Queen of the Road (12 page)

The main street was packed with cars and people, the most activity Angela had seen in Munirilla. She manoeuvred the truck past the front of the IGA, hoping to find the street that ran down the side of the shop empty.

She cursed. There was a four-wheel drive parked close to the corner. She wouldn’t be able to turn her trailer into the street without hitting it.

Angela kept going and was relieved to see the next corner was not only car-free but had no buildings on the opposite side. The gum trees that lined the road grew a long way back from the curb too. She turned the first corner with ease and then the next without any problems and travelled back to the rear entrance of the IGA.

‘Damn!’ Angela gripped the wheel and pulled her truck over. With the engine idling, she studied the scene in front of her. Backed into the loading bay of the supermarket was a Berl Transport truck. The sides were up on the tautliner trailer and a forklift
was unloading. She had no doubt that this was the truck she saw out on the highway, and that this was the freight she’d originally been asked to bring. Angela had no idea what was going on, but she had every intention of finding out.

Thank goodness Leanne had collected Claudia while Angela unloaded the tank back at the depot. She turned off the engine and walked down the side street, past the bundles of flattened cardboard and around to the front of the shop. She asked to speak to Frank and was directed to the refrigerated section, where he was rearranging the sparsely filled milk and margarine shelves. The shelves marked cream and flavoured milk were all but empty. Her load was urgently needed, by the look of things, yet Frank wasn’t prepared to trust her with everything. She was disappointed and angry. He’d seemed so excited when she delivered his first load of goods.

Frank turned as she approached. His thick white hair flopped close to his bushy eyebrows and he looked at her in surprise.

‘Angela, good to see you.’

‘Is it?’

‘Of course.’ A genuine smile lit up his face. ‘You can see our dairy section is running low. I’m glad you’re early.’

‘Early?’ Angela looked at him quizzically. By her count, she was a day late.

‘I was able to get some of the dry freight via Berls, but of course they don’t do refrigerated. I was about to put up a sign letting people know they’d have to wait for cream until tomorrow.’

Angela looked at the cardboard he was waving in his hand. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘That was your message.’

‘What message?’ Angela looked from the empty shelves to Frank’s red face. ‘I didn’t send any message.’

‘Yes, you did. I’ve still got it in the office. Come through. You
won’t be able to unload until the Berls chap is finished anyway. Can I get you a drink?’

Angela’s anger turned to bewilderment. She had no idea what Frank was blathering about. She followed him through the back of the shop and up some steps to his mezzanine office with its window view across the shop.

He picked up a book from beside the phone on his desk. ‘Here we are. I know it came late in the day – one of the casuals took it.’ He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket, perched them on the end of his nose and looked down at the book. ‘Here it is.’ He tapped the page and read. ‘‘Ranger no freight this week, except refrigerated. A couple days late.’’

He handed her the book and Angela skimmed the scribbled note. It was dated two days ago. The same day Shell got the message they weren’t required to take the IGA load. This didn’t make any sense.

‘Who made the call?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who rang to tell you I couldn’t pick up your load?’

Frank took the book back and peered at it again. ‘It just says ‘Ranger Transport’. I assumed you’d run into trouble. It’s a big job you’ve taken on. I expect there’ll–’

‘Who took the message at this end?’ Angela could feel her neck muscles tightening. She dug her fingers into the ache across her shoulders.

‘One of the late shift.’

‘I want to talk to them.’

‘Why? Angela, what’s the matter? You’re here now, we’ll work things out.’

Angela dropped her hand and looked at Frank’s puzzled face. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Frank, but I didn’t send that message. No one from Ranger Transport did. I was in Adelaide two days ago,
ready to pick up your gear, when our office got a call to say that you’d cancelled – all except the refrigerated.’

Frank’s forehead creased into a deep frown. ‘I didn’t call.’

‘How did Berls come to collect the freight?’

Frank lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked back at her with a glum face. ‘I’m sorry, Angela. I asked them on the off chance they had someone coming back this way.’

‘But I thought we had a deal?’

