Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  He'd quickly realised Beth's intentions, however; she'd made them patently obvious right from the outset. 'Heather, this is Mike. Mike McAllister, Heather Gaynor.'

  The moment he'd stepped onto the open verandah of Skippers, Beth had cornered him, dragging him to the table where a half dozen diners were seated and plonking him beside the only unaccompanied girl there.

  'Hello, Heather.'

  'Mike.'

  Beth had launched into a resumé. 'Heather's a school teacher in Dampier. She's from Perth and she's been up here three years.' Then she'd noted the couple who'd just arrived. 'Oh, Maurie and Margot are here. I'll leave you two to have a chat.' And off she'd dashed to arrange the final seating.

  Mike had enjoyed the evening. The men had been work colleagues of Ash's from Dampier Salt, and the conversation had been stimulating. He'd cringed at first when Ash, having introduced him as a marine biologist, had immediately brought up the subject of environmental protection. Surely such men would regard him as the enemy, he'd thought. But they hadn't. To the contrary, they'd plied him with questions – particularly Maurie, the boss. Mike had curbed his vitriolic attack on the desecration of the past and spoken of future protective methods that could be adopted. Maurie had found his views most interesting. Ash had watched the exchange with satisfaction – his carefully planned campaign was going just as he'd hoped.

  Beth's carefully planned campaign hadn't been quite so successful.

  Mike had liked Heather. She was an intelligent, person-able young woman in her mid-twenties and he'd found her attractive. But at the end of the evening, as they'd all said their good nights, he hadn't asked her out. He'd sensed that she wanted him to, but he hadn't been tempted to test himself. Friendships with women were dangerous. They inevitably led to a sexual relationship, and that would mean the return of the dead girl.

  True to his word, Ash introduced Mike to the Hampton Harbour Boat and Sailing Club at Dampier. The club was the exclusive preserve of the upper echelons from Hamersley Iron and Dampier Salt and membership was essential, but nobody bothered to query Mike's credentials. In his signal khaki shorts and shirt, they presumed he was one of them – a new kid on the block whom Ash had taken under his wing – just as Ash had intended they should.

  Ash was a contradictory man, Mike had discovered. He chose to live in the comparative isolation of Point Samson rather than Dampier, maintaining it was worth the extra half-hour of travel to and from work. 'I'm a beachcomber,' he'd say, 'Dampier's a company town, too suburban for me.' Yet, gregarious by nature, Ash enjoyed male camaraderie and a good night's drinking, which meant the Mermaid Hotel regularly beckoned. For a beachcomber, he led a very social existence, Mike thought.

  Mike himself preferred the boat club bar to the Mermaid, but the odd raucous night at the pub was inescapable now that Rupert Crofton-Asher had taken over his social life.

  'Hello, stranger.'

  Eva smiled flirtatiously and slipped her arm through Mike's. She wasn't one to bear a grudge, and certainly not against a bloke this good-looking. 'I haven't seen you for ages. Where have you been?' she asked, the pressure of her breast signalling all was forgiven and that a repeat performance was still on offer.

  'Hello.'

  Mike couldn't for the life of him remember her name, and he was wondering how to introduce her to Ash. But it proved unnecessary.

  'How you going, Ash?'

  'Fine thanks, Eva. Can I get you a beer?'

  They knew each other of course.

  'Actually it's my round,' Mike said. He dived off to the bar, and for the rest of the evening, much to Eva's annoyance, he assiduously avoided her blatant attempts to seduce him.

  There were times when Ash's mandatory drinking sessions and Beth's eager matchmaking brought Mike into contact with women on more than a mere social level. Several, like Eva, had made it plain they were on offer, and his body couldn't help but respond. It made life difficult. Finally, he succumbed. Upon hearing that a couple of 'the girls' had arrived at Hearson Cove, his sexual drive won out and he paid them a visit, deciding it would be the least complicated way to ease his frustration.

  The secluded bay of Hearson Cove on the eastern side of the Burrup Peninsula was a popular choice for the enterprising prostitutes who arrived in their camper vans. They'd set up business for the week, word quickly getting around, and would make a small fortune servicing the Hamersley Iron workers. Then they'd move on before the authorities were alerted to their presence.

  Mike knew that he was inviting the dead girl's return, and as the camper van rocked to the pounding of their bodies on the narrow bunk he kept his eyes tightly shut. But she was there, in his mind. Afterwards, sated though he was, he didn't feel any better for the experience. But he knew it wouldn't be the last time he'd visit a prostitute. He would need to seek sexual release now and then and a prostitute was his only option. To invite a relationship was to invite the dead girl back into his life on a regular basis, and he couldn't risk that.

  'Why on earth doesn't he ask Heather out? It's the fourth time he's met her, and they talked all afternoon, he obviously likes her.'

