by Di Morrissey
About The Red Coast
A NEW STORY IN AN ANCIENT LANDSCAPE FROM AUSTRALIA’S FAVOURITE STORYTELLER.
In The Red Coast, Di Morrissey returns to the red earth of the Kimberley with a passionate story of resistance and resilience under its soaring blue skies.
After the upheaval which separated Jacqui Bouchard from her beloved son, she has finally settled in Broome, a magical remote town on the northwest coast of Australia.
But when a proposed mining development is unveiled, the town begins to tear itself apart. Rifts run deep, as friends, families and lovers are faced with a battle that could change their lives irrevocably.
As everyone takes sides, Jacqui confronts her own dilemma – to stay or leave? Who to trust? . . . Who to love?
Contents
Cover
About The Red Coast
Title page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About Di Morrissey
Also by Di Morrissey
Copyright page
To those who fight, by word and deed, to protect those places where time stands still, and where generations to come will gaze in awe and wonder at their timeless unchanged beauty.
Acknowledgements
While Red Coast Books and Jacqui Bouchard are entirely fictional, there is a wonderful, real bookshop in Broome, The Kimberley Bookshop: do drop in when you’re in Broome. There’s also a real writers’ festival in Broome – Corrugated Lines – held every August!
Very special thanks to my dear friend from our teenage years, when we started as cadet journalists, Jayne O’Flahertie-Binet.
Darling Boris (Janjic) for your love and sharing every day together.
As always, the unfailing love and support of my children, Dr Gabrielle Hansen and Dr Nicolas Morrissey, is a precious gift. I’m so proud of how you are raising my four caring, kind and compassionate grandchildren.
Thanks and love to dearest Mimi Morrissey, Rosemary Revitt, gentle and generous Damien Revitt, and David and Anna Revitt.
To Jane Novak, longtime friend now super-agent!
Many thanks to friend and editor Liz Adams, and welcome aboard, Georgia Douglas. Also, as always, many thanks to copy editor Brianne Collins.
Thanks to all at Pan Macmillan: Ross Gibb, Tracey Cheetham, Léa Antigny, and all the Sales and Marketing teams.
As always, thanks to my lawyer Ian Robertson.
Very special thanks to my Kimberley friends: Mark Jones and family, Penny Arrow, James Brown and Alison Brown, Missy Higgins, Susan Bradley, Gaye Wotherspoon, Wendy Albert, Bill Reed, Pat Lowe, Kirsty Cockburn and George Negus.
Thank you for your help, Captain Lance Godwin.
Finally, heartfelt thanks to my devoted readers for your support and friendship, and for sending me such beautiful messages.
I heard a report on the sadness of stillbirths on ABC Radio National’s ‘Health Report’ program, on which a girl using the name ‘Katrina’ talked of the loss of her stillborn baby girl. She said she called her Lydia so she had a name and would never be forgotten. Her words touched me, so I decided to name a character in this book Lydia.
1
The glare briefly blinded him as the chopper tilted directly into the sun before making a turn.
Damien was in a harness, belted into the rear seat behind the pilot of the Jet Ranger helicopter, which had its door open. It was his first glimpse of this part of the Buccaneer Archipelago off the north-west coast of Western Australia. The immense stretch of the clear, kingfisher-blue water of Collier Bay, with its ancient red cliffs and islands, and Dugong Bay, where pods of whales appeared as small grey smudges, breaking the calm water as they joyously surged to ripple the surface before sinking into shadowy depths, was a little-explored part of the Kimberley. Damien had seen plenty of amazing sights in his time as a cameraman and filmmaker, but this was special, and he felt quite emotional.
He tightened his grip around the bulk of the camera cradled in his arms, and suddenly he recalled an old piece of music from a movie soundtrack that seemed to fit the scene. As a cameraman he loved taking aerial shots, and the ancient landscape below was breathtaking.
