The Reef (20 page)

‘Are you okay? Tide is starting to come in.' His voice was gentle, not wishing to intrude.

Jennifer sat up with a jolt. Surely she hadn't
been asleep. ‘Oh, I'm fine. Thanks. Just cooling off.' She scrambled to her feet.

‘You didn't come prepared for exploring.' He grinned, looking at her reddened skin and fresh scratches, bare feet. He held out a bottle of water. ‘A spare one. Please have it.'

‘Are you sure?' Jennifer realised she was parched.

‘The cook overloaded my picnic hamper. have more than enough. Are you staying here or on a boat?'

‘Just here for a day and a night, I think. We live on Branch Island.' Gratefully she drank the slightly warm but refreshing water.

‘You live there? That must be, well, different.' He caught her expression and they both laughed.

Jennifer tightened the top on the bottle, she'd need the rest for her trek back. Her apprehension had gone. He seemed a nice guy. She studied him properly. Tall, kind of rangy, a bit thin, but very tanned. His eyes were green, he had a warm smile and his tan made his teeth look white. From what she could see under his frayed straw hat his hair was light brown. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties. She then noticed the scar down one arm, a pink slash along the length of his biceps. ‘And you? On holiday here?'

‘Sort of . . . R and R. It's certainly relaxing. Are you heading back?' He indicated the coral ledge. ‘Risky with the tide, it comes in fast. Besides, you can't hurry without shoes. Seems your visit was impromptu.'

‘It was,' admitted Jennifer. ‘Did you walk here?'

‘I have done it a few times. But with the picnic hamper Susie threw in a free ride. She's sending one of the guys in the dinghy to pick me up shortly. Want a lift?'

‘Yes please, thanks a lot.'
Here I go again, riding home in a boat with a stranger.
‘I'm Jennifer.'

‘Tony Adams. I'll just pack up my gear.' They strolled to where he had been picnicking in the partial shadow of the rocks.

Jennifer sat down, put her sore feet in a rock pool and watched him repack the picnic basket. ‘How long are you staying here, Tony? Are you travelling around this area?'

‘I'm trying not to travel, done my share of that. This seemed a nice out-of-the-way place to . . . just hang. Places like Branch and the other island resorts don't appeal to me.'

‘Too yuppie?'

He grinned. ‘That's part of it. I just don't want to have to make the effort to be sociable. Here you can choose to be by yourself and no one cares. They advertise privacy.' He paused. ‘Sorry if I sound a bit reclusive or stuffy. I just wanted, needed, some downtime.' He closed the basket and folded his towel and jammed it on top.

Jennifer was curious but didn't want to pry. As they both sat there staring at the ocean she said, ‘I'm sorry if I intruded on your peace.'

‘Not at all. I was engrossed in my book and thought I was hallucinating when I saw this, well,
fairy lady in red bathers dancing across the beach.'

They both laughed. ‘I think I've burnt as well as cut my feet,' said Jennifer ruefully.

‘Get the first-aid kit from Susie and treat those. Coral cuts can get infected easily. And what brought you to live on an island in the beautiful Barrier Reef? Do you work on Branch?'

‘No. My husband does. I'm still adjusting, haven't been here too long. He's assistant manager.'

‘And you? How do you fill in your days? I imagine you can only swim, snorkel, scuba for so long. Do you get bored, or not?'

Jennifer had an urge to pour out her feelings to this softly spoken, calm man. There was a stillness to him that she couldn't quite figure out. Like he was waiting for something. Perhaps it was more an alertness that was below the seemingly casual and relaxed surface. ‘I don't think it's boredom. Despite the fact I don't enjoy any water things. I'm not fond of the sea. It's more a sense of feeling trapped. Of being uprooted. I was thinking of continuing my studies when Blair got this job.'

‘Whose career comes first, eh? What were you studying?'

‘I switched to environmental science. Not for any specific reason, it just interests me. I was working at the university. Now I feel a bit adrift. What about you? Are you working?' He had an air about him that was not of a man taking time off work or someone with a set routine taking an interlude. Restlessness, was that what it was about him?

He didn't answer for a moment. A flock of sooty terns swept past, landing in the tussocks of grey-green grass behind them. ‘No. I'm between jobs, as actors say. Resting.' Then, as if he didn't want to appear rude by being vague, he added in a rush, ‘My last assignment was pretty stressful. Lasted longer than I expected and I got to a point where I couldn't cop it any more.'

