11 a.m.
Grace wakes late. She hadn’t gone to sleep till after two, messing around on her phone, trying to distract herself from the awful stuff that’s going down here. Blair’s arrest, the murders. It’s horrible. Beyond horrible. She wants to leave, go home or at least back to Sydney. She’d heard Lucas come back yesterday evening, heard him leave a terse message on someone’s voicemail. He’s more worried than he lets on and his anxiety is contagious. She’d almost called her dad and told him the whole story. He’d have calmed her down, given her a virtual hug. But he’d have told Mom too, and she doesn’t want Mom to know. She’ll only panic and stress and Lucas will get in trouble and Mom will say, ‘I knew you shouldn’t have gone.’
The only reason she’d slept at all was that she’d spent three hours messaging Ashley. She hadn’t sugar-coated her vacation this time. Had told Ashley exactly what’s happening and how weirded out by it all she is. Ashley had been riveted, supportive and horrified. As much by the isolation and nothingness of the town as by the murders, which Grace had played down slightly. u got to b kidding? there’s not even a starbucks or chipotle??? Grace had laughed, sent a few more pics, Ashley’s shocked reaction validating her feelings of isolation and the weirdness of this place. Talking about it had made her feel better and she’d slept heavily, less anxious than she’s felt for a while.
But this morning, in the quiet cabin, her nerves return. She shivers a little, chilly with apprehension despite the warmth of the morning. Lucas has gone to check something, trying to help clear Blair’s name. She tells herself he’ll be back soon, by lunchtime latest, and maybe, fingers crossed, the flood will have receded and they can go.
She’s hungry and she needs the bathroom. It’s enough to finally get her moving, get her out of bed. When she walks into the living area she’s happy to see Ginger, standing in her dog bed, stretching, tail waving. The room is hot and stuffy and airless. She opens the front door to let a breeze in and Ginger out, then hunts around for something to eat. She digs out the peanut butter and jelly she bought the other day. That’ll do for breakfast. Next to the peanut butter is the little yellow-labelled jar of Vegemite, the spread that Lucas loves on toast. She’s tried it once. Totally gross. Salty and bitter and euuughh. But Lucas loves it; maybe she should try it again. She unscrews the lid, sniffs. Even the yeasty bitter scent is too much. She closes it tight, makes herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as planned, the mix of sweet jelly and salty peanut butter just right. She eats half and finds it leaves her mouth a bit dry. Wishes she had a Diet Coke to wash it down but she’s drunk the cans she bought. She rummages around, makes a coffee with the little machine. There’s no milk so she tries drinking it black but it doesn’t taste good. Adds two sachets of sweetener but still not. She sits on the steps with the rest of her sandwich, Ginger beside her looking hopeful. Grace gives her a generous corner and laughs to see Ginger’s pleasure and the comic look on her face as she eats the sticky paste.
‘I’m glad you’re here, Ginger,’ she says, tickling the side of the dog’s soft face and rubbing her ears. ‘I’d be missing my little pup Charli even more if you weren’t around.’ Charli is hardly a pup these days, she thinks, eleven years old now but still as cute as a button. She pulls up a picture on her phone. ‘Awwww,’ she says, smiling to see the bichon frise’s little face, her white-as-snow fluff. ‘I wonder what you’d make of her,’ she says to Ginger. ‘She’s kind of a city princess, I guess.’
She scrolls through her pictures – there’s a couple of Charli and her mom in the park near home, another of Charli with her dad on his boat – and feels a pang of homesickness. She looks around at the scrubby grass, the dusty track to the pub and the empty highway beyond, and wishes she was back home, having breakfast in the big sunny kitchen, making plans to meet Ashley or one of the others to go shopping or catch a movie. The air is still and silent, the sun warm, the only sound the buzz of the flies, a bird or something rustling in the trees. It even smells different here, the air dry and dusty, the scent of the eucalypts foreign. She exhales, gives herself a talking-to. ‘You’re having an adventure,’ she says, but right now it feels more like a drag.
She should do something, snap out of it. She thinks of her sensei at the karate dojo in Boston. He’d have something zen to say about all this, about holding positive thoughts, being responsible for your mindset, taking responsibility to ensure positive outcomes. The thought invigorates her. She can do a workout; it’ll make her feel better for sure. She doesn’t have her exercise outfit, or a mat or anything, but enough with the excuses already. Takes a towel outside, warms up, goes through her strength and cardio exercise set – jumping jacks, squats, burpees, push-ups, crunches – then into the technique exercises, the stances, blocking, kicking, punching. Works herself hard, feels the rush of blood through her system, her heart beating, her body revitalised. The workout takes her forty minutes or so and she’s sweating by the end of it, her muscles burning a little, the endorphins kicking in too. Takes a shower and, standing under the jet of water, feels a whole lot better about everything.
