Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I awoke to the blood-freezing sounds of her gruff husband, drunk and swaying in the frame
of the doorway, belching and gesticulating with a half bottle of beer, “What bloody 'ell is 'e
doin' here, 'ay? What the bloody Jesus is 'e doin' here, ya bloody 'ore!”
I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, got out of the bunk, slipped my shirt and shorts on,
and, stepping into my running shoes, walked over to him. He stepped back, silently eying
me up and down, as I thanked Liza for the lovely lunch. I nodded to him on the way out,
expecting an anvil fist through my face any second and quietly slipped out the back door
onto my bike and pedaled furiously off into the morning's velvet dark.
I had hit rock bottom, I had been busted sleeping with some farmer's missus. Actually the
truth was, I would have dearly loved to have slept with her, but I had not. I could not sleep
with a married woman, and she didn't push me into it either, though it was obvious we both
were thinking of the same thing. I burnt red with embarrassment, and the night's breeze
failed to cool my inflamed cheeks.
Fate was about to turn my world upside down again, and, soon after the trailer park incid-
ent, I went to the Bundaberg post office one morning and was shocked to receive a desper-
ate telegram from my son's mother and my ex-wife, Judi. Feelings and memories flooded
back as I read the telegram and remembered the last time I had seen Judi and Dylan.
