Roadside Sisters (18 page)

Nina reached the rocks and stripped down to her frayed floral one-piece. It had been a long time since she’d swum in the sea. For years she had covered herself with big shirts and hidden under the umbrella, watching Brad and the boys beyond the breakers, longing to be out there too. She always pleaded that she was scared of the water but it was the thought of the near-naked parade past the people sitting on the sand that truly terrified her.

This morning there was no-one to laugh at her dimpled thighs and plump bottom, and she ran—actually
ran
—across the sand and dived into the chilly frothing surf. No small hand to hold. No-one to watch out for. No-one to see her.

The water was cold and clear. Her body felt as light as a slice of peach floating in a glass of champagne. She dived to the sandy bottom and found a shell, grasped it and bobbed to the surface on a breath. She held it aloft and was—for one golden, fleeting moment—Botticelli’s Venus, blown by the zephyrs of passion and attended by a goddess of the seasons. She twirled in the water just in time to see a huge wave bearing down on her. It whacked her across the side of the head, filling her ear with sand.

Nina stopped at the brick toilet block just up from the beach to rinse her feet under the tap. She was hopping on one foot and slapping the side of her head to get the sea water and grit out of her ear when that bloke from yesterday—did he say his name was
Matty
, or
Marty
?—came sauntering around the side
of the building with a towel wrapped around his waist. Nina lunged for her sarong and clutched it to her body. She fancied he’d seen her pudgy stomach and had looked away in disgust.

‘G’day again! Matty,’ he said cheerily. ‘Great spot! Nina, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Hello. Hi,’ said Nina as she scraped ropes of sodden hair from her face.

‘How’s your partner, Meredith, enjoying it all?’

Nina was flustered. He’d remembered their names—and the fact that they were supposed to be a couple. It was all highly embarrassing. Matty undid his towel to reveal red board shorts and began drying his bare, tanned, muscled chest in front of her. He did this so casually, so unselfconsciously, it was as though he and Nina shared a bathroom all the time. And—the thought flickered across her mind—that wouldn’t have been an altogether bad thing. He really was a good-looking man.

‘We’re having a wonderful time, thank you. It really is so beautiful here.’

‘Did you meet up with your convoy?’ he asked, shaking his wet hair like a golden labrador. A shower of sea spray flew in a shimmering arc in the morning sun.

Nina was mesmerised. ‘Pardon?’

‘You said you had some other vans joining you. But I can’t see ’em. Have they left already?’

‘Oh! Oh yes, they headed off earlier,’ Nina lied. ‘We’ll be meeting them a bit further up the coast.’

‘In the Murramarang National Park?’ Matty was now towelling his legs with long, languid strokes.

Nina couldn’t help staring. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘We’re heading that way. To the campground at Pretty Beach. Maybe we can all get together and have a drink at sunset.’ He slung his towel across his shoulder and beamed at Nina.

‘A drink? That would be . . . great . . . lovely. Meredith and I . . .’ Nina couldn’t believe how absurd this sounded, ‘we’ll look forward to it.’

Nina thought that, even if she were a lesbian, Meredith would be about the last woman on earth she’d choose as a partner. She was way too bony. If she was going to take a female lover, she’d at least want her to have a bit of meat on her. Nina’s eyes widened—she couldn’t believe where this line of reasoning was taking her.

‘Well, have a good one. See you tonight.’ Matty turned and sauntered off, ducking a low-hanging branch. Nina watched him go for a long moment, appreciating the curve of his shoulders, and then hared off in the other direction, her sarong flapping against her wet white legs.

‘There’s no way we’ll be watching the sunset with those two idiots,’ Meredith said, tucking her hair into her towelling turban before attacking her grapefruit segments with a sleek teaspoon imported from Finland. ‘And don’t tell Annie when she wakes up. If she sees them again, I know what’ll happen. She’ll be off having sex with one of them in the sand dunes before we know it . . . if she hasn’t already. We have to save her from herself.’

Nina reached across the picnic table for a slice of toast and then stopped. A swim in the sea and a grapefruit for breakfast would start her day in the way she meant it to continue. She sliced the fruit, put a piece in her mouth and grimaced at its sourness. How anyone could eat this stuff unless it was covered in sugar . . .

