Sole Survivor

by Derek Hansen

  ‘From what Bernie told me I’d say she’d be in her mid-thirties.’

  ‘Oh dear God . . . Married, perhaps, is she?’

  ‘She’s coming alone.’

  ‘Dear God in heaven.’

  ‘Angus, think about it. There’s nothing here for her. We’ve got to stick together and make sure she understands that.’

  ‘Aye, we’d better talk. You’d better come up here. I suppose I should offer you a drop of tea. Make sure your dog stays down there, mind.’

  ‘Archie goes where I go.’

  ‘Ah, suit yourself!’ The dog was the least of his worries. Angus walked slowly back into his cabin to put another hakea stick on the flames and the kettle back on the hob. ‘Dear God, a woman here! A young woman, at that!’ He’d found paradise and peace, a hiding place from the dream which he’d finally accepted could never be. But it seemed the dream had sought him out once more, and brought with it all the pain of despair and abandoned hopes that he thought he’d left behind forever. His brain struggled to comprehend the scale of the disaster. He couldn’t allow it to happen. They couldn’t allow it to happen. Whatever it took, they couldn’t allow the woman to live at Wreck Bay.

  The two men sat together on the veranda, uncomfortable with their closeness, plotting and concocting schemes neither one was capable of executing. They discussed wrecking the old man’s bach, but neither man was a vandal. They thought of draining his water tank, but abandoned that idea for the same reason. They thought of laying baits to encourage the native rats to move into the bach, but they didn’t like the idea of encouraging the kiore either. They decided they could do nothing but allow the isolation and deprivations of Wreck Bay to speak for themselves, confident that they would not so much speak as shriek. Let her face the prospect of hauling four gallon tins of diesel all the way up the hill from the beach. Let her face the prospect of carrying bucket loads of soil for her garden over the hills from Whangapoua. Let her face the prospect of taking a boat single-handed around Aiguilles Island in hostile weather to fetch supplies. Let her learn the vagaries of cooking on the decrepit Shacklock Orion slow-combustion stove. Let her suffer the deprivations of life without shops, cinemas, bright lights or a friendly voice. Let her fend for herself. Wreck Bay was wildly beautiful but promised a hard life to anyone who chose to occupy its shores. The two men resolved not to make it easier for her.

  They parted not as friends but as reluctant allies, each committed from self-interest to a common cause. Red took the track down to the beach to prepare his boat, and set off with Archie for the rise beyond Aiguilles Island to honour his dead mate’s wishes. Angus had declined Red’s invitation to join him and help in the scattering of Bernie’s ashes. Instead he sat unmoving, head in hands, trying to find the strength to confront and dismiss his fears. If any prayers had passed his lips they would have been reserved for his own salvation, not Bernie’s.

  Angus was not one to admit failure, yet he had failed to accomplish the one thing he believed made sense of his existence. He’d never wanted riches, fame, possessions, nor particularly a wife. He’d learned to expect nothing and to be given less. But it had never seemed an unreasonable expectation to one day have a boy child in his image. A son to indulge as he had never been indulged, to love as he had never been loved, to shape and mould and make beneficiary of his experiences and wisdoms. A son who would love and look up to him. If marriage had been the price, he would have paid it stoically, but there would never have been the slightest doubt as to whom the boy belonged. The boy would have been his, and he felt the lad’s absence from his life as keenly as a blade. This was Angus’ second secret.

  Angus had come to terms with his disappointment and the woman threatened his acceptance. Her presence would remind him of his failure and, worse, perhaps rekindle his hopes. He could not allow it, would not allow it! Waves of anguish washed over him so bitterly that he groaned in despair, startling Bonnie who’d settled upon his lap. He looked up at the dense wild bush surrounding him, his home by choice and hiding place from necessity. What would happen when he could no longer hide?

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  Little Barrier passed away beneath the port wing but Rosie hardly gave it a second glance. She was too busy concentrating on the pilot’s description of her new, antisocial neighbours.

  ‘They’re a funny pair,’ said Captain Ladd, ‘particularly Red. You can be sitting talking to him and suddenly get the feeling that you’re talking to yourself.’

