The Roadhouse

by Kerry McGinnis

  ‘Charlie! I’ve been counting the hours. It seems an age since I saw you last. How are things going? How’s Molly?’

  ‘Remarkably well.’ I could feel the smile on my face. ‘And being sensible, which is more than I expected. She’s actually resting, as in lying down for a nap in the afternoon. I thought we’d be screaming at each other by this point but we’re rubbing along quite well, considering.’

  ‘Considering what?’ He had taken my hand and was passing his thumb over my fingertips, head bent attentively so that his face was shadowed by his hat brim.

  ‘Our history, I suppose. Because as far back as I remember, ours has been a difficult relationship. Sometimes I’ve wondered if she really wanted a boy because I’ve always felt I was second best for her.’ I gave an unconvincing laugh to cover the familiar hurt. ‘I guess we’re just incompatible in some way. It happens in families.’ I broke off to wave to Rose Pennon, whose pregnant belly preceded her and her family through the gate; Ben and Sue Damson followed them. Both women stopped to greet me and talk. Mike squeezed and released my hand, murmuring, ‘See you later,’ and went off with Ben and Abe while the crowd grew steadily in size, augmented by the road crew whose evening meal would tonight be taken with the station people.

  Ute and Eric were hard at work, the barbecue flavouring the air with the smell of smoke and cooking meat. The inadequate lighting threw heavy patches of shadow across the garden as the figures clumped and reformed, all sooner or later finding their way to my mother, who was buttering rolls in the chair at the table’s head.

  I checked that the urn on its separate table was working and noticed I’d neglected to bring the coffee tin out. I headed for the kitchen to fetch it, and was cut off by Kathleen Mallory who stepped, unsmiling, in front of me.

  ‘I want a word with you, miss.’

  Taken aback by her hostility, I said, ‘Good evening, Kathleen. Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘You.’ She glowered. ‘You’ve broken my boy’s heart, you know that? He’s so damned unhappy I can’t stand to see it, and if that’s not bad enough, you’ve put his life at risk! All for a silly mistake made years ago. Well, I think he’s been punished enough and I’m here to tell you —’

  ‘Whoa up! Is this about Bryan? What rubbish, Kathleen, and quite frankly what business is it of yours? He’s not a child, you know – he’s responsible for his own actions and if they have consequences he hadn’t bargained for, that’s his problem, not mine! And what do you mean – putting his life at risk?’

  She glared at me, the fading red in her hair seeming to crackle with the energy of her anger. ‘He came off a horse yesterday. He could’ve been crippled! It would never have happened if he’d had his mind on the job —’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. That’s pathetic! And if it’s true, then so is he. It’s too bad if neither of you can accept it, but it’s over. He’s no concern of mine. If he was the last man left I still wouldn’t want him. I’m sorry, Kathleen, but that’s just how it is, and the sooner he accepts the fact the quicker he’ll recover.’ If he actually needs to, I thought. I suspected half of her story was prompted by her own desire to see the last of her sons married. Kathleen was the archetypal matriarch to whom grandchildren were the real wealth of the world.

  She said sorrowfully, ‘You never used to be cruel, Charlie. It’s plain wickedness not to forgive, you know. A real sin. I blame the city influence —’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. I’ve got work to do, Kathleen. Excuse me.’ Shaking my head, I walked away from her, wondering what Bryan knew about the encounter. Had he really asked her to intervene? I found that hard to believe. Then I wondered if she would try the tale on Mum next, and an unexpected laugh made me snort.

  ‘Something I said?’ Mike was suddenly beside me. ‘Why are you clearing out?’

  ‘Just getting the coffee. And no, I was thinking about Kathleen Mallory and what a terrible mother-in-law she’d be. Not that I’d ever give her the chance.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Has her sprog been bothering you again?’

  ‘Far as I know he’s not here. Poor fellow fell off his horse and his mother was blaming me. For breaking his heart and blighting his future and putting his life at risk. All big, big sins apparently, for which my time in the city is to blame. I expect it’s made me hard and shallow and unforgiving, only I left before she got to that bit.’

  ‘I’m glad, because being so hard and – shallow, was it? – it won’t matter if I kiss you, will it? I expect you play fast and loose with all the simple bushies you meet?’

