Falling Into Queensland
Page 6
“I guess so, but have you got a bird at the moment?”
“Er – no. She took off. You know, birds is different to us.”
“Strange that. I can"t imagine what got into her. Anyway, I"d better work out a couple of straps to hold them down when you don"t have a bird to sit on them. This is Shirley, by the way. Mind if she sits on your bike so I can measure up?”
He unfolded himself from the bike. “Sure – go for it.” He reached out a large hand for Shirley to shake. “You Marilyn"s bird, then?”
“Er – yes,” she said, quickly deciding that she needed a protector for the moment.
“She"s a good kid, our Marilyn. Really smart. Like educated and all
that stuff.”
“Never mind that,” said Marilyn. “Could you hop on here, Shirl? I want to see how they"re going to hang.”
“Er – what?” asked Mongo.
“The saddlebags, Mongo. The saddlebags. You don"t want them getting in your bird"s way now, do you?”
“Sorry about all that,” said Marilyn, as soon as they were back on the road, “I guess I should have told you. But it was difficult to know when. Or how.”
“Doesn"t bother me. I"m from London. Gays and lesbians all over. Sometimes there are more of them than straight people. Who cares?”
Marilyn looked relieved. “Good. I"m glad. It can really upset some people. Not so much in Port Bruce because we"re all a bit strange there, but Queensland can be very backwoods sometimes. I think I"d be fine sleeping with my brother but having a girl friend will send me straight to hell.”
Shirley was thinking of all she had seen over the last few hours. “I can"t understand Midge. Japan treats her really badly. Like a slave or something.”
“Yes. Midge. She drives me crazy. She"s not stupid. She"s a good mother and she"s by far the best of the girls Japan has taking care of him. But sometimes… Did you see how she went all gooey when I told her
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about her new gear? For goodness sake! He"s going to be parading her around nude with bits of expensive leather stuck to her. Just as a status symbol. Top dog, alpha male, all that sort of stuff. Sometimes I want to grab hold of her gold rings and just twist some sense into her.”
“Ouch!” said Shirley. “That"d make her eyes water.”
“No – I"m just being stupid really. She"s happy enough or she wouldn"t keep coming back. It"s not just the money for her. She"s really happy. You"ve only got to listen to her - „Japan says this, Japan says that". And the way she runs after him. Half mother, half butler. I should get a girl like that. I could get fat and lazy then.”
“She lets him make love to her, she was saying.”
“Of course. That"s part of the deal. It"s what Japan thinks women are for. Cooking, cleaning and fucking. Not that he makes a big deal of sex but when he wants some, she has to take care of him. Lucky her, I don"t think.”
“I don"t think I could do it. He seemed creepy to me.”
“I let him jump up on me once. Can"t imagine why. Nothing memorable. The earth didn"t move. He"s never tried again, and I wouldn"t let him. Not when I was sober anyway. He"s a ratbag.
“He"s always angry, just on the edge of hauling off and hitting someone. Except he tends to use a knife. He loses it and goes completely crazy. I"ve seen him go for guys twice his size, but he"s so quick and so crazy he"s ended up cutting them to pieces. That"s what gets him their respect, I suppose. They"re all scared stiff of him if they"ve seen him like that, and if they haven"t, they"ve heard the stories. I hate him.”
“But he"s a customer.”
“Yes. A good customer. I"m going to enjoy making Midge look like a hot little doll, and he"s going to pay me two thousand plus materials. And Mongo"s not going to get a great deal of change out of five hundred. All the straps and fastenings mount up, never mind the leather. Japan"s a good payer, and he makes sure that none of the guys give me any trouble either. It"s good business.”
“What about visiting for a party? Would that be a good idea?”
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“Oh-ho. You"d definitely better take me along with you if you want to party with that lot. Or you"ll end up playing Makepeace River Pool all night, and you wouldn"t want that. Or maybe you would, I don"t know.”
