The Opal Desert by Di Morrissey Page A

became a vegetarian for a while.’
    â€˜And never felt better. I even took up surfing again.’
    â€˜Surfing? Where?’
    Murray laughed. ‘Byron Bay, at first, though now we go to Indonesia for a month or so every year. Close up the gallery in the height of summer. Not much in the way of customers then, and Fee and I meet up with old friends from our wild youth and we go away and all pretend we’re twenty again.’
    Kerrie felt a pang as she watched the two of them smile, their casual interaction. ‘Sounds great,’ she said. ‘You have the best of both worlds.’
    â€˜Many worlds. We have a nice lifestyle here,’ said Fiona. ‘Lots of friends, lots of visitors, the business does well. Murray gets asked all the time to work in Sydney or other cities. Even Darwin approached him. But we like it here. He’s part of the scenery, aren’t you, darling?’
    â€˜Yep. I might make more money elsewhere, but what would I do with the extra that I don’t do now?’
    â€˜But this doesn’t help you, Kerrie. Murray said your husband died recently? He must have been very young. That’s hard.’
    â€˜He was a lot older than me but he was still young. He had so much more he wanted to do. And now, without him, I feel like the proverbial ship without a rudder,’ said Kerrie.
    â€˜But you have your art. Why don’t you throw yourself into that?’ asked Murray.
    â€˜Are any of your friends painters too?’ asked Fiona. ‘You could come out here and do a painters’ camp. Quite a few come through doing that.’
    â€˜I know a lot of artists, but just through my husband.’
    Fiona and Murray exchanged a glance and Murray reached for more bread. ‘Everybody paints up here. Soon as the tourist season dries up and it’s too hot to work, out come the brushes. Everyone and their dog sells paintings. Stuffs them into a garage or a back room and calls it a gallery,’ he added disparagingly.
    â€˜Murray, be nice. Not everyone is as brilliant an artist as you, darling. What sort of work do you do, Kerrie?’
    â€˜I like landscapes,’ said Kerrie, surprising herself as she’d never thought about what she might actually paint if she did start again. ‘But I haven’t painted in twenty years. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m probably not much good anyway.’
    â€˜Let us take you around. Go for a bit of a drive and see if you feel inspired,’ suggested Murray.
    â€˜I don’t want to take you away from your work,’ began Kerrie.
    â€˜Nonsense. Murray loves getting out to the wilderness,’ laughed Fiona. ‘We have a friend who can look after the gallery for a couple of days. I’d quite like a little escape too.’
    â€˜Do you paint, Fee?’ asked Kerrie.
    â€˜Not at all. I cook and read. Do come, I think you’ll enjoy it. Just a day or so.’
    â€˜You ever camped in the bush, Kerrie?’ asked Murray.
    Kerrie shook her head. ‘I suppose I could do some sketching and maybe a watercolour,’ she said dubiously.
    â€˜That’s the idea. You could take home some sketches and see what you can do with them later.’
    â€˜Murray, don’t rush Kerrie. She might have other plans. Do you have any family?’ asked Fiona.
    Kerrie shook her head. ‘Not much. My mother died not long after my husband and my stepdaughters are grown up. I’m pretty well on my own,’ she added with an attempt at a smile.
    â€˜That’s hard,’ said Fiona.
    Kerrie spent the next day wandering around Lightning Ridge. She spent time in the little museum and historical society housed in an old miner’s cottage looking at old photos of the opal fields. It all looked very exciting and busy. There she chatted to a charming museum volunteer who introduced herself as Holly and told Kerrie that she’d come to Lightning Ridge fifteen years