The Pearl Sister (The Seven Sisters Book 4) by Lucinda Riley (19)

19

I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat up, trying to still my heartbeat.

I thought about the grief I had felt for Pa when he had died and tried to multiply that by all the people that Kitty had lost on the Koombana. All the people that this town had lost . . .

I took off the headphones and rubbed my sore ears, then went to open the window for some fresh air. I tried to imagine everyone in this town assembled up on the hill at the end of Dampier Terrace, a street I had walked down, all waiting to hear the worst news of their lives.

I shut the window to block out the night-time wildlife choir. Despite the air conditioning being on full blast, I still felt hot and sweaty. I couldn’t even begin to think how Kitty had coped here in Broome a century ago, especially in a corset, bloomers and Christ knew how many petticoats. Never mind having to give birth in the heat – which was surely just about the sweatiest process anyone could go through.

Even if I hadn’t really thought through what Kitty was to me before I arrived, there was now a bit of me that would love to be related to her. Not just because of her bravery in going to Australia in the first place, but also because of how she’d handled what she’d faced when she got there. Her experiences made my own problems feel like diddly-squat. To do what she’d done by living in Broome a hundred years ago took real balls. And she’d followed her heart, wherever it might have led her.

Glancing at her picture on the front of the CD cover, I couldn’t imagine I was related to her, even though the solicitor had indicated my legacy had come from her originally. It was much more likely that I was related to the maid, Camira. Especially as her daughter, Alkina, apparently had the eyes of her father, who was Japanese. They sounded similar to mine.

Camira and her daughter had come from here – their footsteps had once passed along the streets I’d been walking. Tomorrow I’d try to find out more. As I lay down, I thought how this quiet little town on the edge of the earth had been brought to life for me by listening to Kitty’s story. Once upon a time, when she’d been here, it had teemed with people. I wanted to see the things she’d seen, though how much was actually left of them, I didn’t know.

* * *

I was woken by the phone ringing early the next morning. It was the hotel receptionist.

‘Miss D’Aplièse? There’s a man waiting for you in the residents’ lounge. He says he’s from The Australian.’

‘Right, er . . . thanks. Tell him I’ll be down in five.’

My hand trembled as I replaced the receiver. So the press had tracked me down. Knowing there wasn’t a moment to lose, I scrambled out of bed, dressed hastily, then bunged the rest of my stuff into my rucksack and hoisted it onto my back. Counting out the dollars I owed for my stay, I left them with the key on the nightstand by the bed so I wouldn’t be arrested for not paying my bill. Then I ran along the corridor to the emergency exit I had noticed last night when I’d seen someone having a cigarette beyond it. I gave the door bar a push and, to my relief, it opened without an alarm going off. I saw a set of basic iron steps leading down into a yard at the back of the hotel. I ran down them as quietly as I could in my heavy boots. The yard wall was low, so I threw my rucksack over it and followed suit. A few backyards later, I found myself out on the street at the other end.

Okay, what do I do now?

I called Chrissie, who answered after the first ring.

‘Where are you?’ I asked her, still panting hard.

‘At my desk in the airport. What’s up?’

‘Is it easy to book a flight out of here?’

‘It is if you work on the tourist info desk opposite the airline sales counter, yes. Where d’ya need to go?’

‘Alice Springs. What’s the best way of getting there?’

‘You’ll have to catch a flight up to Darwin, and connect from there to the Alice.’

‘Can you get me on those flights today?’

‘I know there’s a flight from here to Darwin in a couple of hours or so. I’ll go and ask the guys if there are any seats left.’

‘If there are, book me on it. I’ll be there as soon as I can find a taxi.’

‘I’ll send one for you now. Walk to the bronze statues at the end of the road and he’ll be there in ten.’

‘Thanks, Chrissie.’

‘No worries.’

At the airport, Chrissie was hovering by the entrance doors waiting for me.

‘You can tell me what’s up after we’ve confirmed your bookings,’ she said as she put her arm through mine and marched me over to the Qantas check-in desk. ‘This is my mate, Zab.’ Chrissie indicated the guy standing behind it. ‘The bookings are all ready to go. You just need to pay.’

