‘And that’s where I come in, is it?’ Caitlin said, hand on hip, indignant.
‘Ha ha! No! But I mean, you never know, do you? One of them might just take a shine to you.’
It was snowing in New York when Robert, Colby and Grant from Goldman Sachs boarded a Qantas jet for the first leg of their flight to Townsville. (Marcel, being a tech expert, had been asked to stay in Manhattan, lest the rumours about Y2K come true.) They turned left into business class, where a smiling flight attendant stood waiting with a linen napkin, a small glass of champagne and a dish of warm peanuts.
‘This is going to be grand,’ said Robert, but it was torture: delays blew out their flight to thirty-two hours, as they made their way from New York to Los Angeles – where they were delayed – and then onto Sydney – where they were again delayed – and then from Brisbane to Townsville. Christmas Day had come and gone at some point on the long flight.
‘I’m going to kill you for this,’ Colby said as they waited at the baggage carousel.
‘Not when you see the boat,’ promised Robert.
The heat and the light of Queensland, after the subtle glow of snow in New York, was dazzling as the Americans stepped out of the airport. All three reached for sunglasses from their top pockets. Trevor hadn’t thought to provide a limo service, so they caught a Silver Top taxi from the airport to the pier.
Trevor, Carol and Caitlin stood waiting.
‘Check them out,’ said Caitlin, nudging Carol.
Colby was first to come striding down the pier, his hard-shell Samsonite rattling over the old timber.
‘Are those pink shorts?’ asked Caitlin, eyeing Colby’s pressed belted shorts, with a baby-blue polo shirt and tan boat shoes. Robert had the same shorts, but in leaf green, and then there was Grant from Goldman Sachs, in canary yellow.
‘What is this – some kind of uniform?’ said Caitlin. ‘They’re going to get themselves bashed if they turn up at the Merchant dressed like that.’
‘Shush,’ scolded Carol. ‘They’re paying customers.’
‘She’s right, but,’ said Trevor.
‘They’re dorks,’ said Caitlin.
‘They’re
paying customers
,’ Carol repeated. ‘And aren’t you glad now that I got a uniform for us?’ She was referring to the chambray shirts she, Trevor and Caitlin were wearing, with the new logo for Trevor’s Reef Tours embroidered over the breast pockets.
‘It’ll make us look like a team,’ she’d said. ‘We’ll wear white on the bottom and it will be like we know what we’re doing.’
‘I don’t have white pants,’ said Trevor, but actually he did have white bowling pants, so Carol had asked him to wear those (and not with the red underpants, thank you very much). Carol’s own pants were white knickerbockers – not cotton, but some kind of crinkly fabric – from Sussan in the Townsville Mall.
‘I’ll wear denim shorts,’ said Caitlin, ‘with white shoes. If that’s okay.’
‘I suppose so,’ Carol said. She was a bit disappointed, but then Caitlin had shown up, and her torn shorts were almost white, and she had new white sneakers, and she’d tied the front tails of the Trevor’s Reef Tours shirt over the fine blonde hairs on her belly, and she did look lovely.
‘Have you seen the deckhand?’ Robert whispered to Colby, after Caitlin had been introduced. ‘She looks like a blonde Daisy Duke.’
‘This is a fantastic boat,’ Colby had replied, wiping a broad hand over the polished woodwork. ‘Look at these fittings.’ The
Blue Moon
had three cabins below the main deck, including a state room with an island bed that Robert wanted and Colby claimed on sight by virtue of being more confident, in any situation, and simply taking control.
Trevor encouraged his guests to ‘dump your stuff and come onto the main deck for beers’. He was keen to show off the boat – ‘We’ve got all the bells and whistles’ – but Colby again took charge, saying, ‘If it’s all the same to you, Trevor, we’re beat. Feel free to motor on out. We’ll put our heads down, and maybe come up for a beer in the late afternoon.’
‘No worries!’ Trevor said, and Robert, who hadn’t heard that expression before, immediately adopted it.
‘No worries!’ he said. ‘I love that. You’ve got no worries. We’ve got no worries. Nobody’s got worries.’
‘Yeah, like, no problem,’ said Trevor, confused.
‘No problem! Okay.’
The three New Yorkers went down below. Trevor took the wheel, and Caitlin, having coiled up the ropes, stood beside him, watching as he guided the
Blue Moon
away from the pier.
‘Have you noticed how all their clothes are new?’ she said. ‘Not one of them has worn those clothes before. And they all have their shirts tucked in. Did you see that? They’re on holidays and they’ve got shirts tucked in.’
