Silver Bay Read online

  'And I'll expect a lot of coffee and biscuits.'

  Kathleen snorted.

  'Your money,' said Liza, eventually. 'You'll need soft-soled shoes and a warm jumper, not that townie get-up you're wearing. And I'll be leaving in fifteen minutes.' She took the money from my fingers and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. Her sideways glance at me said she thought I was insane.

  But I knew what I was doing. As Dennis always says, everyone and everything has its price.

  Liza's boat was the only one on the jetty. She walked a couple of steps ahead of me, not indulging in small-talk, except with the little dog so I had a chance to look around as we approached it. There was little in Silver Bay, even around the jetty: a cafe, a souvenir shop, whose turnover was obviously slow - the window display was dusty - and a seafood market, situated towards the main town and housed in the most modern building in the bay. It had its own car park, and was a short walk away, which meant that the customers who stopped for fresh fish were unlikely to walk back to use any other facilities - a poorly thought-out decision. I would have insisted they place it right opposite the jetty.

  Although it was a Saturday, few people were about. The tourists, if there were any, must be out on the water in the other whale-watching boats. The few motels I saw dotted along the main road out of town forlornly advertised their available rooms, breakfast included, but the bay had the air of a place that did not expect much out of season. That said, neither did it look particularly troubled. It lacked the peculiarly sullen, abandoned aspect of an English seaside town in winter; the bright sunshine lent it a jovial air, while its inhabitants seemed uncommonly cheerful.

  Except Liza.

  She had ordered me aboard, made me stand and watch while she ran through a safety checklist in a flat monotone, then rather grudgingly, I thought, asked me if I wanted her to put on the coffee. 'Point me towards it, and I'll do it,' I said.

  'Bend your knees when you walk round, and when you come up,' she said, turning her back to me. 'Don't feed the gulls. It encourages them to dive-bomb the passengers, and they mess everywhere.' Then, bounding up the steps, she was gone.

  The lower deck had two tables and chairs, some plastic-covered benches and a glass case, with chocolate, whale videos and tapes and seasickness tablets for sale. A handwritten sign warned customers that it was wise not to make their drinks too hot as spillages often occurred. I found the tea and coffee area and made two coffees, noting the raised edges of the sideboard, the secured tea and coffee holders, presumably to stop the pots tipping off in high seas. I did not want to think too hard about the kind of seas that might send boiling coffee-pots flying, the kind that apparently kept Hannah ashore, but then the engines started, and I had to hold on to the side to keep steady. We were headed out to sea at some pace.

  I made my way unsteadily up the flight of stairs to the back of the boat. Liza was standing at the wheel, her little dog draped across the helm behind it; obviously a favoured post. I handed her a mug and felt the wind on my face, tasted the faint tang of salt on my lips.

  This is just part of the job, I thought, trying to justify what I had done. But it would be an interesting one to put through on expenses.

  Liza's gaze was fixed on the sea, and I wondered why she had been so determined not to take me out. I wasn't aware that I had offended her in any way. Then again, she seemed like the kind of woman who instinctively rebelled against being corralled. And I had been pretty determined.

  'How long have you been doing this?' I had to shout to be heard over the engine.

  'Five years. Getting on for six.'

  'Is it a good business?'

  'It does for us.'

  'Is this your own boat?

  'It used to be Kathleen's, but she gave it to me.'

  'Generous of her.' I can count the times I have been on a boat on one hand so I was interested in everything. I asked her the names of a few parts of the boat, which was port and which starboard (I've always mixed them up), what you called the various instruments. 'So what's a boat this size worth?'

  'Depends on the boat.'

  'What's this boat worth?'

  'Does everything for you revolve around money?'

  It wasn't said in an unfriendly manner, but it gave me pause. I took a sip of my coffee and tried again. 'You come from England.'

  'Is that what Hannah told you?'

  'No - it's what the, ah, whale crews said. That afternoon at the table. And I can - you know - hear it.'

  She thought for a moment. 'Yes. We used to live in England.'

  'Do you miss it?'

  'No.'

  'Did you come out here specially?'

