Rain Music

by Di Morrissey

  He stared at her, really seeing her for the first time. She had an open, friendly face and sun-streaked hair, and she radiated health and fitness. He liked her voice. It was like warm honey.

  ‘Where’s home?’ he asked.

  ‘Mudgee, in New South Wales. I’m a country gal. You?’

  ‘Snap! I’m from the country, too. Tennyson in Victoria. But I’m mostly playing gigs on the road these days,’ he grinned.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She looked a little embarrassed. ‘I googled you. Your music is great. How come you’ve only made one album?’

  ‘I like being independent, going my own way. But that costs money: finding the musicians, the back-up group, paying for studio time, trying to get a distribution deal . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Damned hard. Really, I just want to make the music. So, with me it’s been mostly live gigs, one-man shows, though occasionally I do festivals with a group.’

  ‘I guess that’s life on the road.’ Toni smoothed her hair. ‘So why do you want to hang around up here so long? This is a small, out-of-the-way place, far from anything much. Not a big audience here; you might say that this is the town of last resort for many.’

  ‘So why are you here?’ he countered.

  She paused only for a split second before breaking into laughter. ‘Touché. Locals might feel a bit insulted by my comments, but the north gets to you. I like the sense of freedom, the feeling that the real world is somewhere down south. Besides, I like my job.’ Toni laid a hand on Ned’s arm. ‘Ned, rest some more, and I’ll be back this afternoon to check on you.’

  At lunchtime, a lanky young policeman entered Ned’s room. He dropped Ned’s things into one corner and then approached the bed, looking down at Ned with some concern.

  ‘You’ve given yourself a bit of a battering,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Bit of luck that Toni found you and brought you in.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Ned. ‘One car had already passed me by. I thought I was stuck there for the night.’

  ‘Too bad. People are a bit wary about picking up strangers these days, even when they need help, but if it’s any comfort to you, the driver did report in at the station to tell us that they’d seen you.’

  That did make Ned feel better. It was good to know that if Toni hadn’t found him, the police would have done so, eventually.

  ‘Got the results of your blood test back, too. No alcohol or drugs. Saw the swerving tyre marks at the accident scene – you were trying to avoid the dead cow?’

  ‘And some birds. I wasn’t travelling fast, but I hit the gravel on the edge of the road and lost control.’

  The policeman nodded. ‘Can happen like that. Anyway, I’ll make out a report, but it all seems straightforward. I’ll have your car moved to the wreckers and they can see if it’s salvageable. Good luck, and I hope you’re better quickly. They tell me you should be out of here soon.’ The policeman smiled and before Ned had a chance to thank him, he was gone.

  Later that afternoon, Toni looked in on him again and they chatted easily for a while until Ned felt tired. He slept deeply that night and woke feeling better. Later in the morning Toni took him for a walk along the hospital corridor to test his ankle.

  ‘I still feel a bit wrecked. But it’s a relief to be able to move,’ said Ned, leaning on her. ‘It’s good to be unhooked from the drip, too. How soon before I can leave?’

  ‘I should think you’ll be discharged tomorrow morning. All that’s wrong with you is pretty superficial.’

  Ned lifted his bandaged arm. ‘How long is this going to be out of action? It won’t affect my playing, will it?’

  Toni smiled reassuringly. ‘Judging from the hospital notes, the wound was quite shallow. It looks far worse than it is. So no, it won’t affect your playing the guitar. Do you play any other instruments?’ she asked.

  ‘Double bass, violin, piano, and I can play a mean ukulele.’

  ‘Very impressive. And you’ll be fine tackling them all quite soon, Ned.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked at her as she manoeuvred a chair out of his way. She was so capable and kind. ‘I feel like I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me. I know it’s your job and all, but you seem to have gone above and beyond.’ He gave a slight smile.

  ‘Well, having brought you in here I do have something of a proprietary interest in you. And, as I’ve said, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry. You’ll be performing before you know it.’

  ‘Actually, I came here more to do a little composing than perform.’

