Swimming on Dry Land (10 page)

It's not that I don't want to believe in this searching business. I don't want to put a damper on their efforts, but between you and me, what are the chances? How many days is it now? Twelve, and no sign. She could turn up – I'm not saying she won't – but you have to admit that it's unlikely. All we can reasonably hope for is to find a few bones.

It's not clear who exactly calls the meeting on Wednesday night. I get word from Maddie, who has heard from Vera. Vera tells us it will be in the back room of the bar. We congregate around 8 pm. The pool table has been pushed to one side and the chairs are arranged in a horseshoe in the centre. There are notable absences: Delaney and Walsh, Mike, who has stayed to see to Monica, and Mr M. Caroline sits next to Maddie. I stand at the back, by the open door, prepared for a quick exit. The time for rousing speeches encouraging them all to stick together, to stay put, has come and gone. Maddie's husband, Jake, speaks first, addressing everyone from the front.

‘We all know why we're here.' There are a few nods and murmurs of agreement, but most of us wait for him to carry on. ‘We've searched the entire area. Every man in this room was at the mine on the day Georgina disappeared.' I consider pitching in at this point, but what's the use. ‘Vera can account for most of the women. Someone somewhere knows where that girl is. It's about time we got some answers.'

There is a smattering of applause, but the general mood is cautious. Scott Warton, a butcher of a man with age against him, gets up.

‘I hear what you're saying, Jake, but we can't go taking the law into our own hands. I say let the police deal with him.' He wheezes. Vera passes him a glass of water.

Jake retorts, ‘They've had two years.'

I can feel the temperature rising. I've heard all the sacred ground skin and bone stories, the sorcery hair-burning crap, but I wasn't expecting this. I'm halfway through the door when Caroline's voice stops me. She is standing in the centre of the room.

‘I am going to find my daughter. She is out there somewhere.' There is a respectful silence as she walks through the crowd, right past me.

I go after her. ‘I don't know what the hell that was about,' I say. She keeps walking. ‘What are they going to do?
Taking the law into our own hands
.' I'm not expecting her to speak; that's why I rattle on. I just want to be near her.

She stops when we reach the last house before the bend, and turns to face me. ‘Do you realise that we were having sex when Georgie went missing? I was with you instead of looking after my daughter. I was with
you
. And now I'm being punished. I deserve to be punished.' Her face splinters; she cries loudly as her body crumples over. I catch her with both hands before she hits the ground. All I can do is hold onto her. ‘I was with you,' she keeps repeating as she cries. Maybe she's right, maybe this is some kind of punishment. But hearing her voice, feeling her breath against my chest, makes everything seem alright.

Day fourteen. I'm in the shop totting up the figures from the day before, waiting for the fencing contractor to arrive. He promised to come last Thursday. If this firm wasn't the cheapest, I'd have gone elsewhere. I'm bound to lose one or two houses, I know that. Like last time. If people understood that leaving their houses will result in the bank taking them, maybe they'd stay? Nobody wants to see a town disappear.

They are still looking – the women, Mike, Caroline. The men have gone back to work. Mike has figured out that if Georgie sips 12 ml of water per day, she could survive for up to three weeks, even more. It all depends on how full that bottle was in the first place. No one has bothered to point out that a four year old is unlikely to make such calculations, and what about food?

A Barrier Lines truck pulls up outside. The rep sidles in, chewing gum. Not a good start, as far as I'm concerned.

‘Harry Redman from Barrier Lines.' The young fella shakes my hand vigorously, a bright-eyed, sun-tanned type with ragged golden locks. No doubt dances a rare tune with the ladies. ‘I've got the fastest team in the business,' he says.

‘I want the best team in the business.'

‘Yes, sir.' He makes me feel like an old man with his jaunty attitude and his gum. I fetch the plans from the office and spread them out on the counter, circling the whole area, including the patch that used to be mined by Opal Exports.

‘You want the fence to go around the town?' he asks, despite my having just illustrated as much. ‘Afraid of a roo invasion?'

‘Can you do it?' I say dryly. His laugh irritates me; the shine off his oversized forehead irritates me. I can smell his sweat-drenched skin.

He nods and writes down the price. ‘We'd like half upfront. Company policy.'

Smarter than I thought. I write a cheque. That buys me three, four days. By then the fence will be up, according to his estimate. We can renegotiate later. This was Willie's end of the business. He would put the thumbscrews on and get the price right down, tell them he'd found a better deal. I did try getting Willie back, offered to double his salary, but he was adamant.
That place gave me the heebegeebees
is what he said.

The Barrier Lines rep turns out to be a curious soul. ‘What's with this place, anyway?' I rip out the cheque and hand it over. ‘They found that girl yet?'

‘You and your men best get started then.'

He folds the cheque, pinching the crease between his fingers before tucking it into his shirt pocket. Smug git.

I sit on the stool behind the counter, staring at the plans for the fence. You've always got to factor in some additional costs. With this fence, it's the principle of the thing that matters, like having an alarm box outside a house; it acts as a deterrent, gives a feeling of security. That's what counts.

Mike creeps in so quietly I don't notice him until he drops his bag down on the other side of the counter.

‘I'm taking Moni to the hospital for tests. The fevers are getting worse. We'll be back first thing in the morning. Keep an eye on Caroline.' I think of telling him he looks like a shipwreck, but what's the point?

‘What do you think of this?' I follow the pencil-lined fence with my fingertip.

Mike stares at the map for a second. ‘Did you hear what I just said?'

‘She's in safe hands,' I tell him as the door swings shut.

Caroline calls over after dark. I'm expecting her. In fact I've rustled up a culinary masterpiece.

