Preface
The old phone rang. The raucous sound made it seem to clatter against the wall. The receiver rang, bell like; like a hammer against an anvil. Marion looked up from her crossword in idle surprise, her pen still hovered over the clue “a type of tea, five letters starting with B.” With a gentle huff; the mousy, dark-haired woman stood and effortlessly took the five strides forward to the kitchen phone. She cradled the receiver to her shoulder and smiled politely into the empty kitchen. “Hello. Trencher residence.” She chortled. “Oh hi, Pete, yep, he’s here. Just one sec.” “Barry! Phone!”
From the sleepout there was the creak of an old chair. Slippers slapped faintly across worn floorboards. Barry Trencher appeared at the kitchen door in a blue singlet, nursing a mug of lipton tea. His hair was damp from a recent shower, his expression was relaxed with that well-earned country calm.
Marion handed him the phone. “Pete,” she mouthed. “From your work.” Barry nodded slightly annoyed, either from the call or from his sister-in-law, he gripped the handset from Marion. A waft of Dove soap and warm linoleum permeated the air as he moved. “Hello, Barry Trencher speaking. Hi Pete. Righto. What’s goin’ on?”
The kitchen was quiet but for the faint croak of frogs from the dam outside and the ticking of the fridge. Marion returned to the table, and watched on without really meaning to. The crossword was forgotten. She tapped the end of the pen against her lip and watched as Barry stood listening into the handset.
Croaking…
Ticking…
Tapping…
Barry turned away from her gaze slightly, shoulders hunched, he fingered the edge of the kitchen bench. Tracing his thick finger over the pattern on the tiles as he listened to Pete on the other end of the phone. “Oh yeah? …Shit. Nah, that doesn’t sound too good. What church? …Saint Stephens? Right... Right…” A long pause. He scratched at the short beard on his jaw, fingers fussing over the salt and pepper growth, his eyes darting over the spotless kitchen. Barry looked to ward off some nervousness by brushing at the empty air. An imagined mosquito? “Yeah, well. That’s, yeah. Look, I’ll get myself sorted. I’ll be there by morning. Don’t worry about it, mate. We’ll sort this out.” Another pause. “Yeah. I’m all right. Good. Good. Okay. I’ll see you then.” He hung up slowly, pressing his finger against the hook, holding the phone in his hand a moment longer than necessary, then set it in its cradle with a hollow click.
Marion had stopped pretending not to watch. Barry finally spoke. “Gotta go into Brisbane… first thing.”
“Oh?” she chimed in mild surprise. “Something bad?” she said with a quaver. Barry stared at her contemplatively through his dark brown eyes for a few seconds. He nodded once, pensively, a charge of nervous energy building behind his stern facade. “Yeah. Not good. Pete didn’t say much, but it’s serious. Wants me on it.” “You’ll be takin’ the Charger?” Marion searched. He gave her a dry look in response. A wry smile turned the corner of his mouth up. “Well, Steve’s got the work ute out west. I don’t reckon he’ll mind.” “He’ll mind.” “He’ll live.”