I pulled out my credit card and slapped it on the counter. Zab took the payment, then handed me my boarding passes and a receipt.

‘Thanks a mill, Chrissie.’

‘I’ll come through security with ya,’ she said. ‘We can hang out at the café and you can tell me all about Thailand.’

Shit! So Chrissie knew too, which was hardly a surprise as her desk faced a kiosk. She’d probably sat there for days staring at my face on the front of all the newspapers. Yet she’d never said a word.

We went through security together to a tiny café and Chrissie came back with two bottles of water and a sandwich each. I’d chosen to sit facing a wall in the corner, just in case.

‘So, why d’ya need to leave so fast?’

‘A reporter from The Australian turned up at my hotel this morning. You probably know why he wanted to interview me.’ I eyed her.

‘Yeah, I do. I recognised you the first moment you swung by my desk. And . . . ?’

‘I met this guy on a beach in Thailand and hung out with him for a bit. Turns out he’s wanted for some kind of bank fraud.’

‘Anand Changrok?’

‘Or “Ace” as I knew him.’ I then told Chrissie the story of how I’d met him.

‘What was he like?’ she asked when I’d finished.

‘Great. He helped me when I needed it.’

‘Were the two of you together?’

‘Yeah. I really liked him, and even if I hadn’t, I’d never have done something as low as that. Even if I had known who he was.’

‘I know you wouldn’t, Cee.’ Chrissie’s eyes were full of sympathy rather than suspicion. ‘So he thinks it was you who told the newspapers.’

‘He sent me a text saying he’d thought he could trust me. I felt like a complete lowlife, still do, but there’s no way he’d ever believe me, even if I could explain. I think that this guy, Jay, bribed our security guard to get a photograph, and I gave him the perfect opportunity.’

‘You could always write to him in jail.’

‘Not well enough for what I’d need to say.’ I gave her a weak grin. ‘I’m dyslexic, remember?’

‘I could write it for you?’

‘Maybe. Thanks.’

‘Do you think he did it?’

‘How should I know? The rest of the world seems to think so. I don’t know, Chrissie, there’s just something that doesn’t fit. Little things he said to me . . . It’s only an instinct, but I think there’s more to his story than he’s telling.’

‘Maybe you should try to find out what it is.’

‘How would I do that? I’m not a detective and I know nothing about banks.’

‘You’re smart, you’ll find a way,’ she said with a smile.

I blushed, as no one had ever called me ‘smart’. ‘Anyway, I’m going to concentrate on finding out more about my family.’

‘Hey, if you need a fellow detective to help you out in the Alice, I’m your gal,’ Chrissie said suddenly. ‘I’m due some hols anyway, and it’s a quiet time of year here, so how about I meet up with ya there?’

‘Really? I mean, I don’t want to take up your time, but if you can manage it, it would be amazing to have your help,’ I said, genuinely excited at the thought. ‘You’ve seen how clueless I am about all things Australia.’

‘Nah, mate, you just need someone to show you the ropes. It’ll be bonza and I’ve always wanted to go to the Alice.’ Chrissie glanced up at the board. ‘Time ta go.’

‘I hate planes,’ I said as she walked with me over to the departure gate.

‘Do ya? I’ve always wanted to go and see the rest of the world. I’ll text you once I know for sure I can come and meet you.’ She put her arms around me. ‘Safe journey.’

‘Thanks for everything.’

Boarding the plane, I felt suddenly lost, because I had made a friend in Chrissie. I just had to make sure I didn’t muck it up like I had with Ace.

* * *

As we began our descent towards Alice Springs, I saw a marked change in the landscape below me. From the sky, it looked like a green oasis in the desert – which I supposed it was – but far more dramatic in colour. I saw a range of mountains that glinted purple in the hazy light, their irregular crowns like a massive set of teeth sticking up from the ground. The plane screeched to a fast and jerky halt on the short runway then all us passengers trooped off down the steps onto the tarmac.

