Out of Alice (33 page)

‘He's —'

‘He's seventeen. Unsure of everything except his family, and his place in it, which suddenly seems to be threatened. He was the eldest child and now he's not. I don't want him to see me as an incursion into his family but as a separate person, someone there is no pressure for him to like or accept. It's best this way that I should appear as a visitor rather than a fixture. If he realises that I'm no threat to him, that I intend to live my own life, he'll come round more quickly.'

Randall looked torn. He opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at his wife. ‘What do you think, Fran?'

She nodded thoughtfully, reaching to touch his hand lightly. ‘I think Christine's right. We should have thought, prepared him more. And it's a bad time for him to be upset, with exams still to come. Your daughter's very wise and understanding, John. Of course this is still her home and always will be. I'll make that perfectly clear to Justin if you haven't already done so.'

Randall huffed out a breath. ‘I think I might have.' He rubbed his neck. ‘Very well, then. It will be however you want it, Chrissy.' His searching gaze met hers, hiding disappointment. ‘You're not going to rush off immediately, though? You've only just got here.'

She smiled at him, a shadow in her eyes. ‘How about I stay till Christmas? It would be wonderful to share that with you. Speaking of which, do you remember the year we got the rocking horse, Benny and I? Isn't it odd the things you remember? We always wondered how Santa got it into his bag.'

A reminiscent smile lit his face. ‘By God, I do! You were only, what, five that year?'

‘It was the last real Christmas I ever had,' Sara said. ‘I can still see us riding him on the verandah.'

‘With the boards squeaking like crazy. And your mother —' He broke off. ‘Well, that was then.' His gaze was direct. ‘There's something else in Alice Springs, isn't there? A man? I asked before but you turned it aside.'

Sara rose, holding the precious box. She wouldn't lie to him but her tongue was stiff and unwilling and the words rang dull with unhappiness. ‘Yes, but it's not that. He doesn't want me. I just – I feel at home out there.'

The following morning Sara found her father and brother breakfasting on the balcony overlooking the front garden where the table had been set for six.

She greeted them both, adding to her father, ‘I thought you'd be gone. Frances told me you usually started work with the sun.'

‘Old habit.' He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and reached for the teapot. ‘Tea?'

‘Please.' She glanced at her brother, who looked uncomfortable under her regard. ‘How are you, Justin? Do you have exams today?'

‘Yeah.' He moved his plate aside but didn't look at her as he said stiffly, ‘I apologise for what I said, okay? I didn't know about the DNA. I've gotta go, Dad, or I'll be late.' He pushed his chair back and left before she could formulate a response. In the silence he left behind they heard his feet clattering down the stairs. Somewhere in the garden a bird trilled, careless in the sunshine.

Sara sat down. ‘That didn't go so well,' she said ruefully. ‘I suppose it'll take time. What are you doing today?'

He passed her the cup, then slid the milk jug across the table. ‘I'm going into the office to tidy up a couple of things. After that I was thinking of taking you out. I thought we could pick up Justin after his exam and go to lunch somewhere, give you a bit of time together. Would that upset anything you've already planned?

‘Not at all. What about Frances?'

‘It's her day for tennis, after she's dropped the girls off.'

‘Then I'm entirely at your disposal. Where are the girls?'

‘They'll be down any minute. I dragged Justin out early. He's – the trouble is we don't have enough time together. I'm always travelling, home late, leaving early. It came to me I need to see more of him, perhaps explain my actions more. I don't want my son to be a stranger.'

‘No,' Sara agreed, adding, ‘I don't have much experience of families, except the Calshots, and things are different in the mulga.' Jack's phrase came naturally to her lips, bringing a glimpse of his face. ‘I mean, they live and work together. Their lives aren't so fragmented as those of urban families. Good morning, Frances. Isn't it a beautiful day?'

‘Good morning, did you sleep well? Eat up, girls.' Dressed in their school uniforms the two slid onto their chairs and shook cereal onto their plates. ‘Careful with the milk jug, Sophie!' Frances admonished, helping herself to toast. Her hair was freshly styled and she wore tennis whites. ‘Has Justin gone already?'

‘Just now,' Sara said. ‘Dad's taking us both to lunch later.' It still seemed strange to call him that. ‘Will that fit in with whatever you've planned?'

‘Perfectly.' Frances crunched toast and checked the sky. ‘Beach weather; we shall have to get you down there soon. Come
on,
girls. Finish your juice, Sophie.' She sighed. ‘Another week, thank God, and this morning rush will be over.'

