Catherine Jinks TheRoad (21 page)

The family exchanged glances that were pregnant with meaning. At last the father said: ‘Well, you see, we drove for three hours before we had to turn back. And we didn’t get very far –’

‘But
we
just crossed Pine Creek. Look here – Verlie, get the map out, will you?’

Obediently, Verlie removed the map from the glove box. It was folded to show the Silver City Highway. Plucking the wad of well-thumbed paper from her hand, Ross stabbed at a thick red line with his index finger.

‘There – you see?’ he said. ‘That’s this road, that’s Coombah, and that’s Pine Creek. We crossed Pine Creek a few minutes back. Which means that we can’t be more than forty-five kays from Broken Hill.’

The absent-minded professor knocked heads with his wife as they both moved in to study the map. Ross apologised. He thrust it at them, then glanced in the rear view mirror. Verlie knew what he was thinking. The whole stranded family was clustered around his window now, and he hadn’t pulled very far off the road. If anyone came up behind them, there was bound to be an accident.

‘But we drove for
hours
,’ the boy protested, his voice rising. ‘How come we only did forty-five kilometres in all that time?’

His father was frowning at the map. ‘There has to be an explanation,’ he began, before Ross interrupted him.

‘Look, you’d better get off the road,’ Ross pointed out. ‘There aren’t many cars, along here, but you never know.’

‘Oh yes! Yes, of course –’

‘Get in the car, kids!’

‘But
Mum
–’

‘Get in the car, I said!’

‘Do you belong to the NRMA?’ asked Ross. ‘I can call the NRMA.’

There followed a lengthy discussion about the NRMA, affiliated motoring organisations, and whether or not these organisations were in a position to help a member who had run out of petrol. Ross promised that if he didn’t have any luck with the NRMA he would call the police.

‘But it might be better if you came along,’ he said. ‘You or your wife. Maybe the little girl, as well.’

‘Oh no. Thanks, but we shouldn’t separate.’

‘Couldn’t we all go?’ the boy suggested, and the little girl tugged at her father’s shorts.

‘Can I go in the caravan?’ she pleaded.

‘Oh no, dear.’ Verlie leaned towards them. ‘It’s against the law for anyone to ride in a moving caravan.’

‘We can’t all fit,’ the mother explained to her offspring. ‘Don’t worry. The man and the lady are going to call someone to help us.’

‘But not without knowing your names,’ Ross muttered. He took out his notebook and fountain pen, and wrote down all the necessary details. The absent-minded professor was Noel Ferguson. His wife was Linda Ferguson. Ross made a note of their address and registration number, together with the make and model of their car. Then he tucked the notebook into his breast pocket, and gave Verlie the pen for her purse.

‘Hopefully someone might come along soon who has some spare petrol,’ he said. ‘We don’t, I’m afraid.’ He and Verlie had actually discussed the advisability of carrying a spare can of petrol, but had decided against it in the end. They wouldn’t be leaving the main roads, after all. And petrol could be dangerous stuff to have hanging around if there was an accident. Besides, Ross was too well organised to risk a long drive without access to a petrol pump.

‘I can’t understand people who don’t plan,’ he said, after they left the Fergusons behind. Verlie was waving at them over her shoulder. ‘Obviously, that bloke left Broken Hill with hardly any fuel in his tank. So he ends up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a wife and three little kids.’ Ross shook his head. ‘Some

people just don’t think ahead, do they?’

‘He seemed nice enough, though. They all did.’

‘Oh, I’m not saying they weren’t nice. I’m saying that they’re almost criminally negligent. And then they expect other people to bail them out – like those fools who go bushwalking without the proper equipment, and have to be airlifted to safety.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘It’s the old story, I’m afraid. Lack of foresight.’

Verlie made no comment. Ross had foresight, certainly, but not in every area of life. He had never displayed much foresight when it came to mixing light colours with dark colours in the laundry, or anticipating (and heading off ) clashes with his children.