No safe harbour, p.1
No Safe Harbour, page 1
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Historical Note
My Brother’s War
Brave Company
The Deadly Sky
See Ya, Simon
Coming Back
PUFFIN BOOKS
NO SAFE HARBOUR
David Hill is an award-winning writer who lives in New Plymouth. His novels, stories and plays for young adults have been published in five countries.
For all who were on the Wahine
ONE
The morning after Grandad’s funeral, we took Dad out to Christchurch Airport. He had some meeting in Wellington that he had to get back for. He’d put it off when Grandma rang to tell us the news.
Mum stopped for a paper as we drove back to Grandma’s. ‘Buy the right one this time,’ Sandra told me while I got out of the car. I gave her the fingers. Sandra just can’t keep her face shut. Yeah, all sisters are like that – but a twin sister is worst.
I glanced at the date on the paper while the dairy woman got my change. 9 April, 1968. Only a month till the end of Term 1. There was a photo on the front page of an anti-Vietnam War demo in Christchurch Cathedral Square. Hell, I’d hoped to see one of those going on; there always seemed to be nice-looking girls in them.
I got back into the car, opened the paper, and held it so Sandra couldn’t see. Sure enough – ‘muuuum!’ she started. ‘Stuart won’t –’
‘Stop it, both of you! I’m not in the mood!’ Sandra and I glanced at each other, and I chucked her the sports section. (Sandra hates sport.)
Mum was as twangy as a fence wire. OK, the way Grandma was just now would make anyone like that. Mum’s mother had always been a cool, perfectly-dressed, ‘keep-your-feet-off-that-good-stool-please-Stuart’ sort of person, but when we got off the plane from Wellington three days ago, she’d collapsed into this blubbering heap.
I checked the Weather Forecast – since we’d be spending eleven hours on the inter-island ferry. The tropical storm north of New Zealand is still moving S-E and expected to pass well east of the country. A depression forming in the South Tasman Sea should reach the South Island by Thursday.
No worries, we’d be back home by then. Sandra and I would be, anyway. Mum had decided to stay on for a bit and try to help Grandma.
I’d be glad to get away. Grandad’s funeral was totally depressing; Grandma cried all the way through. It didn’t make me exactly look forward to getting old.
Grandma’s friends obviously felt they had to be nice to us afterwards. ‘How are the twins?…How’s school?…How old are you both now?…Fifteen? Doesn’t time fly!’ Sandra played up to them, of course. She always does.
It really bugs me. Because we’re twins, people think Sandra and I must be alike in all sorts of ways. As far as I’m concerned, we share only one thing – we can’t stand each other.
At least we’d have separate cabins going back to Wellington. Sandra was getting the big double-berth one she’d been going to share with Mum. I had a single $4.50 cheapie. (It’s nine months since New Zealand changed from pounds, shillings and pence, but I still can’t get used to seeing money written the weird dollars and cents way.)
I didn’t mind which cabin my twin sister had. I just wished it was on a different deck – though a different boat would be even better. But nah, we were almost opposite each other.
‘Just don’t snore like you usually do,’ I told her. ‘You’ll frighten the fish.’
‘I don’t snore! Stop telling lies, Stuart!’
I grinned to myself. I always know how to wind up Sandra.
Actually, I was looking forward to the ferry trip. I hadn’t done it for about four years. When we flew out of Wellington three days ago, we passed right over one of the ferries heading south. It was a fantastic day, with Wellington Harbour all blue and glittering. The green-and-white ship looked great, gliding across the water. I even pointed it out to Sandra, but she snapped, ‘I’m trying to see our house! Oh, you’ve made me miss it!’
I’d already spotted our place, tucked into the hillside above the Seatoun Tunnel. Serve her right if she couldn’t find it.
A slim white shape had caught my eye as Wellington slid behind our plane. A lighthouse – the one at Baring Head, beyond the eastern bays. On such a blue and beautiful day, it was hard to believe that ships might ever need a lighthouse.
