Queen of the Road

by Tricia Stringer

  She hurried to her cab and woke Claudia. While the little girl shrugged sleepily into her jacket, Angela peeped around the curtain at the neighbouring rig. No sign of anyone just yet.

  She hurried Claudia to the toilet. The bathrooms here were roomy and well maintained. Angela appreciated their cleanliness but today she didn’t have the patience for Claudia to admire the little pot of flowers, fiddle with the soap container and take forever to dry her hands.

  As Angela predicted, there were whines from Claudia as soon as she realised they weren’t dining in. Jenny understood Angela’s need to be on the road quickly and packed her delicious snacks into takeaway boxes. Thankfully Clifford wasn’t inside the roadhouse.

  Back in Big Red, Claudia opened her box and her complaints ceased. Angela checked her seatbelt then climbed down and closed the passenger door.

  ‘Good morning,’ a gruff voice spoke behind her.

  She spun around. Coming towards her was the huge frame of Clifford Berl. He was wearing sunglasses, even though there was little sun yet, and a Berl Stock Transport cap. His shirt was large enough to straddle his belly, hanging like a verandah over his legs. Angela knew she had to apologise to this giant but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be today. Still, it was probably best to get it over and done with. She had plenty of other things to worry about.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, trying to pull her face into a smile.

  Clifford came to a stop in front of her and took off his cap. Just as his father, he stood uncomfortably close and Angela had to tip her neck to look up at him. His drooping handlebar moustache was in marked contrast to his almost hairless head.

  ‘You’ve got a full load,’ he said. ‘For Munirilla, I assume.’

  ‘Yes.’ Angela nodded towards his trailers. ‘What about you? Where are you headed?’

  ‘North. Carting stock’s not like general freight. Can’t afford to sleep in with animals on board.’

  Angela ignored the dig. ‘Look, Clifford, I’m sorry about the other night.’

  ‘Really?’ He folded his large arms across his chest. She could only just see his peering eyes through the dark lenses.

  ‘It was a trying week and … well, I’m sorry for my behaviour.’

  He leaned forward and Angela stood her ground, determined not to back away from his intimidating stance. ‘Trucking’s no place for ladies,’ he said, sounding like his father. A smirk spread across his face. ‘But it’s obvious you’re no lady.’ Angela held his gaze. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to insult her or pay her a compliment.

  He took her small hand in his huge paw and his grin broke into a low, rumbling chortle. ‘I’d like to stay and chat,’ he said, ‘but my breakfast will be ready.’ He put his cap back on and turned to retrieve something from his cab. ‘You have a good day, Angel,’ he called over his shoulder.

  Angela heard him give another short chuckle as he walked away. She climbed into Big Red, pulled back the curtains and started the motor. While the engine warmed up and filled the air tanks, she dug into Jenny’s goody box and munched away at her breakfast. She filled out her logbook and Claudia chatted happily between mouthfuls.

  Weak sunshine broke through the clouds making the puddles of water glisten. Angela sighed, tucked the logbook into the side pocket and took a final bite. At least the driving conditions would be better today.

  She put the box with the rest of Jenny’s sandwiches behind her seat, checked her mirrors and released the brakes. Nothing happened. Angela frowned. She checked her dials and tried again. Still no movement.

  ‘Why aren’t we going, Mummy?’

  Angela tried again but the brakes wouldn’t give. ‘I don’t know.’ She went over the procedure in her mind. What had she forgotten? She got out of the truck and walked the length of the rig. All the wheels were fine, everything looked okay. She climbed in and tried again. The engine was running smoothly but the brakes just wouldn’t release. Maybe there was a computer malfunction.

  She got out and walked the length of the truck again. As she rounded the end, Clifford Junior was coming back towards her from the roadhouse, wiping his mouth with a huge handkerchief.

  ‘You’re still here,’ he said. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘No,’ Angela said quickly. ‘Had paperwork to do, you know, usual stuff. Just rechecking my load.’ She made a pretence of inspecting the ties on the kegs.

