Shark Harbour

By Kate Stirling

Will Cray's hermit like existence is changed forever when Eve Langley comes into his world. Together they unearth the answers to questions that have bothered him for a long time.
This third book of the Trilogy moves us almost into the 21st century against the historical background of New Zealand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Stirling
• Release date: Dec 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9780473192211

Kate Stirling

I enjoy writing, also helping seniors to learn to manage their computers. Other fav occupations are gardening, reading, painting, (pics not houses), and travel. Also I enjoy my little dog, Hobie. He is such a good companion when I am writing. Have now got all three books of the Kaipara Trilogy printed plus on Smashwords ebooks. If you love New Zealand you will enjoy discovering more about its clean green image and these books will help you do that. My bio Lucie was available from November 2012, several childrens books and another trilogy on the way.

Book preview

Kate Stirling has proved that she can write. At no time did the story degenerate into a Mills & Boone romance, and it could well have. I would now like to see Kate Stirling write a modern novel; she is well capable and the result could put her in that group of great New Zealand writers.

I. Duffy Northland

SHARK HARBOUR

By

Kate Stirling

Smashwords Edition

[e-mail]

Copyright 2010 Kate Stirling

ISBN 978-0-473-18130-7

November 2010

This eBook is also available at most online retailers

SHARK HARBOUR

1990

At the back of the Auditorium, Will Cray stood, hidden by the curtains in a position where he could peer out at the audience that was filling the hall. Music throbbed, filling every corner of his mind as people still filed in. A quick glance told him it was a full house, every table already cluttered with glasses and a tiny posy of flowers in the centre of each, compliments of the Ladies Guild.

The hall was new, built at the end of the road past Willow Reach. He had contributed to its construction as a memorial to his Grandfather and great Grand-parents and never dreamt that he would be one of the earliest to be welcomed through its doors. And he was regretting his choice. He shouldn’t have gone to the meeting; it could only make him more anxious than he already was. Mentally he blamed Dana Hunter, his school teacher from years ago, for pushing him into it though he knew it was his own fault. He was just too soft.

Tonight he would be presented with an award for his new book and he was alone. All those unfamiliar faces terrified him and he shivered as he let the heavy fabric drop back into place. He couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t; had argued with Dana but to no avail. And now he was standing there in a borrowed suit and someone else’s shoes, waiting as if to be fed to the lions. And there would be lions, human ones, just waiting to absorb him, to analyze him, criticize his work, his clothes, his posture and certainly his long hair and beard.

Reporters with cameras and cell phones had hounded him for days after his book came out until eventually, he had simply sailed off in Wanderer and stayed at sea, enjoying the peace and quiet of the harbour. And the locals, who knew his boat well, went about their tasks without letting on that they knew where he was. Not even a glance his way betrayed his escape. Speculation spread widely but no-one said a word. The Harbour community knew when to keep its mouth shut.

Now, he stood trembling. Dana had finally convinced him that it would be rude to the community if he refused the award. They had done all they could to protect him as he stayed, safe and hidden in their midst, but now the time was right. He peered out again, eyes scanning desperately for a face he knew, any friendly face would do. The thoughts raced through his mind as he watched the commotion. Camera men adjusting their lens for the umpteenth time, reporters making sure their mics worked okay. Testing testing. The stage had already been set; a table with the obligatory glass of water and a couple of comfortable chairs, lights glaring up into his face and beyond, a sea of expectant faces, at the moment all laughing and chatting eagerly as they knocked back their choice in alcohol.

‘Joy should be here.’ he thought, ‘She was always there for us. She would have enjoyed this. Grandpa William would have too. But they’re both gone. Everyone’s gone.’

His mind flickered back to that awful time when a cyclone had caused such chaos and tragedy. His sister Joy had died when her car plunged off the road into a gully far below. They said the wind caught her car as she rounded a corner, caught it off balance and rolled it clean off the road. And old Grandpa William, already struggling with his memory and his aging body, simply gave up after Joy went; just faded right out and soon he too was gone.