Stress leave. He doesn't seem the type. He looks
. . .
capable. Strong somehow.
‘That's getting pretty common these days. Well, more recognised, I guess. My Uncle Don told me war vets came home a psychological and emotional mess and were expected to get on with things as if nothing had happened. I guess people at home couldn't imagine what they'd been through. Now stress seems to be pressure to achieve, keep up with society, get ahead . . .' She sighed, thinking of Blair. ‘For what, I sometimes think. Other things in life are more important.' She thought of her mother and she thought of her baby and was suddenly fearful. Would she be a good mother? Would Blair be a good father?

Tony nodded. ‘Family. A future. Security. The things my grandparents talked about. Do you have kids?'

‘Blair wouldn't have taken the job here if we had. He's aiming for a big hotel in Europe.'

‘So life goes on hold for a bit.' He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘There's always a trade-off in relationships. Or a compromise. Or one person walks away.' He looked back to sea again. ‘And
are you enjoying island life?' he asked. It was a polite enquiry but Jennifer sensed something in his voice. Had she given away her feelings about being here? Impulsively she shook her head.

‘Not really. I hate the ocean. I have a recurring nightmare about being in the sea.'

To Jennifer it was as if they were alone on a desert island. As if they were seated side by side on a long flight sharing secrets and life stories in the anonymous dark.

Suddenly he blurted, ‘Funny you saying that, about the war. Nothing's changed much. I've been in war zones for the last few years. Places like Afghanistan did me in.'

‘You were in the military?'

‘Correspondent. Newspapers mainly.'

‘Oh. That must have been tough.' She thought of the tired faces she'd seen on TV, the deaths of news men and women. It had all seemed so far away and unnecessary. ‘This must seem a world away. Well, it is, isn't it?' she finished lamely. There was a set to Tony's mouth and a pain in his eyes. She wished they hadn't ventured into such personal territory. It was too painful.

Quietly, conversationally, looking at the horizon and seeing something else, he said, ‘Even here. I hear bombs, sniper fire, screams. On this pristine beach I see bodies, children . . .' He rubbed his eyes. ‘Sorry . . . you see why I avoid people. I'm not very good company.'

‘How long has it been? Since you got out?' asked Jennifer, not daring to ask about his own
family. Did he leave a wife, avoid having children because of what he did for a living? Or had he returned to them a damaged man?

‘Eighteen months.' He gave a bit of a smile and stood up as a dinghy appeared around the rocky point. ‘They say it gets better with time. Once I start work again I'll have something else to think about, I guess.' He picked up his hamper, towel and book and moved along the beach to where the dinghy was coming in.

‘You're going back overseas?' Jennifer walked beside him.

‘No. I quit. Might freelance. Maybe do a photographic book. Landscape images, not war.' It was the first trace of bitterness she'd heard.

‘There's an old beachcomber, kind of an inventor, on Branch. He encouraged me to take the plunge and do something I'd never done. And was scared to do,' said Jennifer.

‘And how did you feel?'

She grinned at him. ‘Pretty good. And it gave me entry into his very exclusive Shark Club.'

Tony helped her into the little row boat, settling her in the stern seat. ‘I'm not a club man myself. But what's the Shark Club?'

‘A shack the tourists don't know about. Dirt floor, cold beer, lanterns, and a lot of interesting locals. Scientists and sailors.'

Tony put the hamper between Jennifer's feet as the boy who doubled as bartender pushed off. ‘I reckon there's a story or two there.'

‘Remember, to be a member you have to do
something you've never done before. But in your case that might be a bit tricky,' she said lightly.

He smiled, looking calm and relaxed once more. ‘Ah, you might be surprised. There are quite a few things I've never been brave enough to do. I'll keep the Shark Club in mind.'

They didn't speak again until they reached the lagoon. Loud laughter ricocheted from
Kicking Back
to shore.

Blair, after returning ashore with Susie and several others, had a nap and joined Jennifer and the other guests for pre-dinner drinks. Dinner in the dining hut was convivial. Jennifer was reserved, letting Blair be the one to joke and chat, matching Susie in entertaining the resident guests and several people from the boats. She could see what Blair had meant about the importance of the social bonding at resorts. People became best friends for a short time and parted with promises to return or keep in touch that they inevitably failed to fulfil.