  ‘Bit rude.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that. It’s just that his mind goes off on leave without notice. You can see it in his eyes. One minute he’s home, next he’s off somewhere. Heard he got a hard time from the Japs during the war.’

  ‘What’s he like, I mean, physically?’

  ‘Red, mid-forties, wiry as a whippet, quite good-looking according to the girls in the office. Red hair, beard, regular features but eyes that make them want to drop their knickers – so they say anyway.’ He laughed. ‘They’ve all had a go at chatting him up and got nowhere. He just gives them his thousand yard stare.’

  ‘His what?’

  ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’

  ‘Think I know what you mean. He sounds promising, anyway.’

  ‘More promising if you were a dog.’

  ‘What?’

  Captain Ladd told Rosie about Archie.

  ‘What about the other bloke you mentioned?’

  ‘Angus? Mid-sixties, retired, ex-police inspector. Remember a police spokesman on television with a James Robertson Justice accent?’

  ‘Vaguely. Big, bristly, grey eyebrows that seemed to have a mind of their own?’

  ‘That’s him. Always looked like he’d just stepped in a cow pat and his eyebrows wanted to get away from the smell. If he ever smiled, nobody I know was there to see it.’

  ‘Sounds like a barrel of laughs.’

  ‘Like I told you, Rosie, it’s hardly a fun neighbourhood. Tell you what, we’re ahead of schedule. If you like I’ll give you a sneak preview. Might change your mind.’ Captain Ladd banked left away from Port Fitzroy and dipped the nose towards Motairehe ridge. Rosie stared through the perspex, eager for the first glimpse of her new home.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ she muttered as she saw the wilderness beneath her. In her first flush of optimism after reading Red’s letter, she’d imagined there’d be rolling green pastures dotted with Persil-white sheep and goats, with the odd jersey cow thrown in for fresh milk. Instead, she saw three drab looking baches in tiny clearings which the surrounding bush threatened to engulf at any moment. If this was her Garden of Eden it was high time they sent in the gardeners. She thought back to the old man whose legacy had brought her there. If an old man could make a go of it, so could she. It was an argument she’d often mounted to harden her resolve, but from the front seat of the Grumman Widgeon she began to question her conviction. How on earth can anyone live down there, she wondered?

  ‘Not much here, is there?’ Captain Ladd interrupted her thoughts. ‘I think that’s Red’s place just below us, old Bernie’s place is over there on the next ridge, and ex-Inspector McLeod’s place . . . down there. See it?’

  Rosie saw it all right. The amphibian glided down the slopes and levelled out barely one hundred feet over the bay. She caught her first glimpse of Wreck Bay’s three sandy beaches and their ancient pohutukawa sentinels. This was better. Captain Ladd began a slow banking climb for the return pass.

  ‘All three moorings have boats on them, so you’ll have a bit of a wait at Fitzroy.’

  ‘Odd. I told Red what time I was arriving.’

  ‘I did warn you not to expect them, to roll out the red carpet.’

  ‘Look! Someone’s waving.’ Rosie returned the wave. Down below them, Angus cursed louder and shook his fist even harder. ‘Maybe you’re wrong.’

  The pilot looked at her and bit his lip. Years of looking at the world from an eagle’s point of view had taught him how to interpret w
hat he saw. Never in his wildest dreams would he have interpreted Angus’ raised fist as a wave. He rolled his eyes. She’d learn.

  ‘Look. There! By my place.’

  Captain Ladd was a bit taken aback by the unexpected use of the possessive and peered out of his side window. A man, a dog and half a dozen chooks were standing in front of Bernie’s bach looking up at them.

  ‘Hell’s bells, does he usually dress so formally?’

  The pilot laughed. ‘Apparently.’ Both man and dog stood motionless as the plane passed overhead and left them behind.

  ‘Well, you could say he wore a lovely smile. And at least I know he’s a genuine redhead.’

