‘Come on.’ I placed the paper on the counter. ‘I’ll show you how to work the thermostat.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Zara, coming up beside me. ‘Where were you yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’
‘The waterhole. Remember?’
‘That was yesterday?’
‘I texted you.’ She shook her head, like I was a lost cause.
‘Sorry. You know … reception.’ I turned the knob on the side of the fryer. ‘See, you have to set it to this mark here.’
Zara put her hand on my arm. ‘You should’ve come. We had fun.’
‘We?’
‘My friend Kayla’s here, remember?’
‘Oh, that’s right.’
‘Anyway, I’m having a sort of party next week for my birthday and you have to come. You have to say yes. You know where our place is, right? I’ll text the invite. Check your phone!’
‘Um, okay.’ There was no saying ‘no’ to Zara. I’d have to come up with an excuse for not going later.
‘And I’ve got something else to tell you.’ Her eyes gleamed with excitement. Just then the door opened, jingling the bell above it. A few grubby-looking cowboys drifted in and sat around the tables inside the shop. There were a few cattle farms dotted in between the cane farms around Kelly’s Crossing and you could always tell the ones who tended the livestock: tanned arms and hands and pale hatless foreheads. One of them, a blond guy with a vivid sunburnt strip across his nose, came up to the counter.
‘Later,’ Zara whispered. It was some sort of conspiracy, no doubt.
I took the order and showed Zara how to cook the fish and chips, wondering what gossip she was dying to share with me. It was a Saturday night and hopefully it would be busy enough for me to avoid learning intimate details I didn’t want to hear.
The boys chose a table near the counter and I overheard them talking and laughing about what they’d been up to the previous weekend, the usual young-guy stuff: cars, cows, camping. They’d be the ones who’d go to the ‘Christmas Hop’ and get drunk and loud and probably end up fighting in the street by the end of the night. They’d also be the ones who’d read magazines like Babes and Boars. Enough said.
But then the laughing ceased as one of them, a skinny guy with red hair, brought up Dylan Koslovski.
‘Friend of mine said a trucker mate of his picked up a young boy on Highway One a few nights ago. Said he was heading to the city, had a little swag ’n’ everything.’ I listened while pretending the bench needed a good wipe.
‘Did he tell the cops about it?’ said his mate, a shorter guy with florid acne scars on his cheeks.
‘Yeah. They said they’d follow it up.’
‘It wasn’t him, you idiot,’ said the guy with the sunburn, obviously the wise one of the trio.
‘How’d you know?’
‘Because I just do. He’s probably down a mine shaft somewhere. Those things go down a hundred feet or more, fill up with water. You could drown down there and no-one would hear you scream.’
I stopped wiping the bench. Didn’t they know anything? Drowning is a silent affair. There’s no splashing and screaming like they show in the movies.
‘Sunny, order’s up.’ Leanne had brought the burgers out and I bagged them while Zara got the fish and chips ready.
‘Your order’s ready.’ I had to call loudly over the rabble of their voices. The boys came up to the counter to grab their food. The guy with the sunburnt nose gave me a small smile and reached over to grab some napkins from the dispenser. As he leant over I noticed his sweaty blond hair was plastered to the front of his head.
‘Thanks.’ He nodded shyly, taking a couple of unnecessary extra seconds to look at me, before turning away with his white paper packet. He was the one who had talked about the water in the mine shafts and my stomach churned as the dream hammered its way back into my thoughts. That face under the water.
‘Wait!’ I said.
He turned back, eyebrows climbing his forehead. He brushed his hair back self-consciously. ‘Yeah?’
‘I overheard what you said about the boy in the mine shafts. Don’t you think they would have searched them all for him?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess.’ He leant closer and in a conspiratorial whisper said, ‘I’ve got an even better theory. I reckon those blokes done away with him. The ones he went camping with.’
I involuntarily stepped back. ‘What?’
‘Hey, Sam! Stop trying to chat her up,’ the skinny boy yelled from the table.
‘You wait and see,’ he said, winking. ‘Shallow grave in the bush.’ He wandered off with his food, while I stood there too stunned to move.
‘He was so checking you out,’ said Zara as she dumped more chips into the fryer.
‘What?’
‘Oh my God,’ Zara said, shaking her head. ‘What planet are you on, Sunny?’
Maybe he was checking me out. After all, this was Kelly’s Crossing, population now standing at six-forty-nine if you were still counting Dylan. Sunburn Sam probably had limited options. But if that were the case and he was trying to chat me up, he really needed to work on his pick-up lines.
The shop became busy after that and the rush continued for a couple of hours. I appreciated the distraction. All I had to think about was fish, chips and burgers. No Kevin, no Dylan. But finally around nine a lull began and life seeped back in.
Zara looked up at the clock. ‘Mum’s coming soon, but listen, I need to tell you something.’ She grabbed my arm.
‘What’s so important?’ I said, trying not to let my impatience show.
‘Mum saw you driving up the highway with Matthew Bright the other day, in his van.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t worry; she’s already told Kevin.’
I thought back to the few moments Matt and I had been on the highway. We
