Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  He shivered at the thought of her swimming in that dark, dangerous soup. ‘Dolphins don’t see much better than us in the dark, do they?’

  ‘I don’t mean seeing with my eyes. I’m talking about echolocation,’ said Zoe. ‘Seeing the world with sound.’

  ‘Some things out there you might not want to see,’ said Quinn. ‘Like tiger sharks. They kill dolphins, don’t they?’

  She nodded. ‘Sometimes. Freedom has its risks like everything else, but I reckon it’s worth it.’

  ‘Then there’s lionfish and sea snakes, stonefish and stingrays . . . not to mention Leo’s shark nets. It’s an underwater jungle out there.’

  ‘You sound like Bridget,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s always going on about how dangerous the reef is for dolphins. I suppose I can understand why. She told me that awful story about what happened to Hope.’

  ‘Hope?’

  ‘The special dolphin that Bridget loved so much.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I remember now. That was sad.’

  ‘Bridget must have been devastated to lose her.’

  ‘She did miss Hope. But we knew she was going to a good home.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Zoe. ‘Hope died.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Hope went to another marine park. She was a good genetic match, apparently, for one of their males. That’s why they wanted her.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s not complicated,’ he said. ‘Bridget sold Hope to Oceanworld.’

  Zoe went quiet. They sat in silence until the turtle finished laying and trundled off down the beach. She stood up, offered her hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘You go get the stakes.’

  There was a new hardness in her tone. Had he said something wrong? When he came back from the car, Zoe snatched the stakes from him and hammered them into the sand like she was trying to kill vampires.

  On the trip home she stared out the window into the darkness, responding in monosyllables to his attempts to engage her. ‘Two nesting turtles. Was that a good number?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you expect more than that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you got any new thoughts on what might have killed those green turtles?’

  ‘No.’

  Quinn gave up. The charm of the unusual evening was quickly fading as they turned into Swallowdale’s driveway. Captain was waiting for Zoe on the guesthouse doorstep. She climbed from the car without a word and the collie followed her inside. Damn that dog. Part of him wished he could swap places with Captain.

  CHAPTER 17

  Zoe stroked Aisha’s sleek black neck while magpies carolled an early morning chorus. In the two weeks since their disastrous ride to the Hump, Josh had not ridden the mare. It had been a close call that day, too close. Zoe had talked him into backing off, into giving her time to come clean with Quinn, time to talk him round. A sensible decision, showing how mature Josh could be. More mature than Zoe herself, perhaps. Because she’d still been getting up at the crack of dawn and spending secret mornings with the mare.

  It would require a great deal of diplomacy to convince Quinn to let his brother ride again, she knew that. And to let him ride Aisha? That might be a bridge too far. She’d need the right moment, and all her powers of persuasion. So far that moment hadn’t come – the brief conversation when they’d been turtle-gazing notwithstanding – and it seemed a waste to let Aisha’s training lapse in the meantime. So Zoe had taken it upon herself to continue Josh’s good work in her own rather amateurish way. It meant no more sleep-ins, even on her days off like today, but it was worth it. There was something addictive about the beautiful black mare. The more time Zoe spent with Aisha, the more she longed to do something other than lunge her and take her for daily walks. She wanted to ride her. And she’d fought the urge long enough. Today was the day.

  ‘Good girl.’ Aisha’s near ear flicked back to listen. ‘Now, stand still. I’m not as nimble as some.’ So far, so good. She moved the upturned milk crate closer and used it to mount. Aisha flexed her neck, nibbled Zoe’s boots, then walked off sideways like a crab before her rider had found the off stirrup.

  ‘Wait, stop.’ No use. By now they were trotting towards the gate, getting faster and faster. She was loath to tug on the reins. Aisha reacted badly to heavy hands and, unlike Josh, Zoe wasn’t experienced enough to fully control the mare with her seat and legs. But she’d come prepared. There was something she knew how to do just as well as Josh.

  Zoe reached into her pocket for a polo mint and the training clicker. ‘Whoa,’ she said and double-clicked. Aisha propped so fast that Zoe almost fell off. ‘Yes!’ she yelled, startling the mare into a canter. ‘Whoa,’ called Zoe, and double-clicked again. This time she was ready for the sudden stop. She leaned on the mare’s neck and reached forwards to give her the mint. Aisha pulled in her head and took the titbit with soft, whiffling lips. Then she relaxed, letting her ears flop comically as she sucked on the sweet.

