“Perfect mate, she’d be all right then, want me to sign you up?” The man grabbed a clipboard.
“Sure, when you going out there?”
“Usually we try and get at least six blokes to go, but I know there’s a group of four been on about it so if I can sign them up, I’ll schedule it and try and add a few more. That sound alright?”
Whitey nodded. “Yeah, that works for me, what’s the name of this wreck anyway?”
“The Raptor.” The Aussie paused from writing. “Crew abandoned it at anchor further round towards the north. They’d been avoiding coming in the harbour; seemed like they couldn’t pay the fees or something. Next thing we know it’s listing over. They sent out a tug, cut the anchor chain, and started towing her towards George Town, but only made it to the corner there.” He tapped the map again. “Down she went right there mate, quick as you like – she dropped and landed upright on the deeper reef. Crew must have pulled her plug before they bailed. Two fingers up to their owners I reckon.”
“Blimey, and she’s upright you say?”
“Yup, sitting right there, but I tell you the currents are ripper man, they’ll tear you off and take you out over the deep stuff.” He slid his finger across the map away from the island. “So, what’s the name for the booking mate?”
“Whitey, Whitey Snow. I need some gear too, I don’t have my stuff with me.”
The man’s eyes lit up at the prospect of selling equipment along with a charter. “Bonzer, we got all the latest stuff, mate. I’m Curly by the way.” He extended a hand across the counter.
Whitey shook his hand firmly and asked, “I heard about the new Scubapro buoyancy compensating packs, can you show me one of those?”
The Aussie quickly came around from the counter and pointed at a glass display case behind him on the way. “You betcha, and you gotta try Aqualung’s new single-hose reg mate: top of the line, you’ll totally dig it.”
Chapter 10
November 2019
Reg stepped from the pier onto the deck of Mermaid Divers’ boat with two ice-cold Strongbow ciders in hand. AJ was just zipping up her rucksack ready to go and gladly took the drink from Reg.
“A little hair of the dog for ya,” he said with a grin.
She sat down on one of the benches under the fly bridge and Reg took the other side.
“I’m just knackered now, I drank about five gallons of water, and breathing off the tank does wonders. A good night’s sleep tonight and I’ll be right as rain again,” she said and took a gentle swig of the cider.
The bottle looked like a kid’s toy in Reg’s big paw, and his first swig drained half the contents. They both sat quietly for a few minutes as the boat bobbed gently against the jetty and the breeze eased the heat of the early afternoon sun.
“I’m bloody thirty, Reg,” AJ finally blurted out.
He looked at her blankly. “So? You’re a spring chicken, thirty’s nothing girl.”
AJ shook her head. “It’s not nothing Reg, it’s a big deal. Twenties are brilliant cos you’re old enough to do what you want, but not too old to be expected to be completely responsible. Thirty is serious. I don’t think I’m ready to be serious about very much. Plus all the marriage and baby rubbish – so much is expected of you in your thirties.”
Reg chuckled, which sounded like a deep rumble you’d expect during an earthquake, his beard fluttering.
“What a load of nonsense. First of all, you’ve been responsible since I first knew you, when you were what? Sixteen?” AJ nodded and Reg continued, “Since then you’ve run dive boats for me, set up your own business, found a long-lost submarine, and helped save a whole reef system from two governments... if you think you’ve spent the last fourteen years being irresponsible I can’t wait to see what happens when you get serious.” He pointed his empty bottle at her and grinned.
AJ laughed. “I suppose, when you put it like that.”
“Damn right,” Reg added.
“But you know what I mean Reg, some birthdays are milestones and they mark a change, or at least an expected change.”
“Are you saying someone expects you to get married? Cos I don’t think your mum and dad do, and you know Pearl and I don’t think like that. Bugger anyone else.” He looked at her, puzzled.