  ‘See you, then.’ A large grin lifted his moustache up his face.

  A minute later she heard his truck start up, and once he’d left, she got back in the cab and tried again. No luck. The brakes would not release. Angela hit the palms of her hands on the steering wheel in frustration.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’

  Angela looked at Claudia’s concerned face.

  ‘I don’t know, pumpkin. You stay here while I go see if there’s someone in the roadhouse who can help.’

  It was hectic inside. Several trucks had come in while Angela was trying to get her rig going and Jenny was busy serving meals. There was a young girl helping her and Angela could see the cook moving about frantically in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello. Angela, isn’t it?’

  She looked up at the guy who’d walked in beside her. He was vaguely familiar. The name ‘Greg’ was embroidered under the logo on his shirt. She remembered meeting him the first time she made a stop at this roadhouse. It seemed so long ago now.

  ‘You still doing the Munirilla run?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good on you.’

  Jenny came back to the counter. ‘Still here, Angela? Thought you were long gone.’

  ‘Small problem,’ Angela said with a grimace. ‘I wondered if you could help.’

  ‘Sure, if I can.’

  Angela leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. ‘My truck seems to be stuck. The brakes won’t release.’

  ‘Sorry, Angela, our mechanic is late this morning. And I know nothing about trucks, although, if the brakes won’t release …’A little smile played on her lips. ‘I reckon there might be something you could try.’ To Angela’s horror, Jenny turned to Greg. ‘Angela’s got a problem with her brakes. You reckon you could check it out for her? I’ll rustle you up an extra-large breakfast while you’re at it.’

  Greg grinned. ‘Sure.’

  He followed Angela to her truck asking questions about the motor and how it operated. Angela expected him to climb into the cab but he stopped just behind it, reaching between the cab and the trailer.

  ‘There’s your problem,’ he said.

  Angela leaned in to look where he was pointing.

  ‘The taps to your air lines were off.’

  Angela looked from the taps to Greg. She hadn’t touched them.

  Greg gave a chuckle. ‘You camp here overnight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Some blokes think it’s a bit of a joke. Turn ‘em off and your brakes won’t release.’

  Angela could feel her face heating up. Anger and humiliation bubbled inside her. Someone had done this deliberately.

  ‘Why?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Takes you a bit longer to get started.’ Greg shrugged sheepishly. ‘It’s an old truckie prank.’

  ‘A prank!’

  ‘Give it a few minutes and the lines will have filled. You’ll be on your way soon enough.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Greg.’ She could barely manage a hint of a smile.

  ‘No probs.’ He gave her a wave and headed back to the roadhouse.

  No doubt her naivety would be the talk of the dining room this morning. She looked at the taps. Why hadn’t she thought to check them herself? She gave a click of her tongue, tugged open the driver’s door and climbed up into her seat.

  ‘Are we going now, Mummy?’

  ‘Soon.’

  Angela looked at her watch and snatched up her logbook. She’d wasted another thirty minutes. Who would do this? Why? She almost dropped her pen as she realised who. Cliff Senior had pulled in while she was as
leep and would have had plenty of opportunity. But why would he? And how could he be sure it was her in the truck and not another Ranger driver?

  Then she thought about his son, Clifford. He would have had time while she was in the roadhouse with Claudia and he’d know it was her from radioing his father. She pictured his grinning face. Clifford Berl Junior. That’s who turned the taps off.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Claudia echoed in a serious tone.

  Angela didn’t even make eye contact. She tested the brakes and they released. At last, they were on their way.

  Chapter 29

  Coop got out of his ute and looked around. It was midday and he was hoping to catch Annabel Cameron. After a night firefighting, he’d spent yesterday checking fences and stock and cleaning up around the house yard before collapsing into bed at sundown.

  Two dogs barked at him from a kennel yard near the garage but there were no other signs of life. A chilly gust of wind, still carrying ash from the fire, swirled around him. The ash had been turned to sludge by the heavy rain but once the showers had stopped the particles returned. It floated about here the same as at Alice’s place.

