U3A students in Torquay have been exploring the art of creative writing in a weekly class in the Torquay Old Police Station, which we came to label ‘the room of unexpected words’.
Each week we used a variety of triggers to engage with the playful, non-rational, non-editing brain.
In the last six months particularly we also looked at a number of fairy stories – Little Red Riding Hood / Cinderella etc and ‘demolished’ the original version and crafted our own more contemporary, more exciting responses.
Here are some or our responses:

flowersLOSS OF A PRINCESS

by Kim Crosbie

He is so quiet, he always has been but
lately his silence has been deafening

We first met you and you Princess 16 years ago.
She was very outgoing and you much more reserved.

We met up in a group once a month, going to Ballarat,
a picnic or a coffee and such.

You were always quiet I quickly learned, but always
smiling and playing where the kids were concerned.

We were following you in a car one day and your Princess
complained to me “he drives so slowly I can’t get him to change”

One month we went to Stevensons Falls
water and small children not a good call.
I had the children on my own and you and
your Princess wife helped me keep them out
of strife.

I always refer to her as your Princess because
of the way you always looked at her, as if there was only her.

She spoke to everyone and I never saw you hurry her once.
You looked up to her and I always felt how proud of her you were.

Seeing you the other day I nearly cried. I know it’s been
6 years since your Princess Anne died.

Going to the funeral all I could do was touch your arm.
No words could bring back her charm.

Yesterday when I saw you, you smiled with your mouth
but the twinkle has gone from your eyes.

You looked so strained as if talking was an effort. You looked so
very sad and once again I knew there was nothing I could do.

I see you around sometimes and you look heavy with grief.
Your smiles replaced by a lack of peace.

Anne died suddenly at sixty nine.
I doubt you will ever get over her loss in your time.

 

 

Scarab for RubyRUBY’S TUESDAY by Trevor Tyson

Ruby holds her Scarab Beetle in the palm of her hand and takes one last look at its beautiful greeny-gold shell before placing it gently back in its matchbox. The beetle is one of her most favoured possessions, and though she was quite frightened of it when it was alive, she now sees it as so precious that it must be kept in a secret place. She is afraid that her Mum – who hates insects – will throw it away if she finds it. Ruby puts the matchbox inside an old cardboard box which she fills with an assortment of small toys and then conceals under some old shoes and clothes at the very back of her wardrobe. She plans one day to give the beetle to her Nan who will then leave it to her in her will, and so it will become even more special after having lived with Nan for a while. Ruby often thinks about how special she might become if only she could live with her Nan for a while, but she knows that she has to live with her Mum because Dad had run away and left them on their own. Her Dad, Ivan, had been very cruel and often used to hit her Mum very hard – Ruby was often afraid that he might even kill them both, so she’s secretly glad he’s gone forever.
Ruby’s Mum, Katie, calls out from the kitchen “Hurry up Ruby, you know you have to take Nan’s medicine down to her before we leave, or you’ll be late for school and I’ll be late for work.” After hastily scattering a few more clothes on top of the cardboard box, Ruby goes downstairs. Katie says “Straight down to Nan’s and straight back again, or we’ll be late.” Ruby picks up her grandmother’s bottle of medicine, and putting on her red hoodie walks briskly to the front gate and turns left down the street, intent on her errand. She scarcely notices the car parked under some trees about a hundred metres from Nan’s house. As she draws close, the car door opens, and there’s her Dad smiling at her. Ivan leans over and calls out “Hi Ruby – where are you off to so early in the morning?”
Ruby hasn’t seen her Dad for several months now, ever since he and her Mum had separated after six years of his unrelenting violence towards them. She gazes steadily at her Dad and tells him where she is going and why. Suddenly, she becomes frightened, and remembering her Scarab Beetle she says to her Dad “I’ve forgotten something very important that I have to give to Nan, I’ll have to run back home and get it right away.” Ivan smiles tightly to himself and says “Hop in, I’ll give you a lift – no, better still, I’ll go on down to Nan’s place and wait for you there……”

