About Three Authors

by Patti Roberts

  “Ever heard of the Great Barrier Reef?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that where the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, was killed?”

  “Yes. Stay out of the ocean.”

  “Australia. I can’t believe it.”

  “Well it isn’t all holiday and sunshine, you know. You’ve got an assignment to do while you’re there.”

  “Assignment? What kind of an assignment?” Becky sat back down at the table, the ticket still gripped firmly in her hand.

  “I want you to interview three authors. They’ve just opened up a writers’ retreat overlooking a lake up on the Atherton Tablelands, which is just a short drive from Cairns. You’ll be staying with them while you are there. You’ll be there for the grand opening on New Year’s Eve, then fly home the next day. Do you think that is something you could handle? If it isn’t, just say so and-”

  She jumped back into her uncle’s arms, hugging and squeezing him in a bear-like grip. Was this really happening? She was tempted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I can’t believe this. It’s almost too good to be true.” With her arms still flung around Uncle Steve’s neck, she studied the ticket in her hand behind his back.

  “It’s all very real, I can assure you. Do I take it the plan meets with your approval?” he asked, laughing, a broad grin spreading across his face. Becky let go of Uncle Steve. “Yes, yes, yes. Absolfuckinglutely, yes!” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, and giggled. “Sorry,” she said quickly, apologising for swearing.

  Uncle Steve rolled his eyes, pulled out his chair and sat down. “I’ve heard a lot worse.”

  She looked at the ticket again in awe, but then the smile on Becky’s face suddenly collapsed, her eyes opened wide. “Holy crap on a cracker. The flight leaves first thing tomorrow morning.” She turned and looked at her Uncle Steve. “I have so much to do. I have to go home and pack a suitcase… Check my passport… What about Grandma?”

  “I’ve already arranged to pick Grandma up and bring her back here for Christmas lunch and dinner.”

  The phone of the kitchen wall began to ring. “That’ll be your dad. I told him we’d be spending Christmas Day here, as usual.”

  Becky rushed to answer the phone. She wouldn’t tell him about Roger. She didn’t want him worrying about her while he was on his honeymoon, although the thought had crossed her mind. She took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, Dad?”

  “Merry Christmas, Becky, love,” her father said joyfully.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Dad. Guess what? I’m going to Australia.”

  There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Dad? Are you still there? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, love. I hear you…”

  A woman’s voice over the loudspeaker announced the QANTAS flight to Sydney was now embarking.

  All around her, voices rose and fell as families, friends and lovers hugged, kissed and cried and said their farewells and Merry Christmases. Becky hugged Uncle Steve again, then checked her tickets.

  “Okay. So I’ll be stopping over in Sydney, and then go on to Cairns. In about thirty hours from now, I’ll be there. Thirty hours.” She shook her head. “It’s all exciting and a little bit scary at the same time. I keep thinking that I’ve forgotten something.”

  “You’ll be fine. You remembered to pack a book to read on the flight? Your laptop and toothbrush, chargers?”

  Becky slapped her forehead. “Oh shit. That’s what it is. I forgot my phone,” she said, sounding almost hysterical. “I can’t believe I forgot my phone. I don’t go anywhere without my phone. I put it on charge… I can’t go to the shops without my phone, so I certainly can’t go halfway around the world without it.”

  Uncle Steve frowned. “A phone isn’t life support, Beck. If you ask me, people are too damned wrapped up in all that social media crap nowadays. Everyone knowing everything about everyone all the damned time, right down to the medication they’re taking for their latest bout of depression. If you ask me, social media like facebook and twitter are the culprits in the overwhelming increase of depression nowadays.” He looked her in the eyes. “You can and you will get on that plane without the bloody thing. You can’t use it on the aircraft anyway.” He gave her another hug. “Now go get your butt on that plane, or you won’t be going anywhere. And Becky?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her chin quivering, her eyes pooling with tears.

  “Forget about all this Roger and Mandy stuff, okay?”

  Becky shook her head. “That isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Listen, Beck, It’s going to be okay. You go and have a good time, alright? Don’t let them take this holiday away from you. You deserve this time away. Use this time to heal, to collect yourself, and when you get back, I promise, you’ll be refreshed and ready to move on with your life.”