‘They’ll loosen up,’ said Trevor. ‘Let ’em sleep off the jet lag, then get some prawns up out of the Esky. She’ll be right. Just, you know, be nice to them. It’ll be worth it for a tip.’
It was Grant who emerged first from the lower decks, shielding his eyes against the dazzling Australian light.
‘Jesus, it’s bright,’ he said.
‘All things bright and beautiful,’ said Robert, who had come up behind him, and was now throwing his arms wide. The boat was well away from the pier. There was nothing to see but water and sky – both of them flat, unending blue.
‘It’s magnificent,’ said Colby.
Caitlin had spent her down time sitting near the bow, with her legs dangling over the pointed edge. Her skin
glowed from the coconut oil she’d applied, and her blonde hair, which she’d tied into a plait, was long enough to tuck into the breast pocket of the Trevor’s Reef Tours shirt. She was used to men like Grant – and of course like Robert – giving her the once over, but if Colby copped a second look, she missed it.
‘Does anyone want a beer?’ she asked.
‘Beer,’ said Robert, ‘make that three. I’m talking three for me. Can’t speak for the other two.’
‘Three is good. One each for the three of us,’ said Colby.
‘Spoilsport.’
It was not outside Caitlin’s experience at the Merchant to have one man order three beers, but she nodded at Colby and headed down to the galley.
‘Now, where are we headed, Captain?’ asked Robert. The
Blue Moon
was a pilothouse saloon, with cockpit and saloon on the same level; a truly social boat.
‘We’ve just cleared the east side of Magnetic Island,’ Trevor said. ‘Over there’s Cape Cleveland. The plan is to drop anchor around Middle Island. There’s quite a bit of coral there. Otherwise, we can head south-east towards North Molle.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Robert, not really knowing or minding what Trevor was suggesting.
‘And then I’ve drawn up a bit of an itinerary. Subject to wind and weather, and anything you particularly want to see or do. We’ll come ashore at Airlie Beach. There’s a bit to do on Hamilton Island, and at Hayman. Nice restaurants and so
forth. And there’s Turtle Point for golf, plus the
Lady Bowen
wreck, you can dive on that. There’s gropers, sea snakes, lion fish, maybe the odd shark, totally harmless. Then back to Airlie Beach, and back again to Townsville. If that suits. As I say, all can change.’
‘All sounds perfect,’ said Robert.
Caitlin emerged from the galley with three cans of XXXX on a plastic tray.
‘Is this the local brew, then?’ Robert asked, tugging on the ring-pull. ‘And you drink this from the can, do you? How cold is it? Look, it’s practically got ice on it, Colby. Would you describe this as ice-cold?’
‘Ha ha!’ said Trevor. ‘Of course it’s ice-cold. You’re not Poms, are you? Poms like a warm beer. Nobody else does. You want a cold beer. The weather bureau says the next few days we’re in for some scorchers.’
‘That means very hot, right?’ said Robert. ‘Hot enough to scorch us? I like that.’
Caitlin was amused.
‘Don’t you say that in America?’ she asked.
‘We don’t say that,’ said Robert. ‘We say it’s going to be hot, or very hot, or, in New York, we say sticky. And we do not get a blue sky like this, do we, Colby? We don’t have all this space. You probably don’t notice, do you? The space. That must be normal for you, if you live here, too?’
He was already flirting.
‘I don’t live on the boat,’ said Caitlin. ‘This is just a casual job. I live in Townsville. I grew up on Magnetic –
we’ve gone past it … it’s an island not far from here – but I live in Townsville.’
‘You grew up on an island? Did you hear that, Colby? Our lovely – what are you? – Captain’s mate? Deckhand?’
‘She’s the beer wench,’ said Trevor.
‘No, I’m not,’ said Caitlin, looking down at her white sneakers.
‘Okay then, our lovely host. Your name’s Caitlin, right? Our lovely host, Caitlin, grew up on an island.’
Colby had been leaning over the edge of the boat, beer in hand, studying the water. He didn’t look up.
‘So, hey, Caitlin,’ Robert continued, ‘do you know Daisy Duke … ever heard of her?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Caitlin. ‘Is that a show?’
Robert had taken up position in one of the leather swivel chairs in the main saloon. He was still wearing tailored shorts but these were even shorter than the ones in which he’d arrived. His legs were dark and hairy, all the way up. He crossed his bare legs at the ankles. His toes were dark and hairy, too.
‘Daisy Duke is not a show,’ he said. ‘Daisy Duke is a
character
on a show. And you look just like her, but with blonde hair. Doesn’t she look like Daisy, Colby?’
