Free Through a Camel's Eye by Dorothy Johnston Page B

tree roots rose to trip a person, with their look of nocturnal animals frozen in the act.
    She recalled her loneliness, now that it was diminishing, in the first few weeks of what she’d thought of as her banishment. Nothing in the night had answered it; nothing human, or made by humans, such as a café or a bar where she might have found someone to have a drink with. She shrank from going into a pub alone here, being recognised and talked about.
    Of course, if she’d been in Melbourne, not wandering around asking for her ankle to be broken, then Graeme would have been there too, looking at the same lights, breathing the same air. It was the absolute contrast of night down here that got to you. Back there, even if she’d been alone, the city lights would have touched her with a human touch. Here there was nothing to answer, though it was not a wilderness she lived in, but a seaside town. She thought of the two single women she’d come across - Camilla Renfrew, Julie Beshervase. Out there, on the cliff top, the idea of walking Riza to his hiding place seemed more than plausible, the idea that Camilla might have taken him, out of love and loneliness, a distinct possibility.
    Anthea had been in such a hurry to begin her walk that she hadn’t remembered to leave her phone behind. It was still in her jacket pocket. She was as startled when it rang as if she’d never heard a mobile phone before.
    It was Graeme. What was she doing at the weekend? If the offer was still open, could he visit? See the local sights? He fancied a boat trip. What passed for entertainment down there on the Bellarine Peninsula?

THIRTEEN
    Anthea held her phone to her ear, took a deep breath and glanced across at Graeme, who did not look up from the travel section of the Age.
    â€˜I see,’ she said. But she didn’t see. How she could have been so stupid as not to tell Chris that Graeme was coming down? She couldn’t tell him now, with Graeme sitting opposite her, waiting for her to get rid of whoever was interrupting their breakfast.
    Julie’s waiting for you at the station was not a request: it was an instruction; and from the way Chris spoke, he wasn’t sorry for ruining her Saturday. But she’d never given him any cause for thinking this particular Saturday might be open to ruin.
    Still not looking up, Graeme said in a mild voice, prepared to be mollified, ‘Got it sorted then?’
    â€˜I have to go in to work.’
    Graeme raised his dark blue eyes with an expression which asked what kind of emergency could possibly justify leaving him alone. Instead of replying immediately, he took his time to fold the paper, then pressed the long fingers of his right hand to his lips. Anthea imagined holding them. She took a gulp of air.
    â€˜An old lady’s had an accident. She’s broken her leg. That was Constable - that was Chris - ringing from the hospital. I’m sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
    â€˜What’s that supposed to mean?’
    Graeme could keep her there explaining for ten minutes. But the explanation would mean nothing to him, and would end in acrimony.
    â€˜Take the spare key.’ Anthea was suddenly all energy, rummaging in a kitchen drawer. ‘Go for a walk. Just across the road, there’s a path that winds along the cliff.’
    She put the key in front of him, fearing what she would see if she raised her eyes. But then she did raise them. Graeme was smiling, it did not seem unkindly.
    â€˜Hurry back,’ he said.
    Anthea fumbled with the car door and then the ignition. One of the traitorous thoughts that followed her along the narrow road was, why did Graeme pick this weekend, and why at such short notice? Perhaps his other plans had gone awry. She recalled his smile, pressed it to her eyelids. How ridiculous to assume he was incapable of amusing himself without her for an hour or two, or that she could be blamed for failing to amuse him. She