boarded-up shopfront. 'Meat was mostly flyblown anyway.'
They passed one of several hotels. Rock music throbbed in the beer garden and the drinkers were already rowdy. Cars passed slowly up and down the street, radios blaring, passengers shouting to people who wandered between the road and the pavement.
'Lively,' Dunlop commented.
'Hah. No-one here's got two bob to rub together.'
A cluster of Aboriginal children outside a milk bar thrust their hands out as Dunlop and Ava approached. They were barefoot and dirty in ragged clothes. Their noses were snot-encrusted. Ava reached into her bag, shook all the coins from her purse and dealt them out at random. Some got several dollars, others twenty cents.
'Give,' Ava said.
Dunlop handed over all the coins in his pockets. They left the children quarrelling—punching, kicking and swearing—over the money. One camerunning after them, his bare feet slapping on the bitumen.
'Gotta smoke, lady?'
Ava gave her packet to the ten-year-old, who snatched it and ran back to the mob, crowing.
'You're a soft touch,' Dunlop said.
'Shut up!' Ava eased the weight of the bag on her now rather slumped shoulder and trudged on. They crossed the road and turned right up a narrow street. The houses were small on big blocks, the gardens mostly overgrown. The incline was steep and Dunlop began to sweat. Ava's shirt was sticking to her back when she reached the top of the hill. Two unmade roads straggled away from a fork, apparently into the bush.
Ava pointed. 'Down there.'
'How far?'
'I dunno. It's been so long. Wouldn't be a mile.'
'Jesus, Ava. We should've got a cab.'
'I wanted to walk it. See what's changed. Not much, I have to tell you. I've got to have a breather.'
They sat on the gatepost of a collapsed fence under the shade of a stand of scruffy casuarinas. The little fibro cottage behind them was a ruin, enveloped and invaded by creepers. Ava took a fresh packet of cigarettes from her bag, ripped away the cellophane and lit up. Dunlop found a packet of chewing gum in his pocket and unwrapped a stick. They sat in silence for a while, smoking and chewing. The sound of the ocean on the reef carried to them and the birds and insects were noisy in the bush. Dunlop checked the time. He was surprised to see that almost an hour had elapsed.
'We'd better get a move on.'
Ava stubbed her second cigarette in the mat of needles. 'Right. I've got to have a leak. Be a gentleman, won't you?'
She moved to the left behind a thick bougainvillea hedge. Dunlop stretched, took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. The sweat had dried on his shirt, making it stiff and scratchy. Something had bitten him on the upper arm. He scraped at the lump and felt it bleed.
'Ava. Come on!'
No answer—just the surf and the birds and the bush. Dunlop swore as alarm flared inside him like a struck match. He strode to the bougainvillea. There was no sign of Ava. Behind the hedge, grass and scrub grew thick and waist high. No bushman, Dunlop blundered around probing in several directions so that any signs Ava might have left of the direction she'd taken were quickly obliterated. Dunlop cursed her. He pushed through the grass until his feet found a path that led to the house. He followed it but quickly saw that she couldn't have come this way—short of the house, the path was blocked by a dense thicket of lantana.
'Ava, you stupid bitch! Where are you?'
Dunlop struggled back to the front fence and debated which road to take. Had it been a spur-of-the-moment decision to give him the slip, or was it premeditated? If she'd planned it, she would have indicated the wrong road to him for sure. Dunlop decided that Ava wasn't a planner. He set off in the direction she'd pointed.
9
T ate followed them through the town, saw the woman pointing out the sights and give the handout to the Abos who were still fighting like animals by the time he got to them. He couldn't believe his luck, they were heading for the bush. He kept
They passed one of several hotels. Rock music throbbed in the beer garden and the drinkers were already rowdy. Cars passed slowly up and down the street, radios blaring, passengers shouting to people who wandered between the road and the pavement.
'Lively,' Dunlop commented.
'Hah. No-one here's got two bob to rub together.'
A cluster of Aboriginal children outside a milk bar thrust their hands out as Dunlop and Ava approached. They were barefoot and dirty in ragged clothes. Their noses were snot-encrusted. Ava reached into her bag, shook all the coins from her purse and dealt them out at random. Some got several dollars, others twenty cents.
'Give,' Ava said.
Dunlop handed over all the coins in his pockets. They left the children quarrelling—punching, kicking and swearing—over the money. One camerunning after them, his bare feet slapping on the bitumen.
'Gotta smoke, lady?'
Ava gave her packet to the ten-year-old, who snatched it and ran back to the mob, crowing.
'You're a soft touch,' Dunlop said.
'Shut up!' Ava eased the weight of the bag on her now rather slumped shoulder and trudged on. They crossed the road and turned right up a narrow street. The houses were small on big blocks, the gardens mostly overgrown. The incline was steep and Dunlop began to sweat. Ava's shirt was sticking to her back when she reached the top of the hill. Two unmade roads straggled away from a fork, apparently into the bush.
Ava pointed. 'Down there.'
'How far?'
'I dunno. It's been so long. Wouldn't be a mile.'
'Jesus, Ava. We should've got a cab.'
'I wanted to walk it. See what's changed. Not much, I have to tell you. I've got to have a breather.'
They sat on the gatepost of a collapsed fence under the shade of a stand of scruffy casuarinas. The little fibro cottage behind them was a ruin, enveloped and invaded by creepers. Ava took a fresh packet of cigarettes from her bag, ripped away the cellophane and lit up. Dunlop found a packet of chewing gum in his pocket and unwrapped a stick. They sat in silence for a while, smoking and chewing. The sound of the ocean on the reef carried to them and the birds and insects were noisy in the bush. Dunlop checked the time. He was surprised to see that almost an hour had elapsed.
'We'd better get a move on.'
Ava stubbed her second cigarette in the mat of needles. 'Right. I've got to have a leak. Be a gentleman, won't you?'
She moved to the left behind a thick bougainvillea hedge. Dunlop stretched, took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. The sweat had dried on his shirt, making it stiff and scratchy. Something had bitten him on the upper arm. He scraped at the lump and felt it bleed.
'Ava. Come on!'
No answer—just the surf and the birds and the bush. Dunlop swore as alarm flared inside him like a struck match. He strode to the bougainvillea. There was no sign of Ava. Behind the hedge, grass and scrub grew thick and waist high. No bushman, Dunlop blundered around probing in several directions so that any signs Ava might have left of the direction she'd taken were quickly obliterated. Dunlop cursed her. He pushed through the grass until his feet found a path that led to the house. He followed it but quickly saw that she couldn't have come this way—short of the house, the path was blocked by a dense thicket of lantana.
'Ava, you stupid bitch! Where are you?'
Dunlop struggled back to the front fence and debated which road to take. Had it been a spur-of-the-moment decision to give him the slip, or was it premeditated? If she'd planned it, she would have indicated the wrong road to him for sure. Dunlop decided that Ava wasn't a planner. He set off in the direction she'd pointed.
9
T ate followed them through the town, saw the woman pointing out the sights and give the handout to the Abos who were still fighting like animals by the time he got to them. He couldn't believe his luck, they were heading for the bush. He kept
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