Loneliness in Near-Paradise

CHAPTER 1

Half an hour before dawn the unmelodic noise of raucous Kookaburras awoke Greta and she used a corner of a sheet to dab the light patches of perspiration between her breasts and under her chin before she dropped back to sleep in the cloying warmth of subtropical paradise.

Paradise?

The fading blonde ground out a hollow laugh before sleep retook her.

Later the tepid shower water removed the film of sweat from most of Greta's body but a new coating would return like invisible nail polish as the summer sun warming high humidity continued relentlessly. Although a thunderstorm was needed to bring relief Greta was aware she lived under conditions necessary to keep the rainforest happy and the colourful flowers and huge scavenging bird life abundant.

She ate her breakfast in the garden as crimson rosellas infiltrated the tree above her. In the distance she watched Brush Turkeys scrap over food. The canned peaches soaking the mix of untoasted rolled oats, nuts and dried fruit made by her friend Belinda Bell and marketed as BB's Wholesome Muesli was, according to Greta, a breakfast made for Kings and Queens. Consistently breakfast marked one of the highlights of her day.

Greta finished breakfast with a small glass of milk and imagined energy building through her fifty-two year old body. And that was her early morning ritual completed, the rising sun creeping across the lawn.

"Fucking lawn. Ha!" she snorted, thinking it was coming along nicely as a hay field. The ride-on mower was parked uselessly in the small barn; it's motor refused to start despite her efforts at cleaning the spark plug and replacing the battery. She needed her trailer to cart the stupid machine to Cairns for maintenance but someone had borrowed it but whom? She couldn't remember, probably having agreed to the loan after drinking a few gins. God, people who had more than a couple of drinks were so irresponsible. She sighed and said, "Guilty" and knew she only had to start calling her far-flung neighbours and within the hour her trailer would be returned when she called the lazy bastard who owned up to not returning the trailer when finishing with it. Or perhaps the usage would never finish? Well she'd phone people, perhaps tomorrow.

* * *

Greta was returning midmorning from the supermarket in Tully and ahead of her, two miles from her property, was a young and unhappy tourist from Victoria hoping to thumb a lift.

These two seemed destined to meet, a newly divorced guy in need of a beer and a swim in a pool before a good meal and an abandoned woman who's long-term partner has suddenly disappeared.

* * *

Greta drove the white Ute (pickup) fairly slowly, once again thinking of her loss and being seduced regularly by a younger man. There was talk Evan had been taken by a croc (crocodile) but although Greta never voiced it, she knew his disappearance had coincided with the unexpected decision of the McCloud's 24-year old daughter to return to Sydney. So after two months when the police no longer considered Evan Scott's missing person file was 'active' Greta burnt or buried everything of Evan's possessions. At the outset the two police constables investigating had been told several of his favourite personal affects, such as bush knife, camera, razor, photograph album of his family and his beside Bible were no longer in her house. They'd just smiled. Croc killing or roadside murder indeed; the cops knew Evan had done a runner!

Greta saw the guy walking towards town. As was the custom in the district she stopped and said, "Hi, another hot one?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you heading?"

"Next town I suppose."

"That's Tully at least a three-hour walk away."

"Oh crap."

"Are you out of food?"

Standing on the other side of the unsealed road he scuffed a boot, lifting dust.

"I see. Jump it and I'll feed you."

"I don't know you."

"Oh what an astonishing conclusion. You're obviously not from around here with that conservative attitude and speech so it's no bloody wonder you don't know me."

"Well you speak roughly with vulgarity."

"And your observations are acute. The question is, to eat to not to eat, to swim in my pool or to continue on your dusty way, tongue hanging out? You are very uncivil but I put that aside because my mother taught me to offer hospitality to anyone appearing in need of it, even bums."

"So I'm a bum?"

"Did I say that?"

The guy let a small grin slip. "You appear to be quite a character. A beer would go down well."

"Toss you backpack into the tray."

"My backpack contains valuables."

"God you are difficult. We are two minutes from my access track. Throw your stuff into the tray and hop in."

Greta stopped to get the mail and quickly checked, as she always did now, for the 'Darling I want to return home' letter from Evan and sniffed when not finding it.

"You must be popular getting all that mail."

"It's mostly bills and leaflets of people attempting to sell me something. Also it's five days since I've been out to check for mail. Any more questions?"

