Shirley slipped into the water and floated face down. She did not feel confident with her mask and snorkel, and her flippers felt loose. The coral garden below gleamed in curtains of sunlight. She hung in the water, absorbed in the reef"s strangeness and clustering beauty. As she watched, she began to see more and more fish. Small, silver and blue, cruising amongst the fronds. The warm water had stopped her ears and isolated her. She was floating above an alien world and there was nothing to do but wonder at it.
Later, after Marilyn had taken her turn with the snorkel, they puttered over to Tom and Walter.
“Any luck, mate?” called Marilyn as they drifted closer.
“You bet,” said Tom. “Three trout so far. We"ll give up in a
minute. No point taking more than one each. You going to fish?”
“What do you reckon, Shirl?” asked Marilyn. “Want to drop
a line?”
“Not really. I don"t know how anyway.”
“Right, let"s give it a miss for today. Hey, Tom, how about stopping at the point on the way back and grilling the fish?”
Tom looked and Walter and agreed. “Yeah – why not? You got anything to go with them?”
“I"ve got bread and beer in the esky. What about you?”
“A few things. We"ll just try for a couple more, and we"ll be
with you.”
Marilyn took her boat around the reef and ran it gently onto the sand bar. They sat on the sand under a faded beach umbrella, staring out to sea. The horizon stretched without limit, and out of their world.
“This is a great place, isn"t it?” said Marilyn. “The Coral Sea. Even the name"s good. Head offshore, and the next stop"s South America.”
“No islands on the way?”
“Well, yes. But you"d have to go looking for them. They"re
all tiny, and there"s a lot of sea. I like it better this way. Sea"s the
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same, the palms are the same, and from Port Bruce I can take off to Cairns whenever I want to. Once you"re on the islands, you"re stuck there. Unless you can afford the air fare out, and that"s not cheap.
“Don"t tell me you"re yearning for Tahiti.”
Shirley answered slowly. “No. Not at all. Port Bruce is pretty good. Good enough for me anyway.”
“You getting more work?”
“Des was talking about it. He says there might be some at
the shop.”
“I could have a word to Main Roads, if you like. Wouldn"t be regular, but when they"re up here on projects they might have something and they pay well. What about the club? I bet their records are junk. One of these days there"ll be a liquor inspector around asking questions, and then there"ll be trouble. Shall I talk to them?”
Shirley thought for a moment. She wanted to work. Being a perpetual tourist made her feel guilty. “Yes, please. I"d like to earn a bit more cash. Every little helps.”
They stared out to sea in silence, then Marilyn asked, “You got family, Shirl? Did you ever tell me?”
“Just my mother. She lives in Guildford. That"s not far outside London.”
“Going to invite her over? It"s a good time of year to do that. The Wet comes in after Christmas, and everything stops. They close the road, and sometimes we go for a week or two without planes too. Makes life difficult, and there"s a lot more bugs. The tourists don"t like them.”
Would her mother like Port Bruce, Shirley asked herself? She would have to, wouldn"t she? Everyone would like it, especially after Guildford.
“She could stay at my place, if you like. We can always fit another one in,” Marilyn offered.
They followed the men back towards Port Bruce . The breeze had brought ripples to the water, slapping against the hull. The boat bounced and felt alive as it skipped across the surface. The
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river mouth lay open before them. On their left, the tiny houses of Port Bruce hid amongst their trees. The empty north shore beach stretched out to their right, a line of low dunes with a narrow beach at their foot.
As she sat enjoying the wind in her hair, Shirley toyed with the idea of her mother visiting. Would she enjoy this, or would she be frightened? Would the reality of Uncle John"s house be too much for her? But then, she reasoned, no-one could be frightened with Marilyn to take care of her. She looked back at Marilyn sitting in the stern with her hand on the tiller. She looked solid, reliable and
comfortable to be with. Marilyn caught her eye and smiled, as if she knew she had been under scrutiny.
The smile made up Shirley"s mind. She would call this evening and persuade her mother to come for a holiday.
They followed Walter around the sandy point that the north shore extended towards Port Bruce and anchored in the shallow water beyond. Shirley waded ashore carrying the esky and followed the others up to the strand line and the shade of a stunted tree under the dunes.
Walter had brought a steel mesh with him, greasy and blackened from many barbecues . Shirley left the men setting their grill up between two logs and walked along the beach. This was a wild place, facing the trade winds and harder than the quiet beauty of Mission Bay. The driftwood of a tropical river lay along the tide line, mixed with faded plastic rubbish. Was there anything for a beachcomber? She strolled on, searching.
When she returned empty-handed, the others were stretched out by the fire, beer in hand.
“You"re late, Shirl,” said Marilyn. “Pull up a piece of sand. We"re just waiting for the fire to die down.”
Shirley took a beer from the esky and joined them. “What"s on the menu?”
“Corn,” said Tom, “And then we"ll put the fish on. In fact, I"ll start the corn now. The fire"s about right. One each? Two? I"ll cook them all.”
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He pulled fresh corn cobs from his string bag, still in their tight green wrappings, and laid them on the grill. They started to blacken immediately.
