A Yacht Called Erewhon (6 page)

‘Thank you, old man,’ he whispered, ‘but she’s not for sale!’

‘Keep it as a memento, then,’ answered Buffalo, handing it back. Mac grunted, and shoved it away out of sight.

‘The Mercedes McAlister Cup was never raced for again,’ Dad said, as he looked around his audience. Mum and Matt were curled up on their sun-loungers, fast asleep. He looked at me. ‘Bedtime? I’ll finish the story tomorrow night.’

We threw a couple of blankets over Mum and Matt, sprayed them with insect repellent, and stoked the fire. I crashed into my bunk, and Dad headed for the comfort of the caravan.

T
he next morning, we chugged back through the bush on Aggie, planning to lift the hull onto bogies. Matt and Dad stripped the lean-to doorway away while I edged Aggie around the hull, clearing back years of built-up undergrowth. Lifting the bow was the first challenge. I edged Aggie’s bucket up just inches short of it, angled the scoop down, and took a bite. As I hauled back on the lever, the hull lurched but sank to the ground again. The kauri toe-rails disintegrated—years of sitting on the wet ground had taken their toll, and a quick check around the gunwale confirmed that the damage wasn’t confined to the bow.

Dad was upset, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I backed Aggie a few feet and drove the bucket deep into the ground under the bow.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he yelled above the roar of the engine.

‘I’m going to undermine the bow and see how far that rot goes!’

I flung Aggie’s throttle full open. Within minutes, there was a trench under the bow. I backed the machine off, calling to the others. Then I dived into the trench and, on my hands and knees, got right under the bow. Dad rolled in alongside me, with a small jemmy in one hand and a torch in the other. As we looked up at the hull, Dad stabbed at the timber, scratching off the dirt and rubbish clinging to the deck—and struck solid
resistance. The toe-rails were gone, but as Dad thrashed around with the bar he started to smile again. The teak decking was as solid as the day it was fitted. He climbed out of the trench and gave the hull a good thump below the deck line, the jemmy’s ring giving him the answer he was looking for.

‘It’s only the toe-rails, Ben!’ he yelled. ‘She’s OK from the deck up. We’ll just have to be very careful how we lift her!’

While Dad and Matt prepared the first bogie to go underneath, I repositioned Aggie close to the bow, placing dunnage blocks on the lip of the bucket so we were able to lift on the solid deck timber and not the rotten toe-rails.

Everything was ready. I cranked Aggie’s throttle wide open and pulled hard on the bucket lever. The engine roared and the hull groaned, but I only managed to raise the hull an inch. I pulled even harder on the throttle and the bucket lever, but
Erewhon
didn’t budge. Dad leaped up on the track beside me. ‘Give me a bloody go!’ he hollered.

I knew it wasn’t time to argue and jumped out of the seat. Dad took up the position and flattened the bucket back down, raising the heel off the ground. ‘Block the back of the bucket!’ he yelled over the pulsing of Aggie’s exhaust. Matt and I swung into action with two large blocks of timber either side. Dad threw the throttle wide open again and hauled back on the tilt. As the hull started to rise, he eased the clutch out, and in a rolling lifting motion the giant hull moved skyward.
Erewhon
was now about a foot off the ground, and Matt and I rolled blocks under the deck to support it. As Dad continued to scream orders above the roar of the engine, we repeated the operation several times, and each time we gained a little more height until we had enough space under the bow to slip the bogie in.

Aggie’s engine returned to idle as Dad jumped down from the tracks. ‘Silly old bastard’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve!’ he chortled.

I looked at Matt and laughed. ‘Not bad for an office wallah,’ I conceded.

‘Fill that bloody hole you dug under the bow, and make sure you pack it down tight!’ Dad barked.

The stern section was even heavier than the bow, and we could only manage to raise the hull six inches. Slowly,
Erewhon
lifted clear of the undergrowth, and the higher we lifted the sleeping giant the more she groaned. ‘The old lady doesn’t like being disturbed,’ said Dad, as we finally positioned the two bogies either side of the hull and lowered the yacht onto the waiting carriages.

‘I don’t think I’d be too keen to move after thirty-odd years,’ I said.

‘Must be lunchtime!’ announced Dad, as he leaped up on the counterweight. Matt was half a step behind, and I swung Aggie in the direction of the base camp. As we approached the caravan, I saw Mum lying in the hammock.

I slewed Aggie around and jumped down from the machine. ‘What’s for lunch?’ I shouted, drawn by the aroma.

‘Oyster soup and some fresh bread,’ Mum replied nonchalantly.

