by Judy Nunn
Jools remarked upon the fact an hour or so later when the two of them were seated, beers in hand, on the back patio watching their father tend the barbecue. Jo and Allie were helping Maggie with the salads in the kitchen and Jools, presumed to be jet-lagged, had been barred. Mike was naturally barred from the barbecue, which had always remained Jim McAllister's fiercely protected personal domain.
'Time to turn the steaks,' Jim had said as he'd eased him-self from his chair, trying to disguise the pain in his back. 'Meat should be turned only once during the cooking.'
Mike smiled. He'd forgotten how many times he'd heard his father say that.
'Hasn't Dad aged,' Jools muttered as she lit up another Stuyvesant.
'Oh, give him a break, he's seventy-one.' She always managed to arouse the defensive in him, Mike thought. Why was that? She was only voicing his own thoughts, but it was the way she said it.
'I know, but Mum hasn't aged. She's just the same, isn't she?' Jools said unperturbed, studying her father. 'Dad looks so old, don't you think?'
As Mike stifled a retort, Jools realised she'd irritated him. She'd merely been making an observation; she'd intended no criticism of their father. But then she'd got over her hero worship, hadn't she? Mike hadn't. Jim McAllister remained up there with barely a crack on his pedestal. Oh well, she thought, sibling differences. Some things never change.
Lunch was loud, Jools holding court, talking about the old days and being very funny. But when lunch was over and they were onto their coffees, Jools was still revisiting her personal blasts from the past, which was beginning to pall on Mike.
'Do you remember when Baxter went clean off the jetty?' she said. 'He was half-blind, the poor old thing, and he just kept walking until he tripped over the end. Remember, Mike? He dived in head first, it was amazing. And I went hysterical, didn't I?'
Mike nodded. He remembered, yes, she'd gone hysterical.
'But he just swam ashore like the old trouper he was. Bax could swim better than he could walk,' she laughed.
'You did show her, didn't you, Mike?' Maggie asked.
'Show her what?'
'Baxter's gravestone.'
'No.' He'd forgotten it was there. 'No, I didn't.'
'You brought him here? To Shoalwater Bay?' Jools finally came to a halt, staring at her brother in amazement.
'Of course I didn't – he'd have been dust, for God's sake,' Mike said irritably. He felt foolish in front of his wife and his now adult daughter; he hadn't even mentioned his sentimental gesture to them – why on earth would he? 'I just brought the headstone from Claremont and shoved it up the back. I thought you might like it.'
'Oh, Mike, where is he?'
'He isn't anywhere. It's up in the back corner by the grape vines.'
'Show me. Please.'
She stood and offered her hand. Mike didn't take it, but he reluctantly rose and led the way out into the back garden.
Jo and Allie smiled as they watched them go.
They walked between the corn crop and the bean trellises to the grape vines which grew in the far corner, their unripened muscatels hanging in clusters.
'There,' he said, pointing.
'Baxter. 1951–1967. RIP.' Jools read out the inscription her brother had carved all those years ago. She'd built a little garden around the headstone at the old Claremont house, she remembered, and she'd tended it regularly each Christmas she'd come home. It just stood on an old pile of bricks now, but that didn't matter.
'Thank you, Mike,' she whispered, tears streaming down her face. 'This is so wonderful. I love you, you know.'
She was clearly touched, and Mike didn't doubt the tears were genuine, but Jools could never resist the drama of the moment.
'I love you, too, Jools,' he said. He did. She drove him mad, but he loved her.
The following day, as promised, Mike returned to collect Jools for her guided tour of the Institute. When they pulled up in the car park, which seemed to Jools huge, she scram-bled eagerly out of the car.
'My God!' she exclaimed, staring at the marina. 'Are all those boats yours?'
'No way,' Mike laughed. 'That's the Cockburn Power Boat and Yacht Racing Club, and the combined Sea Rescue Base, but we have access to their ramps and slips which is perfect for us. That nearest jetty,' he pointed, 'the one with just a half a dozen pens, that's our mini marina. We pay rental to the Cockburn City Council and a nominal fee to the club, but they're very generous. We even share the club's car park, so it's a handy set-up all round.'
Jools stared at the massive vessel hauled up on the nearby slips – it must belong to some millionaire, she thought. She was about to ask Mike, but he was already on the move.
'Let's go,' he said. 'I'll show you the boats later.'
He led the way towards the main entrance of the modern office block to their left. From the car park it appeared single storey, but there was a second level below, built into the slope that led down to the foreshore.
Jools halted at the front doors and read out loud the name emblazoned above. 'The McAllister Research Institute.' She turned to him with a huge smile. 'Gosh, I bet Dad's proud.'