As she’s drying off, she decides maybe she’ll take a walk up to the gas station; the little store there sells Coke and other groceries. She looks at her phone: 11.55. The pub might even be open. They’ll have a Coke for sure and she can say hi to Vero.
She changes into her shorts and sniffs her t-shirt. She’s been wearing it for a few days now and it’s a bit stinky. Nowhere here to buy another one and too late to wash it now. She’ll wash it tonight. Meanwhile she gives her pits an extra-long spray with deodorant, hoping for the best.
Starts by walking down to the river, away from the pub, to check the water. It is definitely receding, she can see much more of the road now, but it’s far from totally gone. She sits for a moment on her favourite fallen log in the shade of one of the tall gum trees with its distinctive smooth pink-and-cream bark. She can’t remember what Blair had said they were called. Wishes again that Blair was here. He’s such a nice guy, so much knowledge and kind of zen too. She looks at the water, the surrounding country, tries to see it through Blair’s eyes. Notices how much greener everything looks. The red earth beyond the water now covered with green shoots. Birds everywhere, the sky indigo blue above her, the sun warm on her skin.
She walks up to the pub. The doors are open but when she goes inside the place is empty. The room is cool, the big veranda offering shade, a breeze blowing through the open doors. It has that typical empty-bar smell, a mix of bleach and stale booze. She sits at one of the bar stools, waiting for Susie to appear. Looking around she notices a couple of t-shirts pinned up on the far wall, one bright pink, the other black, and both branded with the pub’s name – The Royal – and with The friendliest outback pub in Queensland written underneath. Grace gives a snort of derision. If this is the friendliest she doesn’t want to go to the meanest. There’s a price tag of $30 attached. Awesome, she can buy a new t-shirt. The one she has on is definitely too stinky to be wearing.
It’s Vero not Susie who appears from the side door. ‘Hello, darls,’ she says, looking around. ‘You on your own? Where’s that spunky brother of yours?’
‘He’s working,’ says Grace. ‘He’s going to clear Blair’s name so they’ll have to let him go.’
‘He’s a good cop, isn’t he? Doesn’t give up, keeps digging.’
‘He’s really good,’ Grace says with pride. ‘He works on some of Australia’s biggest cases, organised crime and stuff. He doesn’t talk about it much but he’s really good.’
‘We’re lucky to have him,’ says Vero. ‘I’m sure he’ll find out what happened to Mark and Karen. He’ll get us justice.’
Susie comes out from the kitchen, stands beside Vero and gives Grace an unfriendly look. She’s starting to think that Susie really doesn’t like her. ‘You want something?’ Susie asks. ‘Kitchen isn’t open yet.’
‘Yes please. Could I have six Diet Cokes to take away. Also, I want to buy one of your t-shirts …’ She points at the display.
Susie looks up at the shirts. ‘Ah yeah, not sure how many I’ve got left. What size do you want?’
‘I don’t mind, whatever size or colour you’ve got.’ She pulls at her top. ‘This is the only one I brought with me and it really needs a wash.’
Susie doesn’t say anything, disappears through the side door. Grace can hear her rustling around. She comes back with three t-shirts wrapped in plastic.
‘These are both XXL,’ she says, holding up two black t-shirts, ‘but this one is an L.’
The L is a nice bright blue. ‘The L will be great,’ says Grace.
Susie drops the blue shirt on the counter and disappears again. Grace takes it and goes into the ladies to change. It’s too big but she rolls up the bottom of it until it’s just above the waistband of her shorts and then ties it in a knot in the back – a hack from TikTok that always makes t-shirts look kind of sexy. She looks in the mirror. It’s hard to see – the mirror is a polished piece of tin and the room is gloomy – but she thinks it looks OK and it’s better than being smelly. When she gets back to the bar there’s a six-pack of Diet Coke on the counter. She pulls out her card and taps to pay.
‘Don’t you look cute,’ says Vero. ‘I’ve never seen anyone look good in that t-shirt before.’
Something flashes across Susie’s face; if looks could kill, Grace would be a dead woman. Maybe Vero hasn’t noticed that Susie is wearing the pub t-shirt too, a black version, loose-fitting. Grace half-smiles at them both, says ‘Bye’, and makes a quick exit.
Sitting on the veranda of the cabin, drinking one of the icy Cokes, enjoying the fizz and the caffeine hit, she thinks back to the moment. That was so awkward, she thinks. Vero and Susie have one of those weird friendships where one is mean and the other is clingy. Just like everything in this town, it’s kinda toxic, she decides.