CHAPTER 1
PART 1:APRIL 2017
I
He'd parked the old Kombi in the red-dirt, treeless parking-bay beside mounds of soil.He needed to stretch his legs and try to wake up. The sign at the exit from the bay said,'Marla Bore 20 kms'.
He leaned against the side of the old blue Kombi, took off his filthy peaked cap, andlit a cigarette. It was late on the second day of the journey. The side rear-vision mirrorshowed a dusty, haggard, red-eyed bloke with a face covered in stubble, clothes and capsoaked with sweat and stained red and someone who hadn't washed for three days.
But he didn't care. Who am I going to meet that would give a shit?
He gazed at the country. It was as if a half-arsed deity had dumped boulders androck over a vast area, flattened them very quickly with a huge compactor, and left manymounds between which glittering-white salt-pans proliferated. No vegetation of any notewas visible, as if the deity, after viewing the effect, had shrugged and buggered off.
To Mick, the sight seemed to go on forever. He was two thirds of the way to AliceSprings with no real reason to go there and no idea of where to go after that.
His old Kombi had chugged along at seventy kilometres an hour since he'd leftAdelaide at 5.00 am yesterday. The first three hours had been through farm lands northof Adelaide which he knew well. The coast of the Gulf of St Vincent, and above PortPirie, Spencer's Gulf were to his left, and to his right were hills that gradually rose inheight to become the Flinders Ranges. After Port Augusta and the Flinders had fadedbehind him, all he'd seen was the now stony, treeless countryside.
The temperature had risen steadily over the first day, causing him to stop severaltimes to allow the engine to cool and to top up the radiator. Memories of his days fencingaround Quorn and Wilmington and out on the Eyre Peninsula had taught Mick to carryplenty of water, particularly when driving his decrepit Kombi.
He guessed, by midday, that it was around thirty-five degrees. As the Kombi hadno air-conditioning, he'd shed his trackie top not long after leaving Port Augusta, andhad driven with the windows open.
After twelve hours of nursing the vehicle on the first day, he pulled into a roadsidestop just before Glendambo and slept on a mattress in the back. All he had to eat wassome bread and cheese he'd grabbed from the fridge as he'd departed.
As hot as it had been during the day, he found he needed all his clothes, and whateverother covering he could find, during the night, as the temperature plummeted. He roseat five, shivering in the frosty air, as the sky began to grow pink in the east. He stoppedfor breakfast at one of the two service stations that made up the town.
Beyond Glendambo lay Cooper Pedy, which he reached about lunchtime, nursingthe old wagon along at the same rate. He refuelled and bought a sandwich from aroadhouse. He didn't notice the unique nature of the place, much of it underground, aspeople had constructed dwellings, shops and even a hotel out of old opal diggings. Allthat filled his senses were events in his recent past and the flat, shimmering desolationof the present.
Now, late afternoon on Thursday, he was close to Marla Bore. He stubbed thecigarette and drove the last twenty kilometres. Marla sat to the right of the highway; amotel, a roadhouse, two houses and a yard filled with machinery. Just before the entranceto the roadhouse, a sign pointing to the right along a dusty track said, 'OodnadattaTrack, Oodnadatta, 216 kms'. But thankfully, the Marla Roadhouse and motel weresurrounded by white gums, many straggly but a few flourishing. They were the first treeshe could recall since Port Augusta.
He stopped at the roadhouse. It had a bar and restaurant, beckoning him to have adrink and a decent feed. He noticed, however, as he walked into the place, two peoplehe'd passed, and the waitress at the counter, all gave him unpleasant looks. As he stoodwaiting for her to serve him, he understood why. He stank.
He managed to wash standing in front of a sink in the men's toilet, changed his shirtand found a spare pair of underpants. When he returned looking cleaner, cap off andlongish blond hair visible, the waitress even gave him a smile. As well as food, he founda rug in the roadhouse, which he bought because of his experiences the night before.Then he chugged out of Marla to a roadside stop to sleep.
