Roadside Sisters (27 page)

‘You can call him up and tell him what you want.
’

They were on the road early next morning. Nina wasn’t saying much as she battened down the hatches for the day’s motoring. She’d made a call to her boys, but she wasn’t forthcoming on the conversation. She was quiet and that was unnerving. Meredith and Annie had become used to Nina’s running commentary on all things domestic: ‘The dustpan and brush go here. Hang that towel out to dry! Give that mat a shake!’ Her silence was unnatural. The drone of her nagging was as much a part of their daily routine now as the annoying buzz of a blowfly over their breakfast bowls. A Nina who had given up nagging had given up on life.

The company was pushing on for Scotts Head, some two hundred and fifty kilometres north, for the night’s stay. During the next hour or so in the van, as they headed into the blanched light of another hot day on the coast, there was no conversation. The drab twinned towns of Forster–Tuncurry—joined at the hip by a massive concrete bridge—passed by without comment. More dumped rocks. More fast food franchises. More cheaply built apartments. Another beachside paradise lost to bad planning and ugly development. What was there to be said?

By 10 am they were at the settlement of Taree, looking for coffee and diesel. Nina was standing at the counter of the BP service station when she caught sight of the front page of the
Daily Telegraph
.

‘HUNTIN’ CHEYENNE’ screamed the strap headline in red:
‘
See Sports’. Nina snatched up the paper, turned it over and there, on the back page, was a grainy image that made her day.
The young woman in almost-focus was Cheyenne Neck. No doubt about it—snapped in the dim light of a toilet cubicle, the flash from a mobile phone camera had caught the heart-shaped stud in her nostril. She was bent over the toilet lid. What was that substance she was putting up her nose through a straw?

Meet Miss Cheyenne Neck, the woman who claims to be a credible witness to Kyle ‘Tabby’ Hutchinson’s drug excesses. This photograph of her was taken in a toilet cubicle in a Melbourne nightclub some hours after the Richmond Tigers’ recent heartbreak loss to the Sydney Swans at the MCG.

Ms Neck has made a string of sensational claims against the embattled Tabby Hutchinson—including that the Richmond team management covered up the discovery of cocaine and ecstasy in his dressing room locker.

Team manager Brad ‘Kingie’ Brown said last night the claims were ‘a complete fabrication’. The further accusation that the star midfielder had approached the club for an advance on his salary to fund breast implants for his model girlfriend was also ‘ridiculous’, he said. ‘Miss Neck is obviously troubled. She is at best misguided, at worst malicious,’ he added.

Hutchinson’s girlfriend, Emma Pang, also came to his defence. ‘Cheyenne has been dating one of the Swans players since Christmas. She got dropped by one of the Tigers reserves players and I can only think she’s done this to get back at him and the club,’ said Ms Pang. ‘I’ve
got no idea where she would get this stuff. It’s all just evil gossip,’ she added.

Ms Pang also denied that she had undergone any surgical enhancement of her assets. ‘Check me out in the April issue of
Zoo Weekly
. Have a look for yourself!’ she challenged.

Hutchinson has been charged with possession of a prohibited drug and will appear in the Melbourne City Magistrates Court next week. ‘The idea that his drug use was known about and condoned by this club is outrageous,’ Brown said. ‘Anyone who repeats this disgraceful lie will face swift legal action.’

Nina could have cried with relief. Instead, she executed a neat soft-shoe shuffle around the metal display stand of chocolate and grabbed herself a celebratory handful of Cherry Ripe and Crunchie bars. As she was heading for the cash register, Nina’s mobile rang. She fumbled in her handbag.

‘Hello, Nina Brown speaking,’ she answered in her best professional tone, just as she had been trained to do.

‘Did you read it?’ Brad’s mood was ebullient.

‘Just now!’ Nina was elated to hear him so upbeat.

‘Not bad, eh? Now for Miss Corinne Jacobsen. We owe her one.’

‘Oh, Brad, don’t do anything that—’

‘All’s fair in love and war, babe! I love you, and this is war. As
Six Evening News
might say—
stay tuned
. You just enjoy your trip. The boys are fine. Gotta go.’

This time, when Brad rang off, he’d given Nina the Kiss of Life. She paid for her provisions with shaking hands and skipped back to the RoadMaster. Meredith and Annie read the newsprint thrust under their noses.

‘So, this Cheyenne creature . . . was she telling the truth or not?’ demanded Meredith.

‘Who cares? Doesn’t matter,’ said Nina as she bit through the dark chocolate into a bounty of ripe sugary cherries.

‘But she’s like some sacrificial lamb. It’s not really fair . . .’ Annie complained.

‘Hello? It’s
football
,’ exclaimed Nina, ‘not tiddlywinks! There’re millions of dollars at stake here—and my sons’ education. You come between a footballer and a premiership and this is what happens. Shit is what happens. Maybe she’ll have learned her lesson and get herself a nice panel beater.’

Nina joyfully revved the engine and roared off towards the Pacific Highway. She didn’t tell them about Brad’s oath to get Corinne. Who knew what he might come up with? The spectacle would not be for the faint-hearted.

Just up the road they sped past the iconic Big Oyster. It was no longer a restaurant, sadly, and now loomed over a used-car yard. ‘Pick up a pearler of a deal!’ Annie read aloud from the painted sign.

‘It looks like a set of false teeth. So ugly!’ Meredith physically recoiled from the window.

‘The locals call it the Big Dentures,’ laughed Annie, reading from one of her brochures.

