Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  Connor shrugged. ‘Matt could have a wireless. There’s no point him being here if he can’t direct the rest of the gang. They must be able to communicate.’

  ‘But on the air – couldn’t anybody hear them? The stations might have phones now, but I understand they still use wireless in their stock camps.’

  ‘On the normal channels, I agree, they could. So they’d use a different wavelength, set a particular time, have code phrases. Maybe keep changing wavelengths.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Tilly had been working as they spoke, and now he pulled the filled ash bucket away as she relit the fire under the donkey.

  ‘What’s next?’

  ‘Cleaning, then checking the tank and the pump. Then I’d best get back.’

  ‘Has Matt already left?’

  Tilly glanced at the sun. ‘Oh, yes, an hour or more back. I’m awfully late today. What’s the time now?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Nine. Bit after.’

  ‘He’d have been gone by seven,’ she said, and he swore lightly.

  ‘Damn! With a headstart like that, there’s no point following him. I’d very likely meet him returning, and that might make him nervous. Particularly if he’s not buying my cover story.’

  ‘Or it could be he just doesn’t like you,’ Tilly suggested, ‘and pretending you’re something else is a way of, I don’t know, sneering at you? He seemed to think it was significant you giving him that Latin name for the shade tree at the house. As if you were trying to, you know, baffle him with science.’

  ‘Did he?’ Connor snorted in amusement. ‘Genus names are something you learn in a nursery. I daresay I knew ’em better than my times tables because Pops started me off on them at five. Good thing, as it turned out.’

  ‘Yes, I told him it proved your case,’ Tilly said. ‘He didn’t like that, so perhaps he does just have it in for you for sort-of showing him up. He hasn’t much education, you see.’

  ‘That was very loyal of you, Tilly.’ He smiled at her and she felt the blood heat her skin. ‘Look, why don’t I dump this’—he indicated the full bucket at his feet—‘then head up to camp and put the billy on? You’ve time for a cuppa after you’ve finished here?’

  ‘That would be lovely. But I mustn’t stay long. Mum’s holding the fort. She was making friends with Harry when I left, but I dread to think what might happen if the old goanna that hangs around the animal enclosure was to make an appearance. He’s a giant of his kind.’

  ‘She’s not a city woman, is she?’

  ‘No, but the biggest wildlife she’s ever encountered before today was probably a dead fish.’

  ‘Ah. Well, maybe she’ll like wildflowers? I could take her for a drive while she’s here,’ he suggested. ‘Better, of course, if you came too.’

  ‘That would be kind of you. We’ll have to see.’ Her heart gave a little skip and she smiled at him before busying herself with the cleaning equipment.

  At the camp, he had the tea made and was busy turning the last of a pile of flat little cakes on a small metal plate placed atop the flame of his stove.

  ‘Pikelets?’ Tilly sat under the awning on the camp stool awaiting her. ‘I didn’t know you cooked.’

  He gave an aw-shucks grin. ‘Just trying to impress. So what’s happened to your stepfather while your mother’s up here?’ He poured the tea and passed her the enamel pannikin holding a small quantity of milk.

  ‘Thanks. He’s in respite care till Mum gets back. Thank God for places like that, or carers would never get a break. It’s a life sentence when a spouse has dementia – unless the carer can afford to pay for help. It’s four or five years since the diagnosis and this is only the second time, to my knowledge, that’s she’s spent a day away from him. She flew up when Francie . . . when my daughter died.’

  He dabbed jam onto a couple of pikelets and passed the plate across. ‘Try one, tell me if you think it’s terrible. That must have been hard for you both. Had she seen much of her granddaughter?’

