The Islands Read online

  Di Morrissey is one of Australia’s bestselling writers. She began writing as a young woman, training and working as a journalist for Australian Consolidated Press in Sydney and Northcliffe Newspapers in London. She worked in television in Australia and Hawaii and in the USA as a presenter, reporter, producer and actress. After her marriage to a US diplomat, Peter Morrissey, they were posted to Singapore, Thailand, South America and Washing-ton, DC. During this time she worked as a freelance journalist, TV and film scriptwriter and radio broadcaster, appeared in theatre productions and had several short stories published. Returning to Australia, Di continued to work in television before publishing her first novel in 1991.

  Di has a daughter, Gabrielle Hansen, who is expecting Di’s first grandchild, and Di’s son, Nick Morrissey, is a Buddhist scholar and lecturer.

  Di and her partner, Boris Janjic, divide their time between Byron Bay and the Manning Valley in New South Wales when not travelling to research her novels, which are all inspired by a particular landscape.

  www.dimorrissey.com

  Also by Di Morrissey

  Heart of the Dreaming

  The Last Rose of Summer

  Follow the Morning Star

  The Last Mile Home

  Tears of the Moon

  When the Singing Stops

  The Songmaster

  Scatter the Stars

  Blaze

  The Bay

  Kimberley Sun

  Barra Creek

  The Reef

  The Valley

  Monsoon

  First published in Macmillan in 2008 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Babette Smith 1991

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Morrissey, Di.

  The islands / Di Morrissey.

  ISBN 978-1-4050-3856-0 (pbk.)

  A823.3

  Typeset in 12.5/15.5 pt Sabon Roman by Post Pre-press Group

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Internal map by Laurie Whiddon

  Internal illustrations by Donald K. Hall, Hawaii

  Photographs on pages 1 and 446 by Getty Images

  The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2008 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  The Islands

  Di Morrissey

  Adobe eReader format: 978-1-74198-250-3

  Online format: 978-1-74198-427-9

  EPUB format: 978-0-75222-625-5

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  Contents

  Cover

  About Di Morrissey

  Also by Di Morrissey

  Title page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Acknowledgments

  As always, hugs to my amazing children who give me such love, support and joy – Gabrielle and Nick.

  My darling partner, Boris, who makes each day so wonderful.

  My dear family, Jim and Ron Revitt, Ro, Pauline, David, Damien, Julie, Emma and all my lovely cousins. And a big happy 95th to darling Dorothy Morrissey.

  Thank you to friends who were so helpful – Lloyd and Margaret Wood and their network in Honolulu, Peter Morrissey, former USA surf champion, Rusty Miller and some special soul surfers who wish to be anonymous. And not forgetting my old friend, Ted Johnston.

  Thanks and love to my non-surfing lawyer, Ian Robertson and my pal and publisher, James Fraser.

  To everyone at Pan Macmillan – Ross Gibb, Roxarne Burns, Jeannine Fowler, Jane Novak, Katie Crawford, Elizabeth Foster, Millie Shilland. And thanks to eagle-eyed copyeditor Rowena Lennox.

  And a special thanks to Liz Adams (and Richard) for your friendship, patience and for being such a wonderful editor!

  And to the late legendary waterman, Tom Blake, who inspired the character of Lester.

  In memory of my dearest mother, Kay, with whom I first visited The Islands.

  1

  THE SKY-BLUE HOLDEN STATION wagon wound along the freshly graded dirt road lined by elderly eucalypts, a firmly anchored landmark for nearly one hundred years. The landscape was familiar to the man driving and the girl beside him. Catherine Moreland and Robert Turner were neighbours. Robert, his sisters and parents lived on a large property settled by his great-grandfather. Catherine’s grandfather had started grazing sheep in the same district. Catherine and Robert had known each other since childhood.

  Mollie Aitken, Catherine’s girlfriend, sat in the back seat looking at countryside unfamiliar to her, as the two old friends in front chatted about local news and the big party that night for Catherine’s twenty-first birthday. For Mollie it’d been a bit of a shock flying from Sydney into the rural district where there seemed to be nothing but paddocks, hills and a river. From the twin-engined, propellered plane, towns below looked to be small and few and far between. After living in trendy, inner city suburbs these open spaces made her feel very isolated.

  Mollie had heard stories about bush bashes and how fantastic the parties were, so she’d been excited to be asked to Catherine’s twenty-first. Catherine had told her that there were lots of single boys in the district but now, having seen where they lived, Mollie knew she could never survive so far away from shops, restaurants, bars and entertainment. But she was looking forward to the weekend house party, especially tonight’s big celebration.

  The Peel Airport was basic – a dressed-up shed really – and Mollie had been amused to walk outside to collect her bag from a trolley wheeled from the plane to the side of the terminal.

