by Di Morrissey
‘The Shark Club?’ asked Jennifer in amusement.
‘That’s by invitation only. Mac is the director of the Reef Science and Research Station here on Branch.’ Gideon indicated the group behind them. ‘They’re all his students and associates. Doing whatever it is they do for months at a stretch.’
‘It mightn’t look like work, Gideon, but there’re five PhDs happening amongst that lot, not to mention the other postgrads – masters and honours students.’ Mac turned to Jennifer. ‘We’re mainly scientists and marine biologists, attached to Southern Star University in Queensland. But we have students from all over the world. Like Carmel. The opportunity to study the reef, its ecosystems, marine life and other environmental issues is highly sought after. I bring a team here twice a year.’
Jennifer felt goosebumps rise along her arms. ‘I had no idea this was happening here. Where are you based? Do you come over from the mainland and camp?’
Mac laughed. ‘Some might call it roughing it, we have a fairly basic set-up but we have a functioning lab, tanks, work areas and reasonable accommodation. Depends whose turn it is to cook. Of course, the turtle researchers are up all night and they keep waking up the coral researchers who are awake all day and they keep waking the turtle researchers . . . You get the drift – sleep is at a premium.’
‘That’s where the rest of the original resort went,’ explained Gideon. ‘The research station is tucked away in the middle of the island.’
‘No ocean view, I’m afraid. But we’ve set up a beach base camp as we got sick of dragging gear back and forth. You must come and have the A-class tour.’ Mac grinned.
‘I’m staggered.’ Jennifer was almost speechless. ‘I’d love to see it. Can I come tomorrow?’
They all laughed. And then Jennifer had so much to talk about and so much to ask Mac and Gideon she didn’t notice the light had slipped away. Candles and lanterns were lit, a dim light hung above the bar and the mutton birds began returning for the night, shrieking and calling as they flew to their nests.
‘Are we barbecuing, Gideon?’ called Rudi, who, as Mac’s associate professor, oversaw the hands-on day-to-day running of the students’ schedules.
Jennifer jumped up in alarm. ‘Gosh, I didn’t realise it was so late. I’d better head back. Oh, do you have a torch, Gideon?’ The track would be in pitch darkness.
‘Lloyd is heading back to the resort, go with him,’ said Rudi.
‘Great,’ said Jennifer with relief. She hoped Blair was busy and hadn’t noticed she wasn’t there. He’d be worried. ‘Where is Lloyd?’
‘On his boat. In the channel. You can wade out and hop on.’
Jennifer stared at them in shock. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t.’
Gideon took her arm. ‘Lloyd will look after you. Sometimes you have to step outside the circle you’ve drawn round your feet, young lady.’
Mac stood on the other side of her. ‘It’s a calm night, after that rain you might see some phosphorescence. Just around the point,’ he said gently. ‘If you want to join the club, you have to do something you’ve never done before. Step up now, Jennifer.’
For anyone else a boat ride in the calm and starry dusk was not a frightening event. But as Jennifer sat in the small fishing boat clutching the handrail and watching the silhouette of Lloyd at the wheel, she experienced a mixture of emotions. The surface of the water was silvered, still. Like a lid on some nether-world below the sea. It had been many years since she’d had the dream. As a child she’d always felt there was a safe world down there. But as a rational adult she realised she had come close to drowning like her brother and also her father.
For Jennifer her fear of the sea was linked to abandonment and temptation. How easy it would be to slip over the side right now. Lloyd wouldn’t hear the splash above the engine noise. Jennifer didn’t trust herself. She didn’t trust the almighty pull she felt from the ocean that repelled, scared and yet seduced her.
She closed her eyes but Gideon’s words came back to her, about stepping outside the circle. She did feel she had drawn a net of safety and security tight around her. Afraid to let emotional challenges creep through. She thought of what Mac had said, of doing something she’d never done before. When she opened her eyes she saw Lloyd sitting comfortably on his swivel chair at the wheel, paying her little attention.
Cautiously Jennifer angled her body towards the gunwale and looped her hand through the metal railing. Holding on tightly, she raised herself to her knees and looked over the side.
