Hiding Place

by Dave Goddard

Overview

“Here’s some pidgin, Mick,” and Garrick spoke rapidly. “Who been dat pella? Where him been prom? You been subby him? Him been talk punny way, ay? Him been kardiya bloke.”

“What?” Mick shook his head quickly.

“I said, ‘who is that man? Where is he from? Do you know him? Doesn’t he talk in a strange way? He’s a stranger in this place’.”

It’s 2017. Mick Wilson’s wife has taken off from Adelaide with a long-haul truck-driver and Mick’s two little kids. In an attempt to find his family, Mick, a brick-layer and former top-level Australian Rules footballer, blindly heads for Alice Springs.

In Central Australia, where many people go to hide from their past, Mick finds a different and challenging world. He stumbles into work on a remote cattle station, with an Aboriginal community close by. He also finds three very different women who shape his destiny.

Racial tensions, tangled personal relationships, a mysterious mountain range and a struggling Aboriginal community and football team force Mick to become part of a strange new world and way of being. Across a cultural divide, new understandings emerge in the most unlikely ways.

Through it all, Mick searches and aches for his kids, but because of the people he comes to know, he’s never alone.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452508993
Publisher:	Balboa Press AU
Publication date:	02/20/2013
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	372
File size:	627 KB

Read an Excerpt

HIDING PLACE

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By Dave Goddard

BALBOA PRESS

Copyright © 2013 Dave Goddard
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-0898-6

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Chapter One

PART 1: APRIL 2017

I

He'd parked the old Kombi in the red-dirt, treeless parking-bay beside mounds of soil. He needed to stretch his legs and try to wake up. The sign at the exit from the bay said, 'Marla Bore 20 kms'.

He leaned against the side of the old blue Kombi, took off his filthy peaked cap, and lit a cigarette. It was late on the second day of the journey. The side rear-vision mirror showed a dusty, haggard, red-eyed bloke with a face covered in stubble, clothes and cap soaked with sweat and stained red and someone who hadn't washed for three days.

But he didn't care. Who am I going to meet that would give a shit?

He gazed at the country. It was as if a half-arsed deity had dumped boulders and rock over a vast area, flattened them very quickly with a huge compactor, and left many mounds between which glittering-white salt-pans proliferated. No vegetation of any note was visible, as if the deity, after viewing the effect, had shrugged and buggered off.

To Mick, the sight seemed to go on forever. He was two thirds of the way to Alice Springs with no real reason to go there and no idea of where to go after that.

His old Kombi had chugged along at seventy kilometres an hour since he'd left Adelaide at 5.00 am yesterday. The first three hours had been through farm lands north of Adelaide which he knew well. The coast of the Gulf of St Vincent, and above Port Pirie, Spencer's Gulf were to his left, and to his right were hills that gradually rose in height to become the Flinders Ranges. After Port Augusta and the Flinders had faded behind him, all he'd seen was the now stony, treeless countryside.

The temperature had risen steadily over the first day, causing him to stop several times to allow the engine to cool and to top up the radiator. Memories of his days fencing around Quorn and Wilmington and out on the Eyre Peninsula had taught Mick to carry plenty of water, particularly when driving his decrepit Kombi.

He guessed, by midday, that it was around thirty-five degrees. As the Kombi had no air-conditioning, he'd shed his trackie top not long after leaving Port Augusta, and had driven with the windows open.

After twelve hours of nursing the vehicle on the first day, he pulled into a roadside stop just before Glendambo and slept on a mattress in the back. All he had to eat was some bread and cheese he'd grabbed from the fridge as he'd departed.

As hot as it had been during the day, he found he needed all his clothes, and whatever other covering he could find, during the night, as the temperature plummeted. He rose at five, shivering in the frosty air, as the sky began to grow pink in the east. He stopped for breakfast at one of the two service stations that made up the town.

Beyond Glendambo lay Cooper Pedy, which he reached about lunchtime, nursing the old wagon along at the same rate. He refuelled and bought a sandwich from a roadhouse. He didn't notice the unique nature of the place, much of it underground, as people had constructed dwellings, shops and even a hotel out of old opal diggings. All that filled his senses were events in his recent past and the flat, shimmering desolation of the present.

