Ron McCoy’s Sea of Diamonds (33 page)

In the satin dark the fish kept biting, Ron kept speaking, the enormous rock becoming a god right before their eyes. From the deep, relaxed tone of his drawling phrases Darren and Noel could have almost grasped the idea of the salty thoroughfares he'd been swimming amongst only a few moments earlier. The thought of wandering about on the top of King Cormorant Rock was almost as much a fantasy to Darren and Noel as Ron's sea of diamonds itself.

They fished successsfully for over two hours until eventually, in the smell of fish blood and petrol, they watched the horizon as moment by moment the surface of the water took on new tints and slowly a southerly breeze picked up with the rising light. Ron would have gladly remained floating in the darkness forever. He could see the morning coming quite clearly and inevitably now, and soon they were watching porpoises playing only twenty or thirty metres from the boat beside Gannet Rock. High up on both the Two Pointers, which the new light was restoring to their daylit golden colour, cormorants were beginning to take off and fly overhead in search of breakfast. Across on the headland the blink of the navigational light grew fainter and fainter until it automatically switched off in the natural light.

With the coming of the new day the trevally stopped biting and in the stern Noel gathered the twenty or so fish they had caught (amongst the trevally was a trumpeter, a tupong, a mulloway and two good snapper) and slipped them into two mesh bags. He tied them to a rowlock, where they could hang overboard to be scaled by the friction of the water as they returned in the boat.

With the sun at about twenty degrees above the horizon line and the water turning greyer by the moment, as clouds and an ever-freshening wind came to greet them from out over the headlands in the southwest, they decided to head off. Noel yanked the motor into gurgling motion and they took off around Gannet Rock and
into the wind, the bow getting a good old thumping now as the ocean flecked around them.

When it came, Ron was not alone in finding the daylight intrusive, such had been the intensity of Darren and Noel's pleasure in the sleek bay between the rocks under nightfall. In years to come they would remember the night and, as the boat hammered its way west across the water, it was as if they were conscious of its importance already. Porpoises swam alongside on their left and on their right they could see cars now snaking along the Ocean Road, and people walking dogs on the beach. Darren recalled the nightmare he'd been having when Ron called by and thought how unexpectedly life could change its mood, just like the weather.

As they passed out in front of the Boat Creek jetty, the contentment was sinking within Ron already, no longer visible in the countenance of his face but hiding deep behind, in the now rasping wind and daylight. Strangely enough, given their success with the trevally, Darren and Noel were suddenly subdued as well. It was sad returning to shore and the daylight seemed mediocre. They passed the rivermouth at Breheny Creek and then as they turned beachwards at Turtle Head, Ron felt again the thorough emptiness of the day ahead.

In the still night of the waters he had made that one wish and so it held its hope out to him now. The music. Let's see then, he thought to himself, with that flame-lick of faith flickering again, as Wally Lea's tinny bobbed amongst the ragged breakers near the shore.

‘I
f it was me who could play the Billy Morgan,' Sweet William had told Ron on many an occasion, ‘I'd play it for anyone who cared to listen. I'd even put it on wheels and take it up to the general store and play for the friggin' tourists!'

Yes, the pump organ came alive under his fingers again, just as he'd wished.

Sweet William had never been able to understand why Ron was so parsimonious with his music so he couldn't believe his luck when, settling back in the shed one evening for their game of cards, he was treated to Ron playing an incredible seven tunes on end. The most Ron had ever played for Sweet William before was one song, and that was only very occasionally.

‘The Light of Other Days', ‘Shenandoah', ‘East of the Sun', ‘She Didn't Say Yes', ‘Panis Angelicus', ‘Mull of Kintyre', and lastly, ‘Click Go the Shears'. The tunes had become accessible to Ron again and Sweet William could see there was no mistaking his happiness. Turning around on his stool after ‘Click Go the Shears',
Ron took a sip of stout from his glass and, thinking of Leo Morris, decided to play it again. With the pedals of the organ squeaking, Sweet William tapped his foot and tipped his head to the side in amused disbelief.

