Swell (11 page)

‘Tiredness kills,’ I warned him as he lifted my case with ease and tossed it into the luggage compartment.

‘My boss kills if I am late,’ he chuckled out of the side of his mouth while balancing a gadang garam on his crusty lip.

He shepherded his passengers onto the bus.

If I had been concerned the driver might fall asleep and drive us to our deaths I needn’t have been. He played the Rolling Stones on repeat for every minute of the twelve hours at a decibel level that rattled the windows while he sang along in words that were not strictly English. I had hoped my fellow passengers would complain so that we might rest for at least part of the trip but it quickly emerged they were all Australian surfers under the age of twenty-five with boundless energy and degrees from the school of how to shout for half a day without losing your voice.

En route we stopped in Ubud, a small town renowned for its production of silver Balinese jewellery. I bought two intricate rings and a bracelet of interlinked silver starfish while the Australians shouted at each other about the ‘farking sick’ silver surfboard necklaces.

‘Do you sell silver muzzles?’ I asked the lady. ‘Silver earplugs perhaps?’

We re-boarded the bus and everybody around me sang
Jumping Jack Flash
for two hours straight.

The ferry across to Java was no better. The permanent tilt to one side, the holes in the floors and ceilings, the broken seats and the overflowing single toilet put me in fear of my life. The surfers found dodging a river of raw sewage hilarious and the hilarity grew further when the boat rolled dangerously mid-voyage and ‘Robbo’ from Wollongong spotted a family of sharks tailing us in the hope of a meal. Of course there were no life jackets onboard. Not that a layer of inflated plastic was likely to help when Jaws’ Indonesian cousin decided to have me for dinner.

The bus journey from hell continued when we reached Java, taking us to the remote village of Grajagan from where we were to take a ‘speedboat’ to the surf camp at G-Land. From the look of the wooden boat bobbing apologetically just off the beach, I thought ‘speedboat’ was pushing the irony to the limits.

‘We take eight then come back for rest,’ said the emaciated skipper.

Eight of the biggest Australian men threw chivalry to the wind and crammed themselves into the boat, leaving six of us behind on the beach to wait in the baking hot sun. Two hours later the boat still had not returned and I was beginning to wonder how long it took to die of heat exhaustion.

‘Do you have anything to eat or drink on you?’ I asked one of the Australians sitting next to me on the beach.

‘Nah mate but you could have a chew on that thing.’

He nodded towards my hand resting in the sand. I turned slowly and leapt to my feet.

‘What the bloody hell is that? Is it REAL?’ I screamed.

‘Yeah, mate you betcha. It’s a farking boa constrictor. Farking eat you alive that thing ay. It’s dead but.’

‘Get me out of this place,’ I pleaded to the sky.

‘No worries, mate, the speedboat’s coming.’

‘A bit of speed might be nice,’ I hissed, backing away from the giant snake for fear of it suddenly springing to life.

It was easily eight feet long and wide enough to swallow a Chihuahua whole.

Two of the Australians lifted the dead snake onto their shoulders and paraded it around the beach.

‘Careful, it might be faking it,’ I warned, although it was safe to say I would not miss a single one of my fellow travellers and rather them than me.

I sat back and watched them until we finally heard the roar, or rather the putt putt, of the speedboat’s engine. I was first in line this time.

‘We must go now, high tide,’ said the skipper, ‘or else we must stay here all night.’

‘Just start the sodding boat and get me out of here,’ I growled.

The camp was situated on the edge of the Javanese jungle under a heavy canopy of rainforest. It was bordered by a white sandy beach that very few human footprints had ever disturbed.

‘Welcome to jungle camp. Nama saya David Hasselhoff. My name is David Hasselhoff or the Hoff. Apa khabar?’ said our host who met us at the boat dock. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you,’ I replied somewhat shakily.

This was undoubtedly the most exhausting journey I had ever undertaken. I just wanted to get to my air-conditioned hotel room, close the door and regain my composure before I faced Jason and the work ahead.

As I was the only girl in the group, ‘the Hoff’ lifted my case and carried it to the camp. He was as lean as Bambi but tossed my luggage onto his shoulder as if it were empty. Which, judging by how this trip was progressing, it probably was.

