Something In The Water
by Mark Peters
Act Two - The Wharf
The marina was almost empty at eight in the morning.
There was a lone café on this side of the harbour, not too far from the waterfront, which was usually frequented by only the fishermen and the owners of the yachts moored in the marina. They were only just setting out their chairs when Tony arrived.
The tide was half in, the water moving lazily against the pylons. A gull strutted along the timber planks as though it owned the place.
Tony stood with a travel mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, rereading a message he'd sent fifteen minutes earlier.
Heading out to Mission Island this morning.Back by lunch.Don't let the dog eat my manuscript.– T
Aaron's reply had come almost instantly.
I make no promises about the dog.Be careful.And behave.
Tony had to smile at that. Eight years together and Aaron still said be careful whenever Tony went anywhere unfamiliar. Nothing possessive. Just habit. Just love.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked out across the grey water, which reflected the gloomy skies above.
Mission Island sat low and unassuming in the pale morning light. From this distance it looked like nothing more than scrub and rock and a few wind-twisted trees. It did not look like a place that people called home, or a place where stories were kept, but Tony knew that the settlement was on the far side of the island, facing the west; hiding from the Thompsonville township, or at least in a position where it didn't have to be constantly under the gaze of the founding fathers.
Suspicion still ran strong, even after all these years.
Noticing that a small aluminium boat had detached itself from the shadows of the southern side of the island, Tony followed its path as it began making its way across the choppy water towards the marina. He recognised Jack immediately, even at a distance. There was something unhurried about him. Not slow – just . . . deliberate.
The boat skipped across the water, bouncing a few times on the choppy surface, before Jack eased it alongside the dock, with a skilled hand that suggested he'd been doing this since childhood.
'Morning,' he called lightly as he cut the motor.
'Morning,' Tony replied. 'You're punctual. I like that.'
Jack shrugged. 'The tides wait for no one.'
Tony stepped down onto the lower platform and into the boat, gripping the side instinctively as it rocked on the gentle waves.
'You always this trusting?' Jack asked.
'I didn't say I trusted you,' Tony replied mildly.
Jack grinned. 'You did get in the boat.'
'Fair point.'
Jack pushed off and pulled the cord. The motor caught on the second try, the sound echoing briefly against the hulls of nearby yachts and pleasure craft. They moved away from the neat lines of the marina and into open water.
Tony looked back at the town. It looked different from this angle. Softer. Less defined.
'So,' Jack said after a few minutes, eyes on the horizon. 'You nearly didn't come.'
Tony blinked. 'What makes you say that?'
'You had that look yesterday.'
'A look?'
'The one where your head's arguing with your feet.'
Tony laughed softly. 'You read people for fun, do you?'
'Comes in handy, I guess. You do the same, I reckon.'
'I reckon I might. You can learn a lot by just watching. You don't even need to listen.'
Jack nodded once. 'Yeah. You're right there.'
They grinned at each other for a moment, before Tony turned and looked in the direction of their destination, then they rode in silence for a while. The early air was cool but clean. The island loomed ahead of them.
'You grow up out there?' Tony asked eventually, nodding towards the island.
'Mostly.'
'Mostly?'
'Mum moved us to town for a few years when I was little. School stuff. Housing stuff.' He shrugged. 'Didn't stick though.'
'Why not?'
Jack adjusted the throttle slightly as they hit a small wake.
'Too much noise,' he said simply.
Tony smiled faintly. 'You live on an island with sixty people.'
'Yeah. But it's our noise. Not much in the way of machines. When you hear the wind, that's all you hear. When you look at the stars, that's all you see.'
That landed differently.
'Yeah, I get that,' Tony replied.
They were close to the island now, and Jack steered to the channel on the southern side, while Tony studied the details that were beginning to emerge; the jetty, the rise of land, the scrubby vegetation that seemed to cover most of the island, the scatter of structures that from town were barely visible.
'You go to uni?' Tony asked, careful not to make it sound like judgement.
'Lasted a year,' Jack replied. 'Environmental science.'
Tony raised his eyebrows.
'That surprises you?'
'A little, maybe,' Tony admitted.
Jack's mouth twitched. 'Yeah, I get that.'
'What happened?'
Jack shrugged, but didn't answer immediately.
'They wanted to study the river,' he said at last. 'Measure it. Model it. Predict it. Maybe change it.'
'And?'
'And none of them wanted to listen to it.'
Tony considered that.
'And now?'
'Now, I work a bit here, a bit there. Fisheries. Council contracts. Take tourists out sometimes.' He glanced sideways briefly. 'Not usually this far though.'
'Am I a special case?'
Jack grinned. 'You're curious. And I don't think you want anything . . . other than stories, maybe. So that counts.'
They were close enough to the jetty now, and the main cluster of buildings, and Tony could see movement near the shore. Children. A dog. Someone hanging washing on a line.
'Why me?' Tony asked.
Jack didn't pretend to not understand.
'You write about that place,' he said, while pointing back towards Thompsonville. 'Maybe you'll write about this place. About the people here. About what it feels like to belong. About their stories.'
Tony didn't interrupt.
'You get that wrong,' Jack continued evenly, 'it sticks. But like I said, you watch and listen. I don't think you'd get that wrong.'
The words weren't threatening. They were simply true.
Tony nodded once.
'So, you think I might get it right?'
'I think so,' Jack said, easing the throttle back as they approached the jetty.
As they drew closer, Jack killed the motor, then the boat drifted the final few metres, bumping gently against some old tyres hanging against the timber.
The quiet that followed was different from the marina's quiet. Less curated. More . . . honest.
Jack stepped out first and secured the rope. Then he turned back to Tony.
'Ready?'
Tony looked up towards the island. Towards whatever waited there.
He realised, suddenly, that this wasn't just about a story. It was about recording history. It was about responsibility. He stepped onto the jetty.
'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm ready.'
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