Out of Alice (4 page)

By the time ten days had passed, Redhill, though completely different to her quiet city flat, set in its shady street, had come to seem like home. Sara had thought she might miss the privacy the flat had given her, the peaceful evenings and lazy Sundays by herself. She had been solitary as a child and it had become a habit – she had grown to adulthood with acquaintances rather than friends – but she needn't have worried. She settled into the rhythm of family life as if born to it, welcoming the children's noise and spats and Beth's even-handed way of dealing with them. Sam might have been ill but he wasn't a saint. He frequently snapped at and teased his sister, who gave back as good as she got.

‘You can now see the advantage of being an only child,' Beth wryly remarked one day after separating the two. ‘Or were you lonely? Did you ever wish you had a brother or sister?'

‘I think I'd have liked one,' Sara admitted. Hidden in the mist of half-forgotten things was a yearning she sometimes still felt for something dear she had missed. She had always assumed it was a playmate, but since meeting Beth she'd thought it could simply have been a mother's love. You could tell that Beth never forgot for a second that she was foremost a mother. Whereas her own childhood recollections of Stella's face had too often included a momentary blankness of expression, as if Sara's very existence had slipped Stella's mind. Perhaps if her father had survived things might have been different, but Sara doubted it. She retained no clear picture of him, only vague and disturbing memories of a threatening shape like a giant shadow on the wall, and hints of some hidden fear. She remembered his presence more than his person, and the relief that had followed his sudden disappearance.

He's crook and gone to hospital,
Stella had said, face hard as she had puffed on a cigarette,
so I don't want no noise outta you. Go outside.
The child Sara had been glad to escape. She was no longer sure if it had been weeks or even months before she'd asked about him again, but they had moved house in the interim. Stella had delivered the news of his death in the same unemotional tone in which she had spoken of his original absence.

Does that mean he's not coming back?
Sara could scarcely believe her good fortune.

Course it does, you little ignoramus. Gawd!
Stella gave her a look of pure dislike.
I was never cut out for this parenting malarkey, and Vic oughta have known it.

‘And you're truly not finding it too lonely here?' Beth's question broke into her thoughts. ‘The drought's to blame that it's quiet. There's usually more social stuff happening – the campdraft and the races. Mavis organises the odd dance, and there're the CWA meetings. Country Women's Association,' she explained. ‘A good excuse for us all to get together. They used to be monthly but nobody can afford the fuel for the extra running about now.'

‘No, I'm perfectly happy, truly I am,' Sara assured her. It was the truth. She hadn't thought about her stalker once in the past week, and the memory of that paralysing fear that had so unnerved her had faded. Every day was crammed with interest. ‘I'm beginning to think I've missed a lot, not having children around. Maybe I should have trained as a teacher. Do you know I'm finding both your kids' speech a bit old-fashioned? Why is that? Becky actually said
Goodness me
this morning, like some maiden aunt in a play.'

‘Really?' Beth said. ‘I honestly hadn't noticed but I suppose it's because they've only ever had adult company. Oh, they see other station kids a few times a year, but they're in the same boat, aren't they? Don't worry about it though, parents with older children who go to boarding school say they soon pick up the teenage talk.'

They saw little enough of the men, who left early and returned on dark or later, the bang of their vehicle doors the signal for both arrival and departure. Jack came and went, either helping his brother-in-law or called out by the neighbours to fix something mechanical. Anything from a bulldozer to a wireless apparently lay within his remit, and the loss of the latter seemed the biggest problem. The one in the office at Redhill ran daylong, the burr of static and machine Morse occasionally interrupted by phonetic call signs and the gabble of a message.

‘It was all radio before the phones came,' Beth said, turning the bread dough out of the bowl. ‘Now, dust it with flour and knead – pull it towards you, then turn it and pull it again. That's it. We knew the sound of everyone's voices even if we'd never met them. People from north of Katherine to the other side of the Alice. It was great. We all knew what was happening where. It's different now, though, with the phones.'

‘More convenient, surely?' Sara suggested, adding, ‘Heaps of places out here have girl's names, don't they? There's Alice, Katherine, Charlotte Creek.'

‘Mmm. Alice Springs was named for Sir Charles Todd's wife. He just got the river for himself. Katherine – I don't know. Charlotte, though, was named for a camel.'