Will was pulled back to reality by a sudden burst of clapping. Some dignitary had entered the hall. He craned his neck further to see who it was, almost losing his balance, but he couldn’t see against the lighting. Before long he could hear the man speaking and then inviting him to join him on stage. Dana pushed Will, nodding and grinning at his reluctance.

‘Go on. Now! This is for you, Will. You’ve earned it!’

Will froze, his legs unwilling to carry him forward and she shoved him again. This time he almost stumbled into the lights and stood there blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The clapping grew louder as he lurched forward. Now he could see out, past the lights. His long graying hair, so carefully combed by Dana moments before, hung limply to his shoulders and the suit coat, at least a size too big for him, hung away from his skinny frame as his glance fled along the front rows. There must be someone he knew, someone from his world of yesterday. For a moment he almost imagined he could see Joy, even though he knew how impossible that was. His eyes stopped suddenly.

That face, he knew that face! He stared, his jaw dropping to gape in shock. Rob Sinclair sat in the front row of tables, clapping and waiting. The years dropped away and the noise disappeared as Will fought to cope with the shock. He hadn’t seen Rob for so many years, had not expected or wanted to see him ever again. His own mad rush and the long lonely years that followed were only eased by his new life at Willow Reach with his grand-father and above all Wanderer.

How often he had set the little boat adrift as he lay back, trying to forget it all. Now, memories of his lost love, Isabel, Rob’s daughter, battered Will’s mind as tears and fears and panic set in! He just couldn’t cope. He turned and fled back-stage, pushing past Dana and the others who had been with him, bashing the quick-release bar of the emergency exit and almost exploding out of the building. He stood, trying to think what to do. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back in there.

In the confusion that followed, Dana accepted the award on his behalf, struggling for the right, non-committal words as bewildered reporters tried to get something from her. The truth was that she had no idea why he had gone, either. Will himself didn’t really understand what had happened.

But she offered a few words about the Will Cray she had known and taught, years ago.

‘I remember him at school; definitely the brightest of Eliot Cray’s sons, always reading or competing for recognition with his essays. ‘

She paused, wondering if she should go on, but faces were turned her way and no-one was talking. If anything they looked expectant.

‘One in particular I recall.’ She continued. ‘It was about the migratory birds of the harbour; always a fascination for him. Will was then about fourteen years old and he wrote about an imaginary trip of the birds as they travelled to Alaska or wherever they went, from the point of view of one of the birds. He researched it carefully and then laid it all out so neatly on paper. The trouble was, some of the facts were not correct according to scholarly opinion at that time, though years later they were found to be accurate. I always wondered how he knew what he did but no amount of questioning changed anything; he simply didn’t know where such information had come from.’

‘In later years he went south to Miranda on the Firth of Thames, south of Auckland. This is a well known place for the migratory birds and he spent a lot of time there, even living and working in the district in order to observe them at the various stages of their lives.’

She paused and picked up the glossy book, holding it high.

‘Will’s photography is outstanding and now of course, he has written this book about them. NZ Bird Tales; a book that is recognised as an authority on the topic. In closing, I would like to quote a short piece that to me sums up his efforts.

"Suddenly all the squabbling, calling and posturing is over. For days clusters of birds rise like clouds into the sky only to settle again but eventually the clouds lift up higher; they move to the horizon and are gone. It is almost too quiet and the remaining birds, mostly too young to go with the flock, strut about in their now spacious habitat."

She closed the book and said softly, proudly,

‘And now, I am proud to accept his award on his behalf.’

While she was talking, Will was steadily heading for Willow Reach, leaving behind the hall with its crowd of people and intrusive voices. His long strides easily covered the rough ground as he cut through the back paddocks at Apple Cottage, past the packing shed that Dana used as a studio, along the bank above the water until soon he could see Wanderer swinging at anchor just off the landing at Willow Reach. He stripped off, folded the borrowed clothes neatly and left them on the landing. Then he plunged in and swam out to clamber aboard Wanderer, his safety net.

