The Reef Read online

  Jennifer enjoyed sitting outside and lingering over a smoothie or her salad while she read notes or a book with the background chatter and laughter of other students. You were never hurried along and she liked the friendly young staff. She had thought of asking for a job there but was a bit intimidated by all the organic foods, many she hadn’t seen before like wheat-grass juice, pomegranates, and a variety of Asian vegetables. Instead, she was working in the university library – which pleased her mother – but she was hoping to find another part-time job.

  A salad with roast beetroot stuffed with bocconcini and topped with roasted pine nuts and fresh coriander was put in front of her. She was surprised to see one of the chefs serving.

  ‘Is this one of your specialities?’

  ‘All my own work. Hope you like it.’

  ‘How come you’re serving as well as cooking?’

  ‘One of the girls is running late, had to see her tutor. I said I’d cover for her.’

  ‘That’s nice of you. Are you at uni, too?’

  ‘No. I’ve just finished my course in hospitality at TAFE. I’m doing this for experience and to save some money. I want to go to one of the big hotels overseas.’

  He was medium height and build with pleasant features and unruly curly dark hair. Jennifer thought he looked like a nice person. ‘To work as a chef?’

  ‘Actually no. I’m more interested in hotel management. I’ve been doing a bit of everything. Oops, better go, the other guy in the kitchen will have the next order ready.’

  He came back to her table several times to top up her water, take away her plate and persuade her to try the fruit flan. When she left he gave her a wave. ‘Enjoy the meal?’

  ‘I certainly did. And the service was great.’

  Jennifer began to visit Crush more frequently and she and Blair – as she now knew the young chef’s name to be – exchanged friendly banter and carefully dropped bits of information that gave each other clues about their families, future plans and the things they liked.

  A few weeks later after they ran into each other at the Sunday farmers’ market in the city, they strolled around the stalls as Blair bought fruit and vegetables. Jennifer had an armful of flowers, some homemade chutney and jam, and two ripe mangoes, a fruit she’d just discovered.

  ‘Are you buying for Crush or yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘Today myself. I’m tired of eating at the restaurant or taking home leftovers. I thought I’d rustle up a decent lunch.’ He glanced at her pretty face lightly touched with just the right amount of make-up, her pale gold hair that looked like she’d just washed it and let it dry. It fell around her face to her shoulders and, with her blue eyes and pale skin, the exotic and brightly coloured flowers in her arms contrasted with her translucent colouring. There was a faint sweet perfume around her from the flowers or her hair, he wasn’t sure which, and he suddenly wanted to lean closer and breathe in the fragrance. He realised he was staring at her. ‘Look, would you like to come over and share lunch? I live in Glebe, not far. I do sort of feel we know each other.’

  ‘Me too.’ She felt ridiculously pleased.

  The lunch was delightful. She loved his little terrace house and the way he was so comfortable about pouring her a glass of wine as she perched on a stool and watched him casually throw together an informal meal, which they ate off big, brightly coloured square plates on his tiny patio. She felt very cosmopolitan and tried not to show how impressed she was. She couldn’t imagine any of the boys she knew back home, or any of her mother’s friends, entertaining like this. She insisted on helping him clear up and then as the lazy, empty afternoon loomed, she was overcome with anxiety and made excuses about having to leave to see her aunt and uncle.

  ‘It’s been really lovely. I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate. I’m living on campus.’ Then she had an idea. ‘How about a picnic one day? I’ll do the food. When you have time, of course.’ She had no idea where they’d go but she’d research that one.

  ‘I’ll definitely make time for that. Here, I’ll give you my phone number.’ He reached for a pen and a slip of paper on the kitchen bench.

  ‘I’ll probably see you at Crush anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope so. Can I drive you anywhere?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I’ll grab a taxi.’ She picked up her shopping and hurried to the door in case he offered to phone for a cab. She had no intention of spending money on such a luxury. She’d walk. ‘Thanks so much, Blair . . . talk to you soon.’

