Room 46 & Short Story Collection Read online

  Although this voice had little impact on the dogs’ behaviour, at least it meant that somebody could see her and might rescue her before she was mauled. Sarah almost cried in relief when a man appeared and shooed the beasts away. Dressed in ragged shorts, a faded flannelette shirt, gumboots and a straw hat, his face was partially hidden behind a bushy grey beard.

  ‘G’day love, you must be the photographer. I’m Len, the father of the bride,’ he announced proudly thrusting a dirty, calloused hand towards her.

  Still shaken Sarah could only nod and give a weak smile as she reluctantly returned Len’s enthusiastic handshake. ‘Sarah Harris.’

  ‘Sorry about the dogs. They’re a bit rowdy sometimes, wouldn’t hurt a fly though.’

  Sarah gave another lukewarm smile. People always said that their dog would never hurt a fly, but she begged to differ. She had been scared too many times by dogs that barked ferociously and bared their teeth menacingly, to believe that all dogs were harmless. Still, she was out of harm’s way for now.

  Unlocking the boot, Sarah started unpacking her equipment. About to stack it on the ground, she was pleasantly surprised when Len appeared behind her with outstretched arms and said, ‘Load me up love, you shouldn’t have to carry all that heavy gear inside yourself.’

  Apparently chivalry was not dead after all.

  As she followed Len around the side of the house to the back door Sarah did a quick rethink of the situation. Maybe Vanessa’s family had pressured her to get ready at home? Yes, that was probably it. She had said that her father had insisted on paying for everything, but obviously that didn’t extend to springing for a nice hotel room somewhere. Vanessa must be mortified about me coming here, Sarah thought sympathetically.

  Len led her though a ramshackle kitchen with dirty plates on every surface into a large, untidy lounge room. Sitting on a lumpy couch with a torn cover was Vanessa and her two bridesmaids. Their hair and makeup was done and they were painting their nails. A woman in a faded blue chenille dressing gown and bare feet sat on a wooden kitchen chair, drinking a cup of tea, looking every inch the country hick.

  ‘Oh, hi Sarah,’ Vanessa said. ‘You found the place okay?’

  ‘Yes, no problems,’ Sarah replied briskly, still thrown by her surroundings.

  ‘This is my mum Valerie,’ Vanessa said, pointing to the woman in the dressing gown, ‘and these are my sisters Bridget and Fran.’

  Vanessa made the introductions with a radiant smile and offered no excuses for the state of the house. To Sarah’s amazement she didn’t seem embarrassed at all.

  Valerie smiled warmly. ‘Would you like a cuppa love?’

  Sarah shook her head. She was dying for a coffee, but there was no way she was touching anything from that kitchen.

  Sarah looked long and hard at the lounge room while everybody got dressed, attempting to find the least objectionable background she could. Alone in the shabby room, she could only shake her head at what she had to contend with. Half of one wall was taken up with an old-fashioned china cabinet. Walking over closer Sarah discovered some nice pieces of china inside. It was just a shame that a large souvenir teaspoon collection dominated the top three shelves, overshadowing everything else. She simply didn’t understand the philosophy of collecting spoons and displaying them in a plastic case. There were spoons from Darwin, Oodnadatta, Broome, Hobart and dozens of places in between and each was as gaudy as the next. Scratch that wall, Sarah thought crossly.

  Len entered the lounge room, a pair of black lace-up shoes in his hand. ‘Great collection hey?’ he said proudly.

  Sarah gave one of her best fake smiles and nodded in response.

  ‘Started it up when I was just a nipper and since then people just know to get me a spoon whenever they go somewhere. I’ve never travelled much myself, never been much further than Brisbane actually, but these spoons here they make me feel a bit more worldly, know what I mean?’

  Sarah nodded in a way she hoped didn’t seem insincere.

  ‘If I get a second before we leave I’ll tell you some good stories about how I came across some of them. But I’ve been ordered to clean my shoes first.’

