Free Diamonds in the Mud and Other Stories by Joy Dettman Page A

centre of the circle as everyone started grabbing at new meat.
    â€˜Good old kerosene.’
    â€˜They missed a bit under your eye.’
    â€˜Bloody mascara,’ she said, giving her pantihose a hitch while he guided her expertly around the floor. And where the hell had he learned to dance? Maybe his oldies had taught him before the fire. Again he swung her out of the circle, then cut back in after the partner swap. He did it four times before the dragon got onto him and damn near wrestled him away from Danni, who found herself back in the arms of pasty faced George the goonsman from Canberra.
    â€˜That waterbed is calling, babe. I always wanted to lift one of those skirts.’
    She did something she’d been dying to try for ages, and if he hadn’t been falling down drunk it may not have worked. She placed an ankle behind his knee; for a second he thought he’d got lucky, until she gave him a shove in the chest and he went sprawling.
    And she was away, disinterested in the outcome. She was heading for freedom, and bugger cutting up and passing out the wedding cake. High heels clicking, she ran for the stairs. And she tripped. Didn’t know how it happened. Head over heels she tumbled, feet entangled in petticoats, one second at the top of the stairs, the next flat out on the footpath below. No time to wonder if her back, her legs were broken, she was up and running, down the main street, around the Kmart corner, one sandal on, the fake flowers in her hair wilting in the last of the rain.
    â€˜Christ,’ she said, safe in the shadows, taking time to feel her head. ‘Ouch,’ she yelped, removing her remaining sandal and delving beneath her petticoats, ripping off her pantihose, chucking them over a front fence. Her knee oozing blood, she limped on her way, hired petticoats dragging in the puddles.
    She was approaching the corner when the red utility pulled in to the kerb. ‘Hop in, Marshall. You’re getting wet.’
    â€˜Who bloody cares?’ she said, but she got in. Ben drove her to her house.
    No key of course. It was with her car keys, wasn’t it? Locked inside. She hadn’t expected to be home before Darlene and the dragon.
    He followed her down the narrow cement path to the rear of the house. ‘Have you got a hidden key?’
    â€˜No, but I’ve got a window and a convenient drainpipe. Ta for the ride, Ben. See you round.’
    â€˜You’re not going to scale a drainpipe in that rig?’
    â€˜Don’t bet on it.’ She stepped over a puddle, and it was a very bad move. A garden hose lay forgotten across the path. She trod on it, and as her right foot rolled, her gashed knee gave way. Reflexes threw her weight back onto her right foot, which sank in ankle deep mud. No options left but to grab for what she could. Him.
    He caught her, held her, remembering near forgotten nights when he’d held other girls in his arms. She felt light, but firm; she smelt of clean earth with just a whiff of kerosene.
    The moon chose to peer out at the rain-soaked land at that moment, lighting the right side of his face and leaving the left in darkness. He looked like a stranger, a tall, dark Prince Charming, and she stood pigeon-toed in the mud, gaping up at the perfect side of his face.
    He broke the clinch, lifted her with ease onto the windowsill. ‘Watch your feet. I’d hate to get mud all over Uncle Norm’s second best suit.’
    â€˜It looks better on you.’
    He picked up her lone sandal from the mud, looked for its mate as she slid the window wide and scrambled inside, hauling her petticoats through.
    â€˜I could have sworn you had two feet when you were dancing. What happened to the other shoe?’
    â€˜Personally, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Ta for the boost up.’
    He waved a hand and backed off into the shadows.
    Â 
    He found her at the garage on Sunday afternoon, and heard her cursing like a truckie as she