Then the alarm is ringing: time to rise.

  She showers and dresses quickly, then Robert drives them all to Central Station.

  As they stand waiting for her train, David says, “I wish you could stay another week or two. You don’t fly out for a fortnight. Why not stay a few more days? You’ll still have more than a week in the outback? I’d love to show you our family farm in the country, the beautiful mountain rivers, our horses, the kangaroos and other wildlife.”

  “It sounds lovely, but my plans are made. Too late to change them now.”

  “Maybe I could call you some time before you fly out? Or even fly and meet you somewhere for a while?”

  “I’m not sure that’d work. I just don’t know where I’ll be.”

  David looks dejected, so she gives him her mobile number and address in England. “Why don’t you write once I’m home? I love letters. Send me a letter with your news. I promise I’ll write back and tell you about the rest of my trip.”

  “Thank you. I will. Perhaps I’ll see you again some time.”

  “Come back again soon,” Jess says. “There’ll always be a spare bed for you here.”

  “And, of course, next time a country trip to David’s farm,” Ruth suggests.

  She hugs them all goodbye and boards her train. She waves as the train rolls out of the station, then settles back into her seat. Sydney and David are done. Only in her history now.

  As the green countryside flashes by, thoughts of Mark return. Part of her wishes there’d been no one else since him. They’d made no promises of faithfulness and, until the trip to Alice Springs was arranged, there were no definite plans about them seeing each other again. Still the feeling’s there inside her.

  Why should she have this strange feeling of almost shame? She hasn’t betrayed Mark by being with someone else. She’s a single woman who’s free to enjoy the feeling of someone else’s body enveloping hers.

  It’s strange how enjoyment and guilt can share the same space. Perhaps it’s only the primal sex drive in all humans, where faithfulness is a lovely, imaginary concept, but where, in real life, when opportunities come one takes them. Even more so because, as a visitor to these shores, it’s done without any consequences; pleasure’s briefly shared and life moves on again.

  It’s like sliding doors. She stepped through one sliding door when she left England and came to Cairns, and she stepped through another when she travelled to Sydney. Now she’s passing through yet another door as the train leaves Sydney behind. It’s curiously enlivening and exciting, a life lived this way. So why is doubt still nagging her?

  The train rolls along, and she enjoys the peace of looking out across green fields and hills, not unlike England except for different gum tree colours and horizons.

  Thinking of England brings her family to mind. She must say hello. She pulls out her phone and thumbs off a quick text.

  Hi Mum,

  Just left Sydney and on train to Melbourne.

  Barrier Reef was brilliant and loved Sydney

  Stayed with Ruth and Jess – great time

  Next week fly to Alice Springs then overland to Darwin.

  Looking forward to seeing you in a fortnight or so

  Please pass on to others.

  Love to you, Dad, Tim and Gran

  Suz xxx

  The day drifts by in a leisurely haze. Morning turns to afternoon, and then to dusk. The last of the trip reaches into evening, and the lights of towns and cars twinkle as they pass by.

  Finally, a big city is evident, continuous lights and buildings. The journey is over for now as they pull into Southern Cross Station, destination Melbourne reached.

  Susan’s heard lots about the cultural life of Melbourne, its museums, art galleries and inner city delights of trams and street-side shopping. She knows she can easily pass the two full days she has available here.

  She’s also heard great things about Melbourne Zoo. Zoos are a passion of hers, something she and her father have done together. They’ve both always been fascinated by the large animals of Africa, especially the superbly adapted predators like lions, leopards, hyenas and crocodiles. Together they’ve visited Regents Park Zoo, Jersey Zoo and Whipsnade, as well as some of the other great zoos of Europe.

  She’s looking forward to visiting Melbourne Zoo so she can sit and observe these incredible animals for an hour or two.

  Melbourne is easy and comfortable as she settles in. She’s made lists of places to visit and things to do. It’s great to have full days where she can immerse herself in all there is to see and enjoy. With just herself to please she’s amazed at how much she manages to fit in. Melbourne consumes her so fully that, until she’s getting ready to leave, she’s thought of almost nothing else; her visit here has been her own time in her own space.

