Billabong Bend

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Red Gums’ rough airstrip ran down the middle of the property, dividing the young pecan orchards on the left from the mature olive groves flanking the river. Nina raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the glare, relishing the shock of pleasure she always got at the sight of the Skyhawk, all hers now. The little Cessna gleamed white and tan in the afternoon sunshine.

  Nina did a walk around, stroking the warm metal, admiring the custom, keen-eyed hawk design that ran the length of the striped fuselage. It was an old aircraft, a little rusty round the seams, with chipped paintwork. Tiny stress cracks showed in the wing fairings and tail cone, and she’d drilled them to stop them from worsening. It hadn’t really worked, but little things like that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the Skyhawk unchained her from the ground, let her soar on real wings, made her an honorary bird. It was pure pleasure.

  The engine muttered and coughed, then settled to its job. The propeller spun to life and Nina angled her nose into the breeze, as a boat might slant into a current. The aircraft powered up like a grounded eagle keen to be airborne, bouncing and hopping down the uneven runway until that glorious moment of lift-off.

  Nina popped a mint in her mouth and settled in for the flight. She hadn’t been up for a while. From the air, the extent of the drought was shockingly plain. The earth’s living skin had peeled and cracked. Dry dams. Paddocks grazed so bare their fragile, black topsoil lay exposed and vulnerable. The once mighty Bunyip River snaked through the parched earth like a muddy drain. Even the trees that lined its banks looked brown and lifeless, their canopies choked with dust. The only contrast in this bleak landscape were the cotton fields, geometric shapes of vivid green, roughly following the river. Stealing its water, while the marshes and dry-land farmers died of thirst. Nina’s throat tightened. Let it go, for Christ’s sake. This was meant to be fun. Tonight she’d connect with friends. She’d laugh and enjoy herself, safe from the loneliness that too often crept from the shadows at day’s end.

  On impulse, Nina banked and flew downstream. She swept over the junction where the Kingfisher met the Bunyip. No irrigators drained the wild Kingfisher dry. No dams confined it. Faraway rains, high in its catchment, had been the saviour of this year’s waterbird breeding season. Its course meandered through rugged grazing country and national parks, emerging to spill lifesaving water into the Bunyip basin, downstream from the cotton farms. The river broadened now, flanked by tracts of marsh and bushland. Billabong Bend.

  Beneath her wheeled squadrons of pelicans and flocks of ibis. She flew lower. A startled white-bellied eagle took cover in a rare patch of weeping myall woodland. Lower again. Long-legged emus raced at breakneck speed through the swampy sedgeland. She could taste the vast, dry continent beneath her, hear the music of its river red gums, feel its clear, summer skies in her veins. Something prickled the back of her neck and a profound sense of excitement and joy coursed through her. She whooped out loud and dipped her wings in tribute to the wild wetlands below, all trace of depression banished. Now this, she reminded herself. This was living.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tonight was Nina’s first school reunion and she didn’t know quite what to expect. A night of masquerade, mystery and romance, that’s how the ball had been promoted. In the town hall foyer she donned the peacock mask of feathers and rhinestones, while Kate struggled to fasten her own scarlet macaw headdress.

  ‘Here,’ said Nina. ‘Let me.’ She looped the elastic tight behind her friend’s ears, and examined their images in the tall gilt mirror by the door. Katie had outdone herself. All those painstaking hours spent with coloured feathers, a bedazzler and a glue gun had well and truly paid off. Such lovely masks. How could a flimsy disguise make so much difference? They were both transformed, unrecognisable.

  The electric blue gown that had seemed grand and overblown at Kate’s house now looked stylish and sophisticated. It hung in rich, satin folds to the floor, emphasising Nina’s height, hinting at the curves beneath. The beaded, strapless bodice exposed smooth, brown shoulders, the sweetheart neckline framed an actual cleavage, and the empire waist flattered her slim figure. She looked sexy as hell and wished Lockie was here to see it. Sometimes he treated her more like a mate than a girlfriend. There wouldn’t be much chance of that if he could see her now. She looked in the mirror, trying to reconcile her elegant reflection with reality.

  And she loved the mask. It hid her face, apart from her mouth and chin, affording her a delicious anonymity. Even her trademark auburn curls were out of sight, tamed in a smooth chignon.

