NO BRIDGE, NO WAY!: A Glencairn Island Mystery

By JAN MURRAY

"Afraid, but not too afraid if it meant recovering his board and his little brother, Zoran shook his head to clear the fog and crept closer and closer to the hollow log.”

Ugject Development wants to build a bridge across to the beautiful island community of Glencairn. No Way! Five friends decide to fight it. With help from the mysterious sea captain and his cat, Pi*Wakitt. Weird, totally weird!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781925993998

JAN MURRAY

Jan Murray has lived long enough to have had several professional occupations but the one she is most proud to proclaim from on high is that of mother, having raised five amazing children to adulthood. At fourteen, frustrated by her lack of education, Jan left school, taking it upon herself when her fifth child was born to matriculate and then undertake a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and Political Science. Juggling motherhood with study, she graduated from Macquarie University with Honours, working as a researcher, speech writer and press officer for several federal politicians before starting up a PR consultancy in the early eighties. Jan Murray & Associates (JMA) became a successful boutique consultancy with many high profile accounts to its credit. Eventually, after a decade of serious corporate fun launching entertainment, tourism and property projects, managing the media profiles of the rich and famous and heading up some useful (and mostly altruistic) fund-raising projects, Jan decided it was time to leave the spin business to others, opting to follow a dream and take up the solitary life of a writer, setting her sights on writing and producing the Great Australian Screenplay. Although credible actors such as Kiefer Sutherland and Claudia Karvan were attached, Sweet Surrender is still languishing in a bottom drawer waiting for several millions of dollars to attach themselves to it before the cameras can roll. Meanwhile, Jan was invited to appear as a guest on an episode of the legendary Beauty & the Beast agony aunt show produced by Foxtel and screened on Channel Ten five days a week. Somebody upstairs must have liked her confrontational, leftie style because she was still there a decade later, going head-to-head with the late, great Stan Zemanek. More than once, Jan was thrown off the show but, thanks to popular demand, was brought back again each time. It seems the viewers saw her as their champion and enjoyed seeing her sock it to the Beast on their behalf! Presently Jan is a full-time, fulfilled writer and, because she is in favour of the widest possible spread for her books, she values her association with Harlequin.

Book preview

BLUE ANGEL BEACH

Saturday, December 23rd

Shelley Bentley spins her boat around and cruises into the shallows. ‘Everything okay, love?’ she asks the girl sitting alone on the beach.

The sight of a young girl sitting by herself on the remote beach puzzled Shelley. The Blue Lady water taxi pilot had been zipping past Blue Angel Beach, having just dropped off two of her favourite passengers, Orlaith and Tiger, around at Nautilus Lagoon. The lagoon was a favourite snorkeling spot on the shores of the National Park and on this Saturday summer morning, it was popular with locals enjoying the dive.

But beautiful, pristine Blue Angel beach, tucked up in a distant part of the bay and a young girl all alone? That was another matter.

Receiving no reply, Mrs Bentley eased her boat closer into shore and shut down the motor. She threw out her small reef anchor, letting the vessel glide closer in to the beach then slipped off her yachtie shoes and jumped over the side into the warm shallows.

‘You all right?’ she called as she waded through the water towards the small figure. ‘You okay, love?’

The girl turned her head to hide her red eyes and tear-stained face.

‘You’re a long way from home. I don’t mean to pry or anything but ... is something wrong?’ She waited until the girl turned around. ‘Oh, geez, it’s Xanthe O’Rourke, isn’t it? You’ve grown so much, love! I hardly knew you!’ Mrs Bentley studied Xanthe. ‘Had words with your Dad, I suppose, hey?’

Xanthe shook her head.

Shelley sat down on the warm sand beside the girl, watching her as she aimlessly sifted sand through her fingers. Shelley had the good sense not to rush things, but she was aware the sun’s warmth was picking up and it was too hot to be sitting here unprotected for long. She reached across for Xanthe’s hand and held it in her own. ‘Okay, love?’

‘I’m going to mess everything up.’ Xanthe spat out the words, looking straight ahead rather than at Shelley Bentley. ‘I’m useless. Can’t even get a stupid speech right.’

‘You’re speaking at the meeting today?’

Xanthe nodded. ‘Supposed to be.’

‘Oh, well that’s it! Butterflies in the tummy. It’s natural, love. Ask anybody. Ask that Jo Purdy lady, the actress. Or Orlaith May from the telly. Bet both of them get awful nerves before they go on. Stage fright, that’s all it is, pet.’

They continued to sit on the sand in silence. Shelley could see that Xanthe was really troubled. 

‘This isn’t just about stage fright though, is it, love? It’s something else, right? Want to talk about it? Old Shell’s a good listener, y’know. Tell me stuff, it goes in the vault. I’m the original clam.’