‘I suppose the oysters turned up like yesterday’s crayfish,’ smirked Dad.

‘As a matter of fact, they did!’ retorted Mum. ‘Mic brought them over for your lunch because she thinks you’re all working so hard.’

‘Where is she then? Why haven’t we seen her?’ Dad asked.

‘Oh, she’s a bit wary of men at the moment.’

‘Let’s eat!’

‘It’s in the pot, and the bread’s in the maker, so help yourselves!’

Mum returned to her hammock.

The oyster soup and fresh bread were delicious. When
we’d eaten our fill, I cleared the dishes while Matt and Dad wandered down to the beach. I drifted over to where Mum was resting. She dropped her magazine onto the ground below her as I pulled a deck chair alongside.

‘You look deep in thought,’ she said, sitting up.

‘I reckon your friend who keeps giving us lunch is the same person I’ve seen over by the yacht. Every time I try to get near her, she disappears. What’s her connection to
Erewhon
?’

‘I don’t know, but she’s very interested in what you’re doing over there.’

‘What did you say her name is?’

‘She calls herself Mic.’

Dad and Matt hadn’t returned, so Mum and I decided to walk over to the yacht, so she could see what we’d done. As we neared the clearing around
Erewhon
, I saw Mic by the bow resting in the sun, dressed only in her black bikini bottom. Mum grabbed my arm, beckoning me behind a tree. I dropped back, and Mum walked casually up to Mic, who was initially startled but relaxed when she saw who it was. I stayed in the shadows as they chatted. At Mum’s signal, I walked out towards them. Mum handed Mic the white towel, and Mic quickly drew it around her exposed breasts.

‘This is my second son, Ben,’ Mum announced. ‘Ben, say hello to Mic…Ben!’

I’d never seen such haunting brown eyes—and I was stunned. Finally, I coaxed my jaw into action. ‘Hi!’

‘Hello’ came the amused reply.

I had trouble getting my tongue to work. ‘Thanks for the oysters,’ I blurted out. ‘Mum made some fantastic soup.’

‘My pleasure’ was the reply. ‘Your mother tells me you’re here to take
Erewhon
home and restore her.’

‘It’s Dad’s dream, and I’m pretty much hooked into it, too. She’s such a beautiful yacht, and I know we can get her sailing
again. I’ve been trying to catch up with you, but you’re pretty light on your feet.’

‘Just wary of strange men when I’m out here on my own. Not many people come here,’ she replied.

‘I can understand that,’ Mum said.

‘Do you know much about
Erewhon
?’ I asked.

‘A little,’ she replied.

‘Do you live around here?’ I asked.

Without answering, she tightened the towel around her breasts, then called over her shoulder, ‘Sorry, I have to go.’ In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Why didn’t she want us to know where she lived? I was about to open my mouth when we heard voices. I turned to see Matt and Dad entering the clearing.

‘So this is where you two disappeared to—we’ve been looking all over,’ Dad bellowed. He was eager to get
Erewhon
on the move, so I offered to walk Mum back to the camp and get Aggie.

‘OK, Matt and I’ll attach a strop to the front bogie, and we’ll see if we can move this old lady when you get back.’

Mum retired to her hammock as I kicked Aggie into life and spun her around. As I pounded down the track, I caught a glimpse of Mic through the trees. I slammed the throttle shut and pushed hard on the brakes. Aggie groaned to a halt.

‘Hey, Mic!’ I called. ‘Why did you run off?’ I asked.

‘Too many questions.’ Mic smiled and sat down on a log, her bronzed body shimmering in the filtered light.

‘You’ve got me intrigued. What’s your connection with
Erewhon
and where do you live?’

Mic didn’t say anything for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision. She looked up at me, her eyes serious. ‘My name is Mercedes Muriwai, and my great-grandfather was Murdoch McAlister, the original owner of
Erewhon.
I’ve been living in
the Caribbean on a super-yacht for the past seven years with the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Last year I found him in bed with the owner’s wife, so I came home. I’ve been living around here for the last twelve months, getting myself back together.’

‘How can you be Mercedes McAlister’s granddaughter? She died childless, over sixty years ago.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m her granddaughter.’ She stood up and looked defiantly at me.

‘You need to meet Dad then,’ I said. ‘He’s passionate about
Erewhon
, and he’d love to meet a relation of old Mac. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?’

Mic looked at me with those haunting brown eyes, and I could see she was trying to find an excuse. ‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she said finally.

‘Come as you are,’ I replied, with a cheeky grin. ‘That’ll get Dad’s attention.’

Mic grinned. ‘I’ll come as long as no one makes a fuss.’ She rose to her feet and was gone.