The guy grinned. "I'm Charlie James."

"Hi I won't kiss you because you're not local. I'm Greta Chapman."

Greta drove up the track that wound between trees and rocky outcrops without braking and Charlie said she drove well for a woman. Noticing her grip on the steering wheel tighten he said, "Excuse me, I meant to say you drive well." He noticed the whiteness around the knuckles on the wheel recede.

They came into the acre clearing where the old-style 'Queenslander' squatted.

"Ah, that architecture with character and functionality appropriate for climate. Very nice."

"God you swallowed a dictionary and come from Victoria."

He smiled. "So you think you detect a southern accent?"

"Accent and a conservative streak. No way does it suggest Sydney."

"Oh, look at your lawns. The city lawn mowing service hasn't been I see."

The mechanical engineer from Melbourne noticed the return of white knuckles and said, "I'll cut them for you after lunch."

"The mower's crapped out. But you can help me push the ride-on on to the tray of the Ute. Some bastard has borrowed my much lower trailer and is sitting on it."

"Why would someone borrow a trailer to sit on it?"

"God you're thick. The damn fool borrowed it for a job and didn't return it which is a colloquialism for sitting on it."

"Colloquialism appears to be a big word for you?"

Charlie looked concerned that he'd just said that and then was astonished by Greta's reply, "I'm glad you have a sharp tongue and can be sarcastic. It makes you more interesting that you appear."

"There's the pool – go over and get in. I'll bring out a couple of beers."

"I-I have no swimsuit. It's in my luggage shipped through to Cairns."

"I didn't know luggage went there on coastal shipping."

"By rail, I mean consigned."

"So you thought I wouldn't know what consigned meant?"

Charlie turned brick red.

Greta grinned and said, "Get in the pool you clown. Let me see your chopper; it's approaching three months since I last saw one."

"I-I... perhaps I'll swim later."

"Get in the pool Charlie otherwise I'll throw you in and damage that fancy watch of yours. Meanwhile I'll take your backpack inside and rifle the contents."

Charlie looked horrified but turned bravely turned and walked to the pool, not looking back.

* * *

Charlie James had joined a pipeline and systems design and maintenance firm near the Docklands in Melbourne straight from graduating from university with a degree in mechanical engineering. The company's financial controller was the boss's attractive auburn daughter Mary-Lou with a glasses-fogging body plus a very sweet disposition. She fell for ruggedly handsome Charlie who was a prominent player for an Australian Rules football side. They married but eighteen months after the wedding he arrived home earlier than expected one evening to find Mary-Lou in bed with two of his fellow engineers. Her sweet disposition had also attracted them. There was a one-sided fight, stopped when Mary-Lou fired a shotgun into the ceiling. Charlie tossed Mary-Lou out of the house, her father fired him and Charlie worked for another company until his marriage was dissolved. A month ago began wander along the back roads of northern Queensland to think and to hopefully escape his unhappy recent past.

* * *

Greta arrived with four cans of beer on a tray of cold meats and salads. She grinned when spotting Charlie was swimming in his underpants.

"It's lovely," he called. "Join me."

"I swim nude," Greta said, putting down the tray on the table under the huge green umbrella.

"I've decided to get out," Charlie called and as he climbed up the ladder Greta was waiting with a towel she'd carried over her arm.

"You have a lovely body, very muscular," she said, studying it slowly and taking in the bulge. "A sportsman's body."

"I played Aussie Rules," he said. "That's..."

"We Queenslanders only look dumb," Greta grinned. "I watch it on TV to admire the athleticism of young men."

Charlie showed embarrassment again.

Smiling, Greta said, "There's not a hell of a lot to do socially out here Charlie and these days I live alone."

"How's that?"

"Because no man wants to live with me."

Charlie said he very much doubted that and met Greta's grin with a level look behind his grin.

"Oooh, I could get to like you Charlie so watch out. More than two months is a long time to go without male company in bed."

"What happened?"

"Well let's have a beer and I'll tell you."

