Falling into Queensland
Falling into Queensland
Jacqueline George
2
Falling into Queensland
FALLING INTO QUEENSLAND
Copyright © 20 11 by J.E. George
ISBN: 978-0-9871695-1 -8
Cover design by Jacqueline George
All cover art and logo copyright © 20 11 by J.E. George
Distributed by Dennis Jones and Associates, Melbourne
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Q~Press Publishing
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Falling into Queensland
Dedication
I am lucky enough to live in Cooktown, in the far north of Queensland. It"s a great place, and I cannot imagine having to live anywhere else. I like it a lot, but this is the first time I have been tempted to write about it.
So let me start by saying that this story is definitely NOT set in Cooktown. My neighbours can search the pages as much as they like, but they will not find themselves or their town. Well, not exactly. I hope they will recognise the open, helpful friendliness that is offered to any stranger. And probably the ability to make a good life in circumstances that would drive the average city dweller nuts. I want to take the chance to thank them all, just for being the people they are.
I also need to thank the small band of readers who read the early text and gave me their comments. They were quite merciless, which is a good thing for any writer. They helped shape the book and make it into a story I hope you will enjoy. They did not completely eliminate the typos. The wretched things hide away in the text and even now I cannot be sure they have all been found. I suppose I should not write them in the first place.
Finally I want to thank Mr Charles Bracher for his generous advice about money laundering regulations. I had better add that he bears absolutely no resemblance to Rupert or Jeremy, and I am sure he would never behave like either of them.
Cooktown, July 2011
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Falling into Queensland
Contents
Falling into Queensland ................................ ................................ ........ 2
Chapter 1 ................................ .............................................................. 7
Chapter 2 ................................ ............................................................ 19
Chapter 3 ................................ ............................................................ 29
Chapter 4 ................................ ............................................................ 39
Chapter 5 ................................ ............................................................ 51
Chapter 6 ................................ ............................................................ 59
Chapter 7 ................................ ............................................................ 69
Chapter 8 ................................ ............................................................ 81
Chapter 9 ................................ ............................................................ 85
Chapter 10 ................................ ................................ .......................... 93
Chapter 11 ................................ ................................ .......................... 99
Chapter 12 ................................ ................................ ........................ 106
Chapter 13 ................................ ................................ ........................ 112
Chapter 14 ................................ ................................ ........................ 120
Chapter 15 ................................ ................................ ........................ 128
Chapter 16 ................................ ................................ ........................ 137
Chapter 17 ................................ ................................ ........................ 148
Chapter 18 ................................ ................................ ........................ 153
Chapter 19 ................................ ................................ ........................ 162
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Falling into Queensland
Chapter 20 ................................ ................................ ........................ 168
Chapter 21 ................................ ................................ ........................ 174
Chapter 22 ................................ ................................ ........................ 182
Chapter 23 ................................ ................................ ........................ 190
Chapter 24 ................................ ................................ ........................ 196
Chapter 25 ................................ ................................ ........................ 203
Chapter 26 ................................ ................................ ........................ 209
Chapter 27 ................................ ................................ ........................ 214
Chapter 28 ................................ ................................ ........................ 223
Chapter 29 ................................ ................................ ........................ 228
Chapter 30 ................................ ................................ ........................ 234
Chapter 31 ................................ ................................ ........................ 241
Chapter 3 2 ................................ ................................ ........................ 248
Other titles by Jacqueline George ................................ .................... 253
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Falling into Queensland
Chapter 1
Shirley was not prepared for the sight of Cape Tribulation. All she knew of Australia was pictures of the outback. Eucalypts, ramshackle buildings, windmills silhouetted against a red sun. Or surfing at Bondi Beach and images of the Opera House towering over Sydney Harbour. She had seen nothing like the country below.
The small plane dropped and bumped up again as if it had hit a mid-air pothole. Her heart jumped with it and she had to consciously relax her grip on her seat arm. She had never flown in a small plane before, and she had never flown so low. The jungle beneath was thick and dark,
and so near. The individual trees were quite clear and would not welcome the plane if – God forbid – anything were to go wrong. She could not see the ground below their branches. The thick, shaggy wildness blanketed mountains and deep valleys. It was an untamed place.
