Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [12]
They studied the picture.
‘Well it’s not the Prime Minister,’ said Clancy with a grin. ‘Dunno who it could be. Before my time.’
The others nodded agreement and Lily put the photograph back in her bag.
The conversation rambled on with the other barflies joining in, entertaining Lily with some highly improbable stories of the past which she enjoyed immensely. Hunger and tiredness eventually forced her to bid them goodnight.
‘My day has been three hours longer than yours, thanks to time zones,’ she explained to stop yet another round of drinks being ordered. ‘You’ve all been great company. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to chat again.’
‘Yeah, that’d be great. Can always find us around the bar here most evenings,’ said Clancy warmly.
The men watched appreciatively as the slim figure disappeared across the darkened lawns.
‘Good lookin’ bird. What do you ’spose she’s after?’ pondered Clancy aloud.
‘Hard to say,’ replied the barman. ‘She’s booked in for a couple of weeks, though.’
The next morning, Lily ate breakfast on her little patio hung with brilliant bougainvillea. A note apologised that there were no croissants, so muffins were substituted and the Australian newspaper wouldn’t arrive until the late morning flight. An array of brochures of ‘Things To Do in Broome and the Kimberleys’ had been provided instead. She fiddled with the bedside radio to find a news bulletin but gave up and drank her tea before it got cold.
Later, dressed in jeans and a shirt, Lily asked at the front desk for directions to the Historical Society, but the girl looked blank.
‘It’s in the old Customs House, I think,’ said Lily.
‘Oh, that’s in the Seaview Shopping Centre, two blocks down the road,’ she pointed.
Lily stepped into warm air and a caressing breeze. She stopped and caught her breath as she gazed across the road at the expanse of Roebuck Bay. The water lapped at the edge of stubby mangroves where a few rusty rocks jutted from the extraordinary turquoise sea. She stood, transfixed, wondering how long it would take to get used to this amazing colour. Milky patches gave the water a solid appearance and in contrast the clearness of the blue sky appeared translucent.
She walked on and found herself stopping and staring once again as she looked at a remnant of the past. This time she couldn’t immediately understand what had so grabbed her attention. It was merely a closed small store that faced the sea. Its rusting tin was the blood red of the rocks, its walls were thin and full of holes and through gaps and windows could be seen piles of rotting oyster baskets, nets and ropes. She walked around the small lonely building and took a photo, unsure of why the place intrigued her so.
The little white wooden building that now housed the Historical Society bore a neat little plaque which gave details of its past life as the Customs House. Diving gear, pumps from luggers and pioneer household items were scattered in the small front garden. Along the small verandah were glass-topped display cases, locked, but trustingly left to public view.
Lily went to the front door with its large sign, AIR-CONDITIONED, ENTER, then she saw a smaller handwritten note, CLOSED, RE-OPEN IN A COUPLE OF DAYS. Lily was faintly bemused, wondering how long the sign had been there and how she could get access to the museum despite the sign. She walked back to the Continental and rang the car rental place they had recommended.
In a short time a cheerful woman arrived in a small light four-wheel drive. They drove back to the tin shed that served as an office, the woman telling Lily her life story and how her marriage had improved immeasurably since moving from the east coast to Broome. Lily pondered on the possible influence of geography on marriage.
Soon after a waving of her credit card, Lily found herself driving out on a dusty road, cruising past small bungalows shrouded in tropical plants. She stopped at the Tourist Information Centre. Inside, she asked about other sources of information on the old days,