“My mum would love to see me married, or at least settled down with a fella. Babies and all that. Pretty sure she still thinks I might be gay. I don’t think she’d care if I was, but she hates the idea that she might not know everything about me. Guess it’s the barrister in her.” AJ put her empty bottle in the side of her rucksack to take off the boat and shrugged her shoulders. “My dad is pretty relaxed about it all. He’d really like Jackson, if they ever get to meet with everyone’s crazy schedules.”
“Pearl and I like that fella of yours a lot, if that means anything. It shouldn’t really.” Reg looked thoughtful. “It shouldn’t matter what we think if you think he’s right. But I’m just saying, we like him a lot, so if you do screw it up, we’ll probably still have him by for tea and a chat.” He tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t manage it and they both laughed.
“Thanks Reg, thanks a ton.”
“Look, here’s the deal, age doesn’t mean a damn, apart from two things.” Reg leaned forward and held up a finger. “First, the older you get, the less time you have to do things that mean something.” He held up a second finger. “And the second is, the older you get, the harder it is physically to do some of the things that mean something.” Reg sat back and let AJ think about his words a moment.
“You’ve done a lot of things that have meant something Reg, I don’t think you should worry about doing more,” she finally said.
Reg shook his head and his mop of brown and grey hair wobbled about. “Maybe. We felt like we were doing good things in the Navy but who knows in the big scheme of things. After that, all the salvage stuff, I was involved in a few things that meant something, but mainly I helped other people make a lot of money. What we do now, training people to dive, and taking them diving, I think is a great thing. It’s a magical world under there, as you well know, it transports you away from the mess the world is becoming. People need that escape. If it can help people clear their minds, simplify their thoughts, and see some of this madness for what it is, just a destructive waste of humanity, then I think we do something good.”
AJ was surprised by Reg’s speech. He usually kept his thoughts to himself, and a sentence was the most he spoke at any time. His passion was inspiring and made her feel good about what she did for a living.
“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re gonna live until you’re a hundred and fifty so you can keep on doing good things and straightening out people’s minds, Reg,” she said, chuckling.
He smiled. “I want to live one minute less than Pearl, that’s all I ask. Selfish of me I know, but as fantastical as this world is, and as wonderful as my life is, it ain’t worth a thing without that woman in it. Now, I hope that’s a hundred and fifty years, but we’ll see.”
AJ shook her head and fought back a tear that threatened to roll down her cheek. “You romantic old buzzard,” she mumbled.
He grinned and waved a hand. “Don’t be accusing me of that crap now, you’ll ruin my reputation.”
“I miss Jackson, Reg. I think he might be the one I want to die a minute before,” AJ said quietly.
Reg got up, moved over to her and gave her shoulder a tender squeeze. “I figured he might be,” he said softly.
He then stepped from the boat to the pier and turned around, ducking down so he could look AJ in the eye with a wry grin on his face. “Just remember, either way, we’re still having him over for tea.”
Chapter 11
April 1974
Isabella Alonso had been on her feet since eight o’clock that morning, and after seven hours of walking back and forth on the concrete deck surrounding the pool, her favourite new platform sandals weren’t as comfortable as they were stylish. The bartender was taking
his time between serving guests and filling her next drink order, so she was glad of the break. This was her third year on the island and in some ways it felt like home, in others it seemed like a place to spend a few years and move on. Maybe it was working in a hotel where everyone was transitory, including most of the staff. With four years’ experience working in a hotel in her seaside hometown of Mojácar, she’d had no problem landing the job on Cayman. But at twenty-eight, she felt the pressure of settling down, especially when she spoke to her mother. Growing up in an old Spanish town, steeped in Catholic traditions, she was considered rebellious for leaving, wild, and almost certainly promiscuous for travelling abroad on her own. Her bold and confident manner didn’t help quell such rumours. In contrast, by seventies standards at least, she was actually quite conservative. But the old women of the Moorish town overlooking the Mediterranean Sea would consider nothing short of virgin-until-married to be acceptable. Still, she missed the tiny streets winding through the whitewashed homes, the marketplace on Saturday mornings, and the family gatherings every Sunday. It was home and she hadn’t been back since she’d started work on the island, the flights were too expensive, and she wasn’t allowed to take time off at the holidays. Maybe it was time to at least make a visit.