Luncheon in a busy bistro in the heart of the city was a strained affair. Justin, under his father's eye, was mostly silent. He answered Sara's questions but made no effort beyond that. He exhibited no stress about his likely test results, dismissing the outcome with a shrug. ‘It'll be cool.'

‘Lucky you, then. I was never that relaxed about mine,' Sara observed rather tartly. The exchange depressed her. The thinly veiled disdain he exuded made her want to shake him but she couldn't win that way. For now it seemed best to let it ride – it was no more possible to force affection between siblings than to alter the shape of one's face. His DNA might proclaim their relationship but only his feelings could truly make him her brother. Unconsciously she frowned, flicking her finger against her thumb, and John Randall leaned across the table to tap her hand, with a little smile for his son.

‘Look at that,' he said. ‘She does it too. You two couldn't look more different, you've never met and yet you have the same mannerism. How do you explain that?'

‘Genes.' Justin grunted at the same moment as Sara spoke while eyeing her hand as if it belonged to a stranger.

‘I guess it must be
galli-galli
.'

‘Which is?' Justin demanded, his tone somewhere between scornful and intrigued.

‘A useful descriptive word for anything you don't understand.' She heard Jack's words as she spoke and pain squeezed her heart.

‘It's just family.' Her father corrected obliviously, as he signalled a suave waiter. ‘Well, what would you like to see next, Chrissy?'

‘Anything,' she answered. ‘You must know the city. Justin – do you have any suggestions?'

‘I dunno. Touristy things. A ferry ride maybe.'

The days fled rapidly by. All the family attended the first end-of-year concert. It was held at the school and Sophie, as a shepherd seated next to the crib, was required to nurse a real lamb. Her first words after the event were
Ew! It peed on me, Mum!
The next was Sophie's ballet performance. Justin begged it off but Sara enjoyed it. Mandy criticised her sister's performance; her own interests lay with music and she was learning the violin.

‘I'm sure you play better now than you did when you were eight,' Sara said diplomatically. ‘So you have to grant Sophie the same licence.'

‘Huh?' Mandy looked bemused. ‘What's that mean?'

‘That you shouldn't be unkind to your sister. Remember, she's younger than you,' Frances replied, clapping enthusiastically.

On the weekend, they all went to the beach. Sara was surprised at how quickly she had reaccustomed herself to city living, to the traffic and congestion and crowded pavements. Sydney had more of all these than Adelaide and, dreaming behind her sunglasses in the folding chair set up under the huge beach umbrella, Redhill seemed as distant as the stars.

‘You're not swimming?' Frances, clad in a red one-piece, was slathering sunblock over her limbs.

Sara shook her head, glancing down at her long cotton pants and full-sleeved blouse. ‘The shade's safer for me. Five minutes in a swimsuit and I'd look like a lobster.' She watched them from her seat – Justin had separated himself from them, vanishing the moment his board was unloaded. The girls shrieked and leapt amid the rollers, and her father had taken Frances's hand as they waded into the waves. His body, she noticed, was still firm even if his chest hair was grey. He looked to be in good shape for a man of sixty-eight.

Sitting alone, her thoughts turned again to Jack and the others, and the searing desert heat. Had the drought broken yet? The weather news, which she'd avidly followed since her arrival, told her nothing, concerned only as it was with New South Wales.

The sea breeze ruffled her hair and behind closed lids she thought of the way the blessed night breeze had blown through the French windows of her room at Redhill. And inevitably of Jack; he had never kissed her, but he had held her, helped her, cheered her. She had felt cherished by him, which made it the more hurtful when his interest had cooled so suddenly. Because he'd remembered her city background? Her heart railed against the unfairness of it.

Wanting him, his presence, his touch, affected everything that Sara thought and stole the joy from her days. She sifted sand through her fingers, caught between the need to be both here with her new-found family and back amid the daily struggle at Redhill. She had promised she would return but now, with the perspective that distance gave, she wondered how she could. They had problems enough without an extra mouth to feed, and one, moreover, who would need transportation from the roadhouse to the station. She could always stay with Frank and Helen in the Alice, but that wouldn't solve the problem of seeing Jack, who was seldom in the Alice. And if she
did
see him? There was no answer to that, save a stubborn conviction that just to do so would ease the pain of longing, if only for a little while.

