The shimmering heat haze, reminiscent of an inland sea, mesmerised her. Muttering obscenities, Bronte Miller slammed on the brakes, thrust the gear stick into reverse and shot backwards. She braked again, pausing to read the battered signpost. The sign on the left-hand side of the road indicated she needed to turn right.
“That’s confusing.” She squeezed the accelerator and the old car jerked forward, making the turn as wisps of steam rose from beneath the bonnet.
“Oh no!” She stared at the temperature gauge, gasping at the arrow hovering on red. Steering the car to the side of the road, she switched off the engine and slumped over the steering wheel. As the engine stilled, a loud hiss sounded.
“Why do these things always happen to me?” Furiously, she reached under the dash, fumbling until her fingers found the lever. The bonnet unlatched with a sharp tug. Bronte threw open the driver’s door and stepped onto the gravel road, reeling as the furnace-hot air hit her. She strode to the front of the car, angrily kicking the tyre.
“I should’ve asked that shifty salesman more damn questions when I bought you, you heap of junk.”
Perspiration trickled down her face and back, evaporating as the sun scorched her pale Yorkshire skin. Her fingers probed for the release catch and she yelped. She snatched her hand away from the hot metal, wrapped it in the bottom of her T-shirt and tried again. This time, the spring-loaded bonnet flew up, catching her painfully under the chin.
“Ouch.” Tears stung her eyes. She rubbed her face, overcome with weariness and despair. As steam and boiling water sprayed from a hole in what appeared to be a thick black hose, she jumped backwards, away from the gizzards of the old Holden.
“Mum, Mum!” A small voice cried out over the hiss of the escaping coolant.
“I’m coming Maddy.” Bronte ignored the spewing steam and wrenched open the back door, released the seatbelt and lifted her daughter into the fresh air. In the few minutes since turning off the engine, the air conditioning had also switched off, and now the temperature inside the old vehicle had rocketed. Maddy’s face was beetroot red, her eyes distressed. Guilt gripped Bronte. Placing her gently in the shade of the car, she grasped the water bottle from the seat.
“Here lovey, drink this.” The child drank thirstily. Bronte splashed water onto her hand and wiped it across their faces, before swallowing the remnants from the bottle. After recovering their sun hats from the back seat, she plonked them on their heads and squatted next to the little girl.
The paddocks spread out in front of her, dotted with clumps of gum trees and unfamiliar scrubby bushes, and Bronte was gripped by a wave of despair.
Why did we come to this godforsaken place again? Oh yeah, that’s right. A new beginning? Huh, what was I thinking?
A ridge of grey and orange rock scarred the low hills in the distance and the strip of dirt road stretched into infinity on her left. As it had been almost every day since they had disembarked from the gruelling flight from London, the sky was blue and never ending.
Turning to her daughter, Bronte swallowed hard. Her innards ached with love for her little girl. Maddy’s curly dark hair formed a halo around her chubby face and a pair of bright eyes, glazed with tears, peered from under the big straw hat. She grizzled and raised a dirty thumb to her mouth, sucking briefly before plucking it out again, staring at it and screwing up her face.
“Yuck! It’s dirty.” Maddy said.
Bronte grunted and straightened her shoulders.
Now she was nearly five, Maddy only ever sucked her thumb if she was really tired or anxious about something. This was obviously one of those times.
Right, now what do I do? Bronte desperately tried to recollect the salesman’s advice, her excitement at the time of purchase having overridden her concentration on the detail.
“If it ever breaks down out in the bush, always stay with the vehicle, no matter what,” he’d said. But what next?
She rummaged in her bag for her mobile phone. As she held it up in the air and pointed it in every direction, frustration boiled inside her. Still no signal. So much for modern technology.
Bronte opened the car’s doors and windows and slid down to sit beside her daughter in the shade of the open door.
“Someone will come along soon. We’ll just sit and wait.” Muttering more quietly, she continued, “This new job had better be worth it.” Her thoughts flipped back to the last time she had waited on the side of the road for help. She had been with her mother. The cold, driving rain of the Yorkshire Moors was a dim universe away.
“I’m hungry,” Maddy whimpered.
Bronte searched in the foil-lined shopping bag on the back-seat floor. It had been ages since they’d stopped for lunch at the café in Goondiwindi, Gundy or whatever it was they called that town.
“Apple or muesli bar, lovey?”
“Both.”
“Manners?”
“Please, Mum.”
“Good girl.” Bronte pulled the towel from the back seat and spread it on the dirt. They sat quietly, while Maddy munched her snacks. Bronte’s own stomach was too churned up to face food.
Sitting in a semi-trance, she shifted occasionally to stay in the limited shade of the early afternoon sun. She checked her watch constantly. Maddy had fallen asleep, her hot, sticky body against hers.
Remember what he said – stay with the car.
Torn, a little voice in her head suggested she take Maddy by the hand and walk back towards the main highway. How far was it though? Sixty kilometres? A hundred? Maybe they could flag a vehicle down. How long was it since they’d turned off the highway? An hour? Her mind was beginning to play tricks and she chided herself. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll be fine.”
***
She dozed in the scorching heat, while visions of home wove through her mind like a snake seeking refuge. Memories of damp and cold swirled together with the peace and serenity of the Yorkshire Moors in all their isolation and shades of mauve and green. She choked back a sob as consciousness returned and her dreams faded. The only view here was of the relentless hot sun and a shimmering haze hanging over a parched landscape.
“This sure isn’t Yorkshire,” she whispered. Bronte’s mind replayed the final conversation she’d had with her mother.
They’d left Yorkshire on a bleak, sleeting day. Jet-lagged, lonely and frayed by nerves, Bronte struggled to excite either herself or Maddy as she dragged her around the sights of Brisbane.
Bronte smiled as she remembered the joy and amazement transforming her daughter’s face.
“Mum. Look. The kangaroo’s eating out of my hand.”
Their visit to Lone Pine Sanctuary had been the highlight of those first few days.
“You’ll be right with this one,” the salesman had said at the car yard. “Parts are easy to get if anything goes wrong, and there’s no fancy stuff costing you extra money.”
Well, he was right to begin with. There certainly wasn’t any fancy stuff, except perhaps the air-conditioning - and that was more of a necessity than a luxury. Consumed with doubt, Bronte took another look around the sunburnt scene in front of her and her sleeping daughter snuggled against her sweaty side.
“So, here I am Mum Now what?” Bronte whispered.
