Page 99 of The Pearl Sister
‘Great. He helped me when I needed it.’
‘Were the two of you together?’
‘Yeah. I really liked him, and even if I hadn’t, I’d never have done something as low as that. Even if I had known who he was.’
‘I know you wouldn’t, Cee.’ Chrissie’s eyes were full of sympathy rather than suspicion. ‘So he thinks it was you who told the newspapers.’
‘He sent me a text saying he’d thought he could trust me. I felt like a complete lowlife, still do, but there’s no way he’d ever believe me, even if I could explain. I think that this guy, Jay, bribed our security guard to get a photograph, and I gave him the perfect opportunity.’
‘You could always write to him in jail.’
‘Not well enough for what I’d need to say.’ I gave her a weak grin. ‘I’m dyslexic, remember?’
‘I could write it for you?’
‘Maybe. Thanks.’
‘Do you think he did it?’
‘How should I know? The rest of the world seems to think so. I don’t know, Chrissie, there’s just something that doesn’t fit. Little things he said to me . . . It’s only an instinct, but I think there’s more to his story than he’s telling.’
‘Maybe you should try to find out what it is.’
‘How would I do that? I’m not a detective and I know nothing about banks.’
‘You’re smart, you’ll find a way,’ she said with a smile.
I blushed, as no one had ever called me ‘smart’. ‘Anyway, I’m going to concentrate on finding out more about my family.’
‘Hey, if you need a fellow detective to help you out in the Alice, I’m your gal,’ Chrissie said suddenly. ‘I’m due some hols anyway, and it’s a quiet time of year here, so how about I meet up with ya there?’
‘Really? I mean, I don’t want to take up your time, but if you can manage it, it would be amazing to have your help,’ I said, genuinely excited at the thought. ‘You’ve seen how clueless I am about all things Australia.’
‘Nah, mate, you just need someone to show you the ropes. It’ll be bonza and I’ve always wanted to go to the Alice.’ Chrissie glanced up at the board. ‘Time ta go.’
‘I hate planes,’ I said as she walked with me over to the departure gate.
‘Do ya? I’ve always wanted to go and see the rest of the world. I’ll text you once I know for sure I can come and meet you.’ She put her arms around me. ‘Safe journey.’
‘Thanks for everything.’
Boarding the plane, I felt suddenly lost, because I had made a friend in Chrissie. I just had to make sure I didn’t muck it up like I had with Ace.
* * *
As we began our descent towards Alice Springs, I saw a marked change in the landscape below me. From the sky, it looked like a green oasis in the desert – which I supposed it was – but far more dramatic in colour. I saw a range of mountains that glinted purple in the hazy light, their irregular crowns like a massive set of teeth sticking up from the ground. The plane screeched to a fast and jerky halt on the short runway then all us passengers trooped off down the steps onto the tarmac.
‘Wow!’ I muttered as a wave of burning heat that could probably light a match just by sticking it in the air hit me. It burnt my nostrils as I breathed in and I was actually glad to get inside the air-conditioned terminal.
The airport wasn’t much bigger than the one in Broome, but it was buzzing with tourists. After grabbing a bottle of water and a few leaflets for hotels and places of interest, I sat down on a plastic chair to try and read them before I decided where to stay. I realised all the tourists were here because Alice Springs was the gateway to Ayers Rock – or Uluru, as Chrissie said it was called by the Aboriginal people. The leaflet said it was one of their most sacred sites and ‘only’ a six-hour drive away.
I then read about Alice Springs – or ‘the Alice’, as it was affectionately called. Indigenous art was obviously a very big deal here. There were several galleries both inside and outside town, ranging from the Many Hands Centre run by Aboriginal artists, to the Araluen Arts Centre – so modern it looked like a spaceship that had crash-landed in the middle of the desert.
Another tremor of excitement ran through me and some instinct told me that if I was going to find answers anywhere, it was going to be here.
‘Mykantri,’ I murmured, remembering Chrissie’s granny saying the word. I then opened the leaflet on the Hermannsburg mission, which told me it was now a museum and a good couple of hours’ drive out of town. It also said Albert Namatjira had been born there. I had never even heard of him until yesterday, but I’d seen from the leaflets that his name was used for galleries, streets and buildings here. I tried to read more, but the words were doing a polka on the page, especially as most of them were Aboriginal names.
I then remembered I should turn my phone back on, and two messages pinged through, both from Chrissie.
