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CHAPTER 15
By noon of the next day, they’d reached the start of the Nullarbor Plain. Nullarbor meant “no trees” in Latin, Oliver explained.
Well, that fit.
A sign on the side of the road displayed pictures of kangaroos, camels and wombats.
“Camels!” Felicity’s eyes widened.
“Yes, there are quite a few wild camels here.”
“Since when have there beencamelsin Australia?”
“For years. They were brought to Australia around the middle of the nineteenth century and used by early explorers for transporting food and supplies. They’re ideally suited to our climate, but unfortunately now they’ve gone feral.”
“And will we see wombats?”
“Maybe a few. But there’s not many this side of Australia. Just like we don’t have koalas in Western Australia.”
“I know. That’s so disappointing. I thought they’d be hanging off trees everywhere. But there’s no trees. And no koalas.”
“Don’t worry You’ll see plenty if you take a trip up the east coast.”
Felicity stretched back in her seat, luxuriating in the fact her holiday had just begun. And then her eyes rounded again as she spotted another sign that readNullarbor Links Golf Course.
“A golf course! In the middle of nowhere. This has to be a joke, right?”
“No.” Oliver grinned, obviously relishing her confusion. “It’s the longest golf course in the world. Seventeen holes over more than 1300 kilometres. People need something to look forward to.”
That, thought Felicity, was not a great omen for the scenery.
And what’s more, according to Oliver, who had clearly googled everything before they left, it was four days more driving until they reached Adelaide. Four days of no trees.
By midday the scenery hadn’t changed much. Just a long straight road through scrubby bushland. Except the colours were more washed out by the harsh sun, like an aging polaroid photo.
By 3 pm it looked exactly the same.
Felicity hid her disappointment behind rotating the CDs. Was this it? Four more days of parched bush and red dirt? It seemed like such a let-down after the magnificent beaches they’d left behind. And worse, there was a steady line of kangaroo carnage on either side of the highway. She tried not to look, but it was distressing, nevertheless.
She couldn’t help thinking this flat harsh landscape wasn’t what she’d signed up for. So, she pulled her hat low on her head and closed her eyes behind her sunglasses. And when it was her turn to drive, she took it real slow, her gaze scanning the sides of the road, just so she wouldn’t risk adding the title of “Kangaroo Killer” to her name.
But when the sun sank low in the sky a transformation happened. The dry dirt and scant bush turned suddenly beautiful. The shadows lengthened and softened, and the sky became a symphony of pink and purple as the Shaggin’ Wagon rolled through the entrance of Fraser Range Station for the night.
They set up in a paddock below an escarpment of hills that looked like paradise after the miles of empty plains. In the eucalypt trees at the edge of the campground, birds settled for the night and Oliver pointed out honeyeaters and tiny fairy wrens and a wedge-tailed eagle soaring majestically above. A walk around the perimeter introduced them to a goat by the name of Maxwell. And when Oliver pulled up some dry grass and presented it to Maxwell and Maxwell took it with such good manners, and Oliver stroked his nose with the back of his hand and crooned a few soft words at him, Felicity couldn’t help thinking that all that affection was somehow wasted on a goat.
As they made their way back to camp she said confidently, “I’ll rustle up dinner in the camp kitchen.”
“You’re sure about that?”
She arched a brow at him. “It’ll be gourmet. I’ve got lamb chops in the fridge and peas, and I can boil some spuds.”
Oliver laughed and agreed to leave her to it while he took a shower.
Problem was, she hadn’t reckoned on the barbecues. Even if you owned one in London, you never used it. It stayed covered for most of the year in a corner of the patio, only to be ceremoniously wheeled out on a really hot day. And then you’d burn your steaks or sausages or whatever, because you had no idea how to use the sodding thing. After which it would invariably start to piss with rain and you’d end up with charred pieces of meat and soggy coleslaw on wet paper plates, pretending to have a grand old time.
Ergo, it was best not to bother.
Fiddling with the burner knobs to adjust the flame while fat spat in every direction from the chops was leading to a mild panic attack as Felicity juggled pans. She was seriously regretting her insistence on cooking. And then, when the biggest flying creature in the universe zoomed past her ear, did a loop-the-loop and dived into her saucepan of potatoes, she screamed and promptly dropped the chop she’d been turning into the dust.
