Sunlit Shadow Dance (2 page)

He had flown
to Darwin a week before in his helicopter. He had spent that
weekend in the town, as they had opened a memorial to five Lost
Girls on a headland looking out over Darwin. It was a peaceful
place with a beautiful view, but the ceremony had been absolutely
gut wrenching. Five sets of parents and other friends crying over
their lost daughters, along with other families searching for
missing sons and daughters too. Everyone had their own story, every
story was of devastation for those concerned. He felt for them all
though his heart really only had space for one missing person.

It was now
heading towards eighteen months since Susan disappeared. He still
felt a raw ache in his chest every time he thought of her, one day
she was there and it was wonderful, the next day gone, just utterly
and totally vanished. It felt like a huge piece had been torn from
his insides.

In his wildest
dreams he could not imagine what had happened to her since that day
when she had never come to the hospital, first him ringing Alan and
asking him to go and check his flat for her, thinking she would be
fine but he was just being safe. But the flat was empty, her few
things were still there, but no her. It was like the movie “Gone
Girl”

Then, a month
later, they had found the pair flat shoes, borrowed from Anne, she
had been wearing. They were beside the Mary River billabong, a bare
kilometre from where Mark was eaten by that huge crocodile. Anne
was sure, or at least as near as she could be sure, that the shoes
were her own. If this was right it could only mean that Susan had
gone back to the billabong where she killed Mark, a place full of
lots of huge crocodiles.

So, with that
discovery, other people said that Susan had deliberately gone there
to return to Mark and that her body, if any of it was left, was
somewhere there. Some thought she had swum out to meet him, some
that she had been pulled off the bank. But there was no other
trace, no footprints, no scuff or drag marks, just two shoes in a
plastic bag lying in the dirt about ten meters from the water’s
edge. Some said they should shoot the big local crocodiles and open
them up lest her body was inside; some said they should search the
bottom of the billabong in the same way they did to find bits of
Mark. But as the shoes had been found more than a month later and
with no other evidence it had seemed pointless. So that never
happened.

Instead Alan
had brought that old man, Charlie, the one who had first found
Mark, and who had now found the sandals, back to the place and
asked him what he thought, whether her body was here too?

Charlie had
sat by the water, with him, Alan, Sandy, Anne and a few others all
watching on. After a few minutes he had stood up and shook his
head. “Maybe, maybe not, She not here now, no crocodile spirit
here,” was all he said. When they tried to question him further
about what he meant he just shook his head emphatically.

Vic did not
know what to think. He could not be sure it was not true, that she
had not returned to the crocodiles and Mark, she was pretty messed
up from everything that had happened. But in his heart of hearts he
refused to believe it and give up hope that he might one day see
her again.

He did not
really know what love was supposed to feel like, but he had spent
four nights holding her body next to his, and the wonder of that
memory was burnt into his brain. Now there was just a great big
empty hole. He had had plenty of girls over the years but it had
never been like this. It was both her dependency on him and how she
had somehow reached deep inside him, mind to mind and spirit to
spirit, in a way which made him feel whole. It was as if, in the
same way their bodies were joined so too were their souls, become a
fused person. He had loved her totally; that body, her body, filled
with another man’s children, that face with the laughing blue eyes,
that smile that charmed angels.

So now,
sometimes, he would dream of her but she was fading and it was
getting hard to remember. So, mostly, he worked non-stop. Often he
would have an extra beer of two to try to sleep and forget. And
when he got the chance he would go to Darwin and meet with Sandy
and Alan and see if there were any new leads or anything else he
could do to help them find her. He would not admit to her being
dead, he had rescued her once, he would do so again. But first he
had to find her and he had no idea where to look.

No one else
had any ideas either, endless dead end sightings. At first they had
felt hope when these sightings came in. But now they realized that
these people, who saw a girl in her twenties with dark hair and an
Englishy accent and would report this person as a new maybe Susan
sighting, were never right. Too many people who looked vaguely like
her were walking around the towns and cities of Australia. So,
while not dismissed out of hand, it was easier not to keep hope
through these false alarms.

But if Susan
was alive she must be somewhere, and Vic refused to contemplate the
alternative, therefore he must keep trying to find her. So he was
looking forward to getting to Darwin even though it was still over
two weeks away. The idea of this trip gave him hope and kept him
going with all the day to day flying. He planned to finish here
this afternoon and ferry home to Borroloola tomorrow before going
down to Anthony Lagoon for a daylight start the day after, the
beginning of his week of Barkly work.

But now, just
as he was fuelling up and getting ready to leave Vanrook and fly to
Normanton for the night, on the way home, a telephone call came in
asking him to do a job further up the Cape tomorrow; nothing too
big. It was an aboriginal station, out along the Staaten River
somewhere. It had a few hundred cattle in a back paddock that he
needed to put together then bring to the yards for their yearly
branding muster, as well as some steers to muster for the boat.

He had been
tempted to say no. If he took the job he would miss his day at home
and have to ferry straight to Anthony from here. But it was hard to
keep up with the bills for his new chopper when most months he went
to Darwin for a week to continue the hunt for Susan. He could not
afford to lose this chopper, it had been hard enough to get the
loan for this new machine when the insurance came up short from the
crash in the Fitzmaurice, and flying his chopper was the one thing
that kept him sane.

For those few
hours each day, when he was working his machine hard, he was too
busy to think, living just on his reflexes. Then it was like the
bad stuff got pushed away and he felt passion and joy again for a
little while.

So he would
take the extra day of work and the money even though it meant a
whole month when he never got home. There was nothing at his home
for him anyway, just a bush timber shanty at the edge of
Borroloola, with a view down to the river.

