A Thousand Miles Away

by Dorothy Cork

  ‘Well, that’s great! You’re a real surprise packet, Farrell.’ His eyes explored her flushed face. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you. But look, I’m counting on leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ she repeated, dismayed.

  ‘Yes, well—I heard something yesterday that makes me suspect someone’s located me. Next thing my mother will be trying to rope me in and drag me back to the family fold. So I’ve got to disappear as fast as I can. Do you see?’

  Farrell nodded and hesitated, and then made up her mind. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Tomorrow.’ After all, if she was leaving, there was no point in making it a long-drawn-out affair, and if she missed this opportunity she’d probably still be here when Larry Sandfort came back. And she was more than a little scared of what might happen then.

  ‘Good,’ Mark approved. ‘I don’t particularly want to change my plans. No use messing around when your mind’s made up anyhow.’

  ‘No,’ Farrell agreed. ‘Mark, just so I’ll know how much I can bring, do you have a car or a motorbike?’

  ‘A car. She’s a bit old and beat up, but she’s roadworthy. You can bring all you like. I’ll pick you up in town if you don’t mind—outside Wesfarmers, let’s make it, at about ten in the morning.’

  ‘All right.’ Farrell forced herself not to think of the difficulties ahead of her. After all, she had faced Aunt Jean with her decision to leave Perth, and in this case Cecile at least was going to be pleased, and even her father would be relieved, she realised a little sadly.

  ‘By the way, Farrell,’ Mark said after a short silence, ‘you don’t plan to tell your parents you and I are teaming up, do you? I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t want to leave any more of a trail than is absolutely unavoidable.’

  ‘Very well, I shan’t tell Daddy,’ Farrell consented. ‘I’ll think of some explanation.’ She decided to shelve that problem until she could give her mind to it, and she asked Mark impulsively, ‘But Mark, isn’t it hard on your parents now knowing where you are? Your mother—she must worry about you.’

  ‘Now don’t start on that, Farrell. I know what I’m doing. I’m an adult and I mean to be allowed to act like one. Someone else will have to comfort my mother. I’ve got to be free—I thought you understood that. I don’t want letters designed to tear at my heart strings.’

  Farrell was silent. She couldn’t help thinking Mark was cruel. She knew she couldn’t do that to anyone who loved her. Aunt Jean knew where she was, and she had written to her twice already, although she hadn’t yet had a reply. Still, it was up to Mark how he conducted his life. She wondered if travelling to Port Hedland with him would prove to be something in the nature of a crash course in getting to know him, as Larry Sandfort had put it. It could hardly be that, though. Port Hedland wasn’t all that far away.

  ‘How long will it take us to get to Port Hedland, Mark?’ she asked idly, trickling a handful of sand through her fingers and watching it run out.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. It depends what turns up on the way there and how fast we travel. I reckon it’s only about six or seven hundred kilometres, but we mightn’t even get there, you know. My plans are pretty flexible ... Do you still want to come?’

  ‘Yes,’ Farrell said slowly. He hadn’t asked exactly why she wanted to come, and just now she didn’t feel like telling him about the rather undignified situation that prevailed between herself and her stepmother. Perhaps later she might mention it. What hurt, of course, was the estrangement between herself and her father, and that, she suspected, Mark would not want to hear about and would not understand.

  Still thinking of his mother, she asked him, ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters, Mark?’

  ‘One sister, Helen, older than I am. She lives in Perth, and she writes home, and she comes back for holidays. So quit feeling sorry for my mother, because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. Well, I’d better go home and pack my bags and—and explain things, somehow, to my father.’

  ‘Do that. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  They parted and Farrell went back to the hotel rather slowly. What on earth was she going to tell her father?

  Lies, obviously. She could hardly tell him she was going to Port Hedland with a boy whose identity she refused to divulge. Or with a boy at all, if it came to that. Her father wouldn’t approve in any case, not even if Mark came to the hotel and spoke to him about it. That was what Larry Sandfort had said he’d do—‘With your father’s permission, I’ll take you to Quindalup.’ Now, she would never find out where Quindalup was.