  As she’s packing, on her final night, she pulls her phone from her shoulder bag. She hasn’t looked at it since this morning. There’s a text from Mark, sent three hours earlier at 7.00 pm. He’s going to be delayed getting into town and asks if she can catch the shuttle bus to the Alice Springs Mall. He’ll let her know when he arrives so he can arrange to collect her. She has no idea where they’ll go or what they’ll do from there.

  He offers no explanation of the delay, and there’s no missed call indicating he rang earlier to explain. She feels a twinge of unease. Is she being too trusting? She could ring him now to ask what happened, but it’s getting late. Plus, she’d hate to disturb him with another, says a little jealous voice.

  She thumbs a quick text, “That’s fine. See you there.”

  As her plane departs from Tullamarine Airport, next morning, she thinks she must visit Melbourne again, maybe stay a while. There’s still so much more she wants to see and do in this city. It has a welcoming and homely feel, much more like the European cities she knows, despite not sharing Sydney’s natural beauty. Perhaps it will be here for another trip, in another life, perhaps with another somebody, a person yet unknown, who will one day become a part of her life.

  Chapter 6 – Alice Springs – Days 17-18

  Susan feels she does her best thinking on aeroplanes, those crowded places in an empty sky. While you’re jammed in with other people, you’re almost entirely disconnected from all else in the world, giving you free hours to sit and contemplate.

  Despite gorging on movies, magazines, drinks and junk food on her other flights, today she just sits, thinks and wonders what might be.

  She doesn’t regret her decision to come to Alice Springs to meet Mark. There’s no part of her that fears travelling with him as she knows he’s so thoroughly competent and in his element.

  Thoughts of Sydney and of David have already been pushed into a remote corner, somewhere in the back of her mind. Whether or not she’ll hear from or see him again already seems far away and unimportant. As does her worry about whether she should feel ashamed at taking two lovers in less than a week, with neither knowing the other exists.

  She lets Mark fully recapture her mind. There’s something in what makes him up that she can’t fathom. It adds an edge, makes her uneasy and nervous in a way she can’t define, but it also draws her inexorably towards him. Perhaps this will be a journey of discovery of the real Mark, that he’ll be more able to show himself in a place where he feels at home, with no need to conform to the expectations of others. All she knows is that he exerts some powerful force over her, and the thought of seeing him soon gives her butterflies of anticipation. The time she’s spent with him is far and away the most exhilarating thing to ever happen to her thus far in her life.

  So now she follows his instructions and brings herself and her backpack on the shuttle bus from the airport to the mall in the centre of Alice Springs. In anticipation of seeing him she’s bought him a beautiful little calendar notebook from Melbourne Zoo, each month separated by its own animal picture. In the flyleaf she’s written:

  Dear Mark,

  Really looking forward being Out Back with you

  From Suz, with love!!

  She finds a small café in the mall and enjoys lunch there while she waits for her phone to ring, still a little bit in her own contemplative world.

  She becomes aware someone has stopped directly in front of her table.

  She looks up.

  It’s him.

  Today he’s wearing a bright blue check shirt and denim pants with a broad brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes to shade them from the glare. He looks just great, so seriously together. Breathless with delight she springs to her feet, spilling coffee, and hugs him tight. She doesn’t care. She feels his hard arms encircle her; it feels good. All her doubts are gone.

  He looks at her with a quizzical expression. “I wondered whether you’d show. When people get a taste for bright lights and the big cities they often don’t want to come out here.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And anyway, it was you, not the Outback, I most came to see.”

  She fumbles and finds her present, passes it to him, feeling shy. He takes it and flicks through it, his pleasure evident. Then he returns to the front page and rereads her writing with a half smile on his face.

  “Well, I hope not to disappoint. Out here’s lots of space, but with not much in between.”