As he neared Alice Springs the next afternoon, Mick stared at the highway withoutseeing it. He knew he was close to Alice because the road signs told him so. Butsuddenly and spectacularly, the countryside changed. Flatness gave way to high rangesas he neared the town. It was as if he were driving into an impenetrable barrier of rockthat stretched as far as he could see east and west. But just past the airport, the scenerychanged again.
Seeming to loom over him were stark, red hills, with sheer cliffs near the summit,guarding the past like monuments carved from history. On one hill, the striations ofrock were vertical, as if a huge hand had tilted the hill on its side and left it there. Butbetween the hills was greenness, like parklands, with grass and trees growing on the edgeof the startling white sand of a dry river bed.
And then, without warning, a cutting in the range of hills appeared, no more thana hundred metres wide, through which the dry river bed passed. The road and a railwayline clung to one edge of the cutting, which a sign told him was 'Heavitree Gap'. As hedrove through 'The Gap', the brilliant redness of the hills and startling whiteness of thesand were contrastingly blinding in the late afternoon sun.
He'd headed this way to find his family and the history haunted him. At times, itmade him feel ill, and at times, it caused him to blink and wipe his eyes.
II
A month before, he'd pulled into the car park of the block of flats in Elizabeth where he,Sharon, and their kids—Sammy, aged eight, and Nina, who was six—lived. It was wellafter 8.00 pm because he'd stopped on the way home from work as a brickie to have acouple of beers with his mates.
"So you got another leave pass, Mick," Dougie had stated as Mick had bought athird round of drinks.
"Nah, but I'm thirsty, mate. And anyway, Sharon knows what I'm doing. It's not asif I'm off trying to shag some tart. I'm just having a beer with you blokes."
"Yep, but we're single or divorced, ay, Ram?" Dougie had grinned at one of the blokeswho'd raised his glass as if to toast the comment. "You're the only one with marital duties,Mick. But as I recall it, you've been stopping for the one or six each day after work forsix weeks now, and each night you seem to stay just a little bit longer. Sharon must be avery understanding missus."
"Did I hire you as my keeper or marriage guidance counsellor, Dougie?"
Dougie had been partly right and partly wrong. Yes, stopping for beers with hisworkmates had been going on for six weeks now, and each time, the length of Mick'sstay had increased a little. While he knew it made Sharon shitty, he felt he deserved tounwind after an eleven hour day. And no, Sharon wasn't an understanding missus. She'dseemed to be when he first married her, and then during his time fencing up north andout west on the Eyre Peninsula. But since he'd come back to Adelaide to work as a brickieagain, she'd become sort of distant and withdrawn.
He'd even wondered whether it had to do with her having to give up nursing trainingwhen she fell pregnant with Sammy. But he didn't ask. And she'd had a shot at himrecently when he didn't get in until nearly 8.30 pm.
"Jesus, Mick, what are you doing? I've had all day at the IGA stacking while Naomibabysits for us, I get in and have to clean the unit, cook tea, bath the kids and get themto bed, and you sit around with your mates drinking piss. I thought when you cameback after the time fencing, you'd be more committed to the kids, but I was wrong.You're only just in time to say goodnight to them and you're gone again at six o'clock,before they wake up."
"Give me a break, Shaz," he'd replied quietly, placing his bag in the cupboard insidethe front door. "I've been working six days a week, eleven hours a day for the past sixweeks and I spend all Sunday with the kids. With my overtime pay, you should be happy,instead of crapping on me for coming in late sometimes."
"Sometimes?" she'd spat. "Jesus, it's every fucking night, Mick. What about me?Don't I deserve some company?"
Then she was gone, slamming the bedroom door and leaving him alone and feelingvery remorseful.
The flat had two bedrooms, a kitchen-come-living area, and a toilet-bathroom.Washing machines were on the ground floor, if they were working, and if not, Sharonhad to go to the local laundromat.
He'd met her after a football match that he'd played in, between Centrals andNorwood. She'd taken his attention immediately. She was gorgeous; slender, with longdark hair and a smile that would win any heart.
