A Yacht Called Erewhon (7 page)

‘Sure.’ Mic handed them one at a time to Dad, who plonked a large juice-laden steak on each. Mum had the salads laid out on the table, and we sat down to eat under the now star-filled summer sky.

To start with, conversation was reserved, but as the meal went on and the wine flowed, Mic took centre stage. Even Matt gradually warmed to what he was hearing and joined in.

Finally, Dad stood up and walked towards the caravan. ‘We’d better get some shut-eye,’ he exclaimed. ‘We have a boat to move, you know.’

Mic thanked us for a great evening, turned down my offer to walk her home, and disappeared down the path.

Despite having a million thoughts running around in my head, I was extremely tired and nodded off quickly. Around
eleven, I woke to find Mum and Matt still sound asleep, but Dad up and finishing off the previous night’s dishes.

‘About bloody time! Get this down you. We’ve got work to do!’ Dad thrust a steaming mug of coffee into my hand. He seemed a little anxious.

‘Morning, old fellow. What do you think of Mic?’ I asked.

‘She seems nice enough’ was the clipped response.

‘What did you think of her story?’

‘Haven’t had time to think it through.’

After nineteen years in the Standish household, I knew it wasn’t time to pursue this line of questioning.

Matt and Mum were now up, and the coffee pot was getting a hammering. After several rounds of toast, Mum reluctantly agreed to clear up, so the rest of us headed off down the track.

I fired Aggie up, while Matt and Dad started on the ramp through the puriri trees. I extended the towing strop and placed Aggie on the other side of the tree line.

‘Ready?’ I inquired.

‘Ready!’

I edged the cranky old machine forward.
Erewhon
’s bow started to rise, and the planks groaned as the weight went on.

‘Keep going!’ Dad yelled, ‘Slowly, slowly. Hold it!’

I jumped on the brake and slammed the throttle shut. Dad dived under the hull to check the structure. ‘Seems OK!’

I took up the strain again and edged forward till the stern bogies started their ascent.

As the planks at the rear came free, Matt and Dad whipped them forward to start building the descending ramp on the other side of the tree line.
Erewhon
was now completely suspended off the ground and groaning. Dad raced up and down, checking the strength of the structure, but everything seemed to be going to plan. We were very close to the point
where the widest part of
Erewhon
’s beam would pass through the gap, and we carefully realigned her.

‘We thought you men might be hungry!’

I turned to see Mum and Mic approaching with a tray of sandwiches and a jug of cold juice. Mic smiled as we stopped in our tracks, dropping what we were doing, and made a dive for their offering.

‘Progress looks good,’ whispered Mic.

‘Yeah, if we can just get her past these trees we’re home free!’

Dad was furtively eyeing Mic again. Nothing was said, but I could see he was still unsure about her. ‘We’ll have her back on the ground by nightfall,’ he announced.

‘Great—she doesn’t like to be up in the air,’ said Mic.

‘Got to look after our lady!’ replied Dad, with a tentative grin. Mic and he had found their common ground, the thing they both loved. Dad was still unsure if Mic was who she said she was, but for now he was prepared to accept her as someone who cared about
Erewhon.

The hard work started again, and we edged the hull forward. As the beam approached the gap, we realised our calculations were out and the hull was a couple of inches wider than the gap. We rechecked the width of the hull underneath the span, and found our original measurements to be spot-on. As the weight of the hull passed through the gap, the trees had inched back closer together.

I climbed down from Aggie as Dad surveyed the scene. ‘We need more tension on the tree stays.’

I suggested unhitching Aggie from the tow strop to retension the guys, but Dad wasn’t keen to do that as we’d lose control over the dead weight of the hull, and it might get away from us.

‘When we wanted more tension on the backstay on the
yacht
,
we used to wind pressure on with a windlass,’ came a quiet voice from behind.

‘That might just work!’ said Dad, looking at Mic. ‘Come on, girl. Let’s give it a try!’ He grabbed an iron bar from Aggie’s toolbox and headed for the nearest stay.

Mic didn’t need a second prompt and was beside Dad in a flash as he strode over to the rope. He inserted the bar between the lashings as Mic positioned herself next to him. In a hand-over-hand movement, they wound on the tension. The tree didn’t give easily, but with audible creaks it gradually moved. Matt and I checked the gap. It was close.

