Chapter 6: Brian and the Skipper

We made it back to Manly Cove with time to spare and I even managed to get my bra back on straight. We went to the upper deck again, but this time we weren't alone; there were a few couples already outside enjoying the summer evening and cuddling in the seats along the rail, so we separated into the toilets to tidy up and met back in the upper cabin amidships where we took a couple of adjacent seats.

Just before departure, one of the crew came up to our deck and walked past us, making for the stairs up to the bridge. Just as he passed, he did a double-take, kept walking for a few steps and then turned around with his head cocked and a frown of concentration across his face.

"You're some kinda movie star," he said, "Aren't-cha?" He looked to be about thirty, slim and scruffy in his rumpled uniform with freckles and a few days' worth of red stubble on his face.

"No ... I ... um... ," I began.

And then quick as a flash, "Aw, go-orn Ems," Kevin interrupted in what might be the worst Cockney accent I've ever heard, "'e's got-chew fair 'n' square."

Oh dear, now what? Do the right thing and disappoint Kevin, exposing him as a prankster – or worse, a liar – to the guy? Or go along and have a fun story to tell later?

"You've got a good eye, Sir," I said in my best Hermione Oxford English accent (which actually sounded pretty good to my ear) and giving him a big sunny smile while I pinched Kevin's knee. "You're the first one to recognise me today."

"I knew it!" he smiled broadly. "You're that one from Star Wars, right? With all the white make-up? And you married Darth Vader! What was that about?"

"Oh!" I grinned, this was a first. "You might be thinking of Natalie Portman. I think she's American." I felt a bit disappointed not to be recognised, especially when I was trying so hard with the accent. "I'm..."

"No! Don't tell me!" he said, holding up both hands. "I'll get it." That look of concentration returned to his face. "Hey, d'youse guys wanna come up to the bridge? We've gotta get going and I want to work this out. You can meet The Skip."

Kevin and I looked at each other; we were both grinning like idiots. If "The Skip" was every bit as observant as his off-sider then we could have a good laugh about this later.

"I'm Brian," he said, holding open the door to the stairs for us.

"Kev," Kevin said in that stupid accent again. "Pleased t'meecha."

"No, don't tell me," Brian grinned as I held out my hand to shake. "I'm still working on it."

I looked at the steep stairs and then down at my skirt. "Um ... you go first, Brian," I blushed, flapping my skirt with my hand.

"Yeah, right," he smiled, eying my legs. "Don't get many ladies up on the bridge."

"Oh, Brian," I smiled coquettishly at him. "That's probably because you never ask."

He blushed a little at my joke, but turned and followed Kevin up the stairs, leaving me to follow. We came out on an open deck behind the wheelhouse and Brian led us around to the hatch to go inside.

"Oh, hey! I've got it!" he exclaimed, pointing at me. Then he turned around into the wheelhouse, "Ducks on the pond, Skip. We've got a movie star on board!"

Kevin went in first and I heard an older man laugh, "Jesus, Brian. You think every bloke with a beard is fuckin' Hugh Jackman. This one's six inches too short and twenty years too young." And then to Kevin, "I swear, mate, no offense right? But the last Hugh Jackman he brought up here was a bloody Iranian."

"Not him, Skip. Her!" he said proudly, letting me in. "I just worked it out; she's the one from them Pirate movies with Johnny Depp and that other poofter bloke."

None for two, Brian! I think that was Keira Knightley. At least he had the right side of the Atlantic this time.

"Geez you're a goose, Brian," The Skip laughed. "Nah, she's that bird from Harry Potter. Emma Thompson!"

"Watson," I corrected him, grinning madly at what felt like a comedy routine.

"Yeah, right. I should know; my boy's got a fu- ... a friggin' life sized poster of you in a red dress on his wall. See it every time I walk in. Make a point of it, in fact; pardon me for sayin' so love, but you're kind of easy on the eyes." Then his face clouded over in panic. "Oh shit, I hope you were eighteen when that picture was taken. Pardon my French."

I could only laugh.

"I'm Laurie," Skip leaned forward to shake hands without shifting his bulk off the stool. "But you can call me Skip up here." He looked to be in his late forties, greying hair and overweight, but with a friendly, welcoming smile.

