by Di Morrissey
‘Blair said that Fanzio and Holding wanted to do a report on the possibility of upgrading the resort, whatever that means,’ said Jennifer. ‘There’s a journo coming in to write a glitzy story. For some travel magazine.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that. It hasn’t been run past me,’ said Rosie.
‘If they want to change the resort they’re hardly going to have it written up in glowing terms as it is,’ mused Gideon.
‘I don’t trust journos coming in on freebies,’ said Rosie. ‘Maybe they’re paying their way, as they’re supposed to, and we won’t know who they are.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Mac. ‘I’m more concerned about the research station. The university board gets toey about bad publicity.’
‘Why don’t you get your own PR man in, write up all the interesting work being done,’ said Jennifer. ‘Carmel’s whale genetics study, Kirsty’scoral reproduction, Rudi’s plants. And what about Isobel? And you, Gideon? Lloyd was telling me about your hubble-bubble, diving-bell thingy.’
They all burst out laughing.
‘I’ve never heard it described like that,’ chuckled Gideon. ‘I keep a low profile, thanks. No one knows me and I prefer to keep it that way.’
Rosie was looking thoughtful. ‘It’s not a bad idea to get some other publicity, stuff that promotes the island as a conservation centre. Not the sort of place you’d expect to find spas, flunkies and a casino.’
‘What about Tony Adams? I thought Lloyd had talked to him about a story on the research station,’ said Jennifer.
They all looked at each other, remembering the serious, reclusive war correspondent.
‘Do you think he’d be interested?’ asked Rosie. ‘He’s exactly the type of journalist we need. Someone prepared to do a story, not an investigative piece exactly but an in-depth article. Or series of articles. Plus he’s a very good photographer.’
‘Ask him,’ said Gideon. ‘And we say nothing.’
Jennifer sat through dinner, smiling, nodding, listening, asking an occasional question about life in Minnesota, bored rigid as the woman talked about her kids. Susie, on the other hand, was bubbly, effusively promoting the resort and Sooty Isle. Jennifer wondered if she received a commission for every guest who went there. When they all left the dining room, heading for the bar and a nightcap, Jennifer excused herself, pleading tiredness. Blair took her to one side.
‘I might be late, these guys like to party on. I forgot to tell you, Aunty Vi rang. Nothing dramatic apparently. Maybe you’d better call them. Use the phone in my office. I told Heather on the desk.’
‘You could have told me before dinner,’ said Jennifer. ‘Vi wouldn’t ring here unless it was important.’
‘I didn’t speak to her. But the message said it wasn’t urgent.’
‘It’s something to do with my mother. For sure,’ sighed Jennifer. ‘Don’t be too late, Blair.’
He lifted his shoulders. ‘Why not? I can walk home, it’s business.’
‘Fine. Please yourself.’ Jennifer was tired. She went in to reception and asked Heather if she could use the phone in Blair’s office.
‘Vi, it’s me. Is anything up? Sorry to call so late. Blair just told me you rang.’
‘How are you, sweet heart, feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine. Never looked better, I’m told. What’s the problem?’
‘It’s your mum. She has a bee in her bonnet.’
‘Why am I not surprised? What is it?’
‘Ah darling, maybe you should come and visit. Talk her out of this hair-brained scheme. She misses you such a lot. We all do. You seem so far away . . .’
‘What hair-brained scheme, Vi?’
‘She wants to be near you. Help with the baby.’
‘Well, I understand that, but look where I am. She can’t come here.’ Thank God.
‘She’s moving to Headland Bay. She’s found a unit. Overlooking the water, no less. With two bedrooms.’
‘Oh, no. Holyshit, I don’t believe it. Sorry, Vi. I mean she hasn’t moved, rented it, signed anything yet? Has she?’
‘She’s being vague. You know how she just changes the subject when she doesn’t want to tell you anything.’
It’s called evasive and devious. ‘Yeah, I know. Well, what do I do? I don’t want to get you in the poo so she knows you rang.’
‘Call her for a chat in the morning. I won’t say anything. I just thought you’d better know, luv.’