“Makepeace River Pool?”
“Oh yes, it"s their speciality. They start partying and, when everyone"s had a few, they strip you off and bend you over the pool table. Then they take their personal pool cues out of their pants and, well, you get to play pool for as long as they can get it up. I"ve been told that if you"re in the mood it can be quite a buzz. I never fancied being bent over a table myself, and I don"t have a cue of my own.”
“You"re not making it sound very attractive. I"d definitely want to be under your wing for the evening in that case. Has it ever happened to Midge?”
“Who knows? She"s always been a bikie girl. But she hasn"t been caught recently, for sure. Bikies are a funny lot. Some of the men have regular girls and they"re respected. No one ever says a bad word to them. And then there"s the groupie sort of girl that hang around bikies. Don"t know why. They"re not exactly a maiden"s dream. Must be the money and the drugs, I suppose. And then there"s the badness of it all. You know, leather, chains, tattoos and so on. If you"re rebelling, being a bikie chick is a pretty definite statement. Mum and Dad will understand very quickly. That sort of kid usually plays pool at least once. I can"t say it knocks any sense into them. Most of them treat it like some sort of achievement, like they"re being made part of the group. Doesn"t work like that, of course. No woman is ever taken that seriously.”
“And Japan has all the money?”
“Yes. Pretty much. He controls it all. Who makes what tablets, what strength, how many. Then he organises to get it all sent south and the guys bring back the money in cash. He must have a fortune stashed away out there, all in cash. It"s bothering him. He"s actually thinking about the future, and some of the other guys too. The older ones at least. That"s what he was being so close about. They want pensions – can you believe that? A pension scheme for superannuated bikies. Trouble is, they"re all on social security so they can"t suddenly front up with hundreds of thousands of dollars and buy a pension. Or even a house. If they can"t
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show where the money came from and they get caught for something criminal like drugs, the Government can confiscate everything. So when they get out of prison, they"re clean. No bike, no house, nothing. So they"ve all got heaps of cash hidden away and Japan"s worried. If any of the politicians ever realise just how much cash there is, they might set up a raid with the Army or something and Japan wouldn"t have time to get clear.”
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Chapter 5
Shirley called Rupert as soon as she got back. It was early in London and Rupert would be just thinking of getting up and going for the paper. If she had been home, he would have bought the paper and carried on to her flat for breakfast together. They would read and drink coffee until it was time to join the others in the pub. They might eat there, or take the tube down to Covent Garden and catch some pasta in one of the tourist traps in the old market. A walk back across the city, shop for clothes or perhaps a museum or an exhibition, and they would be home around dusk, to watch television, eat a snack and perhaps make love on her sofa. She wondered if he would keep up the routine now she was not there.
She had quickly learnt that Australian phone charges were robbery and travellers relied on phone cards to get anything like sensible rates. She fed the card numbers into Byrnsie"s payphone and waited.
“Yes – Rupert.” He sounded out of order. “Oh God, what time is it? Ohhh – hangover.”
“You"ve been out clubbing?”
“No – no. Just in the pub with the others. You know – the normal. What have you been doing? Surfing?”
“Surf
ing? I don"t think they do that here. They fish, but I think that"s all.”
“Don"t tell me you"ve been fishing… I won"t believe you.”
“No – not yet anyway. You should see Uncle John"s house. It"s right on the river. It"s like something out of a story book.”
Rupert started to pay attention. “A house on the river? That must be worth a bit. Is it far out of town? I mean, is it easy commuting? Trains, buses, that sort of thing? Do they have trains over there? I suppose they must do…”
Shirley was laughing. “Rupert, you don"t know how silly that sounds. Commuting! It"s only two or three kilometres off the end of the blacktop. I guess it would be ten minutes drive into town by car. Or half an hour by boat.”