The pilot glanced over his shoulder and gave a quick smile and a thumbs up, then pointed to the vista ahead.
Coming into view were the protruding sections of the submerged McLarty Range, two sets of gnarled arms of the cliffs curving above the surface of the ocean, not quite meeting. Through the narrow slit between the high cliffs was a short, dramatic channel. In this small opening, huge tides were trapped until, at each turning, the tide rushed back through, creating the unique phenomenon known as the Horizontal Falls. A hundred thousand litres of water hurtled through the gap each second in a brief surge of rapids, before flattening out into the broad, calm waters of Talbot Bay.
A lone white dot below reminded Damien why he was here and, as he lifted the camera and adjusted its settings, the pilot’s voice crackled through the headset.
‘You want to come in over the bow first? I’ll circle. You can shoot the ship from various angles that way.’
Damien lifted his arm, glad that the pilot was used to film crews and camera people who did crazy things like leaning out and standing on the skids of the chopper to get the shots they wanted.
Below the helicopter was a sleek white cruise ship, one of the smaller ships to ply this area, though nonetheless one that screamed pampered luxury, a symbol of man’s incursion into the untamed north-west. Now the wilderness was accessible to those like the three dozen well-heeled passengers on board, who were on a ten-day voyage they would never forget.
Damien glimpsed the shadow of the chopper on the water below, insect-like, as it dropped low, ahead of the liner. It skimmed above the bow, then circled the ship, finally flying alongside. Damien zoomed in to get a close-up of the sharp bow as it sliced through the water. Where are some dolphins when you want them? he wondered.
The chopper made several runs so that Damien could shoot from various camera angles before the pilot gently settled them onto the helipad near the stern of the Kimberley Sun.
At a signal from the deckhand who had guided them into position, Damien stepped from the now motionless chopper. Richie, his camera assistant and second unit cameraman, crossed the deck to meet him.
‘I got some good shots of your landing, I think,’ said Richie.
‘Hope so. You have to earn your keep. You can’t just swan around with the passengers,’ teased Damien with a grin. ‘But you missed a bloody magnificent view from up there.’
‘It’s looking good from down here, too. By the way, the passengers are called guests,’ said Richie. ‘I shot some footage as backup on the way here, and when we moored last night. Got some sunrise stuff, too. Everybody is getting ready to head out on an excursion and they’ve been told that there will be some filming for promotional purposes. Only one couple has objected, but we can work around them. So, you ready to shoot the rapids?’
‘They look pretty amazing from the air. What have you arranged for us?’
‘We’re going in separate Zodiacs; you’ll be at the head of the line,’ said Richie.
‘Good. You can concentrate on the passen–, I mean guests, their expressions and reactions. I’ll do the scenery, close-ups and action stuff.’
�
��It sounds like a pretty fearsome flow of water. Should be a thrill a minute in those little boats,’ commented Richie.
*
From the lower level at the stern of the ship, a tall young woman dressed in smart white tailored shorts and shirt similar to the staff uniform watched as the tourists cautiously stepped into the inflatable Zodiacs, which had been lowered from their docks into the turquoise water. She was possibly in her forties, but her natural healthy look, little make-up, sun-streaked hair and lean, tanned figure radiated youth and energy.
‘C’mon, Jacqui, you’re going to love it. We’re in the lead boat.’ A young boatie handed her a life jacket and led the way to the small boats.
One by one, the guests took a seat in each of the four Zodiacs, life jackets in place, the ubiquitous bottles of water in hand, hats crammed securely on heads, cameras and phones at the ready.
Seated in the front on one side, Jacqui found she was beside the man with the camera. He introduced himself.
‘I’m Damien Sanderson. I’m putting together a short film for the Kimberley Tourism Office. I might have to move around a bit, so I hope I don’t block the view for you.’
‘Oh, that’s fine, you have a job to do. I’m Jacqui. Did you just fly in from Broome on the helicopter?’
