And now I’m holding one too.
I’ve been using it as a bookmark.
But the words keep blurring on the page.
My eyes won’t stop doing that thing they do.
Getting all watery whenever I think about being so far away from Beth.
My carry-on luggage is loaded with chilled containers of food.
She’s given me a handful of cash in a thick brown envelope.
“Don't spend it too fast,” she growls.
“Keep it hidden. And call me as soon as you get there.”
She’s also given me her old phone.
It has a camera and everything.
“Promise,” I smile. “I'll probably call you so often, you'll need to block my number.”
“Never gonna happen,” she laughs. “I'll miss your cheeky face.”
“I’ll miss you more.”
Somehow we’ve become family in just a matter of months.
Some people simply feel like home.
“You've got the address I gave you? And the map?”
“Got it,” I confirm, patting my pocket. “Franko knows what time my bus is due?”
“He does. And if he's still at the market, someone else will be there to meet you.”
Franko is a mate of hers in Brisbane.
A Longreach lad, once upon a time.
When they were younger, he wanted to be more than mates.
Had a crush on her back then, she said.
Maybe he still does.
Beth wasn’t keen on him in that way.
Despite that, she’d remained good friends with his sister over the years.
And now she’s asking for a favour.
Which is why I’m leaving much earlier than I planned to.
My hospitality course doesn’t start until March.
But Franko needs someone now.