The corporate heavies stayed on board
Kicking Back
though there was mention they might come ashore later. Jennifer noticed Tony was not present. As soon as she could she made excuses and returned to their tent. She lay between the black silk sheets, watching the water darken, and finally the terns and small creatures fell silent. She thanked her stars no mutton birds nested here. Their mating fights and wails still haunted and awakened her on Branch. By the time Blair
staggered into bed she was asleep and so discussion of their situation was once again put on hold.

In the early morning Jennifer eased from bed and walked down to the beach. It was a still and perfect sunrise. There was something so hopeful about a new day when it seemed everything would be all right, problems would be overcome. Would it be a new beginning for her and Blair? She'd wait till later to talk to him. Blair was not an early riser and would be suffering the effects of yesterday for several more hours.

Glancing further down the beach she saw Tony standing at the water's edge, a solitary, stationary figure. Jennifer wondered what he was seeing. This peaceful dawn or haunted memories? Soon he dived into the glowing rosy sea and swam in easy steady strokes towards the horizon.

Jennifer turned and retraced her steps.

At breakfast Blair was sweetly attentive, and Jennifer detected a hint of remorse. Whether for his excesses of the night before, or their tense discussion about the baby, she wasn't sure. However, he did declare that yesterday had been very useful. He didn't elaborate. Nor did he make any mention of their child, their future or indeed tomorrow.

Who was it, Jennifer wondered, who'd said ‘Tomorrow is another day'? Well, she had come to her decision and from now on her priority would be her child, it was a pact between herself and her developing infant. Just the two of them. Adjusting to each other. And, after she'd seen the doctor once more, she would break the news to Christina
that she was going to be a grandmother. Walking along the beach after breakfast while Blair talked to Susie and her staff, Jennifer held her hands across her belly. ‘It's you and me, kid!'

The promise of the dawn held firm. It was a good day.

Treading Water

T
HE TIDE WAS OUT,
the exposed reef with its pools and channels glistened under a sheen of water. The sea was two hundred metres away, a turquoise ring stretching to the white crest marking the outer reef. There were a few people making a pre-breakfast pilgrimage across the reef, stepping between the coral outcrops in rubber-soled shoes or aged laceless sneakers that hung on the side of the dive shop for guests. Leaning on their long wooden walking poles they bent and peered through plastic viewing cones balanced on the surface of the water. Like seafaring shepherds they followed the sea paths mapped by tide and wind,
observing, rarely disturbing. Occasionally someone could not resist straightening briefly to hold aloft a bright blue starfish to admire or to photograph. Later in the morning groups would cluster around a reef guide to learn the intricacies of a miniature world and its inhabitants, the history of the formation of the reef on which they stood.

Jennifer continued on her early-morning walk, a ritual she loved while the day was new. Blair was not a morning person and Jennifer rarely lasted the distance in the evenings after dinner when Blair came to life. He was a charming host with guests, conferred with the chef, checked staff rosters, and met with Doyley about any personnel problems. One morning a week Blair sat down with Rosie to go over what he called ‘the big picture'.

While Blair slept Jennifer walked along the pristine beach. It was time alone with her thoughts, which she let drift in and out of her mind rather than focusing on anything specific. If it was an uncomfortable or painful thought she let it go, choosing not to dwell on it. She felt in a suspended state as the days slid by, unsure what she was waiting for. She put it down to being pregnant, concentrating her energies on this gestation time. And if the thought came to her –
you can't spend nine months like this –
she let that go too.

The resort was behind her, out of sight. The softness of the early light hardened as the sun became full strength. Her footprints were the first to mark the sand. But ahead in the dazzling
bright light of sun and sea she saw figures at the edge of the reef. One of the group was pulling a small rubber duckie and, shading her eyes, it looked to be full of plastic buckets. The group were in knee-deep water, some in pairs, some bent over a net. One of the figures began splashing in to shore.

Jennifer sat on the sand to watch this activity. And then she recognised Professor Masters.

She waved. ‘Hi, Mac!'

He gave a salute and sauntered over and sat beside her. He was wearing his battered leather hat, shorts and a Greenpeace T-shirt, and carried a small underwater camera and a pair of swimming goggles. ‘Isn't this the best part of the day?'

‘It is. Though I'm a bit partial to the sunsets too. What are you doing out there?'

‘Collecting specimens. Taking pictures of them in situ before putting them in the sample buckets. They'll go into our tanks for observation and monitoring. Eventually they're returned to where they came from.'

‘They're students out there?'