Sighing, Sara stood up and dusted off her hands. There was still the problem of Justin. Clamping her hat to her head, she set off through the sprawled sunbathers to the section of beach where the board riders congregated. He might neither want nor know how to talk to her, she thought, because heaven knew she hadn't much idea what to say to him, so perhaps just sheer proximity would help remove the constraint between them. If nothing else her persistence would show him that she cared about his interests.

After a few days her father returned to his regular work schedule, though Frances said he had postponed an overseas trip that he had originally planned for before Christmas.

‘There's some research he's looking at funding over there, but he tells me it can wait. I'm so glad. John is always dashing off somewhere. I've been wanting him to slow down for some time.'

‘But you said he's fit, that his health is good.' Sara couldn't keep the sudden alarm from her voice.

‘Oh, yes, no worries there,' Frances assured her. ‘Do you feel up to some shopping? The girls have Christmas presents to buy, which will take forever. Sophie, bless her, is suggestible, but Mandy's not. The crowds will be horrendous but it'll only be worse next week. The closer Christmas comes the worse it is. I thought we could make a day of it, shop, lunch, cinema. That ought to wear them out. What do you say?'

‘Lovely. The cinema will be my treat. Do you have a movie in mind?'

‘Something called
The Lion King.
The girls have been talking about it forever. Half the school's seen it apparently and they're feeling disadvantaged.'

Sara laughed. ‘Well, we can't have that, can we?
The Lion King
it is.'

They had a busy time of it. Sara, wandering through the crowded, glittering stores awash with Christmas decorations, bought presents for her sisters and after some thought selected a large backpack for Justin.

‘Do you think?' she asked Frances. ‘For uni. I know he has one but I thought something bigger?'

‘An excellent idea,' his mother agreed.

For Frances she found a handbag of buttery soft leather, then a wallet for her father. That left only Becky and Sam, and a book and a puzzle respectively – neither of which were prohibitively expensive to post – settled them. She bought a card for Jack and nothing else, unable to decide how he might view a gift. Would he be reluctant to accept it? Would he take it, as she would hope, in the spirit of friendship, or feel obliged to reciprocate, and be annoyed at her for encouraging the bond he sought to break?

But the day was too busy for introspection, with the girls excited over their purchases and caught up in the hype of Christmas.

‘This is fun,' Sara declared as they lunched in a crowded food hall. ‘I've never bothered much with Christmas before. Except when I was married, but that wasn't for long.'

‘Did you have a tree?' Mandy asked. Sara shook her head. ‘We do, a ginormous one in the hall. When are we gonna put it up, Mum?'

‘Well, I thought we could do it tomorrow,' Frances said and Sophie, mouth smeared with tomato sauce, clapped her hands.

‘Oh, goody! I love doing the tree. You can help too, Sara, so you won't be sad. 'Cause I would be, if I couldn't.'

‘Thank you, sweetie.' Touched, Sara reached to smooth back the hair that had escaped her clip. ‘I don't think I'll ever be sad again now I've got a sister like you.'

‘And me!' Mandy interjected indignantly.

‘And you,' Sara agreed. Glancing at Frances she wondered if she would ever be able to say the same of Justin. ‘So, when does this movie start?'

Once the school holidays began Sara had little private time, which was just as well, she silently acknowledged. Thinking about Jack, recreating his face in her memory, along with his walk, the shape of his skull, the quizzical glint that visited his grey eyes, did nothing to help her forget. She rang Redhill one evening, aiming for a time when dinner would be finished, and got Beth.

They were all doing fine, she was told, especially Sam. Sara heard caution and hope warring in her friend's voice as Beth said, ‘Of course, we won't know for sure until his next appointment, but I think, I really think, Sara, that he's not just holding his own now, he's improving. He doesn't get so tired so quickly, and he's eating better.'

‘That's wonderful! I'm so glad. How're Len and Jack?'

‘Busy,' Beth said. ‘You wouldn't believe it but we got a lightning strike in a patch of whipstick mulga this afternoon. It started a fire. They're out fighting it now.'

‘Oh.' Sara was lost. ‘Is that bad? What's whipstick mulga exactly?'

‘Mulga that grows in thickets, practically solid. Burns like blazes.'

‘Not good, then. But lightning? At least you're getting storms.'

‘Uh huh, dry ones. Anyway, how's your life in Sydney?'

‘It's fine, thanks; I miss you all, though. Give my love to the children, won't you? Tell Becky to watch out for the mail. I've posted a letter and some pics to her. I'll call again at Christmas, Beth.'