‘You bet. Thanks so much, Vi. Is Uncle Don okay?’
‘We’re all fine. Wish we could see you.’
‘Maybe I’d better come for a flying visit. Baby shopping, seeing a doctor, something like that. Settle her down.’
‘Oh, I’m so relieved, Jenny. We’ve been that worried. She gets an idea and no one can talk her out of it, or say anything.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s a silly idea. We could be gone from here in six months. Be in Europe or something. You never know with Blair.’
‘Oh dear. I don’t like the sound of that. That’s even further away. We’ll never get to see that baby.’ She sounded teary.
‘Vi, I doubt it will happen. But we have to make Mum understand that Blair’s career will have us moving around. While he’s heading up the ranks we could be sent anywhere for any length of time. That’s what we tell her, okay?’
‘I get you, luv. I’ll leave it to you. Sorry if I bothered you.’
‘Vi, thank God you did. We’d better nip this in the bud. Don’t worry. I love you lots.’
‘Same here, darling. Look after yourselves. You and that wee one.’
A trip back to Sydney. Jennifer liked the idea, even if it meant dealing with her mother. She could deliver the work to Professor Dawn, talk about further study. Isobel’s voice echoed in her mind as she washed her face and got ready for bed. We all have choices. Some we make and some we stumble over. It is up to you to change the direction of your destiny.
Jennifer looked at her shiny face smeared in cleanser in the mirror. Blue eyes looked back, steady, unflinching. ‘Looks like I have some decisions to make,’ she said aloud. And, for once, she didn’t feel insecure or the need to ask for someone else’s opinion, whether it was Blair’s, Vi’s, a professor’s or a girlfriend’s.
C’est la vie. She reached for the box of tissues. ‘Christina, you’re a worry,’ she said aloud. ‘But you’re not winning this one.’
12
Reef Walking
JENNIFER SLID OUT OF bed as the tiny alarm clock tingled. Blair stirred but didn’t wake. It was dark. Three a.m. This is crazy, she thought. But she was alert and up for whatever Isobel had planned. They’d agreed to meet on the beach outside the terrace bar. It was cool, so Jennifer wore a tank top under her T-shirt, put on her canvas reef shoes, grabbed the torch and tiptoed outside.
There was a shriek followed by moans and soft feathery scufflings as she stepped into the hunched shapes of mutton birds along the path. Neither she nor Blair heard their nightly courting and squabbles any longer, even though they sounded like babies being murdered. She still wondered why the birds chose to make holes in the middle of pathways. The resort placed boards over these with ‘Caution. Mutton Bird Nest’ stencilled on top.
Jennifer turned off the torch as she came into the resort grounds. She could see well enough by the dim illumination from lights at the base of trees and along the pathway. There was also enough light from the moon, which was high and cast a glow in the sky and on the surface of the quiet ocean. She walked past the swimming pool where the trapped water shone in the pearly light. The tide was out, leaving a creamy stretch of sand between the coral ledge and the heavy rocks at the base of the resort seawall.
A firefly light flickered and she judged it to be Isobel walking, stopping, waving the beam of her torch. Jennifer went along the wooden walk way and found the steps leading to the sand. She was halfway along the beach heading for the water’s edge when it occurred to her, what if it wasn’t Isobel? Glancing
behind her, Jennifer saw the low buildings of the resort apartments, doors and windows open to the sea breeze. One shout or scream and people would raise the alarm. She wasn’t afraid, but the memory of Willsy’s attack on Rhonda still troubled her.
The torch light beckoned her and she could make out the small neat figure of Isobel against the silvery backdrop of the water.
‘We have a perfect night,’ said Isobel softly. ‘I’ve been here for an hour and there’s a lot to see.’
‘Really? It’s dark. Empty looking,’ said Jennifer, falling into step as they walked away from the resort.
In response Isobel stopped, touched Jennifer’s arm and pointed her narrow beam of light at the shining liquid-like sand. ‘Look, see the bubbles and bumps? This is feeding time, all manner of animal sare sifting through the wash, filtering nutrients. See?’ She had a stick in her other hand and she scraped away the sand to expose a busy mollusc and sea worm, burrowing in their sifting search for food. ‘And look here . . . no disguising itself.’ The outline of a perfect star lay just below the surface. ‘It’s taking in water and pushing it out through its porous upper side.’