Nan looks sadly at the half glass of pale amber bourbon she cradles in her cupped hands. In one flowing movement she drinks down the last of it and puts the bottle back in its hiding place behind her wardrobe. Nan – she’s been called that by her family for so long that she has almost forgotten her real name – knew immediately when Katie rang to say that Ruby was ‘on her way down with the medicine’, that Katie had been snorting coke again. She also knew, with some relief, that Katie’s high would be over in less than fifteen minutes and that Ruby would get back home in good time to be dropped off at school as though it was a normal day. In spite of her relief, Nan senses that to-day is not going to be a normal day. As she becomes more and more uneasy, she is tempted to turn and reach again for the bottle of bourbon that had been her companion throughout the night, but resists the urge and slowly, painfully, climbs back into her bed and forces herself to settle down to wait for the sound of Ruby’s footsteps. Try as she might, she can’t shake off the thought of Ivan and his total disappearance from their lives – he and Nan always got on well together until the day when Katie confided in her that she and Ruby had been suffering terrible abuse at his hands prior to his leaving her. Nan’s depression stemmed from that day, the last straw that saw her rapid decline into dependency on the grog that Katie supplies to her every Tuesday. Now, Nan is watching for Ruby to come in by the front gate, but is also half expecting Katie to ring again – something, she feels, is amiss….

Ivan holds his 9 millimetre self-loading pistol in his left hand, feels its perfect weight and balance, caresses its steel-grey barrel with a finger. Grimly satisfied, he wraps the gun in one of his shirts and replaces it in its hiding place under his wardrobe. The pistol is all he’s managed to salvage from an aborted career with the Military Police, claiming at his pre-discharge court martial that it had been stolen during that final drug bust which saw him subsequently accused – for the third time in six months – of using ‘excessive force’. After his discharge he had been unable to find employment, and had regularly expressed his frustration and anger by picking on his wife and daughter and anyone who had ‘got it made’, which to Ivan meant anyone who had a steady job. After he and Katie finally separated, Ivan was placed under a restraining order that was supposed to prevent him going anywhere near the family home or having any contact with his daughter Ruby for at least twelve months.

Calmly, and coldly focussed on the task he has set himself, he leaves his apartment in the boarding house he’s been forced to call ‘home’ for over a year, slides into his black Volkswagen sedan, and drives to within a hundred metres of his mother-in-law’s house. He knows that every Tuesday morning Ruby visits her almost bedridden grandmother before school, usually to take her some medicine or a small gift. He parks under a stand of trees near Nan’s house and waits patiently until he sees Ruby in the rear view mirror. As she draws close, Ivan opens the car door and calls out “Hi Ruby – where are you off to so early in the morning?” For a fleeting moment he feels a softness of affection for the daughter he hasn’t touched or spoken to for nearly a year, but quickly realises that Ruby is becoming frightened of him and has found an excuse to run back home. Ivan’s coldness returns at the thought of the home that he can no longer visit. He reminds himself that he is jobless and homeless, and very, very angry. To allay Ruby’s fear, he doesn’t attempt to challenge her – he just tells her he will wait for her at her Nan’s house. As soon as Ruby is out of sight, Ivan speeds back to his apartment, retrieves his pistol, slips it into his shoulder holster, then drives rapidly to Katie’s….

Katie waits until Ruby is out of sight, then goes to the top shelf of her wardrobe and takes out her last packet of cocaine, rolls up a twenty dollar bank note, and carefully pours a little of the dull white powder in a line on the palm of her hand. She starts to snort the powder, knowing she can get one good hit in before Ruby returns from Nan’s place, time enough to make her tragic life momentarily happy, to be able to think of herself as a good and coping Mum for at least a few hours. Katie’s addiction had driven Ivan to leave her six years ago because she was too far gone, and he was torn between his career and his wife. When their first child Ruby came along, Ivan finally cracked and could no longer cope with the conflicting demands of work and family. He tried to make amends after each episode of his violently abusive behaviour towards his wife, but on Ruby’s sixth birthday they finally separated – to her relief, and his despair. In recent weeks, Katie has been suspicious that Ivan would try to come back, but she knows she will never let him do that. Her increasing reliance on coke shields her to some degree from her pain: Ruby’s difficult birth, separation from her husband, struggling to cope in a job she hates. As the high starts to kick in, Katie just has time to return the half-empty packet to its hiding place in her wardrobe when Ruby bursts into the house and rushes into her arms. They hold each other for a long time, then while Katie struggles to understand what Ruby is trying to tell her, neither of them hears the back door being slowly opened. Only when Ivan appears in front of them do they freeze as if turned to stone. As he reaches into the shoulder of his windcheater, there is a sudden furious banging on the front door, and a voice shouting ‘MILITARY POLICE! – Open the door – NOW! In the brief silence that follows, Ivan quietly draws his pistol from its holster and turns to walk towards the front door. The silence is shattered by three pistol shots. It is Tuesday, 8.45 am. In the distance, the school bell is tolling.

