by Di Morrissey
‘That’s shocking!’ Jacqui looked at Lydia in alarm. ‘I mean . . . all this,’ she waved her arm at the tranquil beach, ‘could be a gas hub! What would that mean?’
‘That’d mean industrialisation with dredges in the channel, a huge jetty for tankers, heavy machinery, helicopters in and out and gas processing,’ said Lydia grimly. ‘No, no way. It’s a joke! There are special sites all around here. It’s sacred land!’
‘Billion dollar plus benefit package talks to some people,’ said Victor darkly.
‘Time to do some digging,’ said Lydia. ‘Maggie and Webster were right to worry.’
‘We’ll look you up in town. We gotta start to fight them all,’ said Victor, as he and Eddie got to their feet. ‘But we fight them our way. We stand on our land. Nobody is going to take our country.’
‘Count us in,’ said Lydia.
*
Jean-Luc headed around the low headland, looking along the high-tide mark and among the rocks for driftwood. Out of sight of everyone, he paused and sat on a rounded boulder, gazing at the startling blue of the sea. What a strangely beautiful place his mother had chosen to live in. Remote, yes. Far from the sophisticated worldliness of France. Yet this almost mystical place had taken hold of him. He found it impossible to describe this to his friends in France. When he had returned home in the past, suntanned and indubitably feeling stronger and more independent, he always felt as if he had gained something his friends would never know or share. He knew it set him apart.
The rare tranquil times like this allowed Jean-Luc to reflect. He loved being with his mother even though he knew she longed for him to share the minutiae of his life with her, but held back from questioning him too deeply. No matter how much they spoke and wrote or connected through technology, it was never the same as touching shoulders when they shared a meal, or laughing together spontaneously, or sitting, like he was now, watching the same sunset at the same place and at the same moment.
These thoughts occurred to him as he hopped up and continued to look for wood for the fire the boys would now be lighting. Eventually he found a wonderfully sculptured, sun-bleached paperbark branch and began to tug it free. As he did so, Jean-Luc heard a voice calling out but, looking around, couldn’t see anyone. Then, from above him rained down a tumble of small rocks as a young girl slithered down the headland. She was lithe and tanned, barefoot but sure-footed, with a tangle of hair, faded shorts and a skinny top.
‘Do you want a hand pulling that out?’ she asked. ‘Bet it’s been there ages. See, it’s jammed. Must have been half buried in a storm.’
‘Yes, I see that.’ Jean-Luc tugged at the branch. ‘I might have to break part of it away.’
She scrambled down the rest of the cliff and jumped down onto the sand beside him.
‘Nah, let’s move the rocks, it’ll come out.’ She knelt down and began digging the sand from around the rocks. Her freckled face and stunning pale green eyes glanced up at him with a flash of a smile. ‘You making a fire?’
‘Yes. My mother and her friends are camping further down the beach.’
‘Yeah, me too. Been there, done that. Best thing is looking at the stars at night. My father has shown me all the constellations. You camped here before? Are you a tourist?’ she asked.
Jean-Luc bristled slightly as he tried to dislodge a rock. ‘No. My mother lives in Broome.’
‘But you don’t. Where’re you from?’ the girl asked.
‘I live in France. Where do you live?’ Jean-Luc gave the girl a longer look. She was near his own age, very natural-looking. Le tomboy, he thought. She had a cheeky smile.
‘I’m living here for the moment.’ She leaned forward and pushed the rock they’d been digging around and it rolled to one side. ‘There hasn’t been a full tide up this high for months so the sand’s not wet.’ She began to dig like a puppy searching for a bone, with no concern about her hands or nails. Not like any of the French girls I know, Jean-Luc said to himself.
‘Have you got any fish to cook?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen what the others have caught, but I haven’t been here long.’
‘Do you like fishing?’ She gave him a sidelong look, a hint of a challenge in her smile.
‘Yes, of course.’ They felt the branch loosen and together they quickly yanked it free. ‘That was great! Thank you so much for helping,’ said Jean-Luc.
‘I’ll help you drag it. Where’s your fire?’ the girl said eagerly.