We walked along a meandering jungle path through trees with leaves as big as garden parasols. I peered up at the treetops and noticed they were littered with debris. I could make out items of clothing, shoes and planks of wood.

‘What is all that up there?’

Our host shrugged.

‘Oh this is nothing. Just left from tsunami that wiped out camp before.’

‘Before when?’

‘Before before.’

‘Long before?’

‘Just before,’ he shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Well that’s reassuring,’ I sniffed. ‘Are you expecting another anytime soon?’

‘Who knows? Only ocean knows this,’ he beamed and marched on ahead. ‘Could happen any time.’

We came to a clearing that housed the main camp reception. It was a wooden pagoda structure open to both the elements and the wild animals of the jungle. Leather sofas held together with spit and string sat in one corner in front of a television screen that was playing a Hollywood movie with Indonesian subtitles and occasional dubbing. To my left a bar offered only Indonesian Bintang beer and Sprite. The door to the kitchen was at the far end of the pagoda and rows of benches and tables filled the centre of the room in the manner of a school canteen. Surfers milled around swigging from bottles of beer, many of whom I recognised from Hawaii. I looked around for Jason but a monkey swinging upside down from a tree behind the sofas diverted my attention. He appeared to be watching the television.

‘Wow, do you see many animals?’ I said, a smile touching my cracked lips.

‘Yes yes. Many monkey and tiger.’

‘Tiger?’

‘Yes,’ the Hoff nodded excitedly as if tsunamis and free roaming wildcats were the best tourist attractions in the world.

He really had to work on his PR pitch.

‘Don’t worry. Not so many tiger this season so you not be eaten. Probably.’

‘Probably. Well isn’t that just swell,’ I replied, forcing a smile.

We were all given keys to our rooms. I managed to sneak a peek at the list of guests and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Jason and Chuck were indeed both on
the island and this was not some nasty hoax to pay me back for sleeping with Cain. I was also pleased to note that the three of us had been allocated some of the ‘luxury’ bungalows in the camp. I glanced around again to see if I could catch sight of either of them but the man who caught my attention was the one man I really did not want to see. Cain was playing table football with one of the Tiger Sharks on the far side of the room. They both roared aggressively and I could tell Cain was winning. Something that he clearly made a habit of. Well not this time. He had not beaten me. I was back. I just needed a moment to collect my thoughts.

‘Hoff, is there a restroom here, please?’

The Hoff pointed towards a small wooden cupboard on the edge of the pagoda. I squeezed through the crowds of surfers and photographers with my head down and slipped into the cubicle. The darkness consumed me completely as if I had dived into a bottle of soya sauce. I could not find a light and I could barely see where to aim but the pungent smell curling up from the toilet was unmistakeable.

Where was the paradise tour of the world’s best beaches I had been promised? Where was the glamour and first class travel?

I clenched my thighs and squatted. My whole body felt suddenly drained of energy from the gruelling trek across Indonesia. I truly hoped the year on professional surfing’s dream tour would not be as tough as this or I would never last.

It was then I heard a loud squeak above the voices of the men outside the door. I strained my eyes in the darkness. The noise repeated itself this time from around my feet. Still squatting, I peered down at the floor. There was a scuffling, a third succession of
squeaks and then a very large, very furry, unmistakeably rat-like creature scratched over my flip-flop and settled its belly on the arch of my foot.

Yanking up my trousers I let out a scream that could itself have caused a tsunami and fumbled manically for the door handle. The rat hopped around my feet as if we were flirting at a disco. The door burst open and I tumbled out into the arms of the nearest man. I almost knocked him over but he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. I could hardly breathe and tears bubbled on my eyelashes but I squeezed my eyes shut and steadied myself.

‘Welcome to paradise,’ said the man.

I took a step back and looked up at the bemused face of Jason.

‘Bailey Brown, that was quite an entrance.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘It was a test.’

I sucked up a noodle and scowled across the table at Jason.

‘A test of what exactly?’

Jason smiled and a mischievous twinkle flashed across his eyes.

‘A test of how much you wanted this job.’

