Croc Country Page 11

  Tilly thumbed through memories like old photos: Gerry, suited and handsome on their wedding day. His dishevelled panic in the delivery room when Francie was born. ‘I can’t do this, babe, I can’t!’ he’d blurted, heading for the door. Until all five feet of a tiny nurse had got in his face yelling, ‘You get back there and hold her hand, buster. It’s your baby too!’ They had laughed about it afterwards. She saw him, proud as punch with a watermelon grin on his face, as he’d swept open the door of their new home. ‘All yours, babe. Paradise with mod cons.’ She remembered asking then if they could afford it and the careless way he’d laughed as if money was no object. ‘You let me worry about the dough, babe.’

  So she had – and about everything else too: the restuarants they’d frequented, the business, his time out on the boat. She had questioned none of it, and see where that had led! To fire sales and repossession, leaving her, as her stepfather would have put it, without a pot to piss in. How could she have been so blind? There must have been signals that all was not well. Surely no one could be that deeply in debt and act as unworried as Gerry had seemed. Looking back, he had been edgy at times with the occasional flare-up of temper, but he’d been quick to apologise and blame it on work. Tilly had believed him because she had seen it with her stepfather. The sea was a hard mistress, and fishing as unchancy a livelihood as you could well find. Temporary crews, bad weather, light nets more often than not, and the gruelling nature of the work itself. Men came ashore dog-tired from the boats, and it was understandable that they should occasionally be out of sorts.

  That was how she had dismissed it, Tilly thought. Gerry had spent his time on the water, so whatever he was wanted for had to be connected to the boat or the sea. Had he been running drugs? People smuggling? No, that was absurd. Where would he take a cargo of illegal refugees? You couldn’t just dump them ashore in croc-infested country – they’d be bound either to perish or be discovered. And he could hardly sail into Darwin Harbour with them. There must be checks – Customs officers, a Port Authority, something – at the docks. It was the back door to Australia after all: the government wouldn’t leave it wide open, not with all the refugee boats heading this way. But if Gerry were just the transport, she reasoned, his cargo could have been met ashore by some other member of the gang and trucked to a dispersal point, couldn’t it? Tilly had no idea how people smuggling operated, only that it happened.

  She cringed, thinking of the misery of the desperate folk involved in such ventures, paying their life savings over to unscrupulous operators. How many were caught and sent back, or spent the next decade in detention? Why would Gerry do it? Surely not just to fund the lifestyle they had enjoyed. She had been as content with him in the tin shed of their fishing camp as in the fancy townhouse in Cairns. Had she ever given him reason to think otherwise? Could those nameless, hopeless refugees from the world’s worst trouble spots have suffered on her account? The thought was insupportable.

  She considered the alternatives, shying away from any involvement in drugs (not that, it was too wicked!) to robbery – but robbing what? There were no banks in the wilds of northern Australia, no armoured vans to hold up and electronic embezzlement wasn’t an option if you could barely get a radio signal. Anyway, if he’d had access to stolen money, why wouldn’t he have paid what was owing on the Esmerelda?

  Gerry had loved that boat, joking that she was his mistress. ‘There’s you, babe, and then there’s my best girl.’ It had almost precipitated their first row until Tilly had realised that the shapely body and sweet bottom he continually spoke of belonged to the Esmerelda. He’d maintained a running tease about it when kissing her and Francie goodbye each time he left to head out to sea. ‘Off to my best girl now, babe. See you in a week . . .’ Or ten days, or whenever – it depended on the weather and the season. Sometimes he was away longer and the catch would still be lighter, but Tilly, making sure that a meal was ready and the donkey heater working to ensure a hot shower, never asked for details of the trip. The job didn’t end at the dock. The iced fish had to be stored, transport organised, hands paid off, fuel and stores replaced . . . When he came wearily back to their camp, the last thing he needed, she’d told herself, was a lot of questions.

