Vitreous china, the colour of caramel, was the only plain colour amid a sea of cream tiles with a fancy geometric design that was probably meant to be floral but to Nicola looked more like fuzzy monsters top to tail with their mouths open, screaming. God, she’d go mad if she stared at that too long!

‘Bath,’ she crooned. ‘At least there’s a bath.’ That could almost be considered a feature to redeem all, she thought, as she pulled the clear plastic shower curtain, with strategically placed palm leaves, aside. Great, she’d have to soak with her ankles wedged under her bum, it was so bloody small.

Nicola plonked herself askew on the toilet and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the erupting giggles.

Bloody Bill. This was no doubt his way of stopping her getting big-headed. She laughed even louder when she caught sight of the time-yellowed, once-considered-slimline phone by her left shoulder, and was unable to resist.

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘Hey,’ Scott replied, his voice crackling and hollow through the ancient handset.

‘Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’

‘Thanks – good to know. How was the trip?’

‘Exhausting. But can you believe there was nowhere to eat along the way – I’m absolutely starving. And of course I get here and they’ve stopped serving meals. Missed it by ten minutes.’

‘I’m sure Bill’s budget will stretch to a meal from room service.’

‘There is no room service.’

‘Thank God for mini-bars then, hey?’

Nicola began to laugh. Was she becoming delirious from tiredness and hunger?

‘Scott, you would so not believe this place. It’s like something out of …’

‘Apparently the place we’re going to this week has only four stars. Can you believe it? The rooms probably won’t even have baths. I hope you’ll think of me slumming it while you’re soaking in your tub full of bubbles.’

‘Well I’m in the bathroom but …’

‘Phone in the bathroom, eh? Bill really is taking care of his star these days.’

‘Well actually it’s …’

‘Look hon, I’d love to hear all about your marble and complimentary toiletries but I’ve really gotta run – sorry.’ ‘Right, um, okay. I’ll let you go … Love you.’ ‘Yeah me too, bye.’

Feeling refreshed after her shower, but again reminded of her hunger, Nicola ventured back across to the hotel.

The reception desk now had a cage pulled down over it with a sign that read Closed – All Enquiries To Front Bar.

Swallowing her apprehension, Nicola pushed the door marked Front Bar open and made her way inside.

‘Settled in okay then?’ Tiffany asked.

‘Yes thanks.’

‘What can I get you?’

‘Um … er …’ Nicola frantically searched the menu for something remotely appetising.

‘Something to drink while you decide?’ ‘Do you have a wine list?’

‘There’s probably one somewhere around here,’ Tiffany said, ducking down behind the bar. It didn’t bode well.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll just have a beer thanks.’

‘Hey Tiff,’ a loud voice called from around the corner. ‘Dry argument around ‘ere luv.’

‘Come on,’ another called.

‘Just bloody hang on,’ Tiffany muttered, thumping the glass in front of Nicola and accepting her money.

Nicola had been staring at the menu a full minute when a voice next to her said, ‘The toasted sandwiches are the closest thing you’ll get to sustenance.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, turning. She frowned; the dark features were a little familiar, but from where she wasn’t sure. ‘Have we met?’

The guy smirked. ‘Yep.’

‘When?’

‘Oh, about three hours ago,’ he said, looking at his watch.

Nicola blushed furiously as she realised he was her flight companion – the one who’d held the sick bag for her – the one whose hand she’d held. Oh my God, she silently groaned, could the day get any worse?

‘Um, I’m really sorry about all that,’ she muttered, waving an arm casually, feeling anything but casual.

‘Alex. Even though we’ve already been somewhat intimate, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he laughed, thrusting his hand at her.

‘Nicola, highly embarrassed,’ she mumbled, shaking hands.

‘Ah, don’t be.’

‘Right, can I get you anything to eat?’ Tiffany asked, reappearing. ‘The ham and cheese toasted sandwiches are almost edible,’ she offered.

‘Great, I’ll have one thanks,’ Nicola said. ‘Care for a game of pool?’ Alex asked.

Why the hell not? Nicola thought. Things could only get better.

Chapter Nine

Nicola scowled at the crude sketch of the hotel motel in cream on the gleaming chocolate brown plastic placemat. Despite scanning the Yellow Pages and finding a caravan park the only other option, she was still in denial. Surely there was somewhere else to stay.

She was also in denial about the amount she’d had to drink. Disconnected images flickered through her mind, vague and grainy like an old silent movie. It couldn’t have been the drink – the ham must have been off.

‘Good morning.’ It was Tiffany from the night before.

The kid was sweet enough but far too bloody cheery when one was suffering a hangover and stiff back. Nicola glowered in response.