 

 

IMG_20151207_100012Life in the Yarra Valley Jean Bohuslav

 

The evenings carried special sounds with the cockatoos adding to this by making a commotion as I called my husband in for tea. They could imitate his name clearly and often he came up to the house when it was these sulphur crested birds that had been calling him. Making the most of our companionship at the end of the day, knowing that all the entertainment was coming to an end with us going into lock down, they let loose with shrills of delight, mimicking and dancing for all they were worth.
That valley, full of blossoms, long lush grass and beautiful black sheep with thick, full coats of wool. Their intermittent baaing, the docile looks on their faces.
Misty blue mountains rising above the mauves and pinks of the virgillia row, and the tall gums in the valley below, reaching towards the sky.
Sounds of gravel crunching under the plod of gumboots coming up the drive at the end of the day.
Calls of the birds coming home to rest. Ducks and chickens, all nestling in for the night. Quiet in the hen house. But on the hillocks, rabbits appearing, nibbling in the eerie stillness that often pervaded everything at the close of day.
Evening mists settling down low, bringing moisture to revive the vegetation, resting on the fence wires, and sheds, permeating the air.
The wheel barrow empty after a day’s work, its earthy smells a reference to the energy that surrounded it a few hours earlier. The crow bar alongside it, resting on the sleepers, pinning a few strands of oxalis behind it to give off that special weedy odour.
Freshly split wood piled up at the end of the veranda, nestled up against the garage, just the right distance for easy access in the crisp air. And the smell of red gum smoke from the chimney.
Tricycles on the front veranda near children’s boots, damp washing waiting to be brought in off the line for airing.
The family cat swirling around my legs knowing that a good feed wasn’t far away, as the smells from the oven wafted out the window.
The warmth of the carpet, the smell of freshly polished furniture.
Sounds from the play room, and the click of the door from the garage as my husband came in.
Thank you for these small blessings.
Huge bonfires that young boys would climb just in time to escape the ram which would chase them up and down the hill all afternoon. Sometimes behind the billy cart, as it headed for the large tree in the middle of the paddock. A dangling rope was their saviour.
Shrubs and flower beds highlighting every aspect of ground where possible, every path, past the swing, the raspberries, and twig shed, outside the chicken nursery. Past the lily pond and breeding stock.
Trees, shrubs, fruits, softening and hiding the work areas.
Wattles, small gums and wild heath along the winding drive. Maiden hair amongst the tall trees in the gully where a small water way would form after rain. Daffodils in spots where the sun shone through the trees that edged the front paddock.
The smell of the sturdy sheep yard and race where the local shearer would shear the sheep each year and I would bag up the wool for spinning. A place where customers would come to buy pet lambs for their craft or just for a pet, or lawn mower.

Lambs that were bottle fed and sheep that had names, running up hoping for a treat if they saw me with a bucket. Ewes and wethers that still remembered being reared with a bottle, and still liked one through the ring lock fencing, even if it was only water.
Views to the mountain ranges with reflections of the evening sunsets and the rising of the large golden moon as it emerged between two ridges. Windows that looked over red bottle brushes and low lying banksias with their large cones, to the birth of spring lambs and their frolicking antics in the morning sun a couple of weeks later. A place where the flock would settle down at night, close to the safety of lights from the house. A perfect sight from the kitchen sink.
Friendly neighbours who would ride their horses down our road and stop for a chat, or talk over the fence. A stile a neighbour had built to make it easy for me to climb the wire strands onto his property.
A sparkling rock pool to float around on the lie-low while having a rest and a bite of lunch. Large verandas, with kids wizing past windows on bikes or over the edge of the lawned escarpment when learning to ride.
Wild ducks that flew in for a feed. Pigeons that circled the top paddock while we had breakfast. And later some that ended up in the big read cooker, much to my disgust but to my husband’s delight.
Rabbits that our daughter enjoyed as chicken for dinner, with her asking for more, but never eating if knowing they were cute little bunnies gracing her plate.
Fish and chips on the table outside with the cat taking the fish when you weren’t looking.
Red robins, bell birds. Kookaburras that would eat out of our hands, pet lizards, tortoises, echidnas. Many breeds of waterfowl, chickens, quail, pheasants, guinea fowl, ducklings and goslings. Rabbits of all breeds, shapes and colours. What a menagerie!
The fox that ate left over jelly slices after a party, from the trestle table on the lawn, when all the guest had left.
The new red rider mower which made the place look immaculate.
So much to be thankful for.

 

The Ceilidh  by John Peck.
Driving through the beautiful village of Poolewe on the rugged and wild West Coast of Scotland, Alan and Briony noticed a signboard on the roadside, inviting everybody to a ceilidh, to be held in the village hall that same evening. But what is “a ceilidh”?

