Repent at Leisure

By Greta Harvey

A pet food shop. Who would have thought it could hide such a murky story of violence and intrigue? Mal would never have taken that lift if he had known his fate. Years later, Cynthia may have even thought twice about embarking on a holiday with her cousin in Brisbane. Naïve and looking for excitement, if she had not been attracted to the handsom

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Harris
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648530152

Greta Harvey

Greta Harvey is a proud Aussie who lives in a peaceful seaside area of Southern Tasmania where it's conducive to writing. Each of herbooks is set in different states of Australia with true-blue Aussie characters, quaint lingo and quirky humour. Her flair for detaileddescription brings you right into the stories so that you're living in the pages too.

Book preview

REPENT

AT LEISURE

GRETA HARVEY

ALSO BY GRETA HARVEY

Gidgee Harbour

Waiting in Wattlevale

FnB’s House Sitters

© 2021 Greta Harvey

ISBNs

Paperback: 978-0-6485301-4-5

eBook: 978-0-6485301-5-2

Published by Greta Harvey

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication

may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

Prepared for publication by Forty South Publishing Pty Ltd

Cover image provided by Alamy

P6RBAC

Printed by IngramSpark

FOR KYLE

who always loves a nailbiting tale

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

PART I: 1975

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

PART II: 2000 – FIFTEEN YEARS ON

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

1976

Gilgandra. Sleepy outback town. Hot and dry. Scattered red gums, limbs heavy with galahs and cockatoos. Squawking corellas. Old timers living in the district for donkey’s years. Battlers struggling because of lack of money and regular rainfall, so little water for livestock or crops and even less for baths. Lack of employment. Locals staying only for the companionship of good reliable old friends, certainly nothing else.

Mal looked around this seemingly deserted country town where he had just been dropped off by the truck driver who had picked him up.

On that dry and windy day, 35-year-old Mal had just angrily parted company with Ross, his friend from way back. Together Mal and Ross had planned a wonderful road trip and working holiday. They’d known each other for – well, going on seventeen years now and had always been good mates through thick and thin until recently that is, when Ross’s head had been turned by some pretty skirt and the whole damned adventure had been thrown out the window just like that! Mal distractedly ran his hand through his sweaty hair and considered all his options. He wondered whether he should just chuck it all in and return south to his home in Melbourne with his only true and loyal friend, his terrier Toby, or go north as previously planned. Damn, he thought, Ross has the bloody Ford Falcon we both did up together for this trip. He was already beginning to regret his hasty decision to leave.

Ross had met Paula at one of the town’s many pubs and had become immediately besotted with her. The two men were supposed to be heading out of town any day but for one reason after another they kept putting it off. Now Ross was making a fool of himself over this bloody sheila. Mal really felt like the third cog in a wheel. After many hints and a lot of nagging which turned into a colossal fight, Ross was more than happy to stay there in West Wyalong with his Paula. There was nastiness on both sides. Utterly disgusted, Mal had left Ross and a triumphantly smug Paula behind and had stormed off by himself with Toby.

He had reluctantly decided to head up to his uncle in Stanthorpe and stay with him for a while to see if there were any fruit picking jobs to be had in the area. Being a city-bred boy, he really had no idea of what or when crops were grown and harvested but he thought at least it was worth a try. He’d heard about travellers being given fruit picking jobs as they were passing through areas such as that. Mal’s Uncle Mick was a hard man, military-trained, and had always controlled his family in every conceivable way with his rigorous beliefs and dictatorial manner. Mal had dreaded the duty visits and had always stayed out of his way as much as possible. Now it seemed, Mal should just bite the bullet and try to heal the rift between them. As Mum said, he was family after all!

After an hour or so trudging along the hot barren highway, Mal was relieved to see a service station not too far ahead. First off though, he went to the restroom and then visited the take away section and bought himself and the dog something to eat and drink. Scratching around in his pockets, he found enough loose change and rang his mum to let her know of his change of plans and to get Mick’s phone number. She was really happy to know he was going to visit him and try to mend their relationship.