‘Wow!’ I muttered as a wave of burning heat that could probably light a match just by sticking it in the air hit me. It burnt my nostrils as I breathed in and I was actually glad to get inside the air-conditioned terminal.

The airport wasn’t much bigger than the one in Broome, but it was buzzing with tourists. After grabbing a bottle of water and a few leaflets for hotels and places of interest, I sat down on a plastic chair to try and read them before I decided where to stay. I realised all the tourists were here because Alice Springs was the gateway to Ayers Rock – or Uluru, as Chrissie said it was called by the Aboriginal people. The leaflet said it was one of their most sacred sites and ‘only’ a six-hour drive away.

I then read about Alice Springs – or ‘the Alice’, as it was affectionately called. Indigenous art was obviously a very big deal here. There were several galleries both inside and outside town, ranging from the Many Hands Centre run by Aboriginal artists, to the Araluen Arts Centre – so modern it looked like a spaceship that had crash-landed in the middle of the desert.

Another tremor of excitement ran through me and some instinct told me that if I was going to find answers anywhere, it was going to be here.

‘My kantri,’ I murmured, remembering Chrissie’s granny saying the word. I then opened the leaflet on the Hermannsburg mission, which told me it was now a museum and a good couple of hours’ drive out of town. It also said Albert Namatjira had been born there. I had never even heard of him until yesterday, but I’d seen from the leaflets that his name was used for galleries, streets and buildings here. I tried to read more, but the words were doing a polka on the page, especially as most of them were Aboriginal names.

I then remembered I should turn my phone back on, and two messages pinged through, both from Chrissie.

I was amazed that this girl I hardly knew was making the effort to fly hundreds of miles to meet me. And even if I never found out who my family were, coming to Australia had been worth it, because I’d met Chrissie.

I walked across the concourse to the tourist information desk, where a tall freckled man with blond hair down to his shoulders was sitting at a computer.

‘Hi, are you Keith?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, who’s askin’?’

‘I think my friend Chrissie in Broome spoke to you earlier – she said you’ve got a hotel reservation for me?’

‘Ah, Chrissie’s mate, CeCe! I’ve got youse a special deal. Here we go.’ He handed me the booking sheet. ‘Just take a taxi to Leichhardt Terrace, next to the Todd River.’

‘Thanks for all your help.’

‘Any friend of Chrissie’s,’ he said with a friendly grin. ‘Have a good ’un!’

In the taxi, I marvelled at the easy way Chrissie had with everyone she met. She seemed totally comfortable in her own skin, with who she was.

By the grace of God, I am who I am . . .

For the first time, Pa Salt’s quotation on the armillary sphere began to make sense, because that was how I wanted to be too.

Half an hour later, I was installed in a ‘deluxe room’, which at least had a decent shower and a kettle. I looked out of the window expecting to see a river, like Keith had said, but was surprised to find only a dry, sandy riverbed with a few gnarled trees dotted around. It suddenly struck me that I was in the middle of the desert.

Dusk was falling when I ventured outside, and realised the air smelt different here – dry and fragrant, rather than the soupy humidity of Broome. I walked along a bridge that crossed the Todd riverbed and had a solitary pizza in a restaurant full of families chatting and laughing. I missed Chrissie’s company and felt really happy she was joining me tomorrow.

I wandered back to the hotel and spotted a newspaper on a coffee table in the reception area. I picked it up and saw it was a day-old English Times and wondered if there were any more developments on the Ace situation. The story had been demoted to a much smaller headline on the front page:

‘CHANGROK PLEADS GUILTY TO FRAUD’

 

There was a photograph of Ace – or at least the back of his head and shoulders – entering court and surrounded by an angry crowd. I could read the ‘full story ’, so I took the newspaper up to my room and tried to decipher the words.

I climbed into bed and eventually fell into a troubled sleep, picturing Ace curled up on a thin prison-issue mattress.

* * *

I woke with a jolt to the sound of the telephone ringing, and answered it blearily.

‘’Lo?’

‘Cee!’

