Sara’s first instinct was to refuse. She had opened her mouth to say so but her own words gave her pause. How did you know my hair was red? It wasn’t anything like proof. There were redheads everywhere, but if the woman Paul claimed was her mother had been among them, then surely, however tenuous, it was a link. She was on the verge of saying no but instead found herself asking, ‘Does Mr Randall know about this?’
‘Absolutely not. Even my editor doesn’t know. I’ve taken a couple of weeks’ holiday to finish this last bit, if I can. My reputation’s on the line here. I’m not going to break a story I can’t prove.’
‘Well, I’m not on holiday,’ Sara reminded him. ‘So I can’t just take off. And, no offence, Paul, but even if I could I’m not heading out to a remote location with a man I’ve only just met. And have no reason to trust.’
He bowed his head. ‘I guess I deserved that.’
Jack looked at him with dislike. ‘You did. No way is she going with you alone. If you want to do this, Sara, and I think you probably should, I’ll drive you.’
The look she flashed him was grateful. ‘Thank you, Jack. But Helen and Frank are leaving tomorrow or the next day. Frank’s got that appointment with his specialist, remember? Beth will need me here.’
‘Leave it with me.’ He rose from his chair. ‘We’ll work something out.’ He waved a hand at the corner of the house where the children, who had obviously been told to leave the three adults undisturbed, had bobbed into view. ‘Okay, kids,’ he called. ‘We’re all done. Sam, why don’t you take Paul over to the quarters and find him a place to sleep? Get a towel from your mum and some sheets for him first. Becky, Sara’s finished now. She’s all yours.’
Picking up his chair, he headed for the steps. Sara lifted her own seat. ‘Can you get the door for me, Becky? Then perhaps you can fill me in on all the news from town. Sam must have had heaps to tell you.’
‘When he talked on the wireless at school he had headphones,’ Becky revealed. ‘He said you don’t have to hold the mike, and you hear everything straight in your ears. It’s not out loud at all.’
‘Well.’ Sara hoped she sounded impressed. ‘That’s sort of special, isn’t it? Did you show him the new kiddy goats? They’re special too.’ But she could see from Becky’s face that in this instance nature ran a poor second to technology.
Given his way, Paul Markham would have left for Kings Canyon the following morning – when it was morning, he thought sourly as Jack rousted him from sleep at some godforsaken hour. The roosters might have been crowing but there wasn’t much daylight about.
‘Shake a leg,’ the hatted figure in the doorway said brusquely. ‘Breakfast in five, then I’ll take you back to the roadhouse. The bus runs down to the Alice later today.’
Yawning, Paul tried to gather his wits. ‘But – what about our trip?’
‘Your trip, mate. Sara and I will go under our own steam. We’ll meet you in town three days from now. You’ll need a four-wheel drive,’ he warned and left, leaving Paul to scramble into shirt and pants without time to shave.
At the house even the children were up so the hour must have been normal for them. Jack ate with concentration, which Paul felt obliged to match. He made his goodbyes, thanking Beth for her hospitality and Len for the ride out, saying to a preoccupied-looking Sara, ‘I’ll see you in three days, then?’ He made it a half question.
‘Maybe,’ she said unhelpfully in the face of his expectation, and turned back to the little girl.
Jack picked up a cut lunch, touched his nephew lightly on his bony skull and jerked his head at Paul. ‘Let’s get moving, then.’
When they had gone and the children were cleaning their teeth, Sara spoke apologetically to Beth. ‘I feel really bad about this, leaving you in the lurch this way.’
‘Don’t,’ Beth said. ‘Of course you must go.’ She and Helen had heard the full story from Sara and her brown eyes were warm with sympathy. ‘It must be terrible for you, not knowing what happened to your brother. Not remembering anything. And with a horrible mother too – if she is your mother. You must’ve felt so insecure, not anchored to anything.’
‘Yes.’ Beth’s observation surprised her for its accuracy. Sara rested her chin on her hand and sighed. ‘What Paul believes, I’m still not sure it’s true. I mean, there’re bits of it that don’t really add up, like Stella keeping me. Why?’
‘But what else could she do with you?’ Helen asked. ‘Was she going to murder you, or turn you onto the street when Blake was arrested? You weren’t a baby to be left at a church door. Dumping you somewhere would have led to the police getting involved and what then? And supposing you had started to remember? Keeping you must have seemed the safest bet. And your amnesia a positive miracle.’
Sara considered her words. They made sense – as much sense as anything about her situation did. ‘But why wouldn’t she just ransom me?’
‘Perhaps the kidnapping was his plan, not hers.’ Beth chimed in. ‘She mightn’t have known how to set it up or was too scared to carry it through without him. Can’t be easy making that sort of handover without getting caught.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘It must’ve come as a hell of a shock to them both when the cops turned up for him with you under the same roof.’
