Silver Bay (13 page)

Seven

Liza

By the time we reached the jetty Kathleen was already shouting at me, her rigid, upright body bristling with indignation. I secured
Ishmael
, helped Milly ashore and walked briskly towards her. ‘I know,’ I said.

She raised her hands in a gesture of exasperation. ‘Do you realise what you’ve done? Are you totally insane, girl?’

I stopped and pushed my hair off my face. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

The anxiety on her face mirrored my own. In fact, I could have kicked myself. I had thought of nothing else for the twenty minutes it had taken us to come back to the bay.

‘They were straight on to the Water Police, Liza. For all we know they’re on their way over here now.’

‘But what can they prove?’

‘Well, put it this way, you let the second one off while they were on the marine radio.’

I was a fool, I knew it, and Kathleen did too. Against every rule of marine safety, against all common sense, I had loaded those two distress flares into their launchers, and positioned them just close enough to scare the boat’s passengers. Flares were notoriously unpredictable. If one had misfired . . . If Search and Rescue had caught sight of the other . . . But while I knew it was a stupid thing to do, how else could I have got those boats away? And how could I tell my aunt that if I had held a gun, instead of a distress flare, I would have shot at them instead?

I closed my eyes. It was only when I opened them again that I remembered I hadn’t waited for Mike Dormer to disembark. The crunch of his shoes in the dirt heralded his arrival next to us, his brown hair dishevelled and damp from the speed of the journey back. He looked a little shaken. Kathleen’s face softened. ‘Why don’t you go inside, Mike? I’ll make some tea.’

He began to protest.

‘Really,’ she said, and there was something steely in her tone. ‘We need a few moments alone.’

I felt his eyes on me. Then he took a few reluctant paces away and stroked Milly, as if unwilling to go altogether.

‘What do I do?’ I whispered.

‘Let’s not overreact,’ she said. ‘They might just caution you.’

‘But they’ll want to take down my details. There might be some kind of database . . .’

I could see from Kathleen’s face that she’d already considered this. And hadn’t yet been able to find an answer. I felt a rising swell of panic in my chest. I glanced behind me to where the
Suzanne
and
Moby Two
were berthing. ‘I could just go,’ I said. I had a sudden wild notion of loading myself, Hannah and Milly into the wagon. But then the sound of a different kind of engine drew my attention to the other end of the bay. Headed up the coast road, bearing its distinctive headlamps and logo, I saw the white pickup truck of the New South Wales Police.

‘Oh, Christ,’ I said.

‘Smile,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, smile and say it was an accident.’

There were two officers, and they climbed out of the cab with the relaxed air that belies serious intent, their badges glinting in the late-afternoon sun. I had always been excessively careful to stay on the right side of Australian law, could not even claim knowledge of a parking ticket, but even I knew that firing a distress flare illegally and at another vessel had not been a good move.

‘Afternoon, ladies,’ said the taller man, tipping his cap as he approached. He looked at us, letting his eyes linger on my storm jacket, the keys in my hand. ‘Greg,’ he added.

‘Officer Trent,’ said my aunt, and smiled. ‘Beautiful afternoon.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. The creases in the sleeves of his blue shirt were as sharp as knives. He gestured down the jetty towards
Ishmael
. ‘That yours?’

‘It certainly is,’ said my aunt, before I could speak. ‘
Ishmael
. Registered to me. Has been for seventeen years.’

He looked at her then back at me. ‘Had a call from two other vessels who say distress flares were fired at them from a boat matching her description this afternoon. Could you tell me anything about that?’

I wanted to speak, but the sight of that blue uniform had stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I was dimly aware of Mike Dormer, watching from a few feet away, and that the policeman was now standing squarely in front of me, waiting for an answer. ‘I . . .’

Greg was beside me. ‘Yes, mate,’ he said firmly, tipping back the peak of his cap. ‘That’d be my fault.’

The policeman turned to him.

‘I was out with a group of whale-watchers. I knew the kids would be trouble, but I wasn’t watching them close enough. While I had my back turned, searching for the whales, the little buggers let off two flares.’