The ferry was due to leave at 8 pm. There was nothing to do at Grandma’s – she’s only got this tiny little black-and-white TV, and the way she was, I wouldn’t have felt right watching it.
Sandra went for a walk. I listened to my transistor radio, then I wandered out too, in the opposite direction. No, I didn’t see which way she’d gone. I just knew. It’s like that with us sometimes.
We had a cold tea about half-past five. ‘Give us a ring when you get home,’ Mum told us. ‘What time does the ferry dock in Wellington, Sandra?’
‘Seven o’clock tomorrow morning,’ I said, before my sister could. She glared at me.
Mum shot us both a warning look. She didn’t want a family fight in front of Grandma. She unzipped her purse and handed us each a $2 note. ‘Get yourselves something to eat on the boat. Make sure your stomach can handle it, though. The wind’s getting up; could be a lumpy trip.’
I hoped it was: first, because I’m a good sailor, and second, because Sandra isn’t.
We left Grandma’s at quarter to seven. I’d put on my new brown corduroys and my green polo-neck jumper. My transistor was in my case. Mum drove Grandad’s car; Grandma sat beside her, staring out the window.
We drove out through Addington and Sydenham. Christchurch is so flat; I don’t know how anyone can live in such a place. But then we went booming through the Lyttelton Tunnel (‘This wasn’t even open when we took the ferry last!’ Mum lifted her voice to call), and came out on the far side with the harbour in front and the steep crinkly hills all around. It was just like being back in Wellington – except it still seems weird to have a port so far from the city.
Mum found a place in the carpark, and we joined the crowd moving towards the departure lounge. ‘You’re sure you’ve got the tickets?’ Grandma asked. We were so surprised to hear her say something that we all stared.
Beside the wharf, the ferry rose tall and gleaming in the lights. A queue of cars and trucks were moving slowly over a ramp and through the huge stern doors. I saw a white station-wagon, a big refrigerated truck…hey, a classy-looking red Jaguar. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to be on board.
Beside me, Sandra stared around. Not at the ferry: she was checking for any guys. She can’t help herself.
‘You’ve got the flash new boat,’ Mum exclaimed. ‘It’s only been doing the Wellington-Lyttelton run for a couple of years. You’re going to travel in real luxury.’
The last word made Sandra pay attention, of course. She stared at the ferry as if it had just popped up out of the water. ‘What’s it called?’
I sighed, deliberately loudly. ‘Can’t you read?’ I pointed to the big white letters near the stern.
Grandma said it aloud. ‘Lovely name. The Wahine.’
TWO
The Departure Lounge was full of people, sitting or strolling, talking and laughing. We four stood silently by the wall. ‘We’ll wait and see you get away,’ Grandma said.
Sandra and I glanced at each other. It was another of those times when each of us knew exactly what the other was thinking. We wanted to get on board and look around. Plus…plus being with Grandma was so depressing just now. She seemed to suck the life out of everything.
Mum must have guessed. ‘No, we won’t hang about.’ Grandma started to say something, but Mum lifted her voice. ‘I’m dying to get back and have a cup of tea.’
She gave us each a hug. ‘Enjoy yourselves. Be sensible. Remember to ring when you’re home.’ Is there a special Mothers’ School where they learn to say these things?
Sandra and I looked at Grandma. I wasn’t sure what to do; Grandma’s never been a hugging person. A peck on the cheek is all we’re usually allowed.
So it was a jolt when she stepped forward, put her arms around Sandra, and held her hard. Then she did the same to me. She’s little, my mind told me stupidly.
‘You two look after each other,’ she said. ‘Be good to each other.’
I felt Sandra’s shock. I mumbled something to Grandma. My twin sister hugged her back and kissed her, then stood looking pleased with herself.
No thanks, Grandma, I thought meanwhile. Sandra’s already too good to herself to need me.