‘I suppose . . .’ Sara reverted to her earlier thoughts. ‘How will you manage with Helen gone?’
Helen patted her hand. ‘I’m staying on for a bit. Don’t worry about it.’ She began stacking dishes and Sara automatically rose to help.
‘But Frank’s appointment?’
‘Oh, he’s going into the Alice with you. He can look after himself for a few days while you get what you’ve got to do done. I just hope you’ll come back, after.’
‘Of course I will,’ Sara said fervently. ‘Where else would I go?’
The eyes of mother and daughter met. ‘Well,’ Beth said, ‘if it turns out this man Randall is your father you’ll want to meet him.’
‘Yes, of course I would.’ Warmth came with the thought and a giddy speculation as to what life would be like if it contained somebody of her own blood. ‘I’m not counting on it though. And in any case,’ she said firmly, ‘I wouldn’t leave before the summer holidays. So you can depend upon me coming back.’
At breakfast the following morning Becky was disconsolate about Sara’s departure.
‘I’ll only be gone a few days, chicken,’ Sara said. ‘Your granddad and uncle and I are just going to town.’
‘But I’ll be so bored!’ Becky wailed.
‘You won’t because you’ve got Sam now. Besides, you haven’t finished your scrapbook yet. Why don’t you do another page while I’m gone? I’m sure Mum’ll help you. Let’s see.’ Sara pursed her lips in thought. ‘What about a grandparents’ page? You’ve got pictures of your nan, haven’t you? You could write out the recipe for your favourite cake of hers. Which one would that be?’ She lifted an interrogative eyebrow.
‘Um, sponge . . . No.’ Becky wavered, frowning, then her face lit up. ‘I know! The chocolate one with the cream in the middle.’
‘Good choice. That one’s really scrummy,’ Sara agreed.
‘But what about Pops? What could I write about him?’
‘You could make a list of his sayings,’ Beth suggested. ‘How he calls you kiddo or what he says every time he finishes smoko. Things like that.’
‘You mean like Sitting round here won’t pay the rent? What rent, Mum?’
Leaving her employer to explain, Sara went to clean her teeth and retrieve the bag she had packed for the trip. They left shortly afterwards, the three of them packed into Jack’s Toyota. The water bottle and lunch esky were in a crate up the back with the luggage and camping gear. Jack had removed the rifle but out of habit Sara held her hat on her lap. She saw with some dismay that recent wear had shredded part of the brim.
‘Bit of a squeeze.’ Frank fumbled for the seatbelt catch, his elbow nudging Sara’s ribs. ‘Still, it’s only to the roadhouse.’ He would take his own car in and return with it to pick up his wife later in the week.
‘You reckon on being back by then, son?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I dunno, Dad. But it’s also a while since I’ve been home, so I might take a run into Arkeela while I’m down that way. See how the feed’s holding up. If that’s okay, Sara? It wouldn’t add more than a day to the trip.’
‘Whatever suits. I’m just grateful for your help. I really didn’t want to travel with Paul.’ She tried to be fair. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust him, only, well, perhaps I don’t. It’s mainly that I can’t work out why he frightened me so much when I first saw him. And until I know that, I’d rather not be alone with him. It sounds ridiculous, I know. Put it down to city paranoia.’
‘Makes sense to me,’ Frank said. ‘Always trust a gut feeling. If you’re undecided, go with it every time. At least he is who he claims to be.’
Surprised, Sara looked at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘I rang his paper and asked. We only had his word for it, after all.’ His near eye dropped in a wink. ‘We can be paranoid too, you know. We get all sorts out here, not all of ’em harmless.’
Sara’s heart was warmed by his care for her. Slipping her hand through his arm, she hugged it to her. ‘You’re an old sweetie! Thank you, Frank.’
‘Think nothing of it, girl.’
On the edge of her vision Jack’s lips quirked upwards. ‘I told you you had the Ketches in your corner, Sara.’
‘Yes,’ she said with a heartfelt smile for them both. ‘I have, and you did.’
At the Charlotte Creek roadhouse the two men uncovered and fuelled Frank’s car. He’d worried about it starting, fearing a flat battery after standing so long. Sara left them to it and went inside in search of Mavis, pulling off her hat as she entered the blessedly dim room where a fan was spinning above the bar. Sighing with relief she pushed the curls off her neck and went to stand beneath it.
‘Morning, love.’ Mavis bobbed up into view. She had been restocking the bottom shelf of the coldroom, Sara saw, and now came to lean on the bar, wiping her damp hands on a towel. ‘How’s it going? Did you drive yourself in?’