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“Ten minutes! Hey, that"s central. You never told me your uncle was that sort of person. It must be worth a fortune. Have you got a valuation yet? Oh, and is there any restriction on taking money out of Australia? You"ll need to check – I guess any bank could tell you. I know some countries make life difficult. You"ll need to find a lawyer to manage the sale, to get your money out and all that sort of thing. Selling houses always takes forever, and you"ll be back here long before it"s sold. What did you mean by blacktop, by the way?”
“Bitumen. Asphalt. The roads are only asphalted in town. Everything else is just dirt roads.”
“Dirt roads? No asphalt? Ah - .” Shirley could almost hear his brain working. “No asphalt? Why not? I mean, doesn"t it get muddy?”
“I"m sure it does, when it rains. The rest of the time it"s just very, very dusty.”
“Is that normal?”
“I suppose so. Today a friend took me out to a village in the bush
and we drove for hours on dirt roads.”
“Hours? Good grief – how far away was it?”
“Er – I don"t know. Marilyn says it"s not far but we drove for about three hours. I suppose about two hundred kilometres. Could be less – some of the time we were driving very slowly because the road was bad. But it was very interesting.”
“Oh God, I feel sick – it"s all too much. What are you going to do today?”
“Wake up, Rupert. I"m in Australia. I"ve already done today. I"m going to walk down to the local club to get some dinner and then go to bed.” Suddenly she lost patience with him. “I"ll tell you what – tomorrow I"ll go and find somewhere with a computer. There must be somewhere I can email from so I"ll write everything I"ve been doing and you can read it on Monday.”
On her way back from the RSL she decided she would have to go shopping for food. She did not mind taking breakfast with Lulu but she would go crazy if she had to put up with steak and chips at the RSL for the rest of her stay. The hostel had a communal kitchen; she would use that.
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Next day she found that her self-catering plan would have to be delayed. It was Sunday and nothing would be open – except Lulu during the day and the RSL or the pub at night. She decided it was time to behave like a proper tourist and do some serious photo collecting.
Byrnsie had the internet and he said she could email what she liked. She would start taking photos and sending them off to Rupert in batches. She took her bike off for breakfast with Lulu and then set out
for Mission Bay. This had been the site of the first attempt at white settlement in Port Bruce. A Scottish missionary had landed there, preferring the white sands of the bay over the muddy waters of the Strickland River. He had made some progress. The aboriginals were friendly and liked living with him. He had made an unsuccessful attempt at a copra plantation – the aboriginals definitely did not like being plantation workers – and in the end the mission had collapsed. The mission"s clients had preferred to go back to the bush, or to live in the commercial settlement of Port Bruce that had grown up around the river mouth.
The old road was still there. She had gone out of town along the Cooktown road and just as the blacktop ended, there was a turning into the forest. Mission Bay Road said the sign. She dived into the shadows. This was like the road to Uncle John"s house, but the trees were biggerand the lack of grass in the middle showed it was used more often. It wound its way on, a dark humid tunnel with islands of shocking sunlight. She stopped at one of these windows into the jungle and tried to frame a photograph. It was difficult to take one that meant anything. She left her bike standing in the middle of the road and took a picture of that with the jungle behind it. It might give Rupert an idea. At least he would see the size of the trees. As she walked back to her bike, her eye was taken by two shimmering blue butterflies playing in the sunlight. They were tumbling up and down together at the jungle margin. They were bigger than anything she had seen in England, and far brighter. Impossible to catch on a photograph, and the mosquitoes were bothering her.
She continued to roll gently down the road until she came to a rough wooden bridge. It was made of heavy timbers crossed by two strips of tattered decking nailed down with large spikes. She pushed her bike
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across rather than risk a wheel slipping into one of the open cracks between the boards. The creek below her was still and opaque.
The road ended at the beach. There was nothing there, just a turning area, coconut palms, and the obligatory brown and yellow sign warning foreign tourists about crocodiles. She leaned her bike against the sign and stood and stared. From the shadows of the trees, she was looking out over a small bay of shining white sand. Byrnsie had said it was pretty but his off-hand description had conveyed nothing like this.
