‘Yes, then.’
He looked up sharply from his notes. He was surprised. No doubt he had been expecting another prevarication.
‘Who was the woman?’
‘She doesn’t want to press charges.’
‘Who dragged her out?’
‘She doesn’t want to press charges.’
‘Who stuck a pencil in the guy’s leg?’
‘Does he want to press charges?’
Tarrant looked at me for a long time. Then he stood up and motioned to McGarry with his head. They both left the room. A few minutes later McGarry came back.
‘He’s not happy with you,’ she said.
‘I can understand that, I guess.’
She sat looking at me.
‘Can I tell you something off the record?’ I said. ‘By which I mean, can you turn off the video?’
‘Wait a moment.’ She left the room and was gone for about five minutes. When she came back she said, ‘The video’s off, we’re not recording. But Tarrant is listening.’
‘Fine. All I wanted to say is that the woman is okay, she’s safe. She was badly beaten but she is being cared for and she is recovering, and it’s true that she doesn’t want to press charges. She’s been in a bad place but I have hopes she will recover, mentally I mean, and physically she’ll be fine. With all due respect, what she doesn’t need is to be interviewed by the police. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship?’
McGarry looked surprised at the question and took a moment to respond. Then she shook her head. I wasn’t entirely sure it was the truth.
‘It might be hard for you to understand, then,’ I said. ‘I can’t quite comprehend it, either, why she would stay for seven years with a guy who beat her up every second weekend. But now she’s out of it. And I truly believe that this episode had nothing to do with Hiskey’s death.’
‘You should let us be the judge of that.’
‘Maybe, but my first concern is for the woman. She’s been through hell for seven years. Can you understand that?’
‘Yes, I can understand.’
‘No one is pressing charges. Am I being charged with anything?’
‘No, not at the moment.’
‘So I can go.’
‘Yes. I’ll see you out.’ She walked me through the automatic doors at the front entrance of the building. Before I left she said, ‘I think I can see why Tarrant likes you.’
‘Likes me?’
‘Yes, in an irritated sort of way.’
‘The feeling’s mutual, then.’ We grinned at each other and I left.
Back in the office, Tasso had written comments on the exploration licence application, so I made a few adjustments and by the end of the day the application was ready to be submitted.
26
We left Outer Harbor early on Saturday morning. Tasso was at the wheel looking like a middle-aged buccaneer with a bandana around his head, and Melody was in the cockpit with him, sniffing the air, smiling and watching everything Tasso did. Fern had gone below deck as soon as we had boarded.
‘She takes a while to find her sea legs,’ said Tasso. He looked at Melody. ‘But you look like you were born on a boat.’
‘I love it,’ she said. The bruising on her face was quite faint now, and the fresh air was giving her a healthier colour.
As we cleared the breakwater Tasso opened the throttle and we charged out into the Gulf. I wandered down to the galley to make breakfast. Fern joined me after a while.
‘I’m not a good sailor,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be alright.’ She looked pale and not very happy.
‘How’s life, in general?’ I said. I had broken eight eggs into a frypan and was watching them change colour.
‘In general, life’s fine, although those eggs are making me queasy.’
‘Would you like yours queasy over?’
She smiled. ‘Your puns have always been soooo bad.’ She was loading the espresso machine with a capsule. ‘Sunny side up, if I eat them at all.’
‘That’s what Melody says. That my jokes are corny.’
‘Don’t take it too hard. We like them.’
‘How’re you getting on with Tasso these days?’
‘Steve, what’s with the prying?’
‘Not prying, just frying. Just making conversation.’
‘Tasso and I are getting on fine.’ She ran the espresso machine, sniffed the cup, made a face, and rinsed the coffee down the sink. ‘We have our moments.’
‘Such as?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Why don’t I?’
‘Because he’s your friend. You worship him. You don’t want to hear bad things about him.’
‘You think I worship him? Steady on.’
‘I think you’re blind to his faults.’
‘I’ve never thought he was perfect.’
‘Well, he’s far from it. And with all due respect, you don’t know even half of it.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, that’s not true. You probably know more than I do. You and he probably laugh about it when I’m not around.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’
She turned to face me, and as she did the boat dipped suddenly, and she stumbled and clutched my arm. ‘Sorry.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘The thing is, he screws other women. Young things, young enough to be his granddaughters.’
‘Does he?’
‘Fuck, Steve. You know he does.’
‘Why put up with it?’ I could think of a few hundred million reasons.
‘He won’t let me go. Every time I try to break out on my own, he reels me back in. A year ago I went to the States to get my masters. I didn’t tell him where I was going. He found me. He can’t let go and he can’t commit to a monogamous relationship. You tell me what I should do because I have no idea.’
When breakfast was ready we took it on deck and Tasso, Fern and I ate while Melody commanded the ship. She seemed happy. The weather was fine and the water was flat and we made good time southwards down the Gulf St Vincent. The sea got bigger as we cleared the bottom of the peninsula, and Tasso took the controls again and throttled back, but not much. Fern and Melody were basking on sun lounges, chatting. I was pleased to see it. We hit a wave hard and they were sprayed with water. They both sat up, squealing, Melody holding her side where her ribs hurt.
