by Karen West
‘There’s a cake shop next door,’ added Dad. ‘We can stock up on cake while we’re at it.’
Mum laughed and turned back to me. ‘How are you going back there?’
I managed a smile.
‘You’re quiet,’ said Dad, peering at the rear-view mirror.
‘Dad, if you’re going to be on my back at Aunt Cass’s, you can cut the engine now and let me out.’
The lights turned green and Dad hit the accelerator.
‘Truce,’ said Mum, exhausted. ‘Can we drop the attitude and try to get along?’
Dad’s work pager went off. I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re kidding.’
Dad pulled over, checked his pager and cut the engine before making a call. ‘How dilated?’ I observed his conversation through the rear-view mirror. The deep frown wrinkles across his forehead was a sign that something serious was happening at the zoo. ‘Thanks, I’ll come now,’ he said, and handed Mum his phone.
‘What is it, Glenn?’
‘We have to take a detour.’
‘The zoo?’ she asked.
‘It won’t take long, I hope.’
‘Are you dropping us back home?’ I moaned.
‘You’ll see,’ said Dad as he put on the blinker to turn back.
‘One kilometre,’ said Mum, reading the odometer on the dashboard. ‘That takes the record.’
Dad turned his head to Mum. ‘Pak Boon’s gone into labour.’
‘So, we’ll get to see the calf being born?’ I beamed.
‘That’s the plan,’ he said. ‘Or if you prefer, I can drop you home.’
‘Very funny, Dad,’ I said, sitting back.
Dad drove slowly through the zoo. He parked short of the elephant enclosure, jumped from the cabin, walked around the other side to help Mum out and held the door open for me. ‘Go through there,’ he said, pointing to a small rusty door, ‘and watch your head. I’ll meet you inside.’
Adam, Dad’s off-sider, was with Pak Boon. Mum and I took up positions by the wall next to Barry, one of the elephant minders.
‘How long has she been in labour?’ I asked.
‘A good hour,’ he said, and I picked up on the concern in his voice. ‘It was moving quickly, then everything stopped.’
We sat watching Pak Boon as she swayed, her voice lost to pain. She lifted her trunk high and lowered it slowly, swishing her tail across a white balloon protruding between her giant legs. ‘Is that the calf coming?’ I asked, pointing.
Barry nodded.
‘She’s having trouble getting past that point.’ Mum slipped her arm through mine and stroked my hand. Pak Boon lifted her trunk high, letting out a long, gut-wrenching trumpeting sound, and the balloon between her legs grew larger. ‘She’s on the move again,’ said Barry wiping beads of sweat off his temples with the sleeve of his khaki shirt.
I turned to Dad standing off to the side talking with Adam.
‘Steph,’ said Mum, turning my attention back to Pak Boon in time to see that the balloon had stretched and the calf was clearly visible, curled up inside. I jumped when the balloon went splat on the concrete, followed by a gush of pink mucus.
The calf lay motionless. All I could hear was the sound of my mother breathing.
Pak Boon stood over the calf, swaying.
‘Watch, Steph,’ whispered Mum, as Pak Boon lifted her large leg and pushed the calf hard with her bony toe, but there was still no life. She turned her back to the calf, lifted her back foot and nudged it again and again.
‘Why isn’t Dad helping the calf ? It’s dying.’
‘Don’t stress, Steph,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve seen this before.’
Pak Boon moved in and started sliding the baby across the floor with her trunk. The calf lifted its head. Its eyes flicked open, and its mouth opened and closed searching for air.
Pak Boon moved back in, twirled her trunk around her calf and pulled it to its feet. Its legs wobbled like soft jelly as it struggled to gain its footing.
‘That was awesome!’ I told Mum, and turned my gaze to Dad, willing him to turn in our direction. When he did, his happiness met ours.
Dad flicked on the blinker and veered into the service station. ‘Anyone for ice cream?’ he asked.
‘No thanks,’ I said, turning my focus to the art supply shop across the road. ‘Dad, I’d like to buy a canvas.’
‘Since when do you have to ask me for money?’