  In her room, she packed her things—all of them. She had left most of her warm clothes in Perth, so she didn’t have a great deal. As she packed she tried to think what she would tell her father. She hated having to lie, but there seemed to be no alternative, and when at last she wandered out in search of him, she had decided that she would say—that she was going to Port Hedland to find work, and that she was getting a lift with some girls 'she’d met in the town. That should pass as long as he didn’t grill her.

  She found him occupied, and it was not until dinner time—it was not a smorgasbord that night—that she managed to talk to him at all, and then she had to do so in Cecile’s presence.

  She had joined her father and stepmother in one of the small rooms off the main dining room where they could have their meal privately, but where Tony would be available if he were wanted. Somehow, the atmosphere was strained, and conversation was almost non-existent. Farrell wondered unhappily if it was because she was there, if they wanted to be alone, if her constant presence was beginning to disturb even her father. It seemed a good thing she was going.

  ‘Do you know what I did today?’ she asked with a determined effort at bright casualness as she tried to get up some interest in the main course.

  ‘No. What was that?’ her father asked, turning his head to look at her. Cecile said nothing, but a quick glance showed Farrell that her expression meant, ‘Who cares what you did?’

  ‘Well, I was talking to some girls—when I went out for that drive, you know,’ Farrell elaborated. ‘They’ve—they’ve been working at the prawn factory, but they’ve decided to move on to Port Hedland to look for work there. I—I thought I might go with them and find a job myself,’ she concluded, rather amazed at her inventiveness.

  Now she had Cecile’s interested attention, but Tony frowned. ‘Now what sort of a job would you get in Port Hedland, Farrell?’ he asked wearily. ‘You don’t have any training. Frankly, if you feel like a move, I think the sensible thing would be to go back to your aunt in Perth and get on with your university course. With a degree, you’ll have some chance of picking and choosing where you go.’

  ‘Daddy, no,’ Farrell said determinedly. ‘I know you’re disappointed in me, but I’d really be terribly unhappy if—if you made me go back to that.’

  ‘I shan’t make you do anything, Farrell,’ Tony said. ‘God forbid! You’re an adult—’

  ‘Who doesn’t act like one,’ Cecile put in sharply. ‘If you want my opinion, Tony, an immature girl of nineteen’s not too old to be told what to do and to be made to do it. However, if Farrell’s going to be pig-headed let her go to Port Hedland. She’ll get work if she has to—she’s always insisting she’ll do room-cleaning or kitchen work here if it’s required of her.’

  ‘I’m not having my daughter do that kind of work—not here, and certainly not anywhere else,’ Tony retorted, glaring at his wife. ‘If that’s the alternative to her staying here with us, then she can stay here.’

  It sounded, Farrell thought, as if they’d already argued about her, and perhaps they had. It would account for the strained silence that had existed before she had opened this discussion. She said quickly, ‘Daddy, don’t worry—don’t get upset. I can do typing, you know, and I’ll look for office work. Mar—Margaret says I could get something in that line in Port Hedland.’

  ‘You might and you might not,’ he said sh
ortly. ‘Who are these girls, anyhow? Not local girls—’

  Farrell coloured slightly and hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. She wished too that Cecile would stop staring at her, as if she were suspicious in some way. ‘They’re from—from Bunbury,’ she improvised. ‘They’re on a working holiday in the Pilbara. And they’re leaving tomorrow,’ she finished, feeling she might as well get it over.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ her father exclaimed explosively. ‘Do you mean you plan to leave tomorrow?’

  ‘Tony,’ Cecile interrupted, ‘don’t get apoplectic about it. What’s the difference if Farrell goes tomorrow or the day after, or in the middle of next week? If she’s made up her mind she’s tired of idling her time away, she might as well go when she has the opportunity.’

  Tony looked at Farrell broodingly. ‘Well, I suppose I must allow you to go. But if you don’t get work, then don’t drift into something that’s not good enough for you, no matter what these other girls are doing. I’d certainly never allow you to work in the prawn factory. I really wish you’d think about it and go back to university.’

