Published: 18 Oct 2021

By rail Bullock Creek was a shy less than half distance between Mareeba and the rail head at Forsayth, so coming and going, disregarding the many break downs, the service arrived within minutes of two in the afternoon. Also being halfway the engine took advantage to refill with water, so there would be at least a twenty minute stop-over.

If there happened to be passengers then the Mareeba station would advise the Bullock Creek hotel by telephone so refreshments could be arranged and if one wished to catch the service from Bullock Creek they would also need to purchase their ticket from the hotel.

Although Travis had been at Bullock Creek for some time he had not accustomed to the frequency of the passenger service and taking the short walk to the hotel he approached Bunny, who showed surprise in seeing him so early in the morning.

“It’s a little early for you to be out and about young Travis?” she commented while savagely attacking the bar’s floor with a tattered straw broom.

“You’re kicking up a right dust storm there.”

“Flying ants, they came in last night in their millions attracted by the light and dropped their wings, we had to douse the lights and drink in almost darkness,” Bunny complained.

“They’ve gone into the woodwork I suppose,” Travis remarked.

“If so they will be disappointed, they’ve already eaten most of it. You appear to be a man on a mission,” Bunny paused her sweeping allowing the dust and insect wings to resettle.

“I need to work out the train service to and from Mareeba.”

“Easy every second day except Sunday,”

“I realise that,”

“What has Mareeba got that we haven’t?”

“I have to visit the parents before they send out a search party for me.”

“Come in you will need a ticket,” Bunny placed her broom against the wall and led Travis into the bar where she produced a small sheet of hand written blue paper.

“What’s this?” Travis curiously enquired.

“Timetable,”

Travis laughed.

“More to fact it is Stan’s slant on humour. When will you be travelling?”

“Some time next week I should think.”

Travis soon concluded to enjoy some time at home he would have to catch the Forsayth service on Thursday and return to Bullock Creek on the Monday or the Wednesday being longer than the weekend he had envisaged.

“You seem troubled?” Bunny asks while preparing to issue his ticket.

“I will have to run it past Bradley first, I’ll come back later.”

“I may have sold out by then,”

“Funny Bunny,”

“I’m thinking of charging for the use of that joke, seeing you’re up and about there is a letter for Jack Arnold. I saw him a few minutes ago across the tracks going through the junk in the old Benson yard. Would you mind delivering it for me?”

Travis agreed and walked the short distance to where Jack was now seated on an old drum and somewhat lost in thought.

“Hey Jack,” Travis called as he approached the property fence.

“It’s young Travis what are you doing up so early,”

“Bunny asked me to deliver a letter that has come for you,” Travis left Jack’s question on his reason unanswered.

Jack accepted the envelope and folded it into his pocket, “I saw Roy was up a few days back.”

“He was,”

“What about the sale of the horses?”

“Don’t rightly know Jack, maybe you should talk to Bradley.”

“I heard a rumour they are reopening the mine and they have approached Roy on selling his property here in town.”

“I couldn’t say but if rumours were one pound notes we would all be millionaires.”

“Did you know I once worked for the mine?”

“No I didn’t know – look Jack I’m in a bit of a rush, you will have to sit down and tell me all about it one of these days.”

Travis departed without further thought or credit towards Jack’s rumour. As for his pending visit to his parents it remained a problem to solve once he arrived back at the house.

“What’s your problem?” Bradley asks as Travis returned from the hotel.

“I’m trying to work out the train service.”

“It’s simple enough for a five year old.”

“Not that, I wanted to leave on the Friday and return on Monday but there isn’t a down service on the Friday only Thursday.

“Then go on the Thursday.”

“That would mean I’d be away for five days.”

“So,”

“It just don’t seem fair to you.”

“There is a Saturday service,”

“I realise that but there are people I wish to see and they work away during the week.”

Bradley thought for a minute and smiling answered, “I’ll tell you what, I do need a couple of things other than the scotch, so if you get them for me it would be considered to be work,” he paused and laughed, “seeing I’m the boss you don’t have much choice do you.”

