Roadside Sisters (10 page)

‘Here’s to us!’ Annie raised her glass. ‘And to life on the open road.’ A sultry breeze blew through the caravan park carrying the sound of tinkling crystal away to the shoreline.

The next breath of wind brought with it the unmistakable sound of Meatloaf belting out ‘Bat Out of Hell’
.

‘Good God, it’s SO loud! It’s deafening! Couldn’t they turn it down?’ Meredith was kneeling on the top bed, winding the van’s windows tight against the assault of AC/DC’s
Greatest
Hits.
‘Isn’t there someone at that office who could
order
them to turn it down?’

‘It’s only half past nine,’ Nina called from the sink, where she was calmly boiling the kettle for a cup of tea. ‘They’ll pack it in before long.’ Meredith groaned and fell back with a continental pillow over her head. ‘
TNT . . .
’ blasted its way through the open door.

‘Fucking hell, it’s SO loud!’ Annie scrambled inside and slammed the door after her. ‘So much for the eerie silence of the Australian bush! I need another drink.’

Nina wiped the counter with a tea towel. They were both looking at her as if it was her fault! Nina was accused on a daily basis of sabotaging the lives of her loved ones—of hiding socks and homework and sports gear with deliberate intent. A tiny mutinous voice urged her to abdicate and let the Forces of Chaos reign, but what would happen if she did that? ‘Look, tomorrow . . .’ she began.

‘WHAT?’ Meredith and Annie chorused. They couldn’t hear her over the relentless thump of the music.

‘Tomorrow we’ll camp in the bush away from everyone! We really only have to bring the van into a campground once a week to empty the grey water and black water. The rest of the time we can park anywhere we like.’

Annie was puzzled. ‘I know what grey water is, but what’s black water?’

‘Sewage. There’s a canister under the toilet. You pull it out and you empty it into a—’

‘Do NOT continue!’ Meredith commanded. ‘I’ve just eaten. That is enough to convince me to never use that toilet. If I don’t use it, I won’t have to empty it. I’d rather take my chances behind a bush with the ants nests.’

‘JAILBREAK . . .’
Another gust of wind blew Bon Scott’s strangled cry for freedom through the gap at the bottom of the van’s door.

‘That’s it!’ Annie upended the bottle of red into her glass. ‘I’m going to see where the fuck it’s coming from.’

‘Forget it, Annie.’ Nina flapped her tea towel. ‘It’s no big deal. It’s probably just a bunch of blokes on a fishing trip having a few drinks. Let’s all have an early night. We’ve got a big drive tomorrow and—’

‘I’m off to Camp Yobbo. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Another high-pitched guitar siren sounded as Annie wrenched open the door and plunged into the darkness.

‘Take the tomahawk from the bottom locker,’ Meredith called through a pillow. She’d clambered up the ladder to Annie’s bed in a futile attempt to find some refuge from the noise. Nina caught the door and turned back to the counter. She didn’t mind the music—she was used to the screech of guitars and drumbeats thumping through the kitchen ceiling. She checked her mobile. Still no message. She’d now rung Brad four times. His mobile and the home phone remained stubbornly silent. She ran through an alphabetical checklist of calamities that could have befallen her home and family, from ‘Asteroid Impact’ to ‘Zeppelin Crash Landing’.

But there was only one real looming disaster: Brad would leave her for a skinny blonde football camp follower. She knew he would. If she were Brad, she would have left two years ago. Around the 85-kilo mark. Or maybe he was waiting until the boys moved out. By that calculation she had about five years of married life left until she was a clapped-out divorcee. Fair, fat, fifty . . . and forgotten. Like the rest of the dumpy discarded women living in her street.

Nina pulled the plug on the kettle and reached for a bottle of red wine. She thought of her new Patricia Cornwell crime novel stowed in her handbag, along with the family-size block of hazelnut chocolate she’d brought along for an emergency. That was the answer to her maudlin musings. In a moment she would be curled up in bed . . . except that her cosy corner was still in pieces. A jigsaw puzzle of cushions that would have to be assembled after she’d pulled down the table.