‘Derby, actually. I’ve been buzzing around a lot of the coast in the chopper. Stunning scenery in this part of the world. Is this your first time up here?’
‘Out to the Horizontal Falls, it is. But I live in Broome and I’m on board to give a talk to the guests.’
‘Lucky you, to live in such an interesting place. You a teacher?’
‘No. I own the local bookstore. So I read a lot,’ she said with a laugh.
As they sped away from the liner, the crew member in charge of their Zodiac explained how the boats would go through the gap one after the other, circle back and go through it again. ‘Plenty of time for photos, but don’t stand up, it gets rough in there,’ he warned.
Jacqui glanced back to where the other cameraman was seated in the boat behind. Suddenly, as the boats bounced and slapped across the surface of the bay, she felt quite vulnerable being so near to the water as opposed to being on a deck high above it.
As though on cue, the engines of all the boats throttled back and the Zodiacs idled, bobbing quietly in the water. Suddenly the cliffs above them seemed enormous. Jagged, red and water-worn from centuries of relentless surge and channels of whorls and hollows, some edges had been smoothed dull while others had been honed to sharp peaks by the wear of water. There was hardly an inch of space for a bird to perch on, thought Jacqui. The wash of the water was now incredibly, ominously loud, and ahead Jacqui could see a boiling channel of white water only wide enough for one boat at a time to fit through. The crew member at the stern shouted to Damien.
‘Lift your hand when you’re ready to start filming. Then you’ll have to wait until I judge it the right time to go. Okay?’
Jacqui gripped the side of the boat as Damien checked his camera, braced himself and raised his arm. Then, a second or two later, the motor roared into action and everyone was jerked backwards as the boat took off, slewing to one side as it entered the rushing water, which swirled wildly against the cliffs.
Some passengers screamed while others held on firmly, tight-lipped, and others still tried to take photos as the small open boat was suddenly met by the powering water which swept them into the gap. The inflatable craft skidded and skimmed, thudded and bounced across the churning water of the narrow gorge in the shadow of the cliffs, so that Jacqui thought they could all be dashed against them. Here the water was an oily, shiny green, frothing with bubbling foam and white breakers. She found she was holding her breath when, with one last lurch, they were suddenly skittering into the blue calmness of Talbot Bay. The experience had been at once frightening, yet exhilarating and thrilling. It had only taken minutes, but to Jacqui it had felt like an age.
Relieved laughter and chatter broke out among the guests. Free of the Horizontal Falls, several people now stood and took photos of the Zodiacs behind them, which were slipping and sliding one by one through the roaring little gorge, accompanied by the squeals and shouts of the other guests. Further away a second set of falls could be glimpsed.
Damien took his head away from the eyepiece, glad he’d put the bulky underwater housing on the camera to avoid the spray and splashes. ‘What did you think?’ he asked Jacqui.
Her hair was damp, her life jacket soaked, her voice full of excitement. ‘Fantastic! Scary. But fun. Amazing.’
‘Do we have to go back through the opening to get back to the ship?’ shouted a German traveller. ‘No other way around the cliffs?’
‘Not unless you want to ski or swim through the second set of falls,’ called the crew member above the noise of the rushing water. ‘We can go through this gap several times, if you’d like.’
‘Are there sharks or crocodiles out here?’ called out a female passenger.
The boatie shrugged. ‘Yes. Sometimes.’
‘Really? That’s once too often for me,’ shuddered another guest.
The Zodiac with Richie in it came close. He waved to Damien and the two exchanged some quick comments about who was to film what on their next run through.
Jacqui enjoyed the second run through the gap much more, even though this time the boats swerved and spun closer to the cliffs, giving everyone an extra thrill. Jacqui suddenly remembered she’d brought her own small camera and took it out to take photos of the experience.
*
An hour later, all the Zodiacs were zooming back across the bay towards the Kimberley Sun.
