Zoe stood at the tideline, staring out to sea. Winds whipped up the waves, but the storm still hovered offshore. Quinn admired her silhouette against the fading glow of a cloudy, twilight sky. She swung around to face him, tangled chestnut hair framing her smiling face. How lovely she was, how unique. No picture-perfect Barbie doll. No fake shell of a person. Flawed, but adorable. Real.
He set the basket down on the sand. Here they were, back on Kulibari Beach, close to the turtle nest they’d roped off almost two months ago. It could have been a rerun of that first night, when together they’d watched the giant, prehistoric-looking loggerhead lay her eggs by moonlight. When he’d been so intrigued by the beautiful Zoe King. When he’d unexpectedly opened up to her about his life, confessing even his disgraceful fear of the ocean. But tonight was different in some significant ways. Tonight they had a chicken and champagne picnic, and an understanding.
Quinn shook out the blanket and sat down, beckoning Zoe to him. She sat close, hugging her knees. The lacy strap of her purple singlet slipped a little. He closed his eyes and kissed her bare shoulder, hardly daring to believe this evening was real. Her skin tasted of salt and sand and sin. He breathed in and flexed his thighs to still the stirrings in his loins.
Zoe opened the champagne and poured two flutes. ‘Cheers . . . to us.’
‘To us.’ As they clinked glasses Quinn caught a small movement from the corner of his eye. ‘And to our little friend.’
She looked puzzled for a moment, before following his gaze. A miniature, sand-encrusted turtle sat on the beach within the roped-off area. Impossibly tiny. It couldn’t have been more than four centimetres long. ‘Oh my god,’ whispered Zoe, jumping to her feet. ‘They’re hatching.’ She produced two red-light head-torches from her bag and handed him one.
Seconds later, the beach began to boil, erupting in an explosion of loggerhead hatchlings. They swarmed from the nest and toddled towards the ocean. One flipped on its back, exposing a soft pale-ochre underbelly. Quinn gently picked it up, examined its nut-brown body, marvelled at its miniature flippers, delicately edged in white. He put the baby back down and it scurried away with startling energy. Another group of hatchlings piled up behind a driftwood barrier. A couple of them set off sideways. Quinn quickly moved the obstacle and set the babies back on course.
Astounding, that he’d lived here all his life and never witnessed such a miracle. There was something profoundly moving about the tiny creatures’ intrepid march down the beach. Flippers working furiously. Weak and vulnerable, yet so eager to cast themselves into that vast, perilous ocean. They made him ashamed.
Zoe was busy smoothing a path to the water. Quinn fetched their champagne and handed her a glass. ‘Here.’ She straightened up, eyes shining in the torch-glow, face flushed with pleasure and excitement. They made another toast, this time to new beginnings, and watched over the hatchlings until, one by one, they vanished into the wild sea.
‘Is it true they come back to the same beach to lay their own eggs?’ Quinn asked. ‘I wonder how they know?’
‘It’s magical,’ said Zoe. ‘Those little turtles, just minutes old – they somehow detect the magnetic field and orientation of the earth at the exact place where they enter the ocean. They never forget it.’
‘And only one in a thousand makes it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then I suppose we’d better clean up that bay.’ He pulled her to him. ‘Shorten the odds for the little tackers.’ He smiled as Zoe’s face lit up. Her kiss was eager and full of promise. A knockout. He wanted to pull her down to the sand then and there. But instead, he went to rescue a hatchling stranded behind a strand of kelp. ‘I don’t know what Dad would make of all this,’ he said, as he set the baby back on course.
‘It doesn’t matter what your dad would think.’
‘The Coopers used to eat turtle eggs when he was a boy. Apparently they were a delicacy. Turtle soup as well. There are some huge polished shells stashed under the house somewhere that my grandfather collected. I hid them away from Bridget when Dad died.’
Zoe gave his leg a little kick, hard enough to hurt. ‘Stop it. Quinn, this is your life. A chance to do things your way.’ She took hold of his hands. ‘I never knew your family, but there’s something I do know: you don’t have to be like your father in order to honour him. He wasn’t perfect; he couldn’t have been. No one is. Love and respect his memory, but don’t put him on a pedestal.’