  ‘If you say so.’ I melted into his arms, my hands on the strong nape of his neck. ‘Oh, I have missed you, Mike.’ Then with a jolt of surprise that I’d temporarily forgotten, I blurted out, ‘We found it! What Annabelle hid. It was the booty from the robbery.’

  His lips, which had moved from my mouth to my throat, lost contact with my skin as he raised his head. ‘Really? Where was it? Come, sit.’ He dropped onto the top step leading to the verandah and pulled me down beside him. ‘Hit me with it.’

  Coffee forgotten, I told him everything, including the fact that the police hadn’t yet announced the discovery of the stolen goods. ‘So you’d better keep the fact quiet too. Belligrin might be prepared to write the loot off, but he has to recover his Medicare card. I mean, it links him directly to both murders.’

  ‘Only if he knows Annabelle took it.’ Mike frowned. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Charlie, but he could well be aware it’s missing without having a clue when he lost it. I really don’t think you need worry about him returning. Look at it from his viewpoint. He’s searched the homestead, he knows there’s nothing there, and what are the chances of anything staying undiscovered in the roadhouse where people are working and coming and going every day? He’d have to know the business has a safe, but you’d be using that yourselves on a daily basis, wouldn’t you? And why would Annabelle have the combination anyway? She wasn’t a part of the business. No’ – his hand played idly with my fingers as he thought – ‘if it were me and I was determined to get my hands on the stuff, I’d be hunting for a hidey hole somewhere close – down the creek, round the soak maybe. Someplace she could reach in a few minutes from the house. But I really think by now he must’ve written the proceeds off as not worth the risk.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right. You know, Mike, there were other things in the strongbox too. My little shell people, and my birthday locket. Everything of mine that Annabelle took was hidden in there.’

  He shook his head. ‘She must’ve been a spiteful little piece. I suppose your father would’ve let it slip about the hiding place? I can’t see Molly trusting a kid with something so important.’

  I snorted. ‘He didn’t know it existed. I’d think he was the chief reason Bob built it. Mum wouldn’t still have the Garnet if she hadn’t kept the cash away from him.’

  ‘Ah. Not much of a bargain, then, your dad?’

  ‘Not in the husband and father stakes anyway. Mind you he could be fun, much more so than Mum, but it never lasted. I suppose you could say he lost interest in things very quickly, whether it was a game with Annabelle and me, or some new money-making scheme he’d dreamt up. When I was a kid I was always thought it was my fault when he got tired of us and walked away. That I must have done something wrong. Annabelle was his favourite, so it couldn’t be her.’ I shrugged ruefully. ‘It’s why I turned to Bob. He might’ve been grouchy, but he was consistent, you know? And kids need that certainty in their lives. Besides, I found out early on that his bark’s worse than his bite. A bit like a crochety but harmless hound.’

  ‘Huh. Maybe he doesn’t like me, but I wouldn’t call his brand of harmless friendly,’ Mike said.

  ‘Ah, but you’re after Molly’s daughter, aren’t you? And he guards her as well as Molly, good dog that he is.’ I giggled in his ear. ‘Just like Jasper does.’

  ‘Well, you seem to have him taped,’ Mike responded, then raised a questioning brow. ‘As
a matter of interest, am I going to get Molly’s daughter?’

  ‘Time will tell,’ I said primly, standing up. ‘Come on, I started out to do something – oh, God yes, the coffee! Then I’ll show you Bob’s strongbox. Will you grab a torch from the shelf by the door while I find the tin?’

  Spider Webb was standing by the urn when we reached the table. ‘Ha!’ he said. ‘There you are. Thought you was growing the bloody stuff.’

  ‘Picking and roasting it too,’ I replied. ‘Sorry, Spider. But since when have you drunk coffee?’

  ‘Since the damn quack told me to quit the hard stuff.’ He spooned enough grounds into his cup to stun a horse. ‘What do the buggers know, anyway? Damn killjoys, every one of ’em.’

  The party was in full swing, with a radio tuned to a country and western station blaring out guitar music. People were eating and drinking, sitting or standing in small groups, some near the table, others clustered about the barbecue where Ute was forking over steaks to eager diners. Sue Damson was minding the bring-and-buy stall, where several women had gathered. I glimpsed Kathleen among them, mug in hand, glaring at me, and I reached deliberately for Mike, lacing my fingers within his. He grinned, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  ‘Are you telling me something?’ he murmured.