  'Specially?'

  'To do whale-watching?'

  'Not really.'

  Was she like this with all her customers? Bad divorce, I speculated. Perhaps she just didn't like men.

  'Do you see lots of whales?'

  'If I go to the right places.'

  'Is it a good way of life?'

  She took her hand off the wheel and faced me, suspicious. 'You ask a lot of questions.'

  I was determined not to bite back. I had the feeling she was not a naturally antagonistic person. 'You're a rarity. I don't imagine there are many female English skippers around here.'

  'How would you know? There could be thousands of us.' She allowed a small smile. 'Actually, Port Stephens is famous for them.' This, I guessed, was the closest she would come to humour.

  'Okay, a question for you. Why did you spend so much money just to go on a boat trip?'

  Because it was the only way I could get you to take me. But I didn't say it aloud. 'Would you have done it for less?' I asked, changing tack.

  She grinned. 'Of course.'

  After that something changed. Liza McCullen relaxed, or perhaps decided that I wasn't as objectionable, or as threatening, as she had initially decided, and the froideur that had hung over our trip out of the bay dissipated.

  We didn't say much. I sat on the wooden bench behind her and gazed out to sea, quietly enjoying someone else's competence at a skill I know nothing about. She spun the wheel, checked the dials, radioed one of the other boats, fed Milly, the dog, the odd biscuit. Sometimes she would point at a stretch of land or a creature that held some interest, and elaborate a little. But I couldn't tell you now what she said. Because although she was not the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and she appeared to pay no more attention to how she looked than she did to how she spoke, and although half the time she was turned away or scowling at me, I found Liza McCullen oddly compelling. If I hadn't already worked out that she would have been sensitive to it, I would have stared at her. That's not like me at all.

  Nessa will tell you I'm no great psychologist. I don't care much what makes people tick if I don't need to know, but I had never met someone so determined to give away so little. Every conversational snippet dragged itself out of her. She seemed to make every personal admission under pain of torture. I asked her how she took her coffee and she frowned as if I had asked about her underwear. When she told me, 'No sugar,' it was like a confession. And all tinged with a slight . . . melancholy?

  'Lance says they've sighted a female about three miles on,' she said, after we had been at sea about half an hour. 'You happy to keep going?'

  'Sure,' I said. I'd forgotten we were meant to be searching for whales. If you're not used to being on the ocean, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer bloody scale of it. It's like a landscape in itself. When you're out so far that three-quarters of your view is endless water, your eye becomes lost in its vast movement, drawn by an illuminated patch where the sun shines through cloud, or by the distant area where white horses have sprung up. I can't say I didn't feel nervous - I'm used to dry land - but once I'd got over the instability, the crashing and creaking that came from beneath my feet, I liked the aloneness, the boat's freedom to move unencumbered by other people. I liked seeing Liza's face lose its tense watchfulness to take on the openness of the sea and sky.<
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  'That's where we're headed,' she said, spinning the wheel, one hand raised against the glare. I could just make out the birds, dive-bombing in an area where it was impossible to see anything. 'That means there are fish. And where there are fish there are often whales.'

  By then we had seen the others. She pointed out Greg's boat, which looked about the same size as hers, and further away what she described as Moby Two.

  'There!' she said. 'Blow!'

  'Blow what?' I queried. That made her laugh.

  'There.'

  I couldn't see where she was pointing and squinted. Perhaps unconsciously she took my arm and drew it towards her. 'Look!' she said, trying to get me to focus along it. 'We'll go a bit closer.'

  I couldn't see a thing. It would have been frustrating, except that I was diverted by the childish pleasure on her face. This was a Liza McCullen I had not yet seen in six days of living at the hotel. A wide, ready smile, a lift in her voice.

  'Oh, she's a beauty. I bet you there's a calf too. I've got a feeling . . .'

  It was as if she had forgotten her earlier chill towards me. I heard her on the radio: 'Ishmael to Moby Two - our girl is portside to you, about a mile and a half ahead. Got a feeling she may have a calf with her so go steady, okay?'