Once the rush was over and the crowd departed, Dana stayed on, meeting people and eventually coming across Rob Sinclair. He loomed up beside her and took her elbow, leading her away from the crush. Dana stared at him. She knew she should recognise the face but she couldn’t. He smiled as he put her out of her misery,

‘I’m Rob Sinclair! I had the farm along the road from the Cray place.’

Dana’s eyes flew open wide,

‘Of course! Rob! Isabel’s father! I didn’t recognise you. You look so different somehow.’

‘I know. Tidied myself up a long time ago, sold the farm and went to Auckland.’ He grinned easily and she relaxed. ‘And you’re Dana Hunter, aren’t you? You used to live on their place.’

She nodded, ‘Still do. Rented their cottage and made it my own. Couldn’t ever get them to sell it to me though. What did you think of Will’s book?’

‘Haven’t read it. Heard about it and came to have a look. I would never have known him. What happened to him?’

‘He’s become a recluse. Too shy. Something went very wrong years ago. I never heard what it was, bit it must have been serious though to do what it did to him.’

‘What’s with the long hair and stuff?’

‘That’s Will these days. Doesn’t care what happens to himself, especially since Joy died. And then of course Old William Jackson went right after Joy. All in all, Will’s had a bad time of it all. I do what I can for him. You know, cook a bit of food occasionally, clean the house from time to time; that sort of thing, but beyond that - well I guess he feels safe here.’

‘I heard about Joy of course. It was in all the papers when I was overseas. And Old William must have been getting on a bit. But Will, he was such a great kid. We got on so well for years but I’d never have known him now. Taught him to play the pipes, you know.’

Dana shrugged, smiling up at him, ‘Things change, eh?’

‘Sure do. Is he living at Willow Reach?’

‘Yes, though you’d never get hold of him. When he’s not working down at the boat yard, he spends most of his time out bird watching. Seems to think he can trust them.’

‘We used to be great mates. He called me Uncle Rob. They all did for that matter. Bright kid, loads of talent and of course, you taught them all, you’d know. What’s he doing for a living these days?’

‘He works for a local boat builder. Just down the road a bit; right at the water’s edge of course. He’s worked there on and off, ever since the old fellow died. There’s not always a lot of work but that’s where he built his replacement boat in his spare time when the other one got too old. Did a lovely job of it too.’

Rob nodded, memories drifting in his mind. ‘He’s happy there?’

‘Seems to suit him well enough. It means he can get out on his boat when ever he likes and that’s about all he seems to want. Too shy for much else. The kids call him the hermit behind his back. Where are you staying, then?’

‘Oh, a business associate of mine has a place down the harbour a bit and I managed to coax him and his wife to bring me up to the dinner. A long way by road but we enjoyed it. Come and meet them.’

He introduced Jim and Mary Brown, explaining that Dana was an artist and suggesting they should come and see her work sometime. After a little small talk they drifted off, leaving Rob and Dana to stand chatting about old times.

‘How long did it take to get here?’

Rob smiled,

‘Seemed like forever; a couple of hours but the road is good. And I’m used to doing long distances, so it was all fine.’

***

It had been a long evening and she was glad to escape the eyes and eyebrows, raised in concerned shock then lowered in grim confusion. No-one had any idea why Will had vanished and suggestions of sudden illness or even mental instability were only enhanced by his hermit-like appearance. And Rob Sinclair’s unexpected appearance had only heightened the gossip. His tall figure had matured into a rather striking construction and Dana was not immune to it. At just over sixty years, he looked confident and relaxed, his eyes sparkling with hidden amusement as he fielded questions from people who slowly recognised him.

By the time the clothes were discovered the next day, Will was safely out at sea, out of reach to all. At Apple Cottage, Dana laid the items she had acquired on his behalf on the kitchen table and sighed as she removed her jacket, then stood, weighing up her impulse to phone Will and demand an answer or simply heat some water for her supper. The supper won. What a disaster that evening had been. Will’s abrupt departure brought on so many questions; questions she was unable to answer.