The road to Poolewe Sign outside the Poolewe Village Hall.
They looked at one another, with puzzled expressions on their tired young faces. It had been a long and tiring drive from Uig, on the Northern tip of the Isle of Skye, and both were in need of a break from driving, and a chance to have a drink, and some exercise to stretch their legs. Alan glanced at the clock on the instrument panel of their motorhome, and noted that it was nearly 5 o`clock, and time to stop for the night. The camping guide said there was a campsite in Poolewe, and Briony quickly agreed, that this would be a good place to stop. Just through the village, they found the campsite, on the shore of Loch Ewe. The campsite looked very clean and well cared for, with lots of green grass, and the lady on the reception desk advised that they had a site available for the night, and after viewing the site, and paying their fee, they drove up, connected their power cable, and put the kettle on, for a much needed cup of coffee.
Although midsummer, the weather was very cool, with heavy grey clouds and frequent heavy rain squalls, much as it had been for the past week. Alan wondered what the village weather would be like in the depths of winter? However they were both well equipped for all types of weather, and decided to take a brisk walk, and explore Poolewe, whilst it was still dry. Wearing their warm waterproof anoraks, they stepped outside, and walked along the coastal track to the village. On the way, they passed the village hall, and the sign advertising the ceilidh. Briony pulled out her smartphone, to ask Google for the definition of a ceilidh, and was informed that a ceilidh is “A social event, with Scottish or Irish music and singing, traditional dancing and storytelling”. Just like a Country Dance back home, she thought. Alan and Briony both enjoyed dancing, of many different kinds, and thought it would be fun to participate in the ceilidh, which was to start at 7.30 p.m. This would give them time to have a look at the village, to hopefully find a shop where they could purchase some food, and a bottle of wine, and to return to their motorhome, to prepare and eat dinner, before going to the ceilidh at 7.30 p.m. Poolewe is a beautiful, picturesque small village, at the estuary of a very fast flowing river, flowing into Loch Ewe through a steep gorge. All buildings and garden walls were built of grey stone, with small windows, to keep out the harsh climate, and the village included a church, a school, one hotel, a general store, a café, an antique shop, a village hall, and a number of houses perched on the hillside, overlooking the river, housing a permanent population of about four hundred hardy souls! – and an indoor swimming pool!

The river at Poolewe, Looking upstream. The fast flowing river entering Loch Ewe
An idyllic scene even if it was cold and windy! They soon found the general store, which was surprisingly well stocked for such a small building, and they were able to purchase some fresh codfish, carrots, beans and peas, apples, pears, and a pot of ice cream, but no alcohol! Further up the main street they found the quaint old hotel, and were able to purchase a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio wine, and some beer. Well laden, Alan and Briony staggered back to the campsite and their motorhome, and dinner preparation was soon under way. Both of them were quite competent cooks, and they were able to share the work. Alan prepared and grilled the cod, in the pan, adding various herbs and spices to enhance flavour, whilst Briony prepared and boiled the vegetables. Both enjoyed a cold cleansing Scottish ale, whilst working.
Main Street Poolewe.
After enjoying their feast, followed by ice cream and coffee, there was the clearing and washing up, to be completed. No dishwasher in the motorhome, so Alan did the washing, whilst Briony dried, and put everything away, whilst they constantly discussing the days events, and plans for tomorrow. Then it was time to get prepared for an evening at the ceilidh, what to wear? Just as they started to change, the heavens opened, and heavy rain thundered on the roof. Recent experience with Scottish weather in these parts, suggested the rain would only last a few minutes, before abating, and sure enough, by the time they were ready, all was quiet, apart from the steady dripping of water from the roof. However to be sure they wore their thick waterproof jackets and shoes, for the short walk down the road. With darkness outside, streetlights few and far between, and deep puddles everywhere, Alan decided to take a torch – better safe than sorry, and they stepped outside into the chill wind.
Five minutes later they were outside the village hall, where a throng of people were waiting to enter. It was soon evident that everybody apart from themselves, seemed to know everyone else, but they were soon inside in the warm, paying their entry fee, and each bought a strip of raffle tickets.

 

The organisers were very friendly, and guided Alan and Briony into the hall, and to a table on the edge of the central dance floor. They were warmly welcomed and made to feel like guests of honour. Several of the guests, including young boys, were dressed in traditional Highland regalia, with kilts, sporrans and traditional hats, although the majority wore modern casual clothing, similar to Alan and Briony. There was constant, and ever louder chatter, as the hall rapidly filled up. Promptly at 7.30 p.m., the sound of bagpipes was heard above the voices, and the vocal noise rapidly subsided, as people took their seats. Soon a tall, very imposing gentleman, with grey beard, and full costume, entered the rear door, playing Scottish tunes on his bagpipes, and with a swirl of his kilt, he strode along the length of the hall, turned adjacent to the stage, stopped playing, and announced in a loud, clear voice, that the ceilidh would begin henceforth. The band on the stage consisted of three fiddlers and a drummer, with a Master of Ceremonies calling the dances, and directing the newcomers.