  Captain Ladd laughed. But he couldn’t help wondering what sort of happy elixir his passenger had taken. He’d seen no trace of a smile. No sooner had they re-crossed the ridge than the amphibian began its descent into Port Fitzroy. Rosie settled back in her seat as the ripples beneath her took form and substance and became waves. They bounced once as Captain Ladd had predicted, slowed, then began a sweeping one hundred and eighty degree turn back towards the wharf.

  ‘Can’t run up on the beach here,’ he said. ‘Just too muddy. You’ll have to wait for someone to come out and collect you.’ The amphibian motored gently up to a vacant buoy where the pilot tied off. ‘Well, what do you reckon?’

  ‘Not what I expected. There’s no one here.’

  ‘Oh, there are a few buildings dotted around. By Barrier standards this is pretty crowded. What did you think of Wreck Bay?’

  Rosie laughed, but it was more a nervous laugh than good humoured. ‘Well it does make this place look crowded.’

  ‘Think you’ll give it a go?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘Any second thoughts give me a call. If the conditions are right, I could probably put down in Wreck Bay and run up onto the beach. Up there you can begin to feel that the world’s forgotten all about you. But remember this. You’re just twenty-five minutes away from civilisation. That’s all. One call and I’ll come and get you. You have my number. Otherwise I’ll see you in two weeks.’

  ‘Thanks, Fred.’

  ‘One more thing. Deep down both those blokes up there are good, decent men. Just might take you a while to find the good bits. They’re not used to strangers and they’re certainly not used to having a lady around. But if you get into strife they won’t let you down. Things aren’t necessarily as they might appear.’

  ‘They never are, Fred. Thanks for the warning. But has anybody warned them about me?’

  Captain Ladd burst out laughing. His passenger had pluck. But, nonetheless, she was asking too much. If she made it through her two-week trial run he thought she might last two months. Maybe three, because he could sense her stubbornness. He decided to give her three months before she called, but call she would. ‘Here’s your transport.’

  Rosie looked at the tiny clinker dinghy being rowed out to meet them, bucking in the small but steep chop. Both her and her bags were about to get wet but she guessed that was something she’d have to get used to. She wished she hadn’t bothered going to the hairdressers. She reached across and kissed the pilot on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Fred. And thanks for showing me my new home.’

  ‘How’d you like the snapper?’

  ‘Great, Col.’

  ‘Glad you like it because over here we eat snapper like people over there eat lamb chops.’ Col gestured vaguely westwards.

  Rosie smiled. ‘Over there’ was where she’d just come from. ‘Over here’ was Great Barrier. ‘Up here’ was Fitzroy. ‘The other side’ was the east coast. Col had invited her into his home to have lunch and told her to put her things in the spare bedroom. Then, as gently as they could, he and his wife Jean had let her know that she might be needing it for a few days.

  ‘Things don’t run to schedules up here,’ Jean told her. ‘If anything, they’re worse over the other side. Tell ’em to be here Saturday, you probably won’t see ’em till Monday. They won’t come even if they intended to come before they were told to be here. They won’t come even if they’re low on fuel and supplies. There’s something about the Barrier that makes people contrary, and those blokes on the other side are more contrary than most. Ask somebody to do something, they’ll go out of the way to do the opposite.’

  Once she’d eaten lunch Rosie decided to go for a walk along the road that followed the shore line to the community centre, a hut the Army had left behind at the end of the war. She needed to escape from all the advice she was getting and absorb something of the Barrier for herself. She needed time to gather her thoughts. As she strolled down the corrugated, loose metal road, the first thing that struck her was the silence. She’d never heard it before. There were no vehicles, no planes overhead, no blaring radios, no people. She stopped and listened. By concentrating she could hear the wind in the trees high up on the ridge tops, and away to her right the waves slapping against oyster-encrusted rocks. But nothing else. The sun beat down on her as if she had its whole and undivided attention. It felt eerie and oppressive. She’d just managed to convince herself that the silence was beautiful and restful when she was startled by a sudden rustling of dry leaves. A banded rail poked its head out of the thicket to take a look at the intruder, then boldly crossed the road in front of her. Rosie had never seen one before and tried to catch its attention.