  Because she loved him, and he was putting in the hard yards to keep her and Francie, and to run the business, she had swallowed her own needs to see to his. She had often been lonely in the camp when the boats were out, and occasionally bored, with long days to fill and only a toddler for company. And there were the little daily worries with Francie: the fever she had once run, the fall which had cut her lip, precipitating a screaming fit that had terrified Tilly into believing she had sustained not just a superficial cut, but a real injury. She had worried too about her daughter’s isolation, whether she should be interacting with other children at this age. Doubts and fears that she had borne alone in order not to bother Gerry with them.

  And all, it now seemed, to allow him to deceive her, to lead a double life doing whatever it was that had led to his present situation. She had been a fool, suspecting nothing, blinded by her love for him, her absorption in domestic matters and raising their daughter. How he must have scorned her simplicity! Shame at her own gullibility scalded her. Nobody respected a person so easy to hoodwink. It was as if she had collaborated in her own deception.

  So should she tell the police? Tilly bit her lip, staring sightlessly at the night beyond the lighted window. Was she risking her own freedom by keeping silent? Did it make her an accessory – or was there some dispensation against spouses being forced to inform against each another? Her anger urged her to tell, but the memory of Sergeant Burns and her own innate loyalty tipped the balance. There was no actual proof of wrongdoing. She would continue to act the widow because, in her heart, that was how she regarded herself. Anything she and Gerry had once shared was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following morning, as Tilly left the house carrying the joey bottles, Sophie picked up the dish of diced meat that was Harry’s breakfast and followed her across to the animal enclosure. There, she lifted the second joey onto her lap, feeding the long teat into its eager mouth, and looked searchingly at her cousin before she spoke. ‘Have you decided about the letter then?’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘I won’t be reporting it, Sophie. Keeping this secret is the last thing I’ll do for him. He chose to be dead – well, as far as I’m concerned, he is.’

  ‘I see. It’s your decision, Till. You did tell Connor though.’

  ‘It was the shock.’ Tilly stared at her cousin, forgetting to monitor the milk flow. ‘Reading those words was like – like having his ghost appear before me. I almost passed out! And it was all so quick, I barely had time to take them in before the paper burnt away. Anyway, I asked Connor not to mention it and I don’t think he will.’ Briefly she wondered at her confidence in him. She’d known him only a few weeks but felt an implicit trust in his word. He had said he wouldn’t tell and she believed him.

  Sophie frowned. ‘That’s all very well, but it means you’re not free. Suppose the police don’t find him, and down the track you want to marry again? What then?’

  ‘Right now that’s the last thing I have to worry about.’

  ‘Yes, but one day . . . You might,’ Sophie said carefully, ‘want another child, Till.’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘Plenty of couples have kids without marrying. Anyway, you can have someone officially declared dead if they vanish for long enough. I’ll find out about that if I need to. I’m going to revert to my own name too – Mum’s maiden name, I mean. I was never Tilly Williams, so I’m not using that one. I’m sick of lies and pretending.’

  ‘You might hurt Elaine’s feelings if you do.’

  ‘And what about mine?’ Tilly demanded. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this! My stepfather never did more than tolerate me, my husband deceived me, my daughter—’ Her voice broke momentarily but she swallowed hard and recovered, saying flintily, ‘So just excuse me if I’m n
ot too concerned about anyone else’s feelings right now.’

  Sophie lifted her hands, one holding the now empty bottle. ‘Whatever you want, Till. I’d kick the bugger myself if he was here. The thing I don’t like about this is that he was here at all. Why? He’s supposed to be dead, so why is he doing the tourist thing?’

  It was a question that had not occurred to Tilly. Frowning, she said, ‘I can’t imagine. I spent hours last night thinking about what he could’ve been up to and the most feasible, given that he had the boat, seemed to be people smuggling. But what could that possibly have to do with Binboona?’

  ‘I can’t see a connection,’ Sophie admitted. ‘Here’—she passed the dish of meat to her cousin—‘Harry’s feed. I’ll see to the bottles. And I just might ask the boys to keep their eyes open for anything odd about the place. Don’t worry, I won’t mention Gerry, but if something funny’s going on here . . .’

