A Drop in the Ocean. Jenni Ogden
a tropical island.” Fran scrabbled in her bag and hauled out a scrunched up sheet of paper.
“Fran, for heaven’s sake, you know that was a joke. What is it?” I took the paper she had unscrunched and read the small advertisement surrounded by ads for adventure tourism in Australia.
For rent to a single or couple who want to escape to a tropical paradise. Basic cabin on tiny coral island on Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. AUD$250 a week; must agree to stay one year and look after small private campsite (five tents maximum). Starting date October 2008. For more information e-mail lazylad at yahoo.com.au.
I looked at Fran in amazement. “You printed this out for me? I think the sun must have got to you. Lazylad is looking for some young bimbo. And he wants to be paid to look after his campsite. What cheek.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but Callum pointed out that thousands of people would give their eyeteeth for an opportunity like this if the cabin were free. But that’s the beauty of it; you can afford it. And wasn’t your father Australian? You mightn’t even need a visa.”
“Fran, you’re a dear, but can you see me on an island on the other side of the world, singing jolly campfire songs with spaced-out boaties?”
“Have you got a better idea? Or are you just going to continue to fade away in your cubbyhole?”
“No, I’m out of there as soon as I finish this damn paper I’m writing, and then I thought I might try my hand at writing a book.” So there, I felt like adding.
Fran’s face lit up. “A book? That’s fantastic. What sort of a book? A novel?”
I started to laugh. “What happened to you up there at the lake? This is me, Anna. I haven’t suddenly morphed into a normal person. I’m still the same old ivory tower nerd, clueless about people. No, I thought I might be able to write some sort of account of my experiences getting research grants and running a lab. All the highs and lows. Perhaps I’ll discover where I went wrong.” I could hear the gloom in my voice as the words came out of my mouth.
“But that’s a great idea. And you’ll need somewhere to write it.” I could see the mischief in her eyes as she grinned at me.
“I know what you’re thinking, and no, I do not want to live on a desert island at the end of the world.”
“Oh well, worth a try. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out though, would it?”
TWO DAYS LATER I COMPOSED A CAREFUL E-MAIL TO Lazylad, not expecting a reply. Surely the cabin had been snapped up by now if it were such a dream opportunity. I got used to holding my breath as I turned my e-mail on each morning, scrolling rapidly through all the usual stuff looking for Lazylad, telling myself I didn’t care. But the idea of going to Australia had got stuck in my head.
I had all but given up and stopped daydreaming about writing a book on a deck looking through the palms across an azure blue ocean, when there it was—a reply from Lazylad, who I later found out was actually called Jeff.
Thanks for e-mail. Been away sorry for delay in reply. Cabin still available if you want it. Photos attached. Island called Turtle Island (after the sea turtles here) and is a coral cay just above Tropic of Capricorn about eight hectares in area with a large reef surrounding it. A few eccentric people own houses here and that’s about it apart from my small campsite. Only transport is fishing boat or charter. Cabin basic but comfortable, everything included. Solar hot water (roof water) and solar power for lights and computer, gas fridge and stove, no telephone. Satellite broadband from some locals’ houses you can use occasionally in return for a few beers. One of the local fishermen brings supplies over about once a fortnight in his boat and locals can hitch a ride for a small fee or more beers. Fantastic snorkeling and diving, birds, turtles, etc. Weather always perfect (almost). If you are interested e-mail me your phone number and I’ll call you when next on mainland to chat. Looking after campsite is a doddle. First come, first served (no bookings), take their money, and make sure the old guy on the island does his job of emptying the toilet and the rubbish bins. It would be good to get someone here before I leave for UK on 18th October so I can show you the ropes.
When I scrolled down so I could see the photos my hand was trembling. The first one showed a rectangular wooden building with what appeared to be an open front with a wide deck. A big wooden table and a few white plastic chairs, along with a heap of what looked like diving stuff—a wetsuit and flippers and a tank—sat on the deck. In the dimness of the inside I could make out a bed on one side of a partition and what looked like a kitchen on the other. The cabin was surrounded on three sides by trees with large leaves, and in front of the cabin was a sweep of white sand. The sand had something black on it, and when I zoomed in I could see it was a cluster of three large black birds just sitting there. The second photo showed a narrow strip of white sand, fringed by trees with feathery-looking leaves, and then the truly azure blue sea and sky. The last photo was like something on a travel brochure: a tiny, oval, flat island with green vegetation crowning the center and white sand around the edge, surrounded by blue. In the blue I could see dark patterns, the coral. I grabbed my pendant and brought it to my mouth. The last time I had seen coral sea had been when I was twelve years old, and I had thought then that I never wanted to see it again.
TWO
I stood hanging on to the railing that ran round the bow of the fishing boat and looked at the white-and-green spot on the horizon. “Heavens, it’s tiny,” I said, obviously louder than I had intended.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?” I turned to see the weather-beaten face of fisherman Jack, who was kindly delivering me to my new home. Presumably his son was driving the boat while he took time off to chat.
“Well yes, I knew, but it somehow looks a lot smaller than I’d imagined. I suppose it’s the isolation of it in that great expanse of sea, rather than it being so small.”
“Think of it as the whole reef.” He leaned over the side and nodded his head like a pointer. “Look, we’re already over it; you can see the coral below now. The island is just the bit sticking out at high tide. So it’s really a massive area.” He grinned at me.
“Right. That’s very comforting.” I looked back to the island, which was getting marginally bigger. Not another island to be seen. Not even another boat. And then a dark speck appeared in the blue, weaving back and forth and increasing in size until I could make out a small dinghy. “What on earth is that boat doing?” I asked, pointing. “It looks as if it has lost control.”
“Some would agree with you there. It’s the turtle rodeo. I’ll cut the engine when we get a bit closer in and you can watch for a bit. It’s a sight not to be missed.”
“What do you mean, a turtle rodeo? Surely people aren’t allowed to ride turtles.” I was shocked.
Jack chuckled. “Now there’s a good idea. You hang on there and I’ll get up to the wheelhouse and bring her closer.”
We turned towards the smaller boat and our engine went quiet. I could hear the screeching of the dinghy’s outboard motor as it sped first one way, and then, in a mighty spray of water, turned back and then around again in dizzying zigzags. I could make out three figures, one standing dangerously near the bow. Suddenly the boat screeched to a stop, and the black figure at the front dove into the water as the engine was silenced. I held my breath as the figure disappeared below the surface. Minutes seemed to go by before the diver’s head came out of the water right by the dinghy. He seemed to be carrying something—it looked like a large body. We were still too far away for me to see.
I remembered my binoculars and scrabbled for them in my backpack. It wasn’t a body—well, not a human one—but a massive turtle that the man—I supposed it was a man—had clasped in front of him. I could see the big head and the front flippers flapping desperately as the people in the boat struggled to get ropes around them. The man in the water was grasping the shell, which was much wider than him. The others in the boat were leaning over the sides trying to grab the flippers, and then