  He opened the garden gate and followed the brick-paved path to a spacious verandah encircling a large, stone house. Roses bloomed either side of the path. This place was in complete contrast to Alice’s humble abode. He stopped at the back door and gave several firm knocks. He could hear a radio going inside.

  ‘Hello,’ he called.

  There was no answer. He glanced down. Someone had swept dirt and ash away from the mat and left the broom propped by the door. The shoe rack was caked in dried mud but there were no boots on it. Maybe Annabel was in one of the sheds.

  In addition to stock-minding, Coop needed to talk to her about their seeding plan. He could make a start but his promise to drive for Angela would see him away for two days.

  He retraced his steps and headed away from the house. Both dogs started their barking again as he strolled across the yard. If Annabel was around, it was odd that the dogs were locked up. He was glad he hadn’t brought Jilly to add to their frustration.

  The first shed he came to was full of machinery. The huge sliding door was open and just inside was a tractor hooked up to an air seeder, but no sign of Annabel.

  He continued on to the next shed and the next again, calling out as he went. The shearing shed was all shut up but beside it was some kind of small holding shed with a door partly open. He called Annabel’s name again and stuck his head through the door. It was gloomy inside. Nothing stirred. There was the strong smell of sheep though – there must have been some housed in there recently.

  ‘Hey! What are you doing?’

  Coop spun around to see the tall figure of Annabel Cameron striding towards him. Her cap was pushed low on her head, sunglasses covering her eyes, and she held a shovel with both hands. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and was poking through the hole at the back of her cap. Angela sometimes does that with her hair, Coop thought, but where hers was fair and straight, Annabel’s was dark and curly.

  The dogs bounded ahead of Annabel, barking as they ran. Coop was used to dogs but Annabel’s posture made him wary.

  He held both hands out, palms open towards her. ‘Hello Annabel. I was looking for you.’

  ‘Snooping around the sheds won’t find me.’ She stopped a few metres from him, still gripping the shovel. ‘Shut up!’ she bellowed at the dogs. ‘Sit.’

  ‘I tried the house first,’ he said. ‘The door was open so I thought you weren’t far.’

  ‘I was in the paddock.’

  He glanced behind her. He hadn’t heard a vehicle. Annabel maintained her stiff stance. Perhaps he’d made the wrong decision in coming to her for help, but he was here now. He lowered his hands.

  ‘I’m Coop. I’m looking after Alice Tansell’s place …’

  ‘I know who you are. I saw you out at the fire the other night.’

  Coop shifted his feet. Her hostility was unexpected. ‘I just came to see if you could keep an eye on Alice’s animals while I’m away for a few days.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. I thought you …’ She lowered the shovel to the ground. ‘At least, I didn’t … There have been a few reports of theft lately.’

  ‘You thought I was a thief?’

  ‘All the talk makes me wary.’

  Coop frowned. ‘Doesn’t hurt to be cautious.’ He hadn’t been to town since the weekend and he’d been with Angela then, so he hadn’t heard any more talk about theft – not since his conversation with Barry a few weeks ago. If there was trouble about, that was all the more reason to have Annabel watch the place while he was gone.

  ‘Look, I was just going to have some lunch.’ She nodded her head over her shoulder. ‘Come to the house and you can tell me what you need.’

  She started to walk away before Coop had a chance to speak. He hadn’t planned on spending a lot of time at the Camerons but there were several things to discuss – it couldn’t hurt. He moved to follow her. One of the dogs barked.

  ‘Shut up,’ Annabel growled, maintaining her stride without a backward glance.

  He left his boots at the back door beside hers and followed her into the house. Inside, there was an enclosed verandah either side of the door and a long passage stretching up the middle of the house. Ahead of him Annabel disappeared through a door on the right. He pulled off his hat and followed.

