by Judy Nunn
Table of Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Author's Note
Epigraph
Prologue
BOOK ONE CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
BOOK TWO CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
BOOK THREE CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BOOK FOUR CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Epilogue
From stage actor and international television star, to block-buster, best-selling author, Judy Nunn's career has been meteoric.
Her first forays into adult fiction resulted in what she describes as her 'entertainment set'. The Glitter Game, Centre Stage and Araluen, three novels set in the worlds of television, theatre and film respectively, each became instant bestsellers.
Next came her 'city set'. Kal, a fiercely passionate novel about men and mining set in Kalgoorlie; Beneath the Southern Cross, a mammoth achievement chronicling the story of Sydney since first European settlement; and Territory, a tale of love, family and retribution set in Darwin.
Territory took Australia by storm, making Judy one of the nation's top-selling fiction writers, and her following novel, Pacific, set principally in Vanuatu, met with equal success. Her next work, Heritage, based in the 1950s and set in the Snowies, embraced post-war immigration and the birth of multiculturalism. The resounding critical and commercial success of Heritage has consolidated Judy's position as one of this country's leading fiction writers.
Judy Nunn's fame as a novelist is spreading rapidly. Her books are published throughout Europe in English, German, French, Dutch and Czech.
Judy lives with her husband, actor-author Bruce Venables, on the Central Coast of New South Wales.
JUDY
NUNN
FLOODTIDE
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Floodtide
ePub ISBN 9781864714531
Kindle ISBN 9781864717075
Original Print Edition
This is a work of fiction. All central characters are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental. In order to provide the story with a context, real names of places are used as well as some significant historical events. A number of high-profile people, such as Brian Burke, Laurie Connell and Alan Bond, are also referred to, but there is no suggestion that the events described concerning the fictional characters ever actually occurred.
Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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First published by Random House Australia 2007
Copyright © Judy Nunn 2007
This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Nunn, Judy. Floodtide.
ISBN: 9781741666854
1. Western Australia – History – 20th century – Fiction. I.
A823.3
Cover photo by Jeff Drewitz/Wildlight
Cover design by Darian Causby/www.highway51.com
Map by Caroline Bowie
Typeset in 12/14.5 pt Sabon by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia
In loving memory of my father, Bob Nunn,
(1908–1978)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks, as always, and my love forever to my husband, Bruce Venables. My thanks also to the pals and workmates: my publisher Jeanne Ryckmans, Peta Levett, Brandon VanOver and all at Random House Australia; my agent, James Laurie; Colin Julin; and those close friends who have been encouraging and supportive every step of the way, Susan Mackie and Sue Greaves.
Thanks also to my other old friends from Perth who have helped with 'blasts from the past', Sue John and Johanna Fewings, and to those mates who are such experts in their fields and can always be called upon, Warren Brown, Bill Leak and Michael Roberts. For assistance in the research of this book, my sincerest thanks to Bridget O'Brien from Claremont Library for steering me towards her father's books, and to the late Dennis Haselhurst for the extracts relating to the 'Snake Pit', which appeared in Diversity's Challenge.
I am indebted to many I met during my research trip to the Pilbara. My thanks to those at Woodside Energy (Public Affairs), in particular Rob Millhouse, Mandy Lorrimer, Luke Blackbourn and Kathryn Robinson; and all the best to the beaut gang at the Karratha Library & Community Centre.
Among my research sources, I would like to recognise the following:
Batavia, Philippe Godard, Abrolhos Publishing, 1993.
Islands of Angry Ghosts, Hugh Edwards, Hodder & Stoughton, 1966.
Diversity's Challenge – A History of the City of Stirling, William S. Cooper and Gilbert McDonald, 1999.
Claremont Yacht Club – 100 Years of History – 1905–2005, Edited Rob Nunn, Claremont Yacht Club Incorporated, 2005.
Burke's Shambles, Anthony McAdam and Patrick O'Brien, Burke Press, 1987.
The Executive State, Patrick O'Brien and Martin Webb, Constitutional Press, 1991.
