As they neared the marina, they saw the queue of tourists by the catamaran.
‘Check out the guy in the shorts.’ Caro whistled as they walked up the gangplank.
‘Ssh, don’t let the guests hear you,’ whispered Grace.
‘Fuck the guests,’ she said with a casual wave of the hands. ‘Actually, yes please,’ she added, meeting the dark eyes of the tall, swarthy man.
Grace blushed slightly and began taking the tickets off the passengers. Once everyone was safely boarded, the Highlander set sail for the Low Isles and the girls set about preparing meals, serving drinks and making sure the children didn’t jump overboard. Grace could see why Caro was getting sick of it; the job was monotonous and in places downright unpleasant, but there were certainly worse ways to earn a living than cruising around the Great Barrier Reef, even if you did have to scrape plates on the way back.
They were just approaching the Low Isles when Neil, the stern Canadian captain, approached.
‘You. Come with me,’ he said, pointing at Grace.
Raising her eyebrows at Caro, Grace followed Neil forward to the cramped cabin which served as an office and storeroom.
‘Now then, Grace, I’ve been watching you over the past few weeks,’ he began, ‘and I’ve decided to give you a promotion.’
‘Really?’ said Grace with surprise.
‘No, not really,’ said Neil, turning to a locker and flipping it open. ‘But I am changing your job description.’
She looked at him wide-eyed; maybe she could move up on deck. She had spent her childhood sailing, and when the sails were at full stretch and the male crew were hauling on the ropes, she longed to join in. Until now she’d stayed below deck, nervous that she might get spotted as Robert Ashford’s daughter, which she had mentioned to no one, not even Caro. Luckily in this part of the world, no one seemed to care who you were or where you came from.
Neil pulled out a large black SLR camera and handed it to her. ‘You are now the Highlander’s official photographer.’
Grace looked at him with her mouth open. ‘I’ve only used instamatics before.’
‘Well now’s the time to start learning. It’s either you or Caro, and I wouldn’t trust her to point it the right way, let alone get a shot in focus. All I’m asking is when we get to the island, take a couple of snaps of the passengers having fun. We get them developed at the marina. We put them in a fancy frame with “I’ve Been To The Great Barrier Reef” on it and flog ’em back to them for ten dollars a pop.’
Over the tannoy, Neil announced that a small tender boat would be ferrying the guests across and that snorkel gear and anti-jellyfish ‘stinger suits’ would be handed out when they got to the beach.
Grace rode with them, fiddling with the camera, then headed towards the American family who were struggling to set up camp with a huge amount of beach gear – chairs, ice box, an inflatable dolphin.
‘Hello there,’ she said, holding up the camera. ‘Would you like me to take a picture of you all?’
The father looked at her with hostility. ‘Another hidden cost? I’ve already shelled out for four sodas on your boat.’
‘Oh Kevin,’ said the mother. ‘It will be great.’
She gathered the children around her and the father stood at the back, chin jutting out, clasping a frisbee to his chest as if it were a badge of high office.
Grace squinted through the viewfinder. ‘OK, everyone smile . . .’ she said, pressing the shutter button.
And nothing happened.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Try again . . .’
Again, nothing. Flustered, Grace looked at the camera, trying to work out what was wrong.
‘Bear with me,’ she said distractedly.
‘Cowboys,’ muttered the father as the children began to whine and fidget.
‘Here, maybe I can help,’ said a voice.
Grace turned to see the handsome passenger she had noticed earlier.
He stepped away from the family, examined the camera then flipped open the back. ‘Film’s jammed.’