Free Sailmaker by Rosanne Hawke Page A

riding down killer gullies on a bike. Just one big one over the top of us and we could sink in seconds. This tinnie doesn’t have any special flotation aids.
    Mei can see I’m getting tired. She moves and sits beside me, and we have an oar each. With two hands on, we should be able to manage better. It takes a few strokes to get synchronised but good old Mei, she knows how to handle a boat. I know we’ll never make it to the other side of the island where Vern’s house is. Just have to head for where we can. The only thing I can see ahead is the flash of the lighthouse every ten seconds. It’s started already.
    The rowing takes forever and I can feel the pain in my arms. Mei’s not saying much but I can tell by her screwed-up face she feels the same. This straining, groaning. Do ironmen in a race feel like this? Commentators talk about pushing to the max, the last bit of strength, the punishment. All I know is this is no race – maybe we won’t make it and there’ll be more to lose than a medal.
    Finally we come close to the western end of the island. We make an extra effort and we’re in far enough to take up the oars and jump out. I pull the tinnie in. Mei helps and we drag it up high into the boxthorns and get growled at for our efforts. The penguins have settled in the roots, dry from the rain. Then we hurry through the park to Vern’s house.
    It’s an understatement to say he’s relieved to see us. ‘Just rang your gran. When I saw the storm come in quicker than we thought. Your dad’s back.’
    I stiffen until I realise he means Dev. No one would still have a pleasant look on their face if they were thinking of Scott. ‘So we’d better ring again and say you’re safe, eh?’
    â€˜Is there time?’ I know that you can’t use the phone once it starts thundering and streaking lightning. The exchange gets knocked out.
    â€˜It’ll be okay,’ and Vern hands me the phone. Dev answers. He doesn’t say he’s worried but I can hear it between his words.
    â€˜So you’re back with Vern,’ he says. ‘That’s good, mate.’ I can tell he was about to bring the Sea Wolf to find us. How risky would that have been! I ask him to let Mrs Pham know. Then I reckon I should ask about Nancy.
    â€˜She’ll be okay, mate. Her daughter’s there now. She’ll look after everything.’
    My knees nearly buckle with the relief. I had no idea Nancy had kids.
    â€˜Her daughter?’
    â€˜Sure, mate. I just had to stay until she came from Sydney.’
    â€˜So you’re home now.’ It’s a dumb thing to say, of course he’s home, but I mean ‘for good’. Maybe he knows – I can hear the chuckle in his words.
    â€˜Thought I wouldn’t come home, mate?’ It’s the way he says ‘home’. It sounds so warm and steady. Yep. I should have known better. He doesn’t say anything about Zoe and nor do I want to ask. I glance across at Mei; running scared, she is, though she’s trying not to show it. Every time there’s a different noise, she turns to listen. That’s how I feel about Zoe. She’s my ghost.
    â€˜You hang tight out there, mate. I’ll come when it dies down.’ He could’ve said tomorrow but we both know it could take more than a day to clear.

19
    After we take our clothes off (at different times in the bathroom) and get into some of Vern’s, we help him storm-proof his house, as he puts it. ‘Have to batten down the hatches, pull on the ropes hard, get the sails down.’ It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if he’s an old sea dog. ‘These houses been here since 1852,’ he carries on. ‘Rare to see a timber-framed house this old. It’s because they’ve been looked after that they’re still standing.’ We go round latching all the windows. In his bedroom there’s a