  ‘Perhaps. And sending that redheaded witch a message. If you can feel something burning your back, it’s her. She could glare her way through sheet metal.’

  We moved down the yard into the shadows beyond the light’s reach where the summerhouse stood. Mike fumbled a tiny torch from his back pocket and shone it on the entrance. The babble of sound from the barbecue became muted by shrubbery and distance as we stepped inside.

  ‘Shine the light over the floor,’ I said. ‘See anything?’

  He took his time before admitting defeat. I squatted down, patting at the floor. ‘It’s here, somewhere. Ah, got it.’ There wasn’t much to grip but once I’d shown him the tiny ridge of stone, Mike hauled the lid off and inspected the cavity beneath.

  ‘You’d never know it was there!’ He shook his head. ‘The old boy’s a real craftsman, isn’t he? That’s heavy too. Makes you wonder how a kid ever lifted it.’

  The same thought had occurred to me. Borrowing the torch, I moved it slowly around the edge of the hole, then stopped to point. ‘She used a lever. See the mark here? She only had to get it open far enough to drop stuff in.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ He replaced it and, standing back up, passed his boot over the join. ‘She never intended for you to find it, did she, when she hid your stuff?’ He sketched a cross over his heart. ‘There, I swear never to let on to another soul the secret of the summerhouse. In case you ever want to use it again for valuables.’

  ‘Idiot,’ I said fondly. Well, I suppose we’d better rejoin the party. I just thought you’d be interested.’ Really though, in a small way for the secret hardly mattered now, I was demonstrating my trust in him.

  ‘Before we go, there’s something I wanted to ask you, after I’ve kissed you properly, that is.’ He proceeded to do so, very thoroughly.

  ‘Oh, yes? I think maybe we’d better stop right there,’ I said reluctantly disengaging myself. ‘This isn’t the most comfortable place for seduction. You were saying?’

  ‘The races,’ Mike replied. ‘I’d like to take you to the ball, Miss Carver. May I have that honour?’

  ‘Well, let’s see, that’s difficult. There’s you, or old Bob – if he can get away. Hmm. Okay, you’re on. Who says women can’t make up their minds just as fast as men? Gracious! That’s next Saturday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep. Kevin’s got his jockey lined up and the nags went into the paddock ages back. Old Jock’s over at the Range supervising their training now.’

  ‘How many are Abbey running?’

  ‘Three. Kevin reckons the chestnut has a chance at the Cup. Anyway, it’s the dance I’m interested in.’

  ‘Yes.’ It had been years since I’d attended a race ball and a mild surge of panic filled me. I wondered what I could find to wear. I said cautiously, ‘When was your last ball?’

  ‘What? Oh, let’s see … Last year. I looked in, that’s all – I didn’t have a partner.’

  ‘Do they still hold the Deb and Matron of the Ball?’

  ‘Good God, no! Very seventies, Charlie. Why, last ball some of the girls were wearing jeans. Spangly ones, maybe, but still jeans. I think the gown and gloves outfit has had its day.’

  ‘That’s a relief, because I don’t have much of a formal wardrobe! Well, I suppose we’d best get back before they come looking for us.’

  I told Ute about the ball while we were clearing up. ‘I’m going with Mike. Why don’t you ask Eric to take you? We’re usually closed for the races anyway. Mum always attends and Bob runs the bar at the course. You can bet all the road crew will be going too.’

  She considered me, head on one side. ‘But is very grand, the ball, yes? I have only this.’ She held out her hands inviting my inspection of the knee-length shorts and t-shirt she was wearing.

  ‘No, that won’t do,’ I agreed. ‘But perhaps I could lend you something? We’re the same height – we could have a look, there’s a wardrobe of stuff I didn’t take with me. You haven’t had a day off since you got here, Ute. And the dance will be fun.’ I glanced at the trainers she wore. ‘Have you any proper shoes?’

  ‘Yes. The sensible ones, not with the heels for the dancing.’

  ‘That’s okay. Nobody’s going to look at your feet.’ With her striking blonde attractiveness and statuesque figure, that was a given. ‘Tomorrow we’ll see what we can find. We might need to stitch a bit but we’ve got a week.’

