Shallow Breath

19

Jackson




Sometimes Jackson wishes his father had never seen him go shore diving off Lovelock Bay. As soon as he found out, he had begun telling guests that his son was available to take them diving. Charlie’s biggest drawcard is a group of sea lions who often laze on an outcrop a little way further south, and occasionally shuffle into the water to investigate visitors. There are pictures of them frolicking underwater displayed on the walls of the shabby caravan office, and Charlie neglects to tell interested parties that this is a rarity. That Jackson, who always has a camera with him, had got lucky a few years ago. And if people are wary of sharks, Charlie takes great pleasure in outlining to them how the shallow reefs work. ‘No sharks’ll get past them,’ he’ll say. ‘Just lots of pretty fish out there – one of the best places on the coast, since it hasn’t been overfished like all the rest.’

Jackson has never interrupted to tell them that, actually, to see much at all you need to go to the outer reef by boat. Or that a shark is perfectly capable of navigating around the reef if it so chooses; in fact, he’d once seen a decent-sized tiger shark close to shore. He hates his father’s sour expression when contradicted, and, besides, he has never seen diving as a chore.

But today he has to drag himself to the beach, weighted down by all the things on his mind. It’s been twenty-four hours since he sent the email, and he hasn’t heard from Kate. Despite his best intentions, he had spent the better part of yesterday sleeping. He still needs to catch up with Maya and Desi. He has hardly seen his sister these last two years. He had only gone to the prison a few times, hating himself for always getting out of it, but finding it more disturbing to see her there, never knowing what to say. He had reassured himself that she had Pete, but he knew it was a poor excuse.

So there are too many things niggling him as he strides through the caravan park to collect the quad bike, noticing with dismay the broken reticulation pipes, the sand patches standing out against the yellowing, dying grass, a portion of washing line sagging towards the ground. He pauses by the empty cages that had once been full of his mother’s orphaned-animal projects. The convalescing creatures had been a drawcard for the tourists, but once Hester was gone and they died out they hadn’t been replaced.

There is such a lot to do. Jackson is sometimes surprised they don’t get more complaints, but perhaps you could get away with it when your customers were an itinerant lot.

When Jackson was a boy, his father had great plans for the caravan park. They would build some luxury accommodation, then add a small jetty and take people on trips by boat. But once Hester had died, Charlie lost all motivation. He did the minimum necessary to keep the park running and the place had grown tired and shabby at the edges, as the toilet-block paint began to peel, and the flowerbeds died off and weren’t replanted. All talk of the hotel, the jetty and the boat faded away. Jackson is resigned to always taking divers from the shore.

He finds the quad bike, hooks up the trailer, loads it up with the tanks and equipment, then makes his way to the beach. The couple are already sitting on the sand waiting for him, next to Charlie’s small dinghy. They introduce themselves as Gayle and Tony, and Jackson explains that the little boat won’t be needed; it will be easier to dive from the shore. Gayle is polite and efficient, collecting the equipment and beginning to get changed. But Tony isn’t quite right, nervous and clumsy while kitting up, his skin pale. Jackson runs through their buddy checks with them, making sure their gear is connected properly and their tanks are on. He gives them a briefing on the dive plan, and then they begin to edge backward into the surf. Once the water is deep enough, they swim on their backs until they are clear of the breakers. Jackson pulls his mask on and has a quick glance down. Then he gives them the signal, and begins to let the air out of his jacket.

Diving this site always makes him think of Maya now, since he’s spent the best part of a year teaching her here. He hopes that Desi will be pleased about that. Jackson had persuaded his sister to get her PADI card on his first trip back from Ningaloo, and she had dived intermittently with him over the years. Now they could all go together. In fact, he thinks, as he reaches the seabed, it would probably do Desi good right now to spend some time on the ocean floor, putting her worries into perspective.

This particular route is a perfect beginner dive, less than ten metres deep, and only a thirty-metre swim to the edge of the reef. From there Jackson usually navigates south, passing over a few small bommies, working his way along the outer side of the reef to a section of overhangs, then returning to shore. Mostly he finds himself pointing out the usual fish species of scalyfin, bullseye and old wives, or sea squirts and sponges, maybe a wrasse, occasionally a small, shy Port Jackson shark. He is normally captivated by everything, big and small, but today he sees it all indifferently. The incredible encounters of the Galapagos dives have spoilt him, left him wanting too much.