  ‘Bye, Jennifer.’ He was already planning to phone a couple of mates to go down to the pub to watch the footy.

  Jennifer sat in the library and began to read the course notes her adviser had given her about directing her study focus. Teaching science was beginning to look less attractive to her and she didn’t believe she had a forceful enough personality to dominate a classroom. Research, investigation, winnowing out information and fitting pieces of a puzzle together – especially in the field of nature – fascinated her far more.

  She read the summary of one of the courses: ‘Conservation biology examines the ecological theory behind genetic, species, and ecosystem conservation. A range of techniques for reserve selection, planning and management is examined, and supported by case studies of Australian protected areas.’

  There were so many new – to her – subjects available for study. Big-picture topics right down to very specific and narrow subjects which were nonetheless important in the grand scheme of how humans could coexist more sustainably with nature and the planet.

  Jennifer thought back to the routine she remembered of her childhood on the farm. The predictable rotation of seasons and weather, animals that were born, fattened, slaughtered or sold. Wallabies with young joeys in their pouch, the birds that returned to nest each year, the paddocks that flourished again after harvest. It was only later, when she and her mother were alone on the farm, that she listened to men complain about how everything was changing. That things were not how they used to be. Or should be. And she remembered how the men shook their heads and made dire predictions. And no one could tell her why.

  Answers. That’s what intrigued her. If she could examine the phenomena of cause and effect in the environment, maybe solutions would become apparent.

  Over a coffee at Crush with Blair she raised the subject of switching the focus of her degree from teaching to research, but he only shrugged.

  ‘Sorry, Jenny, out of my field. Can’t you just get the teaching degree thingy and decide what to teach later?’

  ‘Actually, teaching is looking less attractive. I’d like to get into the research area. I think I should take more science subjects.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Hands-on is best, I reckon.’ He grinned. ‘Look at me.’ He waved a white napkin draped over his arm and pointed at the kitchen. ‘Waiter, front-of-house, chef, staff co-ordinator, computer jock. And on Monday morning I’m helping repaint the front. Never know what you’re going to be asked to do. Jack of all trades. I’d get the broadest, easiest degree that gives you the most choices.’

  Jennifer nodded, thinking how different their attitudes were. She recalled the second part of being a jack of all trades – master of none. Well, she was a bit more particular, or maybe had a more narrow focus. Though he was right in that having a flexible degree would give her more options. Well, she’d just get on with it. Take the courses that would help her in the research field. Her mother would be none the wiser. A degree, in her eyes, would be a degree. As long as Jennifer could get a job, her mother would be satisfied, even if it wasn’t as a primary school teacher.

  Jennifer’s routine changed little in the next few months. She and Blair saw each other on a regular basis, but it was still casual and friendly, and each had their own set of friends and activities. Blair liked to spend time with his mates – watching sport, going to the pub or ‘hanging out’. Jennifer felt there were girls involved some of these times, but she never asked and he seemed to prefer to keep her separate from his ‘gu
ys’ gigs’.

  They hadn’t slept together, because Blair sensed her reluctance and reticence, so both agreed to pull back when things looked like getting out of hand when they kissed. Privately Jennifer was disappointed. She realised he thought she was holding back, but she didn’t want to be the one to make the move, especially as it was her first time. She had made up her mind that if she was going to lose her virginity it would be with Blair. But he muttered about ‘respecting her’ and ‘not wanting to push her into something they might regret’.

  Jennifer’s life swung between her studies and Blair. Then one day Blair announced he had been offered two positions. One was as a junior manager at a top hotel in Lausanne, Switzerland. The other was in Sydney at a new international hotel, where he would be assistant general manager.

  As he explained to Jennifer, ‘One gives me international references, but, frankly, I wouldn’t be learning all that much – I reckon I’d be doing a lot of the dirty work as a junior. There are dozens of hopeful European hotel staff doing the same job. But here in Sydney I think I could get ahead quicker.’