Now, late afternoon on Thursday, he was close to Marla Bore. He stubbed the cigarette and drove the last twenty kilometres. Marla sat to the right of the highway; a motel, a roadhouse, two houses and a yard filled with machinery. Just before the entrance to the roadhouse, a sign pointing to the right along a dusty track said, 'Oodnadatta Track, Oodnadatta, 216 kms'. But thankfully, the Marla Roadhouse and motel were surrounded by white gums, many straggly but a few flourishing. They were the first trees he could recall since Port Augusta.

He stopped at the roadhouse. It had a bar and restaurant, beckoning him to have a drink and a decent feed. He noticed, however, as he walked into the place, two people he'd passed, and the waitress at the counter, all gave him unpleasant looks. As he stood waiting for her to serve him, he understood why. He stank.

He managed to wash standing in front of a sink in the men's toilet, changed his shirt and found a spare pair of underpants. When he returned looking cleaner, cap off and longish blond hair visible, the waitress even gave him a smile. As well as food, he found a rug in the roadhouse, which he bought because of his experiences the night before. Then he chugged out of Marla to a roadside stop to sleep.

As he neared Alice Springs the next afternoon, Mick stared at the highway without seeing it. He knew he was close to Alice because the road signs told him so. But suddenly and spectacularly, the countryside changed. Flatness gave way to high ranges as he neared the town. It was as if he were driving into an impenetrable barrier of rock that stretched as far as he could see east and west. But just past the airport, the scenery changed again.

Seeming to loom over him were stark, red hills, with sheer cliffs near the summit, guarding the past like monuments carved from history. On one hill, the striations of rock were vertical, as if a huge hand had tilted the hill on its side and left it there. But between the hills was greenness, like parklands, with grass and trees growing on the edge of the startling white sand of a dry river bed.

And then, without warning, a cutting in the range of hills appeared, no more than a hundred metres wide, through which the dry river bed passed. The road and a railway line clung to one edge of the cutting, which a sign told him was 'Heavitree Gap'. As he drove through 'The Gap', the brilliant redness of the hills and startling whiteness of the sand were contrastingly blinding in the late afternoon sun.

He'd headed this way to find his family and the history haunted him. At times, it made him feel ill, and at times, it caused him to blink and wipe his eyes.

II

A month before, he'd pulled into the car park of the block of flats in Elizabeth where he, Sharon, and their kids—Sammy, aged eight, and Nina, who was six—lived. It was well after 8.00 pm because he'd stopped on the way home from work as a brickie to have a couple of beers with his mates.

"So you got another leave pass, Mick," Dougie had stated as Mick had bought a third round of drinks.

"Nah, but I'm thirsty, mate. And anyway, Sharon knows what I'm doing. It's not as if I'm off trying to shag some tart. I'm just having a beer with you blokes."

"Yep, but we're single or divorced, ay, Ram?" Dougie had grinned at one of the blokes who'd raised his glass as if to toast the comment. "You're the only one with marital duties, Mick. But as I recall it, you've been stopping for the one or six each day after work for six weeks now, and each night you seem to stay just a little bit longer. Sharon must be a very understanding missus."

"Did I hire you as my keeper or marriage guidance counsellor, Dougie?"

Dougie had been partly right and partly wrong. Yes, stopping for beers with his workmates had been going on for six weeks now, and each time, the length of Mick's stay had increased a little. While he knew it made Sharon shitty, he felt he deserved to unwind after an eleven hour day. And no, Sharon wasn't an understanding missus. She'd seemed to be when he first married her, and then during his time fencing up north and out west on the Eyre Peninsula. But since he'd come back to Adelaide to work as a brickie again, she'd become sort of distant and withdrawn.

He'd even wondered whether it had to do with her having to give up nursing training when she fell pregnant with Sammy. But he didn't ask. And she'd had a shot at him recently when he didn't get in until nearly 8.30 pm.

"Jesus, Mick, what are you doing? I've had all day at the IGA stacking while Naomi babysits for us, I get in and have to clean the unit, cook tea, bath the kids and get them to bed, and you sit around with your mates drinking piss. I thought when you came back after the time fencing, you'd be more committed to the kids, but I was wrong. You're only just in time to say goodnight to them and you're gone again at six o'clock, before they wake up."

"Give me a break, Shaz," he'd replied quietly, placing his bag in the cupboard inside the front door. "I've been working six days a week, eleven hours a day for the past six weeks and I spend all Sunday with the kids. With my overtime pay, you should be happy, instead of crapping on me for coming in late sometimes."

"Sometimes?" she'd spat. "Jesus, it's every fucking night, Mick. What about me? Don't I deserve some company?"

Then she was gone, slamming the bedroom door and leaving him alone and feeling very remorseful.