I folded my arms and tilted my head. ‘Since I haven’t been working.’ Dad opened his wallet, took out a fifty-dollar note and passed it to me. ‘Get two.’
I took the note from his hand. ‘Dad, that’s scarcely enough for one.’
‘Wait until I fill up, and I’ll cross the road with you.’
‘Dad, I’m not a kid.’
‘I’d like to come with you.’
‘Just let him go with you,’ pleaded Mum.
I parked Dad near the posters inside the door.
The art shop assistant’s hair was so purple it made my eyes ache. ‘Canvases?’ I asked, and she pointed me to the back of the shop. I stood sizing up a two-by-two-metre square canvas on a frame.
The assistant came up from behind. ‘A good choice,’ she told me. ‘It’s been pre-stretched, and the frame is hardwood.’
‘I’ll take it, thanks.’
‘Do you need paints? We have some on special,’ she said, pointing to a basket.
I chose large tubes of blue and yellow. ‘I’ll take these too, thanks.’
‘Dad, I need another five.’
Dad came over and sized up the canvas. ‘A bit big, don’t you think?’
‘We’re away for two weeks, Dad.’
He handed me five dollars. ‘I suppose you’ll be needing a thousand dollars to pay for the paint to cover it!’
‘At least,’ said the shop assistant.
‘My daughter might win an art competition,’ he told her proudly.
‘You might need another job,’ she laughed.
We waited on the footpath for a break in the traffic. ‘Here,’ said Dad, taking the canvas from me.
‘I’m glad that we’re going to Palmy.’
Dad readjusted his hold on the canvas. ‘Your mother’s excited too. We deserve some stress-free time – we’ve earned it.’
It was a perfect winter’s day. I sat on the concrete outlet pipe near Aunt Cass’s beach house with my bare feet submerged in the cold water. Dr Ferguson explained how physical extremes helped bring you back to reality. The chill of the water was giving me a full-on headache, so I guess that’s what he meant.
A motorboat sped past. I put my feet up on the pipe and sat hugging my knees. A pod of pelicans landed not so gracefully on the water ahead. They were followed by a colony of seagulls, expecting to bludge a feed. I turned to the exact spot where Mum and I had snorkelled that day.
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ I heard from behind, which was Gran’s saying. I waited as Aunt Cass skilfully balanced towards me on the pipe, holding two mugs, her flowing skirt hitched into her undies. ‘Hot chocolate?’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered, reaching for the mug. I held it with both hands, taking in the warmth.
‘Your mum’s looking well,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I think she is.’
‘I hear that you’re going to start a new painting?’
‘Yep,’ I said, taking a sip.
‘Are your friends joining us over the weekend?’
‘Yep.’
‘And Richard?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to talk?’
‘No!’
‘I thought that we might get your dad to go fishing and catch our dinner.’
‘Don’t waste time. Send him to the fish and chip shop, it’ll be less painful.’
‘It’s not the same as catching the fish yourself. We can do the catching, and your dad can gut them.’
‘You don’t need to worry, I’m fine.’
‘Yeah, I know you are,’ she said, taki
ng a sip from her mug. ‘It’s nice to have company. It gets a bit lonely around here, especially in winter.’
Aunt Cass, ignoring the No Fishing sign on the wharf, baited a handline with a piece of stinky green prawn and handed it to me. I held the hook, waiting for an aluminium barge to pass below us, but instead, the driver cut the motor, allowing the boat to drift alongside the wharf.
His passenger scurried to the front, hooking his arm around the pylon, while another boy lassoed it with a thick rope. I recognised the pylon hugger. It was Jake Morgan, an old boyfriend whose father owned the boatshed. Jake had been sent off to boarding school, so I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years. He was tall and thin with long brown dreadlocks that were pulled back into a thick ponytail. He leapt from the barge to the wharf and rolled down his jeans, covering his tanned legs. Only Jake could have a suntan in winter.
He glanced up and caught me watching him. ‘Steph? Steph Conner?’ he shouted. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. Come here, girlfriend.’ He hugged my arms so tight I thought he was going to crush my ribcage. ‘You smell good, Steph.’ He freed me from his hold. ‘How long are you here for?’
