Page 40 of Down the Track
‘I’m not very good with honest talks about feelings.’ Genetics, probably. How had it taken her this long to realise that she was exactly the sort of wooden, lacklustre parent to Luke that her parents had been to her?
‘I wouldn’t say that, would you, Ethel?’ said Dot. ‘I think you’re doing a great job.’
Ethel pursed her lips. ‘Dot’s just being kind. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you do a good job or a bad job at saying the words. You just need to say them and mean them.’
The business card Jo had left on the blotter at the police station, and on which she’d pinned little to no hope, amazed her by bearing fruit later that day after she’d left the Cracknells’ house and retired to her room to play a game of patience on the chenille cover of her bed. She could have gone downstairs and annoyed Maggie by desecrating a crossword puzzle, but since her eyes were red and her face was blotchy, she decided she was better off on her own than having the eagle eyes of the publican on her.
Plus, since she was sharing a corridor with Gavin Huxtable (and he’d told her so sweetly to eff off), hiding in her room was so much less stressful than hanging around in the communal spaces of the Yindi Creek Hotel, like the corridor and the stairwell.
Or the dining room, the public bar, the street out front, the downstairs loo, the old shearing shed tourist setup out back … and that bathroom.
The morning had seen enough drama.
She had a whole bunch of twos and threes on her patience stacks and not an ace to be found. She sucked at patience, even when she abandoned the three-card deal and dumbed the game down to the one-card-deal version. She was toying with the idea of ringing Maggie and begging to have a Guinness pie and a diet Coke brought up to her room, when her phone wentping.
Was it Luke? In which case, yay. Or work, with some query only she could handle? She was so bored she’d love a work interruption, so also yay.
But it was probably a scammer. Most of the telephone communication she had these days was with scammers. They made a pleasant change from the last few years of vicious texts from her former husband.
But no! The text, when she read it, had her scattering the cards all over her bed.
The Queensland Police Service has completed their search on the section of Corley Station you wish to visit. Subject to the permission of the landowners, we have no objection to you resuming your work for the museum. Petra Clifford.
OMG. She wasn’t sure what had worked—the white lie that the site was of significance to Queensland’s Museum of Natural History (which it might turn out to be), or maybe the man everyone had their knickers in a knot over had been found? But no matter. The southwest corner of Corley Station was no longer out of bounds!
She needed to celebrate. And plan her trip out to the site. It was a pity she was booked to fly back to Brisbane on Sunday, but that was set in stone—she had to collect Luke in the afternoon. Still, she’d have three full days if she got out there and got set up by nightfall. Sunday would be a long slog driving to Longreach Airport, but she had red frogs in the boot of the four-wheel drive. She could do anything fuelled by red frogs and the excitement of a dig.
Enough of this hiding away in her room. She leapt up and dragged a brush through her hair. There was lipstick on the old dresser so she whacked some on (for herself! Not in case she bumped into anyone!) and, grabbing a notepad and pen to make herself a new list, went downstairs.
Groceries, for starters. Check the road status on the local council website. Try and get a call in to Luke in case reception was patchy out at Corley. Head back to the Cracknells’ house to let them know what she was up to but stay at the front door. There was only so much intervention her emotions could take in one day. Pack the four-wheel drive so she could make an early start in the morning. It was too bad it was so late in the day—she’d be setting up camp in the dark if she tried to drive out today.
‘Maggie, good news,’ she said, as she swung her bum onto one of the stools at the bar. It was warm, as though it had just been vacated.
‘What’s that, love?’
‘The police are done with Corley Station.’
‘I wondered where you were. Been visiting Petra?’
Jo had to grin. ‘I’ve been having morning tea with Dot and Ethel. No, your scary policewoman texted me. I think she likes to be known as Acting Senior Constable Clifford. At no stage did I feel like she wanted me to call her by her first name.’
‘When you’re my age, love, you can get away with taking a liberty or two. Speaking of taking liberties, I hear there was an incident in the bathroom this morning.’
Jo’s mouth dropped open. Surely Hux hadn’t told anyone?
‘Hux is looking for you so he can apologise.’ Maggie’s eyes were looking as bright and curious as a bird’s. ‘I hear the two of you used to be an item.’
‘I, um, didn’t know he was staying here. I was just startled, that’s all. There’s no need for an apology.’ There was no need for her to see him again, for any reason.
‘His house has some plumbing drama. You just missed him, in fact; he’s been cluttering up my kitchen for the last hour.’
‘I hope you were making him do dishes,’ she said waspishly.
Maggie chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I gave him a good talking-to. He has tea at his sister’s place most nights; Sal, the sister who lives in town. That’s probably why you haven’t seen him before now. Just in case you were wondering.’
Jo frowned. ‘Of course I wasn’t wondering.’
The publican gave her a smug smile. ‘Whatever you say, dear. What would you call that shade of lipstick you’re wearing?’