Ron played it a little faster this time, and with a brighter, reedier voicing, the
diapason
and
forte
stops pulled and with
flute
and
clarabella
in the treble. As soon as the last notes had faded in the bellows, Sweet William was doffing his cap and requesting more, cajoling Ron to play him an old jazz tune they knew called ‘Paper Boat in Baltimore'. But Ron was reluctant, and in the end refused outright, criticising his friend with a wry smile for being ‘too bloody dogged for jazz'. ‘Most people I know'd be happy with “Click Go the Shears”,' he told Sweet William, laughing in his held-in way. Sweet William gave him a look of mock annoyance but in fact he was sincerely disappointed that the organ playing had stopped. Naturally he feared that Ron might never be so forthcoming again.

By the middle of winter the word had got around within the real estate industry on the coast that there was a chance Ron's property was up for grabs. Craig had told Colin about Ron's obvious disapproval of the clifftop walk but by telling Colin's receptionist, Angela, as well, he had inadvertently told the whole world. Pretty soon Ron was getting real estate brochures slipped under his porch door from at least four different companies.

For two weeks, Colin Batty was unaware that his competitors were privy to the information and he continued his occasional visits to Ron's woodpile with the intensity of a private ambition. He had twice come within one single cypress block of having his hand mangled by a set of rusty iron teeth. Oblivious to this danger, though, he was growing more and more insouciant on his visits, even going so far as to smoke a cigarette on the clifftop bench once he'd dispatched the wood over the side. He was sure
it wouldn't be long now before he'd get a call from Ron to handle the sale. With what Craig had told him, Khouri was likely to be offside and he even wondered whether it was necessary anymore to continue tampering with the wood. They knew Ron was going to sell, and with Khouri's sympathies in question the only threat came from rival agencies. But it'd break his heart if one of his competitors got in first. When finally he did discover from a colleague at Brookland Real Estate in Minapre that the cat was out of the bag, he was furious. He hauled Craig into his office and with his angry squint and his fingers drumming on the desk grilled him about just who he had told. ‘Fuck, mate, do you want this whole thing to work out or not?'

Craig was offended. He told Colin curtly that the only people he'd told about what was going on up at Ron's were Liz, and Angela at the desk.

‘Liz wouldn't have told that friend of hers, would she? You know, the Italian bitch?'

With his hands on the armrests of his chair, Craig pushed himself backwards in disbelief at what he'd just heard. ‘What did you say, Colin?' he asked incredulously.

His boss brushed it aside. ‘Oh, you know who I mean,' he said, waving his hand in the air. ‘Sorry about the language, but you know who I mean. Would she have told her? Or anyone else?'

‘Carla's a friend of mine, mate,' Craig said, glaring over the desk at his boss in disgust. ‘Where do you get off talking about her like that?'

‘Oh come on, Craig, it was only a turn of phrase. Let's stick to the main game here, eh?'

‘Yeah, well, watch your mouth, OK. Or do you call every woman you want to fuck a bitch?'

Colin threw his head back and sideways in the direction of the office window. In a brief silence he breathed deeply to gather
himself. After a slow blink he brought his eyes back into the room and looked at Craig.

‘
Touché
, mate,' he said.

Craig continued frowning.

Colin sniffed loudly through his nose and said, ‘Can we get back to the matter at hand?'

‘All right,' Craig said, still frowning. The sooner the McCoy place was sold and Colin Batty was out of his hair, the better. The guy was loose.

‘Well, let's just say Angela blurted to someone about the situation. So now we've got a handful of players rather than just Khouri. But because we're the only agency in Mangowak you'd have to think we're still in the box seat. I'd be amazed if Ron went to anyone in Minapre, let alone pricks from the city. But it depends what they're offering. He won't spend money if he doesn't have to.'

Craig nodded. ‘So we should offer him something concrete, talk figures and stuff?'

‘Exactly,' Colin replied. ‘The time for the casual chat about fishing is over, mate. We've got to make sure he knows the sums. Still keep it casual and all that. Have a drink if he offers you one again, but make it clear what we've worked out. I'll draw something up this arvo and you can take it around tomorrow.'