So he accepted
the phone call, booked the job and, as they did not seem in a great
rush to get started, he told them he would ferry over first thing
and be on-site, ready to start, about 8 am. Perhaps he would stop
over there tomorrow night and see what the community, a former
mission, offered before he did a long day of ferrying across the
Gulf and black soil to Anthony Lagoon for the day after. The
station manager who had just booked him told him they were having a
barbeque tomorrow night and there was a bed for him if he wanted to
stay on in town.

As he put the
phone back on the hook one of the ringers came and tapped him on
the arm, giving him the drink sign, beers on in the station mess
hall. So he followed him across and ripped the top off a barbed
wire yellow stubby, savouring flavour as beer washed the dust out
of his throat.

Next morning,
with an edge of a headache, he walked over to his new machine. His
leg was paining a bit today, that place where the steel plate was
bolted in from where they had cut and re-joined the crooked broken
bone.

He felt a
niggling resentment at this metal plate, he would rather have been
hobbled with a half crippled leg than to have gone to hospital for
the operation, only to wake up and find Susan gone. He knew if he
had only stayed with her that night then she would still be here
now, something bad happened when he was not there to mind her. She
had run off to God knows where. So now his leg was playing up
today. It had not done that for a few days. He hoped it did not
signify some further trouble; it seemed to have a mind of its own
and acted something like a barometer of change.

As he roared
into the air, his helicopter blowing a huge dust eddy that the
south-easterly wind picked up, he felt his mood lift. Today was a
chance to see some new country and this country, as it rose into
the hills of the Cape, was spectacular. It gave him a buzz.

An hour’s
ferry saw him at the station where a half white manager, Rick, a
man much his own color, greeted him. With him were six aboriginal
stockmen who had horses saddled ready. They sat round a table with
a map and in five minutes a plan was agreed. Then the stockmen rode
off towards the back half of the paddock where he would start
working and putting the mob together for them to walk back towards
the yards.

Vic talked to
Rick for a few more minutes as he topped up his fuel before they
both headed out, the manager driving a bull catcher. Vic then flew
to the south-east corner about ten kilometres away, it was a pretty
big paddock and the manager reckoned there should be six of seven
hundred cows with calves in it along with their yearling steers.
They both figured they would have these cattle yarded up by about
eleven and then there were another couple hours of work to be done
after lunch help to muster the bullock paddock which had a couple
hundred biggish size boat steers. They would join the Vanrook
steers on the next cattle boat to Indonesia.

It was after 3
pm before the boat steers were yarded, and when done Vic knew he
still had time to get back to Normanton before dusk. He was
restless and tempted to thank Rick for his hospitality offer and
head away, to have a night in the pub at Normanton. But there had
been too many of those pub nights lately and they gave little joy,
the empty hole remained after a night of drinking, along with a new
hangover.

There seemed
something kind about these people here in this little place, like
they had a sense of family and belonging. It reminded him of Alice
Springs, with his aunts, uncles and kids all hanging around, and he
felt the loss. Plus he loved the kids here, their chatter as they
gathered around the helicopter, asking questions, eyes bright. They
made him feel good.

So, what the
hell, he would stop here tonight even if he thought this barbeque
here would be a tame affair. He could get up early and head off to
his next job in the morning.

So he walked
over to the yards to watch the activity. They were drafting up the
cattle. He climbed onto the top rail alongside ten or more school
children. The excited screams and chatter, as they watched the
cattle work, lifted his mood. Vic felt a wave of nostalgia for
similar happy times of his own childhood, and with it an even
stronger desire to go back to Alice again to see his mother and
favourite sister, to play with her children.

One of the
children sitting next to him turned around and shouted out. “Miss
Bennet, Miss Bennet, Come and see the cattle.”

He assumed
Miss Bennet was a school teacher, as school was out. He turned to
see who this person was. There was a lady in her mid-twenties, with
dark hair tied back, walking towards them along a dusty road. Two
toddlers were walking beside her, each holding a hand. Her eyes
were blank as she looked towards him but she was so achingly
familiar.

Several of the
children jumped down from the rail and ran towards her, two bigger
ones taking up the two toddlers in their arms. She patted the black
heads affectionately as her own children laughed with excitement at
their new found playmates.

It looked like
Susan, the children looked like her children, but her eyes were
empty. She looked at him as if he was nobody she knew or had ever
known, perhaps with the vaguely curious appraisal which a new
visitor to the town would expect, but no flash of recognition or
even significant curiosity.

His eyes bored
into her, desperately seeking something more. But nothing came
back, except perhaps a trace of annoyance at why this stranger was
staring so intently at her, as if it was an invasion of her own
being.

His feet
impelled him; he climbed down off the rail and walked towards her.
He tried for a smile but it came out wrong and in return she sent
back something, half of smile and half of frowned puzzlement at his
interest, not quite unfriendly but guarded. And yet the eyes were
blue and they looked just like her eyes except their sparkle in the
light and their joy was missing.

Was it Susan?
Or was it just a mirage which he, in his desperation to find her,
had created, his mind playing tricks?

He walked
towards her, hand outstretched. As he drew close she raised her own
small hand which he took in his. “Vic Campbell, helicopter pilot,”
he said.

A trace of a
smile edged her eyes as she surveyed him appraisingly. “Yes I knew
you were the pilot but I did not know your name. Hello Vic, welcome
to our small community.”

Vic thought it
sounded like her voice but was wrong, the intonation was English
but curiously flat, missing her Susan’s vibrant sibilance and
confident projection, like but not her. Vic waited for something
more, Nothing came; he still held her hand and she had not
attempted to withdraw it. It even felt like her hand. He searched
her eyes again for some pimple of recognition; still nothing. He
found his voice again. “And you are?”