  ‘Here, chook-chook-chook!’ she said, and immediately felt foolish. She was a city girl and that was the only way she knew to attract a bird’s attention. She looked quickly around to make sure nobody had heard her. Further on the road dipped down towards what appeared to be an iron sand beach. She jumped again as a ruckus broke out in a pohutukawa tree on her left and a black bird chased away two mynahs that had strayed onto its territory. Rosie held her breath. A tui! It was the first time she’d been so close to a tui and the bird seemed to know it. It strutted up and down on a branch right above her head, displaying its aristocratic puff of white throat feathers, and rocking from leg to leg so that the feathers she’d taken to be black occasionally flashed deep blue and emerald. After a few minutes the tui became bored and flew up into a higher branch where it was no more than a dark silhouette against the sky. Rosie exhaled deeply. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath. So this was Great Barrier. The view from the plane didn’t do it justice. It changed once you could smell the bush, hear the birds and taste the sharp mineral freshness in the air. Her spirits lifted again now that she’d begun to take in her surroundings, and lifted once more when she noticed the clay bank on the high side of the road. She realised she’d seen clay earlier. From the plane. Yes! A great bank of it as the amphibian had skimmed across Wreck Bay, and it was right by the beach with the jetty and moorings. At least one part of her speculations was accurate. Where there was plenty of clay there was the potential to make pottery.

  She strolled down to the iron sand beach where she found an old bleached tree trunk to sit on. She looked out towards Selwyn Island where the last yachts of summer clustered in its lee. Her earlier apprehension had vanished and had been replaced by cautious optimism. Rosie no longer minded that Red wasn’t there to meet her. She’d get her own back on the bastard one way or another. She’d teach him not to keep a lady waiting. Not this lady, at any rate. But optimism founded on finding clay and sighting two native birds no further from her than common sparrows was, to say the least, premature. Her introduction to Great Barrier Island was far from over, and it would be some time before she’d start teaching Red any lessons. He had a few lessons to teach her, and they’d not be ones she’d enjoy.

  The sun had dipped behind Selwyn Island by the time Rosie returned to the Last Gasp store. She’d kept an eye on the bay but had seen no boats come in. Col was waiting for her and called her into his shop. He showed her a box of supplies.

  ‘I hope you don’t think I’m presumptuous,’ he said, ‘but I’m blowed if I know what old Bernie was living on those last few months. All he got from me were flagons
of sherry and the occasional tins of stew or soup. I know this is just a look-see and you’re only planning on staying a couple of weeks, but I reckon you’ll need everything I’ve put in here. You better take this gas cylinder and four gallon tin of diesel, too, in case your generator’s dry. Bill’s on top. Cash or cheque. Reckon your cheques would be all right.’

  ‘If you believe that you’d believe anything.’ Rosie smiled as a look of uncertainty flickered across Col’s face. She pulled her cheque book out of her handbag, looked at the bill and began writing.

  ‘Your neighbours have post office savings accounts with me. I just draw what they spend. They top it up when need be.’

  ‘Sounds a good system.’

  ‘We’ve taken the liberty of making you up a bed. If Red was coming today he’d have come by now. The trip around the top’s no fun at night, particularly when there’s a bit of a wind. Missus is making up a stew. You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘Only if you let me pay you something.’

  ‘Thought you said your cheques were no good? Nah. You’re a customer. We like to show a bit of hospitality towards new customers. Particularly if they look like being regulars.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

  ‘Ahh . . . the boys are all right deep down. Got hearts of gold. You just have to prospect pretty deep.’

  ‘In that case couldn’t I have just borrowed some diesel instead of carting that tin in with me?’

  ‘They’re not borrowing sort of people. Like I say, hearts of gold but you have to dig deep.’

  ‘So there’s no point asking for a cup of sugar either?’

  ‘You’ve got it. I gather they share their surplus. You know, if one catches more fish than he needs, or grows too many tomatoes. Sometimes Red brings us lovely fresh smoked snapper, but I’d never think of asking him for any.’

  Rosie looked at the bulging box of supplies. Alone but not alone. Isn’t that the way she wanted it?