She stepped out into the sunlight. The beach was empty. A crescent of white sand closed in by jungle. The headlands on either side were made up of massive grey granite boulders, as big as houses. The granite was sticking through the jungle on the hillsides, big boulders and cliffs. In front of her, across the unmarked beach, the azure sea lapped lazily.
She slipped off her sandals and immediately burnt her feet. Bare feet were not possible and she hurried to get the sandals back on again. Perhaps the wet sand at the water"s edge would be cooler.
Looking back at the jungle with the Coral Sea caressing her feet, Shirley"s heart was full. She had seen tropical beaches on the television but those images were no more representative than postcards of the Sistine Chapel. She had not imagined anywhere could be so perfectly beautiful. The comfortable size and gentle loneliness of the bay had nothing in common with the wild North Atlantic coast she was used to. She was closed in by the jungle wall behind the beach and the two rocky headlands. At the edge of the white sand, coconut palms formed a boundary wall. Their feet were in the jungle but they were leaning outwards to seek the sun. She loved their unkempt and ever-moving fronds. It was unbearably romantic.
She would have liked to strip off and lie in the sun but it was far too fierce. Or lie in the warm sea, but Byrnsie had told her they were still in the stinger season when jellyfish made swimming impossible without a full stinger-suit to cover her. Not the mention the threat of crocodiles. Shirley retreated to the shadow of the parking area and spread her towel at the very edge of the beach, avoiding the danger areas around the coconut palms. She did not want her holiday cut short by a falling nut.
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It was idyllic. Hot, even in the shade, but not too hot. A soft breeze from the sea was taking the edge off the midday heat, and she was becoming used to having permanently moist skin. She stared out over a view most people could only dream of. The Coral Sea and coconut palms. What more could you want? She opened her paperback and tried to read.
She was woken by a sudden impact. It took a moment to find herself. She looked around frantically to see what had woken her, and there was a large coconut newly arrived on the sand only five metres away. She shuddered at the sight. That could have killed me, she thought. I"m going to stick to admiring them from a distance.
She left the beach some t
ime during the afternoon feeling hungry and thirsty, and hoping that Lulu would still be open. The way back up to the Cooktown road was all up hill and she had earned her refreshment by the time she rolled down to the wharf.
Lulu was expecting her. “Ah, you come back. Walter he looking for you. He say he come here tomorrow eigh" o"clock and you go up the river. Together. I think you like.” When she got back to the hostel, Byrnsie was waiting with the same message. She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting up to her shoulders in the hostel"s tiny swimming pool, listening to Byrnsie expounding on life in Port Bruce. About barramundi and mangoes, snakes and crocodiles, about gardening and above all about fishing and the Great Barrier Reef.
Next morning Walter was waiting for her at Lulu"s and he watched her eat breakfast. He was no longer dressed in his best town clothes but wore a tattered hat and his stringy arms stuck out of a disreputable bush shirt with no sleeves.
“I thought you might like a ride up the river,” he said as he led her down to the boat, “We"ll have a look around. See if there are any crocs out there. Do you like fishing?”
“I don"t think so. I"ve never tried.”
“Hmm – I hope you start. Otherwise you won"t have anything to
talk about in Port Bruce. I"ll take you one day. See if we can catch a nice
barra for dinner. And we"ll have to organise you a trip out to the reef. That"ll surprise you. There"s people who come from all over the world to
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the Great Barrier Reef. Spend a fortune just to see it, and we have it on our doorstep. This boat won"t do though, it"s too slow. So we"ll have to get you a ride with someone else.”
As he was talking, he"d stepped down into the boat and handed her in. “Now, if you get ready to cast off…” He pulled on the starting rope and sat down. “Right, let go and we"ll be on our way.” He steered out into the river and swung the boat around to head upstream. The water rushed past them and Port Bruce began to diminish.