  'Moby Two to Ishmael. Spotted her, Liza. Giving her a wide berth.'

  'We stay at least a hundred metres away,' she explained. 'We make that three hundred when calves are involved. It all depends on the mother. Some are curious - they'll bring the babies right up to see us, and that's different. But I always feel . . . I don't like to encourage it.' She looked directly at me. 'You can't guarantee that the next boat they meet is going to be as friendly. Okay! Here we go!'

  I hung on and, as if in some delicately choreographed formation, the three boats moved closer together until we were near enough to make out the waving passengers on board each one. The seas were quiet as the engines were turned off, and I stood next to Liza as we waited for the whale to show herself again.

  'Will she definitely come back up?'

  I needn't have asked. When that great head come out of the water, not thirty feet from us, an involuntary 'whoa' escaped me. It's not that I have never seen a picture of a whale, or couldn't have guessed what it looked like. It's just that meeting a creature so huge, so unlikely, in its own environment, throws you in a way I find hard to convey.

  'Look!' Liza was shouting. 'There it is! Look down!' And just visible, sheltered half under its mother, I saw a flash of grey or blue, which was the calf. They went past our boat twice, then shouts from the other boats told us she had gone to look at them too.

  I was grinning like an idiot. When Liza smiled back at me, there was something triumphant in it, as if she were saying, 'You see?' as if there was something she knew. When its weirdly long fin appeared, she laughed. 'She's waving,' she said, then laughed harder when I found myself tentatively waving back.

  'She's belly up - it means she's comfortable with us. You know she and the baby use those pectoral fins to stroke each other?'

  As we sat, Liza spotted two more in the distance. I was dimly aware of the radio conversation between the three boats, the exclamations of pleasure at this unexpected haul. When she turned back to me, her face was illuminated. 'Want to hear something magic?' she said suddenly.

  She nipped down into the galley and emerged with a strange-looking thing on a cable. She plugged one end into a box on the side, then threw it into the water. 'Listen,' she said, flicking a few switches. 'Hydrophone. There might be escorts nearby.'

  For several minutes, there was nothing. I stared out to sea, trying to spot the whale, hearing nothing but the sound of the water meeting the sides of the boat, the wheeling birds overhead, and occasionally, brought over on a soft wind, the other boats' passengers. Then there was a low moan, drawn-out, almost eerie. A sound like nothing I had ever heard. It sent shivers up my spine.

  'Beautiful, isn't it?'

  I stared at her. 'That's a whale?'

  'A male. They all sing the same song, you know. They've done research into it - it's eighteen minutes long and each year all the whales in the pod sing the same song. If a new whale comes along with a new song, they pick it up instead. Can you imagine them down there teaching each other?' Suddenly I saw Hannah in her, her face lit with excitement at the prospect of using my computer. I had been wrong when I said Liza McCullen wasn't beautiful: when she smiled she was stunning.

  The smile evaporated. 'What the--'

  It was a thumping sound, regular, insistent. For a moment I wondered whether it was someone's engine, but then it grew louder, and I knew it had nothing to do with the microphone. Two large boats came round the headland, strung with bunting, packed with passengers. Loud music emanated from four oversized speakers on the top deck, and even from our distance away, the clink of glasses and the hysterical laughter of the well lubricated were audible.

  'Not again,' said Liza. 'The noise,' she said. 'It destroys them. They get confused . . . especially the babies. And there are too many boats. She'll be frightened.' She got on to the radio, fiddling with the dial. 'Ishmael to Disco Ship, or whatever your name is. Turn your music down. You are too loud. Do you hear me? You're too loud.' As we listened to the static of the radio, I stared at the water. Nothing broke the surface now. No sound could be heard above the insistent thud of the beat, drawing closer.

  Her brow wrinkling as she realised the speed at which it was approaching. 'Ishmael to unidentified large cat, east-north-east of Break Nose Island. Turn off your engines and your music. You are close to a whale cow and calf, possibly one male too. You are going too fast, putting you at risk of collision, and your noise is likely to cause them distress. Do you read me?'