‘What? Of course I want this job, I’ve flown half way round the world haven’t I?’

I glugged back the Bintang that was succeeding in washing at least some of the stresses of the day out of my tired body.

‘Count yourself lucky I didn’t turn around and leave you high and dry without a biographer.’

He gave a small bow.

‘I am a very lucky man.’

‘So if my eventful journey was a test, how did you two get here? You look far too refreshed to have suffered that trip.’

Jason and Chuck looked at each other and grinned.

‘Would you call it a luxury boat, Chuck? Yeah I guess it was kind of luxurious.’

‘It didn’t have the best champagne, dude, but yeah I’d call it luxury. And fast too. Not even three hours from Kuta to the door, for real,’ Chuck hooted.

‘Tell me you are joking.’

Jason placed his smooth hand on mine.

‘You wouldn’t have liked it. It wasn’t the true Indonesian experience. It was way too easy.’

‘I think I might have to kill you both.’

Jason and Chuck threw their heads back and laughed.

‘We had to initiate you into the world tour somehow and you have to admit I owed you one. We were worried you were too soft.’

‘You passed, dude,’ said Chuck, patting my hand, ‘welcome back. We missed you.’

‘Thanks,’ I said with a wry smile, ‘to think I missed you too.’

I shook my head.

‘Look at the two of you buzzing like merry mosquitoes at your own joke.’

Jason waggled his index finger at me across the table.

‘Speaking of mosquitoes, Bailey, I hope you’ve brought protection. They are really bad here for malaria and dengue fever and that is one initiation I would not wish on you.’

I nodded and reached into my bag.

‘Yes I’m on a course of pills and I also did a bit of research and read that this is good for repelling them.’

I placed the plastic jar of Marmite on the table and unscrewed the lid to reveal the tar-like brown substance. Chuck lowered his naturally high brow and peered into the jar.

‘Whoa what the hell is that?’

He recoiled at the smell.

‘Marmite, it’s a spread for toast in the UK. The vitamin B content is apparently released through your pores and repels mosquitoes. You either love it or hate it but I’m not taking any chances when it comes to tropical diseases.’

‘Too right, B, I get where you’re coming from, for shizzle.’

‘No, you’re not meant to…’ I began but my voice trailed away.

‘Man this shit is sticky.’

I settled back into my seat with a happy sigh while Chuck proceeded to smear Marmite over every bit of his bare skin. Revenge was sweet. Or rather savoury and decidedly pungent.

Over the course of the evening we settled into an easy companionship, thankfully as if the events in Hawaii had never happened. We were open and honest with each other and I learned that Cain’s manipulation of me had left Jason so incensed after my departure that he had discarded his retirement plans and had vowed to teach Cain a lesson in the only place he could; the ocean. Driven by a new desire to win, Jason had steamrolled the new world champion in the first two events in Australia. Jason was currently leading the rankings and was already well on his way to regaining his world title.

I had of course been dreading the moment I came face to face with Cain for the first time and managed to avoid him for days. I had played many an awkward scenario over in my mind but as it happened I need not have worried. When we eventually came face-to-face one week into the trip while waiting for the boat to ferry us across the lagoon to the outer reef break, Cain reacted as if he had no recollection of what we had done
together. I drew a line under the incident with my fake Prada sandal, stepped over it and moved on in the hope that my mistake would not resurface to haunt me.

On day three of what would eventually stretch to three weeks in the jungle, I met Jason’s teammate, protégé and friend, Rory, who was on tour for his first year. He had flown in at dawn by helicopter at Jason’s expense. When we met, Rory had just emerged from a surf at Speedies, the barrelling wave in G-Land at which the contest would be held when the swell was declared perfect. Rory wore nothing except a pair of purple board shorts slung low on his hips. He had a tiny waist in comparison to the rolling muscles of his chest and shoulders and his hairless skin glowed with the healthiness of youth. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties, his face not yet displaying the wrinkled map of life’s ups and downs. Rory had a bright, special quality that made me wish I had a younger brother just like him whom I could proudly watch growing into a strong, successful man. I wondered whether my father would have stuck around for a son like Rory.