‘You don't think it's time you paid him a visit?' Craig asked. ‘I mean, you're the local not me.'

Colin seemed amused. ‘Well, mate,' he said, ‘to a fogey like Ron McCoy I'm as much of a blow-in as you. I'm just the grandson of the dairy farmer in Devon Beach. No. You keep going. He knows you now.'

Craig got up quickly and left the office, smiling tensely at Angela on his way through reception.

Over dinner that night Libby announced to her father that she'd been invited to go with her friend Bo's family to visit Bo on her
student exchange in Japan. Liz confirmed to Craig that Bo's mother had rung her the previous afternoon to extend the invitation.

After the day he'd had, this was the last thing Craig needed. They couldn't afford for Libby to go to Prague
and
Japan. He sat at his plate, anticipating her petulant reaction when he refused. But there was just no way she wasn't coming with them to Prague.

‘I'll have to think about it,' he told his stepdaughter, who was watching him closely with an expression both avid and anxious. ‘Liz and I will discuss it and see what we think.'

‘What's there to think?' Libby asked with urgency, sensing there was going to be a problem.

Craig clanged his fork against his plate. ‘Look, Lib, we'll discuss it, all right? It costs a fortune to go to Japan, you know. It's not like catching the train to Melbourne.'

Libby kicked her chair back and disappeared from the table into her room. Craig looked at Liz. ‘Thanks for the warning,' he said.

Liz calmed Craig down after dinner with a foot massage as Reef watched
Tubular Swells
, one of his dad's old surfing videos. He recounted to her Colin's remark about Carla earlier in the day but she just rolled her eyes and kept massaging. He realised that nothing Colin could do or say would particularly surprise Liz. She expected the worst from his boss and, increasingly, he could see why.

The next day was raining, with a bitter wind, no birds on the river and few cars on the road. As Craig drove from a rental property in Minapre back into Mangowak, he was thinking about what to do with the Libby and Prague situation. If they let her go to Japan they'd miss out on a crucial family trip together, but if they said no and made her come with them to Prague, she'd dig her heels in and mope around scowling the whole time. She'd be unbearable and the last thing he wanted when he went travelling was that kind of downer. He secretly respected how strong-willed his stepdaughter
was – she knew what she wanted and she went after it – but obstinacy was another thing. She infuriated him.

Colin had wanted him to go and see Ron McCoy that afternoon, but when he arrived back at the office and asked him for the paperwork to present to Ron, he was told that it wasn't quite ready yet. He noticed that Colin was particularly friendly to him though, presumably to make up for his slip-up of the previous day.

With the plans changed, Craig got back in his car to drive home but rather than going straight there he parked down on the river-bend in the valley, with a view inland over the riverflat paddocks. Out the passenger window the sky in the west was furious and bruised, looming above the western hill of the flat, the rain spiralling in from the ocean side and swiping the treetops.

Parked on the grass by the bend, Craig felt tense, like he had too much on his plate. Negotiating Colin was distasteful, he couldn't wait for the whole deal to be wrapped up. But the situation at work wasn't the only thing getting him down.

‘Shit,' he said aloud, banging the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He felt as if the trouble was happening
to
him rather than
because
of him. First it was Liz's freak-out, and now Colin and the offer of the agency, Libby had been a trial all along – when was he going to get a break? A real break. He just wanted things to be simple, to lead a simple life.

He watched as a lone crow tottered about under wattle branches on the other side of the road. The world was wet and biting, even the crows were taking shelter. As he entered his fourth winter on the coast, he could understand why everyone in Mangowak who could afford it went up north for at least a couple of weeks at this time of year. Although he loved the spectacle, the weather in Victoria could get you down.

He turned the car heater up and pushed CD4 on the stereo. Miles Davis' ‘Kind of Blue' filled the Tribute. It reminded him of his
single days, when he was working in cafes. Turning it up and adding bass he grabbed a cushion from the back seat and wedged it between his seat and the door frame. He leant his head into it and, with the wind outside gently rocking the 4WD, he fell sound asleep there between the river and the road.