‘Did Mike ring?' she asks. No smile, nothing. She hovers in the doorway.

I tell her to sit. ‘I made your favourite.' I've also opened a bottle of claret, perfect with steak. Caroline appreciates good cuisine, and I'm a fairly decent cook: steaks, stir-fries, Sunday roasts, that sort of thing.

She fiddles with her watch – the one I bought her for her last birthday, a genuine crocodile strap – and tells me she's not hungry.

‘You will be.'

I finish laying the table. There are no candles to hand, so I light the kerosene lamp and switch off the main light. I move the dirty cups off the work surface and dump them in the sink. Since Monica stopped cleaning, the place has started smelling a bit. When I turn off the grill, Caroline is standing with her fist around the door knob.

‘Come on. Just sit.' I pour the wine. I need her to stay, at least for a while. Truth is, I'm bloody lonely without her.

The wine licks the sides of the glasses before it settles. I take a sip.

‘Why are you doing this?' she asks, so quietly I can barely hear. ‘Why aren't you out there with us? Don't you care?'

‘Of course I do.' I've been trying to hold this town together, get a fence put up, reassure people. That's my job. I can't give up like the rest of them.

‘Eddie.' She stares at me. ‘What's going on?'

I pull out a chair for her. She hesitates before stepping forward. Her hair is all over the place, she has no make-up on, and is still in the same pale blue dress she wore yesterday and the day before; this is a woman who prides herself on her appearance. And yet she looks more beautiful than ever. I stand behind her until she finally sits.

‘Eat this and then we'll go. I'll drive us out along the Wattle Creek road. We can use the spotlight.'

I dish up the food and sit at the other side of the table. ‘She could turn up … anywhere.'

Caroline pushes her plate to one side. ‘What else haven't you told us?'

I take another sip of wine. ‘If I'd have known … I didn't think it mattered.'

She jumps up, jerking the table, spilling wine. ‘Two people disappear and you don't think it matters? My God, Eddie, you're a heartless bastard. And there was me thinking you might actually feel something.'

‘That's not what I meant. I didn't want to scare you, not before we'd found her. Listen to me.' I try to reach her but she pulls away. ‘I love you.'

When she turns back, her face has set into a pyramid of dark lines. ‘Twenty-three women spent today searching for Georgie, and yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. We've been searching for two weeks.'

‘The police
will
find her.'

‘Two detectives with dogs? They're out twelve hours a day. How long do you think it's going to take?'

‘They know what they're doing. Come on, eat before it gets cold and then we'll go.' She hasn't eaten properly in days, or slept more than a few hours at a time. You can't expect to think straight like that.

She sits again, out of exhaustion by the looks of it, and watches me eat. I cut a chunk of steak and offer it to her on my fork, but she refuses. In the kerosene light, her face glows. I do really love this woman.

‘Have some wine.' I push the glass towards her. ‘Where are you going?'

‘Out.'

‘You'll need some warmer clothes. I'll get you some. Wait here. Why don't you take a shower? You'll feel better. I'll get you something to wear and then we'll go.'

She stops at the door, turning to face me. ‘This is
your
favourite, not mine,' she says, gesturing towards the plate.

‘Wait,' I say.

I think about the tiny blue vein pulsing in Caroline's neck as I rush out through the shop.

It's cool outside. A constant drone of cicadas shivers through the air. There is a stark quarter moon. The wine has made me feel weightless; my feet skate along. When I pass the truck, I get an idea. I open the shed, pull out the gear and load up the boot, just in case.

The caravan seems to shrink as I approach. Someone has left the door open. I flick on the light and sort through a pile of clothes for some jeans and a long-sleeved blouse. I pick out a few blouses for Caroline to choose from. They smell of her. For a while I forget what I'm doing, even think of lying down and closing my eyes, and then I catch sight of Georgie's clogs. I abandon the clothes on the bed and bend down to pick one up. It's so small, it fits in the palm of my hand, engine red, black laces, like a doll's shoe. My strawberry girl.

I drop the clog, scoop up the clothes, and head out with the smallness of that clog inside me. When I'm halfway across the tarmac, the darkness seems to close in on me. I can't see. I start to run head first. I keep running until I reach the shop. Only when I open the door do I realise how terrified I am.

Caroline is standing by the window in a towel. Her hair is wet. She looks annoyed. ‘What took you so long?'

I hand over the clothes and sit on the settee. My cine-camera is out of its case. Monica must have been playing with it. I check the controls and wind it back. She has recorded the model, her hand moving buildings around. I press Record to scrub it out.

‘Why did you bring so many clothes?' Caroline asks. That's when I point the camera at her. She has already put on her jeans, and stretches up her arms to slip into her camisole. Her breasts sing white against the t-shirt tan around her neck as the camisole slides over her head. She scowls at me. I keep the camera rolling.

‘What are you doing?' she says, slowly buttoning up a white blouse that has faint blue lines running through it, until the lace on her camisole disappears. I stop recording. She moves over to me, takes the camera out of my hands and dumps it roughly on the settee. ‘Let's go,' she snaps.

And so we do.

We drive through Akarula Street, past the moon-lit ghost gum. No sign of Mr M. I don't think I've ever seen him after dark. There are no lights on in the houses – as if they are already abandoned. The bar is lit up, and one of the portacabins, probably the detectives' quarters. It makes me wish I'd offered more.

The bush spreads out on either side as we leave the street behind. Caroline leans her head against the window pane.

‘Are you still mad with me?' I ask. Her watery expression is hard to read in this patchy light.

We drive for a while in silence. When we are two or three miles away from the town, I pull over, go round the back of the truck, and pop the boot. The rifle is loaded. I take out two pairs of gloves to stop our hands from slipping.