Bugger! It was always like this. This was her life. No matter how tired she was, there was always one more thing to do: a shirt to put in the dryer, a stack of mugs to wash, wet towels to hang up. Why hadn’t she insisted on the top bed? It was her bloody van after all! What would Annie care? She’d soon be drunk enough to sleep outside on the concrete.

And then the noise stopped.

‘Hooray!’ Meredith sat up on the top bed and banged her head on the roof. ‘Ow! Damn! Ow!’

Nina laughed, then apologised for laughing and then laughed again.

Meredith slid her gangly frame down the flimsy metal stairs with her hand nursing her outraged forehead. ‘Yes, very funny! I’m glad I didn’t get that ridiculous bed. I’d have permanent brain damage by the end of the week. And the stairs are impossible. Ow! Can you see a lump?’

Nina brushed at Meredith’s fringe. ‘Do you see him much?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘Donald.’ Nina took her drink and sat at the table. She popped a square of dark hazelnut into her mouth. ‘Want some?’

Meredith waved away Nina’s offering. This was what this trip would be like, she supposed. Every personal detail would have to be offered up for forensic inspection. ‘Enough to know that he’s apparently perfectly happy living in that dreary flat in the city by himself.’

‘Do you think there’s some woman involved?’ Nina broke off another piece of chocolate. Meredith couldn’t quite believe Nina had asked. Stuck in this sardine can, it wasn’t only her physical space that was being compromised.

‘No. I don’t.’ She batted Nina’s question out of bounds. ‘In some ways, I could have dealt with it better if there was. Apparently he disliked the colour I painted his den, and that was enough to walk out after twenty-eight years of marriage. He hasn’t even got a den in his new place. I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to make of that.’

‘What colour did you paint it?’ asked Nina.

‘
Mallard grey
.’

‘You mean, like the duck?’

‘It’s a lovely soft shade,’ said Meredith defensively. She’d had this argument before. ‘It complements the whole cream-to-brown spectrum. I had cushions done in a
light rice
raw silk.’

‘And what colour did Donald want it painted?’

‘He wanted it left the same hideous dark green it had been for years. Apparently it reminded him of some old car he had before we were married. Honestly, there were bits flaking from the ceiling, scuff marks on the walls. It had to be done.’

‘I know what you mean,’ agreed Nina. ‘You should see the walls at our place. Ten years worth of grunge from dirty footy boots and cricket balls. I’d love to have the place repainted.’

There had to be another woman, Nina immediately concluded. How many men of Donald’s age—and he must be almost sixty—would leave to set up house by themselves? He was using the repainting of the den as an excuse. Nina might not have seen Donald for a long time, but she did know that Meredith had expertly organised his life for two decades. This new chick would be young, naive—probably an actress looking for a father figure. In Donald’s line of work he met them all the time. There was no other explanation.

‘Will he be at the wedding?’

‘I imagine so. Donald and Sigrid were always close. Closer than . . . well, anyway, close. It’s their
shared artistic vision
, apparently. Funny how it’s ended up. He makes junk television; Sigrid’s selling tat at the markets—last I heard, anyway. While I have my store full of beautiful things and Jarvis is dealing fine art.’ It was indeed a strange turn of events, thought Nina as she noisily crunched another nut.

‘Anyway, I hope he’s happy. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, won’t I?’ Meredith turned and rummaged in an overhead cupboard for a glass. ‘How do I get water out of this tap again?’ Meredith perched her reading glasses on her nose and peered at the row of switches and dials on the panel above the fridge—AC current/DC current/gas—their operation was beyond her capabilities.

‘You flick that red switch over the stove and it starts the pump.’

Meredith duly flicked the switch. The pump shuddered and water spluttered from the tap into the sink, splashing her shirt. Meredith jumped back. ‘Damn! There’s a knack to everything in this van. It all looks simple, but there’re so many switches and keys and vents and dials. It’s like being in a wretched submarine!’

