The man was wearing a suit and tie. He looked dapper and vaguely self-important. A developer? He didn’t look quite as … smarmy … as the group that had made an offer on the farm. There were two more people behind him—a man and a woman. Both wore city suits. They’d paused on the dunes above, letting him go ahead.
As a group they looked like they didn’t know what they were doing here. Join the club, I thought. I was having an out-of-body experience, and I wasn’t enjoying it one bit.
‘I’m looking for the proprietor of the J.R. Kelly Surfing School,’ the man called, and my sense of unreality—and tension—deepened.
‘Surfing school?’ Of all of us, it was Richard who seemed most in control. Who knew where this farce was headed. Of course. That’s what I most admired about him. When all about him was chaos, Richard never lost his sense of direction.
I wanted to be like Richard. I needed to be.
‘Dr J.R. Kelly’s Surfing School.’ The man kept striding down the beach, slipping a little in the squeaky sand under his shiny, black brogues. He held out his hand to Richard, who looked by far the most businesslike of us all. ‘Are you Dr J.R. Kelly?’
‘No.’
‘You then?’ He turned to Jack. Not in a bathing suit, male. Of course.
Jack gestured to me. ‘This is Dr Kelly.’
‘Of course.’ The man relaxed and smiled at me. Prepared to be indulgent? Yeah, Sexist R Us. ‘I should have known the proprietor of a surf school would be in a swimsuit.’
‘Sorry?’ My voice sounded blank.
But he was back to businesslike. ‘Dr Kelly, we have teenagers due to fly here just as soon as we have the final accreditation sorted. Our minivan was landed this morning from your supply boat. We may need another but that can wait. We’ve been to see the accommodation and it’s excellent. Every detail Mr Kelly gave us seems impeccable—it’s such a generous legacy. Of course our people will accompany the children, but the reason we’re here now is to vet your own staff. Lifesaving skills? Police checks? Working with children checks? I assume everything’s in place?’
And suddenly he sounded uncertain. Maybe my blankness was obvious.
‘I’m not …’ I took a deep breath, searching for some logic in this craziness. ‘I’m sorry, but you need to explain.’
‘The bequest,’ he said, as though that made it all clear.
‘What bequest?’
The man looked down at the letter in his hand as if it might personally betray him. ‘The bequest from Mr Henry Kelly. He’s left sufficient funds to accommodate five groups of our neediest children per year. I’m Elliot Campbell, in charge of recreation for the Northern States Burns Foundation, and it’s all arranged. The amount in trust is considerable. Flights have been paid for. Accommodation in the Nautilus Cove Hostel has been organised. Mr Kelly had an inspector from our foundation visit two years back and he advised the necessary changes we required to make it suitable. Those changes have been made. I gather the funds from the trust are sufficient to pay you and your staff handsomely, plus the medical staff we need to accompany the children. The arrangement was that as soon as the bequest came through our team would move into action. All we need is the final staffing list. We plan for the most severely scarred children to attend first. It’s beyond generous and I can’t tell you how much we’re looking forward to it.’
‘Um … Did you think to check?’ I said faintly. ‘If my grandfather made these arrangements … My grandfather’s dead.’
‘That’s right. It’s a bequest,’ the man explained, as if I was stupid. ‘I’ve been in touch with Mr Kelly for the last couple of years and found him impressive to work with. The hostel renovation is magnificent. That’s where we went first and we’ve been there since the seaplane landed this morning. The lawyer tells us the surfing school’s been taken over by Dr Kelly. I assume that Dr Kelly is you.’
‘My grandfather’s lawyer is older than my grandfather,’ I said, sounding out each word before I said it. ‘And my grandfather was ancient.’
‘Jennifer!’ Muriel swivelled at that, suddenly glaring. ‘Who do you think you’re calling ancient?’
But the man was focused on me. ‘You mean you’re not running the school?’
‘I’m going home,’ I said. ‘To the States. I don’t live here.’
‘And the surfing school?’
‘Jenny, your grandpa really wanted a surfing school,’ Fraser interjected urgently. ‘If he hadn’t thought he’d scare the kids with his face, he would have run it himself. I’m guessing he set it up like this as a gift. A gift for burned kids. And a gift for you.’
