, collecting his thoughts, imagining how his father would feel about him sharing their family history with a stranger. Better steer the conversation back to safer territory, stick to being a tour guide.

  Zoe was running to catch up with him. Quinn took a deep breath and, before she had a chance to speak, pointed to the bridge again. ‘Can you believe that bridge was underwater during the flood last year?’

  ‘I thought the Paradise Dam upstream was supposed to regulate floods?’

  ‘That bloody dam’s never worked properly, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘It’s not better than nothing,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s much worse than nothing.’

  Quinn looked at her sideways. ‘What would a girl from Sydney know about our dam?’


  ‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘I had to write a paper last year on an endangered species – Neoceratodus forsteri.’

  ‘Speak English.’

  ‘Neoceratodus forsteri,’ she repeated. ‘The Queensland lungfish.’

  ‘Lungfish?’ asked Quinn. ‘You mean those big green slimy things? They named a town after them – Ceratodus. You can still see the old railway siding on the Burnett Highway west of here.’

  ‘Really? I’d like to go there,’ she said. ‘Lungfish are amazing. Living fossils with lungs and gills – an evolutionary link between fish and amphibians. And the only place they’re found in the whole wild world is right here in this river.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Quinn. ‘The Burnett and nowhere else?’

  ‘Well, almost nowhere else,’ said Zoe. ‘They’re native to the Mary River too, a bit further south.’

  ‘So lungfish are only found in the Mary and Burnett rivers?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Zoe. ‘Although they have been introduced to some other places.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘Brisbane River, and the Albert and Coomera. Oh, and Stanley River. And I think some were introduced to the Enoggera Dam as well.’

  He couldn’t stifle a grin. ‘So these rare fish are found no other place on earth – except for the Mary, the Albert, the Coomera, the Stanley . . .’

  ‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘The point is they are rare. Did you know they can live for a hundred years?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘They can, but the ones in this river don’t. The Paradise Dam is killing them. It has useless fish ladders, completely the wrong design for large-bodied fish. Do you know, not one single lungfish has been recorded in the dam’s downstream fishway? It’s the same for barramundi, mullet, bass – turtles too. Nothing big will use it. Instead they go over the spillway, which should be smooth, of course, but it’s not – it’s staired. They smash to death on the concrete steps.’

  Quinn wanted to argue that people were more important than fish, but the passionate way she told the story had moved him. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said. ‘Seems like a waste, to have them die like that.’

  ‘One study found that more than one hundred and fifty large lungfish were killed in a month, and they don’t even start breeding till they’re twenty years old. At this rate they could go extinct on our watch, after being around for two hundred million years. People don’t realise.’

  ‘No, I suppose they don’t,’ said Quinn. ‘I certainly didn’t.’ She had him at a loss and his discomfort level was rising again. Not one conversation with this young woman ever wound up the way he expected it to. It was impossible to make small talk with her. She cared so damn much about everything. He checked his watch. ‘Maybe we’d better head back. Josh will be finished soon.’

  ‘What about showing me those churches?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s time.’ This wasn’t true, but Quinn had had enough. If he spent much longer alone with Zoe his brain would explode. He strode for the car, wishing he’d never accepted her lift into town.

  ‘Wait,’ called Zoe. Quinn came to an abrupt stop. What now? His phone rang, the hospital. Josh wasn’t cooperating. The session was progressing slowly and running late. ‘Could we get a drink somewhere?’ She shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘I’m pretty dry.’ He took in her flushed face and the sheen of perspiration on her high forehead. She wasn’t used to this weather. She wasn’t a Queenslander and they had enough time. What could it hurt?

  ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘We’ll make a pit stop at the Royal and take a look at that post office on the way.’

  It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust from bright sunshine to the dark interior of the old hotel. Quinn led Zoe through the coolness of the bar to a comfortably furnished room that still had the old Ladies Lounge sign above the door. She was about to sit down when Quinn frowned and pulled out her chair. After a moment’s hesitation she thanked him and took the offered seat. He nodded his satisfaction. ‘What will you have?’

  ‘Water’s fine,’ she said.

  ‘I’m having a quick beer.’

  ‘I’m not a big beer drinker.’

  ‘I’ll get you a shandy,’ he said. ‘Beer with a dash of lime. Most girls like it.’ She opened her mouth as if to say something, but didn’t. He went to get the drinks.

  ‘About Josh . . .’ she said when he returned from the bar. ‘How does the brain injury affect him?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain,’ said Quinn. ‘You had to know him before the accident. He was such a bright kid.’

  ‘He still seems like a bright kid to me,’ said Zoe. ‘Maybe it’s good I didn’t know him before. That way I don’t make comparisons.’