The bartender placed two more drinks on her tray, startling her back from her wandering thoughts. “There you go Izzie.”
She smiled and thanked him before heading over one of the small walkway bridges to deliver the drinks to a group of English people with their loungers huddled under a large umbrella near the pool. She chuckled at their pale white skin which was already glowing a painful red on their first day on holiday. After distributing the drinks, she surveyed her area for anyone looking for service, glancing at her watch, and willing it to be four o’clock already. She noticed the guy she’d chatted to yesterday was just settling into a lounger by the edge of her service area. Whitey, she recalled his unusual name. He was much too old for her, she thought, he was probably in his forties, but he was really good looking and seemed to be interested in her. Most of the men preferred the younger girls that giggled and flirted and babbled nonsense to them, another reason she was feeling her age. She couldn’t bring herself to play those games. But then again, she never had.
“Miss.”
The voice came from behind her and she turned. One of the pasty English sunburned group was waving a hand at her.
“You’re blocking the view, miss.”
She smiled as apologetically as she could muster without laughing and walked over to the guy that, now she looked again, reminded her of Sean Connery. That wasn’t a bad thing. ‘The Most Beautiful Girl’ by Charlie Rich was playing from the bar. That wasn’t a bad thing either, she decided.
“Hello again,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage, while trying to look younger and more relaxed in the awkward pose she’d found herself.
“Good afternoon, Isabella,” he surprised her by speaking fluent Spanish, “How has your day been?”
“Long, but my shift is nearly over and I’m looking forward to taking these shoes off,” she babbled, happy to be speaking her native language.
Whitey laughed. “Well, I hate to keep you on your feet, but I’d love a drink.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she blurted clumsily, but he held up his hand, still laughing.
“Please, I’m kidding with you. Those shoes are pretty groovy though,” he said, looking over his sunglasses at her legs more than her shoes.
“Thank you, they’re new and I love them, but they’re not quite worn in yet for a full shift on my feet.” She relaxed and wiggled her foot around, showing off the shoe.
“Havana Club over ice please, Isabella,” he asked politely and she remembered she was a waitress.
“Of course sir, I’ll be right back.”
He smiled with amusement. “Take your time, and please, I’m Whitey; sir is for officers, not regulars like me.”
She scolded herself all the way to the bar for being such a bumbling idiot. No way this gorgeous guy is interested in a silly drinks server, and now he thinks I didn’t remember his name, she thought. She asked the bartender for the drink and leaned on the bar to relieve the pressure on her feet. She took a few deep breaths and wondered why this guy made her such a mess; she was usually bold around men, and was certainly used to fending off advances. Many men, especially the Americans, seem to think that grabbing a girl’s arse was fine when they were on holiday. But this guy wasn’t the arse-grabbing type, he seemed like a gentleman. A working-class gentleman.
“Havana Club over ice, Mr Whitey.” She placed his drink on the table and smiled. He took his sunglasses off and looked her in the eyes.
“Isabella, I was thinking, once you’ve finished your shift and had a chance to revive your poor feet, would you consider having dinner with me?”
Despite all her thoughts about how attractive he was, and whether he was interested in her, she hadn’t actually thought he’d ask her out, and now she had a problem. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid the hotel doesn’t allow us to date guests.”
“I see,” he responded thoughtfully. “Well that’s not a problem if we can make it tomorrow night instead.”
She was puzzled. “But they’ll still fire me if I date a guest, and I do need my job.”
“But tomorrow I won’t be a guest here anymore.” He grinned irresistibly.
“Oh?” she asked, still puzzled. “You’re leaving?”
“For dinner with you, I’m delighted to move hotels, my dear.” His blue eyes shining with boyish glee.
Isabella thought for a moment. He was certainly a charmer and she hadn’t been out on a date in months.
