Читать книгу Australian Dreams - Fiona McCallum - Страница 16

Speeding along the highway, Claire’s head was awash with all she had to do and the short time she had in which to do it. She had to get to the farm, swap the car for the ute – fingers crossed she could get it started – hook on the float, and get back to the abattoir. All in an hour and a half – that’s when the nice lad finished his shift.

Her hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles white, palms aching. Her eyes darted across to the clock on the radio every few seconds. The needle was nudging 100, but the trip still seemed to be taking forever. Damn the speed limit, she cursed. There were hardly any cars on the road. She’d probably get away with speeding. But she continued to check the speedo at regular intervals and ease her accelerator foot.

Two tail-gating Commodores rushed past in a roar of V8 aggression and testosterone.

‘Bloody idiots!’ The vehicles were now taking up both lanes ahead of her. Her heart was racing a little. She took a deep breath and sighed, trying to steady the hammering in her eardrums.

Claire was tempted to pick up her own speed – the cops would be too busy with those two if they were out and about. But deep down she knew it wasn’t worth it; cops weren’t the real problem, death was.

She shook her head at the splotches of colour already disappearing around a bend a few hundred metres ahead. She really hoped they wouldn’t crash – though they deserved to. Nothing too major; just ding up their precious toys and scare a lesson into them.

She really didn’t have time to stop. Bernie would be wondering where the hell she was. What would Jack think about her not being at the hospital yet? And the nurses – Jesus, they’d think she was the worst daughter in the world. She really should have rung when they had decided to wait until after lunch.

Claire didn’t trust the bloke she’d given the cheque to. There’d been no receipt, no paperwork at all to say she now owned the horse. And he’d insisted the cheque be written out to cash. There was probably nothing to stop him selling the horse to someone else who came along. He certainly hadn’t seemed that hung up on morals. If she was late, he’d probably have no qualms about processing the horse anyway. And once Paycheque was gone there’d be no proof, nothing she could do about it. Panic gripped Claire. She had to hurry up.

A few kilometres on, Claire came around a sweeping bend and noticed a large object on the road up ahead. As she got closer she frowned, easing back her speed and trying to decipher what she was really seeing. She was almost at a stop when she realised what was blocking one side of the road. Two cars – one red, one white – fused into a mass of colour against a large gum tree like a child’s roughly formed lump of plasticine.

Claire turned the engine off and put her hazard lights on while she tried to figure out where the doors were – where she’d go to attempt to offer some kind of assistance.

She took a deep breath and walked towards the wreckage on jelly legs. A big part of her already wished she hadn’t stopped, had continued on her way. But you couldn’t, could you? It just wouldn’t be right. She stood close enough to the cars to feel their heat, smell the toxic odour of scorched plastic and paint. The stench of burnt rubber hung in the air. Claire coughed and pulled a tissue from her pocket to protect her nose and mouth. The radiators were hissing. Twisted metal groaned and sighed as it settled into its new form. Crows and galahs squawked and flapped away overhead, oblivious.

Claire wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t touch anything – it looked too bad for anyone to have made it. She wasn’t sure she could cope with blood and guts and death. Somewhere in the depths of the wreckage she heard the faint electronic tone of a mobile phone. Snapping to attention she raced back to her car. Everything was a blur around her – in slow motion – as she grabbed her own mobile from her handbag. Shit, what was the mobile emergency number? She was about to dial triple zero when she realised there were no bars indicating reception.

‘Damn it,’ she cursed. She must be in a dead spot. Maybe if she climbed on top of her car she’d get a signal. Just as she was taking off her shoes, another vehicle came around the bend. She leapt on to the road and started waving her arms, the sharp bitumen cutting into the delicate skin of her bare feet.

An older style four-wheel drive stopped on the edge of the road behind her car. Claire hoped the middle-aged couple inside were locals.

‘There’s been an accident,’ she said through their open window. ‘Do you have a mobile? I can’t get a signal with mine.’

They both got out of the vehicle.

‘Bloody hell,’ said the bloke, looking ahead at the pile of wreckage. ‘Is anyone alive?’

‘I… I don’t know. I just arrived,’ Claire said.

‘Shit!’ he said, and bolted up the road towards the carnage.

The woman punched numbers into a mobile phone and then calmly told whoever answered that there had been an accident. She proceeded to give precise directions and local road names.

Claire felt helpless, left out, and almost miffed because she’d seen it first and here they were taking over.

Short of anything better to do, she made her way to the mangled cars. The man was circling the wreckage, calling to the occupants, trying to pull on what must be handles on doors but didn’t look like anything to her.