The fluster and the curiosity died down as quickly as they rose and she was able to tell the authorities that she had seen him on Wanderer, alive and well but still determined to avoid everyone. Will was all right. He might be a bit odd at times but he wasn’t suicidal.

She reflected on his family, only Daniel left now and while he had come home for Joy’s funeral, he hadn’t been back since. Australia, a wife and young family and the excitement of opal mining were too strong a draw for him to stay more than a few days. Danny had spent most of his time trying to coax Will to join him in Australia and initially, Will had thought opal mining might be a good idea; a change might be just what he needed. But as time slipped by the urge to leave Willow Reach had eased and left to himself he had rapidly become a hermit, with long scraggy hair and thin, even scrawny, frame; the strong, muscular form of his youth gone forever. He simply disappeared into the cottage or went off in his small yacht, sometimes not returning for weeks.

Later, he buried his loss by writing his book that had just received the award, working on it every night and often wishing he had someone to talk to about it. Dana was interested but she had her own life and he was reluctant to take up too much of her time. The book had taken a lot of work over several years, even his photography needing careful planning but the end result was worth the effort and he was happy with it. For a long time his only interest was the birds, migrating as they did each autumn and returning in spring. For days before their departure he would be restless as if he too would have liked to be up and away. And then, when they were due to return he would be watching the skies, sitting up on the ridge behind the cottage with his binoculars trained on the harbour.

Soon, thousands of migratory wading birds would arrive, exhausted and frail after their journey from as far away as Siberia and Alaska. For the locals, the birds’ arrival signaled the beginning of spring. Godwits, plover, curlew, terns, oystercatchers, dotterels and stilts would spend the summer months breeding and feeding on the rich supply of crabs, marine worms and shellfish that lived on the inner mud flats of the Kaipara. In the autumn, when they had doubled their body weight they would again travel the seven thousand kilometres back to the northern climes.

Even though the harbour had changed radically over the centuries, they still found the exact spot they wanted, year after year, on the shores of a lagoon that lay just inside the harbour mouth. Long ago, the waters of the Kaipara and the Northern Wairoa River had been divided by a sand bar that extended from the heads into the harbour. It had formed a peninsula of dry land on which villages and cultivations had been established by the Maori of the district. Even the ocean bar had once been above the tide level and had formed a base for fishing expeditions. Now, the outer bar was almost always under water and the peninsular gone but the birds still returned to their feeding grounds.

At almost forty two years old and after years filled with wondering and regrets, Will was happy in his life. He trusted Dana, the only woman he saw unless he went to the school or such. And Dana continued as his unofficial carer, making sure the house was cleaned and, knowing that he never bothered with food unless driven to it, taking an occasional cooked meal across to Willow Reach. He ate reluctantly and without a word unless she spoke. To ease the silence one day she remarked,

‘Must be about time for the birds to arrive, mustn’t it?’

His eyes brightened as he replied. ‘Any day now. I’ve been watching for them.’

‘No chance to read any of the diaries yet, I suppose.’

Will grimaced, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. The diaries! She always asked about the diaries.

CHAPTER TWO

The last time Joy came back from the city it was to look after her Grandpa William, but she had brought with her a large box containing several diaries. Great Grandfather Randolph had left them with her in 1969 for her brother, and after several years overseas with her husband, she had finally presented them to Will. At almost one hundred years old, Randolph had been making sure his possessions went to the right people; people to whom they would mean something. But Will seemed indifferent to the diaries; too intent on Wanderer, his work at the boat yard and occasionally, his writing. He had glanced through the box when it arrived; saw there were several books and promised himself he would get settled and read them but there always seemed to be too much to do.