Xanthe turned to Shelley and hugged her, burying her head in Shelley’s chest. The kindly woman cradled Xanthe, rocked her until, eventually Xanthe straightened up and taking a piece of paper from her shorts pocket, handed it to Shelley.

The Blue Lady driver took the letter and read it, looking hard at the girl when she had finished. ‘You didn’t know your Mum was having a baby, sweetheart?’

‘Yes, I did ... but ...’ Xanthe wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

Shelley took her back into her arms. ‘How long has it been, sweetie?’

‘Since I’ve seen her?’

‘Yeah. Since you’ve seen your mum.’

‘I was seven.’

This took Shelley by surprise. Xanthe O’Rourke, to her reckoning, must be going on for eleven, at least. ‘But she writes to you, right?’ said Shelley, nodding to the letter in her hand.

‘My birthday. Once. Christmas. A couple of times. And this ... about the baby,’ said Xanthe, indicating the letter.

Shelley gave it another quick read and handed it back. Xanthe folded it neatly and stuck it in her pocket then stared into space until, eventually a steady stream of tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Shelley thought she understood. Xanthe had learned to live with the fact that her mother had walked out on her and her dad, but this news of a baby must have come as a shock, tormenting the girl. Her mother had a new family.

‘It’s breaking your heart she’s not here to see you today, to see what a great job you’ve done getting this protest meeting up, isn’t it, Zanth?’

‘She couldn’t care less,’ spat Xanthe, standing up and moving off from Shelley. She waded over to where her father’s tinny had begun lapping in the rising waters.

‘Does your Dad know where you are?’ Shelley called out as she followed Xanthe down the beach.

Xanthe shook her head without looking back and climbed aboard her boat. She tilted the outboard down into the water. It appeared she was about to say something but stopped herself and went forward and pulled in her anchor.

It was Shelley who spoke as she waded up to Xanthe’s tinny and held on to it. ‘Why don’t I take you home, sweetheart? We can tow this behind us.’

Xanthe hesitated for a moment. ‘Shelley?’

‘Yes, Xanthe, love?’

‘Do you ever just feel so empty sometimes? So full of ... so full of nothing that you ... that you just want to ...’. She looked away for a moment, fighting back tears, then she sighed. ‘Because I do.’

Before Shelley could respond, Xanthe had the engine kicking over.

Shelley was waist-deep now but she kept her hold on the side of the tinny. With her free hand she pointed across at Glencairn Island. ‘Look at it! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Xanthe nodded.

‘Is what you’re doing this afternoon an empty thing, Xanthe O’Rourke? Fighting to keep your precious Glencairn Island a sanctuary? Is that nothing?

There was silence.

‘Well?’

‘No. I guess not,’ Xanthe whispered.

‘You know it’s not! We’re all counting on you kids. The whole off-shore mob. We’re depending on your meeting to send a message, Zanth!’ 

Shelley covered Xanthe’s small hand with her own and lowered her voice. ‘And so is your dear Henrietta.’ 

Shelley stared into Xanthe’s eyes, remembering all that the Fabulous Island Film Unit children had told her about their beautiful young ghost, Henrietta. Or whatever or whoever she was. Only a story but a good one, thought Shelley. A feisty, wild young woman from two centuries ago that the kids now believed inhabited the old mansion around on the dark cliffs of Glencairn. 

‘You’ve got to take this fight up to them, mate,' said Shelley. 'For all our sakes. For the dead, for the here-and-now and for the ones to come.’

Xanthe looked hard at her friend but remained silent, locked inside her thoughts.

‘Zanth?’

‘What, Shell?’

‘Don’t let us down, love. Don’t let us down, you hear?’

Xanthe was silent for a little longer then the fingers of her right hand went to her throat, as if to touch a locket. But finding it not there, Xanthe closed her eyes and kept them shut, nodding her head.

It was as if the girl knew who had her locket, thought Shelley, and again, was reminded of the feisty Henrietta, one to play pranks, apparently.

When she opened her eyes again Xanthe’s gaze seemed focused, as if radiating a purpose, as if she had experienced a moment that was mind-changing. 

At least that was how it appeared to Shelley who felt she had just witnessed a turning point in the young girl’s life. 

She saw now, in Xanthe, a strength that had been missing a moment before, saw the girl’s shoulders straighten up as she looked across at Glencairn Island. There was even the shadow of a smile spreading across the girl’s lovely young face. Shelley released her grip on Xanthe’s aluminium boat. 

‘It’s your day, Xanthe O’Rourke. Your day, darling. And it’s your life,' said Shelley. 'You own it. No one else. You own today, and you own tomorrow.’

Slowly, Xanthe began to pull away from Blue Angel Beach.

Shelley saw the girl look back and was sure she saw Xanthe smile. She watched as the girl circled the tinny once around the Blue Water Lady then put on speed and headed out into the bay. A wave over her shoulder and she was off and racing.