Claire realised she could smell fuel. Then she noticed a darker patch of gravel. The bitumen was stained and glistening. She remembered hearing somewhere how the battery had to be disconnected to stop sparks igniting spilt fuel. Claire stared at the fused cars, walked around looking for the front ends. She frowned, trying to decipher the mess. Then suddenly, as if she’d adjusted the focus on a camera, the bonnet of the red car became apparent. She walked over, aware of the other Good Samaritan leaning into one window and talking, urging the victim to hold on, telling him that help was on its way. The bonnet was folded back in three, the engine still hissing steam.

Claire didn’t want to put her hand in but knew she didn’t have a choice. The battery was lying there with fluid of some sort dripping onto it. The car’s wiring had already had the plastic coating scorched off. Any second the unprotected wires could short. For all she knew, the scorching had already worked its way through the dashboard and into the cabin. She pulled at the terminals with her only protection: the small wad of tissues she’d been using to shield her nose. They were both stuck fast – she needed a screwdriver. There wasn’t one in her own car and she couldn’t disturb the man who seemed to be getting some response from someone in the car.

Claire was relieved to hear a siren and, when she looked up, see a white CFS truck and police car pulling over, and uniformed people jumping out and running towards her. They pushed past, literally shoving her aside in their haste. Claire didn’t mind at all – she was just glad to be off the hook.

‘I couldn’t get the battery out,’ she said, raising a helpless arm in the general direction.

‘It’s okay, we’re here now.’ A young male police officer was beside her. He ushered her back to her own car.

She put her hand on the door handle.

‘I’m afraid I’ll need a statement before I can let you go,’ he said, taking a notebook from his top pocket.

Claire checked her watch. ‘I really need to get going. I…’

‘It’ll only take a few moments.’

I don’t have a few moments, Claire wanted to tell him. ‘I really don’t think I’ll be much help,’ she said, quickly, hoping her tone would hurry him up.

‘How about you let me be the judge of that?’ he said.

‘I don’t mean to be rude but there’s somewhere I really need to be. Could I just call into a police station later? Or maybe phone you in a couple of hours?’

‘I’m afraid not – it’s important to get the facts down as quickly as possible.’

Claire took a deep breath and tried to keep her exasperation at bay. But her eyes kept going to the watch on her wrist.

‘Right. Full name and address please.’ The pencil he held was poised above a small notepad.

Claire rattled off the details.

‘Now, what exactly did you see, Ms McIntyre?’

‘Well I was just driving along – on the speed limit – and they roared past me – definitely speeding. When I came around this bend they were just there, like that,’ she said, indicating towards the wreckage.

‘You say they were speeding – any idea how fast?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Significantly faster than you or just a bit?’

‘I have no idea. It all happened very fast.’

‘But they were definitely speeding?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you can be sure because…’

‘Because I was doing the speed limit – 100 – and they both went past me. That means they were speeding, right? Look, I really don’t have time for this.’

‘And you say you came around the bend and there they were?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then what did you do?’

‘I was trying to call emergency but my phone didn’t have a signal. And then the couple in the four-wheel drive turned up.’

‘So they were the ones who called the emergency services?’

‘Yes – the woman did.’

‘So their phone had service then?’

‘I guess it must have done,’ she said, a sarcastic tone creeping into her voice. She half expected him to tell her to change her carrier to someone more reliable.

‘Right. And then what did you do?’

‘Well I was trying to figure out how to disconnect the batteries. That’s what I was doing when the CFS – and you – turned up. Please, can I go now?’ She willed herself not to look at her watch.

‘If you’re sure you’ve got nothing more to add.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. That’s all I know.’

‘Right, thank you. Yes, you can go. But we might need to contact you at a later date.’

‘Fine.’

The police officer opened Claire’s door and she got in. ‘You okay to drive?’ the policeman asked. But it sounded more like a statement than a genuine enquiry.

‘Yes, fine, thanks,’ she said, nodding. But Claire didn’t feel fine at all. She felt shaken and traumatised, not at all like she should be driving. But she had to sort out Paycheque, and time was running out.

She started her car and looked down the road. She began to feel queasy at the thought of having to drive past the wreckage. Suddenly Keith was in one of those cars, fighting for his life, in immense pain but only able to offer groans as his body failed. She had to get out of here.

‘You sure you’re okay? You look a bit pale. Maybe you should hang around for a bit longer.’