  I stood there helplessly as she tried twice more to contact them. It was unlikely, I thought, that they could hear anything above the noise of that bass.

  'Ishmael to Suzanne - Greg, can you call the coastguard? The police? See if they can send out a speedboat. They're too close.'

  'Got you, Liza. Moby Two is headed round to see if they can steer them off course.'

  'Moby Two to Ishmael. I can't see our whales, Liza. Hope to God they're headed the other way.'

  'What can I do?' I said. I had no idea of the significance of what she was saying, but the anxiety in the atmosphere was clear.

  'Hold this,' she said, and handed me the wheel. She started the engines. 'Now, steer for Disco Billy over there, and I'll tell you when to turn. I'm going to make sure we don't hit anything as we go.'

  She didn't give me a chance to say no. She ran downstairs, then came up with a load of things under her jacket. I made out a loudhailer, but I was too busy focusing on the wheel to notice much. It felt unfamiliar in my hands, and daunting to be going at such speed, the waves bouncing under us. The little dog had picked up on the tension and stood up, whining.

  We were about a hundred feet from the ship when Liza instructed me to keep a parallel course. Then she ran to the front, shouting at me to stay where I was.

  She leant over the rail, a loudhailer in her hand. 'Night Star Two, you are too loud and travelling too fast. Please turn your music down. You are in an area inhabited by migrating whales.'

  God knows how they could have been so drunk in the middle of the afternoon. The dancing figures on the top deck reminded me of those holidays for young people where the object of day trips is to get them as inebriated and incapable as possible. Was there an Australian equivalent?

  'Night Star Two, we have alerted the coastguard and National Parks and Wildlife Service. Turn your music down and leave the area at once.'

  If there was a skipper, he wasn't listening. One of the stewards - a young guy in a red polo shirt - gave Liza the finger and disappeared. A moment later the music was noticeably louder. There was a faint cheer aboard, as more people began to dance. Liza stared at the boat, then reached down. From where I was I could no longer see what she was doing. I stared at the name on the side of the big boat. T
hen it hit me.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, as the radio hissed into life: 'Liza? Liza? It's Greg. The Parks people are on their way. C'mon, let's head back. The fewer of us moving around the better for the whales.'

  I put my phone back into my pocket, then stared at the receiver for a moment. I picked it up. I squeezed it tentatively. 'Hello?'

  'Hello?'

  'Suzanne to Ishmael, do you read me?'

  'It's - ah - Mike Dormer.'

  There was a brief silence, then Greg said, 'What's she doing up front?'

  'I don't know,' I confessed.

  I heard him mutter something, which might have been an expletive, and then there was an explosion. I leapt to the side of the boat just in time to see a huge flare headed into the air angled at no more than twenty feet above the disco ship.

  Liza was standing at the prow, loading something long and thin into some kind of launcher.

  'You're not going to bloody shoot them?' I yelled at her. But she didn't seem to hear me. My heart thumping, I saw people backing away rapidly from the top deck of the other ship, heard the shouts of concern and a man screaming abuse at her. The dog was barking wildly. Then I saw Liza load another flare, point it high into the air and stumble backwards as, with a huge crack, she sent it into the sky not quite high enough above them.

  As my ears rang and the disco ship's engines finally swung it round and propelled it the other way, I heard another voice come over the radio: a gravelly one, filled with disbelief and admiration. 'Moby Two to Ishmael. Moby Two to Ishmael. Jesus Christ, Liza. You've really gone and done it now.'

  Seven

  Liza

  By the time we reached the jetty Kathleen was already shouting at me, her rigid, upright body bristling with indignation. I secured Ishmael, helped Milly ashore and walked briskly towards her. 'I know,' I said.

  She raised her hands in a gesture of exasperation. 'Do you realise what you've done? Are you totally insane, girl?'

  I stopped and pushed my hair off my face. 'I wasn't thinking.'

  The anxiety on her face mirrored my own. In fact, I could have kicked myself. I had thought of nothing else for the twenty minutes it had taken us to come back to the bay.

  'They were straight on to the Water Police, Liza. For all we know they're on their way over here now.'