They were flying north along the Queensland coast. When she looked through the windows across the narrow aisle of the plane she had glimpses of the rich blue of the Coral Sea. Aquamarine shallows beaded the horizon. The Great Barrier Reef. The plane"s course was taking them gently out over the water, and as she looked down from her window the jungle gave way to sea. A quiet, clear sea that did not hide its bed. The change from jungle to ocean was abrupt; the waves must have been lapping at the feet of the trees. The sharp dividing line was broken rarely by pocket beaches, and by small rivers whose cloudy water stained the tide. There were no houses or roads.
&nbs
p; Cape Tribulation passed rapidly astern. She was following their progress on a tourist map she had picked up from the hostel in Cairns and waiting to see Cooktown, the biggest settlement along the coast. When it came it was disappointing. A pocket handkerchief of a place, a few houses nestled at the mouth of a muddy river with a tarmac airstrip out on the flood plain. It too passed quickly below them. Shirley pressed
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Falling into Queensland
her cheek to the window and searched as far ahead as she could. She
wanted to see Port Bruce.
She did not see it until the last moment. They crossed a rocky arm thrust out into the sea and Port Bruce was a cluster of houses on the far
side. It flashed by and the plane banked over the Strickland River and lined up to land. They sank low over brown water before rushing at tree top level over the mangrove swamp to bump down on the grass beyond.
Everywhere she looked was impossibly green. The rich grass of the airstrip was walled in by jungle. As the plane swung to a stop, the terminal building came into view. It sat on low stilts, surrounded by neat grass. The building was painted in cream and dark green, and had a shiny red roof. Palm trees stood around it. Too sweet. They had arrived in Toy
Town.
The cabin door opened onto the same steamy heat she had left at Cairns. Shirley followed the other passengers to the nose of the plane where the pilot was unloading luggage. Her suitcase was at the bottom and she helped him manoeuvre it out of the baggage compartment.
“You moving house, mate? You"ve got enough stuff there.” He was young and smiling, quite handsome in his pocketed white shirt with epaulettes.
“Something like that. Do you know how I get into town? Is there a bus?”
“A bus, love?” he said with a smile. “You"ll have a long wait. No –just ask some of the others. Some one"ll give you a lift.”
She dragged her suitcase uncomfortably across the grass towards the terminal building and its parked cars. The other passengers had already met their families and would soon be gone. She would have to hurry if she wanted to beg a lift.
A chunky bare-foot woman hung back and waited. “Going into town? Where you going? Dave"s place?”
“Er – Coconut Grove?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yup – Dave"s place. Want a lift?” Without waiting for an answer, she reached for Shirley"s suitcase and lifted it effortlessly. “What"s your name, anyway? I"m Marilyn.”
“Shirley.”
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Falling into Queensland
“Good – pleased to meet you, Shirley. Welcome to Port Bruce. You on holiday?”
“Yes – sort of. I just wanted to look around.”
“Ah-ha! Another sucker looking for a tropical paradise. Join the club. Just don"t stay too long.” Marilyn led her to an old Toyota ute and swung the suitcase up into the back. “Get off it, you stupid mongrel,” she said to the dog in the back who was trying to lick her face. “This is Floozy. Don"t get too close or the stupid tart"ll be all over you. You"re in luck – I"ve just dropped off my old man so you can ride in the front.”
Shirley clambered up into the ute. Inside it was worn and untidy. Marilyn slammed her door and turned the key. The Toyota gave a solid clunk and refused to respond. “Oh bugger!” muttered Marilyn, “You wouldn"t believe how long I"ve been nagging Ian about this. Shit, shit, shit! It always happens when he"s not here. You"d better come over here and start it when I tell you. I"ll get under the bonnet.”
Marilyn had the bonnet up by the time Shirley had slid across into the driver"s seat. She watched the other passengers disappear down the dirt road in their four-wheel drives and waited for Marilyn"s call.
“Right,” shouted Marilyn from under the bonnet, “Foot on the throttle – half way – and give it a try.” The engine clattered into life and Marilyn slammed the bonnet shut. She came to the door. “It"ll be OK now. Move over – unless you want to drive. And you don"t want to do
that – believe me. This old thing can be a real cantankerous bastard
sometimes.”
The dirt road out of the airstrip was rough and potholed. The highway beyond was also dirt; not too many potholes but the entire surface was corrugated. The ute shook crazily as Marilyn picked up speed until they were skipping from crest to crest of the corrugations and the ride was smoother. The rattling of the ute made it impossible to speak. Shirley watched her saviour. Marilyn looked tough. Big arms and a grubby sleeveless top that might have been apricot and cheerful a long time ago. She had a rose tattooed on her shoulder with the word „Freedom" on a banner beneath it.