  When Len left the room Sarah studied the next wall. It was covered haphazardly with dozens of family photographs – baby photos, school shots, family portraits and various others – all housed in cheap frames and many of the photos had begun to stick to the glass. Scratch that wall as well.

  The next area she looked at housed a television circa 1980 in a wooden cabinet, a dusty VCR and a record player that sat atop several shelves of records. Two large speakers were perched precariously on mismatched wooden tables on either side of the TV. So that area was no good either.

  Beginning to get desperate Sarah glanced over to the entrance of the hallway. Fortunately there was one bare patch of wall painted a cacky yellow colour, which would just have to do. Thanks to Photoshop she would be able to doctor the background later.

  As the day wore on Sarah worked hard to quell her frustration. Keeping up a façade of enthusiasm and interest in proceedings was taking a lot of effort. Only the thought of the final payment kept her going. Quite frankly, she didn’t even want to be seen in public with these people, let alone photograph them.

  More than anything Sarah was angry with Vanessa for misleading her. At the very least the bride could have pulled her aside and apologised for having such a hillbilly family, yet she was acting like the entire thing was completely acceptable. There hadn’t been so much as an eye roll or an exasperated sigh from the Vanessa while Len tramped around telling coarse jokes and Valerie boasted that she had won a perm for the big day via a raffle at the pub.

  Sarah couldn’t understand where Vanessa got her confidence from. In Sarah’s view of the world people who grew up in the backblocks in rackety old houses had to earn their way to the top. And, if by some small chance they made it, then they should work hard to hide their background, not flaunt it. Who did Vanessa think she was driving a silver Mercedes when she had grown up in squalor?

  Squinting into the lens of the camera, Sarah tried to line up a respectable family shot. Despite everything, Vanessa looked beautiful, so why hadn’t she insisted that her father trim his beard or better still shave it off? Why was she letting him wear a suit that was at least two decades old and a size too small? And would it have killed Vanessa to buy her mother a nice dress for the day instead of letting her show up in what could best be described as a house dress? Sarah knew her photography skills could not be shown to their best advantage when she had so little to work with.

  ‘All right, chins up everybody, shoulders out and smile,’ Sarah instructed with all the enthusiasm she could muster. After taking the shot Sarah studied the image on the digital screen. Len had his eyes closed, again.

  Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Okay let’s have one more, everybody eyes open wide please.’

  When Vanessa had issued Sarah an invitation to the wedding dinner, she had eagerly accepted. She always enjoyed rubbing shoulders with an upper class social set. However once she had lay eyes on the house that morning, Sarah had hatched a plan to feign a headache and escape as fast as possible.

  By the time the bridal party arrived at the reception venue, however, Sarah had changed her mind again. A free meal was a free meal and she knew if she didn’t ingest something alcoholic very soon she might just lose the plot. Besides her feet were killing her as the straps of her new sandals now felt like they were made of barbed wire.

  After stowing her equipment carefully in her car, Sarah was led to an empty space at the end of one of the outer tables. The glass of champagne she’d skulled on arrival had taken the edge off her bad temper and she was actually able to rustle up a smile.

  ‘Welcome to the misfit’s end of the table,’ slurred a middle-aged man with a red face. ‘I’m Uncle Arthur and I like my booze so I’m always exiled to the back corner at these events.’

  Sarah nodded and gave an almost genuine sympathetic smile. ‘Well t
he photographer always gets stuck in the corner as well so you can tell me all the family secrets.’

  By the time the dessert plates were cleared away, Uncle Arthur had not drawn a breath. Fuelled by numerous vodka tonics he really had shared all the family secrets, as boring as they had turned out to be. Sarah, who had enjoyed a few champagnes herself, was at the point where she could nod about every thirty seconds without really having to listen. I really should get going, she thought, but I’m still probably a bit over the limit.

  ‘I’m surprised Valerie didn’t wear the family jewels,’ Uncle Arthur slurred. ‘What better place to wear them than a family wedding?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ agreed Sarah absently, examining her ragged pinkie nail. She always bit her nails when she was frustrated and the pinkie had taken a real battering today.