Jennifer bent down and smoothed the sand from the starfish, marvelling at its beautiful pattern. They swung their torches further up the beach, catching scuttling, prancing crabs emerging from holes to race after minuscule prey or furiously burrowing from sight, leaving a tiny bunch of sand grapes as a locked door behind them.
They shone their wavering torchbeams into the shallows where flashes of small glinting fish were being steathily followed by an ominous dark shadow that suddenly flicked its tail and rocketed into the middle of the fish, shattering the school into seeming shards of glass.
‘Reef shark. Small and harmless,’ said Isobel.
They continued walking, alert to small sounds, swinging their torches in unison when they heard a scratch or a plop or a rustle from the fringe of undergrowth at the top of the beach. There were no large dunes, the sand petered out into waxy grasses and vines that thickened around the roots of the pandanus and what Isobel called the sea trees. But the soil was sandy until further inland where it was enriched by the layers of bird droppings, leaves and seeds built up as the vegetation, fed by rainwater, flourished.
A slight breeze stirred the pearly water and Isobel sniffed the air. ‘Dawn is coming. I always feel its presence. The temperature changes, the air and water stir, birds waken, these night creatures creep away. It is the best time of the day.’
‘I remember waking up early and lying in my bed back at our farm,’ reminisced Jennifer. ‘I was little and I’d listen to the cattle, the birds’ dawn chorus, hear my dad put his boots on and clump down the hall, the sounds of him making that first pot of tea. My brother and my mother always slept in, waiting for Dad to bring them tea and toast. But we always had the first pot, him and me, quietly in the kitchen. He’d go and do chores and I’d sit outside in my dressing gown, the dew melting or the frost crunchy on the grass – we had an outside dunny. Then I’d sit on the back step and watch the world come to life. Then Dad’d come back and make more tea and toast and wake the house. I don’t think my mother even knew my dad and I had that quiet time together. We hardly ever spoke, but he might point out something, or come back and say, “Molly had her calf.” Something like that.’
‘Lovely,’ murmured Isobel.
‘And what I remember most, apart from the sense of a special time with my father – even though he might be across the paddock – was noticing little things. Dad said I was a great observer of nature. And I realise I’ve lost that. Well, till now. You’re opening my eyes again.’ Jennifer paused. ‘You and my dad would’ve like deach other.’ Despite my dad being reticent, scared of my mother, insecure. Strong and vibrant and clever as you are, Isobel, I still think you two would have had a rapport.
‘Anyone who opens a child’s eyes to the world is a special person. So you miss him?’
‘My father? I hardly knew him, so I don’t miss him as a person. I only remember him as a cipher, bossed by my mother. I miss the idea of him, of having a father figure. He might not have been the sort of father I wanted, but at least being there – even in the shadows – is better than the dependent, obsessive relationship I’m left with – just Mum and me.’
‘Do you ever think that not having a male role model has affected your relationships with men?’
‘Relationships?’ Jennifer gave a hollow laugh. ‘Can’t say I was lucky enough to have had a series of inappropriate relationships. Blair has been it.’
‘Your mother likes him? She’s probably happy you didn’t have unhappy dalliances, yes?’
‘Isobel, my mother wouldn’t approve if I’d married a charming handsome crown prince of never-never land. No one was ever going to be good enough in her book.’
‘Oh dear. And is she happy about the baby?’
‘You never know. She can’t come out and say, “Wonderful, terrific, I’m thrilled.” Straight off, she goes into negative or organising mode. I have no idea what I’m doing. I should do this or that. I suppose it’s to make her feel wanted.’
‘Yes. And you’ve spent your life trying to adjust to and address her needs. What about yours?’ asked Isobel. ‘You can’t please everyone else all the time. What about looking after you?’
Please don’t ask if Blair nurtures me. ‘I’m doing that now. Health and stuff.’
Isobel touched Jennifer’s arm. ‘Because you’re pregnant. I mean in general, looking out for your needs, mental, emotional and intellectual. Not just physical.’