‘She seems to be enjoying herself,’ said Tasso.
‘She does.’
‘She’s already told me that my next boat should be a yacht. She thinks a motor launch is cheating.’
‘Why not have both?’
‘Maybe I will, when I’m a billionaire.’ He grinned. ‘Jesus, they’re a couple of beauties, aren’t they?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘We’re having fun, aren’t we? Didn’t I say we would have fun?’
‘You did.’ It seemed important to him that we were always having fun. I could think of a couple of moments that hadn’t been fun and had a couple of bruises to show for it, but on the whole it was true: I was enjoying myself.
Port Lincoln was a superb natural harbour, nestled close to the tip of the peninsula, and we steamed into it at about four in the afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky and a hot, dusty northerly was blowing off the Eyre Peninsula. We motored past small, low, brown islands and checked out the esplanade, which was lined with Norfolk Island pines. A couple of jetties jutted into the bay. Port Lincoln was a major fishing town; half the catch in the Southern Ocean came here, and plenty of people had got rich on it. Tasso had been talking on the two-way radio and now he was frowning.
‘They say the marina’s full,’ he said. ‘It’s being redeveloped, so half of it’s closed. I’m worth two hundred million bucks and there’s no place to park my fucken boat.’
‘Too many rich people, that’s the problem,’ I said. ‘And anyway, I thought you were worth three hundred million.’
He saw the funny side of it. ‘What the hel
l, I should have booked. I’m going to buy a permanent berth if I like the place.’
We moored at a buoy just around the point from the town jetty and not far from the marina, where we were sheltered from the north wind and also from the westerly that was predicted later. I was wondering how we were going to get ashore when Tasso revealed a small dinghy—he called it a tender—housed in a compartment at the stern of the ship. He pressed a few buttons and soon the thing was launched. Tasso and Fern both had bags because they planned to stay the night in a hotel. We chugged into the chock-a-block full marina, docked and clambered onto the wharf. Tasso negotiated with the harbour master, who called us a taxi.
The town was quiet. It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and presumably most people were at home in front of their air-conditioners and televisions. We passed a small, languid group of Aborigines, who paid us no attention.
‘There’s a few people in Lincoln who aren’t filthy rich,’ said Tasso. The taxi driver scoffed. He was a fat man with sad grey remnants of hair.
‘They’re already filthy, those people, and they’ll be rich soon enough, the way they’re going. If they don’t piss it all against the wall.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Fern. There was a note of combat in her voice. I didn’t think the taxi driver noticed.
‘Land rights, that’s what I mean, lady. Fucken native title. The government’s giving them all land rights and mining royalties and soon they’ll be up to their black arses in cash. They’ll be running this town soon. It’s a joke, isn’t it?’
‘Actually it’s you who is the joke.’
‘Excuse me?’ The taxi driver almost lost his dentures.
‘You’re a racist, clearly.’
The taxi screeched to a halt. The driver twisted on Fern. ‘You’ve got a fucken nerve, lady.’
Tasso was in the front. He dropped a twenty-dollar note on the console. ‘Don’t speak to her like that, mate.’ He opened his door. ‘We’ll walk from here.’
‘You certainly will.’
We got out and the taxi revved away. ‘Nothing like making friends with the locals,’ said Tasso.
‘Who would want to make friends with that guy?’ I said.
‘Well done, Fern,’ said Melody. ‘Not many people would have the guts to do what you just did.’
‘I hate people like that.’
‘Don’t let him worry you. He’s just a sad old man. He’s not representative.’
‘I’m not so sure about that, but thank you.’
We were still several blocks from the hotel and Fern’s bag was heavy, but we made it without further incident. Tasso and Fern checked in and Melody and I found the bar that overlooked the harbour.
‘Lemonade?’ I said.
She looked at me as if she didn’t even know what lemonade was. ‘If you’ll have one, too.’
‘Sure.’ I could have killed for a beer.
‘I can’t believe you’re not going to let me have a drink,’ she said, after we had settled on the balcony with our lemonades.
‘I’m just trying to look after you. Like you asked me to.’
‘You think I’m a drunk.’
I shrugged. ‘I just think we can manage an alcohol-free evening. Can’t we?’
‘I can. You’re forgetting I’ve already had seven of them in a row. Can you?’ She smiled at me with fake sweetness.
‘No sweat.’
Tasso and Fern joined us later and we had a feast of hundred-dollar abalone and a spectacular sunset. Tasso made friends with the waiter, the barman, the chef and several of the diners and it turned into a party. I had a couple of beers. Fern seemed to have put the incident with the taxi driver behind her.
Melody came to me at about eleven. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Are you sure we should stay on the boat tonight?’ I wasn’t keen on crossing the dark water in the tender.