  ‘Not really. I took her home once, before she was twelve months old.’ Tilly bit absently into the pikelet, tasting the sweetness of jam and the fluffy lightness of the batter. ‘Hmm, tasty. But Mum missed out on a lot – hearing her speak, her first steps with her little arms flapping . . . Of course I sent photos, but it’s not the same. Pictures can’t capture the . . . the essence of a baby.’ Her heart lurched to the echo of once. She sipped her tea. ‘The little things you never forget. Their warmth when you hold them, their smile that’s just for you. You love them so much it hurts.’ The sweetness had turned to ashes in her mouth. She swallowed past an aching throat and felt her eyes tear. ‘I’m sorry, it’s . . . I don’t think you ever get over losing a child. Sometimes I dream that I hold her still and when I wake, I just want to die.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He came to squat beside her, and placed a solid, comforting arm about her shoulders. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up, only I want to know you, Tilly, and your daughter is such a big part of your life. I should have waited. Please’—she felt his lips on her hair—‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Tilly gave a watery sniff. ‘I don’t want to forget her,’ she reiterated fiercely, ‘but sometimes the hurt and the guilt is nearly unbearable, knowing, in those last moments, that she would’ve been so frightened.’ She let herself lean into his strength, feeling again the comfort of having somebody hold her, the tension leaching away with the contact. ‘I should’ve jumped in myself, not left it to Gerry.’

  ‘You can’t go there. “Should haves” have broken more hearts and wrecked more lives than you can count. Regret is the cruellest thing, my dear, because you can’t change it.’

  ‘I know.’ She ran a finger below her eyelid to catch a vagrant tear. ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘My dear. Because you are becoming increasingly dear to me, Tilly. I’m sorry – am I presuming too much?’ He pulled back to look at her, his brown eyes intent as they searched her face. Using his thumb, he wiped away another tear by her mouth. ‘I’ve fallen for you, Tilly. I expect a lot of men do. But if you’re not ready, or have a violent dislike of my job . . . I mean, I came to you under false pretences. And there’s your husband.’

  ‘No.’ She straightened to face him. ‘I never want to set eyes on Gerry again. Even if I’d never met you, that is over.’

  ‘So, there’s a chance for me?’

  He looked so eager and hopeful that she couldn’t help but smile and tease him a little. ‘Well, there might be. I do feel a connection between us. Is it just loneliness because we’ve nobody else in our lives? I think the only way to be sure is to see more of each other. So, will you be around for long, Mr Doyle? Hang on, it is Doyle, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’ He was smiling too. ‘And a little bird told me that you’re Matilda.’

  ‘Yes. A stupid name, but that’s mothers for you.’

  ‘I like it. It’s rare and different. It suits who you are. And as to being around – yes, I shall be, until I’ve swept you off your feet. And speaking of mothers – may I meet yours?’

  ‘Anytime. In fact, why don’t you come to dinner tonight? You can do your undercover stuff with Matt, quiz him about his trip today. And hear all Sophie’s plans for Sandstone,’ she added. ‘You know she’s got the go-ahead for opening the place to campers? She and Luke are out there right now with a contractor. He’s doing a – what do they call it? – a feasability thing for building a boardwalk. I shouldn’t think it’ll be done this year, because of course there’s more to it than a boardwalk. They’ll need the road fixed and ablution blocks and a ranger’s house. Somebody will have to be on site twenty-four-seven, after all, and they’ll have to have somewhere to live. It might suit Luke,’ she added judiciously. ‘He’s getting engaged at Christmas and could well be married by the time the place is ready.’ She gave the sun a guilty glance and stood up. ‘I have to go, Connor. I told Mum an hour and it’s closer to two. Will you come tonight?’

  �
��You try and keep me away.’ He had taken her hands in his and now leant forward to give her a quick, light peck on the lips. ‘Just an earnest against later canoodling, Ms Matilda.’

  ‘You mean this sort of thing?’ Tilly grabbed him, her arms going around his neck as she kissed him passionately. He seemed to freeze for a millisecond, then she found herself enfolded and the kiss being enthusiastically returned. For a long heady moment they clung together before he released her and stepped back.

  ‘That’s more or less what I had in mind,’ he agreed. ‘Drive safely, dear one, and I’ll catch you later.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Tilly, hands and feet automatically performing their tasks, remembered little of the drive home. She felt as giddy as a young girl and simultaneously longed both to tell somebody and to keep the matter secret. Her thoughts swooped dizzyingly between the joy his words had produced – I’ve fallen for you – and wondering how a love affair could be managed when both of them lived such different lives. When the undercover operation ended, what then? He was based in Darwin and her life was here at Binboona. Still, that was for later. Right now, remembering the electrical charge of that kiss, she could think only of being wanted, of being loved and of anticipating their next encounter.