Greta sucked beer from the can. "I was born and raised in Cairns, an only child. This house was built as a summerhouse for my father because it's cooler up here in the hills and forest. He was big into real estate and property development and then later in life he sold out of that and went into farming. My parents died, leaving me a beef farm and almost a thousand acres in bananas and sugar cane. I lease the farms and that provides everything I want and I give to charities. My husband of five years who'd leased the beef farm was such a lovely man. Dan died when crushed against a post in a stockyard by a 1500lb bull shifting sidewards when a car backfired. Then a couple of years ago I picked up this guy at a dance and he stayed the night and two weeks later returned and stayed before taking off without a word two and a half months ago."

"The cad."

"That's a word one would only hear in Victoria and in England, isn't it?"

"I have no idea. My grandmother used it. She didn't like men."

"And what about you?" Greta smiled and cupped her breasts. "What do you think Charlie?"

He scratched his nose. "I'm pleased you decided to call me Charlie and not Charles and I think your have better things to do than bother about men."

"Like what?"

"You are rather trim for your age and suggests you remain athletic."

"I swim and play night tennis and am 'on call' to commercial operators as a guide to take parties bush walking or on a six-person raft down the Tully River and I help out with farm work in times of labour shortages."

"You certainly keep active."

"I must take you down the Tully white-water rafting while you're here."

"Sounds interesting but I'm heading on this afternoon."

"Oh really?"

After lunch Charlie asked if he could look at the ride-on that Greta had mentioned was kaput. She took him into the barn, opening the roller door, and showed Charlie how to quickly check for snakes that came in for extra warmth of looking for rodents.

Charlies turned white.

"I find no more than half a dozen a year. Most are shy, but not all of them."

Charlie still looked apprehensive. "Oh you girl," she grinned and whistled. Charlie saw an old dog come from under the veranda, walking arthritically. "Moss, snakes. SSSSSSnakes!"

Moss suddenly pepped up and sniffed around the shed and came back to them soon afterwards looking forlorn. "She loves to find them and play with them before killing them."

"W-won't they kill her?"

"Not all snakes are venomous and despite her deteriorated mobility Moss has not lost her agility to duck and weave. She's also quick enough to knock a snake sideways with a leg. She'll come to you if you call. "Stay Moss."

"This mower hasn't been maintained," Charlie accused, taking one look at it.

"That's your problem, not mine," Greta said vaguely, wandering off.

An hour later Charlie came in and saw his backpack on the table, apparently unopened.

"So you've fixed it?" Greta said, hunched over the crossword in the newspaper.

"No, but have found some problems. The spark plug is cracked and you could drive the Ute through the end gap. The belt to the shaft drive has stretched and is not far off becoming useless."

"So what are the minor problems?"

"They all related to neglect. This mower has not been maintained."

"So you keep saying."

"I haven't mentioned that more than twice."

"You made the point once. Why harp on about it?"

"Christ Greta, if that mower was a child people would call it child neglect."

"So? Back off Charlie. It's only a fucking machine."

"And it's fucking scandalous that it has been left in this condition."

Greta sighed and said she was glad Charlie had the guts to meet her head on. "It may interest you to know Charlie I know nothing about machines. If they go I'm happy; if they stop I kick them and I swear at them."

Charlie threw his hands up in despair.

"Do what you need to do Charlie to renovate the mower. You'll find the name of the supplier and contact details in the handbook in one of the drawers of the bench in the garage. Watch out for spiders. Not all are venomous. Order what parts you want. They have my details and the parts will arrive by train in Tully over the next couple of days."

"Couple of days? But I'll be gone by late this afternoon."

"You are not leaving here Charlie until my mower is renovated and in fine working order. Didn't your mother teach you to not leave a job until finished?"

"Yes she did, amazingly. How the hell you knew that I have no idea. But..."

"Just finished the job Charlie." Looking down at the crossword puzzle Greta asked, "What's an eight-letter word for 'fractious'? It starts with 'P' and the second letter it 't'?

"Petulant."

When Greta made no move to write in that word Charlie muttered, "Bitch" and seeing her half concealed grin stomped out of the house and promptly missed the first step and fell down the steps, swearing angrily. In the barn he opened the top drawer tentatively and watched a big spider scuttle away and disappear into the recess behind the open drawer. He pulled out the handbook and was pleased to find it was well illustrated with a parts list. He used the wall phone, checking for spiders first, and called the supplier in Cairns.

