Heavenly Beverley : Shocks and Surprises and Other Unexpected Moments

We have been in Cairns for all of six days. During this time, we have experienced a gamut of emotions caused by the maelstrom of Leigh's death. We have also caught up with my brother Michael (otherwise known as B2), who has been living in Cairns for the last six months. And we really hit the jackpot when we were upgraded at Cool Waters Caravan Park into the historic and renovated Pump House.

After an exhausting Sunday, we'd slept the night at Leigh's unit, which was familiar territory. However, there were four blokes and me in residence, which made for tight and squeezy quarters. Out of deference to our married state, we'd been given Leigh's bedroom. We decided we needed to abandon ship the following morning. Our darling Leigh had been a Fag Bag, smoking inside for years and Michael's asthma had flared up. And we needed wheels. After a very late breakfast at the stunning Limberlost Nursery and Cafe with everybody, and a visit to James and Natalie's beautiful home, we followed local recommendations to try Cool Waters Caravan Park for a cabin.

Natalie's stamina and drive were extraordinary. By that afternoon, she'd organised the funeral for Wednesday - Leigh's birthday - and arranged for his ashes to be ready for us to scatter them off Fitzroy Island on Saturday. This allowed us to determine our stay would be extended until Monday. There was no way we were going to miss Leigh's farewell.

In light of this information, I booked our flights home, contacted Cool Waters Caravan Park sight unseen for a cabin and taken their advice for choice of hire car company. We picked up Princess, our sightly gutless Hyundai, collected our washing from the washing machine in Leigh's unit and carefully followed Google Maps to the caravan park.

Naturally, we sped straight past the turn-off on our first attempt.

Second time lucky, we successfully negotiated our way into the entry and I prepared to register us at the reception. Since we were staying a week, they had upgraded us into the Pump House at no additional cost. Once we had collected the correct keys (!) and opened the outside door, we were immediately entranced.

The Pump House had been just that in its former life. Perched high over Freshwater Creek, externally it looked a tiny non-descript dwelling. Not so at all. A soaring open plan apartment over three levels with a spacious deck looking over the creek. There were still the covered remains of pipes in the lower floor next to the second queen bed. Huge beams had been left insitu across the gable ceiling and used in the stairs. The Pump House was stylishly decorated and more than comfortable.

The nearby Red Beret Hotel is a historic pub, dating from the 1920s. Huge inside and outside covered areas, good food and drinks and a courtesy vehicle to pick us up and drop us back. Absolutely outstanding value and we have enjoyed a couple of very satisfactory evenings there.

A disaster of epic proportions greeted Michael as he was dressing on Wednesday morning. One of his newish comfy undies had a hole on the left buttock, rather close to the business end of this area. After deducing that this catastrophe could only have been the result of an explosive blast from Michael's nether regions, I collapsed into fits of giggles whilst he went in search of another pair of underpants. He was not amused.

Following the exceedingly wonderful funeral and wake at Natalie and James', we set out to return to the Pump House - about two and a half kilometres as the crow flies. I'm sure this feathered fiend led us astray as we became hopelessly lost in the backblocks of Redlynch and Brindsmead. Somehow we ended up in View Street next to the caravan park and we were saved...

Not quite. We drove into the caravan park and became...hopelessly lost. Michael then spat the dummy and relinquished the driver's seat. I took over and drove Princess into a very narrow dead end. After a fifty-eight point turn, I managed to extricate us with no damage to Princess. A bloody miracle.

We realised the enormity of our hangovers as we attempted to rise yesterday morning. I needed to give myself several stern lectures before I was able to maintain a vertical stance. Having set a rendezvous to meet my brother in Trinity Beach at two o'clock, we eventually arrived just after three.

Brother Michael was most sympathetic after he'd stopped laughing. He then directed us to a beach on Cook Bay for a healthy constitutional in the warm and overcast afternoon.

What a perfect location. This magic spot epitomised Far North Queensland. Massive outcrops of granite, sandy beaches, gently lapping water, mangroves, a secret pathway and a crocodile trap, baited with a very attractive deceased chook. An extended family making sand castles and forts and learning how to cast a fishing line. Coconut palms and rock pools and just stunning scenery.

We entertained B2 for almost twenty-four hours. He has not had an easy time lately. Difficult circumstances have seen him tossed like flotsam into a boat's wake. I worry about his health. I worry about the lack of joy, of life in his eyes. Last night, whilst we were feeding the turtles in the creek and running amok like small children, he was sadly removed from us. He still has one daughter and her children in Cooktown and that's where he's headed next week. I understand there are always two sides to every story, but I wonder if there is any way I can help heal the hurt within his fractured family.

Our visit to the Cairns Armour and Artillery Museum was fascinating and horrifying all at once. Weapons that are still being used today were on display. Weapons that kill people. Michael lingered whilst I put my troublesome knee up on a chair. There was some very interesting reading material on the Siege of Leningrad, but I was still very grateful when we left.

Tomorrow is the voyage to Fitzroy Island. There are at least fifteen of us braving the elements to scatter Leigh's ashes at one of his favourite places. In spite of my usual fear of terra firma (the less firma, the more terra), I would not miss this journey for the world.

Ahoy, me hearties!