‘We’ll lash this one off here,’ said Dad. ‘We don’t want to push our luck.’

Matt and I picked up another bar and headed over to the other guy, but Mic and Dad were close behind. ‘We’ll do that!’ Dad said. ‘You two get that tape ready.’

I looked at Mic. The T-shirt she’d borrowed from Mum was soaked in sweat, but the smile on her face said it all: she was loving it.

Again they started to wind on the tension; sweat pouring from the end of Dad’s nose as Mic’s face flushed. The dust they’d stirred up with their feet quickly became caked on her soggy shirt as it clung to her, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I thought to myself,
Mum’s shirt has never looked that good!

Matt and I had the tape at the ready, and I watched the gap grow as the second tree moved aside.

‘That’ll do!’ I yelled. ‘We’ve got at least two inches. I could drive a Kenworth through now!’

I climbed back into Aggie’s seat, and
Erewhon
creaked as we started to inch forward. Dad had his hand on the steering tiller, and Matt and Mic stood on either side with chocks at the ready in case things got out of hand. The widest part of the
beam was now between the trees, and the guys were singing with the strain. The rear bogies were climbing the ramp and the planks coming free at the rear. Matt and Dad continued to shift them forward to create the descent.

With relieved sighs all round, Aggie finally fell silent and
Erewhon
was back on hard ground. I glanced at my dust-caked watch—it was almost nine. We’d been so engrossed we’d missed smoko and dinner. I unhitched Aggie, and four tired bodies climbed on board for the short trip back to camp. Mic slipped into the seat beside me and surveyed the controls.

‘Do you want to drive her?’ I asked.

‘Can I?’

I’d been joking, but she wasn’t. I slid sideways to allow her full access to the levers.

As we neared the riverbank, I could feel her tense as she prepared to make the left turn, but at precisely the right moment she dragged on the steering lever and dabbed the left brake, and Aggie rumbled around and headed for the camp. The light was almost gone as Mic reached forward, slipped the gear lever into neutral, and shut the engine down.

‘Time to get rid of the grime!’ I announced, heading for the water. Stripping off my grimy clothes, I dived in head-first.

Mic was about two steps behind. ‘Come on, you lot!’ she yelled to the others, as we thrashed around in the gently flowing water, washing away the dirt of another day’s hard slog.

The sight of Mic’s Coppertone Girl tan-line disappearing under the water was all the enticement Matt needed to join in. Dad stood on the bank, somewhat stunned by her lack of inhibition.

‘Come on, Jim!’ Mic called, ‘If you’re worried about being naked, I’ve seen you all swimming here since the day you arrived!’

Despite his sunburnt face, Dad was blushing as Mum,
completely naked, walked casually past him, dumped a pile of towels on a nearby log and plunged in.

Dad turned his back, dropped his clothes, and executed a giant belly-flop into the river. Twenty minutes in the water had us all relaxed. We climbed out, wrapped ourselves in the towels, and walked to the camp. Mum, who by now seemed to have completely forgotten her no-cooking policy, had prepared a huge meal.

Over the dinner table, I swung the conversation around to Mic and where she called home.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s just moved about a hundred yards from where it’s stood for about thirty-five years.’

We all looked at each other. ‘You lived on
Erewhon
?’

‘It was my way of getting in contact with my ancestors. Nana’s spirit is still on board. That’s why I’ve been a bit wary of your intentions. But she says that if you’re going to restore
Erewhon
, she’s happy to see her move.’

Dad began to squirm in his seat. This was too much for him. He got up and started to stack up the dishes. Mic quietly joined him at the camp bench and put her arm around him. ‘Don’t try to work it all out tonight, Jim, just believe.’

‘That’s easy for you to say, young lady, but I guess the most important thing to work out right now is where you’re going to sleep tonight.’

‘Don’t worry, Jim, I’ll take the hammock. It’ll be a whole lot more comfortable than the hay bales I’ve been sleeping on for the past twelve months.’

‘I might just hit the hay myself,’ he said, with a chuckle, and then, in a more serious tone, looking her straight in the eye: ‘Whoever you are, you’ve been a big help today and I’m pleased to have you here.’

Mic smiled. ‘Jim, I love the thought that you’re going to restore
Erewhon.
Please don’t stress yourself about me.’

Jim leaned forward, put his arm around her shoulder, and gave her a fatherly peck on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he whispered.