There was a lot of chatter and laughter as the boats pulled in alongside the liner and the passengers were helped on board.
Jacqui knew that the high the guests had experienced would last through the Champagne cocktails as photos were shared under the shaded deck by the spa and pool. Then, gradually, the buzz would dwindle, the satisfaction of ticking this off their bucket lists to be replaced by the anticipation of the next adventure.
‘Time to smile and shine. You’ll be the next attraction, Jacqui,’ said a crew member as he collected the wet life jackets.
‘I’m just glad my talk is on after dinner once everyone is cleaned up, fed and watered, though those falls are a hard act to follow,’ she replied with a smile. ‘And I do find public speaking somewhat nerve-racking.’
‘Don’t we all! You’ll be fine. And there’ll be fresh barramundi for dinner, by the way. Mr Franklin caught a beauty this morning, just as he was promised. He’s pretty stoked.’
‘The Chief Officer will be relieved. He practically guaranteed Mr Franklin a big catch, didn’t he? That guest seems like a man used to getting what he wants. What would have happened if he hadn’t caught one?’
‘The CO has a few secret spots he says are generally safe bets to land something decent. He keeps them up his sleeve for guests who expect everything, like Mr Franklin.’
‘It would be good to know just where, in case someone comes into my shop demanding a barra.’
‘There’re less expensive ways to go fishing than on this floating palace,’ the crewman said with a chuckle. ‘Look, I’d better get a move on. Sunset drinks and hors d’oeuvres on the top deck are looming. Catch you later, Jacqui.’ He scooped up the container with the life jackets and hurried away.
Jacqui went below to her compact cabin, which had been made up for two. She looked at the towels artfully folded into white fluffy swans, perched on the ends of the twin beds. Suzi, the ship’s head housekeeper, had taught the staff to fold the towels into a variety of creatures and Jacqui smiled at the sight of her reading glasses, which Suzi had perched on the head of the towelling swan. What a kick Jean-Luc would get out of a trip like this, she thought.
She pushed the thought to one side and sat at the cabin’s small desk, ope
ned her folder and ran through the PowerPoint slides she planned to use for her presentation.
She had been asked to give an informal talk about the Kimberley on this leg of the cruise. The talk would be followed by a promotional push by Patricia, who ran the on-board gift shop and was very effective at selling the beautiful Broome pearls.
She felt nervous about public speaking – she was a last minute replacement as the person who usually spoke had suddenly had to fly to Perth – but she knew that the guests were intensely interested in the Kimberley. They had ventured to this far-flung outpost at some expense, so Jacqui knew it would not be hard to pique their interest in the immensity of the landscape with its breathtaking scenery, vast emptiness and stunning colours by day, and the crystal stars that shone in a clear dark sky by night, far from any city lights.
*
After dinner, a group of guests had assembled in the lounge, seated in comfortable chairs or around the tables, to watch Jacqui’s presentation of extraordinary photographs. Damien and Richie set up their cameras to film her, making her even more nervous, but as the pictures flashed onto the screen and caused appreciative exclamations from the audience, she began to relax. Jacqui carefully explained each one, but quickly realised that it was the historic photos of Broome in the old pearling days that most intrigued the guests.
Broome, Jacqui told them, was a small town, but one with a big story. She explained that in the early days of the twentieth century, Japanese pearl divers spent hours on the ocean floor in their cumbersome inflated atmospheric diving suits and huge copper helmets with little windows, scooping up the outsized Pinctada maxima pearl shells. They sent basket after basket of shell to the decks of the luggers bobbing on the surface above, while umbilical cords constantly pumped oxygen down to them.
And now that they had all experienced the Horizontal Falls, Jacqui went on, the guests could understand the phenomenon of the great tides of the region, which would rush out, emptying the bays, before pouring back through the mangroves to float the stranded boats of Broome which, when the tide was out, would rest on their hulls along the foreshore and by the old wooden Streeters Jetty.