“I guess not,”

The down service from Forsayth reached Bullock Creek late. It had collected a stray bullock that found its way onto the track east of Mt. Surprise and was a little slow in avoiding the train. The animal on hearing the train’s whistle did leisurely move from the track but at the crucial moment, as cattle tend to do, decided to dash back to the opposite side, receiving the full force of the engine, tossing the animal, still alive but badly injured beside the line.

Len Drake the driver and his fireman stood in conference over the injured animal in deliberation on the beast’s obvious agony. They were soon joined by the train’s guard and passengers, two cattlemen from Georgetown who were taking some down time in Mareeba.

“Gotta’ rifle?” Drake asks of the men.

“Back at the station,” the first man says.

“You know when I first joined the railway we carried a rifle for times like this,” Len Drake reminisced.

“I do have my knife,” the second of the cattlemen admitted as he offered Drake his hand, “Jim Blakemore,” he introduced.

Wes Reynolds, the other obliged.

“Can you do it Jim; we can’t leave the dumb animal here in pain,” Drake asks once through with their introductions.

Blakemore took a deep breath and released it slowly, “have to I suppose,” he declared then departed for the carriage, returning moments later with a large butcher’s knife.

“Stand back.” Blakemore directed placing the weight of his body behind the bullock. With one decisive motion he pulled back on the animal’s head and with its neck tightly stretched cut deeply into the animal’s throat, spurting its life force across the metal rail. The bullock gave one mighty bellow, kicking its broken legs in wild abandon before settling into the silence of death.

“Done,” Blakemore declared wiping the blood from his knife on a tuft of brown grass beside the tracks.

“You know it’s going to stink to high heaven each time we pass for a good month or more,” Drake admitted.

“I can’t do much about that it’s too heavy to shift,”

“I’ll let Mareeba know maybe the gangers can burn it next time they check the line.”

The incident caused quite a delay and left Travis on the siding in search of protection from the heat of the afternoon’s sun. He found relief at the pub in the form of a cold beer; then another. At least he could hear the train’s arrival from the hotel and would have plenty of time to walk the short distance while it was taking on water.

“So what’s the interest in Mareeba?” Bunny enquired as she pulled his second beer.

“Visiting the parents,”

“So you said,” It was then the connection between Roy Brown, Travis and a past she had all but forgotten commenced to form. “Is you’re dad Jim Brown?” Bunny curiously enquired.

“He is,”

“And your mother is Margaret?”

“Correct on both accounts.”

“I should have got the connection yonks ago, you don’t remember me – do you Travis.”

“Sorry Bunny no,”

“I filled in as cook for a few weeks on Creek Run for your dad.”

“Well I’ll be buggered.”

“You were but a kid and a braver lad on a horse I have never encountered. Remember me to Jim and Margaret. Better tell them Bunny Harris as it was long before I married Stan.”

“Sure thing, they will be surprised, I do remember, Robyn Turner.”

“I remember Robyn she came after me and I knew her from my Townsville days when she cooked for a posh family who owned a pub on Magnetic Island.”

It was the way of things in the bush, no matter where you travelled you would run into someone who knew family or friends, someone who worked here or there and it seemed to be always a long time ago. Sometimes it would take a third person to join the dots, sometimes it came as a memory or a faint recognition. With Bunny it was a memory of a man who gave her work when she was destitute and found her further employment with an acquaintance on an adjoining property.

Hearing the whistle as the train arrived; Travis finished his beer and promised Bunny he would pass on her greeting. Slowly he meandered back to the siding where he met up with the cattlemen, who ask if the bar was open.

“It’s dry work slaughtering animals,” Jim Blakemore declared. Travis didn’t understand his sentiment but willingly directed them to the hotel.

“You have about twenty minutes,” Travis warned.

Twenty-seven minutes and the train had taken on its fill of water. Len Drake gave two sharp whistles but there wasn’t any sign of his passengers so he sent his fireman to the hotel to collect them. Minutes later they appeared somewhat under the weather, finding it difficult to manipulate the steps at the back of the carriage. Travis, with help from the fireman managed to pull or push the two onto the landing. They righted and after a rudimentary attempt at humour prostrated across seats and fell asleep.

