Free Roadside Sisters by Wendy Harmer Page B

table in the rear cabin and poured another glass of wine. She’d forgotten just how tedious long drives through the country could be and had drawn the curtains on the view of endless dreary sunburnt paddocks and scrawny gum trees following the course of dry creek beds. It was hard to muster any affection for this landscape scoured by livestock, ravaged by feral animals and brutalised by the drought.
    Annie was dying for a cigarette and desperate for the loo. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to use the tiny claustrophobic bathroom in the back and had been hanging on for the past half-hour. She thought of her disabled BlackBerry in her handbag. God knows what she was missing out on. Just one commission on a multimillion-dollar mansion would pay for a holiday to a five-star spa in Thailand and she could be up to her neck in floating frangipanis. Just hours from civilisation and Annie was already cursing herself for agreeing to come on this stupid, hairbrained . . .
    At the bottom of the hill the King of the Road slowed and turned to lumber along the main drag of darkened souvenir shops, deserted mini-golf courses and fast-food outlets now firing up neon lights in the lengthening shadows. Annie reluctantly resumed her place up front and was instantly revived by the salty smell of the sea. She was back there as a child on Christmasholidays, sitting between her parents in the front seat of the Commodore. She clapped her hands with delight. ‘Can we buy some prawns at the Fisherman’s Co-op? There’s a pub—let’s go for a drink!’
    The van stopped at a zebra crossing and Meredith noticed a surfer in a ludicrous pose. As if he was ‘
a hunk of burnin’ love
’. He was sporting board shorts and a knitted beanie and carrying a parcel of hot chips. She was confused for a moment by his street mime, but then she remembered the artwork on display. No doubt the multicoloured jewels on
The King’s
jumpsuit were glittering in the setting sun. What a sight they must look! Like the carnival had come to town. She ducked her head.
    Annie cheered out loud at the surfie’s salutation and was suddenly inspired by the sight of the steaming takeaway. ‘Let’s get fish and chips for tea.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Annie, you’ll be wanting a game of mini-golf next!’ Nina was horrified to hear herself regurgitate this nag. ‘I mean—of course you can have whatever you want,’ she said quickly, hoping no-one had caught her mother-hen peck, ‘but we’ve got all this food in the fridge. I was thinking of maybe whipping up a grilled chicken salad.’
    It was almost 7 pm and Nina had been awake since before dawn. In truth, about the last thing she wanted to eat was a salad. The thought of fish and chips was a delicious, greasy, salty, vinegary hug and Nina felt her willpower slipping off her like the transparent layers of a pickled onion. She looked at Meredith, hoping she would be outvoted.
    ‘Gorgeous! Haven’t had fish and chips for years,’ Meredith enthused. Nina’s shoulders sagged with gratitude. She slowed and parked alongside a papier-mâché shark hanging in a fishing net over the footpath.
    Once the steamy, aromatic package of fried whiting, scallops and chips was in the van, the hunt for a place to stop for the night was on in earnest. Nina was driving and looking at the caravan park signs—
Lakes Haven, Lakes Ponderosa
,
Lakes Caravilla
. She peered beyond the thicket of tents, speedboats and four-wheel drives, trying to find a picturesque spot, but it was a pointless exercise in the gathering darkness. Garlands of fairy lights sparked into life in trees and very soon one spotlit caravan park entrance looked much the same as another.
    Meredith and Annie were no help. They’d torn a hole in the paper fish-and-chips wrapping and were extracting tasty battered morsels. Like bloody seagulls, the pair of them, Nina thought with irritation. ‘Look, let’s just find ourselves a basic park and stop.’ She turned