  Kate gave a spin, dissolving into a whirl of red chiffon. ‘Nina, we look amazing!’

  Nina took another disbelieving look in the mirror. ‘We do, don’t we.’ The band started up. ‘Remember our deal,’ said Nina. ‘No one-night stands. I hate tiptoeing around your cottage in the morning.’

  Kate grabbed her arm and whisked her through the door and into the throng. As Kate headed for the bar, Nina found her way blocked by a man dressed as a jester, wearing a full-face mask. He bowed and pulled her into a waltz. It was surreal to see only painted faces. No expressions to read, no smiles, no frowns – everybody hiding, herself included. Her partner’s hands were smooth and white – not a farmer, this one. Reunion rules forbade using real names until midnight, although pseudonyms were encouraged. She admired his costume, wishing he would talk and give himself away. ‘These masks,’ said Nina at last. ‘They’re a bit . . . freaky, don’t you think?’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said her partner. ‘Mine’s a work of art.’

  He’d lowered his voice, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the identity of her old schoolfriend. ‘Dylan!’

  He cackled like an evil clown. ‘Let’s drink.’

  Nina took his hand and pulled him towards the bar. ‘All set for your big trip?’

  ‘Sim, menina bonita,’ said Dylan, clicking his heels together and snapping invisible castanets. ‘I’ll be in Rio in time for Carnaval.’

  ‘You’ll be in your element,’ she said, as they took two glasses of champagne to a quieter corner of the room. ‘Your mask is a work of art, by the way.’

  He cocked his bizarre head. The jester’s garish, painted smile sent a sudden shiver up Nina’s spine. ‘This old thing? Why, this is nothing. Wait till you see what I made for my guest. All that work and then he refuses to enter the costume competition.’

  ‘Guest?’ asked Nina. So, Dylan had brought a date? Her curiosity was piqued.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Coming through that door.’

  Nina froze. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a turquoise cape was striding towards them. He wore a kingfisher mask, all sharp jutting beak and sleek, dangerous lines. Dylan didn’t introduce them. Instead he launched into an explanation of the making of the mask. ‘It’s papier-mâché decorated with gum leaves then painted blue, with white side stripes.’ Dylan’s voice rose an octave. He must have it bad for this guy. ‘Then I glued on peacock feathers to imitate the plumage of an azure kingfisher. The leaves underneath support them and let them move.’ As if to prove his point, a rotating fan ruffled the man’s feathers in an eerily lifelike fashion. Nina feared he might fly away. ‘I gave the beak a glossy, black top coat and added bronze accents at the base of each feather.’ Dylan paused for breath. ‘It adds a subtle richness, don’t you think?’

  Nina wasn’t listening. Her breathing had slowed, become shallow. Her world had narrowed its focus to the figure before her. The kingfisher observed her with sharp, amber eyes, like he might impale her on his beak any second now. She looked down, grateful for the mask. But when she lifted her gaze it was as though he could see straight through her disguise, through her dress, as though she stood naked before him. The heat of a blush dampened her skin. Or was it that the room had become airless, or that her heart was for some reason refusing to beat?

  Dylan tweaked a peacock feather on her own mask, and pointed to his friend. ‘Birds of a feather.’ Then he held the fabric of her gown against the turquoise c
ape and raised an eyebrow. ‘A perfect match.’

  ‘Kate did all this. I . . .’ Nina’s voice petered out as she lost her train of thought. The kingfisher was still watching her.

  Dylan raised his arm and waved to a group of people by the bar. ‘Must dash,’ he said. ‘Taking entries for the costume competition. I can’t tempt you? No? I’ll leave my two favourite chicks to get to know each other then.’ There was something in Dylan’s tone, like he knew a secret and she was supposed to guess. Probably just her imagination.

  The man offered his arm. ‘Would you like to dance?’ His voice was smooth and sexy like dark chocolate, with the hint of a foreign intonation. A quiver of desire ran through her. His extended hand was sure, work-roughened and nut-brown. She took it in her own, struggling to still her trembling fingers.

