The Wife's Secret

On most days of the year, Beacon Bay was a postcard-worthy little town. Nestled in a cove where the rainforest meets the sea, it boasted a palm-fringed beach of pristine white sand curving around a half-moon bay of sparkling turquoise.

On this March morning, however, a leaden sky smouldered, heavy with thick, low clouds. The air was ominously still, the sea murky and dark, a brooding reflection of the unfriendly sky. No sound of birds. Not a breath of wind. Not a single glint of light on the water.

Lisa Anders knew what these signs meant. All her life she’d lived in Queensland’s far north, so she understood the patterns of tropical cyclones. This morning’s oppressive stillness was the classic calm before the storm. And Lisa was ready and waiting. 

In the five years since her divorce, she’d learned to be self-reliant. Along with many new activities, she’d joined Beacon Bay’s Cyclone Preparedness Committee, and she was also a devoted follower of a storm chasers website. 

For the past week, ever since an unnamed low-pressure system had first appeared as a blip on the distant edge of the Coral Sea, Lisa had been tracking its progress. The storm chasers were always a little over excited, making bolder predictions than the official weather bureau, and they’d forecast the system’s transition into a cyclone long before the bureau moved from a Watch to a Warning.

While many of the locals were complacent after almost a decade of cyclone-free summers – convinced that the newly named Pixie would stay well out to sea – Lisa had kept up to the minute with the chasers’ reports. She understood about pressure systems, core circulation, ridges and windshear, and she hadn’t been at all surprised when, in the early hours of the morning, Pixie made a sudden turn west towards the coast. 

Fortunately, Lisa’s house was strong and safe. Rolf, her ex, had been a professional builder. He’d made sure their home was cyclone-proof, and she would always be grateful for that. As well, she’d already spent the past few days conscientiously cleaning up her yard, storing all the pots and barbecue furniture in the back of the garage.

Lisa had actually startled a venomous black snake when she’d picked up pieces of timber abandoned from a long-ago project. She’d frightened herself, but the snake had been even more frightened and had slithered away, so the scary moment hadn’t stopped her from getting on with the job. Her final task had been to fix the storm shutters over the windows.

Of course, she’d also added her own advisory post to Beacon Bay’s Community Facebook page. And, today, as an extra precaution, she’d texted all her phone contacts in the town, actually phoning the more elderly residents who were somewhat confused by text messages, instructing them to make sure they were prepared. Yes, the ABC radio was very good at sending out similar advice, but it didn’t hurt to double up.

Don’t forget to pack a bag with medical supplies, a change of clothes, a radio with batteries, insurance documents and USBs with anything else important . . .

Midmorning, Lisa re-checked her to-do list. She’d already rung her son, Dave, a chef with a café on the Bay’s waterfront. She’d given him the latest report from the storm chasers and had been relieved to hear that he’d managed to secure at least one generator in case the town lost power. Nevertheless, he’d sounded somewhat strained and frustrated.

‘Thanks for the heads-up, Mum, but I’m dealing with it.’

Dave was always edgy if he felt Lisa was getting too ‘motherly’. She’d wished him all the best and hung up.

Now, she really should check on the Blunts, who owned the garden nursery on the far side of town. The large yard surrounding their nursery’s store was always filled with rows and rows of potted plants, and these palms and shrubs, herbs and fruit trees wouldn’t merely be destroyed by a cyclone, they could become dangerous missiles if they weren’t moved someplace secure. 

Melody Blunt sounded tired when she answered the phone. ‘Jim and I have been up since dawn trying to shift the pots.’ She gave a small attempt to laugh. ‘Only the reckless would set up a plant nursery in a cyclone-prone area.’

‘Don’t you have any extra help?

‘Not so far. Unfortunately, our two part-timers are both caught up with their own worries. Doug’s shifting his fishing trawler as far south as he can. And Sarah’s still trying to finish nailing battens over her windows. Her cottage is shaky at the best of times.’

‘Okay,’ said Lisa. ‘I’ll see if I can round up some of the revegetation group to help.’

‘That’d be great, thanks, Lisa. Only problem, we’re running out of shed space.’

Lisa could well understand this might be the case. The nursery’s sheds weren’t especially big, and they’d already been piled high with bags of potting mix and manure.'

Jim tried to get old Charlie Short to lend us a couple of his shipping containers, but he reckons his crane needs repairing and he can’t shift them.’

‘Damn.’ Lisa was instantly racking her brains. ‘Surely we can find a farmer in the area with a winch and a truck that could do the job?’

‘I guess,’ said Melody doubtfully.

‘Don’t you worry about it, Mel. You keep helping Jim and I’ll see what I can find out.’

~

Dave Anders felt his heart drop to his toes as he viewed the trays of mini quiches his conscientious kitchenhand had just lifted from the oven. Janet had done a great job. The quiches smelled great and looked as good as any he’d seen anywhere – and he’d worked in top restaurants all over the world.

But after the latest warning from the weather bureau, Dave was pretty damn sure this party food wouldn’t be needed after all. He couldn’t hold back a heavy sigh.

Janet, plump, late fifties and momentarily flushed with her success, now frowned. ‘I  wasn’t game to listen to the radio, but have you heard the latest about that cyclone?’

‘I have, yeah.’ Dave had also received a somewhat alarming phone call from his mother. Nevertheless, he now kept his tone as calm as he could. ‘Pixie’s a category three. She could get to a four and she’s definitely heading this way.’

Janet’s face fell.

There was little need for further comment. They both knew what this meant. They’d gone to a huge amount of trouble that would now almost certainly be wasted.

But first Dave needed to confirm this was the case. It was time to make a phone call.

The answer came in a smug baritone. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Dave Anders here, ringing from the Frangipani Café in Beacon Bay. About the party food you ordered for Renata?’