Mum and Grandma left. Ten minutes later, a loudspeaker told passengers on the 8 o’clock sailing to Wellington that they were welcome to board. The doors at the far end of the Departure Lounge opened, and Sandra and I joined the crowd pressing through.
The moment we were on board, I felt the Wahine moving. A gentle rising and dipping as waves lifted it against the wharf. I liked it; it made me feel as if we were already at sea.
Passengers were heading for their cabins. A man and woman and six kids (six!) went past. I saw a youngish woman in Air Force uniform; wonder how she felt about being on a ship? The uniform looked good, though. I might try the Air Force when I leave school
Our cabins were on E Deck, towards the front. The bow, I mean. We followed numbers and arrows down three flights of stairs, and along narrow, white-painted corridors.
I could feel the ship moving down here, too. I could smell it as well: a warm-oil, salt-water, frying-chips smell.
Sandra was smelling it also, and I knew she didn’t like it. So, as we reached our cabins, I took a deep, loud breath. ‘Isn’t that great?’
Sandra barged into her cabin and slammed the door behind her.
As I sat on the bunk in my tiny, steel-walled cabin with its round porthole, I heard the Wahine’s noises. Engines throbbed. Feet moved along corridors, above and below. Motors revved and doors slammed from the vehicle deck. Waves smacked against the hull.
Those waves were pretty sizeable. A slap of water sprayed up and over the porthole. I wondered what it would be like outside Lyttelton Harbour, and felt glad that storm up north wasn’t heading anywhere near us.
I wanted to see the ferry take off, or whatever they call it, so I headed back up to the top decks, squeezing past a noisy bunch of guys in long, striped scarves. University students, I guessed. Sandra would be out like a flash if she knew they were on board.
It was just as well Mum and Grandma hadn’t waited. 8.20 came and went. So did 8.30. ‘The boat train from Invercargill and Dunedin is late,’ I heard someone say. ‘Be another ten minutes at least.’
I wandered around B Deck. Wharf lights shone white and orange on one side; the dark sea heaved on the other. A cool wind blew. Suddenly a seagull swooped into the light, hung for a second, then skidded away. I felt so – so alive that I wanted to wave my arms and cheer.
A guy in a white jacket who was passing caught my eye and grinned. ‘That’s what we like to see. A happy passenger.’
A nametag on his jacket read DENNIS. He must be a steward or something.
‘Many people tonight?’ I tried to sound as if I was really experienced.
Dennis smiled. I don’t think he was fooled. ‘610 of you, 123 of us. We could take another 300, but I think the weather’s put a few off.’
I felt pleased again that I was a good sailor. ‘Going to be rough?’
He nodded. ‘Could be a busy night with the buckets.’
I wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘You mean the ship leaks?’
Dennis gave me an evil grin. ‘No. But a few stomachs might.’
Five minutes or so later, I heard big doors rumbling closed below. Guys on the wharf began unlooping thick steel cables. Men in uniform were busy in a wide, glassed-in area one deck up from me – the ship’s bridge, I guessed. The six-kid family piled out on deck and rushed to stare over the rails.
I jumped as a sudden blast sounded from the top of the funnel. Then I felt a throbbing deep inside the ship, and the wharf seemed to start edging away from us. The Wahine was off to Wellington.
For the next hour, I explored. I checked out A Deck where most of the lounges and TV rooms were. The cafeteria. The corridors, with big windows that let you see right along one side of the ship. C and D Decks with their cabins.
People in the lounges sat playing cards or talking. The university students talked loudest. On deck, other passengers wandered round like me. I saw some with blankets wrapped around them, standing by the rails, looking green. I remembered what Dennis the Steward had said about buckets, and I kept away.
There was no sign of Sandra – great! I went into the cafeteria, queued up behind an old guy in a priest’s collar, and bought a toasted cheese-and-pineapple sandwich.