  Following yet another Sunday barbecue and a further attempt at matchmaking, Beth remained mystified by Mike's lack of interest in women.

  'It's such a shame. Heather's so right for him, don't you think?'

  Ash said nothing as he lay in bed watching his wife. Seated naked on the little stool in front of the dressing-table mirror, she was brushing her hair with vigorous frustration. Beth had had quite a bit to drink at the barbecue and, on such occasions, her alcohol-fuelled monologues rarely required an answer.

  'She's mad about him too, I can tell.' Beth put down the hairbrush and picked up the jar of moisturising cream. 'Maybe he doesn't find her sexy, maybe that's it,' she said as she distractedly dabbed the cream on her face. 'I think she's awfully attractive myself, although it's impossible to tell what turns men on, isn't it?' She shared the thought with her reflection for a second or so. 'But then, what about Wendy? Wendy's as sexy as all get out, and she came on so strong to him, remember?' This time her eyes appeared to be seeking an answer from his reflection in the mirror. 'Don't you remember, Ash? When I introduced them at Maurie's birthday party, she was all over him. Surely you remember.'

  'Yes, I remember.' Ash smiled as he watched her. He was feeling a little drunk himself and wasn't really listening, but her antics were amusing him, and God, how he loved that healthy, strong body.

  'Well, why wouldn't he find Wendy sexy? Any man would, surely.' She'd finished massaging the cream in and now stared demandingly at the mirror. 'I mean, you would, wouldn't you? Be honest.'

  'We certainly do have the chats tonight, don't we?'

  'Oh my God.' She swivelled about to face him, the stool teetering slightly. 'You don't think he could be queer, do you?' she asked, regaining her balance.

  Ash didn't just laugh, he guffawed.

  'No, really, I mean it. He couldn't be, surely, he looks so ... masculine. But then it's sometimes hard to tell, isn't it? Not that it matters if he is,' she added hastily, 'but golly, if he's queer I'll have to stop lining him up with girls, won't I?'

  'He slept with a prostitute last week.' Ash decided to call a halt, it was time she came to bed.

  'He what?'

  'He visited one of the girls camped out at Hearson –'

  'He told you?' She interrupted him, her jaw gaping comically.

  'No, but word gets around, you know how it is. Half of the guys from Hamersley Iron fronted up.'

  'Oh, poor Mike.' Beth's face was a picture of concern. 'Oh, that poor young man.'

  What now, Ash thought. He didn't dare ask, but she launched into an explanation anyway.

  'He's still pining over that girl. After all this time he's still in love with her! He'd visit a prostitute rather than get involved with anyone else. Oh, how awful for him!'

  'Stop worrying about other people's sexual problems and come to bed, hon.'

  'But don't you see
–'

  'No, I don't. Now come to bed.' There was only one way to shut her up.

  Beth stopped plying Mike with women after that, although regarding Heather she continued to keep her fingers firmly crossed. He couldn't pine forever, she told herself. Broken hearts had a way of mending themselves, and Heather was the perfect match for him.

  Mike was thankful for the breathing space. He adored Beth. She was intelligent, warm, funny and the most generous-spirited person he'd ever met. But he was relieved that she was finally off his case.

  The following Christmas he once again didn't return to Perth, but not because he was avoiding friends and family and old haunts. When the Greek brothers had moved south for the monsoon season, he'd left their employ and accepted a position with Dampier Salt. For nearly three months now, he'd been working as a marine biologist monitoring the biological integrity of the solar salt ponds and overseeing the possible commercial development of Artemia spp., commonly known as brine shrimp.

  Ash's plan had paid off. Mike's life had changed irrevocably.

  He'd moved into one of the old fisherman's cottages not far from Ash's. It was a simple weatherboard shack with a corrugated-iron roof, little more than a hovel, but it suited him.

  His parents were relieved to hear about the new job and the fact that he finally had a real address, but for different reasons. Jim McAllister had worried that Mike was frittering away his life, having worked so hard to gain qualifications that could serve some worthwhile purpose. 'If he wanted to sow his wild oats, he should have done it before university,' he'd regularly complained over the past two years. But Maggie was simply pleased that her son sounded happy and settled; she'd been deeply concerned about his mental wellbeing.

  Mike had re-established his links with Perth, writing regularly to Muzza, waxing lyrical about his love of the Pilbara. Muzza wrote back, sending sketches of his latest work – he was mounting an exhibition, he said.

  The phone calls to family were more regular too, but Mike copped a tirade from Jools when he rang on Christmas Day and the phone was passed around. Jools was home for Christmas and furious that he'd once again deserted the family.

  'This is two years in a row now,' she said accusingly.

  'You weren't home for Christmas last year I heard,' Mike countered good-naturedly.