‘To me?’
‘What would you rather have?’ Fraser gestured to the little cove. ‘This? Or a life of bloody sterile luxury where you can’t hang ten?’
‘And where you can’t weed chives,’ Jack said, without emotion, as if it didn’t matter at all. ‘And …’ He hesitated, but his eyes met mine. ‘Where babies are things.’
I stared at them. Jack and Fraser. And then Jack again.
They were wearing identical looks, and I realised suddenly they were both expecting to be kicked. I looked across to Richard and he stepped to stand between me and Jack. Maybe it was unintentional—a random move—or maybe he sensed that distance was necessary.
It was up to Bridget to interrupt the adults. ‘Is the surfing school closing then?’ she asked. ‘Uncle Jack? Jenny?’
‘There never was a surf school,’ I told her. Richard’s hand was suddenly on my arm, pressuring me forward to the path leading from the cove. It seemed that he finally needed to touch me.
But I didn’t want to be touched. I dug in my toes and stayed, and he cast me a glance of annoyance. And impatience.
‘Jennifer, we need to go. We’re wasting valuable time.’
We hadn’t seen each other for how long and this was the welcome I got? But then, his coolness was what I’d planned for my life.
It was what I wanted. Wasn’t it?
But Bridget was looking desperate and I couldn’t bear it. And Jack …
I had to ignore Jack, but I couldn’t ignore Bridget. I shrugged off Richard’s hand and walked forward to crouch before her. ‘Bridge, the surf school’s a game,’ I told her. ‘It’s not serious.’
‘Life’s serious,’ Jack muttered. ‘Making money’s serious. Staying uncommitted is serious.’
‘Will you please go and help deliver your babies?’
He managed a lopsided smile. ‘So they’re mine now?’
‘Sure. You can have all rights over Myrtle. Go and help.’
‘You’re the obstetrician.’
‘Jennifer is not helping you deliver babies,’ Richard snapped in a tone that said he’d tolerated fools for long enough. ‘She’s going home.’
‘I’ll go home when I say I’m going home,’ I snapped back. ‘If Myrtle needs me …’
‘Multiple births are always tricky,’ Jack said, maybe seeing a glimmer of light. A chink in my armour.
‘Multiple births … How many babies are we talking?’ demanded Al, startled, but we all ignored him.
‘The surf school’s good.’ Bridget’s mouth was wobbling and her eyes were filling with tears. ‘Jenny, it’ll be great. I can teach, too. We were going to call it the Bridget and Jenny and Drifter Surfing School.’
Jack thought about that and didn’t seem to like it. ‘Why don’t I get a look-in? I can surf.’
‘So can I,’ said Fraser. ‘I knew how to surf before you were a twinkle in your old man’s eye, Jack McLachlan.’
‘Look, this is serious.’ The man from the foundation was clearly not amused. ‘Are you saying there’s no one to teach?’
‘I’ll teach,’ Bridget told him and jutted her chin. ‘My dad taught me how. If I can teach Jenny then I can teach anyone.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I managed, but no one was listening.
The man from the foundation was losing patience. ‘This is ridiculous.’ Then his voice softened when he saw the angui
sh on Bridget’s face. ‘Not that it isn’t a very generous offer.’
‘I’m offering, too,’ Fraser muttered. ‘We could make it the Bridget and Fraser Surfing School.’
‘That’s hardly enough.’ The man didn’t make the double mistake of saying that Fraser was too old, but the thought was there, implicit if unspoken.
‘We can do it.’ Fraser’s jutted chin matched Bridget’s.
‘I’m sorry but—’
‘You’ll help us, too, won’t you, Jack?’ Fraser demanded, and there was a note of desperation in the old man’s voice. Maybe Fraser, too, had found something in these last weeks and didn’t want to let it go. He was losing Muriel. He didn’t want to lose everything.
‘If Jenny goes, then no,’ Jack said, gripping Bridget’s hand and holding hard. ‘I can hardly help. I’m a doctor, Fraser. Not a surf school teacher.’
‘You can surf better than anyone I know.’