“That"s it?” asked Shirley. “They"ll cook like that?”
Tom smiled at her. “That"s it. You"ll be surprised. I bet they don"t cook like this back in London.”
“You can bet on it,” said Marilyn, “But they do some pretty good stuff, all the same. I had a cracker of a fish soup while I was there. Probably cost more than I earn in a month, but it was good. All sorts of fish and a spicy soup alongside. You cook like that, Shirl?”
“I try sometimes, but getting fresh fish is expensive.”
“Right, the boys and I will make you an offer. We"ll get you the fresh fish, whatever you want, and you do the cooking. We"re good at fresh fish in Port Bruce. Deal?”
“These might be done,” said Tom and took a corn cob from the fire. He pulled the leaves back, steaming his fingers in the process. “Ow, ow, ow! There must be an easier way. Pass the salt, Walter.” Holding the cob by its folded back leaves, he sprinkled salt on the pale kernels and passed it on to Shirley.
It was good. Subtle, sweet and salty. As she munched, Shirley watched Tom prepare the fish. He was deft, his large fingers nimble as he sliced small green limes and stuffed them into the body cavities of the trout. He wrapped each fish in banana leaves and laid the parcels on the grill, nearly touching the hot coals below.
Tom looked up and smiled at her. “There – I"ll make someone a lovely wife one day.”
Walter snorted. “That takes a deal more than just good cooking, believe me. What do you say, Marilyn?”
“I don"t know. I"m still looking for one. What else can you do, Tom? Cleaning, ironing?”
Tom did not answer but busied himself poking the fire, and Shirley realised with a start that he was embarrassed. Shy. It made him look young, and charming.
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They ate carefully, lifting the steaming white flesh from the fish and spreading it on Marilyn"s plain white bread. As she enjoyed it, Shirley found herself wonder
ing how mother would enjoy it. She had to make that phone call.
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Chapter 28
It was Shirley"s turn to do something for her friends, but Mr Hing"s presence made problems. His secret existence was, well, secret and Marilyn did not know about him. Shirley shrugged and decided to cook something nice for the folks up the river, and make it up to Marilyn later.
Des had sold her a frozen crayfish from his private freezer, and she added some green prawns from the minimarket as the basics for a seafood bisque. She had worked most of the afternoon, and now it was keeping warm in a saucepan wrapped in a bath towel. Beside it, the conchiglie pasta was ready to go into its pot as soon as the others arrived.
She took a moment to relax, look out over the river and
watch the sun set. The river was hers now. She travelled on it every day and it lapped at her front step. Its untidy beauty had become familiar and necessary. Her London flat and its crowded street belonged on another planet.
As she watched, Tom"s canoe slid into view around the river bend, and she hurried to drop the pasta into its water. Mr Hing climbed up from the canoe with a big smile and a string bag of fresh fruit and vegetables. Tom had a green coconut under each arm, both neatly trimmed and ready to be pierced. Walter arrived with the wine, and they crowded around her little table to wait for the food.
The bisque was good. Shirley"s cooking did not always work but this meal was lucky, and the men ate hungrily. She sipped her wine and basked in their compliments.
Beyond the glare of the two lanterns hanging from her veranda eaves, night had fallen on the river, and the palms on the far bank were only a line of deeper black. The raucous chorus of insects and frogs filled the air, but Shirley no longer noticed it.
There were footsteps on the walkway outside, and everyone looked up. Before Shirley could get to the door, it swung open
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confidently and Japan stepped into the light. He wore his normal black leather jacket and carried a long, black torch in his hand.
He glanced around but took seconds to understand what he saw. “A fucking Chinese. You bitch, you stupid, fucking bitch.”
He raised his torch like a club and stepped towards Shirley as Tom stood up. She shrank from the blow, protecting her head and not understanding the pain of Tom"s chair falling back across her unprotected foot. Somehow Tom had grabbed Japan"s wrist in one hand and with sudden violence he drove his other fist deep into Japan"s stomach.
Still confused, Shirley watched as Japan was thrown back by the force of Tom"s punch. Tom released him and he fell to the floor, bunched up like a dead spider. He lay curled around his stomach, retching and straining for breath. His spindly limbs and lank hair seemed inhuman.
“Jesus, Tom, is he OK?” Shirley asked.
Tom was not sure. “I suppose so. Just winded, I think.”
They stood around him and watched his efforts at recovery. Shirley felt no pity for him but had to do something to help.
“Should we give him some water?”
“No, mate,” said Walter. “Just get him out of here. He"ll get his breath back soon enough.”
Hing knew what to do. He pulled at Tom"s shirt and Pointed. “In river. In river!”
“No,” said Tom with a smile. “Not me. Even if it"d do the world a favour. We"ll just get rid of him. He can find his own way home.”
By now, Japan had managed to get his knees under him, although his face was still pressed to the floor. Tom picked him up by his belt and a handful of his jacket and half carried him out of the door and into the night.