‘Yes, most are looking at reef ecology. Kirsty is doing a study on coral reproduction, Gary is looking at the impact of pollution on the reef system and Rudi is looking at symbiosis or how certain fish and other organisms live together for mutual benefit out there.'

‘Like the little clown fish that lives in an anemone?'

‘That anemone has stinging cells that are
deadly to other fish and predators, yet the fish is immune. A perfect relationship.'

‘You wonder how they found each other.'

‘You mean, is it a partnership designed by nature, perfected over aeons of evolution? Or have countless fish died until they developed a strategy and system to protect themselves? It's a fish-eat-fish world down there.'

‘Are these the sorts of questions that occupy your days?' asked Jennifer.

‘Amongst others,' he answered easily. ‘Like, what is it that protects corals and other sea creatures from getting sunburnt at very low tides. The tidal range is nearly two metres here and this sunburn protection could be useful in preventing and curing skin cancers in humans. The natural world is like a great textbook, we just have to crack the code to find answers to help us in the human world.'

‘So what is the future for the reef?'

‘Essentially our work is to find answers and raise awareness of what's happening to the reef. In 1998, thirty per cent of the world's reefs were wiped out due to a rise in sea temperature. And we're going to see more severe and more frequent events like this. Which will be catastrophic. At this rate it'll be gone in thirty to fifty years.'

‘God, it's fascinating work,' said Jennifer sincerely, then added, ‘But I can hear my mother commenting that paddling around on a tropical resort island is pretty nice kind of work. She never understood me wanting to be at university. She's
got no time for academics or research. Work is not pleasure in her book,' sighed Jennifer.

‘She's been reading the wrong books. So, how are you doing? You haven't come to see us again. In fact, why not come now? We're all heading back for breakfast,' he said, jumping up and pulling Jennifer to her feet.

She was touched at their interest in her. ‘I'm starving.' She was about to comment she was only wearing a sarong around her swimsuit but knew no one would think that unusual. The rest of the group were wading in and all were in shorts or swimwear.

‘I'll go help with the boat. Perhaps you could carry one of the buckets,' said Mac.

As they trailed inland after tying the little rubber boat to a tree at what Mac called the beach camp, Jennifer asked, ‘So what am I carrying in here?' As far as she could tell all that was in her green bucket was a bunch of seaweed.

‘Small creatures with big appetites, and that common-looking weed has strange properties. It's only found in coral outcrops and Rudi is doing experiments with it.'

It was the first time Jennifer had gone into the confines of the research station and she was surprised to find a completely different setting and community from the resort. It was sheltered at the centre of the island and initially it reminded her of university. The communal dwellings were different from the resort's staff quarters, which were built by cookie-cutter design, an inexpensive version of the
more lavish resort suites. Here, buildings seemed to have grown as needs dictated. Awnings, partitions and impromptu work areas were tacked on to and between huts and simple houses. There were a couple of double-storey dwellings, all strewn with scuba gear, wetsuits, flippers, goggles, towels and clothes.

Past the accommodation were two long buildings separated by a series of large cement tanks, plus a series of stands with Perspex aquaria set up. Hoses, motors, pumps and a clutter of implements and tools were scattered around. Further on, a wooden shack with flyscreen doors and windows had a sheltered outdoor eating area with long benches at two big tables. Unlike the staff quarters at the resort, this had an air of also being a workplace. Jennifer longed to see the set-up in the two buildings that were the labs.

‘Do you have an office somewhere?' she asked Mac.

‘A corner in one of the labs and the dining table in my house. And I share that with Rudi.'

‘The table or the house?'

He laughed. ‘Both. But we have a system. It gets a bit chaotic if we have visitors as there's a spare room with four bunks. So it's a bit cosy in our small kitchen with one fridge. The students eat in the rec room. There are only three cottages with a kitchen.'

‘Who comes to visit? Family? Friends? Work people?' asked Jennifer, suddenly curious about Mac's personal life.

‘We try to keep the island a work-only centre. We have an email set-up so we can stay in regular contact. Visitors tend to be other professors, international researchers, and postgraduate candidates. Come on in and see for yourself.'

So I'm none the wiser about your family.
‘Can I help with breakfast?'

‘Absolutely. I'm a basic cook at best. Though this mob will be hungry enough to eat whatever's going.'