Along with the diaries, Joy had also produced a large piece of kauri gum. She had handled it reverently, as if it were worth a fortune. Once it may well have been but like so much else, it was now simply a pretty but useless piece of gum. People were tired of it. Everyone had some of it somewhere, mostly gathering dust on a back shelf. Some even had larger chunks edging their gardens or crushed it to make golden gravel for the bottom of garden pools, where its delicate amber colour glistened through the water. Most of the smaller pieces had long ago been used for fire lighting, the resin immediately snapping into flame when held to a naked flame.

The great northern forests had dwindled to a tiny proportion of what they had been and now most native timber was protected, with milling seldom allowed and the only kauri timber available coming from the swamps that were being drained. Here the massive logs had lain preserved for thousands of years and people were only just re-discovering them; using the timber for wood turning and other decorative uses.

Grandpa William had watched as she ran her hands over the glossy surface and related Randolph’s tale of four year old Jessica’s dramatic episode with the lump of gum, so many years ago.

‘Grandfather Randolph said it was the most shocking event in his life!’

‘I bet it was!’ Will grinned, ‘He would have hated anyone even touching anything that belonged to him.’

‘Yes, and then to drop it; send it crashing along the floor must have been a real shocker. She was so lucky it didn’t break. That would have seen her shot back home in a hurry, I’ll bet.’

Somewhere, vaguely, Grandpa William recalled the event but the memory was gone almost as soon as it surfaced, leaving him once again frustrated and frightened.

Will grinned up at her, ‘You miss him, don’t you?’

She smiled, ‘Yes, I do actually. We got on so well.’

Will shrugged,

‘I never could understand what you saw in him. So military; such a stickler for rules and all that. You know, even breakfast was at oh-seven-hundred or something like that.’

‘I know, but there was also something reassuring in that very way of doing things. Yet, for all that, I don’t feel I ever knew him very well. He was always going to tell me about his youth but he never quite got round to it. All I know is that he was commended for some bravery during the Boer War. He actually had a certificate to that effect. Don’t know where it went though and now, of course, it’s too late.’

‘Grandpa thought he was a clever old coot, I know.’ Will agreed, ‘But he had had time to get to know him better. Now he probably doesn’t even remember him at all.’

‘I do too.’ Old William scowled at him from the doorway. ‘I’m not that far gone yet!’

In the years since his daughter Jessica died, old William Jackson’s world had steadily changed. The little girl he and his sister Julia had raised after her mother died seemed to have vanished. And they had raised her daughter, Joy, too, after Jessica had rejected her from birth.

Worse still, Old William didn’t always remember that Jessica was gone forever. Instead, he was bewildered as her once golden hair seemed to become smooth and dark like Joy’s; her once temperamental personality calm and controlled; almost unrecognizable to him. And her daughter Joy, now too old to need him to care for her, seemed only to worry him as he grappled with his memory.

Early one morning, he wandered outside the cottage and stood on the landing, the keys to the boat shed under the house dangling from his fingers. He peered at the keys, puzzled, unable to recall why he had them. He shrugged and dropped them into his pocket before walking to the end of the landing. The sea was very still, a faint mist drifting lazily upwards. The water in the inlet was dark green, almost oily and sluggish as it lifted slowly with the incoming tide.

He sniffed the air. There would be bad weather before the day was out, he was sure. Then the doubts began again. What made him so sure the weather would change? What made him think like that? Had he always thought like that? Once, it would never have occurred to him to question his knowledge but now, there seemed to be more questions than answers. And even then, the answers often brought more questions.

He went back to the house, the keys forgotten in his pocket. He would search for them later on and have no idea of where they were or how they got there.

Joy frowned as she saw his puzzled expression,

‘What’s bothering you, Grandpa? Can I help?’

He felt irritable, wanting her to leave him alone with his fears, his voice petulant as he replied,

‘What’s the matter with you young folks? Can’t a man have a few moments to himself without all these questions?’

Joy smiled up at him,

‘Sorry. Just thought I might be able to help with something.’