Comforted to hear the familiar voice from home, Mal smiled to himself as he listened to his mother rambling on about how good Mick had been to her when Mal’s father had walked out on her and the children after eleven stormy years of marriage. Wanting to change the subject and being ever conscious of the coins he had left to prolong the call, Mal told her briefly what had happened with Ross and quickly added to give his love to his sisters. He then bade her a cheery goodbye and promised to get in touch again soon. He then wandered again down the desolate highway, followed closely by his constant companion, Toby.

‘It’s too bloody hot out here in the open,’ Mal muttered to Toby as he wiped the sweat from his brow again. He hoped that it wouldn’t be too long until they got a lift. He bent down and gave him a reassuring pat. Mal looked at his thick heavy boots and realised that he would be much better off in his thongs. He read on a sign that the next town was 80 kilometres away and sighing, he put out his thumb again, signalling his desire for a lift. Finally a green sedan slowed and came to a stop.

The weather-beaten driver turned down the John Williamson music he was playing full bore. ‘Where ya headin’, mate?’ he called through the open passenger’s window. He looked to be in his early seventies but seemed friendly enough. Mal told him he was trying to get to Stanthorpe to his uncle’s. The driver told him to hop in and kindly shared the other half of the sandwich he was eating. What a relief to sit down. As they mowed down the miles, Mal was told all about the fishing that Johnno the driver loved, accompanied by a great selection of country and western music. Johnno was quietly singing along to Slim Dusty in between telling Mal about the Tamworth Music Festivals that he had been to over the years. He lived in a lovely little country town called Coleraine and told Mal about the sheep stations and significant places of interest in the town. He said that Coleraine was built on volcanic rock and that most of the houses there were constructed from Mt Gambier brick that kept the heat down by at least twelve degrees in summer. He also told him about the magnificent wedge tailed eagles that were prolific around the district. Then he went back to his favourite subject which was fishing, a sport that Mal was not exactly over-enthused about. He told Johnno he was fairly good at surfing, and would eventually like to get up to Queensland to do some, then wistfully remembered that his surfboard was in the car with Ross. He then explained who Ross was, and all about the trouble he’d had because he wouldn’t leave that stupid bimbo Paula. She had said she intended to leave the pub where she worked in another month or so to head back to Dubbo to her family but Mal wasn’t prepared to hang about town that long. He thought he might contact Ross from Stanthorpe to see if they could meet up and resume their long ago made plans. Johnno listened on in sympathetic silence.

Close to two hours went by in easy companionship but at a crossroad, Johnno pulled up. Unfortunately for Mal, he needed to go that way and so would have to let him out there. Johnno’s route continued up over the hill. Mal shook hands with his driver, thanking him for the entertaining ride and Johnno wished him the very best of luck with his adventures. They waved goodbye, with Mal thinking what a decent bloke Johnno was and that he’d best try for another ride. Unfortunately the road was pretty well deserted.

After what seemed ages, Mal felt he couldn’t go another step. Sweat was dripping off him, his legs felt like lead and poor Toby was most definitely struggling to keep up. He audibly cursed each and every car that sped past him and growled about how selfish the drivers were. He then turned to face the approaching cars thinking that, with eye contact with the drivers, he would perhaps stand a much better chance of securing a lift in this isolated area. Finally a battered and rusty Holden ute slowed down and ground to a halt. You beauty, thought Mal, though his first sight of two huge savage-looking dogs inside the vehicle quickly changed his mind.

‘How far are you going, mate?’ the scruffy driver asked, snarling at the drooling dogs to siddown and shutup .

‘I’m trying to get up to Stanthorpe,’ Mal replied with some trepidation.

‘Well, you’re in luck then. That’s where I’m heading,’ replied the driver, who then yelled at the menacing dogs to git in the back . Introducing himself as Deano, he said that he made his living by shooting roos and pigs, whatever he could find. Mal stared at him in horror, feeling quite uneasy. Deano added that he was heading up Warwick way in Queensland to pick up some carcasses that were ready for his mate’s pet food shop in Brisbane. He said his job was to drive around looking for supplies. The money was good and he certainly had plenty of freedom. He loved getting out of town and flying out along the open road by himself.