‘Kids?’ the officer said sceptically.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have let them on,’ Greg said, and paused to light a cigarette. ‘Liza here said they’d be trouble. But we like to let all the kids see the whales and dolphins. Educate them, you know.’ He met my eye briefly, and what I saw in it filled me with gratitude, and a little shame.

‘Why didn’t you notify Marine Rescue, let them know what had happened? You know what would have happened if we’d instituted a search-and-rescue?’

‘I’m sorry, mate. I just wanted to get back here soon-as, so they couldn’t do anything else. I had other passengers aboard, you know . . .’

‘Which boat is yours again, Greg?’

Greg gestured. Our boats were both forty-eight-foot cruisers. Since I had helped him paint out his home-made graffiti, they bore a band of the same colour.

‘Okay, so what were the kids’ names?’ The policeman took out his notebook.

Kathleen broke in: ‘We don’t keep records. If we wrote down the details of every person we took out on our boats we’d never get out on the water.’ She placed a hand on Trent’s arm. ‘Look, Officer, you know we’re not some fly-by-night operation, working off this jetty. My family’s been in this bay for more than seventy years. You’re not going to penalise us for one pair of idiots, are you?’

‘Why weren’t your flares secured, Greg? They should be in a locked box if you’ve got kids mucking around below decks.’

Greg shook his head. ‘Little buggers had my keys from my pocket. I always carry a spare set, see? Just to be on the safe side.’

I was sure the policeman didn’t believe a word of it: he frowned at the three of us in turn, and I tried hard to look aggrieved rather than terrified. He peered at his notebook again, then up at me. ‘The caller said a woman was firing at them.’

‘Long hair,’ said Greg, quick as you like. ‘You can’t tell them apart, these days. Bloody hippies. Look, Officer, it was my fault. I was minding the wheel and it was my responsibility. I guess I took my eye off the ball. No harm done, though, eh?’

I tried hard to keep my breath steady in my chest, and began to examine a small cut on my hand. It was something to do.

‘You realise the use of a distress flare as a weapon is an offence under the Firearms and Dangerous Weapons Act, leading to a charge of assault under the NSW Crimes Act?’

‘That’s what I told them,’ said Greg. ‘Big mistake, that was. It meant they legged it as soon as we got back here.’

‘That’s two thousand dollars and/or twelve months in gaol. And you could be charged under the Maritime Services Act if we wanted to be really picky.’

Greg appeared penitent. I had never seen him so conciliatory with a policeman.

‘This better not have involved alcohol. I’ve not forgotten your caution from June,’ the man went on.

‘Officer, you can breathalyse me, if you want. I don’t touch a drop while I’m working.’

Suddenly I ached for him. I sensed his humiliation – and I was responsible for it.

The two policemen glanced back at their truck. The shorter one turned away to take a message on his radio.

‘Tell you what,’ said Kathleen, ‘why don’t I get some tea and you can decide what you want to do while it’s brewing? Officer Trent, do you still take sugar?’

At that point Mike Dormer approached. My heart leapt into my mouth. Go away, I told him silently. He had no idea what we’d told them. If he opened his mouth and blurted out the truth we’d all be sunk.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘can I say something?’

‘Not now, Mike,’ said Kathleen, briskly. ‘We’re a bit busy.’

‘Go on, Officer,’ said Greg. He stepped forward, placing himself between Mike and the police. ‘I’ll take any kind of test you want. Blood, breathalyser, whatever.’

‘I just wanted to tell the police something,’ Mike said, louder. I thought, with horror, that I had no idea how he felt about what I’d done. I hadn’t spoken a word to him the whole way back, my brain humming with the reality of what I’d done, wanting to get to shore as fast as I could.

The same thought had occurred to Kathleen, I could tell. But it was too late. He was pulling something from his pocket.

‘I don’t think this is anything you can help with, Mike,’ she said, firmly. But he appeared not to hear her.

‘Mike—’ I felt sick.

‘While we were out on the water,’ he said, ‘some kind of party boat came close by. It was making enough noise and commotion to frighten the whales. I believe there are regulations about such things.’

The first policeman crossed his arms. ‘That’d be right,’ he said.