‘Oh, you don’t have to,’ began Jean-Luc, but the girl was already lifting one end. Jean-Luc lifted the other end and together they began hauling the branch along the beach.
Eventually they got the long branch back to the camp. Before anyone could say anything, the girl smiled and declared to the people around the campfire, ‘I’m Peggy. Hello, everyone.’
Auntie Vi jumped in first. ‘Hello, Peggy. You out here all by yourself? Where’s your family?’
‘Just me and my dad. Down the coast a bit,’ Peggy said vaguely.
‘We seem to have a lot of fish,’ said Lydia. ‘You and your father are most welcome to join us tonight.’
‘Thanks very much. I’ll go and ask him. He might have some crabs we can eat, too.’
‘Well, that’d be good,’ said Auntie Maud. ‘I love a juicy bit of crab meat.’
‘See ya.’ And with that, Peggy gave a cheerful wave and sprinted away.
‘The barefoot princess,’ said Jacqui. She glanced up at Jean-Luc. ‘How did you meet Peggy?’
Jean-Luc shrugged. ‘She just appeared when I was trying to pull that branch out.’
‘Peggy and her father must be camped in a pretty remote spot,’ mused Lydia. ‘Wonder where they’re from.’
*
The aunties began to prepare the food, chatting quietly among themselves, and Lydia lay back in her chair, her eyes closed, the book in her lap forgotten. Jacqui got up quietly and went for a walk along the sand, admiring the setting sun burnishing the russet rocks. She could see Jean-Luc at the water’s edge and was pleased when one of the men handed her son his fishing rod and showed him where to cast into the small breakers. She stopped for a few minutes to watch. Suddenly, Jean-Luc, knee-deep in the wash of the waves, began furiously winding in his reel, while two of the uncles gesticulated madly, obviously giving him advice. Then, abruptly, flipping on the wet sand was a magnificent, broad flat fish.
‘Wow! That’s a beauty! Well done,’ shouted Jacqui as she ran towards her son. She reached for her phone and snapped Jean-Luc holding his enormous fish, the last of the light catching the glint of the fish’s iridescent blue scales and the enormous grin on Jean-Luc’s tanned face.
Danny slapped him on the back. ‘Good one. He’s mebbe four kilos.’
‘Now you gotta go clean ’im up,’ added Uncle Paddy. He pulled his fishing knife from his belt and handed it to Jean-Luc.
Jacqui took more photos of Jean-Luc scaling and gutting the fish at the edge of the rockpool, and then the two of them headed back towards the fire.
‘Well done, Jean-Luc,’ said Lydia, who had put her book away and was having a glass of wine. ‘Give it to Auntie Maud, she’s in charge.’ She handed Jacqui some wine. ‘Here’s to the sunset.’
The two women settled themselves in their chairs, facing the sea and watching the fading light. There was no need to say anything. Jacqui was content.
Jean-Luc came and sat beside her. ‘Maman, can I see the photos, please?’
‘You’re going to send them to your friends?’ asked Lydia.
‘Mais oui.’
Lydia’s gaze moved to something over Jean-Luc’s shoulder. ‘Hey, Jean-Luc, looks like your friend and her dad have turned up,’ she said, and Jacqui and Jean-Luc turned to look.
In the twilight they could see Peggy and a lanky man stopping to chat to the men fishing on th
e beach. Then the two of them walked from the water’s edge towards the campfire, and Jacqui could see that the man was carrying a bucket. She lifted her arm in greeting as they neared the fire.
‘Hello again, Peggy,’ said Lydia warmly as they approached.
‘Please, don’t get up,’ said the man with a smile. ‘I’m Phillip Knowles. Very kind of you to include us.’
Lydia introduced Phillip to everyone and the aunties lifted a hand and waved in acknowledgement from the table. One of the men handed him a beer.
‘Our contribution.’ Phillip Knowles lifted the bucket. ‘Mud crabs, caught and cooked this morning.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Lydia. ‘Jean-Luc, can you take some of the crabs down to the men?’
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ Jean-Luc put several of the crabs in another bucket and headed down to the fishermen.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Peggy said as she followed him.
‘So where are you camping, Phillip?’ asked Lydia.