‘But the demands on my time … It’s too much. When Jen goes, it’ll go back to where it was before. Nothing will change.’
When Jen goes …
I was still crouching in the sand by Bridget. I glanced across at Richard and then looked away. I realised he’d backed off again, allowing me to say my goodbyes. He was waiting to take over my life again.
‘Hey, maybe you and I could stay a few weeks and help,’ Al told Muriel. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the water just then. You looked great!’
‘I was great.’ Muriel’s eyes were distant, but somehow I knew she wasn’t thinking of how she’d appeared splashing in the shallows. She was thinking of years ago.
‘There you go, then. We’ve got all the time in the world,’ Al said easily. ‘Life’s a beach.’
There it was. Life’s a beach. Live for today. Forget about tomorrow.
Don’t commit.
Bridget’s small face was pinched, and tears were starting to roll silently down her cheeks. She didn’t understand what was going on. All she knew was that life was changing. Again.
And Jack …
His face was wooden. I glanced at him and looked away.
‘We’ll go and see Myrtle,’ he told Bridge. ‘We need to let these people sort themselves out. Coming, Fraser?’
‘But what about the surf school?’ Bridget wailed, and Jack shook his head.
‘There isn’t going to be a surf school.’
But it wasn’t only me who was torn. Muriel had been standing impassive until suddenly she’d been—by association with Henry— treated as if she was ancient. The idea had obviously shocked her.
Al was being solicitous. Helping her dry herself. Supporting her. Taking her mind off what was important.
Henry’s surfing school.
This was why she’d come.
I could see it on her face. I hadn’t realised until now just how well I knew Muriel, but I could follow what she was thinking.
Her expression had softened, as if somewhere an internal decision had been made and it pleased her. And then her look turned stubborn.
I knew that look.
Whoops.
Poor Al.
Jack’s words still seemed to be echoing. There isn’t going to be a surf school.
‘Yes, there is,’ Muriel muttered, and she shook Al’s hand from her arm. ‘There certainly is. I’m going to run the surf school.’
She stood defiant in her gorgeous bathing suit, her legs shaky from the day in the surf, the elegance of Jeremy’s haircut almost destroyed by weeks of exposure to salt and sun. Her face was set and sure.
‘You’re going to take over Henry’s surf school?’ I couldn’t believe what she’d just said.
‘Why shouldn’t I? I’m a champion swimmer. I can’t drown, even if I try.’
‘But not forever,’ Al said uneasily, and Muriel cast him a glance that was not without sympathy.
‘Yes, Albert, dear, forever. I’ve decided. I’m staying here for the rest of my life. I should never have left. This is where I belong.’
What was Muriel doing? What sort of mad decision was this?
‘You said staying here would be crazy.’ I was trying to make my thoughts work in a straight line, and Muriel met my look head-on. All the barriers between us were suddenly gone.
‘I was wrong,’ she said, firm and sure. ‘Everything I taught you was based on a lie. I committed to Henry and I committed for life.’
‘You don’t regret it?’
‘How could I regret Henry? How could I regret … love?’
Love.
One tiny word.
And suddenly the confusion fell away.
I gazed around the beach—at the man from the foundation and the group behind him, at Al and at Richard, at my grandmother, at Bridget, at Carrie, and at Drifter who was waiting patiently for all of us to do something more interesting than talk.
Then I looked at Jack.
Life’s a beach?
No. But neither was life for planning as Richard and I had planned.
If Muriel could take another chance all these years on, then surely I could.
Life was for throwing your heart into the ring and letting it fight for what it wanted. Life was for … living.
‘If you’re staying then I’m staying.’ I couldn’t believe what I’d said but I rose and brushed the sand from my hands. My decision was made. ‘I’m sorry, Richard, but I can’t come with you. I need to watch Myrtle deliver her babies. It’s a very important event in the life of Nautilus Island, and I need to be present.’
‘What the hell is important about a birth? It’s not like it’s the Clayburghs.’
I looked at Richard and wondered how I could ever have dreamed of spending the rest of my life with him.
‘Myrtle’s my turtle,’ I told him and then corrected myself. ‘No. She’s our turtle.’