"Hello Skip," I smiled back. "I'm ... Emma," I almost buggered it up, "and this is Kevin."

"Wotcha!" Kevin gave an informal salute from behind Brian. Oh, take him now, Lord!

"Well pull up a pew," Skip indicated some chairs against the rear wall of the wheelhouse. "Me 'n' Brian've gotta get this tub on its way to Circular Quay. We can yak when we're outta the Cove."

Brian sat on the stool beside Skip. "And you'll haf'ta shoosh when we're on the radio," he said. "Else the Harbour Master'll rip us both a new one." I made a zipping motion across my lips and smiled back.

Skip put on a radio headset and conducted an unintelligible conversation with the wharf crew which I hope meant they had cast off and we were cleared to leave port. He brought the engines up to a high idle to move us smoothly away from the wharf and then slowly added more power until we were underway and cruising out past Manly Point.

"Don'choo have another movie to make, love?" Skip asked. "Shift y'r arse, Brian. Give the girl a seat with a view." And then back to me, "My Davey can't stop goin' on about it."

"They've finished filming," I said, swapping seats with Brian and marvelling at how I managed not to completely lie. "The movie comes out in in a few months." I was really settling in to the accent. It felt completely natural; I couldn't be more at home than talking about Harry Potter and Hermione. Kevin stood beside me with an arm around my shoulder and watched out the window.

"Shame they hooked you up that ranga kid," he went on. "Got a head on him like Brian's. Shoulda used a good-lookin' kid like Hugh Jackman here," he gestured at Kevin.

"I know right?" I laughed, musically. "Except he can't act." I reached down and squeezed his thigh. "Can't even do impressions! Do your Australian accent, Kevin!"

"Aw, cripes Em'," he said in his normal voice, trying not to laugh. "You're embarrassing me."

"Acksh'ly mate, that's not bad," Brian said. "Keep at it. Hardly anyone'd guess you're a bloody Pom." And then, realising what he'd said. "No offence, y'know."

"None taken," Kevin laughed.

We watched the view out the window as Skip did most of the talking; telling us about the Freshwater – which is the ferry we were on – and regaling us with anecdotes from half a lifetime of work on Sydney Harbour.

"This is Bradley's Head coming up on our right," Skip pointed to some lights marking the edge of the dark harbour. "You'll be able to see the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the city in a tick."

Sure enough, the lights of the skyscrapers appeared first and then the familiar coat-hanger of the bridge came into view – tiny and unfamiliar to me from this distance.

"Oh wow!" I breathed, almost forgetting my English accent. "What a view you get from up here!"

"It's got nothin' on the view from up top," Brian pointed above his head. "Three-sixty views in every direction."

"What's up there?" I asked. "I thought this was the top deck."

"It is," Skip agreed. "But there's a ladder up to the roof. There's a rail around the radio mast and more stairs up to the crow's nest. Brian's like a bloody dog hanging his head outta the car. He'd spend the whole trip up there if I let him."

"Is it romantic?" I asked, exchanging a glance with Kevin.

"I dunno about romantic," Skip said. "It's not like that scene in Titanic, if that's what you mean..."

"Hey," Brian interrupted, pointing at me again with a bright look in his eyes. "You were in that one too, right?"

"Fuck, Brian – oh shit ... I mean ... pardon ... beg yours, Miss," I tried not to smile at Skip's serial profanity. "What are you smoking, Brian? She was a baby when that movie came out."

Actually, I was in Grade 5; I remember because my Mum wouldn't let me watch it. But right now I was pretending to be a few years younger, so Skip had a point.

"Can we go up there?" I asked him eagerly. The thought of panoramic views from the middle of Sydney Harbour was too good to pass up.

Skip laughed at my excitement. "If y'can see y'way clear to an autograph and photo for my boy, then I reckon yes," he negotiated. "But I need Brian to stay here..."

"Awww, Ski-i-i-p!"

" ... and you can't go up the crow's nest without rigging, so you gotta stay inside the rail."

"Done and done!" I chirped. "Where do I sign?"

We found a felt-tipped marker and I "autographed" a laminated evacuation map of the ferry: