They left, leaving Grace and an uncomfortable Les on the verandah.
‘Yes. You’re something else all right,’ said Grace, continuing to stare at Les. ‘One minute you’re George from Canberra. You’re staying at the Islander Motel. You had a terrible breakup with your girlfriend — oh, and I look like one of her friends. You hurt your back changing tyres. Then you’re asking me about the fight and do they know who it was? Do you ever, sort of, get round to say, going within flying distance of the truth at all, Les?’
Les looked at Grace for a moment. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I don’t blame you having the shits with me. But I wasn’t really lying to you, Grace. I was only trying to cover my arse. That’s all.’
‘Ohh yeah.’
‘Look. What happened in the hotel was just bad luck. And you don’t really think I want to fight this gorilla on Monday do you? Christ! I’ll probably get my head kicked in. As well as lose five thousand bucks. Which I just talked Daddy into putting up for me. And if I remember right, Grace, when I did mention the fight, you said “Oh, couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of blokes. Pity Morgan wasn’t there too.” Right?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Yes. But …’
‘No buts. The thing is, Grace, you said you could help me with my back. And now I need your help. Bad. And that’s the truth.’
‘The truth?’ said Grace. ‘Hah!’
Clover returned with the jug of hot water and poured some in the teapot. Warren followed her out and sat down. Les looked at Grace who was staring at the ocean.
‘So what’s the story, Grace? Are you going to help me?’
Grace continued to stare at the ocean, then she looked at Norton. Finally she turned to Clover. ‘Clover, have you got a biro in your bag?’
‘Sure. Here you are.’ Clover handed Grace a biro and a notebook.
Grace placed the notebook on the table and clicked the biro. ‘Here’s how you get to my place.’
A huge grin spread across Norton’s face. ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘you won’t ever regret this. I promise.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Grace started writing directions on the piece of paper. ‘Your name is Les, isn’t it? That is your car out the front?’ Grace paused for a second and looked around her. ‘This is number three Browning Street?’
‘Now come on, Grace,’ said Les. ‘Don’t be like that.’
Grace drew a little map with her address and phone number on it and handed it to Les. ‘I’ll see you about five.’
Les looked at the piece of paper. ‘Grace. What can I say?’
Grace picked up her bag. ‘How about goodbye as I back down the driveway.’
Grace farewelled the others and said she’d catch up with them later that night. Les walked Grace out to her car and opened the door. He felt like kissing her. Instead, he smiled as she started the engine.
‘Five o’clock?’
‘Five o’clock,’ replied Grace. She looked at Les for a moment, then blew him a kiss. Les blew one back off his fingertips and watched her drive off. Then he walked back out to the verandah where a fresh cup of tea was waiting for him
‘Are you fair dinkum going to fight that dopey, big relation of yours on Monday?’ said Warren.
‘I got to, haven’t I, Woz,’ said Les, taking a sip of tea. ‘Five grand is five grand.’
‘What about your back?’
‘Don’t matter. Grace reckons she can fix it. Besides, I told Daddy you were going to back me up.’
‘What?’ said Warren. ‘I’ll be leaving for Sydney straight after breakfast.’
‘Not without me you’re not,’ said Clover. ‘I’ve heard about Morgan Scully. He’s all mean and horrible.’
Les shook his head. ‘Jesus. You sure know who your friends are, don’t you.’
They finished their tea then Warren had to to drive Clover back to Dalmeny. Les didn’t know what time he’d be back from Grace’s. He’d catch up with them later. Les put everything away then walked back out onto the verandah. It hadn’t been the best of days. And the thought of having to either fight Morgan Scully, or bury him somewhere with Eddie, weighed heavily on Norton’s mind. What should have been a few days resting and listening to music had turned out to be a giant pain in the arse.
Out in front of the house the water running through the channel looked blue and inviting. And if there was anything to ease a troubled mind, it was an hour or so of snorkelling. While you were floating around looking at the fish or whatever, you switched off. And Les needed to switch off. He climbed into a pair of Speedos and his rubber vest, tossed his disposable camera in with his towel and snorkelling gear and strolled down to the jetty.