‘No, Jack brought me. He and his father are making a quick trip into the Alice. I thought I’d get my hair cut,’ Sara improvised. ‘Could I have something cold, please?’ She fumbled in her bag, eyeing the bottles through the sweating glass doors. ‘A lemon squash would be nice.’
‘Coming right up. I wondered if you were here for the doctor, that’s all.’
‘The doctor?’
‘Clinic day.’ Mavis unscrewed the lid, tipped ice cubes into a glass and poured. ‘The flying doctor comes out once a month on a clinic run. Rinky’s bringing Jim in – he dropped some part of a grader on his foot, can’t get his boot on. Clemmy’s booked in too, plus Kev from across the way.’ She jerked her head at the dusty blue police sign on the building beyond the hall roof. ‘Poor sod’s got boils. Comes of living on tinned stuff, if you ask me. There’ll be a couple from the road camp most likely too, and the old blackfella from down the creek always comes up to see the doc. How’s young Sam?’
‘He seems fine, thanks. Glad to be home. A pity I’ll miss out seeing Clemmy, but it can’t be helped.’
‘As to that.’ Mavis smiled and lowered her voice. ‘She’ll have other things on her mind. She hasn’t said but I’m thinking maybe she’s pregnant. Not that you heard it here, mind.’
‘Ah.’ Sara sipped gratefully at her drink. ‘Do you and Alec have children?’
‘I have two. Alec doesn’t. He’s my second, not that we’re married. My boys are grown and gone.’ She folded the hand towel and straightened the cloth on the bar top. ‘Pity you’re not staying. There’ll be a barbecue lunch, bit of a chance to socialise. I’ll tell the girls I saw you, shall I?’
‘Please. And give Clemmy my best. I’d love to visit her, but without a vehicle . . . Maybe she could come to Redhill one day. I could ask Beth when it would suit. Oh, it looks like they’re about ready.’ Glimpsing Jack’s approach she drained her glass just as he parted the plastic streamers guarding the entrance. ‘I’m coming. Thanks, Mavis. Bye.’
It was less cramped without Frank’s presence. Sara watched the little red car scurry down the bitumen before them and fretted about the days ahead. She scarcely noticed the crows and wedgetails on the roadkill, or the beaten-looking countryside where willy-winds grew out of nothing and died again as mysteriously as they had come. Ochre and lavender ranges swam in the distance, insubstantial as dreams, and the red car floated on phantom lakes across the bitumen. She sheltered her hands beneath her hat and was grateful she had worn long sleeves, for the sun striking through the windscreen was fiercely hot. Jack had moved the water bottle back into the footwell and she sipped from the plastic cup, amazed at how quickly her thirst, once quenched, returned.
Jack broke the long silence that Sara was unaware had fallen. ‘You are okay with this, Sara? I wouldn’t like to think I’d pushed you into it.’
‘You didn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s something I had to do. And when it’s over I’ll know something. I was just wondering, Jack, do we have any sort of a plan? Like how long it will take to get there, and where we’ll stay once we do?’
‘Oh, that sort of plan. Well, kind of. We’ll sleep at Dad’s tonight. He’s lending you his swag, by the way, because there’s no accommodation out at the canyon. There might be a bush dunny, and a tank if we’re lucky. I believe it’s a national park but I doubt they’ve got a ranger station there. Will that be a problem camping out with me?’ he asked bluntly.
‘No.’ She didn’t hesitate.
‘Okay, so we’ll carry our tucker and water. It’s a bit over three hundred k but the road’ll be crap so I reckon it’ll take most of the day. I’ve been looking at the map, the canyon’s actually a bit south-west of the Alice. There’re two roads in – one goes south, the other west. I think we’ll take the western route, and a drum of water to be on the safe side. If we pick up some food in town, and pack up tonight, we should get away a bit after daybreak.’
‘And Paul?’
Jack shrugged. ‘He can follow us if he’s ready, or make his own way if he’s not.’
Sara said mildly, ‘He did apologise, you know. Maybe all reporters go a bit overboard when they think they’re onto something. I noticed he had quite a bruise coming where you punched him, too.’
‘He had,’ Jack said without apology. ‘It’ll remind him not to try anything.’
‘Like what?’
Jack shrugged. ‘JC Randall is a very rich man, Sara. Something to remember if he should turn out to be your father. Do you think our journalist friend hasn’t thought of that too? Maybe he’s planning to sell information about you to Randall? We only have his word for it that he’s never spoken to the man.’
‘That’s true, but —’
‘I know. We can argue ourselves into knots over it. Let’s just wait and see, eh? And if you could pour me a drink – I’m as dry as chips.’