Fewer people were on deck now. I guess a lot had gone down to their cabins. I stayed by the rail, finishing my sandwich. Almost finishing it, anyway – as I lifted the last bit to my mouth, the wind blew, the Wahine rolled, and the crust vanished over the side. Hell!
The ship’s glaring lights meant I couldn’t see far into the darkness, but Lyttelton was already just a distant glimmer behind us. We must be nearly out of the harbour.
Yeah. I felt the ferry turn left. The movement changed. Now it was a slow, deep plunging and rising. I had to hold the rail. I looked up at the lighted bridge and wondered what the guys up there held onto.
The wind was blowing harder out here. The ship rolled again, and a burst of spray swept past, slapping my face. I said something Sandra would have told Mum about, waited till the deck was level again, then hurried across to the corridors. Bed time.
Voices murmured from behind cabin doors as I made my way down to E Deck. I had to grab the rails along the corridor walls each time the ferry lurched.
My bunk was small and neat and tight. It felt like getting into a sleeping bag. I could hear water slapping against the porthole.
I lay and listened to the 10 pm news on my transistor. The funeral for the murdered American black leader Martin Luther King had just been held. A Japanese freighter was in trouble off Northland after being caught in the tropical storm, and rescue ships were heading for it. The weather forecast said the storm would keep moving south- east, away from the country. The depression in the south was still on its way.
I switched off and snuggled down under the blankets, listening to the ship’s creak and thrum.
Then I heard another sound. Someone coughing. It came again. No, not coughing. Spewing up.
It was Sandra. I knew because it was coming from just across the corridor, and because – well, like I say, we know these things about each other. I smirked: serve her right. Then to my total surprise, I realised I was feeling sorry for her.
That was my second surprise – after Grandma hugging us and telling us to be good to each other. For a moment, I wished I’d hugged the old lady back or something. Oh well, I’d talk to her when we rang Mum from Wellington in the morning.
Next thing, I was asleep.
THREE
A different movement woke me. I lay for a few seconds trying to work it out, then switched on the light and squinted at my watch. 1.25am.
The Wahine was ploughing forward, but it wasn’t just her engines moving her. Big waves were surging up from behind and pushing her. I could feel each one arrive. The stern rose and the bow pointed down so my feet pressed against the bottom of the bunk. The wave swelled past, lifting the ship and heaving it forward. Then the bow went up, the stern went down, and I was pressed against my pillow. Must be a really big sea running out there.
I tried to peer through the porthole but the ferry’s lights threw dazzles on the water. Then another wave picked up the Wahine’s stern, so sharply that the ship creaked. I heard a cup or glass fall and smash in a cabin nearby. The reflected lights outside vanished as a great, green wall swung by. Spray thrummed against the side. Man, that was some wind!
Through the porthole, I saw a blink. Another came, then another. A small, white light was flashing, far away. A lighthouse: probably the one at Kaikoura. We were already halfway to Wellington. If this southerly kept blowing, we might arrive there earlier than 7 am. I remembered the Baring Head lighthouse as we flew out of Wellington three – no, four – days ago.
The ferry lifted and creaked again. I heard the distant sound of somebody being sick. Sandra? No, someone else.
Maybe I should go and see if my sister was OK. But I couldn’t be bothered. I yawned and pulled the blankets tighter round me.
4.06 am. I’d been awake again for ten minutes.
It wasn’t movement that had woken me this time. The Wahine still lifted and plunged forward as waves swept past. They were even bigger waves now. But I was listening to a sound.
It came again as the next swell surged underneath us. A rumbling from below, back towards the stern. A crash, like heavy, metal shapes ramming one another. Distant voices shouting orders.
The vehicle deck. A car or truck had broken loose and was slamming into the others each time the ferry rose and dropped. Hey, maybe it was that flash, red Jaguar! The owner definitely wouldn’t be a happy sailor.
Another wave charged past beneath the ship, picking it up and shoving it. No crashing from the vehicle deck; the crew must have got things lashed down again.