  'That's different. I was interstate.'

  Mike looked out from the post office phone box at the dusty and deserted main street of Roebourne.

  'I'm a long way away, Jools. This is more than inter-state, it's another world up here.'

  'That's bullshit!'

  Mike heard a muffled comment from his mother about 'language', and Jools's retaliatory 'No, I mean it, Mum,' then her voice came back down the line. 'It's still WA,' she declaimed haughtily.

  Mike smiled – Jools was playing the full drama queen. But she was right nonetheless.

  'Yes,' he admitted, 'it's still WA.'

  There was a pause as she waited for him to go on, but he didn't. 'So why not come home then?' she demanded.

  'Because I'm twenty-seven years old and I'm not supposed to run home every Christmas, Jools,' he said, exasperated. 'Ask Mum and Dad, they don't expect me to!'

  'Oh.'

  Unbeknownst to Mike his voice had carried down the line and Jim and Maggie were nodding in agreement. Another pause followed.

  'Well, it's just that we miss you.'

  He wondered why Jools had caved in so quickly. He would have expected more of a fight.

  'I've put a cross on his grave,' she said forlornly.

  'Whose?'

  'Baxter's.'

  'Why? You're not religious.'

  'Baxter was.'

  The pips sounded and Mike dug in his pockets for more change, but it was too late – the phone had cut out. It didn't matter, he'd spoken to his parents.

  He laughed as he crossed the street to the Toyota, and he was still smiling as he set off for Ash and Beth's Christmas barbecue. Exasperating as she was, he missed Jools too. He missed them all. He'd make a trip to Perth sometime next year, he decided.

  But only several weeks later, Perth made a trip to him instead.

  'Well, aren't you going to ask me in?'

  Mike had opened the front door of his hut in response to the knock expecting to see Ash or Beth or little Pete. No-one else ever visited him, the door was never locked and he'd wondered why they hadn't simply called out and let themselves in as they always did, particularly Pete, who barged into the place like a miniature tornado.

  He stared in stunned disbelief at the young man who stood there, briefcase in hand, his hire car parked on the dirt road behind him.

  'Pembo!'

  'I've come a helluva long way to see you, it's been a thirsty trip, and I'll never forgive you if you don't have a beer.'

  Mike laughed, and the two embraced.

  'So what are you really doing here, Pembo?' he asked five minutes later when they were settled out the back under the canvas awning he'd rigged up to provide shade. He intended building a patio and front verandah, and even a proper bedroom, as Ash had done, but he hadn't got around to it yet. 'You certainly haven't travelled this far north just to see me, so don't give me that bullshit,' he said with a grin.

  'Well, I have in a way. Cheers.' Ian saluted with his glass, then quickly knocked back half his beer before he continued. 'We're doing some pegging and basic surveys, mainly for nickel, but I could have sent my minions,' he said with a boastfully raised eyebrow. 'Spud and I agreed, however, that you've been out of touch far too long, and I was elected to come up and check that you're doing all right. You obviously are.' He looked wryly at the ram-shackle hut and the canvas awning. 'Heavens above, a veritable mansion!' he said, sounding exactly like his mother.

  Mike gave a hoot of laughter. Pembo was very amusing when he camped it up.

  'What minions?' he asked dutifully. It was quite clear that Ian Pemberton was bursting to show off.

  'A lot's changed in two years, Mike.' Ian dropped the act. 'For starters, I'm rich and rapidly becoming more so – at least on paper.' He put his beer on the wooden crate that served as a coffee table and leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes gleaming. 'Excalibur's making a killing. We've gone public, and our stock price has quadrupled in the past month.'

  'Good God, really? How come?'

  'I take it you know about the Poseidon nickel strikes at Windarra last September?'

  'I've heard the odd word,' Mike said with more than a touch of irony. 'I do read the paper occasionally, and this is mining territory.' Of course he knew of the major nickel discovery which had focused global attention upon Western Australia.

  His irony was wasted on Ian, who merely shrugged. 'Nice to hear you keep in touch. Muzza told us you'd been working on a prawn trawler.' Then, before Mike could interrupt, he continued. 'Poseidon's shares were trading at eighty cents, but when the discovery was released they went through the roof. They reached twelve dollars thirty by the end of the month and they've been on the rise ever since. They're skyrocketing now due to speculation and they're far too high for the average investor, so everyone's looking for other nickel stocks. Even other mining stocks in general. The world's gone mining mad, Mike, and we're cashing in on it.' He grinned. 'Remember I told you at uni you should have switched to geol? I was right, wasn't I?'

  'For you, yes. But I'm happy where I am.'

  Really, Ian thought, on a prawn trawler? Then he remembered that Muzza had said something about a job at Dampier Salt. But where was the big money in that?