‘I’m fine, really,’ she lied. She checked her mirrors, put the car in gear, and pulled carefully onto the road. After she’d passed the wreckage she noticed in her rear vision mirror that the CFS crew were beginning to block the road with witches’ hats.

As she drove, Claire debated whether to call in and see if Bernadette was available to lend a hand. She felt wrecked. It had already been a long, difficult day and it was far from over. Claire pulled a sticky hand from the wheel, ran it across her forehead and let out a deep sigh. She’d gone off to clear her head with a bit of shopping before visiting Jack. If only she’d gone for a walk instead.

Claire pulled into the rough driveway and tried to ignore the depressing emptiness that was the absence of horses mooching about in paddocks. She consoled herself that all that was about to change. But would it? She wondered. One horse was a start, but it would hardly bring the old place back to life. Horses were social animals – what if Paycheque was miserable here on his own? She brightened – people were always trying to find homes for unwanted horses and ponies. Bernadette was bound to know someone who knew someone. That was one of the great things about country life.

Claire was so focussed on summoning the energy to go into the house she almost didn’t see Bernadette’s car by the front verandah. Her best friend was grinning cheekily at her from the back steps. Claire leapt out of the car and threw her arms around her.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Little bird told me you might need a hand picking up a horse.’

Claire’s eyes were wide. ‘How the hell…? This place is far too small,’ she said, and laughed.

‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ she said, clapping her hands. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

‘The ute keys are inside,’ Claire said. She retrieved the house key from her glove box and then stood in front of the door. She wanted to be strong and just open the door and walk in. But she couldn’t. She felt a complete fool – it was so damn childish.

In a split second Bernadette had grabbed the key.

‘Pathetic, huh?’

‘Not at all. But I say we deal with it another day – we’ve got a horse to get.’

‘Keys are on the shelf above the kettle, just inside the kitchen.’

‘Thanks. Now you organise a halter and fill a hay net. I’ll meet you at the float.’

Rarely did Claire McIntyre enjoy being told what to do, even by her best friend. But right now she was relieved to have someone else giving the orders.

Twenty minutes later they were heading off.

‘I can’t believe the ute started first time,’ Claire said.

‘Obviously I had my tongue held right.’ Bernadette grinned and patted the steering wheel, cooing, ‘Who’s a good girl, then?’

Claire hadn’t objected when Bernadette had climbed back into the driver’s seat after hooking on the float. Now the adrenaline was starting to subside, she didn’t think she’d be able to drive anyway. She stretched her legs out and noticed a pair of work boots on the floor at her feet. She picked them up and turned them over wondering what they were doing there.

Bernadette noticed her quizzical expression. ‘I grabbed the smallest from the laundry – I assumed they must be yours.’

‘Yes, thanks, but I can’t possibly wear them.’

‘Why not?’

Claire indicated her attire with raised eyebrows.

‘I don’t care how you look – safety first. I’m not having a cantankerous horse and you with a broken foot to deal with alone. Anyway, Jack would kill me. Remember the day he caught us without boots and helmets at the quarry?’

‘God, yes. And we were doing so well impressing those boys until he turned up. How embarrassing.’

‘Yeah, but don’t worry, no one will see you today.’

They were bound to bump into the whole damn town if her current track record was anything to go by, but Claire was too tired to argue. She just hoped Paycheque would behave himself. At least they had safety in numbers, if not strength. She and Bernadette had always been a great team – highly competitive at times, but a great team when it counted.

After a few moments, Claire snapped to attention. ‘Oh my God! I still haven’t rung the hospital,’ she blurted. ‘Jack’ll be wondering where I am.’

‘It’s okay – I rang them and explained. Well sort of. They said they’d make up some innocuous story. They’re still keeping things simple with him until he’s stronger. So don’t worry, it’s all under control.’

‘I can’t thank you enough, Bernie – you’re the best…’

‘I know, I know. Don’t go getting all carried away,’ Bernadette said quickly. ‘We’ve a mission to complete.’

Claire sat upright. ‘So how did you find out about all this anyway?’

‘About third hand I think – you know how the bush telegraph works. Daryl Hannaford came into the shop – you remember him, has the cherry orchard out on Grey’s Road. Anyway, he was at the post office and overheard one of the guys from the abattoir telling someone else the hilarious story of some crazy, dolled-up city chick by the name of McIntyre turning up and paying double to save a horse from the knackery.

‘Oh great,’ Claire groaned, ‘I’m now my very own urban myth.’

‘Country actually,’ Bernadette corrected with a grin.

‘But I didn’t tell anyone my name.’

‘It’s stamped on your cheque, silly.’