‘You are one hell of a kid, Xanthe O’Rourke,’ sighed Shelley Bentley as she stood watching the small girl manipulate her boat with confidence. It took her moments to realize she had tears streaming down her own cheeks now.

Shelley Bentley stood for some minutes, knee deep in the warm water, watching Xanthe’s boat disappearing across the waters. She checked her watch. ‘Hey, time you got going, too, Bentley, old girl!’ she told herself. ‘You’re gonna be busy today with this protest meeting, that’s for sure.’ 

She was wading across to her own boat when she felt something brush against her leg. It was a tightly scrunched up ball of paper floating past on the tide.

The mother’s letter!

Retrieving it, Shelley straightened it out over the bow of her boat and read it for the third time. This time, however, she took note of the date on the top of the page. 

The letter had been written three years ago! 

And that meant the new baby was old news. 

But today the letter had mattered to Xanthe more than ever. Today, thought Shelley, the poor kid had yearned for her mother, for the mother who had forgotten her, the mother who didn’t care that this was going to be the biggest day in her daughter’s life.

Standing there, holding on to the discarded letter and remembering the smile she had just seen in those clear green eyes, Shelley Bentley realized she had been privileged to witness a crucial moment in the young girl’s life; the moment the daughter decided to become her own person.

‘Instead of your mother’s victim!’ Shelley said, angrily, as she swung up into her boat, pulled up anchor and started her engines. 

She soon caught up with Xanthe’s tinny and drove alongside it.

‘Go get ‘em, kiddo!’ she yelled across to the girl.

Xanthe nodded, grinned and gave a thumbs up sign then took off at top speed, swinging her boat in a wide arc out into Salvation Bay, leaving the water taxi bouncing over the frothy wake.

‘Knock ‘em dead, soldier!’ Shelley whispered to Xanthe’s disappearing figure. Her heart ached for the child. But she had never felt prouder of anyone in her life. ‘You’re one gutsy little kid, kiddo!’ she yelled out.

At least for today––when she stood on that stage and addressed her community about the urgent need to save their precious island from those who would destroy it––Shelley believed Xanthe O’Rourke would believe in herself. Would have faith in her own strengths. 

She looked around, at the bush, at the bay and then up through the tall tree tops to the glistening sun. 

‘See you look after her!’ she said to the universe as she too, put on the speed and left Blue Angel Beach behind in its magnificent solitude.

NEWSFLASH!

The Week Before

By Friday morning it is no longer just a rumour. The Island is buzzing with the news and a bunch of kids on Glencairn are ready for the fight.

It was school morning, last day of term. The wharf was packed. The Curlew was about to pull in.

‘Hey, you guys?’ yelled Zoran as he flew down the jetty, leap-frogging three dogs and four schoolbags before skidding to a halt in front of the twins. 'Did you see theStar’sfront page?’

‘It’s hideous!’ said Angel. ‘It’s actually going to happen! Can you believe grown-ups?’

‘I can’t believe anyone could be so dumb!’ wailed Honey. 'Hey, here comes Zanth.'

Xanthe was out of breath by the time she reached the end of the jetty and lobbed her heavy schoolbag at her feet. ‘Oh, boy!’ She took a deep breath then studied the faces of her friends. 'So, I take it everyone’s heard the news!’

‘Yeah. Happy days!’ said Angel. ‘Not!’

‘What are we going to do?’ Zoran, his jaw thrust out and his dark eyebrows crunched together like a pair of fighting caterpillars, slammed his fist into his palm. ‘Guys? C’mon! What are we gonna do?’

‘Stop them. What do you reckon we’re going do?’ said Xanthe, stepping down onto the middle step of the wharf ready to jump onto the deck as soon as the ferry was tied off. She stayed, poised for the jump as the old boat came alongside and banged against the wooden piers, churning the waters into froth.

Zoran tapped her shoulder. ‘How, Zanth?’ he said. ‘Stop them, I mean? How?’

‘Yeah, how?’ Honey called out above the noise. ‘Us? A bunch of kids?’

‘Us against them?’ Angel shook her head. 'Don’t reckon.'

‘Shush. Just hang on,’ said Xanthe. Her eyes were on the boy strolling across the beach towards the wharf.

All heads turned and watched the tall, dark-haired boy lob his backpack up onto the jetty then put one hand on the timbers and swing himself up and under the railing.

‘But Zanth ...’ Honey tugged on Xanthe’s uniform to get her attention.

‘Hang on, Honey!’ Xanthe said, brushing the younger girl off, and at the same time putting a hand out to grab the other twin’s shirt to stop her running up the jetty. ‘Oh my god! You two! Just wait, will you? Wait till he gets here!’ It was obvious Xanthe was deep in thought, so much so that she was almost whacked on the head when Ferry Perry threw his rope out to hook the bollard and tie off the boat.