‘Bread, butter and spreads over there by the toaster, cereal and milk on the table, plates and cutlery on the bench,’ Tiffany rambled. ‘Help yourself,’ she added. ‘Can I get you a coffee, or perhaps you’d rather a tea? I’ve just put a pot on.’

‘Coffee, thanks.’ As Tiffany bounded away, Nicola wondered if the pot she’d referred to was for tea, and instantly regretted her request. In her experience coffee that came in a pot was rarely drinkable.

Maybe there was a coffee machine hiding out in some back room and it wouldn’t be so bad. She hoped so, because the only thing she could see making her feel better was a decent latte or three.

She got up for a closer inspection of the breakfast offerings. The cereals were all in little boxes, brightly adorned to attract the attention of children. She sighed and stuck two pieces of grain bread into the nearby toaster, more for something to do to pass the time.

Nicola stared at the toast she’d just cooked. It looked about as nutritious as cement. Tiffany appeared beside her and put down a tray with a plain white mug of inky black coffee, a small ceramic jug of milk and a matching bowl of white sugar.

‘Thanks,’ Nicola said, and set about doctoring her coffee. Fingers crossed.

She took a tentative sip and almost dropped the cup as her tongue was burnt. She put the mug back on the table with a grimace. ‘Sorry, is it too hot?’ Tiffany asked. ‘Not your fault.’

The beverage’s temperature was the least of its shortcomings, but Nicola curbed her desire to point out its flaws. It was bitter, watery, and had almost no depth of flavour. Could it actually be the worst cup she’d ever tasted? It was a little hard to tell now that she’d burnt the taste buds off her tongue. Bad or not, she thought, it is caffeine; a vital ingredient for the treatment of the common hangover. She lifted the cup again and took a couple more sips.

Nicola put the mug down and looked at Tiffany who was still hovering – why, she had no idea.

‘Tiffany. Um, is there a B&B anywhere nearby, or maybe a …?’

Tiffany looked mortified. ‘No offence, it’s just that …’

‘We may not be all the frills floral but we’re clean and comfortable,’ Tiffany said defiantly.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ Nicola began.

‘Anyway, there is nowhere else,’ Tiffany said.

Nicola wanted to know if the pun was intended, but was far too peeved to give Tiffany the upper hand by praising her wit.

As she stared at her mug, weighing up its drinkability versus her desperation, Nicola felt a slow sinking feeling take hold. If there was no B&B, did that mean there was no day spa either? It was all too awful to contemplate.

‘Is there by any chance a day spa nearby, or a masseuse?’ Nicola asked hesitantly.

Tiffany thought for a moment. ‘Well, there’s an old retired shearer does a bit of work on the footy players.’ Nicola stared at her, horrified.

Taking great joy in Nicola’s obvious discomfort, she chuckled. ‘Though I’m guessing that’s not quite what you’re after.’

‘Could it get any worse?’ Nicola mumbled, thinking aloud. She laid her head on her arms on the table.

Nicola was wondering just what the town did have to offer when Tiffany again materialised at her side and dumped a wad of photocopied and glossy brochures beside her.

‘This place might not have all the city finery but we’re an honest, down-to-earth bunch of good people who do our best with what we have,’ she said a little indignantly.

Tiffany looked like she was waiting for applause. Well she’ll be waiting a while, Nicola thought, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms tight across her chest.

‘You can get paracetamol at the chemist or supermarket. Both are down the street and open at nine-thirty,’ Tiffany said, before turning lightly on her heels and walking away. A door marked Private slapped shut behind her.

Nicola steamed in her chair. The place was a hick town full of country bumpkins and she hated it already. Damn Bill. Boy was she going to give him a piece of her mind! Right bloody now!

She got up and stormed out the door and across the courtyard. By the time she got to room eight she was a little out of breath.

Inside she grabbed her mobile from the bench, remembered there was no signal, and put it down again. Bloody thing; what’s the point of an iPhone if you can’t get any reception? She’d have to do something about that. If she was staying that was.

Nicola reached for the phone by the bed and was about to dial Bill’s office number when she stopped and put the handset down again. What the hell was she going to say, anyway? ‘Get me out of this shithole because I’m drowning in bad décor and crap coffee?’ She’d just sound like a petulant child; not an award-winning reporter prepared to get down and dirty for a great story.

And had he actually promised her a quaint chocolate box village? Hmm. What had he said exactly? Nicola nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘For all I know there’ll be day spas …’

He’d actually only asked her to go out to a town called Nowhere Else and do a story on the drought, hadn’t he?

