Sole Survivor. Derek Hansen

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      “All the same …” said Jean.

      “Leave Rosie be,” said Col. “Her dinner’s getting cold.”

      Rosie battled her way through a mountainous plate of stew and homegrown vegetables. She was trying to find a way to avoid the jelly-and-custard dessert, when someone knocked on the door.

      “Now who the hair oil could that be?” said Col.

      Rosie had a sinking feeling she knew. Her jelly shivered as Col walked off down the hall.

      “Buggeration, Red!” said Col in amazement. “What are you doing here this time of night? Are you out of your bloody mind?”

      Red wasn’t. In fact he had a very clear idea of what he was doing, even though he knew what he was doing wasn’t right. “If you’ll just pass me her things, I’ll put them in the boat.”

      “Good evening, how are you?” Col waited for a response but his sarcasm was lost on his visitor. “Hang on a sec and I’ll come with you.”

      “It’s okay, Col, I can manage.”

      “The hell it’s okay! Come in and meet the lady.”

      “Just pass me her stuff, Col.”

      “Jesus, Red. Here, you take this.” Col shoved the box of supplies at Red. “Hang on. This tin of fuel, too. I’ll get her bags.”

      Red put the box under his left arm and picked up the jerry can with his right hand. He turned and walked away without another word. Col caught him up at the wharf.

      “Hell you playin’ at, Red?”

      “She asked me to pick her up, I’m picking her up.”

      “She’s a nice lady, Red. She doesn’t deserve this sort of treatment. She’ll be chucking her guts over the side before you clear Selwyn Island. What the hell’s got into you?”

      “Earliest I could get here.”

      “Bullshit! You could’ve waited till tomorrow. But no. I can see your game. I know what you’re up to. Get her sick, get her frightened, get her out of your life. Just so long as she doesn’t get a fair go.”

      “Just pass the stuff down to me.”

      “No! Damn you.” Col’s anger started to get the better of him. “You can just shove off. I’ll bring her around myself tomorrow, or I’ll get someone else to. You can shove off.”

      “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

      “Hold it. What’s going on?”

      Red looked up as he was about to cast off and saw Rosie for the first time. He couldn’t make out much detail in the gloom, but at least she wasn’t wearing a dress.

      “Red, this is Rosie Trethewey.”

      Red climbed back onto the jetty. He reluctantly held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

      “Like hell.” Rosie walked right past him, ignoring his offered hand. She sensed his surprise. Well, what did he expect? That she’d just roll over like one of her brothers’ silly wives? “What’s up, Col? What’s this about you taking me around tomorrow?”

      “I wouldn’t send a dog out there on a night like this.” “Out there” apparently meant open water. “I was just suggesting to Red that he’s left his run too late, and that I’d find someone to take you around to Wreck Bay tomorrow.”

      “I don’t know that we should do that, Col. Red’s taken the trouble to come and pick me up, so we should let him. As for sending a dog out there, well, if it’s good enough for Archie—I assume those eyes down there belong to Archie—then it’s okay by me.”

      “You’re out of your mind.” Jean had wandered down to put in her twopence worth.

      “Maybe. But this bloke here obviously wants to show me how hard life on the Barrier can be for a poor, defenseless woman. Let him have his moment of glory. Never know, I might surprise him.”

      She already had, but Red couldn’t let on. He and Angus had their plan, such as it was, and they were determined to stick to it. He didn’t enjoy what he was doing but accepted the necessity.

      “Jesus, Rosie, you’re as mad as he is.”

      “I heard that was the qualification for living here. C’mon, Col, pass me something.” Rosie jumped nonchalantly down into the boat. Her legs were wobbly and her hands shook. But she was determined to show Red she could be just as stubborn and unyielding as he was.

      “Leave it to Red and me. He knows where to put things to keep them dry. Relatively speaking, of course. Now, have you got any foul-weather gear?”

      Rosie shook her head.

      “Jean, you better go get your spare set. And Rosie, you better put on another sweater as well. You might feel warm in here but you won’t out there. And if you feel like throwing up at any time, just throw up in the boat or down the back of Red’s neck. Don’t lean over the side or you might get thrown out. You don’t mind if she pukes her dinner up all over your lovely white boat, do you, Red?”

      “I’ve brought a bucket.”

      “He’s brought a bucket! How bloody considerate. I told you he was a gentleman. Now Rosie, sit on the motor housing directly behind Red. The windshield will give you some protection from the spray, and you won’t get thrown about so much.”

      Rosie did as she was told. Already she was regretting her bravado. The wind was singing through the rigging of the boats on their moorings, sharp and discordant like a school orchestra tuning up. If the wind was like this in the sheltered harbor, what would it be like “out there”? A sudden shudder made her reach for the gunwale. All the talk about puking had already made her feel queasy. She remembered once helping crew a friend’s yacht from Auckland to the Bay of Islands and being violently seasick for all but the first hour of the journey. She remembered how she’d dropped to her knees and begged God to let her die. She wondered if it was too late to take Col up on his offer.

      “Here’s Jean.”

      Rosie looked up at the torch’s beam flickering down the road toward them. Oh well, she’d played her cards and couldn’t back out now. She shouldn’t have opened her big mouth, but she hated it when any man assumed weakness simply because she was a woman. She was beginning to hate this chauvinistic bastard when she remembered that hate also was something she was trying to get away from. She put on the heavy oilskin coat. It smelled of dead fish, and the sleeves were too long. She covered her head with the oilskin hat, pulling it down hard so that the wind couldn’t get beneath it, and tied the cord under her chin. Rosie was glad it was dark and nobody could see her. She thought she must look like one of the Three Stooges.

      “Good luck!”

      “Thanks.”

      Col threw the painter down to Red. “Look after her, you bastard, or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

      “See you,” СКАЧАТЬ