‘You're kidding me!'

Beth grinned and sprinkled more flour. ‘Okay, cut the dough in half now and shape the loaves. She was a cow camel, died in the creek bed that's named for her. Dunno why. Might have been the collywobbles, old age, thirst, even . . . Camels made this country, opened it up for settlement, I mean. The pioneers built roads with them, delved dams. They were the only transport at one time. Very tough animals.'

‘Still.' Sara smoothed her loaves and lifted them into the greased bread tins. ‘Naming something – why wouldn't a man think of his wife or his mother first? Why pick a camel?'

‘She's the one that died.' Beth laughed. The sound was so infectious that Sara joined in, bringing Becky to investigate, more than a little jealous at being left out of the joke.

When she had flounced off, Beth sighed. ‘She knows Sam's treatment is nearly due again. She hates me going off and leaving her.'

‘So that's it,' Sara said. ‘I thought he was quieter than usual, poor kid.'

‘Yes, the treatment's not pleasant but the side effects are worse. It's hard on Becky too; still, right now he needs me more.' Beth looked troubled. ‘It's only natural she should feel jealous and neglected, poor mite, but at the moment all my energy feeds into keeping Sam going. I can only do so much, and I
will
make it up to her.'

‘Perhaps I'll think of a project to occupy her,' Sara suggested. ‘Something she can feel is special, just for her.'

Beth's face lit up. ‘Could you? That'd be brilliant. We leave Monday and I'll be back late on Wednesday, unless Sam needs to rest. Sometimes he does. Jack'll be here to help out with the chores. You can leave the goats and the diesel and the watering to him. There'll just be the four of you to cook for and Becky's lessons. Don't worry about too much housework or the washing. I can catch up when I get back.'

‘I'm sure I'll manage okay,' Sara said. ‘You just concentrate on Sam.'

Beth ran water into the bowl, saying, ‘You're a godsend. Make sure you always soak the dough off the sides. If you scrape at it, you can nick the surface of the bowl and let in bacteria. That'll ruin other batches of dough. I've ordered extra bread this week so you shouldn't have to bake, but you'll need to do it next month.'

‘He needs treatment that often?'

Beth nodded. ‘Yes. Once it would've meant going to the city. We're so lucky it's available in the Alice now.'

Sara could only admire the woman's determination to make the best of the tragedy that had overtaken her family. There was a survival rate of ninety per cent among
all
sufferers, so her pupil's chances were better than good. His mother always spoke optimistically of the future, hiding her dread of that other ten per cent, save for odd moments when Sara had seen her eyes resting on her son's face, her own unguarded. A growing hum broke into her thoughts. ‘Is that a vehicle I hear?'

‘It will be the mail. He's a day late this week, remember?' Beth glanced at the clock. ‘Time to put the kettle on.'

Becky came in, letting the door bang behind her. Beth winced.

‘Don't slam it, Becky. I've told you before.'

‘I bet Sam's allowed to,' she said.

Her mother ignored this. ‘The mail's coming. Would you like to show Sara where Harry's special biscuits are kept?'

With a bad grace the child yanked the corner cupboard open. ‘Back there.' She pointed.

‘Becky!' Beth said warningly. ‘Bring them out and show Sara properly. Is the school envelope in the office, Sara? Good, I'll get it.'

She went out and Sara knelt beside the child, peering into the cupboard. ‘They must be pretty special biscuits,' she offered.

‘Yeah.' Becky mumbled. She hauled the tin out and prised off the lid. ‘Mum makes them for him.' Her glance flickered to Sara's face, her look suddenly calculating. ‘You wanna try one?'

‘Why not? Ginger, are they? Yum. My favourite biscuit.' She took one, bit into it and chewed. A few moments later the heat hit her. ‘Aaagh!' Sara sprang to her feet feeling as if she had ingested live embers. Hurriedly she spat the remaining contents of her mouth into the sink and splashed cold water over her burning lips, but it made no difference. She could hardly breathe; her mouth and gullet were on fire and her tongue felt red hot. Involuntary tears poured from her eyes as she pressed a hand to her swelling lips.

‘
Becky
!' Beth, re-entering the kitchen, saw and understood what her daughter had done. ‘You wicked girl! How could you be so mean to Sara?'