Mick had played top grade Australian Rules football in Adelaide with CentralDistricts since he was seventeen, starting in 2004. He'd lived all his life in Elizabethand, when first selected with Centrals League Team, already had the build of a man.He was always referred to as 'that big, blonde, good-looking bugger". Sharon was fromNew South Wales and had come to Adelaide a couple of months before they met, whenshe was eighteen and he was twenty-one.
"I just got bored," she'd told him coyly the first night they'd met. "I told my folksI was going travelling with Amy. We did, and ended up here, in Adelaide, after aboutsix months."
"Why did Adelaide appeal?" he'd asked, knowing the place so well.
"It was better than Broken Hill," she'd giggled. "I reckon every man who looked atme in that place was thinking about giving me one."He'd known exactly what she meant, because it was what he'd been thinking, too.
"What do you do for a crust?"
"I started nursing training at Flinders University about three months ago, and I workin an IGA a couple of days a week to make ends meet."
They went together for nearly a year before she announced she was pregnant withSammy, just after she'd returned from New South Wales to attend the funeral of herparents, killed in a car crash in the Blue Mountains. And, as his Mum had died just afterhe'd met Sharon, sorrow seemed to unite them.
He had no other family. His Dad had been electrocuted before he was born, therewere no other brothers or sisters, and his Dad's and Mum's parents were dead. Sharon'sfather had no family she knew of, and her mother's family, from Queensland, weremembers of a radical religious sect and had disowned her when she fell pregnant withSammy.
So they'd married in 2008, the year Mick gave up playing football with Centrals,at the ripe old age of twenty-two. One reason was a downturn in the building industrywhich saw him laid off as a brickie, so he'd had to go to the country to find other work.Another was because football bored him; the training, the non-drinking regime andbecause he'd felt, without knowing why, there must be more to life than playing footballand laying bricks.
His retirement from football would have shattered his Mum had she lived to see it.He was glad she didn't, even though her death in 2007 rocked him beyond anythinghe'd ever known. Despite the hardship of their lives, she'd worked her arse off to providefor him, six days a week in the local grocery store, to make sure he had football boots,tennis rackets, cricket bats or whatever else he'd needed.
She'd been mother, father, guide, mentor and mate. When the football regime of 'nogrog' was in force, she'd often go to the local bottle shop, buy a six pack of West End,and they'd quaff beers until bedtime.
And when she'd had a few, she'd tell him, "You're so like your Dad, Mick; tall,unruly blond hair, you're built like a brick shithouse, and you're a real good-lookingbugger. But just make sure the one you decide is your woman for life is like me and willlove you forever."
He'd never struggled for female company. Like all high profile footballers, particularlytall, tanned, blonde ones, he'd found females ever willing and ready to bed down withhim.
"Who was she?" his mother would sniff after he'd returned from escorting anotherwilling accomplice home after an evening in his bedroom.
"That was Julie," he'd tell her. "I introduced you to her when we came in."
"Well, that shows the impact she had on me," she'd retort.
His mother never really knew Sharon. Her heart attack had happened just after Mickmet her. His mum lingered for a month in hospital, and he'd supported her as best hecould. And then she was gone.
Maybe that's why he'd turned to Sharon and she'd turned to him. Neither of themhad anyone else.
When the downturn in the building trade came, he'd gone fencing, often up northto places like Wilmington and Quorn or out near Cleve and Lock on the Eyre Peninsula.It meant he was away for a couple of weeks at a time, returning as much as he could tosee Sharon and Sammy. And, while he was fencing, Nina arrived.
It was like he'd lived two lives. One was work and the other was family, and in truth,he loved both. There was the freedom of the fencing work, because when the day's workwas over, he'd drive with the team to Wilmington, Quorn or Cleve, have a few beers anda decent feed and be able to unwind. But he also loved seeing the kids and was devotedto them when he was home. He'd so willingly take them to parks and places that didn'tcost money, and revel in his time with them.