  Becky closed her eyes, then dropped her head. “I like your optimism, I really do, but I don’t expect a seven-day holiday is going to work any miracles.”

  Uncle Steve pushed her chin up gently with his finger and peered into her sad eyes. “Enough, okay? Look at me. I mean it. Have a good time. That’s an order.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Now dry those big, beautiful eyes and scoot, before I change my mind.”

  Becky took a slow, long breath, then straightened up her shoulders. “Okay. I can do this.”

  “Of course you can,” Uncle Steve said. “You’re a strong, independent girl, and unlike yourself, I have faith in you.”

  “I’ll call you when I get to the retreat.”

  “I know you will. Now go.”

  Chapter 6

  It’s Getting Hot In Here.

  BECKY JENSEN’S FACEBOOK STATUS: Australia – here I come!

  Dragging her small carry-on behind her, Becky stepped into the foyer of the Cairns airport and followed the line of passengers trudging their way towards the luggage carousel. Walking through the air-conditioned foyer, carpeted in bright tropical colours reminiscent of the rainforest and the reef, she was suddenly aware of an all-consuming heat as it engulfed her, hit her in the face as though she’d stepped across an invisible threshold and into the fiery depths of hell.

  Forgetting her luggage for a moment, Becky quickly shrugged out of her coat, draped it over an arm and unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt. She could feel the skin on her face flush and become suddenly damp with perspiration. At any other time, she would have welcomed the warmth of a sunny day on her face, but this kind of warmth was completely different. It was immediately heavy, wrapping itself around her like a prickly, wet blanket.

  She stepped to one side, escaping from the swarm of passengers brushing past her in their rush to retrieve their luggage. They were obviously in a hurry to begin their holiday, or simply in a hurry to get home. Either way, they had a keenness to collect their baggage that currently eluded her. She leaned up against the wall, catching her breath. Suddenly she was feeling bone tired and overwhelmed. Jetlag, she assumed. Not only was she in a foreign country, but she was completely alone in a foreign country. At least she didn’t have to worry about a language barrier.

  She closed her eyes and kneaded her temples with her fingertips, trying to ward off the beginning of a headache. What had she been thinking? Who did she think she was kidding? How was flying across an ocean to stay with people she had never met before going to solve her problems back home? How had Uncle Steve, and a complete stranger in a park telling her to be brave, managed to convince her that leaving London to fly halfway around the world was going to be a good idea? She should turn around right now, and tell someone she had made a terrible mistake. They would understand, wouldn’t they, and put her back on the first flight home, so she could sort out this whole mess? But sort out what, exactly? There was nothing really left for her to sort out; Roger and Mandy had obviously already moved on some time ago without her. She was here now, and she didn’t see any point in going home empty-handed and letting
Uncle Steve down.

  She would do her job, interview the three authors, and return home, putting the whole sordid affair with Roger and Mandy behind her, and get on with her life, whatever that meant. Perhaps Clive would be a part of her future, and perhaps he wouldn’t. He was right about one thing. She did have feelings towards him. There was most certainly a chemistry between them, but with Roger and Mandy’s betrayal, the chance of ever having any kind of relationship with Clive was now impossible. She retrieved a handkerchief from the coat pocket then draped her coat over the handle of her small suitcase. Dabbing her brow, she exhaled a long, slow breath. Apart from Uncle Steve, who’d promised this job would be the opportunity of a lifetime, and Grandma, there was no one waiting for her at home. Even her father and Felicity were not due home from their honeymoon until January.

  By now, she imagined, Roger would have already moved out of the apartment they had shared, and would now be blissfully shacked up with Mandy. Becky unbuttoned her white shirt, then rolled up the long sleeves, her fingers brushing over a small gold chain around her wrist. She paused for a moment, studying it. It was a ‘best friends for life’ bracelet. Her fingers lingered on the cold links, remembering the time Mandy had bought it for her. It had been her sixteenth birthday, and the first party she had had where there had been as many boys invited as girls.