Still, the conditions are good, with fair visibility and a gentle current. Even a novice shouldn’t have much trouble, but already Tony has released too much air from his jacket and hit the bottom hard. Now he is flapping like a floundering fish, his fins carving up the ocean floor, raising thick clouds of sand.

Jackson kicks his way across, grabs Tony’s hand, and points to remind him about the button on his buoyancy jacket, pressing it to add some air in short coughs. Jackson keeps hold of him and they begin to float upwards together, panic clear in Tony’s expression once again. Jackson holds the tube high, expels a little air, and they drift down. Tony’s knees hit the sea bed, and Jackson holds him by the shoulder until he is sure he is steady. Scuba masks make everyone appear slightly surprised, but Jackson can see the fear in Tony’s eyes. Jackson brings thumb and finger together to make the sign for ‘Okay?’. Tony nods, then remembers protocol, and lifts his own hand to repeat the signal.

Yesterday Tony had said he was a qualified diver, and shown Jackson his PADI card, but he hadn’t produced a logbook. He’d confidently told Jackson he’d done over twenty dives, but Jackson now suspects that most of them were in the pool. The pool might allow a diver to get comfortable with equipment and learn the basics, but its environment is safe, its challenges few. The ocean is different: a lot colder, with currents to contend with, limited visibility by which to navigate, and myriad sea creatures, mostly benign, but you never knew when you might face one that wasn’t. It is easy for Jackson to forget how frightening it is down here for beginners. Even though the novices are far more out of their depth mentally than they are in reality. There are two groups of divers by Jackson’s reckoning: the ones who do it for something to boast about, pumped at their ability to command a new environment; and the others, who see something beneath the sea that shifts their perspective on life. This group don’t kick their fins as forcefully; they are never in a hurry. Behind the windows of their masks, their eyes are wide with the wonder of discovery.

Jackson can spot who belongs where straight away, and he has Tony pegged for the first category. The man is beginning to exasperate him – he just cannot get control of his buoyancy. Gayle follows calmly behind Jackson, arms clasped together, observing all that’s around her. But every few minutes Tony takes off towards the surface like a hot air balloon, and Jackson has to swim after him to drag him down again.

Eventually, Jackson abandons the idea of investigating the deeper overhangs, and gestures to them to turn towards shore. The dive has been so shallow that they don’t need a safety stop, and they follow the seabed as it rises, until they can stand. Jackson stays at the back, so he can monitor them. Instead of standing up, Tony sits in the water and begins taking his BCD off. ‘Fins first!’ Jackson yells, as a wave comes in and spins Tony round, dragging him out to sea again on his back like an upended turtle. Jackson catches the straps of Tony’s half-undone life jacket as he flies past, and hangs on. ‘Fins first,’ he says again through gritted teeth, and Tony nods, letting Jackson help him off with his fins. ‘Now stand up,’ he says, and Tony stands obediently. Jackson takes the tank off him, and it is as though he has lifted the tension from the man’s shoulders. Tony staggers to shore, with Jackson following, clutching one heavy tank with another still strapped to him.

‘You okay?’ Jackson says, setting down the tank and unclipping his own, then patting Tony’s shoulder as he bends double, trying to sound sympathetic. Behind them, Gayle is proficiently removing her gear, ignoring them.

Jackson has been so absorbed in all this that he has forgotten about anything else. But as he looks up he sees a small figure sitting on the dunes. For a moment he thinks it is Maya, and lifts a hand in greeting. But as she stands up, he realises his mistake, and his stomach skitters. He starts to walk towards her, eyes straining, double-checking he isn’t kidding himself. But she is really here. And she ignores the fact he is dripping wet, stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck.

‘Did you miss me?’ Kate asks.

And all his questions are forgotten for the time being, swept away by the relief of finding her, and the desire to hold onto her as tightly as he can.