March 19th, 2010
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… Continue reading Chapter Four
March 19th, 2010
CHAPTER FIVE.
Fitzgerald and I were staying at a rented unit in Addison Street, not far from his favourite golf club in Shellharbour. The pro there, with the improbable name of Shaun O’Toole, became friends after a Saturday morning round of golf, when Fitzgerald had hit a satisfactory 94.
For him, it was like winning the open at Saint Andrews. Anything under a hundred was good, anything in the low nineties, was flair… or at least that’s what he told me.
The only thing to mar his delight, were the crows stealing golf balls on the 15th fairway. If he’d had a shotgun in the bag, I’m sure he would have used it, right then and there. It would have been his only birdie all day… Continue reading Chapter Five
March 22nd, 2010
CHAPTER SIX
Clair James was a small woman, no more than five foot two or three. Her round, pleasant face was now distorted under the burden of losing her child. The once bright eyes were red from constant lack of sleep, and her hair, which fell lank around her face, had lost its blond luster.
We sat in her one bedroom unit in Corrimal street. The building was small, old and in desperate need of repair. But inside it was neat, yet somewhat second-handish, if you understand what I mean. None of the furniture was anywhere near like new, but the place was well kept, clean and tidy, yet hardly looked large enough for two.
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely discernible, nervously twisting a wedding ring, round… Continue reading Chapter Six
March 22nd, 2010
CHAPTER SEVEN
We had arrived at the single storey house at Riddington Place in late afternoon, just before the sun hits you smack in the eye as you drive. I parked the car on the road and looked at the building.
It was a typical three bedroom brick home, with a large gum tree on the lawn. Beneath the front steps, leading to a redwood carved door, was a neat flower garden, covered with black plastic to keep down the weeds, white pebbles to make it presentable to the eye, and surrounded by treated log sleepers. The shrubs and Poinsettia were in full bloom.
A concrete driveway led to a separate garage at the rear of the building, while the red brick with green tiled roof, gave… Continue reading Chapter Seven
March 22nd, 2010
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Illawarra highway goes from coast to Highlands, through and over the Macquarie Pass. It links the Princes Highway at Albion Park Rail, to Moss Vale and the F5 Freeway between Sydney and Canberra.
It climbs the escarpment, coils back on itself as it twists and turns, until the dark red soil of Robertson on the tableland, flattens from the rain-forest catchment.
From the rocky outcrop at the top, the road is hidden beneath a canopy of trees. Only the thin white ribbon of the rivulet can be seen cascading over waterfalls, winding into the deep green undergrowth below.
After a night of rain, followed by a balmy morning of summer sun, a mist rises from the forest, like a grey beard on the… Continue reading Chapter Eight