Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  ‘No,’ she said. Then, ‘Yes . . .’ Her throat worked but the words seemed lodged there, unable to come out. She suddenly realised that she had no proof. The letter, envelope and all, was gone and nobody but she had seen it. It was like her glimpse of Gerry – for she was perfectly certain now that it had been him in the vehicle, however he had managed to vanish again. And he must have also seen her, for how else would he have known where she was?

  ‘I can see you’ve had a shock,’ Connor said. ‘Here, sit down.’ He guided her to the chair he’d vacated. ‘Just breathe, and when you’re ready, tell me what the problem is. Or not. It’s up to you. Should I make you some tea? Would you like that?’

  His thoughtfulness undid Tilly. She would never have let go otherwise, she later told herself, sniffing furiously and wiping her fingers over her eyes. ‘No tea.’ She shook her head, the words muffled as if answering his query was the most pressing need of the moment. ‘I just – I want . . . I got a letter . . .’ And then it all poured out: the blank sheet, the fire in the incinerator, seeing the message magically appear only to vanish as the blaze consumed it. She could still smell the singed hair on her wrist. ‘Why would he do that? How did he?’ she demanded. ‘There was nothing on the paper until then.’

  ‘It’s quite a common trick,’ Connor said. ‘Most kids know it. You write the message in lemon juice – or urine,’ he added. ‘Little boys, playing at being spies. It’s the acid in the medium, you see. You apply heat to make it visible. My mates and I, we held the paper over a candle. You don’t actually have to burn it.’

  Tilly rubbed damp hands on her shirtfront. ‘But why? If he was going to write to me, why hide it? If I’d crumpled the paper up, I’ve never have seen it. How could he know I wouldn’t just throw it away?’

  ‘Maybe he thought you knew the trick too? And he might have worried about your mail being intercepted.’

  Tilly stared at him, her voice sinking to a whisper. ‘So, it’s true. He’s done something wrong. That’s why the police came. Is that why my daughter is dead . . .?’ This time the tears brimmed and ran over in a stream until she sobbed. ‘I thought, when I saw the message and knew it was from him, that if he had somehow escaped death – then Francie might’ve too . . . That maybe she wasn’t dead? But he wouldn’t keep her from me. Gerry was never cruel.’

  She hung her dripping head, shoulders shaking as the tears continued to fall, then felt Connor’s hand on her arm. ‘You poor kid! I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just . . .’ He rose and vanished to return a few moments later with a length of paper towelling from the roll on the kitchen bench. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated, ‘couldn’t find any tissues. You’ve had a nasty shock and I really think you should have some tea.’

  ‘What, and that’ll make everything better?’ she blazed.

  ‘I only meant—’

  ‘I know.’ Tilly felt a rush of shame for her rudeness. ‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You’ve been very kind.’ She blotted her face with the sodden paper. ‘I— it was stupid of me to even think . . . It’s worse when you hope, you know. You can learn to accept things but if hope steps in again . . .’ She sniffed, firmed her trembling lip and tried to smile. ‘Do you know, I think you’re right after all, about that tea.’ It was one way to be left alone and that, just then, was what she most desired.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Connor said, turning back to the kitchen.

  All too swiftly he was back, saying, ‘I don’t know how you take it but I’ve made it sweet and hot.’

  She pulled a face but drank it anyway, staring silently before her. When she finally spoke, she said almost wistfully, ‘If I just knew why. I think I could handle it better if . . . Why would a man do that? I really thought he loved us, but to let me think . . .’ She trailed off, looking at her hands.

  ‘Maybe to him it seemed the only way,’ Connor suggested tentatively. ‘You said he owed money?’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t have to pretend to kill yourself for that! You can declare bankruptcy, can’t you? People go broke all the time.’

  ‘I suppose it might depend on who you owe the money to. Was he a gambler? If he owed one of the big syndicates . . . I’ve heard they’re not very forgiving of debts. And from what you’ve said, he hadn’t much collateral.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘The house was mortgaged, the boat only leased and the payments were behind there too. But if he gambled, wouldn’t I have known?’

  ‘You said yourself that you didn’t know about the debts.’