 

Alan and Briony were very thankful to discover that the format was very similar to the Country Dances, with which they were very familiar, and especially that individual steps and turns, would be explained for each dance, which were certainly not familiar! The music started, and most of the assembled throng, walked to the dance floor. Alan gave Briony a wink and a smile, and hand in hand they joined the line for the first dance. After a few tentative steps, they got the hang of the dance, and enthusiastically joined in. This was followed by a second dance, then a third, and fourth, by which time both Alan and Briony were feeling rather warm and sweaty, and in need of a drink, so they took a short break, before joining the throng once again.
The evening progressed, and after an hour of energetic dancing, when everyone was looking a little jaded, the hosts called a break for supper. Everyone headed for the door to the backroom, where a sumptuous feast of sandwiches, cakes, pastries, pies and sausage rolls, was piled on the large table, plenty for everyone. Not wishing to miss out, Alan and Briony joined the throng, and jostled themselves towards the food. They took plates, which were soon piled high with tasty morsels! A smaller table near the door, provided tea, coffee and soft drinks, and very soon Alan and Briony were heading back to their table to enjoy this unexpected feast.
After thirty minutes, the music and dancing started again, and once again Alan and Briony found themselves in the thick of the action, thoroughly enjoying themselves. The time flew past, and after what seemed a very short time the Master of Ceremonies called a halt to the dancing, and announced that the raffle would be drawn. Six numbers were called out, but none matched the numbers held by Alan and Briony, and then it was time to leave, and walk back to their bed. By this time, the paths were dry, and the fierce wind had abated, so their trip back was uneventful, and they were soon indoors, and getting ready for bed, after a very energetic and most enjoyable evening – a sound sleep was assured!
The next morning they planned to walk to the famous Inverewe Gardens, a short walk along the shore of Lock Ewe, but that was another day. Now it was time for sleep.
Postscript:- The next day Alan and Briony discovered that the ceilidh was a weekly event in the Poolewe village hall, the monies raised used to maintain the village swimming pool, which was very popular with residents and visitors alike.

 

 

beef cow‘Bred lovingly, sizzled seductively’- an interview with radio U3A by Kim Crosbie

 

[mp3-jplayer tracks=”Bred lovingly sizzled seductively.mp3″]

 

 

 

 

lightningTHE SCORE by Judy Barber

“What a game it’s been, thirty seconds to go and Geelong ahead by two points. Wait – the ball is in Jezza’s hand, he wheels around and kicks from 50 yards out, a very tough angle though, can he do it for Footscray? ….” The old radio crackled and went silent. Tom jumped up and shook the radio viciously “Damn you. I need the score – now!” He threw the radio at the wall. Janene looked at him wearily, I wonder how much is riding on this game she thought, no wonder we have nothing, he’s gambled everything away and I can’t stop him anymore.

“I think the power’s out.” The lights had gone off suddenly and she could no longer hear the rattling of the ancient fridge. She looked out over the parched cracked earth, paddocks shimmering in the blazing heat. “That’s funny, the dogs are barking, the horses are going crazy.” She turned,looking towards the horizon, where a dark shadow was moving towards them at tremendous speed, covering everything in eerie blackness. “Tom, quick – Oh God, come …..”

Then the storm hit. Dust every where, wind screaming and roaring, swirling through windows which had been left half open to catch whatever air there was, and soon there was a thick carpet of reddish brown dust on everything; floors, the furniture, every available surface – choking dust which made it difficult to breathe, to see, to move without coughing,

Tom staggered towards her “Close the windows you stupid woman, I can’t breathe”, he shouted, taking huge gasping breaths which only made breathing even more difficult for him. He pushed her out of his way, ineffectually trying to close the window nearest him. Sweat was running down their faces, turning the caking dust into muddy brown streaks which added to their discomfort.

Outside the wind was ferocious, smashing the dust into every nook and cranny. Chooks were running everywhere and nowhere, flapping dust-laden wings in terror. The cowering dogs took shelter where they could; under the house, or inside the old shed, silent in terror, fearful eyes straining to see through the dust covering everything.

Janene had managed to shut some windows with much difficulty and without the help of her seemingly deranged husband, who was rushing around trying to pull blinds down, which achieved nothing as they just continued to flap madly in the wind behind the half closed windows.