'Big Spender' copyright 1965, 1983 by Cy Coleman & Dorothy Fields. Campbell & Connelly Co Ltd o/b/o Notable Music Co Inc/Lida Enterprises Inc. International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted with kind permission of Campbell Connelly (Australia) Pty Ltd.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
When I decided to write Floodtide, I knew that I couldn't do so without the help of a highly qualified environmentalist, and there was only one person who came to mind – my brother, Robert. In fact, when I approached him I said, 'I'll only do this book if you come on board, Rob.' A case of blackmail? Yes. And it worked.
Here's a potted history of my big brother, Rob:
Rob Nunn is a third-generation West Australian and has spent most of his life on, in and around the Swan River, mostly in the Claremont and Bicton areas. An honours graduate in zoology and geology, he has worked as a marine biologist, a base metals geologist and, finally, as an environmentalist for both the Western Australian government and the international oil industry. He has a long and intimate association with the West Pilbara Region of the state and has worked overseas in the UK, the Netherlands and the Middle East.
Rob has a brilliant mind. Throughout the writing
of this book, his contribution in the form of research has been invaluable, and his continuous support deeply appreciated. The journey has proved an enjoyable one for us both, and I'm hoping his involvement with Floodtide will inspire him to finish that novel I know he's started.
'There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune'
Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare
PROLOGUE
1965
'Beats me why you wanna go swimmin' with sharks.' The bottles of Swan Lager clinked as Tubby Lard took the cardboard box the kid handed him. 'Only a dickhead'd go swimmin' with sharks.'
'Yeah,' his brother Fats agreed from where he stood up the bow, ready to cast off. 'You wouldn't get me down there for quids.'
'Well, of course you wouldn't, you stupid bastard,' Tubby said, gunning the engine and yelling above the diesel's throb. 'You can't bloody swim!'
Mike McAllister grinned as he stepped nimbly aboard the Maria Nina. It was good to see the Lard brothers again.
Tubby eyed the kid's backpack. 'Haven't you got any scuba gear?' he asked.
'At twenty feet I won't need it.'
Mike settled himself on the massive wooden, lead-lined icebox that doubled as a seat and trained his eyes on the distant low-lying rocky islands as the vessel pulled away from the jetty. It was a hot, steamy morning, barely a breath of breeze, the ocean like glass. A perfect day for it, he thought, excited by the prospect of what lay ahead.
Contrary to her name, the Maria Nina was no sea sprite. She was an old tub, thirty-eight feet long, stinking of bait and desperately in need of a coat of paint. But that was only her exterior. The brothers cared little for appearances; she was solid and reliable and her engine was meticulously maintained. The Maria Nina was a grand old dame of the sea.
Tubby and Fats Lard were cray fishermen who worked the Abrolhos Islands off Geraldton on the coast of Western Australia. During their respective early school years both brothers had been called Lardhead, but not for long, because both were good with their fists. Fred, the elder, had readily accepted Tubby as a substitute. Skinny as a rake, he was amused by the contradiction. Bob, also on the lean side and five years his brother's junior, was an avid jazz fan. He considered his nickname a tribute to Fats Waller.
'Hey Einstein,' Tubby called from the wheelhouse, 'get off your bum and put the grog on ice.'
'Oh.' Mike jumped to his feet. 'Sorry.' He loaded the beer into the ice chest. Beside him, Fats started baiting up the dozen or more hooks on each of the set-lines.
'Want a hand?' Mike asked when the beer was stowed. Fats nodded. Fats Lard was a man of few words; it was Tubby who did most of the talking.
Mike and the brothers had met at the pub in Geraldton just three days previously. It had been early evening, a squally wind blowing in from the sea and alleviating to some degree the oppressive heat of a typical dry and dusty December day.
'You're off the Pelsaert, aren't you,' Tubby said. He and Fats were lounging at the bar of the Victoria Hotel when the kid fronted up to buy a round for his mates.
'Yeah, that's right. Three schooners, thanks,' Mike said to the barman.
Tubby eyed the kid up and down. Handsome young bastard – black-haired, startlingly blue-eyed – he should be in the pictures, Tubby thought. Fit too, but just a kid. 'Bit young for a boffin, aren't you?' He glanced at the table where the kid's mates were seating themselves. They were early twenties, he guessed. What were they doing aboard the Pelsaert?
