A Yacht Called Erewhon Read online

‘You’ve got me intrigued. What’s your connection with Erewhon and where do you live?’

  Mic didn’t say anything for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision. She looked up at me, her eyes serious. ‘My name is Mercedes Muriwai, and my great-grandfather was Murdoch McAlister, the original owner of Erewhon. I’ve been living in the Caribbean on a super-yacht for the past seven years with the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Last year I found him in bed with the owner’s wife, so I came home. I’ve been living around here for the last twelve months, getting myself back together.’

  ‘How can you be Mercedes McAlister’s granddaughter? She died childless, over sixty years ago.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m her granddaughter.’ She stood up and looked defiantly at me.

  ‘You need to meet Dad then,’ I said. ‘He’s passionate about Erewhon, and he’d love to meet a relation of old Mac. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?’

  Mic looked at me with those haunting brown eyes, and I could see she was trying to find an excuse. ‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she said finally.

  ‘Come as you are,’ I replied, with a cheeky grin. ‘That’ll get Dad’s attention.’

  Mic grinned. ‘I’ll come as long as no one makes a fuss.’ She rose to her feet and was gone.

  I carried on to where Aggie quietly chugged away and backed in about a yard or two ahead of Erewhon’s bow. Matt and Dad were placing planks in front of one of the rear bogies.

  ‘About bloody time! Grab the end of this plank. We’ve got work to do!’

  With planks in front of the wheels, Dad gave me the nod, and I climbed into Aggie’s seat. ‘Just take it quietly, Ben, until we see what gives,’ he said.

  I slipped the gear lever into crawler and nudged Aggie’s throttle open. As we took the strain, the whole rig started to edge forward, and the hull groaned as the bogies climbed onto the planks. The sleeping giant didn’t like being disturbed, but we were under way and inched the hull a yard or two ahead. Dad called a halt.

  ‘That’s enough. We’ll have to start turning her towards the water.’

  The front bogie was fitted with Dad’s patent steering system, and he rolled in under the rig to fit the tiller. It was then just a matter of keeping the wheels on the planks as we crept forward. As expected, we weren’t breaking the land speed record, but at least we were going in the right direction.

  It was good to have something physical to concentrate on—my mind was still buzzing after my conversation with Mic. Dad and Matt were beavering away, and I was dying to tell them about her, but it wasn’t the right time.

  Despite Erewhon’s protests, we managed to turn her giant hull towards the gap in the trees until her bow pierced the narrow opening.

  ‘Chow time!’ Dad called. ‘Wonder what the old girl’s rustled up this time? We’ll leave Aggie hooked up and walk back.’

  Matt and I didn’t need any encouragement to down tools and hotfooted it along the path in the direction of food. As we arrived at the riverbank, I casually mentioned we had a guest for dinner.

  Matt and Dad looked at each other, and were about to ask who when I stripped off and dived into the water. They followed, and we were soaking away the grime, as well as our aches and pains, when a fourth body pierced the water. Mum had decided to join in the frolic.

  ‘Dinner’s all ready once you’ve put the steaks on the barbie!’

  Mum had brought her beach towel, and she wrapped it around herself as we walked back. I whispered to her that Mic was coming to eat with us. Dad and Matt were still trying to work out who our guest was, and I was keeping them guessing.

  Dried off and dressed in clean shorts, we soon had the barbie roaring and five steaks sizzling.

  ‘So who’s coming?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Somebody I think you’ll be very interested in meeting.’

  Dad knew he wasn’t about to get the answers he wanted, so he turned his attention back to the sizzling meat and picked up a cool can from the rack beside the hotplate. ‘It’s a she then?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Mum, with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Steak’s nearly ready!’

  ‘Well, bring it over here and meet our guest.’

  The three of us swung around to face the table, and there was Mic, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a colourful sarong, with a glass of wine raised to her lips.

  The three of us stood motionless.

  ‘My men aren’t usually this quiet,’ Mum chuckled. ‘You’ll have to excuse them, they’ve had a big day!’

  ‘Hi, Mic!’ I finally said, when my tongue eventually reconnected to my brain.

  ‘Hello, Ben.’ She lowered the glass and placed it delicately on the table.