‘Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’
It was possible there was only one taxi in town and we didn’t want to risk getting the same driver, so we walked back to the marina, the streets lit by pretty yellow lights. At the marina Melody took command of the tender, fired the motor and steered us away from the wharf. The water was inscrutable and black. The launch’s navigation lights were on and we got to it without mishap, boarded and secured the tender to the side of the launch.
‘Let’s sleep on deck,’ she said. We set out the deck chairs so they were horizontal and parallel to each other and I grabbed a couple of blankets and pillows from below. The launch was rocking gently and the stars were vivid. The westerly had arrived and the air was cool. She found my hand in the darkness. She seemed to need the contact.
‘Why haven’t we made love yet?’ she said.
‘As I recall, there was a chance we were going to do it the other night, but you were dragged out of the restaurant by the hair.’
‘Yes, I recall that, too.’
‘That dampened things down a bit.’
‘Would you still like to have sex with me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Because somehow the whole thing doesn’t seem so urgent to me now.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘I have IDS, by the way.’
‘What’s IDS?’
‘Never mind. I might go back to the party.’
‘Are you going to swim ashore?’
‘You could take me across.’
‘No I couldn’t. I’m too sleepy.’
‘I could send up a distress flare.’
‘You could.’
There was a lull while we listened to the breeze and the gentle slap of water on the hull of the boat.
‘You like the sea, don’t you?’
‘I love it. So beautiful, so dangerous.’
‘It seems gentle enough at the moment.’
‘It is. It has many moods.’
‘Like you?’
‘Fern is moodier than me.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do.’
‘How do you get on with her?’
‘I like her. I liked the way she stuck it to that taxi driver.’
We were silent again for a while. I could hear her breath, like a breeze on the water.
‘I wish I could reclaim my virginity,’ she said.
‘Did you lose it?’
‘I might have done.’
‘Where would you reclaim it from? The Lost Virginity Office?’
‘I don’t know. I just wish I could have it back.’
‘I’m afraid you can’t. If it’s gone it’s gone. It’s a fact. It’s a fucked. What would be the point, anyway? Virginity is overrated. Who cares?’
‘You’re right. I just …’
‘What?’
‘I just wish I could start a lot of things again. I wouldn’t make such a mess, second time round. No bad fucks, no bad drugs, no bad men.’
‘No fun?’
‘Plenty of fun, just no bad stuff.’
‘Maybe from now on.’
‘Maybe.’ She was quiet for a while. ‘If it’s not too late.’
‘It’s not too late.’
She was lying on her back, looking at the stars, and I was on my side, looking at her. She glanced my way. ‘You know I can’t roll over?’
‘Why not?’
‘My ribs would hurt too much.’
‘I see.’
‘So you have to come to me.’
We were both fully clothed. She kept her legs together, so I straddled her and held myself above her with my forearms on either side of her and we kissed. We kissed soft. She ran her fingers through my hair. I kissed her lips and her forehead and her eyebrows and her neck and her ears and her jet-black hair. I kissed her eyelids and, when she opened them, we stared at each other for what seemed a very long time. And smiled.
We woke early and at Melody’s prompting we took the tender on a tour of Boston Bay, the sun rising over the still water and the air fresh. A pod of dolphins surfaced near
us and looked like they enjoyed the early light as much as we did, their skin glistening as they took it in turns to leap from the water. Melody gave me a lesson in operating the tender. Later, we tied up at the town jetty and joined Tasso and Fern for a long, late breakfast in a café on the esplanade. At about midday the four of us rode in the tender back to the launch and left Port Lincoln. It was an uneventful trip home, and we steamed up the Gulf St Vincent late in the day under a sky the colour of a syrah grape. I was standing close to the bow, enjoying the spectacle. Melody put her arm around me and her lips close to my ear.
‘I want to stay here.’
‘In the middle of the Gulf?’
‘On the ship. I don’t want to go back to Chris and Paul’s. I’ve asked Tasso and he’s fine with it.’
‘He’s trusting you with his five-million-dollar boat?’
‘Yes. I can even use the tender to get around on the river.’
‘Alright.’
We docked at Outer Harbor just after dark, bow first so Melody could launch the tender if she needed it. Fern, Tasso and I disembarked and said goodbye to her.
‘I’ll come and see you,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow.’
‘Yes, please.’
Bert was there to pick us up.
‘You’re very trusting,’ Fern said to Tasso. ‘I like her, but she is the girlfriend of the local crime lord.’
‘Was,’ I said.
‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ said Tasso. ‘She steals my boat. Big deal. I can afford a new one, and so can the insurance company. But I’m not worried at all. She’s not going anywhere. She’s in love with Steve.’
‘Cut it out, Tasso,’ I said.
‘Well, is she or isn’t she?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he mimicked. ‘Actually, Steve, I believe you; you wouldn’t have a fucken clue.’ He, Fern and even Bert thought that was about the funniest thing they’d heard in ages.
Ecstasy Lake Page 18