Mal then told him about himself and about how he was hoping to enjoy a taste of life on the coast, after spending time in Stanthorpe fruit picking. He was very grateful for the lift and to be sitting down, though he had to put aside his impressions of Deano, his filthy rotting brown teeth and that exceedingly bad breath every time he opened his mouth. Toby just remained cringed at Mal’s feet.

After what had seemed like hours in the unrelenting heat, they pulled into a road house where Mal bought two Cokes, and a drink of water for Toby. He put a container of water in the back for the other dogs too, careful at the same time not to get too close to them. Deano downed his drink in two gulps, letting out a huge belch. He checked the radiator and refilled it from a container that was in the back with his dogs, growling that the fool thing was playing up again.

Mal took a turn at driving, entertained by stories of some of the farms and their inhabitants that Deano had come across on his travels. Deano then added that if he wanted, Mal could meet some of them that night if he cared to stay overnight and continue on the next day with him. Then they would be able to be off at first light. There would, of course, be some cold tinnies at Norm’s waiting for them, he coaxed.

Throwing caution to the wind, Mal decided that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to take up his offer. It would certainly save the problem of where to sleep that night and Deano could get him to Stanthorpe the next day. Mal also thought himself unlikely to get another lift at that time of day so what harm would there be?

As they continued, the landscape became drier and even more uninteresting than before. The only vegetation was yellowing tussocks of grass swaying in the breeze. Mal could not understand why anyone in their right mind would want to live out there and consoled himself by thinking about the clean and salty air of the ocean. At least he would have lodgings for the night, he tried to convince himself.

He consented to take up Deano’s kind offer and asked what Norm was like and what he did for a crust. Deano told him that Norm had dabbled in lots of things, that he was a ringer, a shearer, a general roustabout. He would have a go at just about anything. He said he was a decent old codger, always good for a laugh. He lived on a property near Walgett with his old mate, an aboriginal stockman named Wally, at least that’s what Norm called him. Wally lived in an old humpy out the back, keeping to himself mostly but occasionally going off on walkabout. He didn’t go all that often nowadays because he had a gammy leg after a fall from a horse a couple of years back. He also said that sometimes when they had company, Wally would bring out his old mouth organ and they’d all have a good old sing-along. He then warned Mal not to take too seriously the cock and bull yarns that would start after they had sunk a few.

Toby was asleep at Mal’s feet all through this and Mal thought he should have left the poor thing back with Ross. It must be so hard for the little dog. Deano commented that it wasn’t too far to go and he ran a grubby hand through his greasy matted hair. The ute ploughed along until they finally came to another roadhouse where they both bought hot pies and cold drinks. The radiator then started to hiss, indicating something was once again amiss with it. They let it cool a little then topped it up again. When they resumed their trip, Mal had another go at driving, complaining about the shocking state of the road that they were on, saying that such deep corrugations would wreck any car’s suspension quick smart. It was no wonder people only drove solid old vehicles like what they were in. Deano told him about the rough roads further out west with potholes so deep that you could lose your car in them and Mal wondered if this wasn’t one of those yarns that Deano had earlier mentioned.

Mal also began to worry if this ute was actually going to get them to Norm’s place after all. It was now starting to make some interesting new noises, thanks, no doubt to the rutted roads. However he did not air his opinion for fear of sounding derogatory or ungrateful. At long last Deano shifted down a gear and they turned off the main highway onto little more than a track. He stopped, got out and struggled to open a warped rusty gate and not long afterwards, pulled up at what looked like a deserted derelict shanty, littered with decomposing shells of assorted vehicles and general discarded rubbish. Deano parked the car just in front of a pile of scrap metal lying near what possibly was once a pathway.

‘Here we are, mate,’ he told Mal, who just stared at the