  ‘No.’ Her hand stole up to her cheek as she raised her gaze to his. ‘But even if he decided to, to skip out on us and pretend, because of the debt, it still doesn’t explain the police interest. Surely debts are a civil matter? They’re not criminal.’

  ‘Not unless you steal to cover them. And he obviously didn’t or they’d have been paid off. Perhaps he was involved in something because the debts made him vulnerable? He might’ve been blackmailed. Maybe vanishing for good seemed the only way out,’ Connor suggested. ‘Just a thought, Tilly.’

  ‘Then why risk exposure by sending the letter?’ she asked. ‘It doen’t make sense!’

  ‘Loneliness? A drunken urge, or spur of the moment remorse? It must be difficult to ditch your whole life. If you turn it around,’ Connor said gently, ‘he has lost as much as you, and he did it to himself.’

  ‘But how? I mean I saw him lift Francie into the boat! It was my last glimpse of them both. If he lost contact with it, if the tide took it out or he couldn’t climb in, how did he survive?’ Before Connor could hazard a guess she suddenly straightened in her seat, remembering her earlier thought. ‘I didn’t imagine seeing him then! Because the letter was addressed here, to Binboona.’

  ‘Which raises another question,’ Connor pointed out. ‘Two, actually. Why did he come to the camp and how did he leave it?’

  Tilly, however, was following her own train of thought. ‘I wish I hadn’t burnt it now. Only I thought . . .’ She didn’t bother to finish the sentence, because if she hadn’t burnt it, she would never have seen the message at all.

  And would that have been such a bad thing? a little voice in her head asked. Gerry had done this to her, and the most he could come up with was a three-word apology written in a kid’s code that he didn’t even know she could decipher. He was sorry? Well, so was she! Sorry she had ever met the man who had deserted her and proved himself to be a conniving crook wanted by the police.

  Her anger suddenly felt good, subsuming the helplessness and despair she feared. She would not return to that dreadful place she had occupied in her early (supposed) widowhood. She had grieved his loss, believing him to be her other half, a person of worth – not someone who had lied and deliberately deceived her. Ignoring Connor’s last remark, she stood decisively, collecting mug and the crumpled kitchen paper.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, ‘for listening. I don’t usually . . . It was just the shock. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this to anyone. It’s a private matter and I’d like to keep it that way.’

  ‘Of course.’ Connor hesitated. ‘You don’t think you ought to let the police know?’

  Tilly’s hackles rose at the thought of Sergeant Burns. ‘I wouldn’t tell that man if he was on fire,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Ouch. Remind me never to annoy you.’ He smiled then, a little lopsided movement that coaxed an unwilling laugh from her before he pressed again. ‘Seriously, you’re sure about that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tilly was adamant. ‘Whatever Gerry’s done, he’s still my husband.’ She brushed the wood shavings littering the table into a heap and for the first time noticed the little carving in their midst. ‘Oh, that’s clever!’ Picking it up, she saw that it was a shaky-paw lizard no longer than her forefinger, its tiny head held sideways and right foot raised in its signature wave. ‘It’s beautiful, Connor. So lifelike. You’re very clever.’ The wood was as smooth as oil to touch, the eyes and mouth of the little reptile exquisitely carved.

/>   ‘You have it,’ he said. ‘For me the pleasure’s in the making.’

  ‘Oh thanks, but I couldn’t.’ She replaced it, swept the shavings into the empty mug and returned indoors.

  In Tilly’s preoccupied state, the rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in a flash, and long before she had decided whether or not to confide in Sophie, the head ranger’s vehicle was chugging up the track. Having already told Connor about the letter, something she now regretted, it seemed somehow disloyal to keep the news from her cousin, especially if there was any question of Gerry’s still being around. Except, she now realised, that he must have left the property in order to post the letter. Unless he had an accomplice? The word reminded her again of the police. Ordinary people had friends, mates, acquaintances to help them – only criminals had accomplices.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ In her frustration Tilly had spoken aloud. She snatched a quick look about the empty kitchen as if fearing to be overheard before carrying on mixing the joeys’ formula. Should she just forget the whole thing? Yeah, some chance, she mocked herself. Then the noise of the returning vehicle broke across the bugling call of a trio of brolgas passing overhead and the decision was upon her. If she was going to do it, then it would have to be at once, before Matt knocked off, while they had the house to themselves.

