Annie didn’t look at me once as she spoke, both hands gripping her wineglass so tightly I thought she would break the stem. She shed no tears and her voice was steady, almost a monotone, except when she came to the bit about her husband being killed. Her speech became slower and there were a lot of pauses. Once or twice she gave a slight choke. Eventually she came to a halt. She looked at me for the first time and said in a brittle voice: ‘So that’s about it. Not a pretty story, I think you’ll agree. One minute we were on holiday, having fun, the next my husband and our friends were brutally murdered and I’m in the middle of a . . . of a Stephen King horror story.’
And with that, she apologised and said she had to go lie down. I sat there for a long time, nursing my tepid beer, processing what I had just learnt and wondering what might become of Annie. How could this lovely woman ever find her way from the hell she was in – grieving for her husband and friends and grieving for the pain and humiliation she had suffered at the hands of the pirates.
Then, I am ashamed to say, I started thinking about the fact that she had been married. I had noticed previously that there had been no wedding ring on her finger. I now realised that the pirates would have taken it. Was it a happy union, I wondered. That rather crass question was still knocking about in my head when I went to bed.
36
IN THE morning I got up early to avoid seeing her because, frankly, I did not know what to say or what to do after hearing her story. Besides, I had a mission of sorts. After feeding Wagga, I set off eagerly to go back and check out the lava cave. During the night I had dreamt uneasily both of pirates and dark sinister shapes against a red, flickering light that I couldn’t make out, but I knew were somehow evil. A woman was screaming in the background. I woke up with a dry mouth and damp sheets again.
I found the rock pool again easily enough and carefully navigated the cave entrance brandishing not one but two torches. I had also brought some candles. When it comes to solving problems, belt and braces, my father had taught me. Once through the narrow hole, the space widened out gradually, first to a cylindrical tunnel shape but then to an area almost as tall as a cathedral. There was a ferocious stench and my thongs squelched on sticky patches on the tunnel floor. I knew it was batshit because hundreds of the buggers were flying around above like demented bees; obviously the light was pissing them off.
Apart from rock-like formations, and an impressive display of what looked like stalactites, the cave was empty. I was crushed; I had expected more. A lot more. Surely this was the pirate boss’s hidey-hole? Surely this was where he’d stashed his treasure? I looked around again, training the torches on the ground to see if there were any fresh marks from digging. Nothing. But then, I saw another cigarette butt. Eureka! I went over, flashed the torch around the floor and up and down, the action stirring up the bats even more. Seeing a faint footprint on the ground next to the wall, I looked up: less than a metre above my head a natural stone ledge stood out.
Standing on tiptoe, I reached up and felt with my hand over the top of the ledge. At first there was nothing but dust and dried batshit but then my fingers touched something more solid, something that seemed to be a box or a small chest. My excitement soared. Holding one of the torches in my mouth, I reached up with both hands and brought down what looked like a small suitcase or toolbox. It resembled the protective cases photographers use to carry their equipment around.
I put it on the ground and knelt down; it was padlocked and I couldn’t get it open. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How bloody frustrating. I stood up, went back to the ledge, felt again. Two more boxes. I lifted them down. Both also locked. One was much heavier than the others. My first instinct was to find some sort of tool to force the locks open and find out what was inside. I’ve got to know what’s in there, I thought, my mind feverish with a mixture of excitement and greed. But, after a moment of demented delirium, normal thinking prevailed: if you open them, I thought, there’s no going back. You’ll have to break the locks and he’ll know they’ve been tampered with. Alternatively, you can simply put them back and no one will know you’ve touched them. The good angel whispered in one ear: ‘If he finds out that you’ve been screwing around with his stuff, he’ll find you and kill you.’ But then the bad angel sidled up close and said: ‘You’ll regret it your whole life if you don’t find out what’s inside those boxes. Go on . . . just take a little look. You know you want to! You can always put them back. He might know someone’s had a look but as long as nothing’s taken, he’ll let it go.’