  Uncle Arthur took another swallow of his drink. ‘You know some people think rubies are old fashioned, but I reckon they’re pretty classy.’

  With that he caught Sarah’s attention for the first time in almost an hour. Gulping down a glass of water in an attempt to clear her head she turned to Uncle Arthur and flashed him a radiant smile. ‘Sorry what did you say?’

  ‘Well my prostate problems started about five years ago,’ he began, taking another slug of vodka.

  ‘No, no, the thing about the family jewels.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ he replied. ‘Well Lenny’s mother left him a ruby necklace that’s about a hundred years old. Worth a packet, but he won’t sell it. Reckons his great grandmother would haunt him if he did. Valerie won’t wear it – she’s not the type – and because he’s got three daughters he can’t give it to one of them without offending the others.’

  Sarah gulped down another glass of water. ‘So, he just has it sitting in a bank vault or something?’

  ‘Bank vault?’ Arthur snorted. ‘Are you kidding? Lenny hates banks. Nah he’s got it in a glass case sitting in his shed. Tells people it’s just a fake, but a few family members know the real story.’ Arthur tapped his nose conspiratorially.

  ‘Oh yes, mum’s the word,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Can I get you another drink?’

  ‘Sure honey, but just make it a small one.’

  ‘Righto,’ Sarah said, heading off to the bar.

  It didn’t take long for Uncle Arthur to pass out after Sarah presented him with a triple strength vodka. Gulping down her strong, black coffee, Sarah made the most of the opportunity to depart, leaving Uncle Arthur snoring on the tabletop.

  Speeding along the quiet road two hours later, Sarah barely registered the speedometer nudging one hundred and twenty kilometres per hour. Aware that she was still probably over the limit, she could only hope that there were no RBT teams out and about. Glancing at the fuel gauge Sarah did a double take. It had been half full when she arrived at the reception and now it was down to a quarter.

  ‘Stupid car,’ she yelled, banging her hand on the steering wheel. ‘Where am I going to get petrol out here?’ She cast her mind back to the journey that morning and tried to remember where she had seen a servo and decided to keep driving and hope for the best, almost certain there had been one not too far back from the turn off.

  Finally the lights of a service station came into view. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sarah braked sharply and turned into the driveway, not bothering to use her indicator. There wasn’t much point when there wasn’t another car on the road in either direction.

  Sarah yawned as she filled her tank. It was almost 12.15 am and the thought of the long drive home to Brisbane was depressing. I’ve got a good mind to tack my fuel costs on to Vanessa’s final bill she thought crossly, especially since petrol is twelve cents a litre more expensive out here. Shivering in the cool night air Sarah briefly considered her personal safety as another car pulled into the driveway. Being attacked in the middle of nowhere was all she needed right now.

  Trying not to be obvious about it she glanced over at the thirty-something man who had just pulled up at bowser two. Dressed in faded jeans and a Hard Yakka work shirt, he appeared harmless enough and completely disinterested in what she was doing. Still Sarah was relieved when the pump clicked to indicate her tank was full and she could head for the relative safety of the shop.

  The attendant was sorting a pile of receipts and seemed pleased to have a chance to make conversation.

  ‘Rough day?’ he asked pleasantly, eyeing the king sized Mars bar and two litre bottle of Coke Sarah plonked on the counter.

  ‘Don’t even start with me,’ Sarah growled, her reserves of politeness well and truly exhausted.

  The young man dropped his gaze, his demeanour changing in response to Sarah’s rude reply. ‘Whatever. That’s forty-three dollars sixty with the fuel.’

  ‘Here keep the change,’ Sarah snapped, throwing a fifty dollar bill on the counter and stomping outside.

  Sarah sat in her car for a minute devouring the chocolate bar with little enjoyment. Taking a swig of soft drink straight from the bottle, she cursed Uncle Arthur and his drunken stories. Her trip out to the Morrison’s place had been a complete waste of time. There had been no ruby necklace in the shed. Despite her extensive search she had found no precious jewels whatsoever. If that wasn’t bad enough, her hands would be grease stained for weeks after pawing through piles of engine parts and she had broken the heel off one of her designer shoes. The roll of fifty dollar notes she had pocketed were little in the way of compensation, in fact, she felt she had earned them fair and square that day.

