Read Online Death of a Whaler by Nerida Newton - Free Book Online

site of the commune. Though Nimbin itself is more of a village than a town. It consists of even fewer amenities than the bay. As early as the 1880s, there were facilities in Byron Bay for tourists and travellers. But the days of ladies with parasols promenading along the pier and big ships coming into port to impress the bystanders are long over. The Pier Hotel has since burnt to the ground, the Great Northern Hotel reduced to ash and rubble twice. Pubs have a way of catching fire in the bay. The area had still been popular with visitors before the pier washed away during a cyclonic storm that Flinch remembers from his childhood. (He and Audrey had hidden under the kitchen table as it raged outside the pastel house and threatened to tear the roof off. He had sung ‘Amazing Grace’ while Audrey drank and swore. ) The sunbathers only stopped frequenting the local shores when the meatworks opened up, as the beaches reeked and the sharks shadowed the waters like stray dogs waiting to be tossed a bone.
    Nimbin was simpler. One road split into two as it headed down the hill. Some sections lined with doorways and shopfronts. A general store that sold groceries and produce. A post office. A police station. A pub. A community hall. All the local farmers might need. Embracing the influx of youth and the business it promised, some Nimbin shopkeepers painted their shopfronts with bright cosmic murals. Slogans preaching peace and joy.
    The town is more or less deserted. Flinch parks Milly on the side of the road and turns the engine off. At the end of the main street the town falls off abruptly into muddy paddocks strung up with barbed wire and rotting wooden fence posts. Karma and a few other women are walking out of a grocery store, carrying bags of grain and rice, heading in his direction, laughing and talking.
    â€˜Hello!’ says Flinch as they approach. A little too loudly.
    â€˜Well, hello, Flinch,’ says Karma. He is pleased she recognised him, remembered his name. But figures, too, that she probably doesn’t meet a lot of cripples. ‘I’ve been wondering if you’d come to visit us.’
    â€˜I went to Nim Eden,’ says Flinch. ‘But you weren’t there. Well, of course.’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘You were here.’
    Karma smiles at him. It’s a kind smile, Flinch thinks, though he can sense something like suspicion behind her eyes. He realises it was probably there when he met her last time, despite the carefree façade, the singing and stories. It remains even as her expression changes, as if she’s always weighing and measuring in her mind, gauging the worth of people or situations. Today she is wearing a loose sleeveless white top and a long orange skirt. Small tufts of auburn hair sprout from her armpits. Like last time, the scent of frangipani.
    â€˜How did you get here?’
    â€˜I drove,’ says Flinch.
    â€˜Cool. Would you mind giving us a ride back to the commune?’
    â€˜Sure,’ says Flinch.
    â€˜I hope you will hang around for a while this time.’
    â€˜Yeah, thought I might.’
    â€˜Okay, then. So where’s the car?’
    â€˜Over there.’ He points at Milly.
    â€˜Cool.’ She takes his hand so that she can walk at exactly his pace. For once, Flinch realises with a buoyancy, he doesn’t feel annoyed or embarrassed that he’s inconveniencing someone. He allows himself to lean on her when the road gets a little too steep for him to move freely.
    Flinch opens the passenger door for her. The other women hitch their skirts and clamber onto the tray. Flinch winces as he hears them throwa fishing line aside.
    â€˜Hey,’ says Karma. ‘What’s in here?’ She pulls the lid off the esky and the stench of the fish and a burst of cold air fill the cabin. Even from where he’s standing, Flinch can see the frozen expressions of the fish, the clear glazed eyes and the mouths