Looking suddenly scared, Becky dropped her gaze. ‘I never made her eat it,' she whined.

‘And I didn't make Sam sick,' Beth snapped, yanking the fridge open. ‘It's not Sara's fault you're unhappy. Tell her you're sorry this minute – and I hope you mean it! Here,' she proffered a glass of milk to the sufferer. ‘This will help, and I'll get you some bread. I'm so very sorry, Sara. Sit down and just sip, try not to touch your face. You might've got some on your hands.'

Sara's eyes continued to tear as if her body was trying to douse the inner fire. She could feel her lips swelling, stretching taut and shiny across her face. ‘What is it?' she gasped.

‘Cayenne pepper, I'm afraid. There's enough in those biscuits to stop an ox. I haven't heard you apologise yet, Becky.'

‘I'm sorry,' the child muttered. ‘I didn't think it would be that bad.'

‘You can see it is,' Sara said, her voice severe. ‘It wasn't a nice thing to do and your mum is right. Hurting people won't make you feel better. You have to find other ways of doing that. We'll talk about it tomorrow.' The milk helped a little, though its effects only lasted while she held it in her mouth. ‘Why cayenne?' she gasped between gulps. ‘What have you got against Harry?'

‘He loves ginger biscuits and a pinch of the stuff is part of the recipe. Only he complained they had no bite so I kept upping the amount. He reckons I've finally got it about right.'

‘He must have asbestos innards, then!'

‘He has. That's why they're kept apart, so never feed them to anyone else.'

‘I'm not likely to. Talk about a weapon of mass destruction. You could fell armies with that mixture.' Sara set aside her empty glass and breathed through her open mouth to help dispel the heat. ‘I'm going to wash my face and hands, maybe that will help. If not, I'll try ice.'

Harry Ellis's left arm was missing far enough above the elbow that the short sleeve of his shirt covered the stump. When she'd met him briefly the previous Friday, Sara wondered how a disabled man could manage the job he had, but Len brushed off her query.

‘He does okay. I've seen him use a shovel and he can change a tyre. And he carries a wireless.'

‘What happened to his arm?'

‘Guess they parted company.' He said it without a trace of a smile, only his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. Len had a dry wit that was totally unexpected in such a self-effacing man. ‘I knew a bloke once who had a three-legged dog. He was a bit like old Harry – ran with the rest and could jump just as far as any mutt in the pack.'

Sara, holding a cold washcloth to her lips, was remembering his words as the mailman hooked a finger in the screen door and nudged it open with his foot. A man of middle years, he was wirily built, the skin of his good arm burned to a deep tan by a thousand suns. He had an amazingly large nose, bushy grey brows and a head of grey hair. He let the door close gently against his stump, swung the mailbag onto the table while at the same time dropping the half-dozen magazines he had clamped in his armpit.

‘Mavis sent 'em,' he said. ‘Thought the kids might use 'em for school.' He winked at Sara. ‘So how's the country treating yer?'

‘Very well, thanks, Harry.' Her face felt hot and tight, but if he noticed, he didn't remark on it. She tidied the magazines into a pile and poured tea for him as he dropped his hat and sat down.

‘She'll make a bushie.' Beth had opened the bag and was going through its contents. ‘She's even survived one of your biscuits.' Becky, mute in the corner, hung her head.

‘Whoa!' His brows rose. ‘That was game of yer.' He bit into one himself and munched contentedly. ‘Good as ever, Beth. One of these days I'll bring you me recipe for curry.'

‘Thanks all the same, but I doubt we could swallow it.'

‘Good for you. A bit of 'eat cleans out your pipes.' He swallowed gustily from his mug and smacked his lips. ‘I'm carrying extra rations for the park this week. Seems they've got a bunch of scientists out there, counting the hairs on bush rats, or some damned thing. Typical townies. Turned up without so much as a loaf of bread between 'em, so Clemmy put in an urgent order. Oh, and Mavis is talking about a fundraiser for the doctor sometime in the 'olidays. A Saturdee, anyway. Said I'd pass it on.'

‘Thanks.' Beth found a biro and wrote on the calendar hanging on the wall. ‘It'll depend how Sam's feeling.'

‘How is the young fella?'