Of course, I told myself, you could just grab the cases, pack up The Scoop and simply hightail it away from here. The pirates will never know who took their loot. The thought was seriously tempting. But, despite the danger, I was strangely reluctant to leave. Rehab still felt like home and, besides, I did not think Annie was strong enough yet to handle a sea voyage, particularly if conditions were rough. Maybe in a day or so, I mused.
So, in the end, the good angel won and I put the cases back on the ledge. When I got back to The Scoop, I didn’t reveal my discovery to Annie; I still hadn’t made up my mind what to do about them and so decided not to burden her with it. Also, I was afraid that any mention of the stocky man might also trigger more mental anguish for her; that was the last thing I wanted so I kept my mouth shut.
37
THAT NIGHT Annie dropped two bombshells. The first came over dinner – a barbecue on the beach. Against the background noise of gentle rolling surf, we were serenaded by the usual nocturnal noises of frogs and cicadas, as well as birds and monkeys. I had built up a big fire to provide some light, and also to keep the damn mozzies away. Earlier I had caught a fairly large fish near the reef, some sort of trevally, I thought, and Annie had boiled some rice and flavoured it with some mushrooms she had found. For dessert we had some fresh figs. We were sitting on towels on the sand, the only light coming from the starry sky and the glowing barbecue embers.
‘Jonno, this morning, when you were gone, I had a bit of a panic attack. I felt paranoid that the pirates would return any minute. It was horrible.’ She shuddered and took a big gulp of warm wine. ‘I really, really need you to get me away from here as soon as possible. Can you do that? I mean, this boat can still sail, can’t it?’
Ah, shit. It was hardly a surprise but it was not what I wanted to hear. I had hoped for more time on the island to ensure that I had fully got over the drug withdrawal process. I did not yet feel ready to go back to civilisation. And, to be honest, I was enjoying the opportunity to get to know Annie. I turned to look at her and immediately realised how selfish all that was: even in the shadowy darkness I could tell her face was strained and her eyes haunted by unimaginable horror.
‘Yes, of course. I understand totally. We can leave any time. Soon as you are ready, I guess. Obviously The Scoop has no power but she is seaworthy.’ I looked over at the ship on the water. ‘She’ll need a little bit of preparation but I can get started on that tomorrow morning if you like. Depending on the tide, we could be ready to go by early afternoon.’
She nodded eagerly. ‘That would be good, Jonno. I haven’t felt well enough before now, but I really must report what’s happened . . . Martin’s death and, of course, the others. I have to tell the authorities. Let the families know, including mine, that I am safe. All that stuff. I feel so guilty that it’s taken me this long to, you know, think about that.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘And I really don’t know what I would do if the pirates came back. I think I’d go out of my mind.’
‘That won’t happen,’ I said reassuringly. But I knew fine well that the pirate leader would not stash those suitcases full of stuff – whatever it was – in that cave if they did not come back regularly. Annie was dead right . . . we probably should leave as soon as possible. But, first, I really wanted to get back to the cave.
When we returned to the boat, I felt it was my turn to talk. I hadn’t told Annie much about myself earlier as she had needed space. Now I gave her an edited version of my life; I told
her I was simply a ‘mere humble spinner of words’ and outlined my journalistic career in Sydney and London. Being British, she knew the Daily Tribune, of course. I avoided any mention of the book, the film and all the Hollywood nonsense. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her everything; perhaps I didn’t want to sound like a braggart, or perhaps it still felt a bit raw. To my credit, I did tell her about my problems with cocaine and the reason I had ‘checked in’ to Rehab Island. She smiled wryly at the name.
‘I was wondering what to call it. Rehab Island suits the place very well. After all, this is a sort of rehab for me too. From what you’ve just told me, it sounds like we’re both damaged goods.’
Damaged goods, I thought, that describes me perfectly. But somehow I couldn’t think of Annie that way. Unlike me, she was not to blame for any part of what had happened to her. In fact, she was showing incredible courage and character. She looked more rested and composed, and once again I was drawn to her. But then she dropped her second bombshell.