‘Chrissie?’

‘Yeah, I’m here! Come on, sleepyhead, it’s half three in the afternoon already! I’ll be up in a sec.’

There was a click as she hung up and I rolled out of bed to get dressed. A few minutes later, I heard her put the key in the lock, and the door opened.

‘Hi, darl’. Good ta see you.’ Chrissie greeted me with a bright smile and dropped her rucksack on the other twin bed.

‘You’re cool bunking in with me, right? Keith said there weren’t any other rooms available.’

‘No problem, I’ve shared a room with my sister my whole life.’

‘Lucky you. I had to share with my two brothers.’ Chrissie laughed then wrinkled her nose. ‘It always stank of “boy”, y’know?’

‘I have five sisters, remember? Our corridor stank of perfume.’

‘That’s almost as bad,’ she said with a grin. ‘Here, I brought some snacks as well.’

She handed me a plastic box and I opened it to find square-shaped chocolate-covered cakes doused in coconut sprinkles. They smelt heavenly.

‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘They’re lamingtons, I made them myself. Have one for brekky, then we can go out and explore.’

With my mouth full of delicious cake, which tasted like a Victoria sponge with bells on, we went outside, where the late afternoon sun was overpowering, beating fire down onto the top of my head. From the map, it looked as if Alice Springs was easy to navigate, being so small. We walked down Todd Street, lined with one-storey art galleries, nail salons and cafés with chairs set out under the palm trees. We stopped for a drink and a bite to eat at one of them, and I noticed a huge dot painting hanging in the window of the gallery opposite.

‘Wow, look, Chrissie! It’s the Seven Sisters!’

‘They’re big around here,’ she said with a grin. ‘Better not mention you’re named after one of them, or you’ll get the locals coming to build a shrine around you!’

After reassurance from Chrissie, I tried my first plate of kangaroo meat, thinking that Tiggy would never forgive me if she ever found out. She’d had a real thing about ‘Baby Roo’ in the Winnie the Pooh stories Pa used to read us, and it had been around that time she’d decided to become a vegetarian.

‘What do ya think of the ’roo?’ Chrissie nudged me.

‘It’s good, a bit like venison. Aren’t they an endangered species?’

‘Strewth, no, there’s thousands of ’em bouncing all over Australia.’

‘I’ve never seen one.’

‘You’re sure to see ’em around here, there’s loads in the Outback. So, have you had a chance to find out more about Albert Namatjira yet?’ Chrissie looked at me, her bright eyes expectant.

‘No, I only got here yesterday, remember. And I don’t really know where to start.’

‘Well, I’d reckon it’s a trip out to the Hermannsburg mission tomorrow. It’s some miles out of town, though, so we’ll have to drive.’

‘I don’t drive,’ I admitted.

‘I do, as long as it’s an automatic. If you have the dollars to hire the transport, I’ll be your chauffeur. Deal?’

‘Deal. Thanks, Chrissie,’ I said gratefully.

‘Y’know, if you are really related to Namatjira, they’ll defo be making a shrine to you round here, and I’ll help them! I can’t wait to see your stuff, Cee. You oughtta get yourself some canvas and brushes, have a go at painting the scenery round here, like Namatjira did.’

‘Maybe, but my artwork has been crap for the past six months.’

‘Get over yourself, Cee. No one gets into one of the top art colleges in London painting crap,’ retorted Chrissie, forking up the last of her kangaroo.

‘Well, the paintings I did at college were. The lecturers mucked with my head somehow. Now I’m not sure what I should be painting,’ I admitted.

‘I get it.’ Chrissie put a warm hand on mine. ‘Maybe you need ta know who you are before you find out what you want to paint.’

After our meal, Chrissie waved a tourist leaflet in my face.

‘How about we go up to Anzac Hill?’ she suggested. ‘It’s just a short hike, and it’s meant to have the best view of Alice Springs and the sunset.’

I didn’t tell her that I’d already had my fill of sunsets on this trip, but her energy was infectious, so we trooped out into the heat and began to scale the hill at an easy pace.