‘We did … We do,’ he emphasised. ‘It was only this load and I had no idea they’d actually be able to bring it until I rang.’

‘So
you
rang them?’

‘They were doing some freight for us before you arrived on the scene.’

Angela shook her head. Either there’d been a major misunderstanding or someone was being deliberately devious. But who? She thought about the truck unloading out the back.

‘Maybe I should go and speak to the Berls driver.’

‘Possibly. I don’t know him.’

‘So he’s not one of their regular drivers?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. Cliff Berl and his three sons do most of the driving. They do mainly stock but the last few years they’ve taken on mining contracts up north. They’ve no doubt got other drivers on their books.’

‘If they’re so busy, how have they got time to pick up your freight?’

‘Must have just been a truck coming through without a load. Don’t worry about it, Angela. There’s been a mix-up, that’s all. It happens. Why don’t you sit down and have a cuppa?’ Frank soothed. ‘It’ll be a while before you can unload.’

Angela took him up on his offer. She sipped the tea, thinking she’d prefer something stronger.

What was most perplexing was that Frank’s wasn’t the only freight that had been pulled at the last minute – the other cargo had been for the stock and station agency.

She thought about Ken and his coolness towards her. His attitude smacked of old-fashioned chauvinism, but then, according to Jim, he’d been working hard to get a truck company to take on the town deliveries. There was no reason for Ken to sabotage her just because she was a woman. Besides, Ken knew she was only filling in.

She thought back over the morning, two days ago, when Shell received the cancellation messages. Which had come first, Frank’s or Ken’s? She tried to remember as she watched Frank working in the shop. If he hadn’t made the call, maybe Ken hadn’t either.

Angela took another mouthful of tea. Now she was being paranoid. Ken’s cancellation was because his client no longer wanted the pipe. Nothing either of them could do about that. It was beyond their control.

On Saturday night the dining room of the Munirilla Hotel was all but empty. Two older couples sat quietly eating their meals and that was it. Coop had made up his mind to stay away from town, but by dinnertime his resolve had weakened and he’d come in for a meal, hoping he’d run into Angela again. It was stupid to think that she would be here. She could be at home or on the road or anywhere.

Disappointed, he went back to the front bar and ordered a drink. Bill Badenoch served him. The aircon was fixed now and Barb was back in the kitchen.

‘Where a good woman belongs,’ Bill said in a low voice. He gave Coop a conspiratorial wink as he passed him a lemon squash.

Coop smiled, taking his change and his drink to a table in the corner. A few guys were playing darts at the other end of the room and a couple were watching the television mounted on the wall. Coop knew some of their faces, but that was all. They gave him a brief look when he came in, barely acknowledging his presence.

Normally that was the way he liked it, but tonight he would have been happy for one of them just to say hello.

He took a swig of his drink and a wave of loneliness washed over him. It wasn’t only the possibility of meeting Angela that had brought him to town. He’d spoken to Alice’s cousin again this afternoon. Alice had developed an infection. Mary was concerned and Coop was worried. Not only because he didn’t want Alice to suffer, but because he wanted her well again and back on the farm.

‘I wondered if I’d find you here.’

He looked up to see Jeremy standing just inside the door. He pulled his face into a smile. Jeremy was an odd guy but at least he was company.

‘What are you drinking? My shout.’ Jeremy dug into the pocket of his designer jeans for his wallet.

‘I’m right,’ Coop said, holding up his glass.

‘Rubbish, have a beer with me to celebrate. I’ve done my time, mate. I’ve done my time.’

Coop watched as Jeremy bought two beers and carried them back to the table.

‘What’s this about?’ Coop asked.

‘A toast.’ Jeremy raised his glass and tapped it against the beer he’d placed in front of Coop. ‘My last Saturday night in Munirilla.’ He took a big gulp of beer. ‘At least for a while. No offence, but,’ Jeremy leaned in and lowered his voice, ‘this place is a
hole.’

‘It doesn’t suit everyone.’