Travis found it difficult to understand how the men could become so inebriated in such a short time but his curiosity was soon satisfied by the number of empty beer bottles scatted about their seating while the carriage had the atmosphere of a brewery.

A forward thrust from the engine sent a shudder through the carriage and the bottles to roll about, spilling their remaining contents across the floor. The engine paused then once again commenced its advance. More spasms as the linkages stretched and took the strain. The empty water carafe rattled in its holder on the carriage wall, as did the wooden window shutters in their casing but once forward motion was guaranteed it was clickety-clack of the iron wheels on sixty pound rails that assured their progress. As the train sped onward Travis poked his head out of the window, receiving a face full of smoke and soot. Quickly he returned to the safety of the carriage coughing violently from the experience.

The carriage was stifling, even with the windows and door leading to the verandah open, while the passing country had a mind dulling sameness. One mile was like the last and the one to come, although green shoots of new seasons grass sprouted through the surface of the parched earth giving a measure of visual relief from the relentless brown.

Night came down as a black curtain over the land without the privilege of twilight as the train rattled on, giving Travis nothing to entertain but the snoring of his fellow passengers. With night the carriage light came on flickered then died. At Petford the Guard came by with apologies for the lack of light, offering a lantern which Travis declined.

“It happens a lot these days,” The silhouetted form of the Guard declared while holding his lantern up towards Travis. “I reckon it won’t be long before they close the service, or we switch to diesel locos, this line is almost the last with steam anywhere in the state,” the Railwayman displayed a measure of remorse towards the passing as he left Travis to his darkness, “I blame the bloody motor car,” the guard added as he returned to his van.

‘At least he didn’t blame the French bomb,’ Travis quietly mused as the light from the guard’s lantern was lost to the night.

As they departed from Dimbulah the rocking motion caused Blakemore to wake.

“We there yet?” he queries his voice rough and dry, his mate stirred but didn’t wake.

“Dimbulah,” Travis answered.

“Wake me when we reach Mareeba,” Blakemore released a throat clearing hack and was once again asleep.

For the final twenty miles Travis sat silently staring into the darkness beyond the train. There were shadows everywhere and now moonlight, shining back from grey pebble stones as the train crossed the many dry creeks, echoing its passing from the rocky beds, as a sea of fruit bats travelled silently overhead towards the forests to the east. Then without introduction the welcoming lights of Mareeba’s outskirts were about and moments later they had arrived.

Travis had not advised his parents of his visit and because of the train’s late arrival they had already retired for the night. Not wishing to concern them, Travis knocked instead of entering unannounced using his key.

“Whose there?” Margaret cautiously enquired through the closed door.

“Mum, it is Travis,”

Margaret quickly opened the door, expecting the worse.

“What’s happened are you alright, have you had an accident?” She rapid fired; her voice troubled by the unannounced visit of her son at such a late hour.

“Nothing mum, I’ve just come off the train. I thought it about time I gave you a visit,” Travis answered.

“Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?

“The telephone at the Bullock Creek pub is a little unreliable.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’ll get myself a sandwich, sorry it’s late but the train was delayed.”

“Alright love, I’ll talk to you in the morning. I’ll have to make up your bed.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll use the bunk in the bungalow.”

“The dog is probably using it,”

“I’ll move him over.”

“Alright then, besides it’s too late to argue. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Travis came late for breakfast to find his father had already left for work but had requested Travis to be home that night for tea.

“Eggs and bacon,” his mother offered and served the already prepared meal without waiting for her son’s answer, you’ve lost weight – don’t they feed you?”

“I eat well enough.”

“Who is there with you?” Margaret’s tone appeared suspicious.

“Only Bradley.”

“How do you like working for your Uncle Roy?” Margaret’s asks displaying her usual disapproval, as if hoping her son would declare his displeasure and wish to return home to apply for a more suitable position.

“Roy’s fine, besides he’s never there,” Travis answered, choosing his words carefully to dissuade his mother’s opinion of her brother-in-law.