‘Actually, he seems lovely,’ she ventured. ‘He remembered our names . . . and the fact that we were a couple.’

‘That’s hardly a fact! No offence, Nina, but if I was a lesbian I wouldn’t be choosing a partner who’d nag me to death.’

‘Meredith!’

‘Sorry.’ Meredith poured herself an orange juice. ‘But there is one fact, and that’s that Annie doesn’t know what’s good for her. She should find a nice fellow and settle down. There are oodles of good men around. She’s way too picky, that’s Annie’s problem.’

The screen door banged open. ‘What’s my problem?’ Annie stood at the top of the stairs in a rumpled singlet and a fetching pair of cotton pyjama pants splashed with sunflowers. She scratched at her enviably flat tummy, smoothed her curls and blinked against the sharp light of morning.

‘You sleep too much,’ said Meredith airily, not skipping a beat. ‘You’re missing the best part of the day. Come and have some breakfast.’

‘I think I might go for a swim first. It’s stinking hot in this van. I reckon a dive in the surf will wake me up.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Meredith quickly. ‘I’ve just squeezed some orange juice. Have it while it’s still cold.’ She had one ear
out, listening for the sound of a four-wheel drive leaving the camping grounds, but heard nothing.

‘And have a grapefruit while it’s still . . . er . . . fresh,’ Nina stuttered. Meredith raised her eyebrows. Of all the people she could have had as an accomplice!

Annie hesitated, shrugged. ‘OK then. Hang on, I’ll just get my sunnies.’

When she had ducked back inside, Nina leaned across the table and hissed: ‘This is awful. It’s like we’re the ugly stepsisters or something, trying to hide Cinderella.’

‘That would only be true if that yob was Prince Charming. Which he’s not. And if we were ugly. Which you might imagine you are, but I am
definitely
not.’ Meredith thrust a cup at Nina. ‘Now, pour the tea and shut up!’

Just then they heard the revving of a motor and a skidding on gravel. Meredith smiled triumphantly—the coast was clear. Annie stomped down the metal steps even before the cloud of grey dust billowing from the distant parking bay had settled.

‘This is bloody annoying! I still can’t find my good sunglasses. My Gucci ones. They cost me two hundred and ninety bucks.’

‘You paid two hundred and ninety dollars for a pair of sunglasses?’ Nina couldn’t believe it.

‘Pu-leeze, Nina! You can easily pay twice that much for a decent pair. I got them on sale,’ said Annie irritably. ‘I brought a couple of other pairs with me, but those ones are my faves. I hope I haven’t lost ’em. God, I can’t believe it’s so warm already.’

‘Why don’t you go for a nice swim then?’ suggested Nina.

Meredith kicked her shin under the table. Nina ducked her head, pushed her grapefruit aside, took a slice of toast and helped herself to jam and butter.

Annie was entranced with the tiny twinned towns of Tilba Tilba and Central Tilba as they slowly made their way up the main street for a mid-morning stop. Tumbling down the hill on either side were quaint wooden buildings, all with corrugated-iron roofs, painted wood spires and deep, shady verandas. The settlement couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the string of flat, sunburnt coastal towns they’d just motored through.

It was dairy country, and that made Annie feel at home. Maybe she’d settle here. There were farms back up in the foothills that had a view of the sea. There were plenty of cafés and restaurants catering for the tourist trade, and a collection of art galleries and shops selling jewellery and hand-made clothes supplied by a tribe of local artisans. The bakery, lolly shop, general store and cheese factory reminded Annie of Tongala when she was a kid—back in the days when those shops were necessities, not just tourist traps.

The only blight on the delightful heritage streetscape was the RoadMaster Royale itself, which was bigger than some of the humble cottages they cruised past. It was as if an alien spacecraft had landed in Bag End, Hobbiton, Middle Earth. Meredith couldn’t take her eyes from the rear-vision mirror, and cringed when she saw the patrons standing on the historic balcony of the Dromedary Hotel hoot and point at the Confederate flag painted on the arse of the vehicle.