  He looks at her half-eaten lunch. “Do you want to finish up? We have a way to go this afternoon.”

  Arching her eyebrows, she says, “Oh, so secret, where to, pray tell?”

  “My surprise.”

  He leads her to a car park around the back of the mall, flanked by a dry riverbed. Parked amongst other vehicles is large white four-wheel-drive. “That’s mine, a tray back Toyota Land Cruiser. I think of it as my little truck; it’s my home of wheels. It takes me and my gear anyplace I want to go.”

  On the back is a cage and a built-in white structure, like a large cooler box or an oversized fridge, with a locking door and padlock. There’s also a big swag, an overnight bag, some locked metal boxes, a water tank in a front corner and two spare tyres attached to metal brackets in each back corner.

  “What’s that?” she asks, pointing at the cooler box.

  “Sometimes I catch a lot of fish, sometimes I shoot a camel or a buffalo and take the meat to the local aborigines. It goes in there, with a great pile of ice. That keeps it cool for a few days. Today there’s only a carton of beer and a couple of juicy steaks.”

  “What about the cage?”

  “Sometimes, when I go hunting, I bring a dog. They’re great for pigs. The cage stops the dog from running away or biting someone when I don’t want it to. And a dog eying you off has a great calming effect on anyone who wants to help himself to what’s on the back of my truck.”

  He puts her pack inside the cage and unlocks the doors. “Time to go.”

  Susan climbs in. With a clattering roar the diesel engine fires and they’re away. They drive through a gap in the red broken hills, heading out of town along the edge of a wide sandy riverbed. They pass more low hills along the road, red rocky hillsides with olive-green trees and bleached grass, vibrant against the clear blue sky.

  Susan recognises this as the way she came in to town from the airport. She sees various landmarks she passed then: the train line, the Ghan Museum, a Road Transport Hall of Fame—lots of big trucks there. Just when the airport comes into view and seems like their destination, they turn right. A big sign says ‘Stuart Highway’ and points to Adelaide.

  “Thought we were going to Darwin. I know I’m not real strong on Australian geography, but I’m sure Adelaide is the opposite way.”

  Mark cracks a grin, “Really, can’t pull one over you, eh? Well spotted. We’re doing a slight detour. I thought you might like to see that big red rock, the one bloody tourists rave over, before we head north.”

  Susan smiles. “That is a big surprise. I thought we were going out into the ‘Never Never’, yet here we are heading for Tourist Central. You know I could have flown straight there?”

  “You could, but there’s something I really want you to see along the way.”

  They rumble along at a steady pace, passing around the edges of more low red rocky ranges and sand hills, featureless but pretty country, mixed low trees and bushes, occasional roadside patches of desert flowers. It is vast and empty, different from anything Susan knows. She sits there, letting the country roll by, feeling content and enjoying Mark’s profile as he gives attention to driving, throwing her odd descriptors of the country and places they pass for commentary.

  After an hour, as they are coming to some larger hills, Mark slows and turns left off the bitumen, following a small sign that says Rainbow Valley. “That’s our destination, not far from here.”

  The road is just sandy wheel tracks, which cross orange-red low sand dune hills. Occasional patches of heavy sand cause Mark to drop a gear. They pass a tourist four-wheel drive going the opposite way. About fifteen minutes further on they pull off the road, at the side of a low sandy ridge. Mark indicates to get out and they walk towards the ridge top. It’s three or four times higher than the car, and doesn’t look like anything special, just loose orange coloured sand covered by wiry grasses and stunted trees and bushes.

  As they crest the ridge, there, opening before Susan, is the most spectacular sight she’s ever seen. Below the sand dune is a claypan, part covered in water. At its far side is the most incredible low range of hills, their eroded, broken and jagged peaks pointed skywards. The colours are what hits her; some parts are brick red, others fade into a rainbow range of soft pastels of orange, salmon, yellow and white. The hills are reflected as a perfect silhouette in the lake, so it seems a second mountain range sits there, just below the first. It is not on large scale, but the perfection of weather-sculpted nature is here on display. The beauty takes her breath away.