Jennifer couldn’t answer. There wasn’t anyone that fulfilled those needs. Carefully she said, ‘I suppose I get a little bit of all those things from different people.’
Isobel nodded to herself and they walked a little further in silence. The intimacy of the night was fading. They could now see well enough and they turned off their torches.
‘There, up ahead, that’s what I want to show you.’ Isobel quickened her step but Jennifer couldn’t see anything.
‘There are her tracks. She hasn’t come back down yet.’ She pointed to a single set of distinctive tracks leading from the water to the top of the sand.
To Jennifer it looked like the imprint of a set of tyres with a strange tread. A single straight line ran up the centre between them. ‘Isit a turtle? What’s that line between the tracks?’
‘The base of the female’s shell as it drags through the sand. She’ll still be laying. Don’t stand in front of her.’
Isobel followed the tracks to the edge of the sand and vines where a huge hollow had been dug. There, in the centre, the enormous green turtle was laying her hundred or more eggs, one by one. Quietly they sat behind her to one side, awed by the concentration and effort of the old turtle.
Jennifer was moved, empathising as a mother-to-be. ‘She’s crying! Look at the tears rolling down her leathery old face,’ she whispered.
‘No, it’s a secretion to stop her eyes drying out. But I always think it must be stressful for them. These turtles were born here, and they swim vast distances back to this same spot to leave their eggs, and then they never see their babies hatch to live or die. Only about two per cent ever survive,’ said Isobel.
‘So many predators,’ sighed Jennifer. ‘I feel like such a voyeur, do you mind if we go now?’
‘I know how you feel. It always disturbs me when groups of tourists watch, chattering, taking photographs.’ Isobel got to her feet. ‘Let’s cross down the beach to Coral Point and go to Gideon’s for breakfast.’
‘Will he be up?’
‘If not, we’ll wake him,’ said Isobel cheerfully.
Blair would have a fit if I woke him up and brought someone home for breakfast. ‘I’m ravenous. Sounds good.’
Just before they reached the end of the beach they saw the flash from a camera.
‘Early-morning tourists,’ said Isobel.
Three or four people were standing in a group and in the lavender light Jennifer co
uld make out the gouge marks in the sand. One turned as they approached.
‘The poor thing, what an effort. We watched her bury this huge heap of eggs,’ he pointed to an obvious mound in the sand, well above the high water mark. ‘And it’s taken her ages to get this far.’
‘A long night’s work,’ agreed Isobel.
Jennifer watched the exhausted turtle dig in her flippers and drag herself a few centimetres forward. She waited, gathered her strength and heaved her enormous shell dome once more.
‘They’re so graceful and move so easily in the water,’ one of the tourists said.
They continued to watch as the growing dawn cast a pink wash over the wet sand, the surface of the sea and the turtle’s barnacled shell. There was a mutual sigh as the turtle reached the edge of the sea and, rapidly now, pushed herself into the water. Soon all that could be seen was the top of her shell and her head, beady old eyes focused on some distant place.
‘See you next year,’ someone called.
‘Come on, there’s another turtle back that way.’
The group headed towards the resort and Jennifer and Isobel started on the path over the small headland. They stopped in the pisonia forest to watch the morning mayhem of noddy terns beginning their day, laughing at the hundreds of pairs squabbling, kissing, preening, nest building.
Isobel nudged Jennifer as they walked towards Gideon’s shack. ‘I smell bacon and coffee.’
A short while later the three of them were relaxing in old canvas deck chairs in front of the barbecue hotplate where Gideon had put two thick pieces of bread to toast and soak up the remains of the egg, sausages and bacon drippings. The morning sun shone on the sea.
‘So you were turtle-spotting this morning, Miss Jennifer? You’ll have to be there, when they hatch. What else have you planned for our keen student, Isobel?’
‘Just awakening the senses. She has been modest about her accomplishments. Mac suggested she enroll with him to do honours,’ said Isobel. ‘And having a baby is no reason not to,’ she added. ‘Mac will supervise her research. If she gets first-class honours she can go on to a doctorate.’