Like every carload of tourists that ever drove past the massive concrete mollusc, they entertained themselves with a list of the Aussie Big Things they’d heard of: the Big Merino, the Big Avocado, the Big Potato, the Big Pineapple. The Big Dugong, Cod, Blue Heeler, Gumboot, Mosquito, Pelican, Earthworm.

‘Why do people do it? What’s the point?’ asked Meredith. ‘They should at least make them something most Australians can relate to around here—the Big Melanoma, the Big Cigarette Butt, the Big Police Speed Radar, the Big . . . Mac.’

‘There
is
no point . . . and that’s the point,’ Annie patiently explained. ‘You haven’t been on a holiday in Australia unless you’ve had your photograph taken in front of a Big Thing.’ They all vowed to pose in front of the Big Prawn at Ballina, just south of Byron Bay.

‘So, how long will it take us to get to Byron?’ asked Annie.

‘We’re right on schedule to land on Monday morning.’ Meredith checked her travel diary. ‘The wedding’s on Tuesday, on the beach at dusk.’

‘It’s an odd day for a wedding,’ said Nina.

‘That’s what I thought,’ replied Meredith. ‘Just another part of the mystery, I suppose. But I’m
so
looking forward to seeing Jarvis.’

The names Donald and Sigrid were notable by their absence.

It was mid-afternoon when the redoubtable RoadMaster pulled in to the Scotts Head Reserve Trust caravan park. This time Annie was nominated to front the site office. She jumped from the coolness of the air-conditioned cabin to the sandy path and was surprised to find the afternoon air so warm and oppressive. Thunderclouds were piling on the horizon—plump grey pillows arranged at the bedhead of bright blue sheets of sky.

A weary young mother with a sleeping baby in her arms and a pink bunny rug flung over one shoulder was behind the counter. As Annie handed over her credit card, she could see directly into the lounge room beyond, to where a television blared with cartoons. Two small children in school uniform sucking on icy poles were splayed on piles of dried laundry. The floor was an obstacle course of plastic toys. Annie could smell onions and garlic frying.

This unselfconscious view into the banality of family life fascinated Annie. Most of the houses she found herself in were
empty or carefully tidied for public inspection. The casual scene in front of her was an aspect of humanity that was never on show in her modern apartment block in Port Melbourne. Were there any children in her entire street? She’d never noticed. Once more, Annie thought that she might have barricaded herself against the realities of life.

When the van was parked—close to the gas barbecues and near a small red-brick toilet block—Meredith and Nina busied themselves setting up the table and chairs in the sun. Annie noticed that the people at adjoining campsites were entirely oblivious to the fact that they might be observed. Folks lounged in swimsuits, poring over crossword puzzles; they emptied buckets of soapy dishwashing water onto the grass, towelled naked children. Human flesh was on display in all its lumpy, bumpy, hairy, hang-down glory. Annie was reminded that she had spent many summer holidays in just such a setting and, thinking back on it, she could only imagine that her parents made the drive from Tongala to the seaside every year for her benefit. How many times had they made sacrifices—driven long distances, spent time with families they didn’t much like and saved their money to send her to boarding school—so that she might not miss her little sister?

Her mother’s attempts at domestic order had always been sabotaged by sand. ‘It gets into everything,’ the mothers would complain to each other in the first days of the holidays. Soon they surrendered, and just dealt with the drifts of grit in shoes and beds and clothes. And soon the mothers would stop scolding
about bedtimes and dirty feet—it was as if the sand burred the edges of their minds and reclaimed them into the dunes.

Then as now the fathers—divested of their overalls, their hard hats, ties and jackets—found themselves with more in common than they might have imagined. Tent pegs and tow bars, gas bottles and flywire. Li-los that wouldn’t inflate, surf mats that wouldn’t deflate, dogs that went missing, possums that had taken up residence in canvas annexes. There was something so comforting and democratic about it all—an Australia that Annie, living alone as she did, with her plasma TV screen and remote control lighting, had almost forgotten existed.

‘I love it here,’ said Nina, puffing after her exploration of the two beaches a short walk away through the banksias and paperbarks. ‘Down there’s Little Beach. It’s this lovely cove surrounded by rocks. And just in front of us, over that dune, I think they call it Big Beach.’

Meredith shaded her eyes and took in Nina’s heaving silhouette. ‘Little Beach, Big Beach? The people round here didn’t spend much time on naming things.’

‘They didn’t have to . . . a beach by any other name . . .’ Annie smiled.

‘There’s a boat ramp and a gorgeous long walk we can take on the sand,’ continued Nina. ‘There’re surfers on the point, and you can sit on these wooden benches and watch. Why don’t we stay here an extra night? Then if we drive hard we can have one more night on the road and get into Byron on Monday morning. I’d like just one day when we didn’t have to move.’

Meredith and Annie were more than happy to stay. They both had clothes to launder. Meredith fancied an afternoon in the sun working on her sudoku; Annie had all the latest fashion magazines stashed in her suitcase. They would linger in this glorious spot for two nights and their sojourn would begin with a swim.

‘Oh my God—look, dolphins!’ Nina pointed to the spot where sleek forms were arcing and diving in the waves. The three women were up to their necks in the warm water just off Forster Beach. Nina had sought out the green wooden sign and found its correct name. With every hour she spent padding through paths in the dunes, her bare feet encrusted with sand, she was feeling more energetic. She had inspected tiny lizards skittering up tree trunks, crushed melaleuca leaves in her hands to smell their pungent aroma and sifted tiny shells through her fingers. She couldn’t remember having done any of these things for years. The sea breeze was breathing life into neglected corners of her mind.

‘I can see them! I can see them!’ Annie squealed and swam towards the pod. Nina splashed after her.