Her words hit home more than she knew. ‘Remember that old stone wall, down by the river? The one you admired so much? I never told you its history. It was built by Kanakas – South Sea Island labourers brought over here to work the cane fields. Slaves they were, treated like shit, sold like cattle on the docks.’ He swallowed to clear a catch in his throat. ‘Swallowdale was built on the backs of those blokes. I talked to Dad about it once. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it, wondered what all the fuss was about. “Where’s the harm in giving a few black bastards an honest day’s work?” he said.’ Zoe stroked his arm. ‘Some of them died here. Didn’t get proper funerals. They weren’t even allowed in Kiawa cemetery apparently, so they were buried out at Swallowdale. Dad showed me the graves once, when I was a kid. Their mates had made them engraved headstones from the local basalt. It gave me the creeps. I thought that place was haunted. Never went back.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Zoe. ‘Where are they buried?’
His mouth went dry. ‘In that patch of rainforest by the river.’
‘What, where the . . .?’ Zoe’s question slid to a halt.
‘That’s right. Where Dad cleared land for a chemical dump. He bulldozed right through the graves, headstones and all. So, you see, when you said my father wasn’t perfect? You weren’t wrong.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘And I’ve spent my whole life living up to a man like that.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘You’re a good man, Quinn Cooper. A kind and honest one. You’re going to make a difference with your life. You already have – look at those kids you found jobs for. Look at what a wonderful brother you’ve been to Josh. And now you have a chance to bring Turtle Reef back to health, and lead others to do the same. Every one of those little baby turtles owes you a debt of gratitude.’
Her touch, her smile, her words – everything about her served to comfort him. ‘Let’s have another toast.’ He fetched their glasses and refilled them. ‘To the future.’
They held hands until the final hatchling disappeared beneath the waves. Quinn toasted the babies with the last of his champagne. ‘Long may they swim with the dolphins.’
‘Hear, hear.’ Zoe gave him a mischievous look. ‘Did you know that dolphin erections are conscious, like their breathing? They just decide yay or nay. Wouldn’t that make life simple?’ Then she kissed him, sweet and slow, running her fingers through his hair. The tilt of her head, the taste of her lips, her half-lowered lashes in the rosy torchlight – all combined to make his craving unbearable. He led her up the beach and lowered her to the soft sand. The slim pandanus palm above them bent low in the wind, as if it wanted to kiss her too.
The moment swelled. She undid the top button of her shirt and loosened the tie at her waist. Quinn felt breathless, nervous as a schoolboy. Zoe was from Sydney. She was clever and confident and desirable. How many lovers had she had? He, on the other hand? He and Bridget were childhood sweethearts, and he’d never had another woman.
Zoe put her arms around him. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I’ve loved you for ages. I knew it wasn’t right, because you were with Bridget. I knew I shouldn’t fantasise . . .’
‘You fantasised about me?’
‘Oh, all the time.’ She kissed the tip of his nose. ‘And you know what? I think you loved me too, but you’re so bloody principled that you wouldn’t admit it.’
His doubts evaporated. ‘You’re right, you know. You always are.’
‘No, I’m not.’ She nipped his ear. ‘Sometimes I talk too much.’
He quivered, on the threshold of something wonderful, something life-changing. She switched off their torches. The darkness was profound. They undressed each other, exploring unfamiliar, unseeable flesh with fingers and lips. And, finding their night eyes, made urgent love to the sound of the incoming tide.
Long after midnight, they lay together in the happy afterglow. Clouds parted and the moon brightened the beach. His finger traced the hollow of her hip. ‘It’s going to just about kill me,’ he said at last, his voice hoarse from declarations of love. ‘But we’d better go. Josh wasn’t too good when I left him. He still thinks Mirrhi’s going away.’
‘What if the deal’s already done?’ said Zoe. ‘Bridget disappeared to Brisbane for a few days after showing Mirrhi to those men. Maybe that’s what she was doing?’
‘Leo will find a loophole,’ he said. ‘He’s as slippery as they come. And, if not, we’ll break the agreement and pay the price. Leo’s loaded, and don’t forget I’ve got a bob or two myself. Mirrhi’s not going anywhere.’
Zoe reached for her clothes. Quinn admired her naked form, outlined in moonshine. This lovely young woman who’d turned his life upside down. And not just his. Zoe King had blazed across Kiawa’s landscape like a fearless shooting star, shining the light of change into the town’s dark corners. Transforming lives. To have won this extraordinary woman. To have her love him. He was the luckiest man in the world.