“If you’re looking for an island fling, I’m not that girl, Mr Whitey,” she frowned at him.
“I wouldn’t be interested if you were,” he replied, without missing a beat. It didn’t feel like the lie he’d usually tell either, which surprised him.
“If they knew you’d checked out because of me, I’d get fired for sure,” she offered half-heartedly.
“They’ll never know; if they ask me why, I’ll tell them my trip was cut short,” he countered confidently.
Isabella let out a sigh as though she was reluctant to give in, but happily took some time to swim in his eyes a little longer.
“Okay,” she said, and just managed to hold back her smile until she’d turned and walked away.
Chapter 12
November 2019
The Newton bobbed lazily in the calm water and the divers relaxed and enjoyed the tranquillity between the two dives. The Davis girls swam around the tethered boat, excitedly checking out the shallow reef they’d be exploring on their second dive, while the other divers soaked up the hot sun and made idle chat. It was the same group as the day before, with the exception of Ray Blackburn, so Hazel had buddied with AJ on the first dive, and would go with Thomas on the second. AJ now sat in the captain’s chair on the fly bridge, sipped on her stainless steel water canteen, and ate some orange slices Thomas had handed around. Hazel and Thomas lounged on the bench seats either side of the ladder and AJ couldn’t help but notice Hazel’s lean and fit physique, clearly visible in her two-piece bathing suit. She wondered if she’d look that good in ten years. Hopefully she’d be doing exactly what she was doing now, in which case she might, with all the physical work it took to run a dive boat.
“So, how many lovers do you have in tow, AJ?” Hazel surprised AJ by asking, and made her spill some water she was drinking. Thomas laughed loudly.
“I have one boyfriend thank you very much, one is plenty,” AJ replied, feigning indignity.
“Pourquoi?” Hazel countered loudly. “If one is good, surely more is better? There must be so many tasty young men around the island?”
Thomas continued to chuckle and AJ threw an orange rind at him. She was never comfortable talking about her love life and her cheeks flushed.
“Not for this girl, my
one is enough,” she mumbled.
“So who is this magical one? Where is he? I have to meet this Valentino,” Hazel teased.
Between chuckles Thomas managed, “Oh he’s not here, he only makes it by the island every few months or so.”
AJ glared at him and threw full slices of orange this time. “Nobody asked you Mister Bodden – maybe we should talk about your love life, huh? What’s your latest one? Cecilia? You’ve been talking about her for at least a week now.”
Thomas laughed even louder to the wonder of the others on the lower deck.
“Wait a second,” Hazel intervened. “Don’t try and deflect now, Annabelle Jayne. Once every few months? My God! How can you not have a plaything to fill in? Why is Valentino only here every few months? How could he possibly stay away from you, you’re gorgeous, you’re the perfect young Aphrodite.”
AJ glowed red and stammered, “He works for Sea Sentry on one of their boats, so he’s at sea for months at a time. And it’s Jackson, his name’s Jackson.”
Thomas grinned from ear to ear and looked at Hazel expectantly, enjoying how she made his boss squirm with her playful banter.
“Jackson! He must be American? That’s an American lumberjack name! Or, or a fireman, like in those calendars you can buy with the firemen not really wearing their firemen’s outfits,” Hazel said loudly before breaking into laughter herself.
AJ’s face glowed like a scarlet beacon, but she couldn’t help laughing with them. A clichéd vision of her gentle, peaceful Jackson in a heavy tartan flannel shirt, carrying a big axe around, looking for trees to cut down, was rather amusing, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she sank deeper into her chair. She managed to get herself together enough to make an attempt at turning the conversation around.
“I take it you’re not married then, Hazel?”
Hazel pointed to herself and looked surprised, “Moi? Are you crazy? I’ve never met a man I wanted to spend more than a month with. They become soooo boring after a while.” She looked straight at Thomas. “Don’t you think so, sexy island boy?”
Wreck of the Raptor Page 4