‘A couple of weeks, unless we’re called back early.’
‘Wow,’ he said, glossing over the reason why we might return early, which made me suspect that our meeting was arranged. I turned to Aunt Cass, who was baiting a hook, but I sensed that her focus was on Jake and me.
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ His words regained my attention. ‘It’s so bloody brilliant. Did you bring Libby?’
‘Do you still have a crush on her?’
‘I haven’t seen her for a while. Is she as hot as I think she might be?’
‘Yeah, she is. You’re blushing,’ I told him.
‘Am not!’ he said. ‘Hey, Steph, meet me here tomorrow morning, say nine? I’ll pack sangers for lunch, we can whip across to the Bay, what do you think?’
‘Sounds good,’ said Aunt Cass, before I had time to answer. ‘I’ll make sure that Steph’s ready. She’ll bring apple pie.’ I shook my head.
‘What apple pie?’
‘The one that we’re going home to bake,’ she informed me, and smiled.
‘Great,’ beamed Jake, buzzing with excitement, ‘I’ll meet you here at nine.’
‘Cool,’ I said, and the boy with him scrambled from the barge to the wharf. He gave me a half-smile, and I waved.
Jake did a quick check of the barge. ‘Catch you later,’ he said as he tripped. His energy ignited a spark of excitement. I laughed.
‘I love your laugh,’ said Aunt Cass, casting my line and handing it to me.
‘You engineered that – ’ There was a nibble on my line. ‘Fish!’ I squealed, reeling it in.
Aunt Cass reached out to help me. ‘How big is it?’ she asked, peering beyond the wharf into the water.
‘Who cares,’ I yelled, ‘it’s a fish.’
No sooner had we put my catch in the bucket than Aunt Cass got a bite. ‘You told Jake I was coming?’
‘What if I did?’
‘That’s meddling.’
Aunt Cass smiled. ‘I thought that you’d like to catch up with Jake.’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘So?’
‘I give up.’
The window in the bedroom framed the light from the moon reflecting on the water where boats were being pulled away from their moorings by the tide. Lights from the houses on the other side of the water flickered like curious eyes through the trees.
There was a knock on my door. ‘Come in,’ I called. Mum walked in and sat on my bed. ‘It’s peaceful, don’t you think?’
‘I love it here.’
‘Dad has a surprise for you.’
‘Surprise?’ I frowned. ‘The last time Dad gave me a surprise, I opened the box and a turtle bit me.’
‘I remember,’ she said, smiling. She offered her hand and pulled me up. ‘I can assure you that this surprise won’t bite,’ and added, ‘much.’
Dad had the computer set up on the dining table. Whatever was on the screen had Aunt Cass’s attention. She had her elbows on the table, fists under her chin, beaming from ear to ear. It took a few seconds to work out that they had set up a live stream from the zoo. Boris strolled by the camera.
‘Dad, it’s Friendship Farm.’
‘I had the zoo’s IT person set it up for you. Anytime you want to check in on Boris, you can.’
I threw my arms around Dad’s neck. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
I took the computer into my bedroom and placed it on the table beside my bed, then started sketching the outline of my next painting on the canvas.
A text alert came through from Libby.
Missing u so, so much. Can’t wait for the weekend.
I replied:
You won’t believe who I ran into on the wharf, Jake Morgan. He’s gorgeous. He likes you.
Her reply was instant: Wow!
A second text followed.
You should answer Richard. He’s beating himself up.
I climbed off the bed and turned the computer to face the easel. There was no sign of Boris, but I knew that he was there. I squirted paints on the palette and painted until the last light went out across the water.
‘Hi, sleepy head,’ sang Aunt Cass, opening the curtains, blinding me with the light.
‘We’re supposed to be on holiday. You sleep in on holidays,’ I moaned. I sat up and tied my hair in a knot.
‘I love it, Steph.’ Aunt Cass stepped back from the easel and tilted her head from side to side. ‘I don’t recognise the headland – where is this?’ She moved in closer, her nose all but touching the canvas.
‘Waverly,’ I told her, and my throat started to ache.