‘Just in the dunes. Been there a couple of months now. We’ll have to move when the wet hits.’
‘And your daughter stays there with you?’ asked Jacqui, amazed at the thought of a young girl living in the sand dunes on a semi-permanent basis.
‘But she does go to school,’ said Phillip defensively. ‘She gets a lift each day with a bloke who works in Broome and whose sons go to the same school.’
‘How old is Peggy?’ asked Jacqui as she watched the pair down at the water’s edge, talking to the uncles. ‘She’s almost as tall as Jean-Luc.’
‘Nearly seventeen. Can’t understand how she’s so skinny. Eats like a horse,’ said her father with a smile.
‘I remember those days,’ chuckled Lydia. ‘Ah, looks like the men are packing up.’
Everybody mucked in and was given jobs by the aunties to get the feast ready. After demolishing the cold crab, people found a place to sit and chat quietly while the potatoes and cobs of corn were pulled from the fire, and the salad, bread rolls, sauces and chunks of lemon were passed around while the grilled fish was divided onto plates. There was some idle chatter, a few comments, the passing of platters and drinks, but essentially everyone’s concentration was focused on eating.
Gradually serving plates were pushed aside and paper plates and napkins thrown into the fire.
‘Delicious, thanks, aunties. Thanks, fishermen, and Phillip, for the crabs.’ Lydia raised her glass and saluted them all.
‘What’s for dessert?’ asked young Toby, and everyone laughed.
‘Later. Later. Some fresh fruit and coconut cake,’ promised Auntie Maud. ‘When we brew the billy.’
Everyone relaxed into a comfortable stupor as they settled in groups, the men, the women, and young people. Jacqui noticed that although Peggy appeared to listen to the boys’ sports talk, she also watched her father and seemed to follow his conversation with Lydia.
‘I know the Kimberley and the north-west pretty well,’ Phillip said. ‘I’ve been working up here for quite some time, but had a few issues and had to walk away from my job. I collected Peggy and we came to the coast and settled among the dunes. I know we’ll have to join the real world soon enough, I suppose, but for the moment our life suits us.’
‘What do you do with yourself all day, out here?’ wondered Lydia. ‘Other than fish and go crabbing?’
‘I used to lecture on conservation. I’m writing up a lot of field notes and observations I’ve made over the last few years. If my paper is well received I might make a stab at returning to university life. Though, once you’ve had this kind of freedom it’s hard to conform to what often seem to be ridiculous and petty rules and regulations, and all the more so for me after Peggy’s mum died two years ago. But as soon as Peggy starts uni and has to re-join the rat race, I might as well join her.’ He smiled at his daughter across the fire.
Jacqui glanced at Peggy, wondering what the young girl felt about this lifestyle and the impending changes to it.
Just then the young group got to their feet.
‘We’re going down to the water. Trying for a fish,’ said a boy called Joe.
‘No swimming in the dark,’ cautioned Auntie Vi.
‘No, Auntie.’
Peggy jumped to her feet too. ‘Can I borrow a rod, please?’
‘Take mine,’ said Uncle Danny. ‘That green fella over there. Still some prawns left, if you want some bait,’ he added.
‘Thanks heaps. Do I get to keep the fish I catch?’ she asked with a cheeky grin.
Jean-Luc reached for the rod he’d been using. ‘Let’s see who gets one first.’
After an hour or so, only Peggy had caught a fish, so the boys decided to give up and get some dessert. Back at the fire Peggy handed the rod back to Uncle Danny and offered him the fish.
He gave her a smile. ‘You keep that fella for your breakfast.’
‘There’s cake if you’d like it, Peggy,’ said Phillip. ‘Then we’d better head back.’
As Peggy helped herself to Auntie Maud’s coconut cake, Jean-Luc turned to his mother.
‘Do you think that Peggy and her dad would want to come to the writers’ festival?’
‘You could ask them, Jean-Luc.’
When Jean-Luc went over to speak to Peggy, Jacqui watched the two of them in deep conversation. Peggy seemed to be quite excited and came over to talk to her.
‘Jean-Luc says you own a bookshop. I love to read. I don’t mean things for school. I just like books.’