  The vehicle’s motor echoed briefly off the shed walls, then died. Sophie entered the kitchen carrying her empty lunch box and thermos, which she dumped on the sink. ‘Hi, Till. How’s things? You wouldn’t believe how full the camp is! Do you think you could give me a hand with the slide show tonight? I’ve had that many enquiries about it today, and with Luke AWOL . . .’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tilly said. Looking at her cousin, she knew then that she didn’t have a choice. Sophie, as she had promised, had walked with Tilly every step of the way along her painful road of recovery, her patience, strength and cheering presence always available. Her sturdy arms had cradled Tilly as she wept, her blunt, workmanlike hands had soothed away the nightmares plaguing those early months . . . The very least she owed her cousin now was the truth.

  Drawing a strained breath, Tilly said, ‘Anything, Soph, but first there’s something I have to tell you . . .’

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the third day after the flying doctor had flown Jane Wellaway out, Luke returned to Binboona. He arrived sharing the back seat of a twincab HiLux with the two young sons of a tourist couple who were towing a camper trailer around Australia. Having waved them off and hi-fived the two boys, who plainly regarded him as their personal property, Luke set his small carryall down on the old verandah planks and stretched.

  ‘Good to be home.’ An unfamiliar stubble darkened his jaw. ‘Hiya, Tilly. That last bit of road’s getting in an awful state. Time it was graded again.’

  ‘It’s seen lots of traffic,’ Tilly agreed. ‘How did Jane get on? Is she okay now?’

  ‘Yep, the hospital discharged her yesterday. She and Don left for the Alice this morning.’

  ‘Did the doctor work out what it was that bit her?’

  ‘Best bet is a centipede or a scorpion. A very severe reaction, they said, so she either got a lot of the venom or she’s highly allergic. She’s okay now though, but a bit off camping.’

  ‘Well, that’s understandable.’ Tilly locked the cashbox. ‘Come and have a cuppa, Luke. So where does she live? Can you see her again?’

  ‘New South Wales.’ He grimaced, picking up his bag and following her into the kitchen. ‘We’ll write to each other, and I’ll visit her when the camp closes.’ Dumping the bag, he gave her a clear-eyed look. ‘I know, I know – you’re thinking it won’t last. A month or two and the letters’ll stop. But I’m serious about her, Tilly. I’ve never met anyone quite like her before.’

  Quashing the urge to tell him that in six months’ time he would barely remember her face, Tilly nodded sympathetically. At his age, what did Luke know about love, how it could rip your heart in two, turn on you, betray you? Once . . . She shook the notion away. ‘Twenty-two. That’s very young to be thinking of a permanent partnership,’ was all she said.

  ‘And you’re Lady Methuselah, right? Come on, Tilly, how old were you when—’ He caught himself. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘That’s okay. I hope it works out for you, Luke, I really do. Being apart makes it harder, that’s all. If you’re truly in love, I mean. On the other hand, when it’s just attraction, well, it’s a case of out of sight, out of mind.’

  ‘Yeah? Isn’t absence supposed to make the heart grow fonder?’

  ‘For a hermit,’ Tilly agreed, ‘or maybe an eighteenth-century sailor. They didn’t have much choice, did they? Didn’t really apply to their sweeties back in town though.’

  Luke looked hurt. ‘When did you get to be such a cynic?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said penitently. ‘Of course she’ll wait for you. I don’t mean it, it’s just we do that here, don’t we – argue for the sake of it? Otherwise we’d run out of things to say. You keep the faith, Luke. You deserve to be happy.’

  ‘So do you,’ he said soberly, stirring his tea, ‘but things don’t always work out the way they should.’

  Not if you choose badly. The words almost escaped her. Biting her lip instead, she asked, ‘See anyone you know in town?’

  ‘Nope. I was at the hospital, then down the caravan parks looking for a lift out. So where is everyone?’