‘Down here, you lot,’ she said, ordering Zoran, Angel and Honey onto a lower step of the wharf, away from the mob now clambering over each other in a rush to be first onto the ferry. ‘Stay down here. Let them have it. We’re waiting for Jacko.’

‘G’day,’ Jack Nolan said when he joined his friends. ‘No, I take that back. Guess it’s not a good day.’ He acknowledged their gloomy looks and shrugged. ‘A lousy one, right? You’ve all heard?’

‘Yeah, we’ve all heard.’ Zoran jammed his earphones in but kept the scowl.

The water, now that the ferry was tied off and resting, was so clear the leather jackets swimming around the piers were part of the conversation. As was the stranger with the smart briefcase who stood on the jetty above the steps, his dark city suit and his highly polished black leather shoes out of place on Glencairn Island. The stranger leant against the railing, his head inclined towards the kids on the lower step.

‘You know what?’ said Xanthe. 'I reckon we can stop them.’

‘How, Warrior Woman?’ Jack said. 'How?'

‘With dynamite.’

The stranger put his finger against the nose-piece of his dark sunglasses to keep them in place as he bent even lower into the conversation going on beneath him.

‘Dynamite?’ the twins exclaimed. ‘Dynamite? We’re gonna blow it up, you mean? Their bridge?’

The listener standing above them cocked his ear even closer to the discussion.

The Curlew’stransport monitor signaled the five to get aboard but despite Florence Longshank’s impatience, they continued to hold back from the mob.

‘Hey, what did I tell you kids?’ yelled Mrs Longshank when Xanthe and Zoran landed heavily on deck with Jack, Angel and Honey following close on their heels. And only the twins looking a little sheepish to be caught breaking the rules by not using the gangway. ‘You lot want a clip under the ear or what?’ Mrs Longshank growled as they came down into the cabin.

‘Sorry, Leggy,’ teased Zoran, blowing her a kiss.

Xanthe moved straight down the back of the boat, ignoring a pretty freckle-faced girl along the way who had her hand out to collect a high-five.

‘She’s still asking if she can join,’ whispered Angel out of the corner of her mouth.

‘The Fabulous Island Film Unit?’ huffed Xanthe. 'As if?’

‘As if?’ echoed Angel. ‘The Fabs? I don’t think so!’

‘Watch where you’re going, C’mon you lot, in y’go. Hurry up, there,’ yelled Mrs Longshank, despairing that her charges were being more fractious than usual today. What with this being last week of term and all the excitement about the story in the Star,it was proving impossible to keep order this morning.

‘Stop your pushin’‘n shovin’ down the back there, you lot,’ she yelled out. ‘Let ‘em through. Go on, get in there, all of youse. Hurry up! Ken don’t have all day, y’know.’

Amidst the yelling, shouting and pushing, the Fabs made it to their usual places, settling in and kicking their bags under the seat, aware that, as usual, other kids had moved up and made room for them. The tiniest of the ferry’s passengers, with Mrs Longshank’s help, squeezed in among the big children on the wooden benches. The Kindergarten passengers wore lifejacket. Mrs Longshank insisted on it while they were aboard her vessel. Little Lucien Radlic, Zoran’s brother, was usually here, but today wasn’t one of his mainland days. Today, he was at home on the island with his dad.

Among the older students, some bent over their last-minute homework and a couple still chewing on cold Vegemite toast from the breakfast table, the talk was animated. Most students seemed excited by what the Starhad reported as being no longer just a rumour but a fact.

‘Quiet!’ shouted Mrs Longshank from the top step of the cabin. ‘Belt up or youse don’t go nowhere.’

‘Cool!’ came a chorus of cheeky voices from the back of the boat.

‘I’ll give youse ‘cool’!’ said Mrs Longshank, finally taking time out to shine one of her great smiles. ‘It’ll be cool alright if I throw a few trouble-makers overboard, won’t it?’

A loud cheer went up.

One who didn’t cheer, however, was the well-dressed stranger standing behind the transport monitor, the dark sunnies hiding his eyes but not the sourness of his expression. Maybe it was the pursed lips. Maybe it was the shudder, which went through him as he studied the chaos of a boat-load of noisy school kids.

He stepped down into the cabin and made his way around backpacks and skateboards until he reached the rear, where he eventually took his seat opposite the five Fabs. He brushed a blonde wind-blown strand of hair from his eyes and checked his watch. Reaching into his jacket, he produced a smartphone and started texting. He returned the mobile to his pocket and turned to look out at the bay. The self-satisfied smile had little to do with the beauty of the sunshine bouncing off the sparkling water.

Ken Hawley, the Curlew’selderly pilot, with his bushy white beard and sea captain’s jacket, was at the wheel explaining a few things to his son, Ferry Perry, the young pilot who would soon be taking over the run when his father retired. Neither man had seemed surprised to see the