“What do you do?” Margaret questions while offering well buttered toast.

“Not a lot really, mostly helping Bradley with the horses.”

“Who is Bradley?”

“Well, I suppose he is my boss.”

Margaret Brown commenced to clear the breakfast table but it was obvious she had more questions. She filled the sink with hot soapy water and emersed the breakfast dishes.

She finally found voice.

“How old is Bradley?”

“My age,”

“I hope he is a nice boy.”

“He’s not blond if that is what you mean,” Travis answered somewhat sarcastically.

“Where is this Bradley from?” Margaret asks. “Refill?” she offered, the large china teapot poised like a hawk above Travis’ now empty tea cup.

“He’s from here,” Travis answered as his mother refilled his cup.

“What is his family name?”

“Cooper,” Travis informed and sipped his tea.

“I don’t know any Coopers in town,” Margaret declared while empting the dregs of the teapot into the sink.

“You’ll block the drain doing that,” Travis warned.

Margaret didn’t answer.

“I think his mother died and his dad cleared out long before we arrived.” Travis explained but didn’t mention anything about Bradley’s association with Roy, or that Bradley’s father had taken his own life.

With the conversation about Roy and Bradley ended, Margaret was for the present satisfied with the moral and physical safety of her son. Yet it was obvious she was not going to dilute a lifelong opinion of her husband’s younger brother, even if her beliefs were unfounded and based solely on hearsay.

“I have my own horse now,” Travis says adding an additional layer to his mother’s concern.

“I hope you’re careful dear.”

“Mum, I know how to ride and it’s less dangerous that driving a car or walking across the street,” Travis paused, “or a motorbike,” he added knowing his mother would more than prefer him on horseback than on the saddle of a motorbike.

“Yes dear – but you were always like a bull at a gate when it came to horses,” Margaret recalled with apprehension.

Travis ignored her reminiscence.

“On the subject of motorbikes, your friend Greg Stanley called by the other day asking after you,” Margaret over emphasised friend.

“What did he want?”

“How would I know? I told him you were working at Bullock Creek. He said he knew that and may call in and see you.”

“With the condition of the road out that way I don’t think his bike would make it.”

“You know your father is worried,” Margaret softly purported.

“I don’t know why, it was more dangerous when I was a kid on Creek Run, half the time you didn’t know where I was and nor did I. It was as well the horse did.”

“You know the business isn’t going too good and Jack and Newell’s is now selling groceries.”

“What nuts bolts and oranges,” Travis flippantly commented as Jack and Newell’s was predominantly hardware.

“There was protest against giving them licence but the manager is well associated with the shire council.”

“Corrupt?”

“I wouldn’t say so but I guess it helps to have friends in high places, also the council has issued us with notice not to sell grocery lines after business hours as it is considered to be an unfair advantage to the other traders.”

“What can you do about it?” Travis asks.

“Not a lot, we will manage but we had to let Brenda go.” Margaret sighed knowing full well her son was much too headstrong to agree with what she was about to suggest.

“I don’t know Brenda,” Travis admitted.

“You would like Brenda, a pretty girl with good manners; her father is with the tobacco growers association.

“Are you trying to matchmake mum?”

“Not at all, we put her on while you were away but now we can no longer afford wages.”

“I guess I know where this conversation is heading.”

“Your father was hopeful you may help with the shop,” At last Margaret produced her purpose.

“I don’t think so, I’m no good with people; I’d probably send you broke.” Travis firmly declined.

“Think about it, your father wishes to discuss it with you tonight, besides he is stressing over the changing of the currency.”

“It’s easy; simply remember it is two for one. Two dollars for one pound and you’ve got it,” Travis oversimplified.

“It isn’t the dollars that has him confused; it’s the change over of pennies and shillings to cents and how you can fit twelve pennies into a ten cent coin.”

Travis attempted to explain the naming of six pennies as five cents and a shilling as ten but was having as little success with his mother as he would with Jim.

“It will make everything more expensive,”

“Why? Besides it isn’t until next February so there is plenty of time to learn.”