'Yes, I think he is.' Mike returned the smile. He knew only too well how proud his father was. Jim McAllister had been uncharacteristically lavish in his praise.
'What an achievement, Mike,' he'd said. 'What a worthwhile testament to your life and the goal you set yourself all those years ago. You deserve your success. I'm proud of you.'
In the past, Jim had rarely praised his son, preferring to lead the way by example. To Mike, such a tribute coming from the man who'd been an inspiration to him throughout his life was extraordinarily precious.
'Come on,' he said to Jools, opening the door, 'there's a lot to see.'
He showed her briefly around the offices, introducing her to people here and there, and then they stepped out onto the rear balcony.
'Wow,' Jools exclaimed.
The Institute was nestled in the crook of Jervoise Bay and overlooked the vast expanse of Cockburn Sound. To the north, the view was pristine, with the adjacent marina and nearby Woodman Point. But far to the south of the sound, the factories and plants and chimneys of heavy industry had rendered the natural landscape virtually unrecognisable.
'Yes, it's an impressive view,' Mike agreed. Different as the coastline was, its ravaged state reminded him in a strange way of Dampier. Ugly and beautiful at the same time.
They proceeded to the lower level, which was Mike's true domain, where the laboratories and experimental aquaria were housed. As they went, he gave her a rundown on some of the local projects they were currently involved in.
'We're doing some work with Cockburn Cement at the moment. Cockburn dredges up the lime-rich sand from the sea bed of the sound and the sea grasses that are destroyed in the process need to be re-established.' He opened a door to one of the aquaria. 'The sea-grass beds are essential for the ecological integrity and biodiversity of the sound and the various fisheries it supports"'
Jools was trying to take in everything he was saying, but she was getting a little distracted along the way. She was in awe of the size of the place. It was so deceptive from the outside, she thought. And all the sophisticated research equipment – it must have cost a fortune!
'And here,' Mike said ten minutes later as they entered yet another laboratory, 'we have a project that's a bit of a mixed bag.' He introduced her to the computer operator, one of many, and explained the program he was working on. 'We're trying to show, through marine computer modelling, that the phosphate and heavy metal effluent from CSBP's superphosphate works further south is dispersed evenly throughout the major part of Cockburn Sound. But as well as serving CSBP, we're also serving the government.'
It was a case scenario that typified the McAllister Institute, and Mike was proud of the fact. In serving industry and government he was creating an all-round awareness and responsibility for the environment.
'The bioaccumulation of heavy metals in the black
mussel has been a sore point with the Department of Fisheries for years – it's such a highly commercial area. The discharge from CSBP has been the main worry, but through our advice they've lifted their game, and we're willing to prove it.' He smiled, resting his case. 'So, as you can see, we're really serving two masters.'
'Where does all the money come from?' Jools asked as she followed him out into the corridor.
Mike halted abruptly. 'Government and industry, of course.' Had she taken in a word he'd said, he wondered – he couldn't have simplified things more. But then he supposed he shouldn't blame her. He'd never been particularly interested in her work, had he? Why should she be interested in his?
But Jools was. Or rather, she was interested in how the Institute had come into being. How had her brother managed to create all this, she wondered, and in such a relatively short space of time?
'How have you done it, Mike? The whole thing's extraordinary. How on earth have you done it?'
He could tell she was in awe, and he was pleased. She didn't need to know the actual details of his work, he thought, it was enough that she recognised his achievement.
'Things were tough at the start,' he admitted. 'All we had was some modest government funding and we had to rely a lot on benefactors. The university was helpful, and the Cockburn Yacht Club, of course, with its marina – both the chancellor and the commodore are honorary members of the board. But it was actually commercial sponsorship that got the ball rolling – Spud put us on to that tack.'
'Spud Farrell?'
'Yep,' he said with a grin, 'the very same.'
'But he's a crook.' She laughed. 'He always has been.' She regretted the words the moment she'd said them. She could see he was annoyed.
'Perth hasn't been your home for the past twenty years, Jools,' he said evenly. 'You don't know this town any more. You don't know this town, and you don't know its people.' Mike was more than annoyed, he was angry.
'I'm sorry.' Jools cursed herself and her big mouth. She hadn't meant anything by the comment, it had just slipped out.
'Spud's been generous to a fault. He was our first major sponsor. He's an honorary director on the board! He's devoted himself tirelessly to the Institute!' Mike was getting himself wound up, he couldn't seem to stop. 'How dare you barge in with your uninformed opinions and incorrect moral judgements. What gives you the right –'
'I'm sorry, honestly!' God, he was mad, she thought. 'It was just a flippant remark. I'm really, really sorry.'