  ‘Oh. More songs? That sounds terrific.’

  ‘I’m thinking of attempting something a bit more ambitious.’

  ‘Really? Like what?’ She raised her eyebrows. He took a step on his ankle and winced. She put her arm around his waist to steady him and their eyes met.

  Ned drew a breath. ‘Something in-depth, not a song and dance show, but something with a serious sort of theme. Sorry, I’m not articulating it very well. I haven’t even thought it all through properly myself. I just know it’s what I want to do. I’ve actually never told anyone this before. I’m not quite sure why I’m telling you. I think it has to do with your proprietary interest in me.’

  Toni studied him for a moment. ‘That sounds really great. The thing that struck me about your work is that it’s not just the music, but the lyrics. They make you think. The music is beguiling, but the story you tell gets inside you.’

  They stared at each other, both sensing they had stepped over some previously accepted boundary. This was treading into new territory – the personal.

  Ned was the first to look away. ‘Ah, everyone in show business dreams of doing something special. Might never happen, or never get performed, even if I do actually write it.’ He gave an awkward smile. ‘Gotta give it a go, right?’

  They continued walking down the corridor, Toni’s hand supporting his bandaged arm. ‘Yes, you do. You know what they say: you won’t know if you don’t try. Yes, I think you should really stretch yourself. And this is the place to do it. I found that when you step outside the safe and the familiar, well, things happen. Besides, there’s not a lot up here to distract you.’ She gave a slightly embarrassed shrug and withdrew her hand. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?’

  Ned nodded. ‘Cliché it may be, I have a nagging idea inside me. Which is why I figured I’d take some time out,’ he said. ‘I got the offer of a place, and I’ve got a bit of money saved, so I don’t have to worry for a while as long as I don’t live the high life, and I can see if I can make my idea work.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be doing much else around here,’ said Toni with a chuckle. Then she added softly, ‘Good luck. Go for it.’

  *

  The following day, as he stepped out of the air-conditioned hospital into the fresh warm air, moist breeze and brilliant sunshine, Ned felt as though he’d entered another world. He took a deep breath as he eased into a taxi, which drove him to the auto-repair shop to enquire about his bruised and battered car.

  ‘Thought you’d given her up, mate. I was thinking of flogging it,’ said the mechanic with a grin.

  ‘Been in hospital. We both got a bit of a hammering.’

  ‘So the police told me. Hit something, did ya?’

  ‘Birds. I swerved to miss them.’

  ‘Cripes, must have been bloody big ones to make you take such evasive action.’

  ‘There were a bunch of them picking at a dead cow. They were humungous. I thought if one came through the windscreen with a seven-foot wingspan and massive talons, I’d be worse off than the car.’

  The mechanic stared at him. ‘Really? Wedgies?’

  ‘There were wedge-tails, but I think there were other raptors as well.’

  The mechanic scratched his chin. ‘Could be. I’ve heard that Brahminy kites and ospreys are hunting in-shore these days. Learned about roadkill. Reckon you were bloody luc
ky.’ The mechanic led Ned to the back of the shop to the crippled remains of his car. ‘I’ve got bad news about your vehicle. It’s a complete write-off.’

  Ned stared in dismay at the wreck. He shook his head then reached through the window to the glove box and found all his relevant papers. Perhaps not the safest of places to keep them, but being on the road wasn’t conducive to order in his life.

  ‘Where’re ya headed?’ asked the mechanic.

  ‘Thought I’d chill in town for a bit while I sort out this mess.’

  ‘Good place to spend time, Cooktown, but get out before the wet, that’s when the place quietens down. You can’t travel far then – not even the locals can. You’re not looking for work?’ Seeing Ned shake his head, the mechanic continued, ‘Just as well. Not much around, though we do get the odd backpacker who’ll work for less than the locals.’

  ‘What will I do about a replacement for this?’ Ned asked, looking sadly at his damaged four-wheel drive.

  ‘You won’t get much for this, but I know of a couple of vehicles that might suit you. You’ll probably have to pay a bit more than what you get from the insurance. Get back to me in a day or two and I’ll let you know. If I can’t arrange something from around here, I might have to bring something up from Cairns or from Mareeba.’