“Anyway why do they have to change it,” Margaret huffed.

Travis shrugged away her concern, “I thought I may call in on Warwick,” he suggested while avoiding further conversation on becoming a shop assistant as his Mother emptied the sink water.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” her words seemed to gurgle down the plughole with the soapy greasy water. She found a spoon and rinsed it under the tap before drying.

“Why?”

Margaret paused then spoke, “Mrs. Ross hasn’t forgotten the episode with Greg and that motorbike.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Travis loudly protested.

“I know love but Warwick was left in your care; besides that is only part of the problem.” Margaret paused realising she had overstepped what she had intended to disclose.

“What have I done now?” Travis’ voice commenced to lift.

“Warwick is somewhat impressionable and attaches himself to people. So you will only encourage him to become accustomed to your visits and once you have moved on he may fret.”

Travis listened but did not agree with his mother’s logic, believing during the few times he had visited Warwick he found him to be well adjusted but for the sake of harmony he remained silent.

“Your father had then over for drinks last week,” Margaret says.

“Had who over?”

“The Ross’,”

“Was Warwick with them?”

“No, Stella doesn’t like him drinking.”

“They don’t like him doing anything.”

“As I said best you don’t interfere.” Margaret warned and with her admonition Travis ceased conversation but thought he may visit his friend without sanction before returning to Bullock Creek.

After breakfast Travis left the house, feeling the weight of, if not the world, at least Mareeba pressing heavily upon his shoulders and for that moment didn’t wish to be around people. He took the short walk to the river where he sat on the gentle slope of its bank, shaded by a leafy grove of trees while watching the flow as it methodically passed. Now and then it would carry a discarded drink can or tree branch, all going where the river wished to take them. Travis’ thoughts became part of that never ending drift. He became mesmerised, his thoughts sinking into the dark water.

As Travis relaxed a worrying feeling became apparent. Something in his life was missing but what it was he could not grasp. It was there at the front of thinking but he couldn’t put his emotion into language. It was the same feeling that drove him towards the bush and the solitude of the rider and his horse. Travis attempted to live his life as simple as possible, something akin to the horizontal line of a dying person’s electrocardiogram. Flat-lining was the terminology and if he could live his life in such a way he would be content. Yet at every turn there would be someone more than ready to place difficulty to his effort to maintain a tidy simple existence. Even his family did so. He loved them dearly but it was only Roy who didn’t have expectations or unnecessary regulations on him. He sighed and once more became part of the dark meandering stream.

One thing he was certain, he could no longer live in Mareeba and now longed for his return journey to Bullock Creek. Travis took a deep breath and as he released it, rose to his feet and skipped a stone across the flat surface of the river.

One skip,

Two skips,

Three and it sunk.

With its sinking went his respect for town life.

“Only three, surely you can do better than that?”

A voice from behind brought Travis from the river, he quickly turned to perceive the smiling face of Evan Williams. At first Travis did not recognise Evan. He had developed over the short time Travis had been away, his voice had deepened and was filling out to become a most handsome young man.

“Evan,” Travis greeted.

“You’re back – are you staying?”

“Na not back – only for the weekend,”

“Pity,” Evan answered.

Travis wished to challenge Evan’s meaning but refrained as his memory of the lad was he often made unsubstantiated statements.

“Have you seen Greg?”

“Yea a little too much; he’ll be back in town tonight.”

“A little too much?” Travis questioned.

“You know what Greg is like,”

Travis believed he didn’t actually understand Greg at all but diverted from comment on their mutual friend.

“How’s school?”

“Last year,” Evan answered proudly.

“I thought you had two years?”

“Should have but I’m thinking of leaving at the end of the year, or earlier,” he paused then continued, “by the way, do you remember asking me if I could ride a horse?”

Travis admitted recollection and asks why doing so was relevant.

“Well I can, I’ve been taking lesions.”

“What does that mean?” Travis asks.

“If you remember I also suggested that if Greg didn’t join you I would,” Evan enthusiastically announced.

“We’ll see; do you get into the pub yet?”