She finally retreated to the bathroom, the only room that offered some respite from the swirling choking dust, closing the door to wait the storm out. She could hear Tom moving around, shouting against the noise of the storm “I’ve really had it, I can’t stand living like this any more – and especially with you. F…. this place.”

After a time the strength of the wind abated a little, and Tom opened the door to the bathroom. He shook his fist at her, holding what looked like a piece of paper. Sneeringly he said “You thought I didn’t know, you thought it was your precious secret, you selfish bitch. But I knew your numbers, always the same every week. I’ve been checking them every week too. I’ve always known where you kept the ticket. You’re not very original are you, putting it in the same place every time; underneath the lining of the top drawer of your bedside table.

As we both know, the numbers finally came up last night and I’m off to claim the prize – $10 million isn’t it? I deserve it after all I have had to put up with, and your bloody nagging day after day.” Janene screamed “No Tom, we can share it, I was going to give you half anyway.” “I don’t believe you, you lying bitch”. She tried to stop him, clutching onto his jacket sobbing. He pushed her away, slamming her against the wall and quickly put the ticket into the inside pocket of his jacket. as he walked toward the outside door. “I’m not taking anything with me,” he said “I’ll be able to afford anything l want now. At last I’m going to have some fun. I’ll take the ute and leave it in town for you. Who would want a old 1988 Toyota Ute anyway?; and don’t worry you’ll never find me, so don’t bother looking. Anywhere would be better than this,” waving his arm around the room. With that he rushed outside, into the wind which had picked up again, his long greasy grey hair flailing against his face. Janene rose to her feet and went to the door slowly pulling it open with much difficulty against the now stronger wind. “Tom please don’t “… and then she watched as a huge piece of rusted corrugated iron tumbling on the wind like a leaf caught Tom on the side of the neck with some force, knocking him to the ground.

She kneeled beside him as he lay crumpled on his side in the dusty earth with the sheet of iron deeply embedded on a upwards angle into his neck, almost grazing his chin. She watched the thick dark arterial blood spill down the rusting iron and drop onto the earth creating an ever increasing pool of red in the dust. His eyes opened a little and he raised a hand “Janene help me …” and then his head rolled to one side. Janene calmly reached across and opening his jacket, took the Tatts ticket from his inside pocket. She stood up, looked at him for a long moment; “You stupid bastard, I did love you – once” . Tightly clutching the ticket she slowly walked back into the house, leaning against the wind. She found the bottle she knew he had left in the linen press and sitting down at the old green laminated kitchen table, poured herself a generous measure of Scotch. She drank deeply and after a while picked up the phone . “Could you get me the police please, oh and an ambulance too, there has been an accident.”

Two years later… a slim attractive woman with shoulder length blonde hair, glowing with platinum highlights in the sun, her striking deep blue eyes partly closed, lay on a comfortable sun lounge beside the sparkling pool of her new home in Queensland. She was wearing the latest offering in an exclusive range of designer swimwear, capturing the colours of the sea and sand, featuring a high cut leg line revealing a lithe tanned body nurtured by many hours in the gym supplemented by a a healthy diet of fresh local fruits and vegetables, and of course her favourite seafood. Her worry lines had disappeared and a stress-free lifestyle had brought colour and vitality back to a once tired and pale face and body. She had spent a relaxing time at the hairdressers that morning; hair styling and nail therapy followed by a calming massage at the Club.

She sighed deeply as she sipped a Sangria, savouring the sweet burst of Tequila with sugar syrup and lime juice. “Wasn’t it a great party last night” she said to her friend Joanne who was lazing on the lounge beside her contemplating a long chilled glass of bubbles appreciatively. “I think you may have an admirer” said Joanne, “Perhaps; he seems nice – might be fun” said Janene. “Could we be looking at wedding bells in the future?” “Not now or ever” said Janene with a shudder ” I think marriage is definitely for fools only” What a ghastly idea! Let’s go for a swim.”
blueRed girl in a blue car by Sue Newson
A pale chink of light forces my eyes to open and as I roll over in the narrow bed . I’m
faced with the inventory of my life so far filling up the bedroom wall. Photos, posters of
football heroes, posters of girls in bikinis as well as the cheap Australian landscape prints
that Mum had thought suitable for a boys room. The magpies outside think it’s going to be
a good day, a bright shiny day. God, I wish I felt like that. Usually one day is the same as
the next. Too much sleeping in the day and demons keeping me awake at night, sometimes
altered by the anesthesia of choice.