  The drive seemed interminable although Rob and Catherine kept her entertained, describing some of the people coming to the party and giving sketchy, sometimes lurid, details of previous escapades at parties and balls over the years.

  Mollie had met Catherine during a holiday on the Grea
t Barrier Reef and they had kept in touch. On visits to Sydney Catherine stayed with Mollie. Now it was Catherine’s turn to host her. Mollie had never been to a rural property in north-western New South Wales or anywhere else in the countryside before this visit. She knew that this property had been part of Catherine’s grandfather’s much larger holding. Over the years it had been broken up and had gone from raising sheep to become a smaller property where Catherine’s father Keith raised stud Murray Grey cattle. He might be a solicitor working in Peel, the nearby regional town, but these cattle were his passion.

  Mollie had been told that while other friends were coming from Sydney and Brisbane for Catherine’s twenty-first, the majority of the guests would be neighbours and friends from school days.

  Mollie was relieved when Catherine pointed out the enormous mailbox with Heatherbrae painted on its side and announced that they’d arrived as they turned into a narrow dusty road. Yet they continued to drive for what seemed ages past fences and dusty paddocks and the occasional head of Keith Moreland’s prized cattle.

  Rob glanced in the rear-vision mirror noting a truck following them, keeping well clear of the plume of orange dust kicked up by the station wagon.

  ‘So how many are coming tonight?’ asked Rob. ‘Seems like everyone and their dog from the district.’

  ‘Well, it is Cathy’s twenty-first,’ Mollie reminded him. ‘And she’s an only child.’

  ‘It’s looking like a B and S ball without the ball,’ grinned Catherine. ‘I have a sinking feeling the two hundred people I asked are all going to turn up.’

  ‘What’s B and S?’ asked Mollie.

  ‘Bachelors and Spinsters . . . meaning anyone who’s single and under thirty generally.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Sounds a bit old fashioned, who calls themself a spinster in 1971?’

  ‘It’s a term,’ said Catherine. ‘I’m glad it’s not going to rain,’ she added, looking at the cloudless blue sky.

  ‘We could do with some follow-up rain,’ sighed Rob.

  ‘Spoken like a true farmer,’ laughed Catherine.

  Mollie leant forward as the house came into view. Several vehicles, muddy and dusty, were already parked close to the big shed behind the gracious white homestead.

  The house was an old building, with French doors opening onto the long latticed and colonnaded verandah. A sleep-out with striped canvas blinds ran along one side and the sandstone steps from the verandah led to a length of well watered lawn and thick flowering shrubbery. The house had an air of permanence, of solid respectability, of having survived hard seasons, a place where children were born, raised and played. An extension built in the 1960s blended in. The fresh white paint and startling bright aqua pool announced that, although this was a classic building, it was also a modern home.

  They got out of the station wagon and Rob reached for Mollie’s bag as Rosemary, Catherine’s mother, came to greet them.

  ‘Plane must have been on time. Thanks for doing the airport run, Rob. All our vehicles are running about the countryside either working or on party business.’

  ‘No trouble at all, Mrs Moreland.’

  ‘And welcome to you, Mollie. I suppose you’re hanging out for a cup of tea?’ She led the way into the house followed by Robert and Catherine.

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t say no,’ sighed Mollie. ‘Oh, it’s so nice and cool in here.’

  ‘It’s the thick walls, Dad says it’s like a wine cellar, constant temperature. Even in winter,’ said Catherine. ‘My grandfather built the house of mud bricks.’

  ‘I’ve put you in the little spare room at the back of the house.’ Rosemary headed down the cool dark hallway of polished wood where family photographs were hung next to photos of prize-winning bulls and horses.

  ‘I suppose the early arrivals are getting stuck into the beer,’ said Rob with some longing.

  ‘Probably. But I’ve given those fellows a few jobs to do, so I hope they get them finished before getting onto the grog,’ said Rosemary. ‘Make yourself at home, Rob, there’s a bed or two left in the sleep-out.’

  ‘I’m okay. I have my swag, thanks, Mrs Moreland. At least the weather is holding.’

  ‘It’s going to be a lovely night. Perfect for you, Catherine.’

  Rob swung Mollie’s bag onto the bed and grinned at the girls. ‘There you go. I’ll be off then and see if there’s anything I can do out where they’re setting up.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘You do that. See you later. Thanks again for the ride.’ As she helped Mollie hang up her dresses she whispered, ‘He’ll be straight over to the boys at the keg.’

  ‘What time does it all start?’ asked Mollie.

  ‘Seems like it already has,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’ll leave you girls to it. Shout if you need anything, Mollie, dear.’