But late in the fencing period, he'd begun to sense a change in Sharon's attitude tohim. And when he'd come back to live in Adelaide and started as a brickie again, it hadchanged even more. He'd spend as much time with the kids as he could, following thesame ritual as he had when fencing. But Sharon had become increasingly distant. He'dcome in from work, she'd toss the responsibility of the kids to him and go and sit onthe floor of the unit and watch the latest talent show or never-ending soap opera. Andwhile he didn't resent the responsibility, he'd begun to resent Sharon's attitude to himincluding, over the past few months, resistance to having sex with him.
That night, after drinks with Dougie and Ram, he'd trudged the stairs to the thirdfloor and unlocked the front door of the flat. It had been in darkness so he'd switchedon the light and placed his bag of tools inside the cupboard. It wasn't unusual for Sharonto go out at night, but when she did, Naomi, the fifteen year old from two doors down,usually baby-sat. Tonight, however, there was no one.
He'd walked towards the stove, thinking that maybe she'd taken the children toAinslie's place rather than spend money on Naomi. But at least, maybe, she'd have lefthim a meal. There was nothing on the stove. He'd looked around and tiptoed to thebedrooms and switched on the lights, expecting the children to be hiding so they couldsurprise him.
There was nothing there. Beds had been stripped and the wardrobe and chest ofdrawers, where the kids' clothes were always kept, were wide open. He'd spun andgone to the main bedroom. Again, the cupboard doors were open and only his clothesremained.
He'd gone still, staring into space for a while, before suddenly turning, leaving bythe front door and running down the passage to where Naomi lived. After banging onthe door and getting no immediate response, he'd hammered again.
The door had opened. Naomi, a dumpy, red-headed teenager, looked surprised."Hello Mr Wilson."
"Naomi, do you know where Shaz—Mrs Wilson—is? Did she tell you anythingtoday?"
"Who is it, Nay?" It was a woman's voice, with a strident Australian accent.
"It's Mr Wilson," Naomi had called over her shoulder. A couple of moments later, adumpy, red-haired older woman, Naomi's mother, appeared.
"Mick?" she'd asked inquisitively as she walked to the door.
"Sheila, do you know where Shaz is?" Mick was agitated.
The woman touched Naomi on the shoulder and flicked her head. Naomi smiledshyly at Mick before heading back into the flat.
"Come into the corridor, Mick," Sheila had said less stridently as she'd closed thedoor to the flat and led him to the area she'd suggested.
She'd looked down for a while before saying in a motherly tone, "I saw her thismorning, at eight o'clock. I'd washed some stuff by hand and I went onto my balconyto hang it out."
"Sheila, where is she?" Mick had become more agitated. "She's not in the flat, thekids aren't there either, and all their clothes are gone. I just got in from work. What'sgoing on?"
Sheila sighed softly and looked over Mick's shoulder down the passage.
"Do you know Andy, from unit two-two-five downstairs?" she'd asked wistfully.
"Do you mean the truckie?"
"Yes."
"Oh, sort of, enough to say g'day to, but I don't know him."
"I reckon Sharon knows him a lot better than you do." Sheila spoke sadly.
"What ... what are you talking ... about Sheila? What in the name of Christ isgoing on?"
Sheila had rubbed the palms of her hands together. "Like I said, I was on the balconyabout eight this morning, and I saw Sharon and the two kids, all carrying cases, get intoAndy's car. He helped them load stuff in the boot. Sammy was ... well ... he was upset,crying, and didn't want to get in the car, but Sharon made him."
"What ... why did she ... what game is she playing?"
"Mick, I'm not a nosy neighbour. I don't check what people in these flats get upto. But often in the last few months as I've been going to the shops or down to do mywashing, I've seen Andy coming and going from your flat during the day, when the kidsare at school."
She'd stopped and looked sadly at Mick.
"You ... mean ... you're telling me ... that she ... she was having it off withAndy?"
"I don't know what she was doing with him in your flat, Mick, but I reckon, afterwhat I saw today, she's taken the kids and buggered off with him. And Mick, I'm sosorry for you if that's the case."
Mick had stood staring at her for a long time, before he'd turned and walked backto the flat. He'd closed the door and leaned against it, gazing across the quiet diningarea. All he could think of was to go to the police.
(Continues...)