“Sometimes at the Dunlop but not the Royal, that scruffy bugger behind the bar is on to me.

“Who Dennis Higgins, he’s not a bad bloke,” Travis admits with a smile, as Higgins had allowed Travis to enjoy a quiet drink since he was seventeen but that was more than likely because of his Uncle Roy’s influence.

“Maybe so but he doesn’t let me in,” Evan concluded.

“Why are you thinking of leaving school early?”

“The old man is on my back all the time, of late he has become impossible.”

Travis laughs.

“What makes you laugh?”

“Fathers they are all impossible,” Travis thought of what Jim had install for him that evening.

“Dad is a measure worse than most.”

“I think you should finish your senior year,” Travis suggested while thinking he was beginning to sound like both their parents.

Travis picked up another stone and attempted to skip it. It sank and Evan laughed at the stone’s failure. “I saw your Uncle Roy the other day,” Evan declared.

“And,”

“Nothing much; he told me you were working for him out at Bullock Creek,”

“True.”

“How do you like it there?” Evan’s attempts to make conversation didn’t seem to have much success with Travis, as his mood was for his own company.

“Great,” Travis simply answered while glancing across towards Evan. The sun caught his youthful profile, displaying a growth of fuzz on his chin. Also his once thin face was filling out. As was his body. Travis smiled, “cute,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Evan asks as his mouth twisted into a cheeky smile.

“Doesn’t matter,”

“Did you hear about Raelene?”

“Raelene Simmons?”

“Yes she’s expecting.”

“Get out with you, is it Greg’s?” Travis appeared most surprised while remembering the encounter on the very spot they were now standing and that it had been Turner and Hinds at Greg’s beckoning, who had taken advantage of her.

“No they broke up after that incident down here, besides I don’t think she or Greg ever connected in that way.”

“Not even later as I remember they remained on good terms for a while.”

“It soured somewhat and she left town but returned again some time later.”

“Why did she return?”

“She was missed Greg.”

“Did they get back together?”

“No, by then Greg was away most of the time, only returning on weekends which were mostly spent at the pub.”

“So whose kid is it?”

“She was kicking around with a married farmer from out Dimbulah way,” Evan paused, “or so I heard.”

“I liked Raelene,” Travis admitted, remembering their many conversations while sharing a milk shake at the Tip-Top Café. She was a gentle spirit, a little clingy, sometimes childlike but always ready with a kind word and a how’s the day.

“She has now gone to live with family in Ravenshoe.”

“Did you say you’ve been hanging around with Greg?”

“I seen him now and then but as I said he doesn’t come home much these days.”

“I thought you didn’t like Greg.” Travis appeared surprised towards their continued association.

“He’s been alright since you left, I guess with most of his gang gone from town he feels somewhat out of sorts but is drinking too much.”

“I should be going; dad wants a word with me, besides it’s almost tea time.” Travis stood from the grass, dusted down his trousers and commenced to leave.

“What about going bush?” Evan stood and followed.”

“I didn’t think you were serious Evan and as I’m working for Roy I don’t rightly know when.”

“So when you do, give me a call, our telephone number is in the book.”

“We’ll see Evan – we’ll see.”

Travis gave Evan a gentle nod and with a cheery farewell departed. On reaching the high road he turned to find the lad seated close by the river. “Cute,” Travis softly repeated and felt a tugging in his gut.

“Alright Travis what’s your problem,” he quietly questioned his sensibility.

“What do you mean by cute,” Travis turned away from Evan and started for home but was troubled. Evan had begun to fill that gap in his spirit once held by Greg. He thought of Greg and there was nothing, he replaced Greg with Evan and something clicked.

“Travis,” he softly spoke his name as he approached home.

“You better work this out of your system before it gets the better of you.”

Travis laughed.

“Work what out?” he questioned his thought.

Travis entered into the house.

“Tea is almost ready and your dad is home,” Margaret called from the kitchen

“Okay mum,”

It was gone, whatever Travis thought about Evan sunk back into his subconscious but it would return. He didn’t know so but his heart and mind had not yet finished with Evan Williams.