People were walking by or fishing near the boats and on the right, a large, white catamaran bobbed peacefully at its mooring. Facing the catamaran was a bench, where two fishermen had finished cleaning a catch of salmon. Beneath the bench a concrete landing sat at the water’s edge. Les stood on the landing, rinsed his face mask then pushed out into the channel.
The water was beautiful and clear, running over a white, sandy bottom covered in sea grass. There were fish everywhere: whiting, bream, leather jackets, schools of fat blackfish. It wasn’t deep near the jetty and Les drifted along with the current, diving around the boats and under the catamaran. Lying on the sand beneath the catamaran was the skeleton of a huge marlin, picked clean. Spread across the sand, it had a sad beauty about it so Les dived down and took a photo. In barely two metres of water, he came across a school of blackfish feeding on the bottom. Les swam amongst them and they appeared completely oblivious to him, munching away on the seagrass right in front of his face mask. It was amazing. Les floated amongst the blackfish for a while taking photos, then chased a big leather jacket through the piers, watching its tiny fins going a hundred to the dozen, before photographing it framed in front of a mooring rope. Les floated out to the deeper water and got several shots of a big black stingray moving across the bottom, as well as some mullet, before swimming back to the piers. After a while Les looked at his watch. He went on to photograph several big whiting that had joined the blackfish, then got out of the water and walked back to the house.
Les rinsed his gear under the shower and had a shave. He figured Grace would probably be giving him some kind of massage and he’d end up covered in oil, so he wore a pair of dry Speedos, shorts and the T-shirt he had on in the fight. He put a sweatshirt in his overnight bag, then locked the house, leaving the key under the mat for Warren. He fired up the Berlina and took the road out of town.
It didn’t take long to leave Narooma behind. Traffic was light and the drive through the countryside in the late afternoon was pleasant. He crossed Coruna Lake and at the top of a rise a sign on the left pointed to Mystery Bay. That’s not far at all, thought Les. I’ll check it out for sure. Further along a sign on the right said Central Tilba and Tilba Tilba. Les took the road for Central Tilba.
A yellow barn with a sign saying CENTRAL TILBA ENGINEERING appeared amongst the trees on the left, and further on a little wooden church stood on the right. Past the church the countryside opened up into green rolling hills full of granite boulders. Down on the right, opposite a long, wide valley, Les could see the red roofs of Central Tilba snuggled against the surrounding hills. He continued on, then turned right at the war memorial and slowed down as he entered the main street.
It was very pretty. All the old heritage cottages and houses on either side of the road had been colourfully painted and preserved and turned into craft shops and cafes. The post office was on the left and further on the local hotel. Amongst the shops on the right, a big one had a sign in the window: THE HEMP EVOLUTION. That must be where Grace gets her shirts, mused Les. Most of the shops were closed and apart from the hotel, there weren’t many people around and few cars. Les drove past a Tibetan Import shop up on the left, more colourful shops, and further on where the road dipped down was the old cheese factory. He checked the map Grace had given him. Two kilometres on the left past the cheese factory.
Les followed a narrow, winding road that climbed through green hills studded with granite boulders, and the odd farm with a few cows nosing amongst the grass. Further on, next to a blue oil drum letterbox, a white gate hung back in a driveway surrounded by trees. A white sign welded on top of the letter box said: GRACELAND.
Les followed the driveway up until it levelled off at a clearing circled by trees. Opposite the trees, Grace’s 4WD was parked in front of a yellow picket fence; beyond the fence and in front of the house sat a garden full of flowers. The house was all wood and painted white and green with a yellow roof and looked like one of the old heritage homes in Tilba. Steps led up to a front door set beneath an arch supported by two wooden poles, with windows either side. A narrow verandah ran from the left of the house and around the front. Les took the steps to the front door and stopped. A black female Staffordshire, with a huge head and a bark like a dinosaur, came skidding around the corner of the verandah. Bristling and snarling, it took up a position between Les and the front door.
Les stepped back from the door and held his palms up. ‘Good girl,’ he said quietly. ‘Good girl. You’re just doing your job. Good girl.’