The flat had two bedrooms, a kitchen-come-living area, and a toilet-bathroom. Washing machines were on the ground floor, if they were working, and if not, Sharon had to go to the local laundromat.

He'd met her after a football match that he'd played in, between Centrals and Norwood. She'd taken his attention immediately. She was gorgeous; slender, with long dark hair and a smile that would win any heart.

Mick had played top grade Australian Rules football in Adelaide with Central Districts since he was seventeen, starting in 2004. He'd lived all his life in Elizabeth and, when first selected with Centrals League Team, already had the build of a man. He was always referred to as 'that big, blonde, good-looking bugger". Sharon was from New South Wales and had come to Adelaide a couple of months before they met, when she was eighteen and he was twenty-one.

"I just got bored," she'd told him coyly the first night they'd met. "I told my folks I was going travelling with Amy. We did, and ended up here, in Adelaide, after about six months."

"Why did Adelaide appeal?" he'd asked, knowing the place so well.

"It was better than Broken Hill," she'd giggled. "I reckon every man who looked at me in that place was thinking about giving me one." He'd known exactly what she meant, because it was what he'd been thinking, too.

"What do you do for a crust?"

"I started nursing training at Flinders University about three months ago, and I work in an IGA a couple of days a week to make ends meet."

They went together for nearly a year before she announced she was pregnant with Sammy, just after she'd returned from New South Wales to attend the funeral of her parents, killed in a car crash in the Blue Mountains. And, as his Mum had died just after he'd met Sharon, sorrow seemed to unite them.

He had no other family. His Dad had been electrocuted before he was born, there were no other brothers or sisters, and his Dad's and Mum's parents were dead. Sharon's father had no family she knew of, and her mother's family, from Queensland, were members of a radical religious sect and had disowned her when she fell pregnant with Sammy.

So they'd married in 2008, the year Mick gave up playing football with Centrals, at the ripe old age of twenty-two. One reason was a downturn in the building industry which saw him laid off as a brickie, so he'd had to go to the country to find other work. Another was because football bored him; the training, the non-drinking regime and because he'd felt, without knowing why, there must be more to life than playing football and laying bricks.

His retirement from football would have shattered his Mum had she lived to see it. He was glad she didn't, even though her death in 2007 rocked him beyond anything he'd ever known. Despite the hardship of their lives, she'd worked her arse off to provide for him, six days a week in the local grocery store, to make sure he had football boots, tennis rackets, cricket bats or whatever else he'd needed.

She'd been mother, father, guide, mentor and mate. When the football regime of 'no grog' was in force, she'd often go to the local bottle shop, buy a six pack of West End, and they'd quaff beers until bedtime.

And when she'd had a few, she'd tell him, "You're so like your Dad, Mick; tall, unruly blond hair, you're built like a brick shithouse, and you're a real good-looking bugger. But just make sure the one you decide is your woman for life is like me and will love you forever."

He'd never struggled for female company. Like all high profile footballers, particularly tall, tanned, blonde ones, he'd found females ever willing and ready to bed down with him.

"Who was she?" his mother would sniff after he'd returned from escorting another willing accomplice home after an evening in his bedroom.

"That was Julie," he'd tell her. "I introduced you to her when we came in."

"Well, that shows the impact she had on me," she'd retort.

His mother never really knew Sharon. Her heart attack had happened just after Mick met her. His mum lingered for a month in hospital, and he'd supported her as best he could. And then she was gone.

Maybe that's why he'd turned to Sharon and she'd turned to him. Neither of them had anyone else.

When the downturn in the building trade came, he'd gone fencing, often up north to places like Wilmington and Quorn or out near Cleve and Lock on the Eyre Peninsula. It meant he was away for a couple of weeks at a time, returning as much as he could to see Sharon and Sammy. And, while he was fencing, Nina arrived.

It was like he'd lived two lives. One was work and the other was family, and in truth, he loved both. There was the freedom of the fencing work, because when the day's work was over, he'd drive with the team to Wilmington, Quorn or Cleve, have a few beers and a decent feed and be able to unwind. But he also loved seeing the kids and was devoted to them when he was home. He'd so willingly take them to parks and places that didn't cost money, and revel in his time with them.