  ‘Mic, I’d like you to meet my dad, Jim, and my brother, Matt.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you both,’ she replied.

  Matt and Dad, still gobsmacked, accepted her hand and mumbled a greeting.

  ‘Talkative bunch, aren’t they!’ Mum chimed in.

  ‘Jenny tells me you’re going to try and restore Erewhon.’

  ‘There’s no try about it—we have every intention of succeeding!’ replied Dad.

  ‘Don’t mind him, Mic. Jim may sound a little gruff, but his bark’s worse than his bite. I got the same treatment the first time I met him!’ Mum grinned widely.

  ‘My father was exactly the same. Anyway, anyone who is prepared to rebuild Erewhon is a friend of mine.’

  ‘Jim, I think it is time for official introductions,’ I said. ‘This is Mic Muriwai, great-granddaughter of Murdoch McAlister.’

  Dad’s mouth dropped open. What seemed like a full minute passed as he eyed her up and down.

  Matt broke the silence. ‘I thought Mercedes McAlister drowned sixty years ago?’

  ‘Missing, presumed drowned,’ Mic replied. ‘There’s a lot more to the story that isn’t common knowledge.’ She looked directly at Dad. ‘I am who I say I am.’

  Dad still hadn’t said a word and abruptly turned back to shuffle the steaks.

  Mic moved over to stand beside him. ‘They smell divine,’ she said.

  Dad still didn’t respond and carried on prodding the sizzling meat. ‘I think they’re ready,’ he finally said. He looked down at her. ‘Do you think you could grab the plates off Jen?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mic handed them one at a time to Dad, who plonked a large juice-laden steak on each. Mum had the salads laid out on the table, and we sat down to eat under the now star-filled summer sky.

  To start with, conversation was reserved, but as the meal went on and the wine flowed, Mic took centre stage. Even Matt gradually warmed to what he was hearing and joined in.

  Finally, Dad stood up and walked towards the caravan. ‘We’d better get some shut-eye,’ he exclaimed. ‘We have a boat to move, you know.’

  Mic thanked us for a great evening, turned down my offer to walk her home, and disappeared down the path.

  Despite having a million thoughts running around in my head, I was extremely tired and nodded off quickly. Around eleven, I woke to find Mum and Matt still sound asleep, but Dad up and finishing off the previous night’s dishes.

  ‘About bloody time! Get this down you. We’ve got work to do!’ Dad thrust a steaming mug of coffee into my hand. He seemed a little anxious.

  ‘Morning, old fellow. What do you think of Mic?’ I asked.

  ‘She seems nice enough’ was the clipped response.

  ‘What did you think of her story?’

  ‘Haven’t had time to think it through.’

  After nineteen years in the Standish household, I knew it wasn’t time to pursue this line of questioning.

  Matt and Mum were now up, and the coffee pot was getting a hammering. After several rounds of toast, Mum reluctantly agreed to clear up, so the rest of us headed off down the track.

  I fired Aggie up, while Matt and Dad started on the ramp through the puriri trees. I extended the towing strop and placed Aggie on the o
ther side of the tree line.

  ‘Ready?’ I inquired.

  ‘Ready!’

  I edged the cranky old machine forward. Erewhon’s bow started to rise, and the planks groaned as the weight went on.

  ‘Keep going!’ Dad yelled, ‘Slowly, slowly. Hold it!’

  I jumped on the brake and slammed the throttle shut. Dad dived under the hull to check the structure. ‘Seems OK!’

  I took up the strain again and edged forward till the stern bogies started their ascent.

  As the planks at the rear came free, Matt and Dad whipped them forward to start building the descending ramp on the other side of the tree line. Erewhon was now completely suspended off the ground and groaning. Dad raced up and down, checking the strength of the structure, but everything seemed to be going to plan. We were very close to the point where the widest part of Erewhon’s beam would pass through the gap, and we carefully realigned her.

  ‘We thought you men might be hungry!’

  I turned to see Mum and Mic approaching with a tray of sandwiches and a jug of cold juice. Mic smiled as we stopped in our tracks, dropping what we were doing, and made a dive for their offering.