  ‘Rob is nice, I see what you mean about country boys – very polite. Good looking too. Have you and Rob, ever, you know, been boyfriend girlfriend?’ asked Mollie, keen to sort out which boys might be available. She intended to make the most of her long weekend in the country.

  ‘Heavens, no!’ exclaimed Catherine. ‘He’s like a brother. We had to sit in kindergarten classes together.’

  ‘Where was the kindergarten?’ wondered Mollie. ‘It must have been a long trip.’

  ‘Oh Mum ran it here at Heatherbrae, there were quite a few of us. There was always a family or two with kids. Later we went into Peel on a bus but Rob went to boarding school in Sydney. Now, let’s get some tea and I’ll show you around.’

  ‘What room is the party in? Or is it on the verandah?’ Mollie hadn’t seen anywhere that could hold a large group.

  Catherine burst out laughing. ‘It’s down in the paddock . . . as far away from the house as possible. The oldies stay up here. We’ll come up here later in the evening for the official toast and to cut the cake.’

  ‘A paddock! But I brought a new lace outfit and high heels!’

  ‘Don’t worry, everyone dresses up. Like I told you, these parties can last till sunrise! Or until the booze runs out. We can make as much noise as we want to – the nearest neighbours are miles away and they are all here anyway! I’ve got a few chores to do. I’m going to help Dad move our horses further away so the party doesn’t upset them. Want to come?’

  ‘I’m not very horsey,’ said Mollie. ‘I might have a bit of a rest and freshen up. Remember, I left home very early this morning!’

  Catherine rode beside her father as they led a young horse behind them. The horses walked slowly side by side allowing Catherine and her father to talk.

  ‘Thanks for throwing the party, Dad.’

  ‘Got to celebrate the big occasion. Hope everyone has a good time. Not too good a time,’ he added. ‘I know some of the boys can drink a dam dry.’

  ‘They’ll be okay, Dad. At least everyone is staying the night. Glad it’s not raining, though we could’ve moved it to the shed I guess.’

  ‘Yeah, like we did for my fiftieth.’ Keith Moreland was quiet for a moment, then asked, ‘So, anyone special here? In the man department?’

  ‘You know better than that, Dad. They’re all just friends. Some are engaged, a couple married, I’ve known most of them since I was little.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love with them. It’s the best way, starting out as friends first, knowing their family background, liking the same things. Country people tend to marry country people. It’s a different way of life to city people. And as for these new flower-power hippie types, well, I’m blowed if I know what they’re on about. Or where they fit in.’

  Catherine chuckled. ‘None of them round these parts, Dad.’

  They rode in silence for a few more moments, but Keith persisted probing into his daughter’s love life. ‘So no-one special, eh? I thought that Brian Grimshaw was a bit keen on you.’

  ‘Oh, we had a few dates. Nothing serious. Anyway he’s brought up a girl from Sydney for tonight’s party.’

  ‘And your friend Mollie, she got her
eye on some of our bush boys?’

  ‘If she does it will only be for the short term. There’s no way she’d live out here.’

  ‘And you? What are you going to do with your life, eh, love? Twenty-one is the time to think about these things.’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad. I can’t think of living anywhere but here. I had a couple of months in Sydney and that was enough for me.’

  They busied themselves getting the horses into a small paddock, unsaddled them and threw the gear into the farm ute that Keith had earlier left by the fence. Catherine was thinking about what her father had said. Just where would she end up? Mollie had once said to her that she had to get off the property or she’d end up an old maid looking after her ageing parents. But this threat didn’t worry Catherine as she felt a deep attachment to her home and the country around it. The beauty of the landscape, its familiarity, was close to her heart. It was a lifestyle she appreciated. She couldn’t imagine living in a city, in suburbia. While she still worked in her father’s office in Peel, she knew she had the freedom to move on or do something else any time she wanted. She was amused by her parents’ interest in her love life but, unlike her girlfriends, she wasn’t worried that she didn’t have a regular boyfriend or any immediate prospects of settling down.

  She was happy with life the way it was.

  *

  In the far paddock, surrounded by vehicles, long trestle tables and chairs were placed near an old bathtub filled with drinks cooling in ice under wet hessian bags. Close by was a keg of beer and a newly erected bush barbecue. A bonfire was ready to light even though the weather was warm, for by evening it would provide welcome light.

  Closer to the homestead a guesthouse that had been the shearers’ quarters in Catherine’s grandfather’s day had been taken over by a group of girls who were early arrivals. There was an understood demarcation between the adults, who would be staying in the house, and the young people in the paddock, so that the groups didn’t encroach on each other.

  After the party people would crash in swags on the ground or sleep in their cars. Many would be so drunk that they’d sleep anywhere and not notice any discomfort.