  Before long Zoe had Aisha calmly walking around the manège in both directions, and halting on command. ‘That’s enough for today.’ She dismounted, gave her the last mint and looked at her watch. Seven-thirty. ‘Come on.’ She slipped the saddle and bridle off and kissed the mare on the nose. ‘We’d better hurry. I’ll bring you some carrots later when nobody’s looking.’ Oh dear, a distinct sweat mark showed where Aisha’s saddle had been. There was no time to hose her down; time was getting on. What were the chances that anybody would notice? No one ever paid attention to the mare. With any luck Aisha would roll in the grass and rub off the saddle mark herself.

  Zoe was putting away the saddle and bridle when Captain poked his nose into the tack room. ‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning to you too.’ Quinn came through the door.

  Zoe froze, then ruffled Captain’s soft ears just so there was no misunderstanding as to who she’d been talking to. Why was Quinn at the stables this early? Was she sprung? But then Josh pushed into the room, grinning like a Cheshire cat. What was going on?

  ‘I hear Cobber’s foot is all healed,’ said Quinn. Zoe could only stare at him. ‘Going for a ride?’ She managed to nod. ‘Would you like us to keep you company?’

  ‘I don’t understand —’

  ‘Josh and I will go get the horses.’

  The two of them collected halters and headed off towards the paddocks. They returned with three mounts: Duchess, Bridget’s elegant grey, Yarraman, Quinn’s tall chestnut and Cobber. Josh started saddling Duchess. Quinn was watching Zoe with a smile.

  ‘Does this mean . . . ?’ She smiled back at him.

  Quinn lightly took her arm and led her aside. ‘It means I listened to you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You were right. I’ve seen how much happier Josh is since he’s been teaching you to ride. I asked him about it. We had a good talk, first time in ages.’ Quinn looked down, kicked softly at the grass. ‘Josh said that just being around the horses helps him feel normal. But what he wants to do more than anything is ride again. I wouldn’t come at it at first. Said I couldn’t, that I’d promised Dad to look after him. Then I thought about what you’d said to me on the beach, about being scared, and missing out, and playing it safe . . .’

  Zoe grabbed his shoulders and stilled his body. ‘I could kiss you,’ she said, laughing. ‘Do you know what this will mean to Josh? It could really turn things around for him.’

  ‘Steady on.’ But Quinn was laughing too, his customary seriousness banished, the tanned creases round his eyes crinkling with humour. He seemed years younger, and she could picture how he might have looked at Josh’s age. ‘Do you feel confident enough to ride Duchess?’ he asked. ‘I’d rather Josh have Cobber for his first time. It’ll be safer.’ They both burst out laughing again and Josh called for them to hurry up.

  ‘I’d love to try Duchess,’ said Zoe. ‘You’ll be able to see how well Josh has taught me.’

  It took her a while to get us
ed to the graceful grey thoroughbred – so much taller and narrower than Cobber, and not such a lump to push along. Zoe concentrated hard on all she’d learned: heels down, hands low and still, elbows close to her side. Quinn shot her an admiring glance, and she sat a little taller in the saddle.

  After warming their mounts up in the manège, they headed out for a ride around Swallowdale. Quinn kept a close, protective eye on them both, but the horses behaved themselves. Josh looked comical due to his long legs and Cobber’s short ones, but he put up with it. It was obvious that he would gladly ride a donkey if it would satisfy his brother. Zoe focused on her own mount. It didn’t take long for her to appreciate Duchess’s lovely long stride, rocking-horse canter and sensitive mouth. Why Bridget always rode the mare with such a harsh bit was a mystery.

  Zoe took a keen interest in the tour of the property. On their way out they passed a small metal shed that looked like a modified shipping container. ‘One of our chemical stores,’ said Quinn. ‘We’ve got a few of them scattered around the farm.’ In a distant field, a harvester moved along rows of scorched cane, cutting the stems into pieces. Quinn pointed out a row of enormous wire cages on a little railway siding on the northern boundary. ‘That’s a collection point. See those bins?’ Zoe nodded. ‘Haul-out trucks fill them full of cane. Then they’re collected and taken to the mill. Trains operate twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week during crushing season, on more than three hundred kilometres of narrow gauge track.’