‘Yes.' Her friend's voice, with the dry undertones that were so much a part of her, said, ‘Who knows, maybe it'll be raining by then. Bye, Sara.'

‘Bye,' she echoed, then sat for long moments with her hand on the phone, picturing the two men, black shapes against orange-red flames that roared into the night. Sara had only seen bushfires on television. Beth hadn't sounded particularly worried for them so it couldn't be that dangerous, could it? At the same time it seemed terribly unjust that a storm that should've brought life-giving grass would instead be burning the only fodder on the property. Sara found herself hoping desperately that they would be able to control it, then calmed her fears with the reflection that the men from Munaroo and Wintergreen would turn out for Len.
You can't survive alone out here,
Jack had said once when she'd asked why he spent so much time fixing others' gear.
We help each other.

The Christmas tree was decorated and looked splendid, Sara thought, with its dark green boughs and shiny decorations set against the plain cream wall and embossed ceiling of the hall. The days ticked steadily away, marked off by the Advent calendar the girls rushed for each morning. Friends of Frances's dropped in for drinks and gossip; they had all seen the news stories about Randall's lost daughter, and their avid appetite for details of her life made Sara uncomfortable. The media had either lost interest or thought better of breaching John Randall's privacy. Having been spared their more searching attention, Sara resented the women's prying interest. She attended the gatherings because she was a guest there but was firm in refusing her father's invitation to the Randall Company's Christmas party.

‘Take Justin,' she suggested. ‘There's no point in introducing me to your managers and salespeople. He's the one they need to know by the sounds of it, given he's going to be studying commerce at university. Besides, I don't want him to see me as a threat to his potential future in the company.' She had begun making headway with the boy, mostly by doggedly persisting and refusing to take offence at his efforts to shut her out.

John Randall pondered the matter, then nodded. ‘You're right. He'd probably prefer hanging out with his mates at the beach, but we could start a tradition of introducing the next generation. It's the sort of thing they do in Asia. Thanks, Chrissy – Mary was good with people too. She was useless with figures, but she understood people. Always knew and told me when I'd upset somebody.'

‘If it comes to that I wouldn't want a business depending on
my
bookkeeping either.'

He looked thoughtfully at her, the chair tipped back to accommodate his long legs. His reading glasses lay folded on the desk at his elbow where a vase of summer roses scented the air of his home office. ‘Would you like to change that?' he asked. ‘Oh, not necessarily bookkeeping, but if there's a career you wanted to study for, you could. A university education is something else you were robbed of – but you could still have it.'

Sara shook her head. ‘Maybe if I had a particular talent or a burning desire, but I haven't. Thanks all the same though.'

‘Well.' He sighed. ‘If you should change your mind . . . You had to scrape for books and stuff once, I know. But now you just have to say the word. I never want you to want for anything again.'

‘Yes, I get that.' She smiled at him and rested a hand on his arm, still shy of greater displays of affection. ‘It's all right though. I'm happy as I am.'

On Christmas morning Sara had reason to recall her father's words. As they unwrapped their gifts amid the litter of discarded decorations and torn wrapping paper in the hall, Sophie discovered an envelope decorated with a curl of scarlet ribbon.

‘It's for you, Chrissy!' She gave it to Sara, then hung over her chair arm as Sara slit open the paper and tipped out a set of keys. ‘Huh!' she exclaimed. ‘That's a funny sorta present. What are they
for?'

They were for nothing less than the tan-coloured Toyota station wagon parked in the second space of the double garage, Randall's own car having been left in the driveway to accommodate it. Sara, gaze switching between the gift and the giver, pressed a hand to her cheek.

‘It's too much! You can't – I can't let you!'

‘On the contrary, poppet. You can't stop me.' Her father grinned. ‘It's not near enough. How many birthdays and Christmases have you missed? How many parties and celebrations are owed to you? If you're going to spend time in the bush, you need reliable transport. It's a diesel, it has a five-year warranty and they've fitted a bullbar. That's to protect the front end.'

‘I know what a bullbar is,' Sara said faintly. ‘It's – I don't know, Dad. It will certainly make getting around easier, but —'

‘I wouldn't argue,' Justin said enviously. He was circling the vehicle, eyes bright. ‘Nice one, Dad! Hey, will you take us for a spin, Christine? 'Course I'd sooner have something nippier and sporty, but it's not bad.'