Yesterday my brother drove me back up to the home town where I haven’t been
for two years to visit my mother in hospital. It was a quiet trip. Lots of questions on his part
and monosyllabic answers on mine. Non committal I think you would say if you were being
generous. I don’t like to admit I’m semi homeless and semi- employed and for the most part
live in a situation that most people can’t comprehend, until you’ve been there.

Mum was pleased to see me. I could tell that even though she was groggy and not able to
talk much. I can read that look perfectly. A mix of love, regret and a fear of what lies ahead
for me. It seems the stroke is not life threatening and she’ll make a reasonable recovery to be able
to live by herself again.

I’m thinking of the day stretching before me and decide I can’t stay a minute longer here. To endure the ride back to Melbourne with my brother asking more questions and handing out
snippets of advice is too much to ask. I’ll have to make my own way back. I’ts 6:45 am and I dress
quickly and quietly not wanting to have a confrontation with my him. Going through the wire screen
door out back and closing it quietly I’m greeted with a beautiful sunny morning. Fly the Kelpie
runs up to me energetically, tail wagging, happy to see the first human of the day. I keep walking
anxious to put some distance between myself and home. He stops following after awhile and then
slowly turns and trots back to the house and his usual resting spot in the early morning sun.

I reach the rusty old gate at the end of the driveway, the one that is never shut because the
top hinge broke twenty years ago and has never been fixed. There’s a gravel road down to the
corner where the highway intersects and my footsteps seem horrendously loud in the early morning
silence. Once I get to the highway I know I won’t be able to be seen from the house and I ‘ll
probably be able to escape the histrionics. I suppose I should have left a note for Brian, but he’ll figure it out.

My running away will be added to the long list of misdemeanors that he keeps in his head.

The sun is well up by now but there is still a coolness in the air and the birds have quietened
down from their first raucous awakening. I walk along not thinking of anything in particular.

About four kilometres on, just outside the Nolan farm I hear a car approaching and turn to
see an egg truck. I stop and raise my hand and he slows to a stop fifty metres beyond me. As I
open the door the driver gives me the once-over and says,

“Where you headed mate?”
“Down to Melbourne, but anywhere along the way will do“ I say helpfully.
“I’m only going as far as Euroa on the highway and then I’m turning off.”
“No worries“ I say.

I climb in the cabin and settle in while he goes through a set of gear changes until he’s up
cruising again and gives me look out of the corner of his eye. He’s posing questions in his mind
as to why I’m I’m hitching but doesn’t know quite where to start and I don’t volunteer anything
so we cover the ninety kilometres to Euroa mostly in silence apart from a rant on his part about
lousy drivers.

“I’ve got to get some fuel at the roadhouse so I’ll let you out there.They do a pretty good bacon
and egg roll there if you want breakfast.”

It’s a small road house with not even an espresso machine and only a couple of tables. One table
is taken with four truckies quickly demolishing heaped plates of bacon and eggs and thick mugs
of tea. Sitting at the other table is a girl of about eighteen or nineteen with that shade of purple
red hair you know has to be fake. She is gazing out the window and doesn’t answer straight away
when I ask if I could share the table. Finally she turns and looks at me and nods non-committaly. I have to surmise that the red hair had once been black in its natural state because she has the darkest brown eyes and dark olive skin. It’s an unsettling combination. She’s very petite dressed in ripped jeans and a brown faux leather jacket that was turning into cardboard. No
makeup, no piercings, no jewellery.

My coffee arrives and it isn’t too bad and she turns to look at me with narrowed eyes.

“You hitching?” she says.
“I saw you get down from the truck. Where are you going?”.
“To Melbourne” I say “You hitching as well?”
“No, she laughs dismissively. “No more of that. I’ve got my own set of wheels. Where have you come from?”
“A little place you’ve probably never heard of. I ve been visiting my Mum in hospital.”
She looks at me with the liquid brown eyes and there’s a gentle softening in her face; a younger
more vulnerable person behind the facade.

I finish my coffee and go to stand up when she says quietly, “Look, I can give a ride to Melbourne. I like a bit of company having come all the way from Sydney. You don’t look like the axe murderer type.”

“No, that’s not me” I laugh. I’ve been accused of lots of things but not that. “What’s your name?”
There’s a split second before she says “Rose” in a firm voice.
‘I’m Matt and I’d be very thankful for a lift.”

With that we walk out to the car park of this insignificant roadhouse and I see only one car;
a navy blue late model BMW. No other cars. I look across at her questioningly but she’s already
got the key out and zapped the car open. Without another word she’s in the drivers seat. I have to hurry to keep up with her. As I fasten the seat belt I make some attempt at humour and say ‘It’s
not stolen,is it?” She gives me a contemptuous look and informs me that the car belongs to her
parents who are moving to Melbourne from Sydney.