  They rode through fields at different stages of growth. Some cane was only waist-high. Some paddocks lay fallow, expanses of rich, crumbly red soil that looked good enough to eat. In other places, black ground and charred stalks showed where fields had been burnt and harvested. Empty channels crisscrossed the farm. ‘In dry times, those furrows carry water to the crop from the river and dams.’ Quinn stopped and showed her a pump house. ‘Though with all this rain we might not have to irrigate at all this year. The wet season’s right around the corner.’

  From up ahead came the sound of a motor. It grew louder, but Zoe couldn’t see anything over the waving stands of mature cane. They turned the corner. A tractor towing a boom spray unit was pulling to a halt outside one of the little metal sheds. Duchess shied and snorted. Quinn pushed Yarraman forwards and took hold of the mare’s reins. ‘Easy does it. Better wait here until Rob turns off the motor.’ A frail old man she didn’t recognise climbed from the cabin and gave them a wave.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Rob Horton. Farm manager here at Swallowdale since my father was a boy. I promised Dad he’d always have a job if he wanted one. Rob got sick a few years ago, was off work for a couple of years. Some sort of cancer. Between all the rounds of chemo and surgeries, it’s a miracle he’s alive. Rob’s a tough old codger, though. He came back to work for me part-time last year. He runs our pest control program.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Refilling the spray tanks.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he be wearing some sort of protective gear?’

  ‘Rob knows what he’s doing,’ said Quinn as they turned the horses back towards the stables. ‘And in any case, he’s too stubborn to listen to me.’ Quinn grinned. ‘Don’t think Rob’s ever accepted that I’m in charge. At the moment he’s treating the crop for greyback canegrubs and weeds. People think of insects and diseases like rust when they think of sugarcane pests, and the bloody beetles are bad this season – they’re not usually such a problem this far south. But weeds are actually our biggest worry. They cost the industry seventy million dollars a year. It’s a constant battle.’

  Back at the stables, they were all in fine spirits. On dismounting, Quinn tousled Josh’s hair and he ducked away. Quinn bounded after him and put his brother in a playful headlock. ‘If you’re fit to ride, Josh, I guess that means you’re fit to feed the horses and hose them down.’

  The brothers collapsed on the ground, laughing and wrestling, before Josh sprang to his feet, and said, ‘I’ll do it for a lift to the centre and some new headphones.’ Quinn glanced at Zoe with raised brows, and she nodded to show she understood. There’d been no sign of Josh’s usual, halting speech pattern. Excitement had made him run his words together so he talked at normal speed. Josh tackled Quinn again, who fell prone on the grass in mock defeat. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’ He raised himself by one elbow. ‘One of the harvesters has packed up so I’m busy this arvo, but Bridget’s still here. She’ll give you a lift. And yes, okay, new headphones it is.’ Josh disappeared into the feed room, humming.

  So . . . Bridget had stayed at Swallowdale last night. A rush of inexcusable jealousy made Zoe squirm. Quinn picked himself up off the grass and she had to stop herself from brushing dry leaves from his back. He gestured for them to head for the house and waited until they were out of earshot of the stables to say, ‘You were right about Josh and those horses. He was like a different person back there.’

  ‘He wasn’t the only one,’ said Zoe quietly.

  Quinn’s ears turned red. ‘It was great having fun with him again. You know what? That’s the first time I’ve heard Josh laugh since the accident, really laugh out loud, I mean.’ He surprised Zoe by taking her hand in both of his. ‘Thank you.’ She pulled away with an uncertain smile. His touch had caused her scalp to tingle. ‘Got anything planned for the day?’

  ‘Mapping seagrass again,’ she said. ‘I know it’s my day off, but it’s taking forever. At the rate I’m going the job won’t be finished till Christmas. I’m finding lots of dieback and more dead turtles and dugongs. Dead coral too. Something bad’s happening out there on the reef.’