  My own figure hadn’t changed in five years, I knew, so my hair, now straggling onto my neck, would be my biggest problem. I would have to pin it up somehow. Finding something with a bodice to fit Ute’s more curvaceous form would be harder. Perhaps something of Mum’s?

  The following morning, I found her at the clothesline folding sheets and asked my question. ‘Hmm, I don’t know … wait a bit, there’s that blue chiffon top. She’d probably get into that. I don’t know what she’d wear it with though. Not jeans. Why don’t you check your clothes, see what would go with the blue? If there’s a dress that seems a good match I could whip the bodice off and she could wear it as a skirt.’

  ‘That’d be great, Mum. Are you sure you’ve time for it?’

  ‘Between you and Bob,’ she said dryly, ‘I’ve nothing else. Ute’s sleeping with that roadworker, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s her life, Mum. She’s not a teenager. And they seem to be genuinely fond of each other.’

  Mum’s expression creased into a frown. In the bright sunlight of the garden, the grey of her hair and every last line in her face showed, like a map of the disappointments and hardship she’d weathered through life. ‘Hmmph. And you, Charlie, are you sleeping with your young stockman yet?’

  I felt myself flush. ‘No,’ I said steadily, ‘but I expect I will be soon. I love him, Mum. I’m not a teenager either, so when we’re both ready, yes, it will happen. Did Dad get you into bed before you married?’

  Her eyes flashed indignantly. ‘No, he did not! How can you even ask! That sort of thing didn’t happen when I was young. Decently brought up girls didn’t allow it.’ Then she surprised me. ‘Though perhaps there’d have been fewer unhappy marriages if we had.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. I’m sorry you caught such a rotter. But Mike Webb isn’t like him.’

  She sighed. ‘I hope for your sake that you’re right. That top should be on the right-hand side of my wardrobe, folded on the shelf. My shoulders are broader than Ute’s so it should be roomy enough across the bust to fit her.’

  She was right, for later when the two of us were in my room Ute pulled the soft folds of the blouse over her head and found it fitted perfectly. She turned slowly before the mirror, admiring the results. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail, which put the firm tanned skin of her neck and sh
oulders on show.

  ‘Is very pretty.’ She smoothed it approvingly over her ribs. ‘Soft, like the cloud, yes?’

  ‘We need to find something to go with it.’ I opened my wardrobe, pulling out several dresses. ‘What do you think? The top’s just a tad darker than sky-blue so the green or this ivory-looking one might work as a skirt, do you think? It’s broderie anglais. Not too sweet?’

  ‘Is perfect, Charlie! You do not mind I lend it?’

  ‘Borrow,’ I corrected automatically. ‘No, you’re welcome. I don’t much like it.’ It was the one I had worn to that last dance with Bryan. ‘Not really my style – if it ever was. I need something with more colour.’ Though I remembered insisting to Mum at the time that it was the dress I wanted above all others. Had it been so Bryan would see me in white as a bride? I had been foolish enough for anything back then.

  ‘So what is it you will wear?’ Ute asked.

  ‘This.’ I pulled out the soft drape of jersey, tawny gold with a crossover bodice, pleated lightly at the hips, and held it against me. Cora Wilder had been right when she’d advised me to wear topaz or amber. The dress showed off the colour of my eyes, and I knew that under lights it picked out the occasional gold glint in my brown curls.

  She nodded, smiling. ‘Ah. Sexy, yes? You are the autumn woman in that, strong, a little bold … This,’ she held up the ivory, ‘is for the young girl, but with that colour – he will want you, no?’

  I blushed and laughed. ‘Well, I hope so.’ But Mike’s possible response wasn’t the only reason for my reaction. I was unused to being thought strong. Perhaps, as Bob had said, my time away had changed me from the doormat my agent had once deplored. ‘Let’s take that one to Mum – she can measure you and see what can be done about making it into a skirt. Maybe a wrap-around? And I’d like you to have it, Ute – though I expect Mum’ll want her blouse back.’

  ‘Thank you, Charlie. We shall be the, how you say, bellies of the ball?’

  I went into a gale of giggles that her uncomprehending stare only intensified. I started to explain, then gave up. ‘Never mind. I’ll get the measuring tape, you bring the dress.’