Читать книгу Kendra - Jane Keehn - Страница 6

Emily’s face reflected back at her from the laptop screen, as she grabbed a beer with one hand and the mouse with the other. Leo let out an exasperated sigh lying chin in paws on his basket on the floor.

Emily shot a glance at him while she swigged a mouthful and then moved the cursor over a map of the Mandalay shoreline. The small notepad sat on the table on top of the plastic bag that had protected it. Her brown eyes squinted as she thought of the caves she had to find and to enter.

Heat beamed from her computer screen and she ran her hand over her face and through her dark hair. She held the beer bottle to the back of her neck and cooled that small part while she visualized the turn of her kayak as it was swept along by the waves towards one of the caves openings.

Emily steered the mouse over the table and clicked something on the bottom of the screen. A video of waves crashing flashed over the mud map. The wreck of the Mandalay tore in two as it hit the limestone reef and cracked apart.

Scanned images shuffled through a folder on her desktop as she examined an old line drawing of the original Mandalay as it prepared for sail in the Dutch West indies.

Emily clicked onto the front of the ship and zoomed in on the figurehead arched over the hull. Her face framed by carved braids of yellow hair loomed up on the screen and Emily imagined her grandmother as a girl - her arms clutched around the wooden neck, her legs grasping for balance and control around the mermaid waist.

Much had been written about it in the local history books and in the Maritime Centre’s exhibition catalogues about Meg’s amazing survival but she hadn’t been the only one to survive the wreckage. Others were washed ashore and made the Bay of Mandalay their home.

Meg’s story captured the imagination because she was the youngest to survive the coal ship’s destruction on the reef and because the image of a six-year-old girl gripping on to the wooden mermaid was one out of a fairy story. Emily’s favourite part was her grandmother telling her.

- I just refused to let go and before I knew it, I was face down in the sand, but I was alive!

Distracted by a blue light in the bottom right corner of the screen, Emily frowned and clicked the mouse.

A Skype alert flashed on her laptop screen. It was Melanie from the Museum’s education team. Her heart raced a little faster as Emily clicked the key board in response to Melanie’s call.

- Stop work and get something to eat?

Emily sighed as she typed her answer.

- Would love to, but your husband might not approve!

Emily blew a small exasperated breath through her lips then pressed them together in a disappointed smile.

Melanie’s quick response popped up.

- He’s away diving for abalone – you could come to my place – I’ll cook?

Emily’s ink-stained fingers moved quickly over the keyboard.

- Really, would love to, but sorry, I’ve got a couple of friends here for dinner.

She grabbed at her diving watch on the desk - it was too chunky on her wrist, it scratched at the scroll pad. It read close to eight o‘clock on its large white digits.

She signed off to Melanie, saved her file, closed the screen and clamped the laptop shut like a large white, flat clam shell.

From the small kitchen table, she grabbed a compact canister of fish food and sprinkled a hefty pinch into an aquarium where two ordinary looking goldfish lazily followed each other around.

Walking to the front balcony overlooking the ocean front, she brushed the remnants of the fish pellets onto her jeans, and placed her hands on the balcony’s rail, gazing far out at the horizon, swaying slightly as she focused away from her life.

The waves below swept up onto the sand carrying with them unseen and unknown objects carried and lost in the current.

After her grandmother died, the softly crashing sound was the only thing that could lull her to a safe sleep - the waves crashing. And once in a while Melanie’s soft, secret, kisses on Emily’s skin.

The smudged lights of the funfair blinked on the Esplanade.

If she squinted her eyes to focus through the sea spray Emily could make out the twinkling lights framing an old circus caravan flashing human skulls and flowers and a girl she knew briefly last year.

- Come on Leo – we’re going out for a walk.

She grabbed Leo’s lead and bounded out the door before he could get used to the idea.

Catching up to her, they ran down the beach road into the township towards the bright lights.