It had taken moments. Shirley still felt confused. Theirempty plates were undisturbed on the table and Walter was picking up the fallen chair. Japan had burst in, and now he had gone. Suddenly Shirley"s head was spinning and Walter helped her sit on
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the bed. He pushed her head down to her knees and held her down with a hand on her shoulder. “Wait a bit, lass. Breathe deep. You"ll be right in a minute.”
By the time Tom returned, they were sitting at the table again and Shirley was sipping her wine. “Gone?” she asked.
“Yes. Not walking very well, but he"ll manage. No real harm done, I think. How"s your foot?”
“Sore. I"m going to be limping tomorrow. But I"d rather have a sore foot than a bang over the head with this thing.” Japan"s torch was standing next to the wine bottle.
Tom picked it up and shone it across the river. “That"s a powerful torch.” The light swung along the palms, their fronds shining silver against the blackness of the swamp behind.
“You"d better keep that, Tom,” said Walter. “It"ll be great
for croc spotting.”
“No. It"s fine, but I"d never be able to keep it in batteries.
Shirl can have it.”
“Not me. I"ll give it to Marilyn and she can hand it back next time she"s up the Makepeace. I don"t want anything to do with Japan. Ever. I wonder why he was here? He really spoilt the party, damn him.” She put the kettle on the gas ring to make coffee.
Her cup was nearly empty when they heard steps again, running down the boardwalk to the house. Tom grabbed the torch from the table and leapt to the door.
“Shirl, Shirl, are you OK?” It was Marilyn calling. She pushed past Tom into the light. “Jesus, girl, have you seen Japan?” Then she saw Mr Hing and said “Oh.”
Shirley led her in and introduced her. “Marilyn, this is Mr Hing. He"s a big secret.”
With an uncomfortable smile, Mr Hing held out his hand. “Er, Mrs Marilyn. I hear very much.”
“Just Marilyn, mate. Secret? Oh, never mind that. Hey Shirl, Japan"s coming. He got pissed off at Rupert over something, and he"s on the road down here. Raylene just called me. You"d better get out of the way.”
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“Relax, Marilyn. He"s been and gone. Come and sit down. Tom, give her some wine and tell her all about it.”
She went to check the remains of the bisque. There was just enough and she put it to heat. By the time she carried a plate to Marilyn, the others had opened another bottle of wine and settled down to drink it.
Marilyn stayed behind when the others left. She poured more wine into their glasses and pushed Shirley"s across to her. “Now, tell me the truth. What was all that about? Mr Hing, I mean.”
“I don"t know. Honestly. At least, I don"t know the whole story. Mr Hing got here by accident. Tom and Walter found him on the beach one day, and he"s staying with Tom to learn English. I think he"s looking for someone, a relative, down in Melbourne. Someone illegal, sent there by Japan.”
Marilyn thought for a while. “A girl, I suppose. Well, he won"t find her up here. Does he know how far away Melbourne is? And why was Japan looking for him? How did he even know Hing was here?”
“I don"t think he does. Well, he does now, of course. You remember when Japan kicked us out of here and took your boat? He must have picked up some girls from a ship and brought them through here. When I got back, I found a note hidden under the kettle. In Chinese. I gave it to Mr Hing and he said it was from some girls going to Melbourne. I helped him get a message out first to Rupert and then to China, and those men in the Mercedes turned up later in the month.”
“Jesus, Shirl. Hing must have really stirred things up. Does
he know what happened down there?”
“Well, no. I think Tom told him about those two men but
no-one"s told him anything else. No-one knows where he is. Except us, and we"re keeping it secret.”
“Oh Christ, I"ve just realised. Japan"s going to think I knew all along, and I was swearing blind there were no Chinese up here in Port Bruce. He"s not going to like that. I"m going to be as deep in the shit as you are already. What exactly did Tom do to him?”
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“He punched in the stomach. Really hard. Japan couldn"t do anything. Tom carried him out and let him go. You must have passed him on the road.”
“There was a four wheel drive on the road, but it could have been anyone in the dark. Oh Jesus, now we"re in trouble. I"d better get back and give Raylene a call.
“What are you doing tomorrow? Right, I don"t have anything on either. Breakfast at Lulu"s? We"d better sit and talk.”
After Marilyn had left, Shirley put the kettle on for washing up and started to tidy things away. As she thought over the evening"s troubles, she slowly realised how lucky she had been. If her friends had not been there, if Japan had found her alone... Suddenly there were tears in her eyes and she felt shaky.
Only for a moment. Feeling sorry for herself and crying would not help. She poured more wine, and got on with the washing
up.
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Chapter 29
Next morning, Shirley was already puttering down the riverin her boat before she truly woke up. Yet another beautiful day in Queensland. The sun, still shouldering its way into the sky, shone gently and the hint of a breeze in the palm leave s left no ripples on the water. She was alone, sailing down a tropical river. Just her, the muddy water, trees on the banks and their birds, squawking and flapping from branch to branch.
A sense of bubbling contentment filled her. The world felt good, her mother was coming to visit, and her London life was no more than a dream.
Marilyn was waiting with the coffees when she reached Lulu"s. “Looking good, Shirl. What are you so happy about?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don"t know – who needs an excuse?”
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