Hushed by Joanne Macgregor

Author:Joanne Macgregor [Macgregor, Joanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780620745697
Amazon: 062074569X
Goodreads: 34700710
Publisher: Macgregor
Published: 2017-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Circling predators

I wait impatiently at the Predator Exhibit tank located smack in the centre of the aquarium. I’m suited up, with my diving mask perched on the top of my wetsuit hood and my feet in their flippers. I’ve tested my breathing apparatus and need only strap on my tank before I’m ready to go. Logan, however, is nowhere in sight.

On the drive over from the lot, he’d insisted that I go on the shark dive with him.

“I never did fancy dying alone. Besides, this was your bright idea — and those who have the vision …” he’d said, still looking irritated at Cilla’s switch of plans.

“I had a very different vision,” I said. But I said it quietly so Cilla wouldn’t hear.

She was muttering instructions to the photographer. “And for God’s sake, don’t get her in any of the shots. Try to make some of them look like he’s out in the wild. And you, Thabo,” she addresses the bulky bodyguard, “make sure you’re not in any of the pictures either. If the Rushers are there, I want them to have access to Logan for autographs and such, but no touching. I don’t want him losing chunks of hair again. Not before we’ve wrapped filming.”

“Cilla, I’m touched by your concern,” said Logan.

Every time the minibus stopped at traffic lights, Mindy, the make-up artist, made adjustments to Britney’s face. Britney was bubbling with excitement over her upcoming shoot.

“I’m so pleased we’re doing this in the same place, at the same time! You’re going to be right nearby, and I can keep an eye on you.” She spoke to Logan, but her eyes flicked to me on the last phrase. I was tempted to tell her to be sure and pet the sweet, harmless penguins, but I bit my tongue.

Now I climb onto the elevated walkway above the top of the predator exhibit. Sunshine streams through the glass roof above, down to the massive circular tank below. We’ve been told that it’s six metres deep and holds over two-million litres of water, as well as a couple of turtles, several mantas and stingrays, and a variety of predator fish — yellowtail, garrick, giant kob, mussel-crackers and stumpnose.

And of course, five ragged-tooth sharks.

Dave, the divemaster who’ll be going down with us, joins me on the walkway. He holds a long-handled, two-pronged fork in one hand, and a flip-lidded bucket of food for the fish in the other.

“Is Rush still not ready?” he asks me.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping him.”

Walking like a cross between a duck and an astronaut in the large flippers, I go in search of Logan and find him in the changing room, just strapping on his tank.

“What are you …?” I begin, but my voice dwindles to nothing as I switch from verbal to visual mode.

Logan’s wearing his low-slung denim cut-offs again.

“She who must be obeyed forbade me from wearing a wetsuit,” Logan says. In an exaggerated imitation of Cilla, he continues, “If you’re in a wetsuit, nobody can see it’s you.

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