Free Walking Shadows by Narrelle M. Harris Page B

rest of the trip, we shared ear buds on my MP3 player. After a while, I left Gary to
study the player and shift randomly through song lists while I read his hilarious/dreadful
novel.
     
    The train pulled into Ballarat and we emerged into a bright summer day. Gary,
peering at signs on posts and bus windows, finally found the right stop. We reached Sovereign Hill
with no further difficulty.
    "Thanks. I'll meet you back in town," he said, inspecting the fence with a view, I
assumed, to jumping it and avoiding the entry fee.
    "I'm going in to pan for gold, remember?"
    He decided not to make a fuss. "At the entrance then, at the end of the day. Or. Or I'll
come find you when I'm done."
    "Sounds like a plan," I smiled encouragingly. It didn't chase away the vaguely worried
crease that had returned to his brow.
    I paid for both of us, so he wouldn't have to sneak in. I am aware he has a finite income from
the investments his parents left for him, and a mindset still bogged down in how much things used to
cost in the sixties.
    A few people in period costume were there for the meet-and-greet. The usual shop was there,
filled with ceramics, tea-towels and, as this was a gold rush re-enactment town, vials of gold
flakes and items of gold jewellery. Ballarat's place in history was also heralded by all the forms
in which one could buy the Eureka flag - the standard flown by the miners striking and later dying
for their rights. Gary seized upon the pictorial map of the place and found his destination.
    "Right. See you later." He didn't move.
    "You sure you don't want me to…?"
    That got him going. "No. No, it's fine."
    I watched him go, then walked out into the re-enacted past.
    The dirt road forked in front of me. To my left the street dropped away to a miniature diggings,
with a creek running through the middle of it and a handful of people already crouched by the
water's edge, panning inexpertly for gold flakes. On either side of the dusty road were timber shops
and hotels done in period style. There were no signs promoting modern products, only hand-painted
wooden tiles. I wandered along the boardwalk, inspecting the shops. I found one that sold scented
cedar roses, and bought a bag of lilac ones for Kate. I held one in my hand and surreptitiously
sniffed it from time to time. It reminded me of Nanna.
    Perambulating in the sunshine was unexpectedly pleasant. The earthy scents, the absence of
twenty-first century noise, the sound of my shoes on wood and the clop of horse hooves on soil. The
world of wall-to-wall consumerism and people shouting to be heard was far away. Not even the visual
cacophony of advertising hoardings disrupted the serenity. It was hardly a surprise Alberto
preferred living here to inhabiting the twenty-first century.
    My mobile phone rang, jarring the peace and making me feel ashamed of the disruption. I usually
try to set it on a discreet buzz, but Amisha from the library keeps sneaking it off me and changing
the ringtone. I was currently scrabbling for a phone that was loudly singing the Inspector
Gadget theme tune. I seized it and pressed the button. "Yes, Lissa here."
    "Melissa, baby, hi! How's my little bookworm?"
    The sudden happiness at the sound of my father's voice spiked and dropped in about a nanosecond.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken to him when he was sober.
    "What do you want, Dad?"
    "Can't I call to talk to my own little girl? My lovely little librarian?"
    Oh, he loved the sound of himself when he was like this. I took a steadying breath. "Do you
think you can call back later?" Like, when you're sober? "I'm busy right
now."
    "Aww, don't be like that, baby. I'm coming to Melbourne soon. I thought I'd take everyone
out to dinner." He sounded so reasonable, despite the slur. "I want to meet Kate's
mysterious Anthony."
    "Anthony isn't mysterious, Dad. He's a lawyer."
    "I haven't met him, and I should," he continued. "I'm Katie's daddy and I should
know any man she's going out with. Are