Her soft voice eased his fear. She loved him, he knew that and he understood that she had moved from her home in Auckland to be with him at Willow Reach while Will was away working. If she wasn’t there, William would have to move. He could no longer live alone, but he loved Willow Reach. Inwardly he re-avowed they would have to carry him out of the place. It was home, had been all his life. The only time he had left it for any length of time had been to give Jessica a home near to schooling and other children. As soon as she grew up he had moved back to Willow Reach.

Now, it frustrated him that he no longer had the strength to get his little yacht down to the water’s edge. Often, he simply left her swinging at the landing but during winter it went back under the cottage, as it had always done. Young Will always made sure things were as they should have been.

Old William went inside, intending to get out his mother’s diaries and read for a while. Chloe’s diaries seemed to be one of the few pleasures he had these days. Through them he could relive his own youth and his Mother’s for that matter. For short periods of time he could sink beneath the worrying waves of fear and nestle safely in Chloe’s arms. From time to time, he could even imagine his beloved, long dead wife, Caroline’s presence but by the time he got inside, he had forgotten his plans and wandered dismally about, trying to jog his reluctant memory into action.

Joy walked across the room, tapped the barometer,

‘Bad weather coming? ‘

‘Looks like it. Wind’s coming up. I reckon we’re in for big blow.’

‘Well, I’m going to head off before it hits properly.’

Will frowned,

‘Grandpa won’t want you to go in weather like this.’

‘I know but I want to get back. I’ve been away for such a long time. There’ll be so much to do at home, so much to catch up on.’

Will nodded, glancing out the window.

‘Might just put the car in the shed and lock the doors,’ he shrugged, ‘That way it can blow all it likes and do no harm.’

Old William stood in the open doorway, the rising wind whipping his skimpy grey hair, watching as Joy drove off in her little red car, her pride and joy for several years now. He hadn’t commented when she kissed him goodbye. He was too tired and his thin hands trembled as she waved through the side window.

Now he watched as Will put his car in the shed.

‘That shed will blow away one day soon and then where will your flash car be? Out in the rain, that’s where.’

Will ignored the comment, walking up to his Grand-father with a wry grin.

‘Then you’ll have to help me build another one, won’t you?’

‘Better make it out of concrete blocks or something like that, I reckon. And twice as large too. That car takes up all the space in there these days.’

‘Okay. We’ll do that.’

The garage had begun life as a shed that held all the tackle for the horse as well as the many garden implements. When their first car arrived, things just got moved over to allow for its bulk. Will locked the garage and went into the cottage, where he closed the shutters on the house windows as the night closed in and the storm increased. The little cottage and its garage had withstood many ferocious storms over the years.

It rained heavily all night, the wind howling and in the morning, the rain had cut runnels in the paths and flooded the back lawns. They heard on the radio that the storm had caused major slippages all over the north. Mighty macrocarpa trees, used for shelter and boundaries, lay toppled; their wide root bases too shallow to cope with the wrenching winds and sluicing rainwater. The power and telephone lines came down with the trees, leaving the cottage gloomy with candles and the gas lamp the only source of light.

As the cyclone slowed the storm continued. The deluge seemed never ending to Old William who stood, staring out at the rain as it lashed first the windows on one side, then after a pause, the windows on the other side. Young Will stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace, enjoying the sound of the kettle as it boiled on the hob.

‘Cuppa, Grandpa? I need something to do.’

‘You could try reading those diaries Joy brought you. That would keep you busy for weeks.’

‘Later Grandpa. When I’m old like you, then I’ll have time to read them. Anyway, what did you think of the ones you’ve read.’

‘Interesting. Very interesting, though I must say I can’t remember much of it.’ His face lightened and he smiled wistfully, ‘These days I only need one book. Every time I read it, it all seems new to me. Don’t lose your memory, Boy. It’s no fun.’

‘Oh come on, Grandpa.’ Will put the mug in front of the old man and opened the cookie tin Joy had left, holding it out to him, ‘It’s not that bad. Look at all the things you’ve taught us over the years. I can remember so many things you knew all about and -.’