We drive off in a rush, the wheels spinning in the gravel of the roadhouse driveway and are soon
off the bypass road and onto the Hume Freeway. The radio is on ABCJJJ with its perky presenters and up and coming tracks.There is very little talking.
Her eyes rarely deviate from the road and she deflects my attempts at conversation with yes, no
or I don’t know. It starts to rain, drizzling at first and then building into a proper downpour. The
automatic windscreen wipers start up but need to be increased to cope with the volume of the water
hitting the front of the car. She fumbles with the stalks and presses every button on the console
as well looking for the right one. Finally she finds it. Now the lights need turning on and she goes through the whole process again. I look at her quizzically, myself not knowing the controls of a BMW, but wondering whether she knows this car at all. I’m comforted by the thought that it
would be unusual to give a lift to someone when you’re driving a stolen car.

The rain stops and we drive through green rolling hills with glimpses of new housing estates
in distant valleys, gradually pushing their way out into the countryside. She suddenly turns the
left hand indicator on. At least she’s found that all right. There’s a truck lay by coming and we
pull over and drive right down to the end where there are narrower gravel roads coming off the main bitumen one. Small trees border the road and after going around a couple of corners we
are out of sight of the highway.

I look across at her when we’re stationary

“ I’m going to be sick“ she says “Probably something I ate.”

Her olive skin looks clammy and pale and I don’t doubt her for one minute. She gets quickly out of the car taking the keys with her I notice and runs 50 meters up the road behind a stand of melaleucas. I remain sitting in the comfortable surrounds of the car and start looking around at its stylish interior; its controls, the glove box, centre console. The centre console contains a large brown envelope; not sealed and as I and so lift it out it feels surprisingly heavy. There is no sign of her returning and so I feel I can take a quick look. Christ, there’s hundreds of 100 dollar notes in there bundled up in lots of 10. I take a second look and do some mental arithmetic and estimate 30,000 dollars. I remove the envelope and stow it under my coat in my overnight bag and try to think about what to do. The more I think about it the more I think this is not her parent’s car and the money is not hers. I’m not sure who it belongs to but it could sure smooth my way in the world. I would have the money to rent and pay the bond on a decent flat in a good neighbourhood, buy decent clothes to go for job interviews and maybe a training course. God, it would turn my life around. It’s what I’ve needed to get a fresh start and here its been delivered up to me I can see her returning now wiping her mouth with a handkerchief, a bit of colour returning to her face. She fastens the seat belt and then turns and lifts the lid of the centre console and takes a long look at the empty space.

“O.K” she says. Give it back. Give me what you took out of here. You looked inside too, didn’t you?”
“I bet it’s not yours “, I say

I had hoped she wouldn’t have looked in the centre console until after I’d left the car but now I have to make the best of it.

“Look, we probably both need the money to get a fresh start. Why don’t we split it? I won’t report you to the police for stealing a car.”

“No way. I bloody stole this car and it was only after a while I had a good look in the car and found the money. Probably drug dealers but they’re not going to report a stolen car to the police, so I figure I was safe for a couple of days. I took the risks buddy.”

“I’ll leave you half, because this is where I get out and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

My voice sounds strong but inwardly I’m saying to her cut your losses and take off. I take what I think is half of the money and put it on the front seat and start walking down the track to the main lay-by not looking back.

Something whacks into the back of my thigh knocking me over, separating me from my bag. A terrible burning pain goes through my leg and my pants are drenched with blood. In a matter of seconds.I’m lying face down on the ground and as I look up she’s in front of me now holding a small pistol at shoulder level.
‘You should have checked out the car properly” she says.’But I suppose there wasn’t the time.I didn’t find the gun straightaway.I was a bit dazzled by the money but then I thought ,you know what there could be other goodies hidden there.So I went back for a second look and found this under the driver’s seat.The driver of this car was a total fuckwit leaving the keys in the car with the engine running.It took five seconds.
Her purple red hair glimmers in the now bright early morning sun as she advances towards me,the gun pointing at my head.
‘I’mpurple sorry mate .I’ve got to tie up these loose ends.You think you could use the money? Well let me tell you I owe money to people who will kill me in the blink of an eye.As one loser to another I’m going to win this round and I haven’t won many.
I’m starting to feel weak and unreal and know I can’t reason with her,so I drop my head onto the gravel and wait for the end.I hear her take a step forwards but I don’t look up.Was there any noise?Nothing .Mum!