  ‘It’s an international hotel chain. Surely that will open other doors down the track?’ said Jennifer, hoping he wouldn’t move overseas.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Blair, grasping her arm and squeezing it. ‘So that’s what I’m going to do. I reckon if I do well, I can go to their hotels in other parts of the world or look for opportunities in Europe.’

  ‘You’re on your way, Blair. Just what you wanted. Good on you,’ said Jennifer warmly. She meant it, but she could see Blair’s star soaring out of her little hemisphere.

  He sensed her mood. ‘Listen, this is good for other reasons. We can still see each other. You’re nearly done with your degree . . . who knows what opportunities might come your way?’

  She gave a brief smile. ‘Yeah. Who knows. But I don’t think Europe is interested in what I’m doing. I’m looking at Aussie issues first . . .’ she paused. ‘What happens here is just as important, even more so in some ways, as we can be a leader in conservation for the rest of the world. In some countries it’s already too late.’

  Blair nodded encouragingly but Jennifer knew he didn’t really grasp what she was on about. He was into tourism, trendsetting lifestyles, food, getting ahead to make money. Jennifer was beginning to sense that Blair’s ambitions were in total conflict with her own studies. Their conversations about biodiversity, sustainability, conservation, the environment, disintegrated before they got heated as he wasn’t interested and Jennifer felt she didn’t know enough to convince him that tourism, development and a slash and burn approach to land and sea care were not viable in the long term.

  He would laugh and tug her hair or tweak her nose. ‘You’re sweet, a dreamer, an idealist too. Enjoy life, Jenny, that’s my motto.’

  Despite their ideological differences, they shared a good social life, a continuing physical attraction and, slowly, their personal histories. Blair was sympathetic about her childhood trauma of the loss of her father and brother. So he agreed to accompany Jennifer to Sunday lunch at Aunty Vi and Uncle Don’s. To Jennifer, and to her aunt and uncle, Blair’s willingness to step into her family circle represented a major shift in their relationship. That first lunch was couched as a casual social occasion, and, to Jennifer’s surprise, Blair seemed genuinely to enjoy Don and Vi’s company. He found Vi a bundle of laughs and loved the fact she was so interested in different cuisines.

  Blair came with Jennifer on several more visits and also took them to various restaurants that Vi found stimulating. In fact, Vi and Blair bonded over the food, restaurants and cooking, leaving Jennifer and Don to talk about bird breeding, her studies and anything else that came to mind. Jennifer was amused at Vi and Blair, their delving into the pantry or Vi’s old cookbooks, only too happy that Blair was accepted. And she liked the idea of them being recognised as a couple.

  Jennifer also talked to Blair about her mother living in Victoria. Blair’s family was fractured and scattered, too, and he seemed to have little contact with them, although they all got on well when they did see each other, he told her. Blair liked the connection with Vi and Don. It held no obligations but gave him feedback from a different generation and class.

  ‘They’re good people,’ he told Jennifer. ‘Salt of the earth.’

  Their relationship took a different turn when Blair started working at the hotel. He put in long hours and was distracted and fretted over incidents and people at work. They seemed trivial issues to Jennifer but she listened, and made comforting and understanding noises. Gradually he would let work go and enjoy himself.

  They now had a regular group of friends, some living together, some married, and Jennifer felt life was settling into a routine that she quite liked, although she rarely mentioned her study and university work, and then only in passing. She still had the part-time job in the university library that gave her a little extra money.