‘So do I,’ said Jacqui with a smile. ‘That’s something we have in common.’
‘And this writers’ festival. I don’t know anything about it – who’s coming?’ Peggy asked, sounding enthusiastic.
Jacqui told her briefly what the festival was about and suggested that she pop into the bookshop after school one day to pick up a programme.
‘I’ll ask my father to let me come.’
‘I can arrange tickets for you,’ Jean-Luc suddenly offered.
‘Let’s hope the printers have them ready,’ whispered Lydia to Jacqui. ‘Another drama,’ she sighed.
After Peggy and Phillip had thanked everyone for the barbeque they set off along the beach to their camp. Some of the group started to choose a spot to sleep for the night and lay out their swags. The uncles sat hunched with blankets draped over their shoulders, talking quietly, while the aunties made hollows in the sand beneath their blankets, and settled in with sighs and grunts.
‘You okay?’ whispered Jacqui to Jean-Luc as they climbed into their sleeping bags.
‘Oui, Maman.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I find that Peggy is an interesting girl,’ he said seriously. ‘Très sympa!’
‘In what way?’ Jacqui asked, pleased that her son wanted to share his thoughts with her.
‘I know she isn’t super pretty, and she doesn’t try to be. She’s not obsessed with how she looks and that is so different from the girls I know in France. Annabelle and other girls have no interest in anything but themselves. They’re obsessed with the latest make-up and fashions and being stick thin and practising the art of seduction. I think it’s stupid and pathetic. Maybe they would sneer at Peggy, but I don’t think Peggy would care.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Jacqui replied. ‘I don’t think she’d care either.’ Jacqui smiled to herself. It seemed that the arrival of Peggy had enabled Jean-Luc to see Annabelle in a truer light. She looked up at the sky.
‘Look at those stars, Jean-Luc,’ sighed Jacqui. ‘You feel you could just swim into them. They’re so close you can’t put a pin between them.’
‘Yes. Nowhere else can you see them like this,’ said Jean-Luc.
Suddenly, there was a rush of red sparks soaring into the night sky as one of the uncles dragged the last bit of Jean-Luc’s branch into the fire.
‘Lucky you got that
big branch,’ said Jacqui.
‘Only because Peggy helped me,’ he replied. ‘She’s strong for her size.’
‘Peggy . . . it’s a pretty name.’
Jean-Luc was silent a moment. ‘Peggy,’ he said again, softly.
‘G’night, Jean-Luc. I hope you’re comfortable enough.’
‘Bonne nuit, Maman. I am good.’
Jacqui felt herself drifting to sleep, and as she settled herself she glanced at her son.
Jean-Luc was still awake, staring at the stars. But he looked content. And for this moment, Jacqui couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be.
5
The town suddenly had a very different vibe. With ten days to go before the festival, already there were more people wandering about, sitting in cafés, strolling along the seafront and browsing in the shops, all of which manifested as an energy, a buzz. These weren’t all just tourists moving around the north-west, but included some who’d come for a reason, with expectations. The writers’ festival loomed.
When Nat took over the organisation of the festival, she suggested that after this year, the event’s name could be changed to the more inclusive ‘North-west Festival’.
‘That way we are including other towns. Why can’t the festival be held in Derby, Fitzroy Crossing or Halls Creek?’ she asked at her first meeting as chairperson.
‘It certainly sounds as though it could involve more places, but let’s see how this one goes, first,’ muttered Rachel tactfully; really she thought it was a terrible suggestion. Rachel was a local English teacher and was in charge of ticket sales for the festival. ‘Sales are a bit less than I expected. I sure hope we get a bunch of people at the last minute,’ she added.
‘It’s Broome. People leave everything till the last minute,’ said Nat. ‘I’ve been told that the caravan park has had a heap of bookings. So there might be a need for another camping venue for the caravan and motorhome mob.’
‘The caravan park has the best location right on the beachfront where it’s sheltered. But it would be good if the council could organise for another area to be opened up quickly. One not too far away,’ said Brian. With his sales and marketing skills as a real estate manager, Brian had been a logical choice to manage sponsorship and advertising.