She’d been the one who had assumed the accommodation would be a posh little B&B. Just heard what she wanted to hear. Fine journalist she was!

Well, she should at least let him know she’d arrived safely. She picked up the phone and dialled his office.

‘Bill Truman.’

‘Hey Bill, it’s Nicola.’

‘Where the hell are you calling from?’

‘Nowhere Else – I’m on assignment, remember?’ ‘Of course I bloody remember; your mobile didn’t come up.’ ‘Oh yeah, right. There doesn’t seem to be any reception out here.’

‘Right, might have to change you over to the national carrier – I’ll check the coverage.’ Nicola could hear him scrawling notes. ‘Everything else okay?’

‘It’s fine,’ she said with a sigh.

‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s just not what I was expecting.’

‘Have you had a good look around yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, you never know what you’ll find; it might surprise you with what it has to offer.’

A fleeting image of Alex from last night passing through her mind caused Nicola to smile. That had certainly been a pleasant surprise.

‘Oh well, you got there safely; that’s all that matters.’ She told him about the lack of food stops on the road in. ‘It’s that remote? Who would have thought?’ ‘Came as a bit of a shock to me as well,’ Nicola said with a chuckle.

‘Accommodation okay? Too bad if it’s not ‘cause I hear there’s nowhere else.’

‘Ha ha. I’ll be fine, Bill. I’d better go before I blow your budget.’

‘Well, keep in touch. I’ll let you know about the phone.’

‘Thanks.’ ‘And Nicola?’

‘Yes?’

‘Go find me a killer story, there’s a good girl.’ ‘I’ll do my best, boss.’

‘Oh, and be friendly to the locals. See ya, kiddo. Take care.’

‘See ya.’

Nicola hung up and sat smiling, thinking how lucky she was to have a boss like Bill. She felt so much better. But she did feel a little guilty for her behaviour towards Tiffany earlier. She hadn’t been rude, had she? Not quite. But she hadn’t exactly been gracious.

With the words, ‘Be friendly to the locals’ in her mind she got up, left the room, and pulled the door shut behind her.

As she crossed the courtyard back to the pub, Nicola wondered if she’d been a bit too friendly towards another local she’d met – Alex. She was a little fuzzy on the detail of last night.

The dining room was empty when she re-entered. Her untouched plate was where she’d left it, along with toast, mug, and cutlery. She drained the last of the coffee, which, as expected, had deteriorated as it had cooled.

‘Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you had finished or not,’ Tiffany said, appearing beside her. She nodded at Nicola’s plate.

‘Had to quickly phone my boss.’

‘So do you want it or should I take the plate?’

Nicola looked at the toast. She hated cold toast, but didn’t want to add to her already poor standing with Tiffany by wasting it.

She picked up her knife, tore open the packet of butter she’d collected earlier, and started buttering.

‘Don’t suppose you’d like another crap coffee?’

‘Another coffee would be lovely, thanks,’ Nicola said, smiling broadly up at her. ‘Tiffany, look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot – too many late nights …’

‘Whatever.’ Tiffany shrugged, collected the mug and left.

‘Well that went well,’ Nicola mumbled to her toast.

After a few moments alone, she looked around to find Tiffany had returned. She put the mug down but remained standing beside Nicola.

‘Um … er,’ Tiffany stammered awkwardly, her face reddening. ‘Yes?’ What now? Is she going to tell me where to stick my coffee?

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped,’ Tiffany blurted. The glower was a dead giveaway that the apology was being issued under duress.

‘No, I deserved it,’ Nicola sighed. ‘Bloody hangover,’ she muttered, taking a swig of coffee and cringing.

‘I’m not surprised,’ Tiffany grinned, sitting. ‘You enjoyed yourself last night.’

Nicola raised her eyebrows.

‘I never expected you to be so … so relaxed. I mean here, of all places. I think Alex was quite … Sorry, I’m rambling.’

Nicola wished she’d keep going. She hadn’t been that drunk; certainly not drunk enough not to notice the mattress springs poking her in the back and the bathroom tap dripping all night – almost, but not quite.

‘Bugger, I must have made a bloody fool of myself,’ she groaned and laid her head on the table.

‘Nah, everyone loved you,’ Tiffany enthused. ‘The blokes never thought you’d be so normal. You were great. Pretty pissed, but you were great,’ she added, grinning shyly.

‘Do I want to know details?’

‘Probably not,’ Tiffany laughed.

Nicola shot her a quizzical frown. She was actually beginning to like this girl; the cheeky forthrightness. ‘Just kidding, nothing to worry about.’ ‘You’d tell me, right?’