  Driving into the shed, she was in time to catch the first travellers of the day as they pulled up behind her. ‘Morning,’ she sang at the newcomer, bestowing a flashing smile upon him and what she could see of the others within the vehicle.

  ‘Well, somebody’s in a good mood,’ he responded. ‘Ben Carson and family. We booked last month.’

  ‘Ranger Tilly,’ she replied. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day? If you’d just step up to the office, we’ll get you signed in.’ She could see Elaine hovering at the door and waved her off. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’ She’d make Connor something special for dessert and maybe the two of them could sneak off after dinner while the others were washing up? Her heart sang at the prospect as she turned another blinding smile on the customer before her. ‘Sorry, what did you say your name was again?’

  Matt was the first to get home, arriving mid-afternoon. He had a cup of tea in the kitchen while complaining of a puncture, then put on a load of washing; they all did their own now that Tilly no longer house-kept. Later she heard a repetitive banging in the shed, deducing from it that he was repairing the tyre. Sophie and Luke came back in the last glow of daylight, when the dust of their travel hung in an amber haze behind them and the river glimpses shone dully like wrinkled pewter. The camp was full again and between Elaine’s arrival and the general excitement over the Sandstone project, they had completely forgotten the weekly slideshow and talk.

  She reminded Luke as he came up the steps between the now-blooming tubs of marigolds that Connor had helped her fence in.

  ‘Have to be tomorrow night then.’ He yawned widely, dusting his hat against his jeans. ‘We’ve got the plans just about sorted, so that’ll work.’ He sniffed eagerly at the aromas from the kitchen. ‘Boy, that smells good! I could eat a horse, saddle and all. What is it?’

  ‘Ask Mum. I hope you’re showering before we sit down. I can smell the dust on you from here, and you look like you’ve waded in mud.’

  Luke sniffed ostentatiously at himself, then leant towards her. ‘Probably because I have. Is that perfume? You’re looking mighty bright-eyed, Tilly. What’s going on?’

  ‘We have a guest for dinner and Mum wanted to make an occasion of it,’ she lied shamelessly. ‘She loves entertaining.’

  ‘A guest? Who?’

  ‘Connor.’ She flushed as she met his gaze and he smirked.

  ‘Oh. Like that, is it? Nice shirt thingy.’

  It was a good one that she’d last worn in a bistro in Darwin, having lunch with Gerry, and actually not a shirt at all but a soft blouse with a tie neck, in shades of blue and cream. She had left her hair down, curling inwards on her shoulders, for it was months since it was last cut, and added the faintest trace of pink to her lips. Nothing over the top, she had told herself, but Luke plainly wasn’t fooled by her attempt at casualness.

  ‘I can get out of working clothes sometimes.’ She let her irritation show, but he simply grinned annoyingly.

  ‘Yum, yum. And I reckon our botanist won’t be meaning dinner.’

  ‘You’re impossible,’ she said crossly. ‘Why don’t you go and shower.’

  Connor arrived on time, without his usual hat and dressed in clean khaki. He greeted Tilly with a smile and her face pinkened as she replied and introduced him to Elaine.

  ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, smiling as he shook her hand. ‘The lady who taught Tilly to cook. I was a houseguest here for a bit. You’ve quite a talent, Mrs Williams. I would’ve brought flowers had there been any available, but I carved this for you instead. A little thank you for tonight’s meal.’

  ‘You’re very welcome. I—’ Flustered, Elaine accepted the token, while Tilly craned to see what she held and heard her mother gasp in surprise, or delight. ‘Oh! Why, Connor, it’s beautiful. Look!’ She held it up for them all to see, a cameo of a flower the size of a twenty-cent piece. ‘Every petal’s as plain as. It’s a rose, isn’t it? One of those flat old-fashioned ones with the wonderful scent. Thank you. You carved it yourself?’

  He shrugged. ‘A bit of a hobby of mine. You can stick a pin on the back and wear it as a brooch, but it needs oiling first. Tilly knows how.’ With practised ease he turned to Sophie. ‘So, I hear you’ve had good news about Sandstone Springs. How’s that going?’