With two days remaining before returning to Bullock Creek and being close by, Travis disregarded his mother’s advice on visiting Warwick while firstly assuring the Ross’ car was not in the drive.

A rapping of knuckles on door soon brought response.

“Who is there?” questioned from inside.

“It’s Travis,”

“Who?” questioned further from close behind the door’s security.

“Travis Brown,”

The door opened,

“Travis this is a surprise, come in?”

“Is your mother home?” Travis cautiously asks.

“No she is helping at the church opportunity shop and should be gone for most of the day.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Travis admitted.

“That was never my wish Travis. I hear you are working on a property out of town.”

“Yes for my uncle. So what have you been up to?”

Warwick laughed.

“Alright what’s got ya’ funny?”

“I have a little secrete I’ve kept from my parents.”

“Being?”

“Your mate Greg came by to take me on another spin with his bike. Mum sent him away but not before he made arrangement.”

“How did you get away with it, knowing how the old girl next door keeps a watch on everything?”

“He came over the back through the vacant block when mum was out.”

“How did you like the ride?”

“Great but it was only once, he is working away most of the time now but it was for a good hour and I was back in the nick of time before mum returned.”

“That was lucky,”

“It didn’t matter to me if she arrived while I was out as it was worth the bother, although she did have suspicion.”

“Continue,”

“Bike oil, she believed she could smell oil and there was a stain on the bottom of my trousers. I simply laughed and said it mush have been from the washing machine.”

“And she believed it?” Travis asks.

“I doubt it and she questioned old Mar Craddick next door but she hadn’t anything to report, said the house had been as quiet as a church.”

“I’ll be going bush soon,” Travis related.

“I thought you already were,”

“I mean on my own, I want to visit the station where dad managed before his accident.”

“You are making me jealous Travis,”

“Sorry mate,”

“Don’t be as I said I understand my limitations and in contradiction to my parent’s belief I would fret, I’m fine.”

“I had heard that. I know someone in town with a horse, well more a pony, possibly I could arrange something.”

“It is best to leave that one, like Greg’s motorbike, mum would never agree, I did have a visit from a mate of yours.”

“Who would that be?”

“Evan Williams,”

“Oh,” Travis was surprised as it appeared Evan was stalking him through his family and friends, firstly it was Roy, then his continuation with Greg and now Warwick. For a brief moment it concerned, more why than from any clandestine reasoning.

“He said he was a mate of yours, I hope you don’t mind,”

“He is, only I am a little surprised that’s all and no I don’t mind, it is good you are having company.”

“He has a wacky sense of humour and has taken me down to the café a couple of times. He gets on fine with mum.”

“Not like me I don’t think she will ever forgive me for letting you ride with Greg.”

“Give it time Travis,”

“Also Evan sometimes reads to me.”

“What your books with all the pimples?”

“No, novels and the kind mother doesn’t approve of. Lady Chatterley’s Lover and things like that.”

Travis gives a cheeky chortle, “it will be the Kama-Sutura next.”

“What is that?”

“Greg said his brother had it; supposed to be from India and is all about sex but banned, Wayne said he got it from some joker down in Townsville while in prison.”

“I think I would like to read that,”

“I don’t think it would be issued in your Braille and not wise to read it in public, as it may become embarrassing.”

“Why so?”

“You know down there below the waistline, I won’t go further, use your imagination.”

“Oh, I get your meaning but I wouldn’t be able to see anyway.”

“Other’s may.”

“Well it would give me some encouragement once alone,” Warwick grins widely at the thought.

“Too much information,”

Warwick gives a happy huff.

“It happened once,” he says.

“What happened?”

“I thought I was alone in my room and mum came in.”

“What while you were – you know?”

“I was,”

“What did she say?”

“Just, oh Warwick! and left closing the door behind her.”

“I think I’d die of embarrassment if mum caught me.” Travis admitted.

Travis moves on from such personal matters, “I was thinking, when I return and settle somewhere and if I can swing it, how would you like to stay with me for a while? No promises mind you, so don’t get your hope up but hold it as a thought.”

“I would love to Travis.”

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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