‘Jonno, I’ve been wondering. Where were you when the pirates were . . . well, when they were attacking Dani and me? I mean, did you see what was happening? Wasn’t there anything you could have done?’ Her voice faltered at this point and she took another gulp of wine.
My head dropped. I had hoped that she would never raise the subject. What could I say? That I was scared? That I had felt rage and frustration and impotence? But then I looked her straight in the eye and told her the truth.
‘Annie, I am so sorry. I was up there,’ I pointed up towards the shadowy cliff now highlighted by the milky moon. ‘And I guess I saw and heard enough to know what was happening. But I had absolutely no idea what to do. There were so many of them and they had weapons and it was dark and well . . . what could I do?’ How feeble that sounded. But it was the truth. ‘You have no idea how that made me feel. Still makes me feel. I will spend the rest of my life wondering if there was some way to rescue you. I guess it’s why I was so determined to stop you from drowning the next morning.’
Annie was silent for several moments, her eyes still locked on mine. Then she nodded. ‘That’s what I reckoned.’ And with that she said goodnight.
38
I WAS sitting in the cockpit, having breakfast and still feeling ashamed about our conversation the night before. I was also wondering how I could get the boat ready to leave that day . . . and get back to the cave. The morning sun had already turned the air sultry and I was naked apart from a pair of boardies as I tackled a healthy breakfast of fruit salad – bananas, mango and dragon fruit with grated coconut. When we get back I’ll have a huge fry-up, I promised myself.
Just then Annie appeared from the saloon and brandished something right in my face. It was a paperback copy of Hard News. She was holding it open at the flyleaf, which was graced by a photograph of yours truly; not a bad one in fact . . . I’m looking directly at the camera, fist holding my chin up in a serious but, I think, rather sexy pose. Uh oh, I thought, she must have found it in one of the cupboards. Bugger.
‘This is you, I take it?’ she said. ‘Jonno Bligh, bestselling author? The same person who told me he was just a humble hack?’
Despite the book being centimetres from my nose, I tried smiling modestly. She whacked the book down on the cockpit table with a sharp crack, causing Wagga to jump almost a metre in the air, his fur sticking out as if he’d been electrocuted.
‘I feel such a fool. An Oscar, for God’s sake! When were you going to tell me you were famous?’ She was standing, hands on hips, her brows furrowed. ‘Well? You did lie to me, didn’t you?’
‘Look, Annie, take it easy, I can expl—’
‘Take it easy? Take it easy! I told you everything about me. Now I find you’re a . . . a big hotshot celebrity and you didn’t think to tell me?’ Two red spots fired her pale cheeks.
‘Wait, let me explain . . .’
But she was gone, her back disappearing through the saloon door. Jesus Christ, what was that all about? I thought. A bit of an overreaction, surely? But I knew I should have told her the truth. Her behaviour was understandable given what she had been through. I went to her cabin door, knocked gently. ‘Annie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘Piss off, Jonno. I don’t want to talk to you right now.’
I sat on the floor outside and told her everything anyway. I mean everything: the tawdry life I’d led in Tinseltown, my dysfunctional family, Percy’s death and his letter to me, the row with Cody, the whole nine yards. Even how Wagga ended up on board. Man, it was like baring my soul to Dr Phil. I was just getting to the part about Percy urging me to find a good woman, and that I thought I’d found her, which would have been a huge mistake, when the door opened.
‘Jonno, you are an idiot. After everything that happened to me, I thought you were a man I could trust. But you lied to me.’
I was still squatting on the floor, looking up at Annie framed in the doorway, her face flushed and serious. My heart turned over. I stood up awkwardly and almost bumped into her; she put a hand on my chest to steady me.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. It was stupid, I just didn’t think. Forgive me? Please?’
She stood there for a moment and then put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Well, right now, everything I believed in seems to have been ripped to shreds. It’s like the ground has opened up under my feet. I just want to be able to rely on something. On somebody.’