  It was a wonderful evening for Tilly. She felt Connor’s awareness of her like a physical touch as he ate and chatted, slipping the occasional comment or question Matt’s way, while being attentive to Elaine and listening to Sophie’s and Luke’s enthusiasm over future plans and present progress at the springs. She was content to watch and listen, filling her eyes with the sight of him. There was a scar on his chin she hadn’t noticed before, and one thumbnail had split and regrown over itself, which could only be the result of a nasty injury. She flinched inwardly on his account and yearned to ask about it, but now was neither the time nor place.

  The meal was delicious and when the dessert came out – a chocolate mousse, served in individual glasses, each decorated with a net of spun barley sugar – Luke predictably exclaimed, ‘Wow! I must’ve died. This is food heaven.’

  ‘Tilly’s work,’ Elaine said fondly.

  Sophie clapped. ‘Double wow! It looks too pretty to eat.’

  ‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ Luke said reverently, lifting his spoon and demolishing the decoration, eager as a child at a party. Connor smiled across the table at Tilly, the look as intimate as a kiss.

  ‘Nice to be appreciated,’ she said.

  Luke and Matt did the dishes while the rest retired to the lounge with coffee.

  ‘So, how long will you be here, Elaine?’ Connor asked, passing the sugar.

  ‘Till next mail day. I’m flying out on that awful little plane.’ She shuddered. ‘And apparently it goes everywhere, so it’ll be a long trip.’

  ‘Other places need their mail too, Mum,’ Tilly reminded her.

  ‘Well, in that case . . . How would you like a drive tomorrow? I could take you down to the coast. A different sea to the one you know. What do you say? Maybe Tilly could come too?’

  ‘Yes, take a day, Till,’ Sophie seconded. ‘I’ll be home. We’ve done what we can at Sandstone, and I need to draft a report with my recommendations for the site.’ She looked hopefully at her aunt. ‘You said you were cooking ahead? Is there something in the freezer I could defrost for tomorrow night?’

  Elaine nodded. ‘Beef casserole. I’ll get it out in the morning. Thank you, Connor. That would be lovely. So, lunch? Or is it a short trip?’

  ‘Nothing’s short out here, Mum. You’ll see why tomorrow. Make a time, Connor, and we’ll be ready. And thank you. It’s very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Not at all, ladies,’ he said, right eye dropping in a wink at Tilly.
‘I hope you’ll enjoy it, but the pleasure will be entirely mine.’

  ‘It’s early days, but I must say I like your man,’ Elaine confided the next morning as she and Tilly worked on the lunches. ‘Is he Irish? He’s got a sort of blarney charm about him.’

  ‘With a name like Doyle it’s very possible. Maybe his grandparents, or their grandparents.’

  ‘He has a kind manner,’ Elaine decided. ‘A botanist – that’s different. So what’s he doing out here, or is he on holiday?’

  ‘Research work. Some land development thing through the university, I think,’ Tilly said vaguely. ‘He studies vegetation for them, tracks the spread of noxious weeds. Something like that. I haven’t really been into it.’ If her mother wanted more detail, then Connor would have to tell his own lies. She had better not say anything that he might later contradict. Changing the subject, she said, ‘It was a lovely dinner. A great evening, in fact. I’m sure the others thought so too. Connor certainly did.’

  ‘You were a long time saying goodnight.’

  ‘I’m not a teenager, Mum!’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Elaine smiled lovingly at her daughter. ‘I hope he’s good for you. I think he will be. Maybe it’s experience, but you’re not so anxious to please this time, and that makes for a more balanced relationship.’

  Her words gave Tilly pause. She had been young with Gerry, but looking back, it was true – she had always striven to foresee his wants. Out of love, she had told herself at the time, to save him hassle. It had seemed a laudable sacrifice then, making her own wishes and needs secondary to his. Something that he had initially found charming and then taken for granted, she now realised. And it had left her in ignorance of the hidden life he had pursued, the debts he had incurred. No, there had been nothing balanced about it. She wondered how much longer her compliance would have lasted if the tragedy hadn’t occurred – ten years, twenty? Perhaps it wasn’t the extra years, but grief and loss that was responsible for the change in her.