‘It’s eight now. You’re meeting Jake at nine. I’ve made pancakes for breakfast. Hurry, they’re nice and hot.’
‘Where are Mum and Dad?’
‘Still sleeping,’ she said, glancing at my phone. ‘You’ve got a message.’
I waited until she left before I read it. Richard. Why, I groaned.
Steph, please, I need to see u
I went to toss the phone aside, then changed my mind.
It feels right being at Palmy. I’m meeting up with an old friend, Jake.
I sat in front of the computer waiting for Boris, but he wasn’t in view of the camera.
Chapter Eighteen
THE AIR SMELT fishy as I made my way up the beach towards the wharf to meet Jake. A man threw a bucket of waste from his fancy cruiser into the water. Seagulls came from all directions, swooping in like kamikaze pilots. I picked up a stick and swirled it around and around, leaving circles in the sand, but discarded it when a piece of driftwood caught my eye. Mum had a large collection of driftwood that she kept in her office at work, and there was more under Aunt Cass’s house. I gripped the end and dragged it up the beach behind me.
Jake came into view. He was standing at the end of the wharf, waving his hands high above his head. I waved back.
Jake’s barge was secured alongside the wharf; the ferry was moored opposite. Excited children climbed the handrail as ferry workers secured the rope to the wharf before dropping the boarding plank.
‘You look fresh,’ said Jake, flashing me a smile. I couldn’t say the same. His dreadlocks were loose, spearing off in all directions, plus he needed a shave. ‘Nice piece,’ he said, admiring the wood.
‘Thanks.’ I handed it to him. I threw my backpack into the barge and reached out for Jake to help me board, then took my position on the seat closest to the bow facing him at the stern. He started the outboard, releasing enough throttle to warm the motor. The fumes brought back a flood of childhood memories. ‘Remember the time we found a blue-ringed octopus?’ I called over the sound of the outboard.
‘We took it home in a jar, and your mum freaked.’
‘She banned you from seeing me for the rest of the holidays.’
We cracked up laughing.
‘And when you t
old your dad,’ I recalled, ‘he grabbed your hand and started whipping at your leg with his belt.’
Jake turned his leg, showing me his calf muscle. ‘The bugger left a scar.’
My eyes widened. ‘For real?’
‘No bullshit. The buckle cut clean through my skin.’
I gripped the side of the barge and moved forward. ‘You’re a wuss, I can hardly see a scar,’ I said, making my way back to the bow.
Jake reached into a sack, took out a mandarin and held the lever of the outboard between his toes while he peeled off the skin. ‘Catch,’ he called as half the mandarin went flying past me and into the water. Jake went to break off another bit, but I shook my head. ‘Dead Man’s Cove?’
I nodded. Jake reversed away from the wharf, steering the barge in a half circle. When he upped the throttle, the bow bounced across the water. I tasted my breakfast as it came halfway up my throat.
‘If it’s too rough, you can come up here.’
I swallowed. ‘I’m great,’ I called, gripping the sides with both hands, cringing with the sting of the wind cutting through my clothes. Richard’s face flashed through my mind, threatening to dampen the day.
‘Sure you don’t want to come up here?’ called Jake.
I shook my head.
When we entered the neck of the cove, Jake cut back on the throttle and skillfully manoeuvred the barge around expensive cruisers moored offshore, keeping his distance from a yacht that would have been worth the price of a house. He pointed at a waiter dressed in white, serving breakfast to a couple on the deck, reading the morning paper in the sun.
Jake nosed the bow to the shore. I stood ready to jump into the water. ‘It’s freezing,’ he warned, and scrambled over the middle seat as the bow touched the land. ‘You can help pull her in.’ He jumped off and I followed. My heels sank in the wet sand as I pulled. I fell backwards and laughed.
I was wiping the sand off the back of my shorts when Jake yelled, ‘Catch!’ and my backpack came hurtling towards me.
‘Stop throwing stuff at me,’ I yelled.
‘You’ve lost your reflexes, Steph.’
‘I haven’t.’
Jake threaded his muscly arms through the straps of his pack, leading the way across the beach towards a giant boulder where we used to play as kids. ‘It never changes here.’