Mike allowed himself a small smile. He held up his mobile phone. The Englishness in his voice gave him a kind of gentle authority. ‘Well, I thought you might like the evidence. I filmed it all on my phone. You can hear the level of noise.’ As we gaped, his little mobile phone displayed a clip of the
Night Star
, showing the speed at which it had been travelling, revealing the outline of the revellers on deck. You could hear the thump of the music. I had never seen anything like it.

‘The whales seemed distressed by it. Not that I’m an expert or anything,’ Mike said.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing at the little image, ‘you can see it’s round by the headland. We did try to radio the coastguard, but they didn’t get out there in time.’ My voice was squeaky with relief.

‘I can send you a copy,’ said Mike, ‘if you want to use it to prosecute anyone.’

The two policemen examined the image, nonplussed. ‘Not sure what you’d send it to,’ said one, ‘but give us your number and we’ll let you know. Who are you?’

‘Oh, I’m just a guest,’ Mike said. ‘Michael Dormer. Here on holiday from England. I can get my passport, if you like.’ He held out his hand. I’m not sure that many people offer to shake hands with the police out here. The stunned faces that accompanied the handshake suggested not.

‘That won’t be necessary just now. Well, we’ll be getting on. But make sure you lock up your flares securely, people, or you’ll be getting another visit. A less friendly one.’

‘Two locks,’ said Greg, waving his keys.

‘Thank you, Officers,’ said Kathleen. She stepped after them. ‘You take care, now.’

I couldn’t speak. As they climbed back into the truck and reversed, a long, quivering breath escaped from somewhere high in my chest and I realised my legs were shaking.

‘Thank you,’ I mouthed at Greg, and nodded at Mike. Then I had to bolt for the back of the house because I had run out of words altogether.

There are many things I love about Australia. I’m not about to spout off like a parody of the Pom who never went home, because it’s not the usual things – the weather, the light, or the wide-open spaces – although they’re a bonus. It’s not the good food and wine, or the scenery, or the leisurely pace of life, although those things have made bringing up my daughter here more of a pleasure. For me it’s that, in a quiet corner like Silver Bay, you can live out your life without anyone paying you the slightest attention.

Despite our shared heritage Australians, I had quickly discovered, are unlike the British in many ways. They will accept you at face value, perhaps because there’s no class thing to measure yourself against, so no careful analysis of where you might stand in relation to someone new. If you’re straight with them, by and large, they’ll be straight with you. From almost the day I pitched up at Kathleen’s, with my exhausted daughter in tow, she was able to introduce me as her niece, and I said hello and they all said hello back. With the barest of explanations, we were drawn into the Silver Bay community.

It helped me to be part of this seafaring community. Half of the crews were transient, used to flitting in and out of people’s lives. The others might be there for their own reasons. Either way nobody asked too many questions. And if you chose not to answer those that were asked, well, that seemed okay too. I knew I hadn’t always been careful enough to hide my feelings, and I was grateful that the whale crews, with the intuition of all the best hunters, had understood that some things were better left unpursued. In five years, only Greg had grilled me over why I’d left England. I’d been so drunk when we’d had any kind of intimate conversation that, to my shame, I couldn’t remember what I’d told him.

I’d guessed instinctively that Mike Dormer would upset that. I’d panicked when I overheard him asking Kathleen all sorts of questions about who worked in the bay, how long people tended to stick around, how long we’d lived there. He’d said he was on holiday, but I’d never known a holidaymaker ask so many focused questions.

When I told Kathleen so afterwards she said I was being dramatic. All the years of having us here had lulled her into believing we would always be left alone. She’d said it was all in my imagination, and her unspoken look said she understood why.

But I suspected that Mike wasn’t going to respect my boundaries. When I take a group out on
Ishmael
, they talk to each other. When it’s just me and one other, they want to talk to me. They want to ask questions, take home part of me, along with their seafaring experience. That’s why I don’t generally take people out alone.

As Greg well knew. ‘So, what was your cosy little trip for two about, then, huh?’ He had to go and ruin it. We were sitting on the bench, watching, as Hannah made Milly chase bits of bladderwrack up and down the shore in the fading light. Mike Dormer was in his room, and Kathleen had gone for more beers. He spoke quietly so that Lance and Yoshi couldn’t hear.