'We're students, up from Perth,' Mike said. 'UWA.'
'Ah, right.'
The student part made sense, Tubby thought, but hardly the vessel. He'd seen the MV Pelsaert tooling about the Wallabi Islands and upon enquiring had been told it was the State Fisheries' new research vessel on some sort of scientific expedition.
'They give you young blokes a brand new boat just because you go to uni?' He exchanged a look with Fats, who was equally incredulous.
'Hardly.' Mike laughed. He didn't find Tubby's direct manner offensive, he sensed the man was genuinely interested. 'We're here to do the hard yakka,' he joked, 'the stuff the boffins aren't fit enough for.'
'There you go, mate.' The barman placed the beers in front of him.
Tubby waited until the kid had paid for the drinks, then homed in again. 'What hard yakka?' Tubby had an enquiring mind and his questions were invariably relentless.
'We catch tammars.'
It was true. For the past five nights, from eight o'clock until two in the morning, the three students had raced relentlessly around East and West Wallabi Islands, lights strapped to their foreheads, wielding giant butterfly-like nets, the object of the exercise being the capture of the small nocturnal marsupials which would undergo study the following day. Keen athletes, the boys had been selected for their physical fitness.
'Whaddya wanna do that for?' It was the first time Fats had spoken. He was no less interested than his brother, but he always relied on Tubby to lead the way.
Mike, torn between delivering the beers and not wishing to appear rude to the locals, cast a look in the direction of his mates. Muzza was lounging back with a smoke, but Ian, upon catching his eye, gave an irritated wave and a scowl that said 'Hurry it up'.
'The boys are getting impatient,' he said, gathering up the beers. Then he added, 'Why don't you join us?'
'Rightio.' Tubby didn't need any further invitation. He rose from his stool, grabbed his glass, and Fats followed. The brothers liked meeting new people.
They gathered at the table, Mike plonking down the beers, Ian pointedly making a grab for his. As Tubby and Fats garnered extra chairs, the boys shuffled around to make room for them and when they'd settled, Mike made the introductions.
'Murray Hatfield, Ian Pemberton and I'm Mike McAllister,' he said.
'Tubby and Fats Lard.' Tubby leaned across the table, offering Mike a gnarled hand. Ian snorted into his beer.
They shook all round, then Tubby raised his glass. 'Welcome to Gero, boys.'
The others joined in the salutation, taking a swig along with him. Ian Pemberton sipped reluctantly. He was a classically handsome young man, despite slightly protruding ears, but his aquiline features so often conveyed disdain that the effect was invariably ruined. Ian was a snob.
'How long ya been here?' Tubby led the conversation, seemingly oblivious to Ian's contempt.
'A week,' Mike told him.
'How long ya stayin'?'
'Another week.' It was Muzza who replied. Like Mike, he was aware that Ian considered the brothers an intrusion – Pembo could be a real pain at times, he thought. Muzza was keen to follow Mike's lead. He always did. Just turned twenty, Muzza was two years younger than the others and Mike was a bit of hero. He gave one of his lop-sided, baby-faced grins. 'We leave next Saturday.'
'Good-lookin' boat, the Pelsaert,' Tubby said, Fats nodding agreement. 'I've seen her holed up in Turtle Bay on East Wallabi – you boys livin' on board, are ya?'
'That's right.' Mike flashed a warning glance at Ian, who was scowling at his beer, before changing the subject and asking the brothers about themselves.
They were cray fishermen, Tubby told him, 'Born and bred right here in Gero.' Although Tubby did the talking, Fats joined in with nods to the table at large. Fats did a lot of nodding.
'The Lards have been cray men for three generations,' Tubby said proudly, 'comin' up for four soon.' Tubby was thirty-nine and his son barely ten years old, but the boy's future was carved in stone. 'We scored the boat off Dad when he bought his new humdinger five years back, didn't we, Fats?' A nod. 'The old man's sixty-three, still in the business, still goin' strong.'
Tubby drained his glass and stood. 'I'll get another round, hey.' It wasn't a question and he was already gathering up the empty glasses.
