Two-Way Cut

chapter 2

Don’t I know you from somewhere?

Leah shook her head. Don’t think so.

You look familiar, the driver said. It’ll come to me.

To forestall that, Leah said, Ive got one of those faces. I’m always reminding people of someone.

The driver was silent, as if chewing on the matter. Leah said, How often do you make this run?

Get people to talk about themselves. It was a trick that Leah often used. She almost never talked about herself though, and for some people that was a problem. They couldn’t read her and she didn’t reveal anything.

Twice a week, the driver answered.

Faded paintwork on the sides of the van said Glendas Flowers and Gifts, Tiverton, a backroads town in the empty west of the state. The destination suited Leah just fine. The driver clearly wasn’t Glenda. Glendas husband? An employee? But whoever he was, he made the trip to Melbourne twice a week to buy market flowers at wholesale prices for re-sale to the locals in and around Tiverton.

Leah felt sleepy after her adrenaline burst of the last few hours. The sun warmed her and the vans motion lulled her toward sleep. But she needed to stay alert. Constant vigilance had become a condition of her life.

And she couldn’t afford to get offside with the people who gave her lifts, now that she was thumbing it. She thought back to her student days and her unwritten guide to hitchhiking. Look presentable or you’ll never be picked up in the first place. Stand where a vehicle can pull in safely (the number of idiots shed seen standing halfway up snarling freeway on-ramps). Travel with another woman whenever possible. Stand alert, expectant, proud, not slumped like a dropout or dead-beat. If you’re hitching in Europe, sew an Australian flag to your pack. Be patient. Carry apples, muesli bars and plenty of water in case you’re stuck somewhere for several hours. Carry a roll of loo paper. Wear sunblock and a hat. Wear pantswomen should cover up. Carry a nylon rain slicker that will protect you and your pack. Don’t stand too close to the edge of the road, lest you become a skittle to a truckie low on sleep or high on uppers or anger at the world. Stand well clear of gravel, puddles, blind corners and the brows of hills. Expect to be discouraged. Expect to play catch-up with drivers who let you hoof it toward them for a hundred metres, then take off just as you reach the passenger door. Expect to dodge eggs, apple cores and stones.

And when you actually get a ride, buckle up and sound grateful and polite. Try to read the driver. Is she nervous? Use body language to show that you’re not a threat. Is he a windbag? Let him talk. Does she want to ride in silence? Respect that. Don’t fiddle with the radio or complain about his Barry Manilow tapes. Don’t crank down the window and sniff elaborately if she lights up a cigarette. Don’t be too nosy. Don’t give away personal details. If its a long trip, offer to buy a cup of coffee. If you buy yourself a block of chocolate, share it. Offer five bucks for petrol. It’ll probably be refused but, if its accepted, then remember that its cheaper than the bus or train and not going to break the bank. Expect to be bored. Expect to hear all kinds of intimacies and inanities. Expect to be beaten over the head with Jesus, the power of the trade union movement and the shiftiness of your black, your Asian, your Arab. Expect kindness: ten bucks shoved into your top pocket or being taken fifty kilometres out of the drivers way. Expect roving hands or blunt demands.

All of these things passed through Leah’s mind in a heartbeat and she sat up straight, alert and friendly, all the way to Tiverton.

The town was a string of shopfronts with a pub at one end and an agricultural machinery yard at the other, and a few hectares of tin-roofed bungalows, oleander bushes and lawns on either side. Leah thanked the driver and asked about campgrounds and caravan parks.

The driver pointed. Go to the end, first right, the caravan parks on the edge of the creek there.

Thanks.

Mosquitoes, lots and lots of mosquitoes.

So Leah went into the pharmacy and bought insect repellent and was about to leave when she saw a face she recognised. She froze, watching the cop car creep past along Main Street. Then before the pharmacist got suspicious she turned to a rack of sunhats and swivelled it a few times, staring past the straw rims to the street outside, thinking it through. The cops name was Drew. So, they’d demoted the bastard, sent him to this one-horse town in the middle of nowhere. But if Drew had been demoted, so had others, meaning the bush could be crawling with men just like him. Leah would have to get out of the state as soon as she could.

She went back to the pharmacist. Its a bit embarrassing, I’m supposed to take a urine sample to the doctor but I left the sample jar at home and…

The pharmacist glanced at Leah’s backpack and frowned.

Leah smiled disarmingly. I’m staying at the caravan park.

The pharmacists face cleared. He sold Leah a sample jar, said, You can use the loo out the back, and turned to an elderly man who had banged his ankle and couldn’t stop it from weeping. The old man was deaf and soon he and the pharmacist were shouting at each other to be understood.

Leah stepped into the corridor and opened and closed the toilet door without going in and used the din in the front of the shop to cover her exit by the back door.

She found herself in a weedy yard. A gate at the end opened onto an alley, which led to streets and more alleys and eventually to an oily paved area behind a service station. A proper map, thats what she needed.

Five minutes later she was strolling out of town as if she had all the time in the world and no criminal intentions that might concern the good citizens of Tiverton. According to the map, there was a state park one kilometre to the east. A secondary road ran through it, and if she was lucky shed catch a ride before it got dark.

Another tip from her unwritten guide: Remember that in the long shadows and setting sun of late afternoon, drivers may not see you until its too late.