  ‘Progress looks good,’ whispered Mic.

  ‘Yeah, if we can just get her past these trees we’re home free!’

  Dad was furtively eyeing Mic again. Nothing was said, but I could see he was still unsure about her. ‘We’ll have her back on the ground by nightfall,’ he announced.

  ‘Great—she doesn’t like to be up in the air,’ said Mic.

  ‘Got to look after our lady!’ replied Dad, with a tentative grin. Mic and he had found their common ground, the thing they both loved. Dad was still unsure if Mic was who she said she was, but for now he was prepared to accept her as someone who cared about Erewhon.

  The hard work started again, and we edged the hull forward. As the beam approached the gap, we realised our calculations were out and the hull was a couple of inches wider than the gap. We rechecked the width of the hull underneath the span, and found our original measurements to be spot-on. As the weight of the hull passed through the gap, the trees had inched back closer together.

  I climbed down from Aggie as Dad surveyed the scene. ‘We need more tension on the tree stays.’

  I suggested unhitching Aggie from the tow strop to retension the guys, but Dad wasn’t keen to do that as we’d lose control over the dead weight of the hull, and it might get away from us.

  ‘When we wanted more tension on the backstay on the yacht, we used to wind pressure on with a windlass,’ came a quiet voice from behind.

  ‘That might just work!’ said Dad, looking at Mic. ‘Come on, girl. Let’s give it a try!’ He grabbed an iron bar from Aggie’s toolbox and headed for the nearest stay.

  Mic didn’t need a second prompt and was beside Dad in a flash as he strode over to the rope. He inserted the bar between the lashings as Mic positioned herself next to him. In a hand-over-hand movement, they wound on the tension. The tree didn’t give easily, but with audible creaks it gradually moved. Matt and I checked the gap. It was close.

  ‘We’ll lash this one off here,’ said Dad. ‘We don’t want to push our luck.’

  Matt and I picked up another bar and headed over to the other guy, but Mic and Dad were close behind. ‘We’ll do that!’ Dad said. ‘You two get that tape ready.’

  I looked at Mic. The T-shirt she’d borrowed from Mum was soaked in sweat, but the smile on her face said it all: she was loving it.

  Again they started to wind on the tension; sweat pouring from the end of Dad’s nose as Mic’s face flushed. The dust they’d stirred up with their feet quickly became caked on her soggy shirt as it clung to her, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I thought to myself, Mum’s shirt has never looked that good!

  Matt and I had the tape at the ready, and I watched the gap grow as the second tree moved aside.

  ‘That’ll do!’ I yelled. ‘We’ve got at least two inches. I could drive a Kenworth through now!’

  I climbed back into Aggie’s seat, and Erewhon creaked as we started to inch forward. Dad had his hand on the steering tiller, and Matt and Mic stood on either side with chocks at the ready in case things got out of hand. The widest part of the beam was now between the trees, and the guys were singing with the strain. The rear bogies were climbing the ramp and the planks coming free at the rear. Matt and Dad continued to shift them forward to create the descent.

  With relieved sighs all round, Aggie finally fell silent and Erewhon was back on hard ground. I glanced at my dust-caked watch—it was almost nine. We’d been so engrossed we’d missed smoko and dinner. I unhitched Aggie, and four tired bodies climbed on board for the short trip back to camp. Mic slipped into the seat beside me and surveyed the controls.

  ‘Do you want to drive her?’ I asked.

  ‘Can I?’

  I’d been joking, but she wasn’t. I slid sideways to allow her full access to the levers.

  As we neared the riverbank, I could feel her tense as she prepared to make the left turn, but at precisely the right moment she dragged on the steering lever and dabbed the left brake, and Aggie rumbled around and headed for the camp. The light was almost gone as Mic reached forward, slipped the gear lever into neutral, and shut the engine down.

  ‘Time to get rid of the grime!’ I announced, heading for the water. Stripping off my grimy clothes, I dived in head-first.

  Mic was about two steps behind. ‘Come on, you lot!’ she yelled to the others, as we thrashed around in the gently flowing water, washing away the dirt of another day’s hard slog.