Nina saw the door was now closed on the uncertainty she had glimpsed. It was as if, in Meredith’s perfect, sunlit, art-directed home, there was a hidden room at the end of a long corridor crammed with heavy furniture. Nina figured that she had a while yet before she could get inside that space and explore. She was sure Meredith would be grateful for her expedition. After all, wasn’t that what best friends did? Held hands and comforted each other as they poked in dark corners. Nina resolved to try again another time.

‘Anyway,’ said Meredith as she banged her glass on the chopping board, ‘Annie’s charm offensive seems to be working. She’s probably downing vodka shots with the boys as we speak. Who cares? At least it’s quiet.’

‘She is drinking a lot.’ Nina was encouraged by Meredith’s disapproving tone. ‘But it’s such a big time in her life. You can see she’s struggling with the big four-oh coming up and the idea that maybe she won’t have kids. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her . . . especially after that whole thing with the first husband. It’s probably hard for her to trust any man ever again.’ Nina surrendered to the chocolate and took another piece.

‘I know it must be difficult, but she’s . . .’ Meredith snatched up a magazine and swiped at a rogue mosquito buzzing around her face. ‘She’s clever, she’s capable and so well organised. And look at her! Beautifully turned out. Wonderful figure! She should be able to find another man. If she could just be . . . a bit less . . .’ Meredith’s thoughts were now consumed with obliterating the tiny pest. She thumped against the glass of the microwave and was rewarded with a black and bloody smear. ‘HAH! Got him!’

‘A bit less . . . ?’ Nina was keen to hear what Meredith had to say about Annie’s predicament, because she had her own theories.

‘Well, that’s it for me. Time for “lights out”, Captain.’ Meredith turned to go to her bed.

‘What?’

‘I can’t help thinking I’m in a U-boat in the Atlantic in World War II—
I’ll be down the back in my bunk, sah! Breakfast at 0700 hours!
’ Meredith saluted and marched down the galley.

Nina laughed at her performance. Meredith was a surprise package, no doubt about that. Every time she was pegged as a
regulation eastern suburbs matron-in-waiting, the old ‘Mad Meredith’ surfaced, waving a rubber chook on a stick. Nina congratulated herself on having a friend like that. However, why Meredith persevered with a frowsy frump like herself remained an international mystery.

After making up her mattress, a task which proved to be every bit as backbreaking as she had expected, Nina dragged on a threadbare cotton pyjama top and flopped into bed. She could only manage the opening page of her book—a particularly grisly description of an autopsy—before she started to yawn. She turned off the reading light and sang out to Meredith behind her drawn curtain: ‘Nighty-night! Sleep well!’

‘Goodnight!’ Meredith called back, and then added: ‘Oh, I can hear a frog. I can’t remember the last time I heard a frog. Isn’t that wonderful?’

The light behind the teal curtain extinguished, Nina cuddled her pillow in the dark. She offered a silent prayer to God to keep her family safe, and then cursed to find an uncomfortable ridge in the cushions that fitted neatly into her fleshy lower back. She rolled heavily to one side and then wrenched at her pyjama top bunched up under her armpit. A button popped off—typical! They would write that on her headstone, she supposed:
Here lies Nina Brown in a coffin two sizes too small. Typical!

It was 2.15 am, Nina saw by her watch, when she was woken by the sound of Annie staggering through the door, falling up the steps, knocking over the ladder and swearing like a drunken sailor. Nina yelped as Annie stood on her hair, clambered over her and into the top bed.

Moments later Nina heard a mosquito buzzing in her ear. She woke to swat at it in the gloom and turned to see the van door wide open. Turning on the light, Nina was appalled to discover that the white ceiling of the van was carpeted with black mozzies. Thousands of them had invaded the RoadMaster, intent on making a feast of it.

‘SHIT!’ Nina hauled herself from her bed, slammed the door shut, grabbed a tea towel and flicked it at the roof, sending the bloodthirsty beasts into a frenzy. Down the back, Meredith’s reading light snapped on.

‘Oh my God, millions of mosquitoes!’ she screeched. A couple of loud smacks against the wall signalled she’d joined the fray. The van rocked on its wheels, and it was soon obvious that a rolled-up copy of
Gourmet Traveller
and a damp tea towel were not up to the task. They needed chemical weapons.