  ‘We keep a record of everybody that enters Binboona,’ Tilly objected. ‘And there’s only the camp to come to. It would be tantamount to murder to dump refugees out in the bush.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping. Maybe Gerry was just hiding out, thinking it was safer than town. After all, he couldn’t have known you were here. It must’ve come as a helluva shock to see you. If he did, of course.’

  ‘He did,’ Tilly said. ‘Well, somebody did and told him. Or else how would he have known where to send the letter?’

  She stared blindly at the dish of meat, saying slowly, ‘Maybe I should leave. Not just Binboona, but the north – just go and leave the whole mess behind.’

  ‘But—’ Sophie checked her protest and said instead, ‘Where though? Not back home?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. Mum’s got enough on her plate. I’d have to find a place of my own, and a job.’ Her lips twisted derisively. ‘Doing what? I’m not trained for anything – that’s the trouble. If I hadn’t been in such a rush to get away when I finished school . . . But I’m a bit old now to start anywhere as an apprentice.’

  ‘You could start here,’ her cousin offered. ‘Become a proper qualified ranger.’

  ‘But here is the problem, don’t you see? You’re out all day and I’m cooped up in the homestead with nothing to do but go over and over things . . . Oh, don’t think I’m not grateful for the job,’ she hastened to add. ‘I am, Sophie, truly! Only now, knowing Gerry’s alive, and worrying about what he’s done—’

  ‘That’s his problem. He did it, not you. And having cost you everything, I don’t see why you should lose your job over it, or your accommodation,’ Sophie said sternly. ‘What you need is variety, Till. I should have seen it myself. Why don’t you think seriously about becoming a ranger? I mean it, girl. Doing the stuff Luke and I do. You’re halfway there already – you know the bush, you can drive, handle sick animals, you’ve done your first-aid courses. Also you’ve learnt the birds, and can name quite a number of the trees. It’s not a bad job. There’s good tenure, the pay’s not great but it’s more than you’re drawing now, and you get to wear this fancy shirt.’ She plucked at her own khaki model with its stylised sugar glider on the breast pocket, surmounted by the capital letters WPA. ‘You could start today, Tilly. Make your lunch and go with Luke – he can mentor you. Best that I don’t, because of our relationship, so that later on there can be no question about your qualifications. Then I’ll inform head office that they’ve got themselves a new recruit.’

  ‘But what if they don’t . . . I mean, you run things here, but can you just take on someone like that?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘The company’s actively looking for new people at the moment – they’ve been advertising for expressions of interest for the past three months. Anyway, why wouldn’t they want you? There aren’t too many women willing to take on the job. So, do you fancy the change?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . What about my current work? Won’t we still need a housekeeper? Who’s going to take the camping fees and keep the logbook and do the cooking and washing?’ she blurted.

  ‘We’ll just go back to how we were before you came. Everybody takes turns, including you. So you’ll have three days in the field getting your hands dirty and one at home cooking and feeding animals and logging the campers in and out. You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to worry about what Gerry’s up to.’

  ‘And you really believe I could do it?’ Tilly asked doubtfully.

  ‘On your ear,’ Sophie asserted. ‘It’s just common sense and hard graft. You’ll have to write reports, and maybe swot up some facts because you’ll be helping with the slide nights and the nature walks, so you’ll need to be accurate in what you say. And put in the hours of course. Still, you’re pretty fit, so the physical side shouldn’t worry you.’

  Tilly drew a breath and said cautiously, ‘Will the boys be okay with it? Luke, yes, but what about Matt? I’ve already had a disagreement with—’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ Sophie said briskly. ‘Matt’s support staff, he’s not a ranger. That’s why you’ll be teamed with Luke.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tilly was surprised. ‘I thought he was. He’s never said . . . I mean, he never says much anyway, but he hasn’t once corrected me on it. And he’s heard me tell people he’s one plenty of times.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’s on the books as a mechanic and handyman. So, what are you thinking, Tilly? Are you really serious about leaving?’

  ‘No, not if you believe I can do this.’ Tilly was suddenly filled with a sense of anticipation for the days ahead. ‘Thank you, Sophie – for the chance and the support. Somehow, whenever I get to a crisis point in my life you always seem to be there with an alternative.’

