Free Ricochet Baby by Fiona Kidman Page A

suppose. It seems I was lucky enough to find one.’
    A woman, short and wiry, walks across the paddocks with two men, heading in the direction where Wendy is gazing. All three appear to be carrying long-handled rakes, although one of the men could be holding a gun. The sound of the singing behind them is shattered by the arrival of a circling helicopter. The trio shake their rakes at the sky. A man with a camera hangs out of the helicopter as it hovers overhead. Sarah half-expects to hear gunfire, and she is not disappointed — only it comes from the ground and not from the chopper. The taller of the two men is firing his shotgun.
    Then Sarah sees that the grass has been disturbed; from where she stands, it appears to be flattened in a pattern of sweeping circles and diagrams. ‘Messages,’ says Wendy, in a loud, excited voice.
    Behind them, attracted by the sound of the helicopter, the members of the garden tour have begun to emerge through the trees. The owner strides ahead of them, her presence commanding. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘I’m afraid that’s all there is for today.’
    Alarmed by the shots, tour bus operators are shepherding their clients away, and men are hurrying their wives down through the trees, although it is clear that most of them would like to stay.
    Wendy begins to move towards the circles in the grass, following the three ahead.
    ‘Wendy,’ cries Sarah. She feels as if she has begun the most important conversation of her life and now it is being snatched away from her. Nothing can be heard over the deafening noise of the helicopter, now quivering like a giant beetle, a safe distance away from the action. There is a thin wind rushing through the air.
    ‘Go home, Sarah,’ calls Wendy, over her shoulder.
    ‘Did you give the man the money?’ Wendy doesn’t turn back.
    ‘Mother, did the man tell you who it was?’
    Wendy walks on, drawing steadily abreast of the two men and the woman. The garden’s owner peels away from the trees and follows her.
    ‘Wendy, come back, you old fool,’ calls Sarah. It is not clear whether her mother has heard this, although Sarah thinks she pauses. ‘I don’t want to see you again,’ she shouts.
     
    ‘I’ M AFRAID YOU’LL have to go back,’ says Edith, catching up with Wendy.
    Wendy turns to her, eyes blazing. ‘It’s magic,’ she cries. ‘Pure magic.’
    ‘Somebody smoking waccy baccy, more likely,’ Edith says, her voice dry.
    Wendy sees that, close at hand, Edith’s face is mottled beneath her tan, and that her hands are work-worn and rough. But there is an irresistible air about her that convinces Wendy they are about to become friends.
    ‘Oh come, don’t you believe in spirits?’
    ‘Madam,’ Edith begins again, wanting to steer Wendy back to the garden.
    ‘But don’t you?’
    Their eyes meet; Edith smiles a small sarcastic smile, but Wendy can see that it is at her own expense. ‘Why not?’ she says. ‘All the same, it’s a bit of a devil, all of this.’
    Wendy closes her eyes and laughs out loud, her face turned towards the sun.

five
WALNUT
    I HURRY THROUGH the hospital car park like a fugitive, certain that someone is going to apprehend me. This is irrational, I can see, because I have done nothing wrong. It is not a crime to call somebody a bitch, I am the injured party. But I am shaken, and nothing makes sense.
    When I find my blue Honda Civic, I sit there for a few minutes , my hands shaking on the wheel, before I am able to start the car and drive away I know I am not going back to work today, but I am not quite sure where I will go. I do not want to go home to Ashton Fitchett Drive, though I know that the sensible thing would be to lie down and put my feet up. I drift into a stream of traffic, down round the Basin Reserve, along past the carillon, and turn towards town. I think I will buy myself something, perhaps just some flowers, or fresh fruit, or perhaps I will go to a movie. But the traffic is heavy, and I