Catherine Jinks TheRoad (19 page)

erlie didn’t mind that it was a secondhand caravan because the Clulows had looked after it so well. They hadn’t been smokers. The oven and stove had been cleaned regularly. The cushions on the two couches (which converted into single beds)
had
been a little soiled, but Verlie had taken care of that by replac
ing the old covers with a brand new set. She had made curtains to match the cushion fabric, and had bought a rug to match the curtains. Ross had grumbled about the rug, but Verlie found the vinyl floor of the caravan a little cold and its pattern unappealing. She wanted the caravan to be as cosy as possible.

After all, they would be spending at least four months in it.

Ross’s plan was simple. Now that he had retired from the bank, he wanted to revisit all those towns in which he’d worked over the years as he strove to attain the senior management job that had been his ultimate goal. Ross had performed his duties diligently behind the counter, in Ledgers and in Lending. From a humble teller’s position he had progressed to the role of accountant, then branch manager, then regional manager, before finally becoming head of the bank’s training department. It was during his spell in Wagga Wagga that he had met and married Verlie, who had been a teller in his branch at the time. From Wagga they had moved to Melbourne, Ballarat, Broken Hill, Darwin and Sydney; they had settled in Sydney for twenty-two years so that their three children (Mark, Jodie and Susan) would benefit from a first-class secondary education in good private schools.

They had lived in a solid house in leafy Roseville, where for the first time Verlie’s homemaking abilities were given room to flourish. She had been able to plant and nurture a beautiful garden, full of roses and deciduous trees. She had renovated the kitchen, bought lots of old mahogany furniture – which she polished assiduously – and found herself a pleasant circle of friends, many of them churchgoers, most of them busy mothers with their own cars. Susan, Verlie’s eldest, now had two children; she had married a doctor, and lived in Hunters Hill. Mark was a partner in a big city law firm. Jodie was working in London. Verlie was proud of them all, but they lived separate lives now, and she hardly ever saw them. So she hadn’t objected when her husband had raised the idea of his retirement safari. In fact she had welcomed the prospect of getting away. The house in Roseville was really very damp, and required a lot of energy-sapping care. The neighbourhood was changing; many of her old friends were selling up and moving to the south coast or the Blue Mountains, making way for new families full of school-aged children who were too noisy for Verlie’s taste. She couldn’t understand some people. These days they seemed to give their kids everything except discipline.

She had welcomed Ross’s suggestion that they buy a caravan for their trip. While Ross pored over maps, NRMA directories and the
Reader’s Digest Book of the Road
, Verlie had busied herself in the caravan, which they had purchased from one of Ross’s former colleagues. She had stocked the cupboards, hung up pictures and bought some throw cushions. Together, she and Ross had made sundry purchases: an emergency camp stove, a water filter, a hand-held digital camcorder. Meanwhile, Susan had been offering up some muted objections, pointing out that Verlie had high blood pressure – should she really be undertaking such a long and stressful trip? But Verlie had scoffed at her daughter’s fears. It wouldn’t be a stressful trip. It would be a wonderful trip. Verlie was dying to revisit her old haunts – to chase up lost friends, to inspect familiar bank premises, to take photos of the houses that she and Ross had rented over the years. And Ross, of course, was in his element. She had been worried about his retirement; how on earth would he cope with it? Now she saw that she had been worrying needlessly. Plotting their itinerary, calculating their expenditure, alerting their friends and organising their supplies had kept him as happy as a lark.

Of course, she didn’t know what would happen when the trip was finally over. But she would face that hurdle when she came to it. Perhaps Ross, too, would decide to sell up. And if he did, the complicated process of moving to the south coast would keep him occupied for a long time.

Whatever he decided to do, Verlie would go along with it. She always did. Over the years, she had learned that life was only bearable if Ross made all the big decisions; she had long ago ceased to resent his assumption that because he made the money, he laid down the law. Being a peaceable, amenable sort of person, she didn’t fret about it too much. Instead she quietly pursued her own interests – the children, the garden, various handicrafts, English detective novels – restricting her complaints to a few very close friends. After all, she wasn’t a giddy young thing any more. If there was one thing she had learned in life, it was not to expect a fairy tale ending.

When packing for the trip, Verlie had made sure to take a couple of pot plants along with her, hanging them in pot holders to prevent them from falling and smashing when the caravan hit a stretch of rough road. She also took her knitting bag, her quilting bag, and a number of modest gifts for old friends: pewter items, pieces of linen and damask, scented soap, decorative stationery. Nothing breakable. Nothing big. It was she who had insisted on taking a portable television set as well. Ross had objected, but Verlie had prevailed. She knew Ross. She also knew what she would have to put up with if he was deprived of his Sunday-afternoon sport. Besides, there were the evenings to consider. Ross didn’t read books – only newspapers – and Verlie couldn’t bear the thought of having to converse with him during that golden time of the day when she liked to relax with a cup of cocoa and the latest PD James.

The television would keep Ross entertained if he couldn’t find anyone to talk to. He was a restless sort of person who liked a bit of noise. Verlie was different; after bringing up three children, she preferred silence. In this, as in so many other aspects of their lives, they differed fundamentally.

In Mildura, for example, Verlie would not have complained to the catering manager of the Leagues Club about a serving of undercooked chicken. She would simply have asked for a replacement dish. Similarly, she would not have kicked up such a fuss about the error that Ross found when he checked the bill issued to them by the owner of the caravan park. Ross seemed always alert for examples of fraud and poor service – perhaps it was the inevitable result of working in a bank. Verlie, on the other hand, disliked confrontation. She had to concede that she was a coward, in this respect. But where would Ross be if she hadn’t always been

so reluctant to speak her mind?

He couldn’t have it both ways.

Fortunately, the pitstop at Coombah roadhouse had passed without incident. Despite the number of flies inside the shop, and the restricted range of ice creams in the freezer, Ross had found nothing worth taking exception to. He had filled up his tank, bought himself a mint Cornetto, and smiled indulgently at Verlie’s choice of a Triple Treat. Then they had pressed on, rejoicing in the fact that there were hardly any cars on the road. Cars on the road meant people backed up behind their lumbering caravan, and that in turn meant people risking their necks when trying to overtake Ross on a two-lane highway. Not that there was much danger in overtaking on such a straight, flat road, but even so, there were always tailgaters. And Ross hated tailgaters with a passion. They put him in a very bad mood.

Verlie preferred to drive with him when he was feeling calm and content.