  ‘Said I would be,’ the other woman replied gruffly. ‘Hurry it up then. I’ll try to catch Luke before he leaves.’

  Connor returned to Binboona two days later. Tilly, dusty and dog-tired, for she and Luke had been working on the walking paths up the cliffs that formed the Nutt River gorge, recognised his vehicle as they drove in at sunset.

  ‘Looks like our wandering botanist is back.’ Luke pulled on the handbrake and let the diesel engine idle down before switching off. Tilly, glad enough to sit for a moment, nodded. Luke grinned. ‘How’s the shoulders? We must’ve shifted half a tonne of rock today – you still want to be a ranger, Tilly?’

  ‘Ah, but think how beautiful the paths are now,’ she retorted tiredly. ‘A blind man could find his way along them. It’s hard work,’ she agreed, ‘but more interesting than cooking and cleaning. Speaking of which, I wonder what Matt’s made us for dinner? I’m so hungry I could eat a horse – and raw at that.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be horse but I wouldn’t guarantee it’s not half raw or burnt black,’ Luke said darkly. ‘He’s worse than me in the kitchen and that’s saying something.’

  Connor must have been of the same opinion, Tilly thought, for the next morning he announced his intention of moving down to the camp. ‘I’ve imposed on you all long enough,’ he told her as she cleared the table, it being her turn today for house duties.

  She grinned. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with that truly frightful meal last night? By the way, Connor, thank you for that little carving. It’s lovely.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Tilly. So, you’re going to be a ranger – how come?’ Hastily he added, ‘Not that I mean to pry, but—’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay. I suppose I just needed a change. Besides, it’s an opportunity. I’ve only ever had odd jobs, never a career.’ Save that of wife and mother, she thought. ‘Something to put on my resume, if I ever need one,’ she said lightly. ‘What about you – have you ever thought of changing what you do?’

  He paused for a moment as if considering the question. ‘Maybe I’ll go back to nursery work one day, run my own business. Grow things instead of just driving around monitoring them.’

  ‘Speaking of growing, I’d better get the sprays started on the garden,’ Tilly remembered. ‘Just a few days away from it and I’m all out of routine.’ Dumping a han
dful of cutlery in its drawer, she made for the door, pausing to say, ‘No doubt I’ll see you round the camp then. You should try some of the walking paths we’ve been working on. They’re worth the effort, though I say it myself.’

  ‘Maybe I will. I’ll see you around.’

  That evening, Sophie sighed with completion as she finished the excellent beef curry Tilly had made. ‘That was great. I’ve had an idea, guys. What if Tilly picks out half-a-dozen simple recipes in her cookbook – something not beyond our capabilities – and we try following them when it’s our turn to cook? She can tell us what we’ve done wrong each night and that way we might actually learn something.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ Luke said. ‘Matt?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah. Whatever.’

  ‘Well, come on! Are you saying your efforts couldn’t stand improvement?’

  Matt shot him a dirty look. ‘You worry too much about your belly. Me, I’d just like to know who’s been messing with my stuff.’

  Tilly stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Someone’s been through my room. A couple of times, actually. If it wasn’t you lot, then it had to be Doyle.’

  ‘Connor?’ Sophie raised her brows. ‘Are you sure, Matt? Is something missing?’

  ‘No,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But my gear’s been shifted around, like somebody’s had a good poke through it. You know where you leave things. I do, anyroad. And if they ain’t where you left ’em, it means somebody’s gone and shifted ’em.’

  ‘I can’t believe that Connor’s responsible,’ Tilly protested even as she acknowledged to herself that Matt would certainly notice if anything was changed. He was obsessively neat, and she had cleaned his room often enough to know it. Something niggled at the back of her mind, the memory of coming home to find her own things displaced – the hairbrush out of place, the shoes pushed beyond reach beneath the bed. At the time she had put it down to haste on her part. Suspicion flickered for a moment before she banished it. Connor wouldn’t! Though he had been in residence at the time, she remembered, and home before her that day. Still, why would he? It was ridiculous even to think it.