Water gurgled past the hull. She took a few short, sharp breaths. Nothing changed. The silvery water rushing past sparkled in the night light. She lifted her gaze, looking past the wake to the flat dark water beyond. It didn’t appear sinister or threatening. She continued to stare down into the water.
Then, from those dark unknown depths, a white blob shivered towards the surface. It looked spongy, soft. Childlike. To her horror, Jennifer saw the face of her brother. Ashen-faced, glassy-eyed. A washed-out shape of a once-vibrant boy. Jennifer gasped, felt her stomach heave and put her hand to her mouth to stop the retching.
Lloyd was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. ‘If you’re feeling sick, hang right over and let it rip. Don’t try to swallow it.’
She shook her head, swallowing hard, and looked at him. ‘Sorry, I just thought . . . I saw . . .’ She looked back at the water where the mucusy blob floated. ‘That . . .’
‘It’s a man-o’-war. Big jellyfish. Harmless. Some varieties have long stingers that can give a nasty rash. The box jellyfish is quite deadly and has tentacles up to three metres.’
She couldn’t answer. She saw the pulsing flaps around the circular body. ‘Sorry, Lloyd. I’m fine now. Really I am.’
‘Good-oh. Shall we go full steam ahead?’
‘Let’s go.’
‘Hang on then.’
Lloyd opened the throttle and the boat surged forward, the bow lifting slightly. He glanced back at his passenger. Jennifer was grasping the seat and gunwale rail, her face lifted to the night air. Whatever had momentarily ailed her had passed. Instead she looked exhilarated.
There were bright lights, activity on several boats and a few curious people watching from the wharf. As they chugged in to the steps Lloyd cut the engine and called out, ‘What’s going on, Doyley? Someone get something big?’
‘No. Blair’s wife’s missing. We’re going out, they might have to call the chopper in,’ shouted Doyley.
‘No, man. She’s with me. It’s all right.’
A siren rang out and a signal flare whooshed in an orange glow off one of the boats. There was shouting and figures ran down the wharf. Jennifer hated the attention and just wanted to be alone back in their cabin. Blair walked back with her.
‘You had us worried sick. That was so stupid of you. Not to mention creating bloody havoc’
‘I’m sorry, Blair, I met some really interesting people and I didn’t notice it was getting late. And, frankly, I didn’t fancy walking across the island on my own in the dark,’ she added with some heat.
‘You’re right,’ he conceded. ‘I was just so worried. It’s so unlike you.’
‘Is it?’ Jennifer stopped. ‘You mean I’ve been acting like some nervous nelly when I used to be my own person, do my own thing?’
‘Yeah. I guess so. I have enough to do with keeping tabs on all the staff without worrying whether you’ve fallen in the sea, down a muttonbird hole, whatever.’ They were both thinking of Rhonda.
Jennifer resumed walking. ‘You know what, Blair? You can stop worrying about me from now on. Believe me.’
There was something in her voice that caused Blair to bite back any more criticisms. ‘Great. I’m glad. So you won’t mind if I go back to work? What about dinner?’
‘I’ll fix myself something. You eat at the resort. I don’t need babysitting, Blair. I plan to do some work.’
‘Good girl. Have a restful evening. Sounds like you’ve had enough excitement for one day. By the w
ay, who were these interesting people?’
‘No one you’d enjoy. Some university people. A scientist and a beachcomber.’
‘You’re right. Not my types.’ Blair didn’t see the tight and furious expression on Jennifer’s face.
Later, alone, after having eaten a scrambled egg and a cup of soup, Jennifer sat with her feet on the coffee table listening to the radio and thought about the afternoon. And the trip back. Suddenly she laughed out loud, went and pulled the wine from the fridge and poured herself a glass, lifting it up to toast herself. ‘Welcome to the Shark Club, old girl.’
There was a tap at the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Rosie. Are you okay?’
Jennifer opened the sliding door. ‘Never better. Sorry about the panic earlier this evening.’
‘No problem. Good to know the team swung into action so quickly. Gave everyone a bit of excitement for a minute or two.’ She held up a bottle of wine. ‘Thought you might like some company.’
‘Lovely. In fact, I have one open. Come on in.’ Jennifer’s eyes were bright, her mood merry, which Rosie put down to the wine and excitement.