  ‘Mind your step,’ she said as he entered what could only be described as a demolition site. The kitchen was chaos. ‘Renovations,’ she explained, filling a kettle at the sink, which sat under a new window and over the only cupboard left in the large room. A microwave was perched on one end of the sink and the other end was covered with dishes. ‘It’s supposed to be finished before Paul and Erica get back from their honeymoon, but that’s a joke. The painter’s waiting on the electrician, who’s waiting on the plumber; the cabinet maker’s waiting on all of them and some special benchtop that hasn’t arrived yet. Talk about a circus. And I’m supposed to manage it while Paul flits around Europe.’ She paused to hold up a cup. ‘Coffee?’

  Coop nodded, tentatively avoiding a plank that had been thrown over a missing floorboard. The walls had been stripped and patched. There were marks where old cupboards had been pulled away and he could see where some fresh painting had begun.

  Annabel pulled back some plastic to reveal a small bar fridge. She took out some milk and another container which she waved in his direction. ‘Reheated curry okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ He would have been happy to just talk business and get going but he didn’t like to decline her hospitality. It was also a chance to get to know the person he was trusting to look after Alice’s place.

  ‘Have a seat,’ she said. There was a small folding table in the middle of the room.

  Coop hung his hat on the back of a chair and sat down, taking in the room as he did so. ‘It’s a big kitchen.’ The space was almost triple the size of Alice’s modest kitchen.

  ‘There’s usually a large table that everyone sits around. Thankfully it’ll stay, but it turns out the rest isn’t good enough for the newlyweds.’ Annabel kept talking while she was busy at the sink. ‘My mother managed this kitchen with hardly a change from my grandmother’s day, just maintenance really, but Erica has to have everything new – cupboards, oven, fridge, the lot. Even this sink will go.’

  Coop wasn’t sure what to say. He had no knowledge of the Cameron family beyond their being Alice’s neighbours, and that they helped her with seeding and harvest. He’d had a bit to do with Paul and his father but Annabel had been away until last summer. She was a mystery to him.

  ‘Of course, I have no say in it,’ she went on. ‘I’m inheriting a rundown shack on the coast, which I’ll have to maintain and let Paul and his future brood use whenever they want, while he gets a whole farm. And everything that goes with it.’

  She placed a cup of coffee and a plate of food in front of Coop b
efore returning with her own and sitting opposite him. She waved a fork over the steaming meals. ‘The oven was pulled out weeks ago. Mum cooks meals for me and I reheat them. She’s a good cook. Curry’s always better after a few days, don’t you think?’

  Coop nodded in agreement. With her sunglasses off, Annabel’s appearance was much more youthful. She was a lot younger than him, probably early twenties. And after her initial hostility, she now seemed at ease.

  The curry had a mild chicken flavour with a tang of lemongrass. Not something Alice ever cooked nor something he would prepare for himself, but good nonetheless. They ate in silence for a few minutes until Annabel spoke up.

  ‘So where are you off to? And when?’

  ‘I’m driving to Adelaide and back. I shouldn’t be gone long. There Friday, back early Saturday I’m hoping, but Alice’s prized ewes are lambing.’

  ‘I’ve heard about these. What’s she got?’

  ‘She’s mated a Dohne with a small mob of Merinos.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Good. Several sets of twins so far.’

  ‘No difficulties lambing?’

  ‘No more than usual with Merinos …’ Coop hesitated. Should he tell her about the missing ewes?

  ‘Genetics is my interest.’ Annabel leaned forward eagerly. ‘I’ve studied Dohnes but not worked with them. The wool’s supposed to be around the same but they’re better meat animals.’

  ‘That’s what Alice is counting on.’

  ‘They’re good foragers, aren’t they?’

  ‘We’ve been told they’ll eat pasture the Merinos won’t.’

  ‘Well, that’s a bonus round here, although this rain might be a sign of better things to come for a bit.’

  ‘Seeding’s the other thing I need to talk to you about.’

  ‘No point.’ Annabel stood up suddenly, the shine gone from her face. She gathered up their empty plates.

  ‘It’s just that the conditions seem right to get going on it.’