  It was also the first time she had kissed a boy in the backyard behind the garden shed after everyone else had gone home. She had fallen in love with Roger the first time he had held her hand and his lips brushed gently across hers. So much for best friends for life, she thought, tearing the gold chain off her wrist in one swift yank and letting it drop to the floor at her feet. Had she been so consumed by grief that she had been oblivious to everything else that was going on around her, just as Roger had said? Well, there would be no need to sneak around behind her back now. She covered her mouth with her hand, choking back a sudden urge to vomit. She saw an overhead sign for the ladies bathroom and started walking toward it, pulling her small carry-on bag behind her.

  Even in the air-conditioned airport foyer, she could feel herself burning up, and hoped to God she wasn’t coming down with the flu. Or worse… What if she really was pregnant? Would she keep it? Abort it?

  “Miss,” a young man called, retrieving her bracelet from the ground. “I think you dropped this.” He held it out to her as she turned to face him.

  She waved her hand, shaking her head as she looked at the bracelet dangling from his fingers. “It isn’t mine. I’ve never seen it before,” she said, shrugging.

  “Oh,” the man said. “Well I guess I should hand it in to lost property. It looks quite nice, I’m sure someone will realize that they’ve lost it and come back looking for it sooner or later.”

  Becky imitated a smile then turned around. “I doubt it,” she murmured, walking away.

  In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, patted it dry, and then reapplied her makeup. A couple of deep breaths, and she re-joined the dwindling throng of passengers spilling into the Arrivals Lounge. Cranky children screamed. Parents, who were also jetlagged and fatigued by the lack of sleep, screamed back.

  Ten minutes later she was loading her suitcase and carry-on bag onto an airport trolley and wondering which of the three authors would be picking her up. Elise, Polly or Mallory?

  “Becky? Becky Jensen?” a woman’s voice called from behind her in an Australian accent. Although she had been expecting the accent, it still surprised her when she heard her name.

  She turned around. “Yes,” she said, smiling at not one, but two casually dressed women in their fifties.

  In turn, they put their arms around her and smothered her in motherly hugs. Thankful for their warm welcome, she hugged them back.

  They weren’t exactly what she was expecting. Neither woman resembled Nora Roberts, J.K. Rowling or Stephenie Meyer, which was how she had been picturing the three women in her mind. Perhaps they had dressed down so as not to draw any attention to themselves. She’d been looking forward to meeting the three authors ever since Uncle Steve had told her all about their writing success and their latest venture, opening up the writers’ retreat in Far North Queensland. The grand opening was only days away, and she was excited to be a part of it.

  The taller of the two, a slim, fair-haired woman with smiling, hazel eyes introduced herself first. Polly wore a white, short sleeved shirt over a pair of knee-length denim shorts. On her feet she wore a pair of laced-up runners. “It is so good to finally meet you in person,” she gushed. “We have heard so much about you.” She turned to look at the woman beside her. “And this is my dear friend, Mallory.”

  Mallory had a lovely, olive complexion with few wrinkles. She was short, and though not fat, could do to lose a pound or two to get back into shape. Her pixie haircut, which was slightly greying at the temples, if you looked hard enough, framed sparkling brown eyes. She wore a plain t-shirt over a floral, knee length skirt, and a pair of orange sandals which jingled when she walked.

  Becky took an instant liking to the two women straight away. With their friendly faces and their down to earth attitudes, it was impossible not to like them. Polly appeared competent and a very straight shooter, while Mallory reminded her of cookies and warm milk, or perhaps someone’s favourite aunt.

  “Shall we get going?” Mallory suggested, fighting the luggage trolley towards the exit doors. “Why do I always get landed with the trolley with one bung wheel?” she mumbled, giving the trolley an extra hard shove.

  Harsh, mid-morning sunshine streamed through the glass sliding doors as they slid silently open. A wall of seething humidity almost bowled Becky over as she stepped through the threshold and into the open air. Was it just her imagination, or was her newly applied makeup actually melting and sliding right off her face? Perhaps today is an exceptionally hot day, she thought.

