The Last Road Trip

by Gareth Crocker

  ‘Sutherland?’ Margie exclaimed. ‘A lovely Karoo town, but, as you’ll soon discover, not quite as charming as ours.’

  Jack imagined what Margie and Bill’s guesthouse would’ve looked like had they decided to set up their business in Sutherland rather than Hopetown. Given that the night sky was Sutherland’s big drawcard, he guessed the place would be festooned with plastic stars. Maybe the lamps would be planets.

  ‘Let’s just say that Sutherland doesn’t quite have the legacy of our town,’ Margie continued. ‘Or the pedigree, really.’

  Ah, Jack thought.

  Sensing that a history lesson was in the air, Rosie was about to explain that it had been a long drive and that she desperately needed a lie-down, when Bill cleared his throat.

  ‘Founded in the mid-1800s, I’m sure you know that this is where the world-famous Eureka diamond was discovered. Thus, of course, the name of our place,’ he said, offering the sort of proud smile that suggested two things. One, that it had been a particularly brilliant idea to name the guesthouse after this most famous jewel and, two, it had been his particularly brilliant idea.

  ‘The diamond was picked up by a fifteen-year-old boy in 1866,’ Margie chimed in.

  ‘Twenty-one carats.’

  The bread-and-fishes act – no doubt trotted out many hundreds of times over the years – was now in full swing.

  ‘But it was nothing compared to the diamond that was found in the region in 1869. This time discovered by a shepherd.’

  Following his wife’s cue, Bill lowered himself to his haunches and reached into a small cupboard. After scratching around for a while, he withdrew an old and ornately carved wooden box. Carefully, he lifted the lid and withdrew what was clearly the jewel of the Eureka Guest House crown. Another cheap plastic diamond.

  ‘This is one of only fifty replicas,’ Bill said, the awe evident in his voice.

  Margie nodded solemnly, swallowed. She gazed deep into the pear-shaped polymer. ‘The magnificent … Star of South Africa.’

  Rosie bit the inside of her lip, wondering if their hosts were about to burst into song.

  ‘A shade under eighty-four carats. Eighty. Four. Carats. Difficult to imagine.’

  Elizabeth leaned in for a closer look. ‘Spectacular.’

  Not quite knowing what else to do, they all nodded and stared at the plastic gem.

  ‘So, uh … who made the replicas?’ Jack asked. ‘Oh, we did. Every few years when we really like a guest, we give them one.’

  ‘When last did you give one away?’ Sam asked.

  Margie thought for a moment. ‘About six years ago.’

  Rosie slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Wow. Those are some standards you set. What did the recipients have to do? Invent time travel?’

  ‘Oh, let’s just say we look for certain special qualities in our guests.’

  Sam glanced down at his watch. ‘Bill, Margie … if it’s all right with you, might you show us to our rooms? It’s been a long day on the road and I’m sure the ladies would appreciate some rest before dinner.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ Margie replied. ‘We can pick this up later.’

  After the diamond had been safely returned to its box and put away, they were led down a long passage. As their footsteps echoed on the sagging wooden floor, they passed a number of framed portraits. Each was of a diamond prospector of one sort or another. And each was accompanied by a less-than-quick story, which Bill was only too happy to impart.

  After half a dozen stories and several minutes spent stewing in the excruciatingly hot passage, Pilot squatted down and made known his feelings of being cooped up in the sauna-like corridor. Pleased with himself, he sniffed at his offering and barked to announce its arrival.

  As they turned around and saw what Pilot had done, Elizabeth shook her head. Jack and Sam peeled away in embarrassment. But Rosie took it all in her stride. ‘So I guess we can kiss away our chances of getting that diamond then?’

  Twenty-four

  The next morning they didn’t make it to the breakfast table until shortly before 9 a.m. Having forgiven Pilot for his indiscretion, Bill and Margie had prepared a plate of sausages for the Labrador and a feast of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast for the rest of them.

  While they worked their way through the mound of food – evidently they were the only guests at Eureka – Bill picked up on the history lesson from the day before. He guided them through both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as seen through the eyes of Hopetown. He was threatening to extend his lesson to other towns in the region when Jack announced that they needed to get going. The going to where was decidedly less important than the going itself.

  Jack was surprised when Rosie announced that she would not be joining them.

  ‘You feeling OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, Jack. Just a little worn out.’

  Elizabeth studied her, unconvinced. ‘Rosie. What’s going—’

  ‘Lizzy, I’m perfectly all right. I just need a few more hours’ rest. Didn’t sleep that well last night,’ she began, and then lowered her voice. ‘Kept dreaming that I was choking on a diamond. I’ll see you this afternoon.’

  Cutting short the discussion, Rosie turned and headed for her room.

  ‘What’s that about?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she is just tired.’

  Elizabeth shook her head at that. ‘Doubt it.’

  An hour and a half later, the three of them had explored just about all there was to explore in Hopetown. With little else to do, they parked beside a quiet sand road and walked down to the banks of the Orange River. Content just to take in the dappled morning sun and the gentle ebb and flow of the river as it meandered its way through the countryside, they positioned themselves under the fractured shade of a lone tree.