The dog continued to snarl at Les when the door opened and Grace came out wearing a blue hemp shirt with her hair combed in two pigtails either side of her head.
‘Morticia. What’s the matter, baby,’ she said, and put her hand inside the dog’s collar. The dog settled down a little but continued to growl at Les. ‘This is Morticia,’ said Grace. ‘She’s our little baby.’
‘She’s a little beauty,’ said Les. ‘And she does her job too.’
‘Yes. She looks after us.’
Grace reached over and gave Les a peck on the cheek. Les pecked her back. The dog noticed this and stopped growling. Les knelt down and softly called the dog.
‘Morticia. Come here girl. Come on. I’m a friend of Grace’s.’
Morticia looked suspiciously at Les, then reluctantly came over. Les patted her on the head, then put his fingers where her spine met her tail. He started scratching and rubbing and Morticia began wiggling her muscly behind and wagging her tail. She rolled her eyes back and looked up at Les.
‘How’s that, sweetheart?’ The little dog continued to wag its tail and smiled up at Les as he kept scratching and rubbing. ‘Yes. Your head’s not the best, Morticia. But you’ve got a great little arse.’
Grace was impressed. ‘You’ve got quite a way with women, haven’t you Les. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that around strangers before. Especially men.’
‘It’s just a matter of pushing the right buttons.’ Les gave Morticia a pat on the head and stood up.
‘Anyway. Come inside,’ said Grace. ‘You found the place all right.’
‘Yeah, easy,’ said Les. ‘And I saw the turnoff to Mystery Bay.’
Inside was a little like the Merrigan house. High ceilings and a long hallway, with the kitchen and bathroom opposite, and two bedrooms either side. The polished timber floor along the hallway led to a large loungeroom and another door opened onto an enclosed verandah. Facing an open fire, a red velvet lounge suite sat on a Persian carpet and against one wall was a TV and stereo. Paintings of birds and old photos of Tilba hung on the walls, tasselled lamps sat in the corners and near the door to the verandah was a large, black, fitness ball.
‘This is a really nice old house,’ said Les. ‘By old I mean like the ones in Tilba. Heritage style.’
‘Yes. This was a gold merchant’s home,’ said Grace. ‘It was built in the eighteen hundreds.’
‘It’s in bloody good nick.’
‘Thanks. Can I get you something to drink? There’s some beer. Or white wine.’
Les shook his head. ‘A mineral water will do thanks.’
Grace went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of sparkling and handed it to Les. ‘So what did you do this afternoon?’
‘Went for a snorkel with my disposable camera,’ he replied. He told Grace about the fish round the jetty. ‘What did you do?’
‘Finished a few T-shirts. Cleaned the house.’
Les nodded then looked at Grace over his bottle of water. ‘So how are you going to fix my back, Grace?’ he asked.
‘I’ll show you later. But first, come with me.’ Grace slipped on a pair of trainers. ‘I want to show you something while there’s still light.’
Grace put two empty wine bottles and a screwtop jar into an overnight bag, then took Les out through the enclosed verandah to a set of stairs leading down to an open yard. The yard backed onto the surrounding valleys and granite-studded hills and a trail led from the yard through a small patch of trees. Morticia trotted over from the verandah and Les followed Grace up a steep hill as the trail followed a small stream running below on the right. After they’d climbed for a while, Les paused to catch a glimpse of the sun setting on surrounding valleys. He could see a couple of farmhouses below, the roofs of Central Tilba to the right, and the ocean in the distance. Les commented to Grace about the view, then they climbed further up the trail, before Grace stopped at some trees facing a huge mass of granite boulders. There, the stream gushed and bubbled down the hillside from out of the rocks. Morticia had a drink and Grace pointed along the watercourse to a rocky pond edged with small trees, down in the valley below. Alongside the pond was a timber-built pumping station.
‘You see that pond down there? That’s on the Hillier property. They’ve got cattle living to twenty-one and still producing calves at eighteen. Twins.’
‘Shit!’ said Les. ‘That’s amazing for cattle.’