  “I wanted you to see it from here,” Mark says. “It’s the best view of the whole.”

  Susan stands alongside him, resting a hand lightly on his arm and her head against his shoulder. “Worth coming just for this.”

  They drive on down to the car park next to the claypan, and spend an hour walking and viewing it from all angles in the afternoon sun. As the sun falls towards the horizon, its light reflects back from the hills, lighting them in ever more iridescent hues of glowing colour.

  “I love sunsets here,” Mark says. “For five minutes, right on dusk, it’s like the ghosts of people past, those who’ve lived in this place for over 50,000 years, come out and walk in the twilight, living in the magic of the colours. Then, as the light fades, they sadly leave behind this beauty and return to other lands which we, mere mortals, can’t see.

  “In that soft shining light, I feel as if I leave my body and walk with them, hearing their whispers and songs telling me of times long gone. Perhaps one day, when I die, someone will scatter my ashes here, to mix with the spirits of these wise and ancient beings. I’d like that.”

  Goosebumps rise on Susan’s skin. She’d never have imagined a spiritual dimension to this bush-hardened cynic. This is a window into his soul she is privileged to see.

  Mark abruptly pulls back from the moment. “We can’t stay for this evening’s dusk. It’s still a long way to the rock. Let’s push on.”

  They walk back to the car and drive on, sharing silence for a couple hours, back onto the bitumen and turning south, winding through more hills, crossing two large and spectacular rivers, the Finke and the Palmer, which are more and more surreal in their colours as the sun sinks westwards. Then they pass over vast short grass plains, the grass glowing golden in the fading sunlight.

  Another road sign points to Adelaide straight on, and Uluru to the right. They go right, driving towards a red sun disk on the horizon. Half an hour later she sees a roadhouse sign for Mt Ebenezer Roadhouse. Daylight is gone by now, diminished to a dull red glow in the sky.

  “Still 200 kilometres to go; I thought we’d stop for a cold beer and a burger.”

  They perch at the bar where the beer is icy and the burgers good. They eat with simple enjoyment. Then on they go, into the dark, as the stars come out. After another hour a silvery light seems to glow. Susan looks behind them. A near full moon is rising, bathing glimpses of grass plains and sand hills in silvered light. Far to the south is a large flat-topped mountain, seen as a moonlit reflection. It’s how she imagines that Table Mountain, over Cape Town, would look.

  “Mount Connor, similar in scale and spectacle, but not in fame, to its Uluru cousin,” Mark says.

  Another roadhouse appears, its sign proclaiming Curtin Springs. White-faced cattle stand near the road as they pass. Then desert returns. Spinifex sand hills roll on past for an hour or more. Finally, distant lights twinkle on the horizon. As they crest a sand-ridge Susan sees a massive bulk ahead.

  It’s another incredible sight: a dark mound with shadow stripes running up and down its massive half-circle form. It glows in the moonlight, an almost deep purple with silver hues, growing ever larger, dominating earth and sky, a huge elephant shaped lump, fast asleep in the middle of the sand under a near full moon. This is Uluru.

  They swing away and it fades from view behind more dunes.

  After a few minutes they roll into a well-lit town. Hotels, caravan parks and wandering tourists are reflected in their headlights. They enter the car park of a modern hotel complex called Desert Sails.

  “I thought we’d treat ourselves to a night of the good life before we seriously leave civilisation behind,” Mark says.

  “Here I was expecting a bush camp, not a five-star resort,” she answers.

  The desert night air is icy, and Susan shivers as she emerges from the warm cocoon of the car. They walk into the hotel, side by side, holding hands. Susan squints in the bright light and stands back as Mark goes up to reception, looking at the pictures of aboriginal art and local scenery on the wall behind as he signs the check in forms. He already has a booking slip, so it’s a minor formality. The receptionist gives him access keys, a map and a brief introduction to their hotel and location.