Free Hostage by Karen Tayleur Page B

said.
    Tully studied him. He reminded her a bit of Bamps, the way his compacted body met in the middle, his shirt buttons straining around his belly. His hands, resting lightly on the counter, were large and blunt at the ends, as if worn down over time. She thought he looked like a farmer. She wondered if he was Joe of the Joe’s Roadhouse sign. Her hands skimmed lightly over the magazines. Home Beautiful and Woman’s Day nestled up against Hustler and another magazine wrapped in brown paper. A freestanding carousel held Christmas cards that jumped from bawdy jokes to fuzzy images of fluffy animals. She wondered if she should get one for Bamps.
    She took some time to consider the Tim the Toyman swivel stand. She still didn’t have a present for Aunt Laney. She narrowed her choice down to the super cap guns, the bubble blower and the animal plaster kit with paint before giving up totally on the idea. Tully felt sweat run in a trickle down the small of her back.
    ‘Hot enough for ya?’ the man asked.
    She agreed it was and asked where the toilets were.
    The man handed her a key and directed her back out the door and around to the left. After using the toilet, Tully washed her hands, then splashed water on her face and neck. She peered into the stainless steel mirror, which only gave her a fuzzy image in return.
    Inside the diner, Tully cruised past the sweets section then handed back the key. A sign on the wall announced Mrs Mac’s pies were the best. Inside the counter-top warmer, a pie that looked like it had been there since last century sat alone on the top shelf. It added to the warmth of the room. A public phone stood sentry against the wall like something from a museum. Tully thought she should give Bamps a call, just to tell him she was okay, but the thought of Aunt Laney answering the phone and losing it, or the police tapping the phone line to find out where she was, made her hesitate. Finally she fished in her pocket and pulled out a two dollar coin. She lifted the receiver and slipped the coin into the slot. The sound of Bamps’s voice made her heart constrict until she realised it was just the answering machine.
    ‘Hey, Bamps. It’s me, Tully. Everything’s cool. Sorry I didn’t come straight home from the chemist. There was a bit of a mix up there. I’m okay. I’ll be back later.’
    Tully hung up, aware that the attendant had been eavesdropping.
    ‘Nearly got rid of that phone a few times now,’ said the man. ‘Seems every man and his dog has a mobile.’
    Tully nodded and looked around. A newspaper article of a local hero was stuck to the wall with yellowing sticky tape and Tully looked closer so she could read it.
    ‘My son, Des,’ croaked the man. ‘Big fella. If he fell over he’d be halfway home.’
    Tully’s mouth turned up at the corners in her version of a smile.
    ‘Had a shot at the major footy league. Came back here, the silly bugger. Took over the farm.’
    Tully nodded.
    The fan overhead skipped a beat every rotation as it caught on a Christmas decoration.
    ‘He was on the rookie list for a while. With the Bombers. Had three senior games, but he did his knee. Waste of bloody talent.’
    The doorbell rang again and Tully turned to see Griffin headed for the counter.
    She left and gave the attendant a small wave as he called out a Merry Christmas to her. Back in the car, she strapped on her seatbelt and opened the packet of Menthos she’d slipped into her pocket from the sweets section. When Griffin got back into the car, he handed Tully two packets of chips and threw two bottles of water on the floor.
    ‘Lunch,’ he announced.
    Then he moved his window down to let in some fresh air.
    Tully laughed suddenly. ‘Cool. And I know the perfect picnic spot.’

    Hey Tully

    Greetings from Bondi!

    This is the best beach I have ever been to. That’s me surfing in the green shorts on the left. (ha ha) Remember swim lessons at Monbulk Pool? The swim teacher always said you could be in