For her part, Nina was feeling just fine. She’d retrieved a voice message from Brad from her phone at a servo some way back down the road: ‘Hi, babe. Been trying to call you. Anyway, hope you’re having a great time. The boys got off to Canberra OK. Anton couldn’t find his cap, but I rang and Mrs Bogle’s bringing a spare one from school. Um . . . the dog got out but Jordy caught him in next door’s. Er . . . I’m really flat-out at meetings all day at the club, so you might not be able to catch me. I’ll try again later. Love you. Miss you. Bye
.
’

One message from Brad and all was now well in Nina’s world. However, she reminded herself, this trip couldn’t just be about absent husbands, sons and fathers—past, present or future. She must remember to mention that to the others. It was about female friends being ‘in the moment’, offering each other ‘
a wise counsel and a trusting and deep constancy
’. That’s what the article in the magazine had said. Was that happening yet? Were they having fun? Bonding, getting to know each other at a deeper level? Nina wasn’t sure, but by the time they got to Byron she would make it happen.

Nina had spent years organising birthday parties, Christmas dinners, New Year barbecues for the family, school fetes, charity luncheons. She knew that you had to pay attention to the details—the food, drink, lighting, car parking, right down to having enough toilet paper and hand towels in the bathroom. It was all about ‘stage managing’ the occasion. If you did it right, everyone could relax and they’d all be having a great time before they knew it. Nina had observed this many, many times as she was up to her elbows in dishwashing water in the kitchen.

Anyway, Brad seemed to be managing at home, Nina reassured herself. She was looking forward to celebrating with a leisurely trawl through the shops and icing it all with a cake from the Tilba Bakery—a pretty vanilla slice of a building, which held a lot of calorific promise. And, Nina reasoned, she deserved a treat after the stress of last night.

Meredith insisted that they park out of the way in a side street. ‘Imagine all these people coming to visit this National Trust heritage town, and all they can see is Elvis at Caesar’s Palace?’

Nina urged the aluminium eyesore up a steep lane and edged it into a parking place. The effort brought her out in a sweat. Soon enough, however, the three of them were wandering in and out of the shops, Nina and Annie chattering like a pair of rainbow lorikeets: ‘Oh, look at that, isn’t that
gorgeous
?’ ‘What do you think—does this suit me?’ ‘You
have
to see this—it’s
so
you.’

Meredith’s expert eye dismissed most of the stuff she saw. Nanna-ware, she called it. She sniffed with disdain at
gumnut earrings, padded coathangers and lavender sachets. ‘Horrid. Awful. Junk. Most nannas I know would rather have white goods, thank you very much.’ She picked up a wooden spice rack decorated with painted daisies and couldn’t imagine anyone finding the time to paint such a godawful thing, and then anyone paying good money for it. Except perhaps the tubby woman in the stretch-knit slacks and Akubra hat, handing over her credit card for the matching egg cups.

Nina and Annie ignored Meredith’s acerbic commentary and headed for a pile of vintage embroidered tablecloths. Annie inspected them and found the needlework to be nowhere near as fine as Nan Bailey’s. She checked the price tags and had a new respect for her mother’s glory box stuffed with embroidered fancies. If Annie could convince her mother to let her put them on eBay, the profits could easily fund a new water tank. She must remember to mention that when she called home. A wire stand crammed with real estate brochures next caught Annie’s eye. There was a property, just for her, on page thirty—five acres, organic orchard, goat proof, chicken secure, creek water, vegie garden: $310,000. She was already hanging a hand-painted sign reading ‘Annie’s Farm’ above the wooden gate.

Nina flipped through a clothes rack with a practised eye and found a navy-blue hemp shirt for Brad. But what could she buy for the boys? If it wasn’t made out of plastic, or couldn’t be ordered online, she knew they’d turn up their noses. She tracked down some fossilised mosquitoes inside chunks of amber. The thought that these 120-million-year-old insects from the Cretacean Age
could one day be revived by scientists to suck human blood should give three teenage boys at least ten minutes of entertainment.