Jeremy snorted. ‘You have to get out more, Coop.’ He took another mouthful. ‘There’s some guy playing guitar at the Highway, how about we go over there?’

‘I was going to eat …’

‘We can eat there. The meals are good and it might be a bit more exciting.’ Jeremy drained his glass and stood up. ‘Come on, I can’t leave my only friend in town behind.’

Coop left his two half-finished drinks on the table and followed Jeremy out the door. The Highway wasn’t his scene, but a bit of company was what he needed.

The noise drowned out all conversation as they entered the recently renovated pub. The floor was covered in dark carpet and dotted around the place were tall, spiky plants amidst the glitz and abstract art. Very different to the pub they’d just left. Coop followed Jeremy as he wove his way expertly through the throng.

‘My turn to buy,’ Coop said. He ordered them each a beer, noting that the price was slightly more than at the Munirilla.

They moved a little way from the bar, sipping their beers and looking around at the crowd. Coop was amazed at the number of people squeezed into the main bar. A group of girls wearing skimpy tops and sparkling jewellery squeezed past them.

‘Why hasn’t it been like this other nights?’ Jeremy asked. Just when I’m leaving, the place gets interesting.’

‘Hello Coop.’

Coop turned to see Angela smiling up at him. Even in high heels she still barely reached his chin. She wore a shimmery black top with a necklace of glittering beads and her blonde hair was swept up onto her head. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were full and pink. She looked a million dollars.

‘Hello, yourself,’ Jeremy said, stepping up beside Coop. ‘You sly dog, Coop, keeping this one to yourself.’

Coop could feel the heat in his cheeks. ‘Angela, this is Jeremy,’ he croaked and took another sip of beer to lubricate his throat.

‘Angela, where have you been all my life?’ Jeremy asked.

Angela rolled her eyes.

‘Watch out for him,’ Coop said, finding his voice again. ‘City guy on the prowl.’

‘I can handle city guys,’ Angela said with a chuckle. It reminded
Coop of the picnic they’d had together – she’d laughed a lot that day.

‘You’re not a local, are you?’ Jeremy said.

‘No, from Melbourne. What about you?’

‘Adelaide. What brings a girl like you to an outpost like this?’

Angela laughed and once again Coop was mesmerised by the throaty warmth of the sound.

‘I’m driving a truck for my dad. Halfway through my time here. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks already.’

‘We have something in common then. My patriarch thinks I need to experience life beyond the city. I’m finished this week though. Can’t wait to get back,’ Jeremy said.

The sound of a guitar came from the corner.

‘Have you heard this guy before, Coop?’ Angela asked.

He shook his head. The noise and the crowd weren’t his scene. If it wasn’t for Angela, he probably would have left Jeremy to it by now.

‘I’ll get us another drink,’ Jeremy said. ‘Sparkling for the lady?’

Angela downed the last of her drink and passed him the glass.

‘I’m right thanks,’ Coop said, nodding at his half-f schooner.

‘Okay. Back soon.’

They both watched him weave through the crowd to the bar.

‘I can’t stay long,’ Angela said. ‘Claudia and I came with Jim and Leanne and the boys for a meal. I just popped in to check out the music, but the kids will be getting restless soon.’

Coop liked the way Angela was stretching towards him so she could be heard over the voices and the guitar. He smelled a hint of sweet perfume.

‘Are you free tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘You could bring Claudia out to the farm.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

‘That’d be great. Claudia will love it.’

‘Who’s Claudia?’ Jeremy was back with their drinks.

Coop eased a small step away. He wished Jeremy had taken longer.

‘My daughter. She wants to see Coop’s animals.’ Angela took a sip of her drink then smiled at Coop. ‘You’ll have to give me directions.’

‘I could drive you, I know where he lives,’ Jeremy said.

‘Okay. What about after lunch? I’ve got a few things to do in the morning.’

‘Suits me,’ Jeremy said. ‘What about you, Coop?’

‘Fine.’ Coop had been thinking another picnic lunch would be good, but with Jeremy along it just wouldn’t be the same.