Renata Ramsay was an operatic superstar based in Sydney, who also happened to own a very attractive holiday house in the Bay. This weekend, to celebrate her fiftieth birthday, she’d been planning to bring a tribe of her celebrity friends north for a massive party. Motels had been booked, cars hired and Dave Anders was the official caterer.

‘Ahhh, yes.’ The voice on the other end of the phone managed to sound excessively apologetic. ‘Sorry, Dave, you were next on my list of the folk I needed to call. Given the way your weather’s shaping up, I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel Renata’s party.'

Dave had been braced for this news, but it still sent a sickening shudder through him. It wasn’t just the pile of food going to waste, or the money he was bound to lose. He’d lined up several of the local high-school kids to be waiters, and they’d been looking forward to earning good pocket money. ‘Right,’ he said tightly.

‘Sorry, mate. I should have called earlier, but I’ve been flat out cancelling all the flights and motel accommodation for the guests.’

‘Yeah,’ Dave responded wearily, while wondering what the hell he was going to do with all these handmade quiches Janet had laboured over, along with the herb and vegan cheese wafers he’d made, as well as the mountain of meatballs, both vegan and genuine pork, that he’d prepared, ready to barbecue. And the fridge filled with scallops and prawns.

Even if Beacon Bay managed to hang on to its power supply and Dave didn’t lose the lot, he’d be hard-pressed to make good use of so much food.

~

One of Lisa’s many phone calls for the morning was to her good friend Heidi. ‘You should come here and stay with me tonight, Heidi.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, most definitely. That cottage of yours —’ Lisa stopped before she said anything too uncomplimentary. ‘Well, it’s quite old, isn’t it? And you never did get around to having your roof inspected.’

‘I know, I  know.’ Heidi sounded suitably regretful. ‘I’d been thinking that I  should probably go to the Community Hall. The council’s setting it up as an evacuation centre.’

‘Well, I’m sure that would be safe, but you don’t really want to be sleeping on the floor with a horde of people, do you?’

‘I wasn’t looking forward to it, especially if I couldn’t keep Juno near me. I’d hate to have to put her in a cage.’

Juno was Heidi’s extremely fluffy, silvery grey and somewhat ancient cat. Lisa wasn’t a huge fan. In fact, many people in the Bay were actively against cats, given their tendency to go feral in the forests and hunt the wildlife, but she knew this was unlikely to happen with Heidi’s feline companion.

‘Juno could come here,’ she said. ‘I’m not allergic. And the house should be safe. Rolf went overboard with cyclone bolts when he built this place.’

‘Yes, I know your house will be fine.’

‘I guess the only problem might be parking.’ Lisa was thinking of all the gear she’d crammed into her garage. ‘Actually, I’ll pick you up and then you can leave your car in your carport.’

'Thanks. I guess the carport is safer than out in the street.’

‘Definitely.’

‘It’s a lovely offer, Lisa. Thank you. I’ll bring dinner. I’m making a beef casserole, is that okay? And wine, of course.’

‘Wonderful. Sounds perfect.’

‘I’ve put the casserole on early, so at least it’ll be ready if we lose power.’

‘Good thinking. And we can always reheat it on my gas stovetop.’ For Lisa, the thought of sharing a delicious dinner and wine with her friend while cyclonic rain and wind howled and raged outside her strong, safe house was, somehow, ridiculously appealing.

She’d been making these phone calls from her kitchen and now she looked around her, once again grateful that she’d been able to keep this house after the divorce.

Of course, after Rolf had left, she’d had to learn all sorts of new skills – changing light bulbs, rehanging a towel rack, cleaning the aircon filters – and she was proud of the independence she’d achieved.

Now, though, Lisa was distracted by a memory of the excitement she and Rolf had shared when they’d first moved into this house. She was remembering them here, eating picnic-style – French onion dip and corn chips, as she recalled – sitting cross-legged on the shiny new timber floor, as they hadn’t yet bought their dining furniture.

But she mustn’t let herself dwell on that now. After Rolf left, she’d found it important to put her own stamp on her home.

Originally, they’d gone for the natural timber look that had been so popular at the time, but after their breakup, Lisa had painted all the interior timber walls white, including the ceilings. Yes, even the exposed beams and rafters. Quite an exhausting time she’d had up there with trestles and planks and ladders, but the transformation was very satisfying.

And she’d given the kitchen cupboards a total makeover with sage green chalk paint. Determined to prove just how brilliantly she could manage on her own, she’d also paved the outdoor barbecue and then re-lined the breakfast nook off the kitchen with a mosaic of colourful tiles.

Lisa had always been proud of this house. But in recent years it had become a personal statement and somehow important to her sense of self. She’d also made a determined effort to share it with her friends, so it was very reassuring to know that tonight she and Heidi would be cosy and safe.

~

Midafternoon, she’d pretty much ticked off everything on her checklist. She’d managed to twist the arms of several of the reveg team to help the Blunts to shift pots. By a minor miracle, she’d actually tracked down a farmer on the edge of town who’d been able to transport two much- needed shipping containers. Last she’d heard, the pots were safely stowed and the containers tied down.

Now, with cyclone shutters over the windows, Lisa made herself a mug of tea and took it out onto the balcony to get a better feel for the weather situation. The wind had definitely picked up. Clouds were racing across the dark sky and the wind lifted her hair and her shirt tails, but she felt unexpectedly jubilant.

She was always happiest when she felt useful and in control. Her parents and grandparents had been hardworking sugarcane farmers, and they’d raised her to be handy and self-reliant.

Today was not the first time she’d felt a kinship with the cartoon character Lisa Simpson, the most ‘on-the-ball’ person in town.