I woke to a gentle hand shaking my shoulder. ‘Do you have sugar in your tea, Ben?’ a voice whispered close to my ear. I tried to focus, but my brain wasn’t in gear yet. After a few seconds, I realised Mic was hovering over me with a hot mug of tea in her hand.

‘No sugar, just milk,’ I replied. I hadn’t had a morning cup of tea brought to me since I was about twelve and very ill.

‘Come on, you lot, we’ve got a yacht to move, and your breakfast is ready.’

I stumbled out of my lounger and half-toppled over Matt as I made my way towards the table. Breakfast was bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and fried potato. The smell was divine and soon had the others’ nostrils twitching.

Dad arrived, scratching his head and his bare stomach at the same time. ‘Don’t usually get beaten to the punch at this time of the day. Morning, Mic!’

I was still having trouble getting my eyes to focus, but when I did I glanced at my watch. ‘Jeez, Mic, it’s only just gone five.’

‘Oh, is it too early?’

‘Glad to have you around, Mic,’ laughed Dad. ‘I can never get these useless buggers moving before nine!’

Matt plonked himself in front of one of the huge plates of food.

‘Good morning, Matt,’ chirped Mic. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Don’t know. I only closed my eyes a few minutes ago.’

Dad had finished eating and was filling his mug with coffee
from the pot. ‘Nothing like an early start.’

‘I’m sorry, boys, but there’s so much to do today, I thought you’d want to be up,’ said Mic.

‘Just what we need—another bloody slave driver,’ groaned Matt.

Dad roared with laughter. He had a new ally. ‘Seeing how we’re all up now, let’s see if we can get the old lady down to the water today.’

Matt and I grunted, finishing our breakfast without another word.

Mum finally woke up. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘Don’t know,’ replied Matt. ‘Haven’t ever seen these numbers on my watch before!’

I downed the last mouthful from my mug, grabbed the grease gun, and headed off towards Aggie. Mic looked at Mum, who laughed. ‘Go on, love. I’ll finish cleaning up.’

I was about to swing into Aggie’s morning ritual with the grease gun when Mic appeared. ‘Can I help?’

I handed her the gun, ‘Now don’t miss any of the nipples, or she won’t start,’ I warned. She delicately placed the gun on the first nipple and gently squeezed the handle. ‘Give it heaps, or the sun will be down before we get her going.’

‘Good job I got you up early then,’ she replied, with a cheeky grin. She soon had the job done and handed the gun back to me, looking disdainfully at her now blackened hands.

‘Good. Get into the driver’s seat and crank the engine.’

Mic obliged and pressed the start button. Aggie roared into life, and she threw her into gear. Spinning on the spot, she didn’t wait for us to climb on, and was soon off down the track in
Erewhon
’s direction.

‘Reckon our little lady is in a hurry!’ Dad said, as we watched Aggie disappear.

By the time we reached the site, Matt had joined us. Mic
had turned Aggie around and was hooking up the tow strop.

‘Come on, you lot, we haven’t got all day!’

‘Yes, boss!’ we yelled back, chuckling as we quickened our stride.

Now that
Erewhon
was past the ring of puriri trees, getting her the rest of the way to the water’s edge was relatively straightforward. We placed planks end-to-end under the bogies, Aggie took the strain, and with very little effort
Erewhon
was soon at the river, waiting for her ride home on a barge.

Dad beamed. ‘Stage one complete!’ he announced to the world.

That afternoon, we shifted all the spare planks to the foreshore in readiness for the loading, then I took Aggie back to the old site to clean up. Mic sat on a log watching as I restored order to the churned-up mess we’d made. Dad and Matt eased the windlasses on the tree stays and removed the ropes. The trees relaxed back to their former positions, and, apart from the trampled undergrowth, normality was restored.

It was late afternoon when we finished. Matt and Dad had gone and I was about to return Aggie to camp, when I found Mic back on the log with tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘Nana’s going to miss this place. She’s been here for nearly forty years.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll bring
Erewhon
back here when she’s sailing again,’ I reassured her. ‘Come on!’ I added, turning toward Aggie. ‘Drive me home.’

Back at camp, Mum was in the hammock, coffee in hand. Matt and Dad had gone fishing. Mic suggested we catch some crayfish for dinner—she knew a good place where we could dive for them.