  ‘Well, Connor’s gone. And Matt and Sophie are at the camp. She’s planning on doing your night walk this evening. Matt’s fixing the pump.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘It’s not working. He said something about – do pumps have glands? It seems unlikely, but that’s what he said.’

  ‘Search me. When you say Connor’s gone – gone where?’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘Away. He left early yesterday.’ She had come back from feeding Harry and the joeys to find him carrying his bag down the steps.

  ‘I made my lunch,’ he’d said. ‘Hope that’s okay. I’ll be back but I’m not sure when. I’ll let you know though.’

  ‘Right. Bye then.’ A little surprised, for he had said nothing about leaving, she waved him off, then climbed the steps. She would miss him, she realised. Visitors broke the isolation of their lives. Not that you could call them isolated with forty-odd people camped only five kilometres away, but the four of them didn’t share much of their time or their thoughts with Binboona’s customers. Unless you counted Luke’s recent romance, of course.

  Placing the bottles in the sink, Tilly had seen that Connor had cleaned up after himself. The breadboard was in the wrong place though. Reaching automatically to right it, her hand stilled, then went instead to the windowsill where he’d left the carving of the little lizard sitting on the torn margin of a newspaper. On it he’d written, Thanks for everything, Tilly. Had he carved it because he was leaving, she wondered, or was it just a generous afterthought? Like a bunch of flowers delivered to a hostess after a guest’s departure. In which case, shouldn’t he have addressed the little carving to Sophie?

  ‘Oh,’ she said now, dragging her thoughts back to the present. ‘We’ve got another patient. The cutest little sugar glider, Luke! I’d only ever seen pictures of them before. Sophie found him at the foot of a tree along the river walk. He’s very weak – she’s not sure if it’s age or malnourishment. He did have ticks though. We got them off and I’m feeding him glucose and sugar water.’

  ‘Umm, where is he? Let’s have a look. Good thing you de-ticked him – they certainly wouldn’t have helped his condition.’

  ‘I put him in a box in the laundry.’ Tilly led the way. The tiny marsupial, whose fluffy tail seemed larger than its body, was curled up in the corner of a shoebox lined with shredded paper. The creature’s eyes opened when the lid was lifted but that was all. Tilly busied herself tipping glucose and sugar into a tiny saucer, which the glider readily lapped up. ‘I used an eye dropper at first,’ she explained, ‘but he
seems happy enough to drink it himself. He’s very tame as you can see. What do you think?’

  ‘Weak, not tame. The ticks were probably doing for him,’ Luke said. ‘See how pale his gums are? They must have been sucking the life out of him. He’s only young. You might have caught him just in time. Where did the saucer come from?’

  ‘A kid’s teaset. I picked it up at the old dump. There would’ve been children here once, I guess.’

  ‘Yeah, probably. Well, just keep on with what you’re doing. Build his strength up and he should be right.’ He turned back to the kitchen. ‘I’ll head down to the camp. No need for Sophie to lead the walk tonight.’

  ‘Not without your dinner,’ Tilly said firmly. ‘Wait five and I’ll get you something in a dish that you can warm up later.’

  That evening, having watched three television programs without taking in a word, Tilly went to her room, closing the door firmly on her companions. Luke’s door was open and a glance as she passed by had shown him back from his hike with the tourists and scribbling busily away – a letter to Jane, she surmised. Sophie was in the office and Matt had the ever-present chessboard out at the table, but if he was hoping for a partner she had made plain her disinclination to join him.

  Alone at last, she could let her thoughts turn to Gerry. She had said ‘he’s still my husband’ as a reason for not dobbing him in to the police – did that make her an accessory to whatever crime he was wanted for? She tried to imagine what he might have done. Surely nothing very dreadful, and yet, the voice of reason asked, wouldn’t it have to be bad if his only recourse was to fake his own death? A state that could have nothing to do with Gerry, who was so full of life with his charming smile and full-throated laugh. An ache of sadness rose in her throat at the thought of all that he had tossed away. She had been proud to partner him, proud of his looks and virility, scarcely able to believe that, considering all the women he could have had, he had instead fallen for her.