  ‘So, anybody have the first idea of why we’re in Hopetown?’

  Jack looked at Sam and shrugged. Both men then turned to Elizabeth.

  ‘Don’t look at me. I haven’t the faintest. Rosie hasn’t said a word about it.’

  Sam removed a shoe and sock, and dangled his foot in the cold water. ‘So what do we know? She said she’s been here before. Long time ago.’

  ‘Yes, but we know she wasn’t born or raised here.’

  ‘She also said she’d only been to Hopetown once.’

  Jack thought about that. ‘Then the obvious question is what could’ve happened here in the space of a single visit that would make Rosie want to come back all these years later?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t something so much as it was … someone?’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘I mean perhaps she had a wonderful day here with someone she loved.’

  Sam removed his remaining shoe and slipped off his sock. ‘From what Rosie’s told me, her marriage was pretty much a disaster from day one. Whatever happened here, I don’t think happened with her ex-husband. And she doesn’t have any brothers or sisters.’

  ‘I don’t know much about her father. Just that he wasn’t around. So, in terms of her family, that just leaves her mother.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Jack, her mother was a very cruel lady. Some of the things Rosie told me were just awful. Vicious.’

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘She was in clothing, Sam. Mass-market retail. I can’t imagine there being any connection to Hopetown.’

  ‘OK. So is anyone buying the fact that Rosie’s taking a nap at the moment?’

  Elizabeth looked up at Jack and shook her head.

  ‘So what does that leave us with?’

  They were quiet for a while until Jack flicked a small stone into the water. ‘A mystery.’

  Elizabeth brought her hands together in her lap. ‘So now we have two mysteries to contend with. Isn’t that something?’

  Twenty-five

  Michael Winter placed down the receiver and began to frown and laugh at the same time. ‘Unbelievable,’ he whispered.

  Brent, his business partner and mechanic, was rolling a whee
l into the garage. ‘What’s so unbelievable?’

  ‘This woman I’ve just spoken to.’

  ‘Yeah? What did she want?’

  ‘A delivery.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound that earth shattering to me.’

  ‘She wants us to deliver to Hopetown.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’ve never delivered there before—’

  ‘She needs the delivery done today.’

  ‘Today?’ Brent repeated, allowing the wheel to fall onto its side. ‘And you agreed?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘That’s a four-hour return trip! What were you thinking? Who’s going to do it?’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Really? You want us to spend half the day out of the shop for one delivery? What the hell’s the urgency? Why can’t we just get Abraham to handle it next week?’

  ‘She needs it done today. Those were her terms. Didn’t say why.’

  Brent used his shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. ‘What am I missing here? Why did you agree to this … and why the hell are you smiling?’

  ‘Because she’s paying us a premium.’

  ‘What sort of premium?’

  ‘The sort that keeps our doors open for the next month at least …’ At once, Brent’s tone softened. ‘Just for a special delivery?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Must be really important.’

  ‘For the sort of money she’s offering, I’d say it’s life or death.’

  Twenty-six

  At dinner, Rosie hardly said anything at all. While Bill and Margie related stories about some of the more interesting and eccentric guests they’d had over the years, Rosie picked at her food, contributing to the conversation only when called upon. When she wasn’t staring at her plate she was gazing out the window, her mind elsewhere.

  ‘We had this one gentleman who came here once a month for almost a year. He would stay for two days each time. Apart from sleeping and eating, all he ever did was go for walks and sit in front of the fireplace. Liked to read, as I recall.’

  Margie placed a hand on her husband’s knee. The story was being told in relay. ‘Until one weekend this woman bursts in through the front door and starts screaming at him.’

  ‘It was his wife, you see. He’d been telling her that his once-a-month sojourns were business trips when actually he was just trying to get some peace and quiet away from her. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘I felt really sorry for him,’ Margie added. ‘He was such a nice man. Never complained or demanded anything. A real gentle soul. Lovely to talk to.’

  ‘His wife, on the other hand, was a proper battle-axe. She dragged him out of here and we never saw him again. Which was a real pity. He was a good payer as well.’

  Jack, Sam and Elizabeth smiled politely at the story and asked the requisite questions, but it was clear that Rosie hadn’t heard a single word. Jack’s concern for her was mounting. She had just begun to return to her usual self, but now – within a matter of a day or so – she appeared to be slipping away from them. It was as though a heavy fog had settled over her. It wasn’t just that she was quiet. What unsettled Jack more than anything was that her armour, her constant wit and banter, was no longer in effect. Whatever was plaguing her was strong enough to strip raw her defences. And that, Jack knew, took some doing.

  While the conversation moved on to the story of a murder suspect who used the guesthouse as his hideaway for a week, Jack kept his eyes fixed on Rosie. He watched as she sipped the last of her wine and then brought her napkin up to her mouth. She dabbed gently at her lips, her eyes tracking something through the window that only she was privy to.

  Something from her past.

  Something, Jack thought, that was bringing her to her knees.