‘And now they’re all gone. Can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.’

Old William raised his voice to be heard over the din on the iron roof, but Will wasn’t having any such nonsense.

‘That’s because you aren’t interested in breakfast, I reckon. Anyway, what were they like, the people in the diaries? Do we know them at all?’

’You just settle down and read them. Then you’ll know. Answers are at the back I reckon.’

‘What answers?’

‘Read it, Boy. Read it, then you’ll know.’

‘Might just read the endings.’

‘You need the rest for it to make sense.’

‘How do you know? Have you finished them?’

‘I read the ending and then had to go back and do the rest to make sense of it.’

Will snorted as he drank his tea. ‘You big cheat! That’s against the rules!’

‘Make my own rules these days and it doesn’t seem to make much difference to the world.’

On the third day the rain eased and for the first time they could see the damage. The roof and one wall of the old wooden shed had been whipped away in the night and Will’s car stood, naked and shivering in the harsh, water laden sunlight. The old puriri tree had lost a huge limb but the fabulous tree hut the old man had built in it for his grand-children all those years ago remained unchanged.

‘I reckon all the stuff packed in held it all down, Grandpa. Otherwise the car and all might have gone into the harbour.’

The sun glittered on the shallow lake that replaced the back lawn and Will plodded through it, squinting against the glare, to inspect his car. There were dents all over it,

‘Must have been hail sometime through the night.’

***

When the power came on again, they heard the story of the tragic loss of three of five people caught in their car further north, of broken water mains and savage flooding, of the slips that devastated the north and the east of the North Island.

‘Some Gisborne people had to be airlifted in helicopters. That would be scary in that wild weather. And Dargaville lost its water supply. A bridge was washed away and took the water line with it. They’ll be without water and power for a while till they get the bridge fixed, I suppose. Wouldn’t you wonder how some escape and some don’t?’

Old William turned away, his mind already struggling with the news, so much of the information vanishing, even as he searched for it. Outdoors, the yellow water of the harbour was full of debris, from giant trees, their shredded branches and roots held high as they rolled and twisted in the surges, to a couple of sinking dinghies and many drowned animals.

Later that day a man appeared at their door. He came inside and stood looking awkwardly from the old man to the younger.

‘Your phones are out, I guess you know that.’ He took a deep breath, ‘I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. We have found a car, crashed over the side on the approaches to Brynderwyn -.’

‘What sort of car?’

‘A red Citroen. ‘

Will sucked in his breath. ‘And?’

‘And nothing. No sign of the driver or passengers but it’s registered to a Caroline Joy Andrews and there was a leather handbag still in the back seat.’

Old William sighed loudly, ‘Caroline Joy Andrews? Joy?’

‘Right. Name in her diary for her next of kin was you folk.’

Old William nodded struggling to make sense of his words. Joy had only just left the place and now they were saying she was missing?

‘Right. I’m so sorry.’ The newcomer said awkwardly. ‘I don’t know any more but they’re searching for the driver. Anything you could tell us would help.’

Old William sat in silence, his moving Adam’s apple the only sign that he was even aware of anything.

‘She’ll be alright. She’s a good driver. She’ll be somewhere waiting for them to find her.’

But there was no good news. It got worse. They found a woman’s body, almost buried under the landslide that had swept the car off the road. They were fairly certain it was Joy. Would Will go and identify her?

Will stood, staring at the flames that had so recently been so re-assuring. There was nothing he could do but wait. Old William couldn’t be left alone at a time like this and the phone was still dead.

‘I’m just going to shoot along to Dana’s and let her know what’s happening. You be alright here till I get back?’

There was no answer but he grabbed his keys and ran out to his storm-battered car. Outside the cottage, they stood together, miserable and fighting tears but it was no good. The tears flooded down their cheeks even as Grandpa fought his own battle with tears, alone.

By the time they reached him they were under control again and able to talk normally to him. And Old William too had recovered his balance enough to speak, softly but clearly in response to their words.