  • • • • •

  Buoyed by the anticipation of Vanessa’s final payment, Sarah managed to get over her annoyance at what a debacle the whole thing had ended up being. It’s almost kind of funny, she thought as she slid Vanessa and Marcus’ album into its velvet-lined box two weeks later, but I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m not re-living a day like that, no matter how good the financial reward.

  As arranged Vanessa arrived promptly at four o’clock. Sarah couldn’t help but stare at the other woman as she walked through the door. With her hair in a ponytail and no makeup she looked about sixteen. And she was wearing unflattering navy trousers and a pale blue fleece jumper. What was she thinking when she dressed today?

  Now if she’d showed up at the first appointment looking like that, this whole thing never would have happened, Sarah thought wryly. Switching to professional mode, she showed her client to the main office.

  ‘So nice to see you again Vanessa,’ she said politely. ‘Your album is all done as per instructions and it looks magnificent if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Great,’ Vanessa replied. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  ‘Well, I can show you now if you like.’

  ‘Uh, no, thanks I really can’t stay long,’ Vanessa replied. ‘I’ll give you a call after I’ve had a look at it.’

  ‘Sure whatever suits you. I’ll just get your invoice,’ Sarah said, flipping through a folder on the counter. ‘Okay, here we go. As discussed, the final payment is due today.’

  ‘No problem,’ Vanessa replied, accepting the bill and scanning it. Reaching into her handbag she pulled out a chequebook. ‘Can I borrow a pen?’

  Sarah handed her a blue Kilometrico and Vanessa quickly filled in a cheque and handed it over.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sarah, unable to stop the smile that always accompanied receipt of a payment. Studying the cheque for a moment she frowned slightly. ‘Uh Vanessa, you’ve made an error here,’ she pointed out. This amount is four hundred dollars short.’

  Vanessa didn’t blink. ‘Oh no, I’m just taking into account the money you stole from my father.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Sarah’s heart leapt to her throat.

  ‘Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.’

  At that moment the door pinged as someone walked into the outer office. Flustered, Sarah looked towards the other room then back at Vanessa.

  ‘Answer the door,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Really, you�
�re mistaken,’ Sarah stammered. ‘I’ll just send this person away and we can sort this out.’

  In the outer office she received her second shock of the day. ‘Uncle Arthur?’

  ‘That’s Detective Arthur actually,’ he said, flipping open a wallet and showing his badge.

  ‘What the…?’ Sarah exclaimed, struggling to maintain her professional demeanour. Then Vanessa emerged, unzipping her fleece as she walked across the room to reveal a police uniform.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Sarah murmured, sinking down onto the plush couch and burying her head in her hands.

  Sarah was surprised by the speed of the whole arrest process. The reading of her rights, handcuffing and transport to the police station where she was fingerprinted and questioned, all occurred with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Supporting Uncle Arthur in the sting was the man in the Hard Yakka work shirt at the service station, who also turned out to be a detective. Apparently he had drained petrol from her tank while she was at the reception to ensure she would stop at the servo.

  Glancing at the familiar faces in a small interview room Sarah said, ‘So this whole thing was a set up?’

  Mike Arthur shook his head. ‘No, not entirely. Senior Constable Morrison here really was getting married and she graciously agreed to let us work the investigation into her big day.’

  Sarah shot Vanessa a look of pure venom. ‘You must have had an extreme makeover.’

  ‘Yeah something like that,’ Vanessa said. ‘It’s amazing what a nice suit and an hour with a hair and makeup artist can do. We didn’t think you’d be too keen to have someone as working class as a police officer as a client.’

  ‘You got that right,’ Sarah agreed. ‘And I’m guessing the car wasn’t yours either?’

  ‘Harold Tynes from European Luxury Cars was happy to assist us in our investigation,’ Vanessa replied. ‘Especially considering his daughter was your first victim.’