She was genuinely contrite, and Mike had no option but to accept her apology, although he did do so with ill grace.
'I'll show you the boats now,' he said abruptly, and he strode off down the corridor towards the stairs, Jools forced to run after him. His sister should keep her flippant remarks for the superficial world of entertainment where both she and they belonged, he thought.
Mike's anger soon abated, however. Once outside, as he led the way to the slips, Jools following, subdued, he realised that he'd over-reacted. He shouldn't have allowed her to get to him that way, he told himself. In fact, he wondered why he had. She hadn't meant to offend, she'd simply been thoughtless.
'This is the pride of our fleet,' he said as they stood before the slips, the huge fifty-metre vessel Jools had admired earlier towering above them. 'Pity I can't show you around, but she's undergoing her annual service.'
'That's not a boat, that's a ship.' Jools attempted to sound her jokey self, but didn't quite pull it off. She was feeling very guilty.
'Yep, she sure is. She has all the latest radar, sonar, GPS gear aboard, a laboratory, the works. We have a perma-nent skipper, a crew of ten, and she has guest accommodation for a further ten.'
Jools couldn't help wondering where the money came from to fund a ship like this – Spud and his corporate mates? But she didn't dare ask, and, as Mike kept talking, the tension between them eased until she felt herself finally relax.
'We're real trouble-shooters in the region,' he explained. 'The WA government hires us out to Indonesia and the Papua New Guinea government and we can even assist in sea rescue if necessary.'
'Carina.' She read out loud the name on the vessel's side.
'One of the brightest constellations in the southern hemisphere,' Mike said. 'Rather apt, I think.'
'Is that a heli-pad?' she asked.
'Yep. We don't actually have our own helicopter, but the pad's there for emergencies.'
'Wow!' She was deeply impressed. 'It's real Jacques Cousteau time, isn't it?'
'Yeah, I suppose it is a bit, only we don't make movies.'
They walked down to the jetty, Mike showing her the Institute's various vessels in their pens – the dinghies and the larger aluminium trailer craft, a Savage and a Quintrex – and finally he pulled up before the pen that housed his personal pride and joy.
'This is my favourite, isn't she a beauty? Step aboard, I'll take you for a run.' By now he felt a genuine need to make up for his outburst.
'Pretty flash. What is she?' Jools slipped off her sandals and clambered aboard.
'She's a 6.8-metre Kevlar Cat powered by twin 180 HP Mercury outboards and she goes like the wind.' He stepped aboard himself and started up the engines, letting them idle in neutral. 'Hey, guess what I've called her?'
'Not Alana, surely?'
'Yep. Alana II.' He grinned. 'It's a win situation all round. Dad thinks she's named after Grandma and the old boat, and Allie thinks she's named after her.'
Jools laughed, relieved that things between them seemed back to normal.
'We use her for deeper offshore research work,' he said. 'We've taken her up to Broome and down to Albany by trailer – she goes all over the state. You want to release the bowline?'
Jools went forward and unhitched the rope which was attached to a bollard on the marina's jetty. 'Say when,' she called.
'When,' he called back.
She slung the line onto the jetty. Then, as she clambered back into the cockpit, Mike set the engines in reverse.
'You take the portside,' he said, and between them they released the port and starboard stern lines as Mike slowly reversed out of the pen.
Jools was reminded of the days aboard Alana when she'd been a nimble forward hand to her father.
They set off out of the marina at a slow pace, but once in open water Mike increased the speed. 'We'll just go to Freo and back,' he said. Then he revved up the engines full bore.
'What did I tell you?' he called above the roar as they planed across the surface of the water. 'She goes like the wind.'
Having shown off the boat's power, he cut back on the revs and as they motored up the coast to Fremantle, he pointed out the landmarks, some of which Jools recognised and some of which were quite new to her.
Her hair whipping about her face and the salty smell of the sea in her nostrils, Jools was exhilarated. She was on a boat with her brother just like the old days and, as she looked across the ocean to the dim outline of Rottnest Island on the horizon, she felt that she'd truly come home. But all too soon it was over and they were quietly chuffing back into the marina. What a pity, she thought. She could have stayed out on the water all day.
Several days later the McAllister family once again congregated at Shoalwater Bay, this time for Christmas lunch. Mike, Jo and Allie arrived mid-morning laden with presents which they placed alongside those already sitting beneath the large weeping fig in its tub on the patio. Maggie decorated the fig each year, and Allie loved the fact that they had a living Christmas tree.
