Through a Camel's Eye by Dorothy Johnston Page A

her acquaintance. Anthea missed her boxes, missed staring past them to the view outside. As long as they’d remained, they were a testimony to her hope that her stay in Queenscliff would be temporary.
    Graeme’s absence hit her doubly. It would have been better if he’d never come. He blamed her for ruining the one weekend he’d set aside for her. In any approach she made from now on, she would have to deal with that. Yet whatever else happened, she knew that she was not prepared, ever again, to accept the way that Graeme brushed aside her working life.
    Anthea crossed the road and stood looking out over the seagrass meadows. They were golden-green, with the faintest of blue washes over them, the water darker in the channel, where the tide was coming in. Once she’d tried walking along the edge of the seagrass, and had been startled by the way her feet sank into it, how the mud squelched up and covered her shoes.
    She spotted the Bar-tailed Godwits. After she’d first noticed the thin, delicately shaped birds, she’d looked them up on a tourist guide listing features of Swan Bay. The name had amused her and she’d thought it might amuse Graeme as well. ‘Godwit’, and then to cap it off, ‘Bar-tailed’. She had thought she might invest in a pair of binoculars. She had gone so far - the foolishness of it gripped her - to imagine Graeme with his eyes fixed to binoculars, remarking, ‘Look at that!’
    The small migratory waders would not fulfil their function as providers of amusement, and were suddenly dear to her because of this.
    Anthea had stocked up so well in anticipation of Graeme’s visit that she wouldn’t need to do any grocery shopping for the next two weeks. She made herself some lunch, choosing from amongst her delicacies those that would go off soonest. Then she checked the Geelong hospital’s visiting hours and decided she would pay Camilla a visit.
    Anthea felt no particular emotion on entering a hospital. The smell caused her heart to beat faster, but she supposed that this was true for many people. She’d stopped at a roadside stall and bought some flowers. She buried her face in them for a moment before making her way to an inquiry counter.
    Camilla was sitting up in bed, looking uncomfortable, her broken leg covered by a green cotton blanket. She smiled when she recognised Anthea, and pointed to a shelf above the bed, which held an empty vase. Then she touched her mouth lightly with the fingers of her right hand, and shook her head apologetically.
    Anthea found a tap and filled the vase with water, no longer nervous that she’d have nothing to say to a woman who could not reply. She wished she’d thought to drive by Camilla’s house on the way, so she could assure her that all looked to be in order.
    Camilla took up a notepad and pen.
    â€˜Have you found Riza?’
    â€˜No,’ said Anthea, ‘unfortunately.’
    â€˜How is Julie?’ was Camilla’s next question.
    â€˜Not so good.’
    Camilla nodded - a small, economical gesture. She’d had her hair cut. It was neat and fitted her head like a silver-grey cap.
    â€˜Can I get you anything?’
    Camilla indicated a drinking glass and jug of water on top of a chest of drawers. Anthea half filled the glass and, while Camilla drank, moved the chest so that it was closer to the bed.
    â€˜Where were you going when you fell and broke your leg?’ she asked.
    â€˜To Riza’s paddock.’
    â€˜What were you going to do there?’
    â€˜Watch.’
    â€˜In the middle of the night?’
    â€˜Riza was stolen in the middle of the night.’
    â€˜How do you know?’
    Camilla shook her head and looked confused.
    â€˜Did you see anyone?’ asked Anthea
    Camilla shook her head again.
    She hated being trapped in hospital, she wrote. She had to get away.
    Anthea frowned. Camilla tried to make her expression reasonable and to focus