Up at the top, photographers were already fiddling about with tripods ready to capture the sunset and we found a quiet spot facing west to sit down. I looked at Chrissie as she watched the sunset, her expression one of contentment as soft hues of gold and purple light tinged her face. Below us, Alice Springs lit up with twinkling streetlights, and the sun settled behind the mountains, leaving only a dark red line against the indigo sky.

After a pit stop for a Coke in town on the way back, we returned to the hotel and Chrissie offered me the first shower. As I felt the cool stream of water drenching my sweaty skin, I tipped my face up into it and smiled. It was great to have Chrissie with me because she was so enthusiastic about everything. Wrapping a towel around me, I padded back into the bedroom and did a double-take. Somehow, in the ten minutes I’d been gone, Chrissie’s right leg seemed to have fallen off, leaving her with only a tiny piece of it below the knee. The rest of the leg sat a few inches away from her.

‘Yeah, I’ve got a “falsie”,’ she said casually as I gawped at it.

‘How? When?’

‘Since I was fifteen. I got really crook one night, but my mum didn’t trust the whitefella doctor, so she just gave me a couple of paracetamol for my fever. The next morning, she found me unconscious in bed. I don’t remember anything about it, but I was airlifted to Darwin by the Flying Doctor Service, and diagnosed with meningitis in the hospital there. It was too late to save my leg ’cos septicaemia had started to set in, but at least I came out with my life. I’d reckon that was a pretty good swap, wouldn’t you?’

‘I . . . yes, if you look at it that way,’ I agreed, still in shock.

‘No point in looking at it any other way, is there? And I get about pretty well. You didn’t notice, did ya?’

‘No, though I did wonder why you always wear jeans when I sweat like a pig in a pair of shorts.’

‘Only bummer is that I used to be the best swimmer in Western Australia. Won the junior championships a coupla times and was gonna try out for the 2000 Olympic squad in Sydney. Me and Cathy Freeman showing the world what us Aboriginals could do.’ Chrissie gave a tight smile. ‘Anyway, that’s in the past,’ she said as she pulled herself to standing without a single wobble, as though she had just planted both feet firmly on the ground to take her weight. ‘Right, my turn to take a shower.’ She deftly used both of her strong arms to grasp furniture and swung herself towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I sank down onto the bed, feeling as though my own legs had turned to puddles of porridge. My brain – and heart – raced at a million thoughts and beats per second as I ran through a gamut of emotions: guilt, for ever feeling sorry for myself when not only was I incredibly privileged but also able-bodied; anger that this woman hadn’t received the kind of immediate medical care she’d needed. And, most of all, sheer awe for the way Chrissie accepted her lot, and her courage and bravery in getting on with her life, when she could have spent the rest of it feeling sorry for herself. As I had done recently . . .

The door to the bathroom opened and Chrissie, wrapped in a towel, made her way back effortlessly to her bed and dug in her overnight bag for a pair of pants and a T-shirt.

‘What?’ She turned round and saw my eyes on her. ‘Why ya staring at me like that?’

‘I just want to say that I think you’re incredible. The way you came through . . . that.’ I tentatively pointed to the missing limb.

‘I just never wanted it to define me, y’know? Didn’t want the missing bit to be who I was. Mind you, it did have some benefits.’ She laughed as she climbed into bed.

‘Like what?’

‘When I applied for uni, I got a full house of offers.’

‘You probably deserved them.’

‘Whether I did or didn’t, I could take my pick. A disabled Aboriginal person manages to tick two boxes on the government quota forms. The unis were fighting over me.’

‘That sounds seriously cynical,’ I responded as I too got into bed.

‘Maybe, but it was me who got the chance of a great education, and I made the most of it. So who’s the winner here?’ she asked, as she reached to switch off the bedside light.

‘You,’ I replied.

You . . . with all your positivity and strength and zest for life.

I lay there in the darkness, feeling her alien but familiar energy only a few feet away.

‘Night, Cee,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I’m here.’

I smiled. ‘So am I.’