The look he gave me was indescribable. Maybe with reason. ‘A turtle … Of all the stupid, childish … Jennifer, you’re coming with me!’
‘I’m not.’
He walked forward to grip my arm, but I yanked it away, turning deliberately to face the man from the foundation. ‘I’m Dr J.R. Kelly,’ I told him. ‘I own this surf school. Between Muriel and Fraser and Bridget and me, we have surfing skills, seamanship and lifesaving qualifications, plus certificates, diplomas, degrees, whatever you need to teach your teenagers well and safely. And happily. So there you have it.’ My shoulders shifted into the brace position. I was ready to move forward. ‘Dr J.R. Kelly’s Surfing School has just been declared officially open.’
They all gaped. Every single one of them.
‘You …’ That was Fraser.
‘Jennifer …’ That was Richard. ‘You can’t. Of all the ridiculous … If you stay one more day in this outlandish place then your life in New York is in ruins!’
‘My life was in ruins before I left New York,’ I told him. ‘I was just too stupid to see it. I need to stay.’
‘Then I wash my hands of you.’ Disbelief was jostling with fury. ‘Of all the ridiculous … I should never have come.’
‘No.’ My anger suddenly deflated as my conscience stepped in. It was time to be honest. ‘I’m sorry, Richard, but you’re right. You shouldn’t have come.’
I met his accusatory stare head-on, seeing our relationship for what it really was.
Which was nothing.
And he saw it, too. One of the things that had most attracted me to Richard was his intelligence. He met my gaze and he saw that I’d moved to a point he could no longer reach.
He’d lost and he knew it. I saw it in the way he looked at me. I watched him withdraw as he’d always done from anything that didn’t directly concern him and I knew our relationship was well and truly over.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told him again.
‘You really mean it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want me to go home without you?’
‘Yes.’
And straight away he turned to practicalities. ‘How can I just
go?’
But from the sidelines Fraser had suddenly thought of a way to be of use. He strode across the beach to his bundle of discarded clothes and retrieved a cell phone from his pants’ pocket.
‘I have a mobile phone,’ he announced, in the sort of voice he might use if he’d just won the lottery. ‘The taxi number’s autodial five. Jed’s the taxi driver and you can wait for him up beside the house. He’ll take you to the harbour. Mrs Firth in the general store will give you a cuppa and a scone while you wait for the seaplane. You know …’ He hesitated and became thoughtful. ‘My daughter set me up with this three years ago and this is the first time it’s come in handy. A mobile phone on an island. What a waste. I’ve only been carrying it since Muriel was sick and she’s not sick anymore. Take it back to New York with you, my friend. I’m sure it’s where it belongs.’
He tossed it to Richard.
I was caught between tears and laughter. Richard caught the phone, but the look he cast the old fisherman was anything but grateful. He turned back to me—to try one last time.
‘You’re not really planning on ruining your life for this nonsense?’ he demanded. ‘Jenny, be serious. Think about what you’re throwing away.’
I should be serious. I forced myself to think while the whole beach waited. Richard had come a long way. He deserved a decent response. And the one that came … seemed right.
‘Richard, this is my place,’ I told him. ‘These people are my family.’
‘You don’t have a family.’
I hesitated again, searching for the right words. ‘I do have a family,’ I said at last, and it felt okay. Good, even. ‘I’ve just found them, and they’re here. I’m a fifth-generation islander.’
He stared at me for a long moment. Everyone stared. Even the man from the foundation had the sense to figure something monumental was happening and he’d best butt out.
‘That’s your last word?’ Richard said, and I nodded.
‘Yes.’ I did feel sorry for him. ‘I’m afraid I’m not who you think I am,’ I told him. ‘I’m not even who I thought I was. It seems I’m the proprietor of the Dr Jennifer Rainbow Kelly Surfing School. I’m the new Nautilus Island obstetrician. I’m Muriel’s granddaughter and I’m a partner in Jack’s medical practice. Bridget’s my surfing teacher and Fraser and Carrie are my friends. I’m sorry you took all this trouble to bring me home, Richard, but my home’s here.’
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