NO BRIDGE, NO WAY!. Jan Murray

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      BLUE ANGEL BEACH

       Saturday, December 23rd

      Shelley Bentley spins her boat around and cruises into the shallows. ‘Everything okay, love?’ she asks the girl sitting alone on the beach.

      The sight of a young girl sitting by herself on the remote beach puzzled Shelley. The Blue Lady water taxi pilot had been zipping past Blue Angel Beach, having just dropped off two of her favourite passengers, Orlaith and Tiger, around at Nautilus Lagoon. The lagoon was a favourite snorkeling spot on the shores of the National Park and on this Saturday summer morning, it was popular with locals enjoying the dive.

      But beautiful, pristine Blue Angel beach, tucked up in a distant part of the bay and a young girl all alone? That was another matter.

      Receiving no reply, Mrs Bentley eased her boat closer into shore and shut down the motor. She threw out her small reef anchor, letting the vessel glide closer in to the beach then slipped off her yachtie shoes and jumped over the side into the warm shallows.

      ‘You all right?’ she called as she waded through the water towards the small figure. ‘You okay, love?’

      The girl turned her head to hide her red eyes and tear-stained face.

      ‘You’re a long way from home. I don’t mean to pry or anything but ... is something wrong?’ She waited until the girl turned around. ‘Oh, geez, it’s Xanthe O’Rourke, isn’t it? You’ve grown so much, love! I hardly knew you!’ Mrs Bentley studied Xanthe. ‘Had words with your Dad, I suppose, hey?’

      Xanthe shook her head.

      Shelley sat down on the warm sand beside the girl, watching her as she aimlessly sifted sand through her fingers. Shelley had the good sense not to rush things, but she was aware the sun’s warmth was picking up and it was too hot to be sitting here unprotected for long. She reached across for Xanthe’s hand and held it in her own. ‘Okay, love?’

      ‘I’m going to mess everything up.’ Xanthe spat out the words, looking straight ahead rather than at Shelley Bentley. ‘I’m useless. Can’t even get a stupid speech right.’

      ‘You’re speaking at the meeting today?’

      Xanthe nodded. ‘Supposed to be.’

      ‘Oh, well that’s it! Butterflies in the tummy. It’s natural, love. Ask anybody. Ask that Jo Purdy lady, the actress. Or Orlaith May from the telly. Bet both of them get awful nerves before they go on. Stage fright, that’s all it is, pet.’

      They continued to sit on the sand in silence. Shelley could see that Xanthe was really troubled.

      ‘This isn’t just about stage fright though, is it, love? It’s something else, right? Want to talk about it? Old Shell’s a good listener, y’know. Tell me stuff, it goes in the vault. I’m the original clam.’

      Xanthe turned to Shelley and hugged her, burying her head in Shelley’s chest. The kindly woman cradled Xanthe, rocked her until, eventually Xanthe straightened up and taking a piece of paper from her shorts pocket, handed it to Shelley.

      The Blue Lady driver took the letter and read it, looking hard at the girl when she had finished. ‘You didn’t know your Mum was having a baby, sweetheart?’

      ‘Yes, I did ... but ...’ Xanthe wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

      Shelley took her back into her arms. ‘How long has it been, sweetie?’

      ‘Since I’ve seen her?’

      ‘Yeah. Since you’ve seen your mum.’

      ‘I was seven.’

      This took Shelley by surprise. Xanthe O’Rourke, to her reckoning, must be going on for eleven, at least. ‘But she writes to you, right?’ said Shelley, nodding to the letter in her hand.

      ‘My birthday. Once. Christmas. A couple of times. And this ... about the baby,’ said Xanthe, indicating the letter.

      Shelley gave it another quick read and handed it back. Xanthe folded it neatly and stuck it in her pocket then stared into space until, eventually a steady stream of tears began to roll down her cheeks.

      Shelley thought she understood. Xanthe had learned to live with the fact that her mother had walked out on her and her dad, but this news of a baby must have come as a shock, tormenting the girl. Her mother had a new family.

      ‘It’s breaking your heart she’s not here to see you today, to see what a great job you’ve done getting this protest meeting up, isn’t it, Zanth?’

      ‘She couldn’t care less,’ spat Xanthe, standing up and moving off from Shelley. She waded over to where her father’s tinny had begun lapping in the rising waters.

      ‘Does your Dad know where you are?’ Shelley called out as she followed Xanthe down the beach.

      Xanthe shook her head without looking back and climbed aboard her boat. She tilted the outboard down into the water. It appeared she was about to say something but stopped herself and went forward and pulled in her anchor.

      It was Shelley who spoke as she waded up to Xanthe’s tinny and held on to it. ‘Why don’t I take you home, sweetheart? We can tow this behind us.’

      Xanthe hesitated for a moment. ‘Shelley?’

      ‘Yes, Xanthe, love?’

      ‘Do you ever just feel so empty sometimes? So full of ... so full of nothing that you ... that you just want to ...’. She looked away for a moment, fighting back tears, then she sighed. ‘Because I do.’

      Before Shelley could respond, Xanthe had the engine kicking over.

      Shelley was waist-deep now but she kept her hold on the side of the tinny. With her free hand she pointed across at Glencairn Island. ‘Look at it! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

      Xanthe nodded.

      ‘Is what you’re doing this afternoon an empty thing, Xanthe O’Rourke? Fighting to keep your precious Glencairn Island a sanctuary? Is that nothing?

      There was silence.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘No. I guess not,’ Xanthe whispered.

      ‘You know it’s not! We’re all counting on you kids. The whole off-shore mob. We’re depending on your meeting to send a message, Zanth!’

      Shelley covered Xanthe’s small hand with her own and lowered her voice. ‘And so is your dear Henrietta.’

      Shelley stared into Xanthe’s eyes, remembering all that the Fabulous Island Film Unit children had told her about their beautiful young ghost, Henrietta. Or whatever or whoever she was. Only a story but a good one, thought Shelley. A feisty, wild young woman from two centuries ago that the kids now believed inhabited the old mansion around on the dark cliffs of Glencairn.

      ‘You’ve got to take this fight up to them, mate,' said Shelley. 'For all our sakes. For the dead, for the here-and-now and for the ones to come.’

      Xanthe looked hard at her friend but remained silent, locked inside her thoughts.

      ‘Zanth?’

      ‘What, Shell?’

      ‘Don’t let us down, love. Don’t let us down, you hear?’

      Xanthe was silent for a little longer then the fingers of her right hand went to her throat, as if to touch a locket. But finding it not there, Xanthe closed her eyes and kept them shut, nodding her head.

      It was as if the girl knew who had her locket, thought Shelley, and again, was reminded of the feisty Henrietta, one to play pranks, apparently.

      When she opened her eyes again Xanthe’s gaze seemed focused, as if radiating a purpose, as if she had experienced a moment that was mind-changing.

      At least that was how it appeared to Shelley who felt she had just witnessed a turning point in the young girl’s life.

      She saw now, in Xanthe, a strength