  Christmas came and they both decided to visit their families. Jennifer’s train pulled into the station and she recognised most of the people getting off the train or waiting on the platform. As she retrieved her bag, her mother came hurrying up to her.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. Damn bus was late. Was going to get a ride with a friend to the station but at the last minute her car wouldn’t start. Hopeless, she is.’ Christina embraced her daughter and took Jennifer’s handbag so she could manage her small suitcase. Jennifer knew that as her mother chatted about changes around town, what neighbours were doing, what had happened in the past year, what they might do together, she was also taking in every minuscule detail of Jennifer’s appearance: her new shoulder-length haircut, her professional but natural-looking make-up, her casual but smart clothes and expensive-looking shoes, and her chunky silver jewellery. The hesitant, pale girl had been replaced by a poised, capable and attractive young woman.

  They caught a taxi home and her mother fingered Jennifer’s handbag. ‘This is nice. Real leather, is it? Must have cost you a bit. I hope you’re not frittering your money away, Jennifer. Do you save anything?’

  ‘Oh Mum, I don’t fritter. I save up and get one good thing at a time at the sales or discount places. There are lots of bargains in a big city,’ she laughed.

  ‘Yes, I suppose there are a lot of things in Sydney you can’t get here in this little town. But it is your home, remember, Jennifer.’

  ‘Of course, Mum. Well, home is where you grow up, really. I think of the old farm as home. And that’s not far from here anyway, is it?’ added Jennifer quickly, seeing her mother’s mouth tighten at the mention of the farm.

  The holidays dragged for Jennifer. It was a strain listening to the minutiae of her mother’s life – the people she worked with who, in her mother’s view, all seemed to be incompetent. The dreaded head librarian was still extremely difficult; the young girls were silly giggling twits or thought they knew everything and tried to boss her around now that they had computers.

  ‘Mum, do a computer course, it’s the new way to go. Everyone is using them,’ said Jennifer.

  ‘I suppose you have them at your university?’

  ‘Well, yes, in the library. I don’t have a personal one, of course.’ She didn’t add that Uncle Don was planning to get one to organise his bird breeding program and had offered to let Jennifer use it too.

  ‘You’d be very surprised at who comes in to use ours,’ confided her mother. ‘I can’t imagine what some of the old ducks are doing. They sit there pecking away like . . .’

  ‘Old hens!’ laughed Jennifer. ‘Maybe they’re writing their life stories.’

  ‘Tosh. None of them has had an interesting life.’ This launched her mother into stories of the health, family upheavals and financial doings of half the town. Jennifer winced. Christina had become the town gossip and seemed to know what everyone was up to. She also had the awful feeling that her mother probably passed on in minute detail every aspect of Jennifer’s life. Thank goodness she was judicious in what
she told her. But what disturbed her most was her mother’s negativity. She didn’t seem to have anything nice to say about anyone or anything. Jennifer ignored her mother’s barbed enquiries about her personal life, her friends and her future.

  But after a week, she was burnt out. There was no reprieve from the onslaught of her mother’s attentions. Christina had also taken holidays so they were together from first thing in the morning when her mother brought her a cup of tea far too early. Jennifer now drank coffee, Blair’s influence, but suffered through her mother’s breakfast, which she insisted on making with all the works, from the ironed tablecloth and serviettes, to the best plates, to the cereal, Vegemite, raspberry jam and butter dish all set out the night before. Sleepily, Jennifer confronted the array on the table as her mother bustled in the kitchen.

  ‘Here’s some toast, butter it before it gets cold while I do the eggs. I bet you don’t get food like this down there at that university canteen.’

  Jennifer lifted the lid on the butter dish to find an oily liquid that had melted during the hot night. ‘No, that’s for sure,’ she thought to herself. She had fresh fruit, cafe au lait and a croissant, or else sprinted down to Crush for a delicate omelette, frittata or fruit concoction.

  Her mother sat opposite her with a mug of tea and a cigarette. ‘Come on, eat up.’

  ‘Where’s yours, Mum?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t eat a big breakfast. A piece of toast does me.’

  ‘Then I wish you wouldn’t go to all this trouble . . .’

  ‘Nonsense! I enjoy having my girl home. Now, what are we doing today?’ asked her mother brightly.