chapter 17
Poor Sally sank down on to a large rock, wiped her eyes with her knuckles and decided it was high time she gave herself a stern talking-to. So she took a deep breath. "Now if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times tears won't help..."
Oh, but it was no use. Milko had deserted her. Mrs Martha was lost. There was nobody left in the world and the tears would keep on raining down her face. The cut from the stone wasn't bleeding now but it was stinging and the salty tears made it hurt all the more.
"A thousand times," Sally wept, wringing her hands, and beginning to count. "One...two...three...four...five..."
"Once a jolly swagman..."
Sally jumped. But she knew it had to be her imagination. There was no way someone would be out here singing to themselves. And she often saw and heard things that weren't there, didn't she? People had told her so heaps of times. And you know something? She wasn't going to listen to things like Milko anymore. Not now, not after the way he'd turned against her.
"Six...seven...eight..."
"...camped by a billabong, under the shade..."
"...nine, ten, eleven..." Sally said, then picked up speed with her counting. It was a long way to a thousand. "Twelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteen..."
"...of a cooooliiibaaah tree..."
Sally closed her eyes determinedly. "Seventeeneighteennineteen..."
"..and he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong..."
"Twenty...twenty-one..." Sally began to falter. She had been trying not to listen to the singing, but, oh, what if...? Kane Phillips had asked her if Milko had a twin. Milko had never said he had, but she was sure she recognised the voice! What if he did have a twin brother?
...you'll come a waltzing matilda with me..."
Sally couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer. She crept over the rocks and saw the funniest sight since Milko had gone surfing for the very first time, come back soaking wet from falling in the sea and put his very best red hat on only for a silvery fish to slither out and for sea water and seaweed to drip all down his face.
Lance - she'd have recognised Lance Smart anywhere, even though he had his back to her - sat fishing and singing at the top of his voice. He had a large cotton hankie tied on top of his head to keep off the sun, his trousers were rolled up to his knees and he was kicking the water so fiercely that it was splashing back up all over him. Sally had meant to be quiet as a mouse but she couldn't help an involuntary giggle as she slid into a small gap between the rocks.
"Hey, Sal!" Lance began, grinning when he saw her.
Then he stopped suddenly. He was a great mountain of a man who blundered his way through life and every situation but he knew when a kid was upset. Once, invited to a wedding reception, he had tripped over his own shoelace and fallen face down in the buffet, another time when decorating he had picked up what he thought was an empty tin of paint and swung it into the bin only for half a tin of white paint to fly back at him. If there was anything waiting to be knocked over or smashed, you could almost guarantee Lance would do both.
You've no doubt noticed when you've visited Yabbie Creek that the extremely expensive cards-and-china shop in its main Shopping Centre, owned by that tall, willowy couple who walk as though their heads might drop off at any minute, still, even after all these years, has a gilt-edged card in its window, saying Children are NOT allowed...? And you'll have seen that underneath is angrily scrawled And neither is Lance Smart...? I hear this hasty addition caused a great deal of gossip when it first made its appearance and that his mother Colleen went storming down when she heard about it.
But the tall, willowy couple said it had all been done in fun, and that Lance had seen the joke, and so had they, when he'd accidentally smashed their central display, an exquisite eighteenth century china teapot, while browsing for a gift for his girlfriend. There is a rumour that Colleen was only sweetened by being made a member of their very exclusive and snobbish Yabbie Creek Fellowship Club (members endorsed by personal recommendation of other members only), which is why the sign has been allowed to remain to this day. To attract potential customers' attention, the tall, willowy couple claim.
Whatever the truth of the matter, it's quite likely it was Lance who poured oil on the troubled waters. Despite his ferocious appearance, he hated blues of any kind and was a very gentle man who - perhaps because he understood only too well himself how they didn't mean to do things like eat a large bar of chocolate just before dinner or drop fistfuls of coins into shop freezers when choosing an ice popsicle - had an affinity with children.
Although Sally was giggling, he saw the nasty cut streaked across her face and the tears still shining fresh in her eyes. And he sensed he had to tread very, very carefully. Whatever was troubling the little girl, it was something that ran much deeper than a simple tumble. And why was she here all by herself? There was no way Pippa and Tom Fletcher would have agreed to little Sally going for a walk on her own on the beach.
But he didn't scare her off with questions. With a sensitivity that would have shamed those with greater minds than he, who laughed at Lance because he was far from being Smart, he allowed Sally to talk first instead.
And she did, still giggling. She felt comfortable with Lance. He wasn't like most grown ups. He was just like another kid.
"Lance, do you know you're frightening off the fish with all your singing and splashing?" Sally asked in her grave little voice.
"Sure I do. Mum and Alf reckoned I should go fishing but I don't want to hurt any fish."
Sally nodded. It made perfect sense to both of them. That Lance could have said thanks but no thanks didn't enter either of their heads.
She looked at him curiously. She wouldn't have dreamed of asking any other grown-up the question but Lance was different. "How come you're out here singing?"
Lance grinned. "I'm practising for the talent competition, Sal, though that ain't the song I'm gonna sing, of course. Don't tell anyone but there's a girl I like heaps and she'll be there. Tuna and mayo or cheese and onion?" He took a sandwich and offered the box to Sally, lowering his voice to a whisper although there was nobody else around to hear. "Her name's Kathy Murray. Think you might know her better as Miss Murray."
"Miss Murray!" Sally cried in delight. "You can't eat that! " She added, startling Lance into dropping the sandwich. "Miss Murray won't like your singing when you've been eating tuna and mayo and cheese and onion!"
Lance sighed. He loved his food. But little Sally was right. His breath smelling of tuna, cheese and onions was NOT going to impress Kathy Murray!
"My turn," he said, trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. "And seeing as you've been so helpful with my problem, maybe I can help with yours - if you tell me what it is."
"I can't," Sally said sadly. " I can't tell anyone or something dreadful will happen to someone."
"Well, now. That IS a tough cookie." Lance stroked an imaginary beard. "But maybe I got a solution. Supposing you happened to be thinking aloud? And supposing a body happened to overhear? Wouldn't exactly be lagging now, would it?"
He waited, not knowing if his idea would work or not. Sally looked up, her face grim.