  “You’ve arrived on a lovely day,” Polly announced gleefully, waving a hand toward the pristine, cloudless blue sky, her other wrapped firmly around Becky’s waist in a friendly embrace. “Yesterday was a real stinker, wasn’t it, Mal?”

  Yesterday was hotter! Becky clasped her throat at Polly’s revelation. “Are you actually saying it gets hotter than this?” she asked, a trickle of perspiration running down the curvature of her spine.

  Mallory nodded, and then frowned. “Oh, you poor dear, we had forgotten that you were coming straight from a wretched English winter. You must be dying to get out of those jeans and boots and into something cooler.”

  “Not to worry,” Polly said, ushering Becky across the pedestrian crossing. “We’ll have you in air-conditioned comfort soon enough. You’ll find it much cooler up on the Tablelands. It’s always a few degrees cooler up there. And the lake is quite lovely for swimming this time of the year.”

  Becky nodded agreeably, shielding her eyes from the glaring sun with one hand while the other unzipped and rummaged through her shoulder bag for a pair of sunglasses. A few degrees cooler? A few? It would want to be a hell of a lot cooler than a few if she was going to survive this holiday.

  Behind them, Mallory was busy flipping the finger to a Pakistani taxi driver who was pumping his horn at her to get a hurry on while she wrestled with the noncompliant trolley. “Impertinent asshole,” she mumbled, sticking out her tongue, clearly not concerned about who had heard her.

  Polly turned to her friend. “Do you need some help with the trolley, Mal?”

  “Certainly not,” Mallory retorted stubbornly, determined this was a battle she would win.

  Becky burst into laughter and rushed to grab hold of the front of the trolley as Mallory turned and pushed the confounded thing up onto the sidewalk with her bottom while sticking her tongue out at the taxi driver as he drove past.

  Becky laughed again, shaking her head. She could tell this was going to be not only the holiday she’d hoped for, but one that she so desperately needed to distance herself from the messed-up life she’d left behind in freezing London. Ye
s, freezing. She should be embracing the warmer weather with both hands, not cursing it. A sigh escaped her lips as she breathed in the warm air, then she shoved her hand into her shoulder bag to fetch a handkerchief. She mopped up beads of perspiration on her forehead, and the waterfall cascading between her breasts.

  “Oh, please don’t encourage the silly old fool by laughing at her,” Polly said, a wide smile on her face as she watched Mallory battling the trolley.

  Mallory waved a hand at her friend. “Oh shush, you. He’s lucky I just gave him the finger. If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up in my latest murder mystery as a rotting corpse with feral dogs enjoying a banquet of his intestines.” She shook her head and smiled broadly, sculpting a set of cute dimples into her soft cheeks. Her face, although lightly creased by age, had not lost the lustre of her mother’s Spanish heritage.

  “This way,” Polly said. “We’re parked right over there. That’s us.” She pointed toward a sleek, black limousine.

  Now that’s more like it, Becky thought, her eyes opening wide in keen anticipation. She could already feel the cool air-conditioning brushing over her skin and the soft, smooth leather upholstery beneath her fingers.

  A chauffeur in a black suit climbed out, sitting a hat on his head, a broad smile reaching across his face in welcome as he opened the passenger door. Becky smiled as a gush of amazingly cool air escaped from the open car door. An air-conditioned heaven on wheels, she thought. Yes, she could most certainly get used to this. Cool, happy thoughts filled every fibre of her body, rejuvenating her. Her face tilted skyward. THANK YOU, GOD.

  “This way, dear,” Mallory said, pushing the trolley past the limousine.

  “What?” Becky shot, suddenly confused as a very well-dressed man and woman stepped passed her, then slid gracefully through the open door of the limousine. Who were these terrible people stealing her ride, her piece of air-conditioned heaven?

  “No. There must be some mistake,” she said weakly, as her eyes followed Polly and Mallory walking toward an old, banged-up blue Holden Ute. She stared open-mouthed at the nightmarish scene unfolding in front of her as the sleek limousine zoomed farther away from her. “Please don’t go,” she said in a tiny voice, her happy thoughts vaporising in the depressing humidity.