The Opal Desert by Di Morrissey

have a fish feed. When I first camped out here it was a massive natural hollow, and we got one of the miners to bring his earthmover and dig it out.’
    â€˜Find any opals?’ asked Kerrie.
    â€˜No, wrong kind of rock. Found a lot of fossils though.’
    â€˜What a fun home!’ exclaimed Kerrie as they went back inside.
    â€˜It’s kind of grown like Topsy,’ laughed Fiona, who was a warm, curly-haired woman with freckles and a big smile. ‘Every time Murray wants to take on a new project he builds another room. You should see the new bathroom.’ She led Kerrie through the kitchen and showed her an outdoor room, with a claw-foot bathtub open to the sky. ‘Doesn’t rain most of the year,’ she explained. ‘Though it’s quite nice to sit out here when it does.’
    â€˜We kept the old shed, and it’s now my studio,’ said Murray. ‘Come and see it. Can you pour us a drink, please, Fee?’
    The old slab shed with its iron roof looked as though termites, spiders and possibly snakes could be in residence but when they stepped through the door Kerrie laughed.
    â€˜It’s a real studio!’
    The lined walls were painted white. There were no windows but it had large skylights and an air conditioning unit, which, Murray explained, was powered by their generator. Scattered around the studio were paints, canvases, jars of brushes, easels, bits of driftwood, a coil of rusting barbed wire and the flotsam and jetsam of an artist at work.
    She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes to block the tears. ‘This seems so familiar,’ she whispered.
    â€˜If you want to use it any time, feel free. There’s plenty of room,’ said Murray. ‘I’m working outdoors at present at various locations and trying different textures, adding the sand, soil, bits of scrubby bush, mixed in with the paint. You know the sort of thing.’
    Kerrie drew breath to compose herself. ‘Sounds interesting. Thanks for the offer. But I’m just here . . .’ She paused before she finished, ‘For a short time.’
    â€˜What brought you out here?’ asked Murray as he led her outside to the patio where Fiona had set out drinks with cheese and bread.
    â€˜White or red wine?’ asked Fiona.
    â€˜A glass of white, please.’
    Fiona poured herself a glass of red and handed Murray a long lemon squash. Passing the cheese platter, she said, ‘Just break off a chunk of bread. The brie is quite runny.’
    â€˜Home-made bread,’ said Murray. ‘We have a wood-fired oven too.’ He bit into the bread. ‘Thanks, darling. I was asking Kerrie what she’s doing out here.’
    â€˜Murray said that you’re an artist. Do you plan on working out here? This is wonderful country to paint. Murray finds it endlessly inspiring, even though to city eyes it can look quite barren and uninteresting,’ said Fiona.
    â€˜You know, I’m not sure why I’m here,’ said Kerrie. ‘Walker suggested it. Thought I could do with a change of scenery.’
    â€˜Great bloke, Walker. I had him do my will a few years back, when I was sick,’ said Murray.
    â€˜You’re one of the healthiest looking people I’ve seen,’ said Kerrie. ‘How sick were you?’
    Murray grinned. ‘Years of too much whisky, overweight and a poisoned leg almost did me in. But the blood poisoning was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. Shook me up so I went on a fitness campaign and got myself back on track.’ He leaned over and patted Fiona’s arm. ‘Couldn’t leave my beautiful wife on her own with a half-finished camp, could I? Besides, she’d miss me too much, right?’
    Fiona regarded him fondly. ‘Yeah, right.’ She grinned at Kerrie, ‘Of course, like everything he does, he went overboard with the new lifestyle. Started running, bike riding, stopped drinking and even