A woman appeared at Angela’s side.

‘Leanne, this is Jeremy and Coop.’

Angela downed her drink while Leanne said hello. Coop knew Jim but he’d never met his wife.

‘Time to go,’ Angela said, wiggling her now empty glass.

‘Why don’t you stay?’ Leanne said. ‘We’ll take Claudia home with us. She’s busting to stay the night.’

‘Are you sure?’ Angela glanced in the direction of the dining room.

‘Stay and enjoy it. If you get messy, it won’t matter,’ Leanne chuckled and gave Angela a dig. ‘You can pick her up in the morning.’

‘I’ll go say goodnight then.’ Angela pressed her glass into Coop’s hand. ‘My shout when I get back.’ She turned and made her way through the crowd.

Jeremy’s glass was also empty. The beer Coop held was warm in his hand. ‘I’ll get the next lot,’ he said.

By the time he got back with the drinks Angela had returned and she and Jeremy were perched on stools around a tall bar table. Her eyes sparkled as they met Coop’s and she patted the seat next to her. ‘We saved you a spot.’

Angela and Jeremy were discussing music. Every now and then Angela would try to include Coop but he didn’t have much to contribute. He rarely listened to the radio much less bought CDs or went to gigs. Jeff was a country music fan though, so they’d listened to a lot of that when Coop lived with him. But other than that, music was a foreign conversation.

The night wore on. The guitar player stopped and the background music that replaced him was turned up, increasing the volume of the voices angling to be heard above it.

Angela and Jeremy became a bit maudlin, lamenting their lack of city life and talking about Munirilla as if it was the end of the earth. Coop was about to say his goodnights and leave them to it when Angela grabbed his wrist.

‘Who’s that guy?’ she asked urgently.

He followed the direction of her stabbing finger to see a large man standing just inside the door. He wasn’t familiar. With his huge frame, cropped hair and long, bushy moustache, Coop would be sure if he’d seen him before. He shook his head.

‘He’s wearing a Berls shirt,’ Angela said, but after a few glasses of bubbly, the name wobbled out of her mouth sounding more like ‘Bells’.

‘Where?’ Jeremy turned to look behind him then swung back. ‘Oh, that’s Clifford Berl.’

‘So he owns the truck company?’ Angela’s eyes darkened and her face was set in a frown.

‘Along with Cliff Senior, his father, and the brothers – Adrian and … I can’t remember the other one. They’re on our books.’ Jeremy drained his glass.

Angela slid to her feet. ‘I want a word with Clifford Berl.’

‘What about?’ Jeremy asked.

‘Business.’

Jeremy raised his eyebrows and shrugged but Coop reached for Angela’s arm as she moved away. He was still sober and could see Angela wasn’t capable of having a sensible conversation with anyone.

‘Don’t,’ he said gently.

She might not have heard him but she definitely felt the pull on her arm. She glared at his hand and he took it back.

‘I’ve got business to discuss with Mr Clifford bloody Berl,’ she declared and tottered forward on her high heels.

‘This should be interesting,’ Jeremy said, turning to follow her progress towards the huge man.

Coop stood and exited the pub through the empty dining room. He felt the old rage rush through him and took several slow, deep breaths to calm his thumping heart. His cheek tingled with the memory of his mother’s slap from the last time he tried to put a restraining hand on someone.

The cool night air helped ease his frustration and rid his nostrils of the smell of booze and bodies. He strode away from the pub, crossing the highway to where he’d left his ute. Angela had disappointed him but the anger he felt wasn’t directed at her. It was his own lack of control that bothered him. His concern for Angela had been the reason he’d lowered his guard and broken his golden rule – the one he learned as a teenager when Jeff set him straight.

Coop reached his ute and flung himself into the driver’s seat. His mother’s staggered movements danced before his eyes. The echo of his young voice pleading with her to stop drinking made the small amount of beer he’d consumed tonight sour in his stomach.

‘You should know better than to break the rule, Coop,’ he muttered to the still night. ‘Never argue with a drunk.’