taking him back to a much earlier conversation. What had she said? She’d been talking about bore water…
‘Camping out together?’
The words exploded out of him, disbelief making them sound far louder than he’d intended.
It certainly got Annabelle’s attention as she once again swivelled towards him, frowning now as she looked at him.
‘What’s wrong now?’ she asked, with the kind of sigh that women used when they considered themselves faced with the inadequacies or stupidity of men.
‘You said we’d be camping out together,’ he reminded her. ‘Earlier on when you were talking about your hair or my clothes or something. Why on earth will we be camping out together?’
No sigh but a smile in answer.
‘Well, for a start, if you’d bothered to read the programme we were given, there’s a B and S ball next weekend and then Blue Hills rodeo—or maybe it’s a campdraft—the weekend after that, and although the RFDS usually sends a plane and staff to those functions, we should still be there as it’s an opportunity to get to know the locals. Then there’s the—’
‘Stop right there!’ Nick held up his hand. ‘Now, back up. Start with this B and S ball—is that like the bulldust you talked of?’
‘You’ve never heard of a B and S ball?’ She shook her head. ‘Boy, you have led a sheltered life. B and S—bachelors and spinsters—is a country tradition. They’re held at different cattle or sheep stations all over the continent—hundreds of people turn up and not all from the country. Some young city folk will do anything to wangle an invitation. It’s also a bit of a ute convention as all the young men bring their utes and stand around comparing the modifications they’ve made to them—typical Aussie party, men in one group, women in the other.’
Nick was quite pleased that he didn’t have to ask for an explanation of ‘ute', his first vehicle having been an old utility he’d paid for himself, working at a fast-food outlet at weekends.
But he did need an explanation of why he’d be camping out at this festive occasion.
‘Do we go to the ball for the same reason we go to the rodeo—to meet the locals?’
Annabelle’s immediate reply was a dry chuckle, while her second wasn’t any more enlightening.
‘Wait and see,’ she told him, and returned to reading the paper.
Nick turned back to the window. Below him the red-brown country seemed to stretch for ever, no green of crops now, just stunted grey blobs that must be small trees and a narrow tarred road leading directly west. Every now and then he caught sight of a house, usually with a name painted in large letters on the roof.
Identification for the flying doctors? he wondered, but he didn’t feel like displaying any more ignorance so he didn’t ask Annabelle about the names.
The growl of the engines changed and flaps came down on the wings, the captain announced their imminent arrival and before Nick knew it they were on the ground.
‘It’ll be hot out there, and glary. You’ve got sunglasses?’
He nodded, although Annabelle wouldn’t have seen this reply, too busy fishing under her seat for the bags she’d carried on board.
All around them people were standing and stretching, reaching into overhead luggage lockers, talking loudly now the journey was done.
‘Where are they all going?’ Nick asked, as Annabelle sat patiently in her seat, waiting for the jam in the aisle to ease before heading for the rear of the plane, where the only exit was.
‘They’re oil drillers and riggers coming back on shift,’ she explained. ‘You know one of the reasons the two Brisbane hospitals are doing this outreach project is that the town of Murrawalla grew almost overnight with the discovery of a new oil basin about sixty kilometres to the west. They’re still drilling out there, and the men are flown in and out, two weeks on and two weeks off. There’s accommodation on site, but no medical staff, and although the RFDS had always had a fortnightly clinic at Murrawalla, once you had the miners out there, it wasn’t enough.’
‘I knew about the drilling site, of course. I’ve spoken to the CEO of the company, but I had no idea it was sixty kilometres away! Do we drive out there daily or just now and then?’
Annabelle stood up and gave him a look that suggested sarcasm didn’t sit well with her.
‘Whenever we’re needed,’ she said. ‘It’s the mining company that pays our bonuses, and contributes a large amount of money to the hospitals that supply staff, so don’t forget that.’ She led the way up the now all but empty aisle.
Outside it was hot—and this was winter? But the heat wasn’t like the heat at home—this heat seemed to burn into the skin, drying it of moisture, making his eyes itch and his nose tingle.
He followed Annabelle towards a small tin shed that obviously did service as the air terminal, wondering how the hell he had got himself into this situation. Then she began to run, and training had him running right behind her, the suit jacket he held over his arm flapping against his body as he followed her.
He heard the sounds of chaos as he drew closer. Loud shouts and yelling, swearing that would make a policeman blush, thumps and thuds and the occasional cry of a woman. Inside the tin shed, a fight was well under way, rough, tough men hurling round arm punches at friends and enemies alike—or so it seemed.
Annabelle apparently had a destination in mind, so he followed her as she squirmed between the bodies towards a counter on one side of the building. Around them, figures lurched and dodged until, suddenly, one of the altercations was far too close to Annabelle. Nick thrust forward, putting himself between two battling men and the slight woman, using the bulk of his shoulders to protect her until he could lift her out of the way of the struggle and set her safely down behind the counter.
She looked up at him, and grinned.
‘Sir Galahad?’ she teased, and he doffed an imaginary hat and bowed in front of her.
‘At your service, ma’am!’
It was a light-hearted exchange but Nick sensed a shift in the dynamics between them—a shift instinct warned him not to investigate…
In front of the counter, a man and woman were bent over a figure slumped on the floor.
‘Let’s see if we can get him up on the counter, take a look at him. If we leave him here, we’ll all be trodden on,’ Nick suggested.
The man glanced up.
‘You the new doc?’ he guessed, and the Nick nodded.
The man grinned at him. ‘Welcome to the wild west. I’m Phil Jackson, departing nurse.’
Together they lifted the injured man onto the counter, as a lone policeman came in through the front door, whistle blowing shrilly in an attempt to calm the melee.
‘This is Deb Hassett, the doc,’ Phil said, introducing the woman by his side and standing back while Nick examined the injured man. Annabelle introduced