Dana spoke quickly, ‘I’ll stay with Grandpa, Will. You go and make sure.’

Will left reluctantly, wishing he could change it but in his heart he already knew. How many women in red Citroens could there be? Especially in that storm?

Joy’s funeral in Auckland meant Dana again took over Willow Reach while Will went to the city. She looked after him well, leaving him only for an hour or so each afternoon while she slipped back to Apple Cottage for a break. On his return Will gave his notice at work. Old William needed him right now and that was that. It wouldn’t be for long.

‘The worst is the not knowing.’ he said to Dana. ‘How long will this go on and worse still, how will I manage without him in the background?’

‘You’re just lucky you had him for such a long time. You’ll manage fine. But it’s time you got out and about a bit.’

The news of Joy’s death reduced old William to a lost soul. He became even more confused, wandering the cottage at night and then dozing through the day. Will was forced to adapt to a slower pace of life, now he was at home all the time, looking after his Grandfather. He made plans for the new garage but they didn’t interest the old man. As Grandpa had instructed earlier, it was a much larger, solid concrete block building with plenty of room for car and tools. The now unused horse gear was relegated to the space under the cottage.

Will worked steadily on the job in hand but his heart wasn’t in it. Grandpa took to his bed and lay there day after day until Will was forced to call the doctor about him.

The doctor’s advice was simple,

‘He’ll adjust but it will take time. His whole world is falling in on him. Just let him be. Keep him fed, warm and dry, that’s all anyone can do. He’s getting plenty of love, I can see that. Later on, well, maybe we can get him into a shelter for the aged but he won’t like that. They never do.’

But before anything could be arranged, the old man died in his sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

After giving up his job at sea to be with his ailing Grandfather, Will was at a loose end once the old man was gone. Farming was never his real interest though he tried to do the chores as well as he could. But his heart was with the sea, like so many before him. He had managed to get casual work with a local boat builder, but this was mostly seasonal work and weeks could go by before he was needed again.

He built his new Wanderer, a job that took him a couple of years and then there was nothing. The long days dragged past and the weather remained bad. Eventually, unable to get away on his little boat and bored beyond endurance, he turned to the diaries. They had lain so long in the box that a cloud of dust rose as he opened it. He sat reading and falling asleep, waking only to begin reading again.

At first he was frustrated, slapping the book down in disgust.

‘Jam! Bloody jam! Who cares about jam?’

Dana paused in her task, the tea-cloth drooping in her hand.

‘Jams and bottling were so important in those days, Will. It was a way of preserving the summer fruits. Most of what they ate grew wild and everybody had a vege garden with herbs and an orchard, some cows and maybe a pig or a couple of sheep to graze the orchard. And fish, of course. They had plenty of fish and shell fish; crayfish, even toheroa in those days. You must remember them from when you were a boy? Toheroa fritters!’

Will rolled his eyes,

‘I know. I know. I remember when Aunt Julia and Grandpa William took us over to the coast to get some. Andrew swore he would never eat such repulsive things. Said they looked like tongues. And then, when they were all cooked and smelling so good he ate more than anyone.’

Dana laughed as she went out the door to get some more packages from her car.

‘We can’t even have one toheroa now, but in those days, they were plentiful and good food. We called them kai, food, just like the Maori kids did. Oh boy, what I wouldn’t give for one today, right now, hot as could be and fabulous tasting.’

‘You’re making me hungry. Shut up.’

He grabbed the book up again, opening it carelessly.

‘Listen to this then.’

He proceeded to read a blow by blow account of preparing apples and mushrooms for stringing to dry.

’Couldn’t they just bottle the stuff?’

‘I doubt they bottled mushrooms. They would be better dried. And dried fruit took up less space, so many could be crammed into a large crock. My Mother used to dust the dried apple slices with sulphur to keep them from going brown, she said, though they always did. And they would keep for years. Just add water later on when you needed some.