Noosa and Other Places

By John Havilah

Within this book are thirty five pieces of fiction. There is no common thread and one story may be based in Noosa, the next in a city, the far outback or somewhere else around the world, perhaps in war time. There are flawed characters and heroes, there is romance, comedy, drama and tragedy. There are mysterious figures of supernatural origin. <

• Language: English
• Publisher: Surgex
• Release date: Nov 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780980337747

John Havilah

As a young man John Havilah enjoyed the physicality of working as a station hand on a sheep property and playing Rugby whenever possible. He then took a sharp turn to become a Pharmacist owning Seaforth Pharmacy, Sydney for many years. During this time he also served a term as an Alderman on Manly Council. On selling the Pharmacy he and his wife Sue moved to Noosa, purchased Noosa Book Shop and became very interested in Creative Writing. John has now finished his second novel and written about one hundred short stories. Having moved on from the book shop his day now starts with an ocean swim, a walk with the dogs and preferably includes some time at the writing desk.

Book preview

1

I MISSED MY PLANE

The airport was close to a small town in the mountainous part of Central Guatamala. I had made a reservation two days before to ensure I could get back to Mexico and then on to L.A. It was to be the end of an extended holiday travelling throughout South America. I’d been particularly interested in exploring sites where long ago ancient Mayan and Aztec civilizations had flourished. Travelling on my own I’d had to rough it a bit and was eager to get back to some western style comfort.

The airport looked a bit primitive but I’d flown out of worse and usually enjoyed flying no matter what the conditions were like. A local bus deposited me at the terminal with not a lot of time to spare before my departure so I quickly made my way to the check-in counter. My attention was, however, diverted by a young woman who appeared to be somewhat distressed. She had, apparently , just been turned away from the counter and had broken into tears.

Now I could not resist helping a good looking female, and this one was certainly good looking – dark hair, olive skin, trim but with some very nice bulges. She saw me approaching and perhaps sensing I might be sympathetic to her predicament she asked me if I was going on the flight to Mexico City. Her English was very good, there was some sort of Latin background but the overall effect was very impressive. As I confirmed that I was indeed flying to Mexico the words rushed out.

‘My name is Angelina Estrada and if I am not on the flight today my very good friend is going to die without me. Please Sir, will you let me take your place in the plane? I have money, I can pay you, I know I cause you much trouble but I am desperate. For my friend’s sake I implore you.’

Well, I’m not a complete pushover, it was an awkward situation for me and I let Angelina go on a bit before I conceded she could have my ticket. Of course it would have been much more difficult back in Australia. Check-in staff would have been totally pedantic – tickets non-transferable – last minute changes out of the question. But there in Guatamala attitudes were much more laissez-faire.

So Angelina, stunning Angelina, asked me to sit while she switched my ticket at the desk. Above the heads of a crowd of travellers I saw her point towards me and although she must have been under some tension at the time she also flashed me a very warm smile. She came back.

‘Here is your ticket for the next flight.’ I shoved it in my pocket without a glance.

By this time she knew my name, ‘Robert, I will always remember your kindness – someday perhaps we will meet again. Goodbye.’

Her lips skimmed my cheek like a soft warm breeze. Then I watched her walk away and disappear in the crowd.

What should I do next? After weeks of uncomfortable beds and erratic sleep patterns I decided to relax in one of the quite comfortable chairs nearby and wait till the crowd dissipated before considering my next move. I must have dozed off quickly, although I was vaguely conscious of the noises in the background typical of an airport. At one stage there seemed to be a last call for some tardy traveller – pity it couldn’t have been me. Oh well I suppose it was better I could help someone else.

I was woken by the sound of a plane taking off and on checking my watch I knew it was the flight I was originally booked on. The terminal was almost empty A few staff were moving around slowly as if to compensate for the previous flight time mad urgency. I sat for a while random thoughts going through my brain, where was my life taking me, how come I had so readily swapped tickets with a beautiful woman, a complete stranger? Eventually I picked up my rucksack and headed for the service desk. A girl looked up.

‘I understand that I have a ticket for the next flight to Mexico City. Can you tell me when that will be?’

I pulled the paperwork from my pocket and handed it to her.

‘This ticket was for the plane that went an hour ago!’ she said, ‘I remember them calling your name.’

‘No that’s not right, I swapped my ticket with someone else. Angela – Angela Estrada I’m sure that was the name.’

The girl looked confused. She had a long look at what must have been the passenger list.

‘Definitely no persons with that name. Final report from steward say this seat empty. You want to fly on next plane, need to pay more money.’

I was stunned. What had happened to Angela? I’d paid for a ticket and I’d lost the benefit of it. I couldn’t really afford another one. Had Angela conned me in some way? She didn’t look like a devious person but maybe that’s how she got away with it. I’ll be a bit tougher the next beautiful woman that tries to give me a sob story.

While I was berating myself for being so stupid the public address began blaring. It was in Spanish but from the shocked look on the faces of some of the people around me I could tell it was bad news. Then the report was repeated in English. A plane en route to Mexico City had gone down in bad weather near the border with Guatamala. Within minutes everyone in the terminal knew that it was the same plane that had been on the tarmac a short time ago – the plane on which I should have been a passenger.

Who was Angela? Did her name mean something? Angela, Angel, my protective Angel?

Why was it me that missed that flight? In all my life I’ve only had this one experience for which I have absolutely no answer. I do however sometimes think I’d like to see Angela again.