‘Their sheep live to fifteen. Joe Hillier and his wife are both in their eighties and they’re as fit as fiddles. She still rides horses.’
Les looked at Grace. ‘You’re not going to tell me it’s the water?’
Grace nodded. ‘Exactly. These scientists from the CSIRO heard about the cattle. So they came here and tested the water. It’s full of minerals. Especially magnesium bicarbonate.’
‘What’s that do?’
‘Flushes the toxins and carbon dioxide out of your blood.’
‘And you’ve been drinking it?’
‘I started just after I bought the property. Believe me Les, Amazing Grace wasn’t looking too amazing when she left Sydney. Not after having Ellie and going through all that other drama.’
‘So that’s your secret,’ said Les.
‘That. Plus exercise and a fairly healthy lifestyle. But remember I told you I had shares in a company in Sydney. It’s a soft drink company. They’re bottling the water as Eureka Water. And because it comes through my property they’re paying me a percentage on every case.’
‘How’s it going?’ asked Les.
‘They’ve only just started. But they’re hoping to get a big spread in the papers and on TV. So it could take off. And if it does …’
‘Aunty Grace is laughing.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well, good on you,’ said Les. ‘I hope you sell a million.’ He bent down, cupped a hand and took a drink. ‘It sure tastes all right.’
Grace flashed Les a sly smile. ‘That’s just Eureka lite, Les. Follow me.’
With Morticia trotting alongside, Grace took Les further up the hill to the end of the trail. After that, they scrambled up the hillside and over rocks to a clearing, where a tiny spring seeped from a crack in a huge wall of granite and gently overflowed into a small rock pool at the base. The water was crystal clear and shone like silver in the rays from the late afternoon sun. The bottom of the pool was covered in what appeared to be fine, white sand.
Grace placed her bag in front of the rock pool. ‘This is the other Eureka water,’ she said. ‘The high octane stuff.’
‘It is?’ said Les.
‘Yep. I didn’t tell the soft drink people about this one. It starts way back under all this granite. I don’t know what’s in it. But it’s anti-inflammatory. Every time Ellie or I get a bruise or a sprain, we drink some. And it heals in no
time.’
Les cupped his hand again and took a mouthful. ‘It’s got a kind of bitter-sweet taste. Not bad actually.’
‘You have to stir up all the sediment on the bottom,’ said Grace. ‘That’s where all the goodies are.’
‘And you reckon this will fix my back, in time for Monday with Morgan.’
‘It should. With a bit of massage.’
Les stared into the little rock pool. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Grace took the screw top jar from her overnight bag and scooped it into the pool, till the sediment on the bottom swirled through the water like snow. She filled the jar and the two wine bottles, sealed the tops then put them in her overnight bag and hoisted it over her shoulder.
‘Righto,’ she said, indicating down the trail to Les. ‘Let’s get back while we’ve still got light.’
The sun had gone when they reached the house. Morticia went round to her kennel at the side and Les followed Grace up the back stairs. As they kicked off their shoes and walked through the enclosed verandah, Les noticed a screen printing set-up near several clotheslines hung with neatly printed T-shirts.
‘So this is where the Grace Holt originals originate,’ he said.
‘Yes. It keeps me out of mischief.’
‘You’ve got a big fan in Clover.’ Les watched as Grace put her bag in the loungeroom then followed her out to the kitchen.
Grace’s kitchen was nicely set up. A double window above the sink looked out into the valley, a wooden table and chairs sat in the middle, and a rack of copper cooking utensils hung above the stove. Amongst the magnets and things pinned to the fridge was a photo of a pretty, fair-haired girl in denim, holding Morticia.
‘Is that your daughter?’ asked Les.
‘Yes. That’s Ellie. Smelly Ellie. She’ll be home on Tuesday.’
‘She’s half a good sort,’ smiled Les. ‘A bit like her mother.’
‘She’s going to be good-looking when she grows up,’ said Grace. ‘That’s when I’ll buy a shotgun. Are you hungry, Les?’
‘I’m always hungry, Grace. And even when I’m not hungry, I can still eat something.’
Mystery Bay Blues Page 12