Unwilling to return inside to be the butt of that tough bitch's caustic tongue and confrontational manner until his humour returned, Charlie opened the bonnet (hood) to check the level of oil. He boggled. The dipstick showed only slight evidence of oil, well below the 'low' level. In the garage he found a new can of engine oil and it took almost six litres before the level was near the 'maximum' mark. Charlie wiped sweat from his brow. God, talk about running on the smell of an oily rag. He checked the windscreen and found the last service had been almost two years ago. He groaned.

Charlie entered the house and Greta, hands on hips, asked, "What were you doing with my Ute?"

"Doing what you should have been doing or the garage where you last got your vehicle serviced, if you can remember that far back."

"There is no need to be sarcastic Charlie. Please answer the question."

"There was practically no oil in your sump."

"I don't have a sump."

"The Holden I mean. Greta the motor would have been not far from seizing and blowing up from lack of oil lubrication."

"I really don't know what you're talking about. I always ask them to check the oil when I put the Ute in for servicing."

"What, six monthly?"

"Something like that."

"Like your last service, a year and eleven months ago?"

"Yes, as I said; something like that. Come on, clean up and take this tray of nibbles out to the pool. You know Queensland doesn't have Daylight Saving so it gets dark earlier than what you'll be used to at this time of year."

"Actually sunrise and sunset are very similar according to latitude."

"Yes I know smart ass. We Queenslanders only look dumb. I'll leave the food tray for you to fetch out. My drinking time has arrived."

"Oh is drink time set by longitude?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Charlie, that smart ass attitude makes you interesting. Asking all the time for clarification of my responses is a little tiresome. Drink-time by sheer definition identifies it as being set by time. Daylight saving is an artificial time change an d has nothing to do with latitude."

"Oh yeah. The sun is setting here around 6.50 at present and rising around 5:00. I know because some nights including last night I've slept outside."

"What on roadsides?"

"No on the verandas of abandoned dwellings."

"You poor darling. You'll sleep between clean sheets tonight and don't you dare mumble not to put myself to too much trouble. You are a guest, a brilliant guest because you're doing good things with my mower and Ute. I'm very pleased with you Charlie."

When Charlie arrived poolside – the in-ground rectangular concrete pool surrounded by brick perimeter path amid tall grass with no safety fencing around it – he put down the tray and picked up the red wine already poured for him.

"This is the best time of day to be around a pool."

He replied, "Don't I know it."

"There's no need to turn away," Greta said, standing and pulling off her dress and panties and then undoing her bra.

"Good god."

"What?"

Charlie said a little nervously – your tits and thighs. There are no wrinkles I imagined one would have at your age."

"Well now you know. I'm fifty-two. How old a you darling?"

"Thirty-three."

Greta walked to the edge of the pool. "Come of Charlie, put your glass on the edge here like mine. They are acrylic to avoid any chance of broken glass landing in the pool. Strip off and if you wear underpants in my pool you are in big trouble."

"Oooh Charlie," Greta said, as he walked to the pool, swinging. His upper body turned into a blush.

They swam, had a race, Charlie believing Greta allowed him to win, and they drank their wine and chatted.

"My mother is fifty-seven. Compared with you she's old."

Pulling herself up the ladder Greta laughed and said, "Is that you coming on to me Charlie?"

He didn't reply, but gazed at her retreating ass and lightly plump thighs rather thoughtfully. He'd seen the large apricot areola and fat nipples and his mind was reeling.

They had a barbeque (cook-out) on the veranda, with the smell of fried insect bodies from the devices made to attract and incinerate them mixing with the smell of cooking lamb chops and beef, onion and garlic rissoles. Greta had come out in a sun frock but obviously no bra with insect repellent over her skin. She saw Charlie swatting at his neck so went to him and sprayed repellent around his neck and face. Telling him to close his eyes again she kissed him, moving in and away rapidly.

"Red or white wine."

"Red please. I favour red when it's hot and with red meat."

"This is a meaty New South Wales red. Tell me what you think?"

"Hmmmm. One of the best. I'm picking Hunter Valley."

"Yes."

"Rosemount."

"Oh, very good, I'm very impressed. And what wine – can you do that?"

"I think so. Mountain Blue shiraz-cab sav."

"Brilliant. Now, what year?"

"Sorry didn't read that when I looked at the bottle breathing on the kitchen bench."

Greta laughed unrestrained, a part of her almost wobbling out of her dress and she called Charlie 'a real shit' making him grin.