They finished the bottle of wine and found they had plenty to talk and laugh about.
‘I’m glad you’ve met Gideon, he’s a grand old character. A tinker and boffin. An inventor. I’ve never got time to get over and see him. He cruises over for dinner once a month or so. I suppose I should go,’ said Rosie eventually, not making a move.
‘We haven’t opened your wine,’ protested Jennifer.
‘Is there something we can celebrate then?’
Jennifer stood up and reached for the corkscrew. ‘Yeah. I shouldn’t open more wine, but what the hell. Today I did something I’ve never done before, something that scared me – and I survived. And . . . I’m pregnant! Blair doesn’t know and probably won’t be thrilled. But, you know what? I don’t care.’
Rosie took the corkscrew from Jennifer and reached for the bottle of wine. ‘I’m going to have another glass. You stick to soda. Here’s looking at you, kid!’
The first mutton bird of the night shrieked outside, but it was drowned out by the peals of laughter from inside the little cabin nestled amongst the sand and trees.
8
Strangers on the Shore
LLOYD STEERED THE LAUNCH into the deep channel of the outer reef where the turquoise water changed to indigo above the continental shelf. Jennifer sat in the half cockpit beside him, sheltering from sun and spray as Blair held the fishing rod Lloyd had set to trawl behind, hoping for a strike.
‘Are there big fish down there?’ she asked above the engine.
‘Used to be . . . fishing has gone off in the last few years. That’s why they’re banning commercial fishing inside the reef, to give stocks a chance to replenish. Those bloody nets take everything.’
She looked back at Blair holding the long flexible rod in one hand and a beer can in the other. ‘I didn’t know Blair liked fishing.’ Though he didn’t look particularly comfortable.
Lloyd had a similar thought. ‘He’ll get a shock if he gets a marlin, Spanish mackerel or tuna strike. Living on the island you take up interests you mightn’t have had before, I guess. No laid-on city entertainment around here,’ he grinned. Lloyd was in his late twenties and had always lived near the ocean. Boats, especially sailing, were his passion.
‘So what do you do when you go back to the mainland?’ asked Jennifer, imagining that like most of the other young staffers he’d head for a pub, bar or club. ‘Go to a footy match?’
‘Nope. My breaks are busman’s holidays’ . . . I work in my dad’s boatshed out of Headland. He builds and repairs marine craft. Has a big slipway. A lot of boats put in there when sailing up the coast.’
‘Hey, Jenny, come and hang on to this. I’m going to the head.’
Gingerly Jennifer edged into the swivel chair bolted to the deck at the open stern. There were padded benches along either side with rod holders so six people could fish at a time. She took hold of the rod Blair handed her with both hands and felt the drag of the lure through the water.
‘If your arms get tired, just lock the end of the rod into that slot there.’
‘What do I do if I get a bite?’
‘Yell for Lloyd, I guess. Want me to take your picture? Show them back home how you’ve gone native?’
‘I think they’d get more of a kick out of seeing you with a fishing rod,’ she retorted. Blair was known for having even less sporting prowess than handyman talents.
As Blair disappeared into the small enclosed area in front of the cockpit, which held a tiny galley, toilet and one bunk, Lloyd glanced back at Jennifer. He was glad to see she seemed more comfortable on the boat than she had on the smaller craft on Friday night returning from Gideon’s. What a stink that had caused. He hoped it hadn’t put Jennifer off hanging out at the Shark Bar. He wished she wasn’t the assistant manager’s wife, then he’d feel easier about encouraging her to spend time with Mac and the gang at the research station. Jennifer was a university person and he assumed she’d have more in common with them than the resort people.
His musing was broken by a loud squeal from the stern. The rod’s tip was now bent low to the water, the line screaming through the reel. Lloyd knocked the engine back to idle and leapt towards Jennifer. ‘Flip the reel, stop the line running out. Okay, now start winding in.’
She tried to hand him the rod that now felt so heavy. ‘Here, you do it.’
‘No, rule is whoever is holding the rod when there’s a strike has to play it.’
‘I can’t! It’s too hard,’ wailed Jennifer, not liking the situation at all.
