Catherine Jinks TheRoad (20 page)

‘Oh look,’ she said, a short time after they had crossed Pine Creek, ‘isn’t that somebody waving? Look, Ross – I think someone’s in trouble.’

A grey dot on the horizon had taken definite form as they rapidly approached it. Verlie saw a car parked beside the road; the people standing around it were at first only visible as ant-like black shapes. Despite the fact that Ross began to slow his speed, however, it soon became apparent that a man was waving them down – a man and a small child.

By the time they reached the grey car, Verlie could see that this man was tall and thin and balding, with the gentle, benevolent face of an absent-minded professor. He wore sandals and shorts, a flapping T-shirt and an expensive wrist watch. Verlie took note of the wrist watch, the little girl hanging off his left leg (which was very hairy) and the fact that he removed his sunglasses when Ross eased to a halt beside him. This man, she decided, was not a threat. His mild blue eyes and sheepish smile were as reassuring as the size of his family.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Ross, and the man approached Ross’s window.

‘We’ve run out of petrol,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘And our mobile won’t work. Not out here. Would you happen to have a satellite phone?’

‘No. Sorry.’

Then the man’s wife spoke. (At least, Verlie assumed that she was his wife.) She looked younger than her husband, and more vital; her eyes were a vivid green against the tanned skin of her face. Nudging aside the little girl, she stooped to address Ross through his half-open window.

‘Have you just come from Coombah?’ she demanded.

‘We stopped there, yes,’ Ross replied.

‘How long ago?’

‘How long ago did we stop there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well...’ Ross glanced at Verlie, who opened her mouth to help. But Ross needed no help. He was simply collecting his thoughts. ‘About an hour and a half, I suppose,’ he remarked.

‘Oh!’ The woman looked surprised. She pulled back. Her husband said: ‘We were trying to get to Coombah, but we seem to have miscalculated. It’s taken much longer than it should have. We left Broken Hill just after ten, this morning –’

‘But you’re heading the wrong way,’ Verlie interrupted. ‘I mean

– you’re heading
for
Broken Hill.’

A babble of explanations immediately broke out. Even the children started to talk; there was an older boy and a pretty young girl, about ten, who looked very nice in a pink and white cotton sundress. (Verlie thought it a sad thing that so few little girls wore dresses any more.) Their mother clapped her hands: ‘Kids!’ she barked. ‘Quiet!’ Then she peered into the car again.

‘We saw how low our petrol was getting,’ she informed Verlie, ‘and turned back. We were hoping to get to the farm up the road.’

‘Is there a farm up the road?’ asked Verlie.

‘Well...there’s a mailbox.’

‘I see.’

‘We don’t know how far off the road any house might be,’ the woman continued, and then faltered. ‘If you – I mean – if you can actually
see
it – if it isn’t too far away . . .’

‘I don’t suppose you could make a call for us? If they have a land line?’ her husband finished. ‘I realise it’s a lot to ask, of course . . .’

‘Oh, we won’t need to do that,’ Ross said crisply. His manner was pleasant, but Verlie could sense the impatience lurking beneath his calm, well modulated tones. ‘It’s not far to Broken Hill. We’ll find a phone there.’

‘That’s very kind of you – it’s just that we’re a bit worried about the children.’ With a wave of his hand, the absent-minded professor indicated the smallest girl. ‘It’ll take at least two hours to get there, and two hours to get back here, and since it’s already gone two –’

‘No, no,’ said Ross. ‘Two hours to get there? Nothing like that. No, no. Half an hour at the most.’