I carried on to where Aggie quietly chugged away and backed in about a yard or two ahead of
Erewhon
’s bow. Matt and Dad were placing planks in front of one of the rear bogies.

‘About bloody time! Grab the end of this plank. We’ve got work to do!’

With planks in front of the wheels, Dad gave me the nod, and I climbed into Aggie’s seat. ‘Just take it quietly, Ben, until we see what gives,’ he said.

I slipped the gear lever into crawler and nudged Aggie’s throttle open. As we took the strain, the whole rig started to edge forward, and the hull groaned as the bogies climbed onto
the planks. The sleeping giant didn’t like being disturbed, but we were under way and inched the hull a yard or two ahead. Dad called a halt.

‘That’s enough. We’ll have to start turning her towards the water.’

The front bogie was fitted with Dad’s patent steering system, and he rolled in under the rig to fit the tiller. It was then just a matter of keeping the wheels on the planks as we crept forward. As expected, we weren’t breaking the land speed record, but at least we were going in the right direction.

It was good to have something physical to concentrate on—my mind was still buzzing after my conversation with Mic. Dad and Matt were beavering away, and I was dying to tell them about her, but it wasn’t the right time.

Despite
Erewhon
’s protests, we managed to turn her giant hull towards the gap in the trees until her bow pierced the narrow opening.

‘Chow time!’ Dad called. ‘Wonder what the old girl’s rustled up this time? We’ll leave Aggie hooked up and walk back.’

Matt and I didn’t need any encouragement to down tools and hotfooted it along the path in the direction of food. As we arrived at the riverbank, I casually mentioned we had a guest for dinner.

Matt and Dad looked at each other, and were about to ask who when I stripped off and dived into the water. They followed, and we were soaking away the grime, as well as our aches and pains, when a fourth body pierced the water. Mum had decided to join in the frolic.

‘Dinner’s all ready once you’ve put the steaks on the barbie!’

Mum had brought her beach towel, and she wrapped it around herself as we walked back. I whispered to her that Mic was coming to eat with us. Dad and Matt were still trying to work
out who our guest was, and I was keeping them guessing.

Dried off and dressed in clean shorts, we soon had the barbie roaring and five steaks sizzling.

‘So who’s coming?’ Dad asked.

‘Somebody I think you’ll be very interested in meeting.’

Dad knew he wasn’t about to get the answers he wanted, so he turned his attention back to the sizzling meat and picked up a cool can from the rack beside the hotplate. ‘It’s a she then?’ he queried.

‘Yes, dear,’ said Mum, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Steak’s nearly ready!’

‘Well, bring it over here and meet our guest.’

The three of us swung around to face the table, and there was Mic, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a colourful sarong, with a glass of wine raised to her lips.

The three of us stood motionless.

‘My men aren’t usually this quiet,’ Mum chuckled. ‘You’ll have to excuse them, they’ve had a big day!’

‘Hi, Mic!’ I finally said, when my tongue eventually reconnected to my brain.

‘Hello, Ben.’ She lowered the glass and placed it delicately on the table.

‘Mic, I’d like you to meet my dad, Jim, and my brother, Matt.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you both,’ she replied.

Matt and Dad, still gobsmacked, accepted her hand and mumbled a greeting.

‘Talkative bunch, aren’t they!’ Mum chimed in.

‘Jenny tells me you’re going to try and restore
Erewhon.
’

‘There’s no try about it—we have every intention of succeeding!’ replied Dad.

‘Don’t mind him, Mic. Jim may sound a little gruff, but his bark’s worse than his bite. I got the same treatment the first
time I met him!’ Mum grinned widely.

‘My father was exactly the same. Anyway, anyone who is prepared to rebuild
Erewhon
is a friend of mine.’

‘Jim, I think it is time for official introductions,’ I said. ‘This is Mic Muriwai, great-granddaughter of Murdoch McAlister.’

Dad’s mouth dropped open. What seemed like a full minute passed as he eyed her up and down.

Matt broke the silence. ‘I thought Mercedes McAlister drowned sixty years ago?’

‘Missing, presumed drowned,’ Mic replied. ‘There’s a lot more to the story that isn’t common knowledge.’ She looked directly at Dad. ‘I am who I say I am.’

Dad still hadn’t said a word and abruptly turned back to shuffle the steaks.

Mic moved over to stand beside him. ‘They smell divine,’ she said.

Dad still didn’t respond and carried on prodding the sizzling meat. ‘I think they’re ready,’ he finally said. He looked down at her. ‘Do you think you could grab the plates off Jen?’