‘He's fine, thanks. I'm taking him in again Monday. I'll be home by Friday but, just in case, Sara knows where your biscuits are.'

‘Good-oh.' He clicked his teeth suddenly. ‘Damned if I didn't nearly forget. Man needs his 'ead checked for 'oles! I ran into old Bungy on the road. He said to tell Len that Kingco's sending a driller out to their prospecting camp. Bungy's gonna borrow him to get a hole put down. He thought Len might wanna do the same.'

Beth straightened in her seat. ‘But that's wonderful news! Having the rig in the district will cut the cost enormously. Did Bungy say how long it would be round for?'

‘Don't reckon 'e'd know.' Harry emptied his mug and stood up. ‘Well, I'd better kill a metre or two. Thanks for the cuppa, Beth. I left yer chook food on the loading dock.'

‘Thanks. Len'll shift it when he gets home.' Beth handed him the outgoing mailbag. ‘See you next week.'

‘Yes, goodbye, Harry,' Sara echoed, collecting cups. A few minutes later the truck door slammed and the engine fired. There was still a residual burn on her tongue as she prodded gingerly at her swollen lips. ‘Who's Clemmy?'

‘A ranger at the national park. That's Harry's next stop. She and Colin have been there, oh, six or seven years now. Becky was just a toddler when they came. She's very pretty – small, blonde, wears these sexy little shorts; looks about eighteen but she's got to be nearer thirty.' Beth smiled ruefully. ‘Makes the rest of us seem like dried-up old sticks, but she's so nice you have to like her. Funny thing is Colin's just the opposite – skinny as a rail, no conversation, hides behind a great black beard. They're both very dedicated to the park.'

‘Any kids?'

‘Not yet, though Clemmy says they want them. What about you, Sara? Do you ever think about it for yourself?'

‘Having children?' Sara pulled the plug and wrung out the dishcloth. ‘Sometimes. If I remarry, I think I'd like a child.'

Beth looked surprised. ‘I thought you were single?'

‘I am now. Divorced. Roger wanted children, but I wasn't ready then. Still, it wasn't the only reason the marriage broke up. Anyway,' she finished lightly, ‘there's not much I can do about it now.'

There was a hint of a smile in Beth's brown eyes. ‘Oh, I don't know, there's Harry. And old Bungy's still a bachelor. You never know your luck in the mulga.'

On Monday morning Beth and Sam left for Alice Springs in the family station wagon. Sara, bidding the boy a cheery farewell, thought he looked pale and fatigued. The bruising that had suddenly appeared on his arms didn't help either. He was listless at breakfast, eating little, and Sara couldn't help but be aware of both Len's and Beth's silent concern.

Len went off to continue work on the engine he was dismantling; Jack, apparently, wasn't the only mechanic around. Jack himself had returned the previous day after a brief absence, dumping his gear in the men's quarters and turning up for dinner, to Becky's obvious delight.

‘Have you finished at the roadhouse, then?' Sara had asked. ‘Nothing left to mend?'

‘Not till the next time Alec does something stupid,' he'd said. ‘I've been with old Bungy at Wintergreen.'

‘Fixing things?'

‘Divining for water.'

Len had looked up from his plate. ‘How'd it go?'

Jack's look had been doubtful. ‘I wouldn't say he has the best prospects. He's gonna drill anyway, but what's there is scrappy and I reckon it might be deep too. The best pull I got was north of Fiddler Creek and it's a bit too close to his other bore there to suit him.' He shrugged. ‘I suggested he drill there and pipe the water to where he wanted it. Maybe he will, though he's a stubborn old goat.'

Len's loose cheeks wobbled as he shook his head. ‘Man, it'd cost. The poly you'd need . . .'

‘No more than a dry hole – a
deep
dry hole.'

‘Yeah, well, not good news for us either, then.'

‘Maybe not. Still, it's a fair step from his northern boundary to the Forty Mile and different sort of country. Could make the difference.'

‘Yeah,' Len had agreed but Sara saw that his gaze had returned to Sam, picking at his dinner, the hollows in his thin cheeks accentuated by the overhead light. Outside in the warm darkness Jess was scratching herself a hole; her tail thumped against the steps at the sound of their voices, then the sound of her digging continued. She was a quiet dog, devoted to Sam, and Sara had noticed how closely she had been sticking to him, as if, in the manner of dogs, she was aware of the imminent separation.