‘It's not bad at all.' She smiled at him, then laughed happily and flung her arms around her father. ‘Thank you so much! I never expected – but oh, it's wonderful. I can go anywhere now!'

‘With proper precautions,' he amended. ‘There's a shovel aboard and a water barrel. I'll give you some lessons at four-wheel driving before you leave.'

‘I'll hold you to that,' she said.

He was as good as his word and the following morning they set out for the Blue Mountains to spend the day familiarising herself with the Toyota. Watching Sara pack lunches, Justin was visibly torn between accompanying them and arrangements already made with his friend Stuart.

‘There'll be another opportunity,' Sara told him.

‘But you're leaving, you said.'

‘So I'll stay a few more days,' she promised. An idea occurred to her. ‘You don't have anything planned, do you, for the holidays?'

‘No, well, the old man'll expect me to get a job.' He grimaced. ‘Seems pretty pointless really. It's not like I'm gonna keep it up, supposing I fluke one, but he's got this thing about work being, I dunno, necessary?' He finished on an incredulous note.

Sara smiled at him. ‘The bad news is that I've got it too, mate. Idleness isn't really very satisfying, you know. Anyway, I'm sure we'll find time for a drive before I leave.'

Later, on the freeway, relaxing into the feel of the vehicle, Sara said cautiously, ‘I've had an idea, Dad. Justin and I were talking earlier – he tells me you expect him to get a job for the next couple of months?'

‘Uh huh. What did he want, for you to talk me out of it?'

‘Not at all. You do know that it won't be easy for him to land one? He's unskilled and one of a thousand school leavers all looking for a wage, most of them more committed than he'll be. No, I wondered – if I found something for him to do, would you pay his wage?'

John Randall's brows rose. ‘Care to explain? What would I be paying for? I'm not objecting – yet.' His eyes twinkled at the driver.

‘You'd be paying for his labour. I thought he could come back with me, just for three weeks or so. They've got this beautiful old homestead at Redhill with wooden floors. And it's suffering badly from years of neglect. Not that the Calshots wouldn't fix it, but they can't afford to. When I leave here I'm taking back a load of timber dressing or sealant or whatever you use to preserve flooring. Applying it is what Justin would do. What do you think?'

His first question caught her unawares. ‘Can you afford this, Chrissy?'

‘Yes – and it wouldn't matter if I couldn't. I owe it to them.' Sara's grip on the wheel tightened and she risked a quick glance away from the road. ‘They were so kind to me; Jack particularly helped me to —' She broke off. ‘Anyway, it's a thing I can do and it's not so costly that they won't be able to accept it.'

‘Ah, yes. There's always that aspect,' her father agreed. ‘So, it's Jack who . . . He's the one?'

Sara swallowed tears. ‘Yes. But it isn't about him. It's Len and Beth's home and unique in its way. It's over eighty years old. It'll be quite hard work for Justin, I imagine, especially with the heat.'

‘Well.' Randall rubbed his jaw. ‘I'll talk to Frances. If she's okay with it, I'll ask him tonight. If he wants to go, I'll stump up his wage.'

Justin considered the proposal carefully. The idea of a long trip obviously appealed to him, but did it appeal deeply enough, Sara wondered, for him to accept her company?

‘You want me to paint floors?' he said incredulously.

‘It's a job. Free meals and accommodation, plus travel, maybe,' she added. ‘If you've got your L plates, you'd have a chance to drive part of the way. Does that sound so bad?'

He straightened. ‘You'd let me drive your car?'

‘If you were careful.'

‘Okay,' he conceded. ‘So what's it pay?'

‘The basic wage?' Sara suggested. ‘Painting's not rocket science. You'll need a shady hat. It's hotter than you can imagine out there.'

‘Heat doesn't worry me,' he said scornfully. ‘I live for summer.'

The girls were immediately jealous of their brother, until Sara reminded them that there was no beach or ice-cream to be had where she was going. Mandy doggedly demanded proof of these statements.

‘Show me,' she commanded.

Her father flattened a map on the dining-room table and Sara traced out the route they would take: north-west through Dubbo, on to Broken Hill and into South Australia, then north up the centre of the state to the Alice, along the Stuart Highway.

‘But how can you live
there
?' Her sister was aghast. ‘There aren't any towns. Where will you buy bread and milk and, well,
anything?
'

‘We manage. You can make your own bread, you know. And there's plenty of goats' milk.'

‘Ew!' Sophie grimaced. ‘I'm glad I'm not Justin. Can we go to the beach today, Mum?'