‘You can rely on me,’ I said, my eyes stupidly welling up, my throat constricting. ‘You can totally rely on me,’ I repeated hoarsely. ‘Annie, I promise you I’ll never let you down again.’ And I put my hand on my heart.
It must have been the right thing to say because she started crying herself and then she put her arms around me, her face salty against my bare chest.
39
‘SORRY. DIDN’T mean to be so dramatic. I’m just feeling a bit emotional right now. Horrible mood swings, you know,’ Annie said a little later. I noticed, not for the first time, that she talked like an Italian orchestra conductor, her long-fingered hands waggling and waving, clenching and chopping. It was always a virtuoso performance. We were sitting in the cockpit of The Scoop, taking advantage of an early afternoon breeze.
‘So you’re famous,’ she said. ‘Does that mean you’re incredibly rich too? What about this lovely boat? Is it chartered as you said?’
‘Actually I own it. Sorry. Another silly fib. Mind you, the name should have given you a clue.’
‘Of course!’ She gave her forehead a soft tap. ‘Shows you how screwed up I am – The Scoop Jon B. Would have been an almighty coincidence if you had managed to find a boat to charter that already had your name on it.’
‘Quite. And I am far from rich. The fact is The Scoop is about the only thing I do own and I’ll probably have to sell her unless I can sort out a new book.’
‘And how’s that working out?’
‘What, the book?’
‘Yes. Have you started writing it?’
I explained about my inability to write a word during my struggles with Charlie. But in the few weeks I’d been on Rehab Island, the juices had been miraculously released and I was starting to feel cautiously optimistic that I’d be able to deliver a fat, bankable piece of work.
‘Is that why you write, to make money?’ she asked.
‘No, but I’ve got rather attached to The Scoop and if I don’t want to pay back the advance I got, I’ll need to come up with another bestseller.’
‘Tell me about Hard News. I hope to read it when we get back. And I’ll definitely watch the film.’
So I told her how it all came about – the story that destroyed a government, that turned into a bestseller and an Oscar-winning film, the story that changed my life . . . The Scoop. Of course, Percy was the catalyst.
I sat back in the sunshine, thinking that it was great to be back on good terms when Annie leaned over and put one hand on my arm: ‘Look Jonno, I want to apologise if I made you feel guil
ty earlier . . . you know, about not doing anything to help me on the beach that night? It would have been suicidal for you to try. We both know I wouldn’t even be alive now if it wasn’t for you. Can you forgive me?’
‘Nothing to forgive. I just wish I was some sort of movie superhero who could have stopped those bastards ruining your life.’
‘Jonno, let me tell you something. When I was captured and put in that dark place in the pirate ship, I swore to myself that, whatever happened, I would not become one of those people who spend their waking hours bitter and twisted, never able to move on. I refuse to be a victim for the rest of my life.
‘So don’t pity me or think of me as some pathetic creature who is permanently sorry for herself; I couldn’t stand that.’
This woman is amazing, I thought. After all she’s been through, her spirit is still so strong. And in the weeks that followed I was to find that she did indeed have incredible reserves of courage and a will to survive.
That lump was back in my throat again; but I was saved from responding when Annie abruptly changed the subject.
‘Okay, when are we leaving today?’
In the spirit of my pledge never to lie to her again, I decided to tell her about the pirate cache I’d found in the lava cave. Taking a deep breath, I said: ‘Annie, I need to tell you something important.’ Her face darkened when I related the story about the squat, stocky man leaving the beach with a briefcase under his arm. I told her that I had retraced his steps and found the cave and, when I described the hidden entrance, the bats and what I’d found there, her eyes grew larger and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’.
‘Oh, my God, Jonno, what was in the cases? Where are they?’
I explained that I had left them in the cave unopened. There might not be anything of value in them. Deep down, I knew that was unlikely. There was something special about those cases. Why else would the pirate guy take so much trouble to hide them in such an odd, out-of-the-way place? And why have the briefcase chained to his wrist? There was no doubt in my mind that there was valuable stuff hidden in that cave.
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