  ‘Josh can’t always find the word he wants,’ said Quinn. ‘He gets frustrated. And he has trouble with reading and spelling. He’s become a very concrete thinker, takes things literally and blurts things out. It gets him into trouble.’

  ‘Did he always love animals so much?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Your brother’s very fond of Aisha.’

  Quinn stiffened. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’

  ‘He wants to work with her, ride her. It would mean the world to him.’

  Quinn sculled down half his beer in one long gulp. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not? Josh is good with horses, isn’t he? He must be, to have done so well at endurance riding.’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ he said.

  ‘Two years? Not so long.’

  ‘Three years,’ he said. ‘It was three years ago. And my father forbade Josh to ride after the accident out of a legitimate concern for his safety. Not just Aisha – any horse. As far as I’m concerned, the subject’s closed.’

  ‘I think your father was wrong,’ she said. ‘You don’t understand how important this is to Josh – riding again, working with Aisha. It would do wonders for his self-esteem.’ Quinn’s knuckles tightened. Why hadn’t he gone straight to the hospital? Why couldn’t she leave it alone? She was like a dog with a bone. ‘And there’s something else,’ she said. ‘Your brother told me that he has trouble talking to you: that you used to be close before your father died, but not any more.’

  ‘Josh told you this, did he? Obviously he has no trouble talking to you.’

  Somehow she failed to appreciate the sarcasm in his voice. ‘He misses spending time with you. I could tell it makes him sad.’ Zoe sipped her shandy and made a face. ‘Imagine how thrilled he’d be to go out riding with you again.’

  He felt a vein start to pulse at his temple, throbbing in time with his heart. What did she know about him and his brother? He cleared his throat. ‘Are you finished?’

  ‘Will you at least think about it?’ Her gaze was hopeful, expectant.

  He drained his beer and rose to his feet. ‘No, I won’t think about it, and I’d thank you to mind your own business.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to interfere. I just wanted to —’

  ‘Wanted to what? Poke your nose in? Stir up trouble?’ He hadn’t meant his words to come out like that, so . . . combative. ‘My brother has enough to contend with without you putting ideas in his head.’

  She bristled. ‘This is his idea. Josh desperately wants to ride – you must know that.’

  The couple at the next table turned to stare. Quinn was at a loss. This had turned into an argument, something he wasn’t used to. The natural hierarchy of life at Swallowdale meant conflict was rare. His father’s word had always been law; it brooked no argument. And since Quinn had taken over, nothing had changed. He received the same unquestioning respect from Brian, the farm manager, and most of the workers, as if his father’s dead hand still ruled. It made for a peaceful life. He and Bridget rarely disagreed on anything. So apart from Josh, nobody challenged him. He didn’t know how to handle Zoe, hadn’t had enough practice with dissent.

  Quinn dared to look deep into her eyes. They flashed with determination and resolve. ‘This
conversation is over.’ He headed for the door. The afternoon had been a big mistake, one he wouldn’t make again. He marched to the car, his eyes watering in the bright white sun, his hands lightly trembling. And as he walked, his shadow long and dark before him, he tried to push aside the unsettling thought that maybe Zoe was right.

  CHAPTER 11

  Zoe peered into the empty tank. It didn’t make any sense. Yesterday, a colourful pair of clownfish nestled and swam within the protective embrace of a pink bubble-tip anemone growing in that back corner. This morning they were nowhere to be seen. Zoe checked from every angle, then fetched the rickety stepladder and climbed up to the top of the tank. Maybe they were behind the rock? She reached in to move it. Ow. A burning sensation went through the back of her hand where she had brushed against the anemone’s stinging tentacles.

  ‘You look nice.’ Zoe jumped in pain and surprise. The ladder tipped over, collecting her bucket of chopped squid on the way. She landed right in the middle of the smelly mess. Karen stifled a laugh as she rushed to help. ‘Well, you did look nice.’

  Zoe hauled herself to her feet. Great. Now she stank of fish.

  ‘You’re making quite a habit of coming down here on your days off.’ Karen eyed her appraisingly. ‘Why are you all dressed up?’

  ‘I’d hardly call denim shorts all dressed up.’

  ‘But they’re smart, aren’t they, beaded at the back like that?’ said Karen. ‘And since when do you wear earrings and lipstick to work? You can’t fool me. I haven’t seen that red top before.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t seen it.’ Zoe grabbed a paper towel. ‘I never get a chance to wear anything except khaki around here.’ She dabbed ineffectually at a damp spot on her top, hand still smarting from the bubble-tip’s sting. The rock in the tank had toppled from its original position, but there was still no sign of the missing clownfish.

  ‘Tell me who you’re dolled up for,’ Karen said, ‘and I’ll get that stain out of your shirt while you take a shower.’