  ‘I’ve told you she’s not going to do that,’ Cecile said impatiently. ‘You might as well accept it.’

  Farrell felt like bursting into tears. So they had been discussing her, arguing about her. Cecile had been pressing that something be done about her, and Tony had probably put it that she’d go back to Perth in her own good time. Larry Sandfort had certainly been right in predicting she was in for trouble, and the sooner she got away the better. She didn’t want to be left so desperate that she might even take up his offer!

  She said with an effort at calmness, hoping they didn’t notice the quaver in her voice, ‘I’m sorry about university, Daddy. I suppose you must think I’m being unreasonable, but I just can’t go back to that life.’

  ‘And if you want to be a writer,’ Cecile said, smiling maliciously, ‘you must have experience of the world, of course.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Tony asked angrily. ‘And who says Farrell wants to be a writer?’

  ‘She told Larry Sandfort so the other day,’ Cecile said sweetly. ‘You don’t know all Farrell’s secrets by any means, Tony, any more than I do.’

  Farrell pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I—I wish you wouldn’t quarrel about me.’ She was scarcely able to hold back her tears. ‘Can’t we just leave it that I’ll go to Port Hedland and try to find a—a respectable job? If I can’t, I’ll—I’ll go back to Perth and find work there.’

  Her father she could see she was making an effort to control himself.

  ‘Very well, Farrell. But you’re to keep in touch with me, do you hear? I’ll give you a month to settle into something decent and steady. If by the end of that time nothing’s eventuated, you’ll come back here and we’ll talk again. And I’ll be the one to decide what’s to be done about your future.’

  ‘All right, Daddy,’ said Farrell, her voice trembling. Already she could see herself being packed off back to Perth to live with Aunt Jean, and then the pressure would be on again for her to resume her studies. She thought about Mark and for the first time began to understand why he had gone into smoke. Parents did resist seeing you as an adult, they did want to push you about—even if it was because they loved you.

  She developed a sick headache before she went to bed that night, and woke in the morning wishing she could simply stay in bed for the day, as she usually did on these occasions. If she could have got in touch with Mark, she’d have asked him to delay his departure till tomorrow, when she’d be feeling better. He would be sure to understand. But under the circumstances, there was nothing to do but get up, take some aspirin, and make the best of a miserable situation.

  She gave breakfast a miss, settling for two cups of instant coffee that she prepared in her room, and then sought out her father to say goodbye. She thought he looked tired—hag-ridden, maybe! But he was affectionate and more like himself, and she hoped he and Cecile had made up their quarrel. She hated the thought of being the cause of a rift between them.

  Tony gave her some notes, and said, ‘This will tide you over for a while, Farrell. Open a bank account for yourself in Port Hedland with a couple of dollars, then let me have the number and I’ll at least be able to see you’re not short of cash. It’s a pity you don’t feel able to go back to your aunt in Perth, but the most important thing is for you to be happy. And you haven’t been altogether happy here, have you?’

  Farrell shook her head, blinking back tears and forcing a smile. ‘I’m too old to fit into a family, I suppose,’ she said wryly. Neither of them mentioned Cecil—it was better that way—but at least her stepmother made an effort-too and said goodbye to Farrell very pleasantly, and even wished her luck.

  Well, she had what she wanted, Farrell thought sardonically. To her relief, Cecile didn’t go so far as to offer to drive her into the small town to meet her girl friends, and there were no protests when Farrell rang for a taxi.

  She was waiting outside Wesfarmers with her luggage a little before ten, but it was almost a quarter of an hour before Mark arrived.

  ‘You look crook, Farrell,’ was his first remark as he got out to deal with her bags.

  Farrell gave him a watery smile. ‘I feel crook,’ she agreed. ‘But it’s nothing—I’ll be fine tomorrow.’

  He nodded understandingly. ‘I’d thought of pushing it a bit and trying to make Port Hedland tonight, but it’s not good going, so we’ll take it easy. Do it in two stages. Okay?’