But late in the fencing period, he'd begun to sense a change in Sharon's attitude to him. And when he'd come back to live in Adelaide and started as a brickie again, it had changed even more. He'd spend as much time with the kids as he could, following the same ritual as he had when fencing. But Sharon had become increasingly distant. He'd come in from work, she'd toss the responsibility of the kids to him and go and sit on the floor of the unit and watch the latest talent show or never-ending soap opera. And while he didn't resent the responsibility, he'd begun to resent Sharon's attitude to him including, over the past few months, resistance to having sex with him.

That night, after drinks with Dougie and Ram, he'd trudged the stairs to the third floor and unlocked the front door of the flat. It had been in darkness so he'd switched on the light and placed his bag of tools inside the cupboard. It wasn't unusual for Sharon to go out at night, but when she did, Naomi, the fifteen year old from two doors down, usually baby-sat. Tonight, however, there was no one.

He'd walked towards the stove, thinking that maybe she'd taken the children to Ainslie's place rather than spend money on Naomi. But at least, maybe, she'd have left him a meal. There was nothing on the stove. He'd looked around and tiptoed to the bedrooms and switched on the lights, expecting the children to be hiding so they could surprise him.

There was nothing there. Beds had been stripped and the wardrobe and chest of drawers, where the kids' clothes were always kept, were wide open. He'd spun and gone to the main bedroom. Again, the cupboard doors were open and only his clothes remained.

He'd gone still, staring into space for a while, before suddenly turning, leaving by the front door and running down the passage to where Naomi lived. After banging on the door and getting no immediate response, he'd hammered again.

The door had opened. Naomi, a dumpy, red-headed teenager, looked surprised. "Hello Mr Wilson."

"Naomi, do you know where Shaz—Mrs Wilson—is? Did she tell you anything today?"

"Who is it, Nay?" It was a woman's voice, with a strident Australian accent.

"It's Mr Wilson," Naomi had called over her shoulder. A couple of moments later, a dumpy, red-haired older woman, Naomi's mother, appeared.

"Mick?" she'd asked inquisitively as she walked to the door.

"Sheila, do you know where Shaz is?" Mick was agitated.

The woman touched Naomi on the shoulder and flicked her head. Naomi smiled shyly at Mick before heading back into the flat.

"Come into the corridor, Mick," Sheila had said less stridently as she'd closed the door to the flat and led him to the area she'd suggested.

She'd looked down for a while before saying in a motherly tone, "I saw her this morning, at eight o'clock. I'd washed some stuff by hand and I went onto my balcony to hang it out."

"Sheila, where is she?" Mick had become more agitated. "She's not in the flat, the kids aren't there either, and all their clothes are gone. I just got in from work. What's going on?"

Sheila sighed softly and looked over Mick's shoulder down the passage.

"Do you know Andy, from unit two-two-five downstairs?" she'd asked wistfully.

"Do you mean the truckie?"

"Yes."

"Oh, sort of, enough to say g'day to, but I don't know him."

"I reckon Sharon knows him a lot better than you do." Sheila spoke sadly.

"What ... what are you talking ... about Sheila? What in the name of Christ is going on?"

Sheila had rubbed the palms of her hands together. "Like I said, I was on the balcony about eight this morning, and I saw Sharon and the two kids, all carrying cases, get into Andy's car. He helped them load stuff in the boot. Sammy was ... well ... he was upset, crying, and didn't want to get in the car, but Sharon made him."

"What ... why did she ... what game is she playing?"

"Mick, I'm not a nosy neighbour. I don't check what people in these flats get up to. But often in the last few months as I've been going to the shops or down to do my washing, I've seen Andy coming and going from your flat during the day, when the kids are at school."

She'd stopped and looked sadly at Mick.

"You ... mean ... you're telling me ... that she ... she was having it off with Andy?"

"I don't know what she was doing with him in your flat, Mick, but I reckon, after what I saw today, she's taken the kids and buggered off with him. And Mick, I'm so sorry for you if that's the case."

Mick had stood staring at her for a long time, before he'd turned and walked back to the flat. He'd closed the door and leaned against it, gazing across the quiet dining area. All he could think of was to go to the police.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from HIDING PLACE by Dave Goddard Copyright © 2013 by Dave Goddard. Excerpted by permission of BALBOA PRESS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Dedications and Acknowledgement....................vii
Preface....................ix
Part 1: April 2017....................1
Part 2....................25
Part 3....................55
Part 4....................75
Part 5....................103
Part 6....................128
Part 7....................177
Part 8....................214
Part 9....................269
Part 10....................299
Part 11....................321
Part 12....................339
Epilogue: Early November 2017....................359
Credit: Songs....................361