2

THE BIG CATCH

For the last few years my family had spent Christmas at a large old house they’d booked in Noosa. It was usually just the family, my Dad Terry, Mum Joan, two sisters Kirsty and Caroline and me. This year didn’t look like being so relaxed because Kirsty , my older sister had invited along her most recent boyfriend, a country lad who a friend had introduced her to at the last Easter Show. He was due to arrive at Noosa the day after us and Kirsty must have thought he was something special because she kept warning me to be nice to him. Well Andrew who’d spent a day driving from somewhere out back pulled up in a dusty old ute. Kirsty rushed to hug him and then turned round to introduce him.

It was his arms you first noticed. He was a big man but some men who have grown up on country properties where the work is hard seem to develop forearms and biceps almost disproportionately large. I knew it when he gripped my hand and his greeting was in a voice to match – more suited to yelling at dogs and cattle really. Now I wouldn’t tell her but Kirsty is a stunner, a tall brunette who has always had plenty of men chasing after her. She’s always at ease, popular with everyone. My first impression of Andrew on the other hand, was that he seemed awkward and pretty much out of his depth! I wondered what could possibly attract my sister to this country bumpkin.

I wasn’t impressed with him but Andrew obviously wanted to be my friend and within a couple of hours he was asking my advice. He wanted to ask Kirsty to marry him and thought that Christmas Day would be a good day to propose. I don’t think he got the message that I thought it would be a disastrous thing to do.

I was surprised how Mum and Dad and younger sister Caroline took a liking to Andrew. On the first night Caroline got him to help her set up the Christmas Tree. Would you believe within an hour he’d tripped over an extension lead twice, broke three lights and fell off the ladder while trying to put a star on the top branch.

The next day we found some good waves in Laguna Bay and for a country boy Andrew was a strong swimmer even if he lacked a little style. He approached the surf with little experience but tremendous enthusiasm. I think Kirsty would have preferred to splash about closer to the beach but wanting to be near Andrew she followed him out to a further line of breakers. A wave reared up, the big farm boy oblivious to all else swung his body round to catch it and as he disappeared into the foaming water he crashed full force into Kirsty. Andrew on realising what he had done was horrified. He knew he had hurt Kirsty but even though she was stunned she resisted his efforts to help. He tried to assist her as she stumbled to the beach where her confusion gave way to an angry tirade. He wanted to apologise but she turned her back on him and stormed off leaving him in total dismay.

Back at the house, Kirsty completely ignored Andrew. The situation was not helped by the emergence of a spectacular black eye which was going to mar her looks for some time. Helpfully I asked Andrew if he had caught any good waves that day and, how was he going to keep my sister under control if they got married? Caroline continually asked him questions, like what sort of pop music did he like? Andrew looked extremely uncomfortable.

In the afternoon our father Terry, quite oblivious of any rift between the young lovers, organised a fishing trip further up the river. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day and some nice fresh fish on the table would be a bonus. Andrew, probably wishing he was back with his horse and dogs, valiantly agreed to join in. As a country boy I thought he would know all about fishing but he said he had done very little.

Terry knew enough about fishing for everybody. He had all the latest fishing gear, studied the tides and moon, time of year and prevailing weather patterns. On the expedition planned for this evening, Terry was taking no chances. In the back yard of our rented house was a rowing boat – it looked old but he had a good look at it, couldn’t find any holes, the oars were there so he reasoned it should be alright to take on the river. We would try fishing from the bank first and then if unsuccessful take the boat out midstream. All the family helped lift the old boat onto the family station waggon and as my mother and Caroline preferred to stay at home the rest of us set out on the big expedition.

Kirsty sat in the front of the car with Terry and listened in silence as he explained what a perfect evening it would be for fishing. I sat in the back with Andrew and described how sharks search for food in the tidal waters and they prefer to do this at night so he should be careful not to walk out of the shallows. Andrew made no comment and for some reason Terry and I were the only ones who spoke on that car trip

We found a clearing by the river just past the north shore car ferry. On either side the mangroves were quite dense and the tide at halfway left a metre of mud between us and the water. It was half an hour before sunset exactly as Terry had planned and despite a few odours from the mangroves and some prawn shells left by others, it really was a lovely time of day. Terry quickly got us organised – there was one fishing rod and as the expert he would be in charge of that. We mere amateurs would use only lines and reels, it would be much simpler. Our bait would be prawns, bought in great quantity on our trip up the coast, kept in the fridge and now opened up to further enhance the atmosphere. Terry issued instructions and then took his position to our right as we faced the river. Kirsty quickly baited a line and moved to the far left. Andrew miserably watched her walk away and I sensed how he felt, for even in old fishing clothes she looked rather gorgeous. I soon prepared a line and asked Andrew if he needed any help – he just shook his head, so I found a position on the bank next to where Kirsty was sitting staring out across the water. Terry was fine tuning his reel. I kept my eye on Andrew. For some minutes he wrestled with the largest prawn he could find – apparently he wanted to catch a really big fish. Making the prawn stick to the hook appeared to be a problem, particularly when the hook preferred to latch onto his finger. His language, useful in isolated areas, was rich but muffled so it barely reached me and certainly not to his potential fiancee. He popped the bleeding finger in his mouth and as quickly rejected it – prawns do not have the same flavour in this situation – his face was contorted for more than one reason.

The intrepid fisherman took time off and wandered towards Kirsty. He was rebuffed without a word being spoken. Back at his fishing line he tried again. This time the bait held firm and the first cast was imminent. Slowly the