  The sight of Mic’s Coppertone Girl tan-line disappearing under the water was all the enticement Matt needed to join in. Dad stood on the bank, somewhat stunned by her lack of inhibition.

  ‘Come on, Jim!’ Mic called, ‘If you’re worried about being naked, I’ve seen you all swimming here since the day you arrived!’

  Despite his sunburnt face, Dad was blushing as Mum, completely naked, walked casually past him, dumped a pile of towels on a nearby log and plunged in.

  Dad turned his back, dropped his clothes, and executed a giant belly-flop into the river. Twenty minutes in the water had us all relaxed. We climbed out, wrapped ourselves in the towels, and walked to the camp. Mum, who by now seemed to have completely forgotten her no-cooking policy, had prepared a huge meal.

  Over the dinner table, I swung the conversation around to Mic and where she called home.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s just moved about a hundred yards from where it’s stood for about thirty-five years.’

  We all looked at each other. ‘You lived on Erewhon?’

  ‘It was my way of getting in contact with my ancestors. Nana’s spirit is still on board. That’s why I’ve been a bit wary of your intentions. But she says that if you’re going to restore Erewhon, she’s happy to see her move.’

  Dad began to squirm in his seat. This was too much for him. He got up and started to stack up the dishes. Mic quietly joined him at the camp bench and put her arm around him. ‘Don’t try to work it all out tonight, Jim, just believe.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say, young lady, but I guess the most important thing to work out right now is where you’re going to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jim, I’ll take the hammock. It’ll be a whole lot more comfortable than the hay bales I’ve been sleeping on for the past twelve months.’

  ‘I might just hit the hay myself,’ he said, with a chuckle, and then, in a more serious tone, looking her straight in the eye: ‘Whoever you are, you’ve been a big help today and I’m pleased to have you here.’

  Mic smiled. ‘Jim, I love the thought that you’re going to restore Erewhon. Please don’t stress yourself about me.’

  Jim leaned forward, put his arm around her shoulder, and gave her a fatherly peck on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he whispered.

  I woke to a gentle hand shaking my shoulder. ‘Do you have sugar in your tea
, Ben?’ a voice whispered close to my ear. I tried to focus, but my brain wasn’t in gear yet. After a few seconds, I realised Mic was hovering over me with a hot mug of tea in her hand.

  ‘No sugar, just milk,’ I replied. I hadn’t had a morning cup of tea brought to me since I was about twelve and very ill.

  ‘Come on, you lot, we’ve got a yacht to move, and your breakfast is ready.’

  I stumbled out of my lounger and half-toppled over Matt as I made my way towards the table. Breakfast was bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and fried potato. The smell was divine and soon had the others’ nostrils twitching.

  Dad arrived, scratching his head and his bare stomach at the same time. ‘Don’t usually get beaten to the punch at this time of the day. Morning, Mic!’

  I was still having trouble getting my eyes to focus, but when I did I glanced at my watch. ‘Jeez, Mic, it’s only just gone five.’

  ‘Oh, is it too early?’

  ‘Glad to have you around, Mic,’ laughed Dad. ‘I can never get these useless buggers moving before nine!’

  Matt plonked himself in front of one of the huge plates of food.

  ‘Good morning, Matt,’ chirped Mic. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Don’t know. I only closed my eyes a few minutes ago.’

  Dad had finished eating and was filling his mug with coffee from the pot. ‘Nothing like an early start.’

  ‘I’m sorry, boys, but there’s so much to do today, I thought you’d want to be up,’ said Mic.

  ‘Just what we need—another bloody slave driver,’ groaned Matt.

  Dad roared with laughter. He had a new ally. ‘Seeing how we’re all up now, let’s see if we can get the old lady down to the water today.’

  Matt and I grunted, finishing our breakfast without another word.

  Mum finally woke up. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ replied Matt. ‘Haven’t ever seen these numbers on my watch before!’

  I downed the last mouthful from my mug, grabbed the grease gun, and headed off towards Aggie. Mic looked at Mum, who laughed. ‘Go on, love. I’ll finish cleaning up.’

  I was about to swing into Aggie’s morning ritual with the grease gun when Mic appeared. ‘Can I help?’