CHAPTER FOUR.
In a small weather-board home, not far from the beach, a woman prepared food for herself and two others.
She placed a tossed salad in a large oval bowl, then turned two T-Bone steaks on the grill.
She was content, and smiled as she went about her chores. Every day should be as wonderful as this, she thought, and found herself humming to a song on the radio.
She laughed as the announcer, Steve Parsons, made some churlish remark, then sliced sausage onto a tea plate, adding salad and potatoes cut into small pieces. Finally, she poured an orange drink into a plastic cup.
She turned to the man with her, placed the salad and steak on the kitchen table, turned to her right, brushed the hair away from her face, and said,
"Come to mummy, Louise, it's time for dinner."
The girl never answered, but simply picked at the food with her fingers.
Fitzgerald spent the next day in the library, reading newspaper reports on the robbery. I decided he could manage quite well without me, and eventually found myself outside Coco's boutique.
I tried several summer dresses in a vain attempt to cheer myself up, look pretty and feminine, but the sight of me in full length mirror, wearing chic and sophisticated garments straight from the designer's label, while my crown looked like a plucked chicken, didn't quite match up to the image I had of myself.
I settled for a top and skirt, and an open peeked cap, with a coloured yellow plastic rim. From directly in front, it didn't look too bad. It was only when I turned sideways it made me look like a skinny duck.
While I was waiting for the girl to wrap my items, I turned towards the window and glanced across the mall towards the newsagents. That's when I saw him: A man in green jacket, with wide brimmed hat and yellow band.
I rushed from the store and heard the assistant yell, 'Madam, your goods...' but never had chance to answer.
Then I felt obvious, and turned nonchalantly back towards the window, to watch his reflection in the glass. After a few moments, he folded his paper and turned up Crown street towards centre stage.
I only had enough time to zip back into Pippins, tell the girl I would return and not to worry. I knew she wouldn't. She still had my Bankcard.
By now I had memorised enough of him to sketch an accurate drawing of his build, basic shape, and reproduce the clothes he wore. I noticed too, the loose amble he had, almost as if his hips weren't properly connected to his legs. He seemed to lollop, flicking his heavy work boots forward at the end of overly long legs.
He turned left at Church street, and I hurried to the corner for fear of losing sight of him. He had stopped to talk with a woman in a white uniform and blue cardigan. They both stood watching a giant chess game being played on the tiled chessboard pavement, just behind the kiosk.
As I wanted to get a good look at his face, I crossed behind a low wall and stood opposite. Two men stood on the board, contemplating their next move. Finally, the stockier of the two, stepped forward and moved his two foot white knight, forward and right two squares, calling 'check' with a flourish of his hand and jovial nod of the head.
[hidepost]The man in the wide brimmed hat stayed in the shadows on the far side. He kept the brim pulled down over his forehead, and I could only see the bottom of his chin as he spoke to the woman in white.
She laughed and shook him playfully on the left arm.
The player with the black pieces crossed the board to look at the game from all angles. Then he lifted his plastic queen and removed the offending white knight, sacrificing her in the next move.
When I tried to move closer, I was blocked by several supporters of the Illawarra Chess Club, who had gathered for the days competition. When I looked again towards the far side, the man with the wide brimmed hat had gone.
Frantically I turned and walked over to the Globe Lane entrance under the David Jones overhang, adjacent to their underground parking area.
On the opposite side of the street, walking beneath green tubular arches in front of Frisco furniture store, I watched the man in the wide brimmed hat, until he reached the Town Cinema. He waited momentarily for the traffic lights to change, then crossed Burelli street and headed into MaCabe Park.
Suddenly he was in the open. There were no pedestrians, or corners for me to hide behind. I decided I had to go on.
He followed the path around the huge sweep of gardens, until he crossed towards the arbour walkway, stopping only to throw his newspaper into a bin.
At the toilet block he turned to look around. He must have seen me walking under the vines some little distance behind, but he never faltered.
He turned right towards the Keira street entrance, yet by the time I reached the corner, he was no-where to be seen. I swore briefly, then remembered the newspaper.
The months spent with Fitzgerald hadn't been a total waste, I told myself. If he had a criminal record there would be prints on the paper, and the doctor would be able to trace the man in the wide brimmed hat.
I returned to the galvanised bin under the arbour walkway, only to find it empty.
There was an old man, hunchbacked and dishevelled sitting on a nearby bench, clearly one of the derelicts who slept rough in the park. He was surrounded by several plastic bags, which from the look of it, contained his entire belongings.
He had the paper in his hands and was just about to dismember it, when I approached.
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