Dark Country by Bronwyn Parry Page B

front, and through the brightly lit café windows he saw it was Jeanie, not
     the girl, taking drinks to the drivers’ table. They were the only customers.
    He waited until she returned to the kitchen, then pushed the door open and went inside. The truck drivers gave him a couple
     of seconds of attention, but he didn’t recognise them, and their interest passed after he gave them a curt nod.
    Jeanie turned a couple of steaks on the grill, lifted a basket of chips out of the deep-fryer and propped it to drain before
     she saw him.
    ‘Gil! Thank God. Come on through.’
    In the once-familiar kitchen, he dropped his bag near the back door out of Jeanie’s way while she was cooking. She was reaching
     for a new can of pineapple, from a shelf almost too high for her, and he leaned over and got it for her.
    ‘Thank you, Gil,’ she said, with the same warm, sincere smile that had gentled the wild kid he’d once been. Even after all
     these years, her simple gratitude still had the power to affect him, with an unsettling mix of pride in her approval and fear
     he’d disappoint her. Whatever was decent in him he owed mostly to Jeanie.
    Busy putting together side salads, she cast a cautious glance across at the two diners and lowered her voice. ‘I was worried
     about you. I phoned Kris a few times, but she wasn’t allowed to tell me much. The woman – she was someone you knew?’
    ‘It was Marci Doonan.’
    Jeanie knew enough of his history to recognise the name. ‘Oh, Gil, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful. And then to be
     arrested like that …’
    ‘It’s okay, Jeanie. They released me a couple of hours ago. The sergeant gave me a lift back.’ Keen to avoid discussing things
     any further, he switched subject. ‘Is that offer of the cabin still open?’
    She shot him a sharp look, but didn’t ask any questions. ‘Absolutely. I’ve cleaned it out, and it’s ready for you. The key’s
     in the door.’
    ‘Thanks. I appreciate it. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.’
    ‘Take your stuff out the back. The grill’s hot – would you like a steak for dinner?’
    His stomach threatened to rumble. The sandwich Macklin had brought him at lunchtime seemed a long time ago.
    ‘I can’t stay just now. I have to go back up to the station. The sergeant … there was some trouble on the way back. Some bastard
     tried to run her down.’ He heard the roar of the engineagain, the sound of her hitting her car, and swallowed hard, dragging his concentration back to the present.
    ‘She’s hurt?’ Jeanie’s hands were already reaching for her apron ties, ready to whisk it off to go and help.
    ‘Minor scrapes, nothing major. Beth Fletcher … Wilson,’ he corrected himself, ‘is with her at the moment. But she needs my
     witness statement.’
    ‘Is there anything I can do?’
    He almost said ‘no’, then remembered the state of Kris’s fridge. ‘Does she eat takeaway?’
    Jeanie’s frayed smile didn’t erase the worry in her eyes. ‘Works burger. She reckons it’s almost healthy.’
    ‘Better make it two, then. I’ll go and put my bag in the cabin.’
    She had the burgers and onion on the grill before he was out the back door.
    The cabin was a portable job of the kind used for accommodation in mining camps and the like. Two small rooms, each with a
     couple of single beds, on either side of a basic bathroom. It had been beside the Truck Stop, up against the fence, for as
     long as Gil could remember. Back when he’d worked there in his teens, it had only had occasional use – a family stranded by
     a car breakdown, an old guy wandering the roads on his bicycle seeking better shelter than his tent during rainy weather.
     People who, for various reasons, didn’t want to stay in the pub across the road. Like himself. The bloke at the pub would
     probably throw him out if he showed his face in there again.
    He left his bag on the floor, between the beds. There wasn’t a lot of room to move, but the