  Twenty-seven

  After dinner, Bill and Margie cleared away the dishes and retired for the night. Before anyone could consider following suit, Jack suggested they go through to the lounge for a nightcap. After drinks had been poured and everyone had settled down onto various couches, Jack tossed a few logs into the fireplace and then rubbed his hands together. He was thinking of what he could say to Rosie to get her to open up, when she began to speak.

  ‘My mother,’ she uttered in a low voice, ‘was not a good woman, to say the least. She suffered from the kind of sickness that no doctor could get to. Certainly not back then and probably not today either. She was guilty of the most horrible things. I won’t burden you with the sob story of my childhood, suffice to say that Abigail Banks pretty much put a torch to the first twenty years of my life. I’d like to tell you that I got over all the things that happened. That I eventually managed to work through the issues and emerged happy and healed on the other side, but that’s just not true. The way I speak, my weight, the things I do, well … it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? It’s all part of my big act. The Rosie Banks show. I don’t blame my mother for everything though. That would be too easy. I’ve allowed myself to wallow in self-pity for years. Allowed my weight to spiral out of control. Been quick to blame everything on her. After all, we never want to acknowledge our own failures. But I certainly do blame her for one thing. For the worst thing she ever did.’

  Rosie looked down into her sherry and, more as a reflex than a conscious gesture, began to circle the rim of the glass with her index finger. ‘I loved my father very much. Worshipped is perhaps a better word. Unfortunately, his work required him to travel for long periods. When he was home, things were wonderful. Idyllic even. In fact, the minute he walked through the front door my mother was a completely different person. It was incredible to witness. She would change from being this aggressive and vindictive monster into just about the perfect wife and mother. It was like a lever had been pulled in her head. The change always took my breath away.

  ‘Anyway, whenever my father was home, I would try to spend every last minute with him. I’d follow him around the house. Help him with whatever needed doing. I even used to spend afternoons with him in his garage while he tinkered with things. I sometimes considered telling him what Mother was like when he was away, but I was worried that maybe he wouldn’t believe me. Or, even worse, that he would believe me and wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. After all, it wasn’t as if he could just stay home to take care of me and forget about his job. We never had much money and relied entirely on his pay cheque. I suppose even as a child I didn’t want to add to his burden.’

  Rosie paused, tried to swallow away the dryness in her mouth. When she spoke again, her lips were trembling.

  ‘I was nine years old when my mother handed me this,’ she said softly, reaching into her pocket. She withdrew an old folded letter and placed it on the table in front of her.

  Jack looked down at the letter and then back at Rosie. ‘May I?’

  She nodded.

  He lifted the letter, carefully pried it open and began to read out loud.

  Abigail,

  It has all become too much for me to bear.

  For the longest time I thought I wanted to be a father. I thought it would complete our lives together. But I’m sorry to say that having Rose has only made matters worse.

  Part of the problem is that she’s not the child I wanted. But more so, she never leaves me alone and I simply cannot tolerate it any more. She has also managed to force us apart to the point that I don’t believe our marriage can be salvaged.

  I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it any more. I simply can’t.

  Edward.

  The room lapsed into an almost perfect silence.

  ‘For the next thirty years I believed my father had left because of me. My mother told me that he had wanted a boy all along and that he often wished I had died at birth,’ Rosie said, pausing to take a breath. ‘And then, many years down the road, I was working hard at building up my clothing business when I broke down one morning. I can’t even remember what set me off. I had a close friend in the office and the whole
story just fell out of me. It poured out like poison. I held nothing back. My mother’s abuse, my father’s abandonment, my running away from home at seventeen – all of it. It was only when my friend insisted on reading the letter that everything changed. She went through the letter once, twice, half a dozen times. I’ll never forget the expression on her face when she was finally done. I think in some ways it saved me. She looked up at me and said that, given what I had told her about my father, there was no way he could have written that letter. Not a chance in hell, she said. She was adamant about it. God, how I loved her for that. She said that after all the wonderful things he had done for me, there was simply no way he could’ve put those words down on paper. That my mother must’ve been jealous of our relationship and that she was obviously mentally ill.’

  For a moment it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Tears rolled down Rosie’s face and she made no attempt to halt them. ‘And the moment she said that, something inside me realised it was true. For my entire adult life I had been reading that letter as a nine-year-old girl. A child. As a person who wasn’t able to question her twisted mother’s authority. To bring reason to an absurd situation. To a letter that, in itself, is ludicrous in the extreme.’

  Fending off her own tears, Elizabeth shook her head. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I decided to try to find him. I wanted to speak to him. Wanted to find out why he really left and why he never saw fit to contact me again. Not a phone call. Not a letter. I waited years to hear from him, always hoping and praying that he would change his mind one day and come walking through our front gate. You can’t imagine how much time I spent sitting outside on our wall, waiting for him.’

  Jack could hardly look at Rosie.

  ‘Even though I now understood that my mother had written the letter, it didn’t excuse the fact that my father had left me behind. I wanted to know why. I had to know what I had done.’