  He led her in a slow waltz. They moved as one. Nina shook her head to clear it, the feathers of her mask rustling softly. The arm around her was muscular, steady. Who on earth was he? Was he smiling beneath his mask? Was he good-looking? Why was her body responding to him? She was with Lockie. This man was gay, and dating one of her best friends. Talk about a dead-end attraction. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

  The music stopped. Couples broke apart, new ones came together. The kingfisher still held her close.

  Nina tried again. ‘Did you go to St Patrick’s?’

  ‘No. I’m a blow-in.’

  The band struck up ‘Rock The Casbah’ by the Clash. He pulled her closer, spun her around the dance floor at such giddy speed they might have been flying. How she managed it in those heels was a miracle. Nina never wanted the music to stop, but stop it did, and she supposed she’d better return this gorgeous man to Dylan. Nina spotted him with Kate near the bar. She took her partner’s hand to lead him from the dance floor. Blood pulsed in her fingertips, as if a magnet lay between the two of them. Did he feel it too?

  Kate sized the man up with an approving flick of her head as he chatted to Dylan. Her macaw mask slipped sideways, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered.

  ‘He’s Dylan’s . . . friend.’ Nina hoped she’d take the hint. It didn’t work. Kate slunk closer to him.

  ‘Come on, Princess Parrot,’ said Nina. ‘Let’s get some food to line our stomachs. I’ve got a feeling we’ll need it.’

  Dylan was chatting away to his date, but the kingfisher didn’t seem to be listening. He seemed to have eyes only for her. Nina tossed her head and turned her back. She’d always had far too vivid an imagination.

  The evening wore on. What a difference ten years made. Nina was in demand, far more popular than she’d ever been in school. She danced a few dances. In spite of the masks she could pick out most people. Loud-mouthed Trevor Jackson, for instance, who’d grown so fat. Class comedian Bud Barker, whose jokes hadn’t changed. She almost laughed when Shane Bond in his werewolf mask asked her to dance. She’d had a crush on him back then, and he’d never noticed. She might have been flattered, might have flung herself into the evening with gusto, if not for Dylan’s mystery man. He was, unaccountably, a major distraction. And thinking about Lockie didn’t seem to help.

  Nina watched the kingfisher swirl a plump Catwoman around, and tried to figure out who she was. He sure knew how to move. The music ended and he left the dance floor. Nina grabbed a drink and followed him back to the corner where Kate and Dylan were scoffing champagne. She longed to hear his voice again, but was too tongue-tied to ask him a question. So instead she just tried not to stare as Kate and Dylan debated who had the worst costume. Nina feigned interest without much success.

  ‘See Catwoman over there?’ said Kate. ‘That’s Kathy Bell. She’s pregnant. And there’s Judy Cousins, our house captain.’ Kate pointed to a short woman dressed like the Queen of Hearts. ‘Remember how she said she’d never get married? She’s got three kids now.’

  Really? So many of Nina’s old classmates had settled down. What was the big attraction in having children? She didn’t fit in here at all.

  ‘I need a refill,’ said Kate. She disappeared with the kingfisher to the bar.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Dylan asked her. ‘Aren’t you having fun?’

  Nina glanced at him sharply. His tone had been almost teasing. ‘Tell me your friend’s name.’

  ‘No names yet,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s the rules.’

  ‘Stuff the stupid rules.’ For some reason her emotions were very close to the surface. ‘Just tell me.’

  His mask seemed to smirk. ‘Ricardo,’ Dylan said at last, rolling his r’s in a most impressive way. ‘Ring any bells?’

  What did he mean by that? She didn’t know any Ricardos. But the name suited the man perfectly.

  ‘This thing itches.’ She scratched her ear. ‘When can we take them off?’

  ‘Midnight.’

  Irritation surged through her. ‘I can’t wait that long.’ She snatched off her mask as Kate arrived, hand in hand with a swaggering centurion. Nina couldn’t place him. Where was Ricardo? Was that a flash of turquoise at the bar?

  ‘Good idea,’ said the soldier when he noticed her bare face. He removed his helmet. Bloody Geoff Baker . . . Bugger. Whatever did Kate see in him? He still had a good body, true, but he’d been a self-absorbed egomaniac back in school, and from the look of him things hadn’t changed. Did Kate intend to take him home with them? Nina squirmed at the thought of Geoff strutting around Kate’s little cottage.