  The mechanic looked at Ned’s crestfallen face.

  ‘Don’t worry, mate. We’ll have you fixed up in no time. Say, why don’t you go and see Yolanda up at the Toppie? She knows what’s going on. I can give you a lift up there. Besides, you look as though you need a beer.’

  The mechanic pulled over in Charlotte Street and Ned thanked him for his help and climbed out. The mechanic waved as he drove away.

  Ned decided he should first sort out his phone. There wasn’t much to be done with his old one, so with some reluctance he got a replacement from the post office. The post office worker let him plug it into a wall socket and fifteen minutes later he transferred his SIM card in to it and switched it on. It pinged with missed calls and messages from his mother and sister. He went to reply to one of the messages, but then stopped as he read the contents more carefully. Both Bella and Josie had sent him texts haranguing him about the dedication. He felt annoyance rising in his chest. He’d explained to Josie that he couldn’t make it. What did they want from him? His father’s face flashed in his mind and he closed his eyes. No, he wasn’t dealing with this right now. He deleted the messages without reading them.

  Next he called the number of the house he’d been told about, but it rang out with no voicemail. It seemed luck wasn’t on his side, so he decided to check out the pub.

  Ned crossed the street and stepped into the weatherboard hotel with its broad upstairs verandah. The year 1885 was displayed over the door. It probably hasn’t changed much since then, he thought. Inside, however, it looked as though it was now a very popular watering hole with tourists. He wandered over to the long bar and put down his guitar case and backpack, then leaned on the counter, propping his sore foot on the brass rail which ran below the bar. The woman behind the bar, who was swishing a beer-stained cloth along the counter, came over to him, and without looking up asked, ‘What’llitbe?’

  ‘What have you got?’ asked Ned in a reasonable tone.

  The woman jerked her head at the question. ‘What planet you from, mate?’ She gave him a long hard stare, taking in his streaked blond hair and beard stubble, his tanned face, bright blue eyes and lopsided smile. A broad grin broke across her face. ‘Hey, I know you! You’re that singer I saw in Cairns. Ned . . . ?’

  ‘That’s me. Are you Yolanda?’

  ‘Sure am. Are you in town for a show?’

  Ned shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t think so, or I’d have heard about it. What kinda beer you drink?’

  ‘Better have a XXXX Gold.’

  Yolanda began to pour the beer. ‘So, if you’re not doing a show, what brings you up to this godforsaken place?’

  ‘Chilling out for a while. Recovering from writing off my car.’

  ‘Ah, too bad. A prang, eh? How long you gonna be around?’ She pushed a schooner of beer in front of him.

  Ned took a sip, and the beer went down very well after the tepid tea and sweet juices in the hospital. ‘Not sure. I just want a quiet space where I can work for a while.’

  ‘You write your own songs, don’tcha? That’s cool. Doing a new album?’

  ‘Not sure,’ said Ned, noncommittally. ‘I’m supposed to move into a place my mate’s friend’s going to lend me.’

  ‘Good time to stay, now. Before the wet. Some people go stir crazy at the rain, storms and not being able to drive ’cause the roads get flooded. So who’s this bloke?’

  ‘Normie Brown. Everyone calls him Hashie. As in hash browns, I guess. Works in the music business.’

  Yolanda nodded. ‘Hashie? Yeah, I know him. Bit of a pothead. I thought that was how he got his name.’ Yolanda looked thoughtful as she yanked out the cloth she’d tucked into her apron pocket and wiped it along the damp counter again. ‘Heard he was moving on for a couple of months. But geez, I don’t know that you’d want to move into his joint. A flophouse, if you ask me. Still, you musos are all into sex and drugs and rock and roll, aren’t you?’

  ‘Some are,’ Ned replied. ‘Well, my friend painted an interesting picture of this area and I thought I’d like to spend a bit of time here. I tried calling, but the phone rang out.’

