‘It could make your life-modelling classes interesting.’
‘My life-modelling classes are always interesting. But you’re right. I think those days might be over somehow.’
And that, by implicit, mutual consent, was where they left it.
The second conversation that stuck out in Jon’s mind took place about an hour later. This one stuck out even more, in a way – in one very major way – but partly because what had been bothering him had finally revealed itself, had come to him at last. He was in the kitchen at the time, with Isla, when he thought of it.
‘I have to ask you something,’ he said.
‘Sure.’
‘You said it was when Irwin was checking you out, that he found out about Nevers. What was there to find about Nevers, that he had to find out through you?’
She looked puzzled, for a moment, by the question.
‘Oh,’ she said. Looked at him in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Just that he found out about Nevers being my… biological father.’
He felt woozy. Things clicked and unclicked in his brain. Isla was Nevers’ daughter, the one referred to in the will but not identified. Which meant―
‘Didn’t I say that?’ she said, seeing the look on his face. ‘So, yeah. He adopted me out. You look shocked.’
‘How long have you known? About Nevers being your father?’
‘Not so long. Since Irwin uncovered it. They have the… resources, if you know what I mean.’
‘What about your mother?’
She shrugged. Told him it was enough, for the moment, to deal with losing a father she’d only just found. His death, she told him, had been creeping up on her ever since she heard. Was only just hitting her now.
When he told her about Nevers supposedly being his father, she went as pale as he felt. Of course Emerald, who was his sole source of information, might have got it wrong. Might have made it up, about Nevers being his father. The will itself, or Nevers, might have had it wrong. He and Isla could be siblings, or half-siblings, or neither.
And then Isla, at the time, in the kitchen, with the colour returned to her face , beamed at him, warmly, and lifted a soft hand and stroked his cheek.
‘Well I think it’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Whatever is the truth of it. You can be my brother any time.’
* * *
And maybe they’d find out one day, Jon thought now, in the middle of the night, halfway across the English Channel. In the meantime, in the greater scheme of things, where did this information fit in? Who knew what tomorrow would bring? For now, couldn’t possibly this be more than enough? Wasn’t being alive and having a little bit of love all you could ever really ask for?
He looked down again into the inky-black waters as they rose and fell against the side of the boat, and wondered what lay beneath. And it occurred to him, it made a good metaphor for Life.
There is so much, so close, that we don’t understand.
100. 17° 40' 15" S 167° 20' 25" E
(Coral Sea, Over the New Hebrides Trench)
The same time
3.15pm Vanuatu Time (04:15 UTC)
Wednesday, 30 October
It was her last go at the monitor before they packed up, and the marine biologist from Seattle was feeling like she probably ought to make the most of it. The timer had just switched on the lights down there, on the same section of ocean floor they’d been staring at for six days – approximately ten kilometres north-east and seven straight down – and she could see already there was the usual array of bright red prawns and pale-white amphipods. Come on, she thought, surprise me. It was her last chance to make her name. A new species of fish, for example, or a fish never before spotted at that depth.
‘OK guys let’s move it out!’ someone yelled in the corridor outside, while clapping loudly. One of the other Americans. ‘Pack up your toys, we’re out of here! Pina coladas in Vila, yeeeeeaaaahhh! WooooOOO!’
It was always bittersweet, packing up. Saying goodbye to your deep-sea cousins. You often saw the same individuals, and they became kind of like friends. (Better than the ones on the ship, who were only slightly better-looking). Time to rejoin civilisation though, and get away from her colleagues if nothing else.
Without turning off the monitor itself, she turned off the video recording equipment, unhooked it, and took it with her as she stood up and left the compartment.
If she’d stayed for just a few seconds longer, she would have seen an extraordinary sight. Because there, on the monitor in the now empty compartment, past the prawns and their pig carcass, in the grainy background darkness, a large yellow skip thudded down into the silt of the seabed. Following it, coil upon coil of rope fell, and continued to fall, and settle around it. And then, most unusually of all, in the foreground, and almost landing on the pig carcass itself, and certainly startling one or two of the amphipods, an intricately patterned silver container inlaid with hundreds of tiny gemstones, red and green, blue and white, descended into view and landed on the ocean floor in a small puff of silt and then just stood there, next to the carcass with its crowd of sea creatures, sparkling in the camera lights.
One of the pale amphipods seemed to sniff it, before returning its attention to the carcass.
And in the background, the last of the rope hit the floor, with nothing on the other end except for a knot and an empty loop.
For a couple more minutes the lights stayed on, and the latest visitor continued to glint and shimmer in the imperceptibly shifting current before, all of a sudden, without warning…
Darkness. The purest blend.
Afterword
Thank you for reading Dark Oceans.
I appreciate your valuable time and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s taken six years to conceive the beginnings of, research, write, and redraft this book, and along the way I’ve benefited enormously from the feedback of my early readers. I owe them much.
But a writer can never have enough feedback (especially of the positive kind!), so if you were to find the time to leave a review – even a one-liner – on Amazon or Goodreads, it would be hugely appreciated: it would both help me in terms of my next novel and encourage other readers to discover this one. And every review counts, so in advance, to everyone who writes one, thank you!
Also my next book – I have good reason to believe – is just around the corner. So if you feel like staying in touch, you can sign up for my newsletter directly at
http://eepurl.com/dwrRc1
or visit my website at markmacrossan.com
Φ
Acknowledgments
First and foremost I want to thank my honorary muse Lisa Tyson, without whose constant input, advice, encouragement and inspiration, this book could never have been written.
I also owe a great debt to my other first readers for their time and invaluable assistance: Jeremy Johnson, Glen Woodward, Jackie O’Sullivan, Katri Skala, Marjorie Solomon, Peter Keel, Ross Wilson, and my very wise and well-read mother, Margery Macrossan.
I’d especially like to thank the author Sue Woolfe, who not only provided feedback on the manuscript, but whose inspirational postgraduate classes over six years ago in the English Department at Sydney University helped shape my approach to the writing of this novel and indeed provided the fertile soil from which the first seeds of this story sprouted.
Special thanks must also go to editor and publisher Linda Funnell, who provided the structural editing: her vital contribution to the ultimate shape of this book cannot be overstated.
And to Nicola Atkinson, who provided the line editing, and whose many helpful comments along the way have proved to be ‘on the money’ and indispensable.
Thanks also to others for their various much-appreciated contributions: to Frank Russo for his early encouragement regarding the novel’s form; to the New South Wales Writers’ Centre for all the help they provided along the way; to Judith Beveridge, whose instruction on the art of the appreciation and writing of poetry has had a profound effect on my writing; an
d to the cover designer, Jonathon Eadie, whose wonderful artistic instincts are, allow me to suggest, clearly in evidence.
And a big thank you to my publishing consultant Joel Naoum of Critical Mass who guided the manuscript so expertly through to publication.
Finally I’d like to thank my late father, John Macrossan, who continues to be a shining light in my life.
Φ
About the Author
Mark Macrossan grew up in Brisbane. Previous occupations include barrister (Sydney) and film extra (London). He currently lives in Sydney.
Dark Oceans is his first novel.
He can be found online at www.markmacrossan.com.
Φ
First published by Antimeridian Press in 2018
This edition published in 2018 by Antimeridian Press
Copyright © Mark Macrossan 2018
www.markmacrossan.com
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
Dark Oceans
ISBN: 9780648313649 (e-book)
ISBN: 9780648313656 (paperback)
Cover design by Jonathon Eadie
www.eadie.biz
Publishing services provided by Critical Mass
www.critmassconsulting.com
Dark Oceans Page 45