  Then Ricardo was by her side again, casting all thought of Geoff from her mind. Nina wished that she hadn’t taken off her mask. She seemed at a disadvantage, but why and in what way she wasn’t sure. What did it matter if she was exposed?

  ‘Charge your glasses,’ said Dylan, as the countdown to midnight came over the sound system. ‘Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . . Happy new year!’

  Cheers and kisses and flying streamers. Nina held her breath as people’s masks came off, her eyes trained on one person only, but Ricardo made no move to reveal himself.

  Geoff and Kate were laughing and he was stroking her arm. Dylan removed his mask and gave them a disparaging look. ‘Nina, darling, if you’re ready to go home, you could come with us. Give these two lovebirds some space?’

  Her head was swimming a little as she agreed. The large room felt airless, her skin clammy. The idea of going home with Ricardo, with or without Dylan, was irresistible. Nina had the strangest sense of something important ending, or beginning; she wasn’t sure.

  Nina grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her over to a seat in the corner. ‘Is it okay with you, Katie, if I go home with Dylan tonight?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Kate, her face flushed. ‘See you for breakfast?’

  Nina stood up, staggering slightly, drunker than she’d imagined she was. Ricardo appeared at her side. ‘You can take your mask off now,’ she said, wanting to do it for him. But instead he extended a helping hand, gently grasping her upper arm, maintaining his grip even after she was solid on her feet. A charge passed between them. She sneaked a guilty glance at Dylan. Had he noticed? Would he mind? Lockie certainly would. She shook herself. What was she thinking?

  They said goodbye to Kate, who barely seemed to notice, clinched tight as she was in a kiss with Geoff. Dylan led the way down the steps, across the road, along the street, around the corner to his car. Nina shivered, though the night was warm, perfumed with scented tree peonies blooming in the nearby park. She fell into the back seat. Ricardo sat in the front. Only then did he remove his mask, passing it back to her without turning around. She caught the scent of him as she laid it beside her on the seat. Nina could see the back of his head now, hair thick and dark, like she’d imagined.

  They took a meandering route on the short drive home, avoiding main roads and booze buses. The full moon kept pace in the window. Dylan chatted away about the costumes and complained about the few people who hadn’t made an effort. He gave them a comprehensive run-down on who’d brok
en up with who, who’d gone home with who, and why it would never work. Ricardo said nothing. Neither did Nina.

  Dylan interrupted his prattle and parked the car. ‘Well. We’re here.’ He got out first.

  Nina held her breath, not moving, as Ricardo unfolded himself from the front seat and stepped onto the footpath. A tall shape in the streetlight, square shoulders blocking the moon. The need to properly see him overwhelmed her, made her dizzy. But when he came around to her door, reached for the handle, stooped to offer his arm, his features stayed in shadow. They walked side by side to the house, up the wooden steps to the verandah. She stumbled once, but he had her.

  Dazzled moths fluttered in a bright halo cast by the porch light. At last. She turned to Ricardo and took a sharp inward breath. His dusky complexion wasn’t just the result of long days outdoors. He was naturally olive-skinned, with a proud, broad forehead, narrowing to high cheekbones. Nose slightly aquiline. Prominent jaw shaded with stubble. His eyes were the colour of coffee beans and gleamed like dark mirrors. They shone with a recognition that reflected her own. She knew that face. She’d known it all her life.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ric. Ric Bonelli, the boy who’d grown up across the river. Once upon a time he’d been her best and closest friend. ‘You.’ She could barely believe the evidence of her eyes.

  Ric bit his lip as though buying time to collect his thoughts. The gesture was heart-tearingly familiar. ‘Nina . . .’

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, couldn’t speak.

  The door opened and Dylan appeared, sized them up. ‘Penny finally dropped, did it?’ He retreated into the house and Nina felt suddenly sober. Without thinking, she reached out to trace her finger down Ric’s face. Her childhood sweetheart stood before her, but then again he didn’t. Time had transformed him into this stunning stranger. Dylan reappeared, a bottle of champagne in hand. He popped the cork, making Nina jump. ‘Come on, you two. There’s more bubbly and I hate to drink alone.’