Marilyn did not look like a rose. She was more like a man; square, strong, short brown hair. No figure to speak of, and baggy shorts that
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Falling into Queensland
did not flatter what she had. She caught Shirley staring. “So – how long you staying?” she shouted over the rattling.
“I don"t know – I"ve got to check on a house.”
“Oh yes? Ah – you"d be John Collins"s niece, right? All the way from England?”
Shirley was taken aback. How did this woman know her?
“Don"t be surprised. We all liked old Johnno,” shouted Marilyn, “And everyone knows about you. No strangers in Port Bruce.”
Shirley watched the tall, dark jungle that walled in the road. Its lower leaves were brushed with dust from the cars . She looked back at the
plume of dust they were drawing behind them. No wonder everything
was dusty.
“Is it far? I mean, to town.”
“No – only a few klicks now. You tired?”
“Yes – I guess I am, a bit.”
“If you like, I"ll come round tomorrow and take you to the club. Introduce you. That sound good?”
Abruptly they bumped up onto the black top. The noise in the ute fell back to normal and now the trees beside the road looked fresh and
clean. On either side there were half-hearted clearings in the jungle and small houses that sat privately in oases of grass and palm trees. They were pretty but dishevelled.
“Nearly there,” said Marilyn, “That"s the Pioneer Cemetery over there.” They were passing a large park with broken and irregular lines of graves scattered across short grass. “Got graves from gold rush times. And a Chinese section. Old Johnno"s there – see, over there at the back with the new graves. We put a temporary stake with a board to mark the spot. We were talking of having a whip round for a stone until we heard you were coming.”
Some of the headstones looked very old, blackened with lichen and leaning crazily. There were large areas with no stones – probably where wooden crosses had rotted away. In the failing sunlight it looked a cheerful place, clumps of palms and bougainvillea standing guard over the pioneers of Port Bruce. It was cared for and demanded a visit.
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Falling into Queensland
Marilyn swung into a side street. “That road carries on down to the wharf. It"s only a kilometre or so, if you want to walk. It"s the main street. Now – here"s Dave"s. I"ll come round about six tomorrow.”
Shirley rescued her suitcase from Floozy and stood waving as Marilyn pulled away without waiting to be thanked.
Coconut Grove was quiet. Reception was hidden down a tunnel of flowering creepers, but its shutter was closed. A hand-written note was stuck to it. Back around 6 p.m. If you are checking in, take the key. See you. Hanging beside the shutter was a key tied to a short length of varnished tree branch with the figure 7 burnt into it. She took it and went searching for her room.
The place was a rabbit warren, cobbled together from low concrete block buildings and transportable huts, all linked by deep, winding verandas. The ways were dark and made darker by the creepers hanging from the garden side. She climbed some steps and found a cockatoo waiting for her, bobbing and chuckling on the top step. Beyond him were the toilets and showers, male and female. She found number 7 on the far side of the complex, on a short veranda fa
cing a patch of lawn.
The room was a cell, scarcely larger than its double bed. A large ceiling fan. A shelf with a mirror. A plastic garden chair. It was hot and smelt mouldy. She flicked the fan on and threw her suitcase onto the bed. She was suddenly very tired but she did not lie down. She had better go looking for the showers while there was still some light outside.
The tropical dusk was brief and it was already night when she left the shower. There was still no sign of light from the direction of Reception. She went back to her room and, with the window louvres a quarter open, she lay nude under the fan and let its wind caress her.
She came awake suddenly. It took a moment to find herself as she lay staring at the ceiling fan. Daylight outside. She had slept the night through. That"s good, she thought, I must be getting over the jetlag. Wrapping her towel around her, she padded barefoot to the shower.
She was feeling hungry by the time she got to reception. It was open and a smiling old man was reading a newspaper. “Ah, you"re John Collin"s girl, right?”
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Falling into Queensland
“Well, his niece.”
“Pleased to meet you!” He reached a large hand over the counter, “Byrnsie"s the name. Welcome to Port Bruce.”
“Er – Shirley.”
“Shirley - good. Settled in OK? No problems?”
“No, but I didn"t pay you.”
“No worries. It"s forty-five bucks a night – pay when you leave. Did you get a feed last night? No, I thought I didn"t hear you. You must be starved. Well, there"s the kiosk down by the wharf – that"s where I"d go. Later on you could get a pie at the bakery, but he opens at eight and his coffee"s not so good. Once you"ve settled in a bit, you can buy stuff at the mini-market and make your own breakfast. You want me to run you
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