Now Sara stood at the gate under the oleanders, watching the dust column rise behind the station wagon as it vanished down the paddock. Becky had gone off without saying goodbye to the travellers. Sara would have to do something to cheer up the child. She listened to a magpie carolling from the branches of a garden tree and eyed the lawn, which looked very dry. Beth had said the men would see to the outside chores but she supposed she could turn on the sprinklers. There wasn't much she recognised in the garden, save the lemon and fig trees, and then only because of their fruit. Perhaps she could get Becky to make lemonade for smoko? The girl loved her brother, but Sara had also seen how she resented him always getting the larger share of her parents' attention.

Between supervising schoolwork Sara swept the house, moved the garden sprays around and baked a batch of patty cakes, popping back into the schoolroom periodically to ask Becky largely unnecessary questions – which bowl was the Mixmaster's, where was the dustpan kept? By smoko time Becky was happily involved in squeezing lemons and icing the cakes.

‘Great job!' Sara praised. ‘I'll make the tea while you stir the sugar into the lemonade. What a team, eh?'

‘This is fun,' Becky said. ‘What'll we cook next?'

Her methods seemed to be working. Sara tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘We-ell, what's your favourite pudding?'

‘Frog's eyes. Yes, please, Sara!' She clapped her hands.

‘Frog's eyes?'
Sara echoed and heard Jack laugh behind her.

‘That's tapioca pudding. Great choice, Squirt! It's the best.'

‘Really? Well, then,' Sara said gamely, hoping there would be a recipe somewhere. ‘I'll see what I can do.'

‘Tomorrow arvo,' Jack said as he drank his tea, ‘I'll be going out to Kileys bore. Might be room for a pint-sized person.'

‘Yes!' Becky cried. ‘And Sara too?'

Since their little talk following the biscuit episode, Becky had been penitently solicitous of her governess.

‘If she wants to come. Great cakes.' He helped himself to another. ‘Up to her, really.'

‘I am sitting here,' Sara said. ‘What about some details before I decide? Like, how far is it, and how long will it take? I have dinner to cook, remember.'

‘It's a bore about twenty k out. We'd leave after school – say three o'clock, check the bore, boil the billy and return. Allowing for everything short of a wheel collapse, we'd be home by five.'

‘That seems doable,' Sara agreed. ‘I would like to come, thank you.'

‘That's settled, then.' He favoured Becky with a stagey wink. ‘You reckon she might pack some of these cakes for smoko?'

‘You might need to take more grease for the mill,' Len put in from his end of the table. ‘The tin was about empty last time I was there. The cakes are great, Sara. Just shows –' his eyes twinkled – ‘here I was thinking city women couldn't cook.'

Jack grimaced. ‘Marilyn certainly couldn't. So, is the job living up to expectations, Sara?'

‘I told you I didn't have any preconceptions,' Sara replied, wondering who Marilyn was. Of course she had been too desperate to even consider what her new life would be like. ‘But I like the life. Especially the mornings. It's so wonderful waking to the birds instead of traffic.' She relished the sound of the magpies, the crowing of the cocks that mingled with the half-caught dreams that sometimes played at the edge of consciousness. Before coming to Redhill her dreams had been less frequent and those that came were darker, and filled with a nebulous anxiety. Jack was watching her and she tossed her head self-consciously. ‘I think I must've been a country girl in another life.'

‘You're right about the mornings, though.' Len stood and pushed his chair in as Jack also rose. ‘Best part of the whole day.'

‘I think so too. What time should Beth reach the Alice?' There, she was even beginning to sound like a Territorian.

‘She'll ring when she does.'

‘Should I fetch you – if you're round, of course?'

‘Just take a message; we'll speak tonight.'

‘Of course.' She had forgotten it was all STD out here. Sara rose, crooking her finger at her pupil. ‘School, Becky. We have to finish early today because I've got a special project planned.'

‘What?' She bounced eagerly to her feet. ‘Tell me!'

Sara smiled. ‘It's a surprise, but a nice one, I promise you. Go and get started on your sums while I clear up.'

‘Will you be long?'

Sara reseated a comb and wrinkled her nose at her. ‘Depends. I have to find a recipe for frog's eyes, remember.'