Three hours later, her back ached but the boat sparkled and she was full of the satisfaction of a job well done. She gathered her cleaning equipment and, buckets slung on her arms, walked along the jetty toward the office.
A young girl, who could have been late elementary or middle school age—Alice found it hard to tell—was sitting on the boards, legs dangling. A sketch pad lay in her lap and a tin of colored pencils sat next to her. She held a pink one and the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips as she concentrated on drawing a very realistic representation of a pelican that was perched regally on top of a pylon. As much as Alice hated it when strangers commented on her own work mid-flow, given the age of the kid and the skill of the art, she couldn’t help herself.
“Wow! That’s awesome.”
The girl glanced up from under her hat. “I haven’t got the beak right.”
Alice studied the drawing then the pink-beaked pelican before returning her gaze to the drawing. She pointed. “Try shortening it here. Draw the line that’s there and not the one your brain’s telling you should be there.”
“Like this?” The girl rubbed at her original line and redrew it.
“Exactly like that.” Alice wondered why the girl wasn’t at school. She was about to ask when she heard running feet behind her. A boy materialized by their sides, his face flushed and his body bouncing with excitement.
“Holly! Dad’s bought chips! Hurry up, Dad!” he called down the jetty before spinning back and realizing Alice was there. “Hello. Who are you?”
Alice tried not to laugh as his energy crashed into her. “I’m Alice Hunter.”
The boy’s green eyes widened. “My name’s Hunter too.”
“It’s a pretty cool name.”
“Yeah. It was my grandpa’s name and my mom—”
“Hunter! Stop lollygagging and let the lady get back to work.” The male voice came from behind her as did the seductive aroma of salt and hot fat.
“She was helping me with my pelican. Look! I finally got the beak right.” Holly scrambled to her feet, thrusting the sketch book at her father.
“And her name’s Hunter too!” Hunter popped around to stand between Alice and his father. “How cool is that?”
The man’s gaze swung to Alice, clearly confused as to why she’d have a male name.
Unable to offer her hand due to the buckets and mops, she introduced herself. “I’m Alice Hunter.”
He nodded but didn’t volunteer his name. “I hope the kids haven’t been bothering you.”
Something about the weary way he said it made her rush to reassure him. “Not at all. In fact it was me who stopped to chat. Your daughter’s got an amazing eye.”
“She really has.” He smiled at Holly. “She didn’t get it from me, though. I struggle with stick figures.”
“Do you want some hot chips, Alice?” Hunter reached for the white paper parcel, clearly unable to wait any longer. “Dad bought heaps of chips, didn’t you, Dad?”
“Dad” was looking distinctly uncomfortable about the idea of sharing his lunch with a stranger.
“Thanks for the lovely invitation, Hunter, but I’ve still got some work to do before I eat my lunch.” She smiled at Holly. “Maybe when you’ve finished your pelican you might want to try drawing one of the seals that play under the pier. They’re pretty cute with all those whiskers.”
The girl smiled shyly. “Okay.”
“Enjoy your chips!” As Alice walked away, she heard the children’s father say, “Come on, you seagulls, let’s eat these before they get cold.”
Alice pushed open the office door and immediately heard yelling then took in the stricken face of Missy, the young receptionist. She realized the angry voice belonged to Nick. The closed door to Nick’s office was doing little to dent the sound.
The shouting discombobulated her. The Pirellis’ office could lurch from relaxed to frenetic in a short space of time, but the vibe was always upbeat. The only time Alice ever heard Nick raise his voice was during a race—captain’s privilege—or to save someone from injuring themselves or a boat. He ran his business on the tenets of respect, responsibility and the expectation of high standards, and he always rewarded a job well done. His staff loved working for him and most went the extra mile every time, because they knew he worked as hard as they did. Brodie, the apprentice diesel mechanic, was a perfect example. He’d told Alice over a beer at one of the Friday staff barbecues, “If it wasn’t for Nick, I’d still be doing shit or be locked up like my old man. I dunno why he ever trusted me that first day to wash a boat.”
“He probably thought you were safer on the boat working than lurking around the marina unsupervised.”
Brodie gave her a cheeky grin. “Yeah, Nick’s not stupid. At first, I only rocked up every day for the boats. After a while he figured I liked engines. He kept banging on about me doing an apprenticeship and one day he drives me up to community college. I never knew playing with engines was a job.”
But now this understanding man with the patience of a saint was yelling at someone.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Missy wrung her hands. “You saw him this morning. He was his usual happy self but when he came back with the coffees he was seriously pissed. I’ve been avoiding him, but poor Jannick’s copping it. I mean, I know the dude’s late with his visitor regional work form, but …”
A subdued Jannick slunk out of the office clutching his 1263 form and exchanged a look with Missy that was both beleaguered and aggrieved. “What is his prob—Oh, hello, Alice.”
“Hi, Jannick.” She threw the backpacker what she