  ‘That suits me perfectly, Mark,’ she said gratefully, climbing into the front seat.

  A few moments later they were on their way, and in no time the tiny town was left behind and they were heading north-west. Mark didn’t ask what she had told her father or what the family reaction had been, and for this she was grateful. She didn’t want to go over the scene that had taken place at dinner last night, but preferred to keep at the front of her mind the fact that her father had been loving and generous this morning and that Cecile had been pleasant too. Leaning back in the seat she thought presently, without meaning to, of Larry Sandfort. What would he think—what would he do—when he came back and found her gone? Well, he could hardly be surprised. That proposal of his had been just so way out it wasn’t true. No sane reasonable girl would have taken it up, unless she had fallen in love with him at first sight, and though Farrell had certainly been affected by his magnetic personality, she hadn’t done that. She only hoped he wouldn’t take it into his head to follow her to Port Hedland—he would have to be really keen to do that!

  Well, she followed up that thought, wouldn’t he have to be really keen to have suggested to her what he had suggested? Keen to get himself a wife, that was—not keen on her. She couldn’t imagine a man like him falling in love with anyone at first sight.

  She laughed aloud and Mark turned his head.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said weakly. ‘Just my silly thoughts.’

  He let it pass. Farrell, who didn’t feel like talking, closed her eyes. She heard Cecile’s voice saying, ‘You don’t know all Farrell’s secrets by any means.’ No one knew all Farrell’s secrets. Probably Mark had secrets too. She wondered how much of their private, personal lives and problems they would confide in each other today and tomorrow. And whether they would see much of each other after they reached Port Hedland. Perhaps she would tell Mark about Larry Sandfort. She didn’t think so.

  Mark drove fast on the narrow bitumen road, then slowed down perforce when he took to the fifty or so kilometres of gravel that linked up with the North-West Coastal Highway. Farrell relaxed as much as she was able, though the bumpy road didn’t really help. Mark didn’t expect her to make conversation and she put on her sun-glasses and looked out mindlessly at the red, red sandhill country they were driving through. It was very beautiful to the eye, the pure unblemished red of the sands blurred by the green and straw of spinifex clumps. The road was rose pink, banked up at the sides
where the grader had been through. They were passing through sheep stations, though not a single dwelling was to be seen, and only sheep grazing occasionally in the scrub indicated that man had settled here at all. Farrell was reminded that Mark’s father owned a sheep station, but she didn’t stir herself to ask him about him, as she leaned back musing on the vastness and the emptiness of the state where it was more usual to see an emu or a kangaroo than a human being.

  They stopped for lunch some way up the bitumen at one of the roadhouses that were often the only sign of civilisation up here in a couple of hundred kilometres. There, one could buy petrol, a few basic provisions, get a meal and a drink and perhaps a bed for the night. Farrell slept like a log that night at another such roadhouse this side of Dampier.

  She felt better when she woke in the morning, and she was as eager as Mark to reach Port Hedland and start looking for work. They skimmed over the empty highway, pausing to take a look at Dampier where the salt glistened like snow in the bay, for the tide was out, and they saw the great iron ore trucks that were being unloaded before they went back along the company railway line to Mount Tom Price. They drove past Karratha and Roebourne and on through the spinifex country that spread all across the north of the million-square-mile state. It was monotonous, but pretty, highlighted as it was by the pink and mauve ranges that floated against the southern horizon.

  Farrell began to feel she was a long way from home—a long way from anybody, totally dependent on Mark.

  ‘We’ll put up at a motel in Port Hedland tonight,’ Mark decided as they came off a long gravel stretch that had begun at Roebourne and ended at the Yule River—one of the many rivers of the north that would flood when the rains came but were dry for most of the year.

  ‘Do you know Port Hedland, Mark?’ Farrell asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Never been there in my life. A couple of guys were saying that the cheapest way to accommodate yourself is to rent a caravan in the caravan park. Lots of people do it—live there more or less permanently. Sounds just the shot for us, but it will depend on the work situation, of course. If we don’t find anything, we’ll move on.’