  ‘Well, let me give you the directions to Hashie’s place. Come back to me if it doesn’t work out. The house is on the hill, you can’t miss it.’ She scribbled out some directions on a coaster and handed it to him. ‘It’s an old Queenslander with a lurid pink verandah.’

  ‘Yes, Hashie said it was very pink.’

  ‘Someone’s not-very-smart idea, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Yolanda wryly. ‘But if you like, I might be able to put you on to another place. It’s low-key, peaceful like. Pretty remote, but it might suit. See how you go.’ She moved down the counter to serve some of the other customers. Ned finished his beer before heading out into the glaring light.

  It took only a short time for a taxi to get him to the house on the hill, which was exactly as Yolanda had described. He looked at it in dismay. It was very run-down, and there was an old lounge chair sitting in the middle of the overgrown garden.

  ‘You going in here?’ asked the driver dubiously.

  ‘I’m supposed to be staying here. I’ll go and see if someone’s around, but I think you’d better wait for a couple of minutes, if you don’t mind.’

  Leaving his guitar and backpack in the taxi, Ned knocked on the front door of the house. He could hear music playing very loudly in the background. He knocked again and eventually the door was opened by a man who looked to be in his twenties and very spaced out.

  ‘Yeah?’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’m Ned. Hashie said I could stay here while he was away.’

  ‘You want his room? It’s out the back. You’ll like it here, man. Lotsa music and anything you want, if you know what I mean.’

  Ned knew straight away what he meant. This was not what he had envisioned. There was no way he could stay in this place and be productive.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ve made a mistake,’ he told the man, and walked back to the taxi as fast as his sprained foot would let him. The taxi driver nodded sympathetically.

  ‘That place has a pretty unsavoury reputation. Can I take you somewhere else?’

  Ned decided that the best thing to do was to book into a motel, at least for a couple of nights, while he waited for a replacement car and for his stitches to heal. The taxi driver took him to a clean and attractive place in the middle of town. When Ned found out how much it was a night, he knew it was not at all suitable for a long-term stay, especially as he was going to have to put money into another car. Quickly he googled the pub and called its
number, thinking he could ask Yolanda about the alternative accommodation she’d mentioned, but he got an answering machine. He left a message asking her to call him back. Having no other option right then, he booked in for the night and was shown to his room. He tooled around on the internet for twenty minutes looking at various accommodation websites but the prices all seemed about the same. Feeling despondent, he decided to go for a walk to clear his head and try to figure out what to do next.

  He set off to walk up Grassy Hill, which overlooked the township. He hadn’t gone very far when he realised his mistake. His foot was not ready for even moderate exercise. He tripped and stumbled, losing his balance. He swore as he felt a stab of pain in his ankle. Just then an enormous four-wheel drive pulled up beside him.

  ‘You okay there, mate?’ The driver was a large man who looked to be in his late-seventies, wearing a faded Hawaiian shirt. Beside him sat a bird-like woman, tiny and wearing a bright, loose-fitting dress, who peered at Ned with concern.

  Ned clambered back to his feet and dusted himself off. ‘I’m all right. I did my ankle the other day and it’s still healing.’

  ‘Want a lift to the top, then?’ asked the man with a friendly grin. ‘I’m Ron and this is Mavis, the wife.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ned, climbing into the car. ‘I think I was being a bit ambitious trying to get up even this small hill.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Ron. ‘How long have you been in Cooktown? We’ve only been here a couple of days. On the way to Bamaga, but we thought we’d like to do a detour to Cooktown first.’

  ‘Bamaga’s on the tip of Cape York, isn’t it?’ said Ned. ‘Long way to go yet.’

  ‘Only about nine hundred kays, but you have to do it before the wet, otherwise you can get caught by flooded roads. Still, we have plenty of time to get there and back before then.’

  ‘We weren’t sure about Cooktown, because it’s not on the way to anywhere. Quite isolated, sitting out here on the coast, but I think we made the right decision to take a look. It seems a quaint place. Different from the glitzy towns further south,’ Mavis piped up.