Colby looked over his shoulder.
‘She does,’ he said, but that was all he said, and Caitlin found herself feeling anxious. She’d noticed Colby. Why hadn’t Colby noticed her?
Colby had noticed Caitlin, of course, and he’d already
pegged her as being young and cute, both appealing attributes. But it was early days on the boat and, indeed, in Australia. He didn’t want to blow his chances of meeting other girls – on the islands, or on passing cruisers – by getting involved with the deckhand on the first day.
‘Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to call you Daisy,’ Robert said. ‘Do you mind if I call you Daisy? Just while we’re on the boat.’
Caitlin didn’t mind. She understood that Robert was flirting with her, and although she didn’t fancy him she also understood Americans to be good tippers. Carol had told her, ‘If you just smile and be nice, you might end up getting an extra hundred bucks. It’s not like they can’t afford to throw their money around.’
‘So, how did that happen, that you grew up on an island?’ Robert asked. ‘Your parents were castaways, right? I’m right, aren’t I? Your parents got shipwrecked.’
‘No,’ said Caitlin.
‘Well then, how did you end up there? On that island?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Caitlin. ‘We weren’t shipwrecked. My mum moved there before I was born.’ In fact, Caitlin knew perfectly well how she’d ended up on Magnetic. It wasn’t something she liked talking about. Her mother, Ruby Hourigan, had followed a man there.
‘You were an accident.’ That’s what Ruby used to tell her. ‘You’re what happens when the condom breaks.’ Did she mean to be cruel? Probably not. She probably thought, ‘I’m only telling the truth!’ Caitlin
had
been an accident.
‘I was living in Townsville and your dad lived on Magnetic,’ Ruby would say whenever the topic came up. ‘He begged me to go over. I mean that: he
begged
me. I said, “No, I can’t, I’m only fifteen. My mother will have my head. More to the point, she’ll have your head.” Because he was fifteen years older than me. And I wasn’t yet sixteen. So, you know. But he was saying, “Do you love me or don’t you love me?” Of course, I was head over heels. Older man and all that. Sophisticated. But it was all bullshit. I followed him to Magnetic. He got what he wanted. Then, when he found out I was pregnant – it only took that one time – he dropped me like a hot potato. Not that I could care less.’
Ruby would puff on her joint and then add, ‘And then, you know, I thought, “Well, when he sees the baby, things will be different.” But he didn’t even come to the birth. Not that he would have made it. Because you didn’t exactly come on schedule, Caitlin. I had it all planned – a water birth in the baby pool. But, no, you decided to come on the floor.’
That wasn’t quite true. Ruby had turned sixteen – and was eight months’ pregnant – when she took the ferry from Magnetic, where she’d been living in rented accommodation set aside for single mums, to Townsville. She needed to fill out the forms to get benefits once her baby was born. She had been standing in the Centrelink queue in forty-degree heat, fanning herself with folded pamphlets, when her waters broke.
‘Jesus!’ she’d said, gripping the sides of her belly. Caitlin – the unborn, the unwanted, the mistake – was moving head-first into her pelvic region. Ruby sank to her knees. ‘Jesus,’ she said again.
Two of the staff at Centrelink, working behind glass partitions, stood up simultaneously and craned forward to see what all the noise was about.
‘Jesus is right,’ said one of them, ‘she’s having a baby on the floor!’
‘Not on my floor,’ said the office manager, coming out from the side door to take Ruby by the elbow. ‘Up you come, love. We’re going next door.’ The old Townsville Hospital was next door. Ruby waddled like a penguin up the disabled ramp, with one Centrelink worker on either side. She made it as far as the emergency corridor. Caitlin was born on a wheeled trolley.
Two days later, mother and daughter were back on Magnetic.
‘They basically wiped the gunk off and chucked us out of there,’ Ruby said. ‘There was me, worried sick about what they might do to your dad, getting all my stories ready to say he was going to help us so they didn’t even think about taking you away, but oh no, it was in and out, like a production line. And did your father come and see you? No. Not until he needed to borrow some money.’
That’s not exactly an easy story for a little girl to hear, and Caitlin had decided early on to reject her mother’s explanation for how she ended up on Magnetic, in favour of some
fiction: she’d been sent to Magnetic to take care of the colony of endangered fairies that lived in a fallen tree at the bottom of her garden; her dad wasn’t her dad because her real dad was a prince in a castle. But she was hardly going to say any of that to the Italian-American sitting in the leather swivel chair in the
Blue Moon
saloon.