He explained to her how to lower and lift the rod, gaining some line in the slack. Jennifer bit her lip as she strained against the powerful fish. Blair began taking pictures and Lloyd stepped back to the wheel, easing the boat around.
‘What is it?’ asked Blair, amazed Jennifer hadn’t just dropped the rod or pushed it at Lloyd. He was relieved the fish hadn’t taken the lure while he was holding the rod. ‘She’s never going to bring it in.’
‘Patience, perseverance, pain. It’s a private battle between them.’
Jennifer was sweating, her arms ached, but she felt a small thrill each time she gained a few more centimetres of line.
‘Take the wheel, Blair.’ Lloyd stood next to Jennifer and used an old towel to wipe her forehead and her straining arms. ‘Don’t let your hands get slippery. Lift as it runs. It’s trying to dive, when it gets close it’ll try to get under the boat.’
‘Why don’t we just let it go?’ panted Jennifer.
‘We will once you’ve hauled it aboard. It’s a battle so there has to be a winner and a loser.’
He stood beside her as she leaned with the straining rod, her back, arms and legs burning as she lifted and lowered the rod to wind in more line.
Lloyd brought the long gaffer pole with the metal hook to the edge of the boat. ‘It’s getting close.’
Then with a sharp ping the rod snapped free, flinging Jennifer backwards.
Lloyd grabbed the rod. ‘Gone. Damn. Bad luck.’
‘What did you do?’ called Blair.
‘Nothing. It just happened,’ said Jennifer. ‘It was like someone got scissors and cut it. Bang.’ She stared into the water, wondering what her adversary looked like.
‘Let’s have a cold drink.’ Blair went below as Lloyd took the wheel and revved up the engine.
‘I’m sorry, Lloyd. I hope you haven’t lost too much line.’
‘Are you disappointed?’ he asked.
‘Kind of . . . it is a challenge. And I wanted to win it. But I’m glad it escaped. I hope it’s not hurt.’
‘Probably got a sore lip. Fishing tackle in the sea can be a nuisance. Not as much as plastic bait bags though.’
‘I thought they’d be making biodegradable ones by now.’
‘They’re around but they’re expensive. Plastic bags are killers to turt
les. They think they’re edible jellyfish and then they choke on them.’ He paused as Jennifer gazed into the water. ‘Any time we don’t have a full charter you can come out fishing as a staffie,’ he added.
‘I’ll think about it. Thanks, Lloyd.’
They were outside the shadowy outline of reef surrounding Sooty Isle. A tiny crescent of white sand fringed by low green vegetation several metres above sea level with no visible buildings made Sooty look a very tiny and isolated place to Jennifer.
‘How do these coral cays form?’ she wondered aloud.
‘Basically, billions of coral polyps accumulating from the supporting reef build up a foundation,’ said Lloyd. ‘Cyclones and storms break down the coral to make the sand that starts to build up around the reef. I get asked this all the time. Take a breath, what do you smell?’
‘Ammonia? I noticed it when we first arrived.’
‘Yep. The birds leave their calling cards, which adds fertiliser to the landscape, seeds are blown, carried by birds, or float ashore and germinate, soil develops and, eventually, vegetation.’
‘So there’s no fresh water, just rainfall?’ asked Jennifer.
‘In the beginning rainwater soaks down and, being lighter than seawater, sits on top in what we call a freshwater lens. It’s salty at first as the island grows, then it becomes less brackish and can eventually feed plants, trees and so forth. But now there’re underground tanks and water is carried over in a bad season. We’re lucky on Branch, there’s some fresh water. Years of rain got trapped and so there’s a bit of a stream for much of the year.’
‘Umm, interesting. You know quite a lot.’
‘Ah, I’ve been hanging round Mac and his mates,’ smiled Lloyd. ‘And Carmel is my girlfriend.’
They could see the white silhouettes of several large boats moored in the lagoon. ‘Whose boats are those?’ asked Jennifer.
‘A couple of yachties gone ashore for the day, sheltering for the night. The floating gin palace could be the big bosses’. I heard they might be coming to the island,’ said Lloyd shading his eyes as he looked at the distant boats.