  ‘Any idea what?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll know more when my samples are analysed.’

  ‘If anybody can figure it out, it’ll be you. I have a feeling you don’t give up easily.’ They reached the fork in the path leading to the guesthouse. ‘How about coming to the house for a cuppa and a piece of Bridget’s homemade fruitcake before you head off?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, against her better judgement. ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Zoe wandered home, repeating the familiar two-part mantra in her head. One, she’d sworn off men (spending time with Leo as a friend didn’t count) and two, Quinn belonged to Bridget. Zoe let her breath out slowly, and waited for the attraction to pass. But this tried and true technique did not have its customary effect. Instead, a surge of resentment welled up inside. Who made the arbitrary no men rule anyway? Rules were made to be broken, and this was a self-imposed banishment.

  And as for the second part of the mantra, the bit about Quinn belonging to Bridget? Well, that wasn’t working today either. She didn’t trust Bridget any more. What about the contradictory stories regarding Hope? Zoe had tackled her about it. Bridget was unconcerned, swearing that Quinn was mistaken. He’d been thinking of a different dolphin, one that’d gone to Oceanworld on a breeding exchange program, one that could never be released. She assured Zoe that a young bottlenose named Hope died after being returned to the wild, and that it had been a devastating blow.

  Zoe couldn’t disprove Bridget’s story. It happened before Karen worked at the centre, and the longer-term casuals were no help. Oceanworld’s website showed that a new female dolphin had arrived there nine months ago, but her name was Rose, not Hope, and there was no information about where she’d come from. Apart from Quinn’s offhand comment to the contrary, Zoe had no valid reason to doubt Bridget’s version of events.

  But there was more to it than that. Other things about her boss weren’t ringing true. Duchess’s long-shanked curb bridle, for example. If Bridget was such an expert at training animals, why did she rely on a harsh, mechanical bit to control her mare? And what about Aisha? Everybody agreed that Bridget had tried to work with the horse. Those attempts had failed, and as a result Aisha had been branded dangerous. Nobody had questioned Bridget’s opinion. Yet a fifteen-year-old had been able to re-educate the Arabian mare. Even Zoe, an equestrian novice
, had ridden her safely.

  These amorphous doubts swirled about her brain as she hurriedly showered and changed. She felt guilty even entertaining such thoughts. Bridget was her boss, her friend, and Zoe wasn’t a distrusting person by nature. Quite the opposite. She took people at face value, sometimes to the point of naivety. Hell, that’s what her self-inflicted man drought was all about, an admission that she couldn’t trust her instincts. But what if her instincts were sound? What if she’d been ignoring her gut feelings all along because she wanted to be a nice person and give others the benefit of the doubt, even when they didn’t deserve it? If she was honest with herself, her friends had been telling her exactly that for a long time. Zoe buckled her belt. All this tangled thinking was giving her a headache. She was looking forward to seeing Quinn again, and there was nothing wrong with a simple morning tea.

  Zoe stood before the bathroom vanity and tugged a comb through her chestnut hair. Now it was growing out it sometimes got snarled. She experimented with the part, in the middle, to the left, to the right . . . sweeping her hair back, then to the side, weighing up the effect. This new length suited her much better, and it was time to drive to Bundaberg to have it styled. Having no long mirrors in the guesthouse didn’t usually bother her; she was used to it. But Zoe had a sudden urge to examine herself from top to toe. The sunroom window should do it.

  She smoothed down her top and stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling pane of glass, trying to get the angle of the light just right. There. Wow, she really had lost some weight. Zoe turned sideways, thrilled at the smooth hollow of her hip, the lean line of her belly. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked this good, and she hadn’t even been trying. How many diets had she been on when she lived in Sydney? Dozens. The cabbage soup diet, the caveman diet, the Israeli army diet, and her personal favourite, the martini madness maintenance plan. She knew them all by heart, as well as the kilojoule content per hundred grams of most common foods and the equivalent amount of treadmill time to work it off. Useless information, of course, when she couldn’t stay away from McDonald’s or stick at the gym for more than a few weeks at a time. But here in Kiawa? Good health happened by magic. The air, when the cane fields weren’t burning, was worth bottling.