The wooden and prefab structure was screened by frayed lattice and shade cloth making a semiprivate courtyard in front. A clothes line strung along one side under the roof overhang looked to be a sort of wardrobe with wetsuits and shirts on hangers. Dive boots, thongs and gym shoes were scattered beneath.

‘I've never seen so many wetsuits,' commented Jennifer. ‘In all colours too. Do you wear certain colours on a different day of the week?'

‘Our American friends bequeathed the fancy jobs to us. I try to avoid black, I feel too much like an edible seal. Though Carmel is doing some interesting research on that.'

Jennifer followed him inside to a sitting room with several sofas, lots of cushions, a stereo in one corner and a large table covered with a laptop, piles of papers and books.

The house was suddenly filled with laughing energy as several of the group arrived and everyone seemed to be talking at once. Jennifer noticed how each one wanted to share news or take Mac aside
to talk with him one-on-one. He pulled off his hat, sat on a sofa patiently listening to details of this morning's finds, and made suggestions about specimens, writing up material and next steps.

‘Hi, Jennifer, have you been delegated chief cook?' said Carmel. ‘Can I help?'

‘Yes. I haven't a clue where anything is, what's here?' said Jennifer.

Carmel gave a Latin shrug. ‘What is in the refrigerator, or this cupboard? Hah, eggs, chilli sauce, bread, baked beans, last night's chicken. Some fruit. Honey. Is plenty, yes?'

‘If you're hungry,' laughed Jennifer. ‘And I am.'

‘Go for it, then,' said Rudi, coming in with a pile of papers. ‘I have to check my tanks. I'll wash up,' he offered.

Suddenly an efficient chaos took over as plates appeared, and helpers made toast, tea and coffee, and sliced papaya into bowls and squeezed lime juice on top. Everyone was talking about their projects, plans and workload. Jennifer felt totally comfortable and at home. Rudi found some frangipani flowers and scattered them along the table set up in the outer courtyard area.

‘Very nice touch, Rudi,' said Mac as he sat down. He'd showered and changed clothes, and his wet hair was slicked back, his pony tail in a neat ball at the base of his neck. He sat at the top of the table and the others ranged themselves around him. As the plates of food were put on the table, he gestured for Jennifer to sit next to him. Despite his friendly and casual manner he had a
quiet air of authority.

Jennifer kept quiet listening to the exchanges about individual projects and interests. She could see that Mac deftly kept the discussion informal and yet each person was aware of the nuances of each other's work status from difficulties or small failures to a lucky moment or a pleasing result. She wished Blair could be so subtle and sensitive in keeping a team blended and supportive of each other. But then Mac had been doing this for a long time. Carmel had told her that he played the guitar and sang, drank and partied with them, was laid back and pulled no rank. But there was huge respect for him and Jennifer sensed anyone could go to him with a personal as well as professional problem.

She kept her head down, finishing off the spicy eggs and beans, and when she looked for more toast she found Mac looking at her with a slight smile.

He passed the toast and pushed the Vegemite in front of her. ‘Try something a bit more traditional. Carmel's meals are known as luscious Latin lovelies. Last year we had a Swede and he pickled everything.'

‘Thanks. I'm enjoying this.'

‘The food or the company?' he asked gently.

Jennifer put down her knife. ‘The company, I have to say. Thanks for inviting me. And if I can see around a bit more, the labs, see what people are doing, it will be the best time I've had since arriving here.'

‘Mmm. You'd better become a regular visitor then. Are you settled over there?' He inclined his head in the direction of the resort.

‘I haven't felt settled in years,' said Jennifer suddenly. ‘I mean in the sense of my own space.'

Although no one else at the table was following their conversation, Jennifer stopped, embarrassed. It hit her that the last time she felt comfortable and in her space, which meant an area that was hers and hers alone, was in her old room back at the farm. How different things were then. Her brother in his little room next door, her parents down the hall. The dogs, the farm noises, the bush sounds. It was a place she knew intimately and where she felt secure.

Out beyond the farm gates was the world, but she was protected by a father tinkering and fixing things and leaning on a fence having a smoke and watching . . . what? And a mother who was different then too. She fussed, she bossed, she muttered, and everyone did her bidding because it was easier that way. And what did it matter because they all had their own secret worlds and fantasies. Then Christina laughed, really laughed, with pleasure and enjoyment. And if she was cross, it was tempered with, ‘Well now, this is for your own good, you'll thank me one day.' So you didn't feel you'd been so terribly bad or were hopelessly incompetent. Which was how Christina made her feel now.