‘Promise – cross my heart. So,’ Tiffany said, banging the table, ‘last night you mentioned you’re here to cover the drought. Maybe I can help. There’s practically no one in town I don’t know. You just have to ask.’

‘Well, I think I’d like to start with the editor of the local paper. Can you point me in the right direction?’

‘Easy – I’ll mark his office on a map,’ Tiffany said proudly, leaping up.

‘Thanks,’ Nicola said, smiling warmly at her new friend.

Chapter Ten

‘Be hard to get lost around here,’ Nicola muttered to herself while scanning the map. Doesn’t even look big enough to have its own paper.

‘Quaint,’ she said, stopping in front of a row of five pale limestone shops with red brick quoins. Large terracotta planters overflowing with masses of deep red camellia blooms completed a scene worthy of a tourist brochure. Nicola pulled the compact digital camera from her coat pocket and stood back and took a few shots. ‘Post Office, Police Station, Newspaper, and District Council – must be the CBD.’

She approached the shopfront marked Nowhere Else Echo. In the window was a large old printing press, a number of ancient manual typewriters, and wooden boxes filled with pieces of large and small lettering. Black and white action shots of newspapermen hard at work and a yellowed example of a broadsheet headline page encased in Perspex hung from the ceiling, completing the display.

Nicola took a few moments to marvel at how far the world of newspaper printing, and technology generally, had come.

The door had a small bell that jingled when it opened. She smiled. It was like something out of a museum village.

Actually, as she looked around the small reception, which doubled as a stationery shop, it was more like a 1950s movie.

A sea of black and white chequered lino stopped at an imposing timber counter. Pale yellow light barely lit the narrow hallway beyond.

The place smelled strongly of printing: the warm plastic scent of a photocopier, and the unmistakeable earthy and tangy odours of ink, worn metal and industrial oil that belonged to a printing press – probably the one in the window.

To the left were three small white melamine study hutches with a printed sign above them: Public Internet $3 for 30 Minutes.

To the right, a Stationery sign hung over a set of shelving. She wandered over for a closer look, half expecting to see 1950s advertising on the boxes, and was surprised to find a small but wide array of pens, pencils, refills, copier paper, lined pads, printer cartridges, calculator rolls and batteries.

There was a nice looking pen in a hard clear plastic display box she wouldn’t have minded taking a closer look at, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself or the newspaper manager by having a sneezing fit – there was a fine layer of dust over everything. Obviously not a huge turnover.

At home she kept her allergies under control with a daily antihistamine and weekly visits from the cleaner, but out here anything could happen.

‘Hello?’ she called, leaning over the counter towards the hall. Waiting for a response, she traced the dark scars in its worn surface and wondered at the stories the furniture held.

A gruff voice echoed down the passage. ‘Sorry, we’re not open until ten.’

Heavy leather soles clack-clacked on the lino, as a figure emerged slowly from the gloom.

Nicola’s jaw dropped and she felt the colour drain slightly from her face. ‘Richard? Richard Watkins?’

‘Nicola Harvey, what the hell are you doing here?’ The lanky man had a pair of reading glasses on his forehead, beneath a dark tousled mop streaked with white pepper. He threw back the hinged timber barrier and pulled her into a tight hug.

‘Visiting an old friend, apparently,’ Nicola muttered. It was nice to be hugged, but she was distracted. Why was Richard Watkins out here, of all places? And why was he hugging her like a long lost friend when he’d been the one who’d left all those years ago? She shook the questions aside; it was nice to see him, even if it had come as a shock.

‘Seriously, what’s a journo of your calibre doing way out here?’ Richard asked when they broke apart.

‘I could ask you the same question – you topped our year and you end up out here?’

‘Hey, it’s not a bad little rag. I’m in charge, remember.’

‘Sorry, I wasn’t suggesting it was – it’s just … well … why out here? Last time I saw you you were off to London. Didn’t you have a job with The Times?’

‘Things changed,’ Richard shrugged, obviously keen to change the subject. ‘So, Gold Walkley. Well done. But I’m sorry about your parents – they were a lovely couple.’

Nicola found herself blushing. ‘Yeah, thanks. How did you know, anyway? About the Walkley I mean.’

‘Oh, you know, we get the odd carrier pigeon through, keeps us in touch,’ Richard said.

Carrier pigeon – do people still use those? Nicola’s brow knitted with confusion.

‘We do have TV, you know, and even mobile phones – though the coverage is still a bit patchy.’

‘I didn’t mean to …’ Nicola started, blushing beetroot.

‘Forgiven. I know we’re a long way from the big smoke but it’s a great place – you might even get to like it.’

Nicola raised her eyebrows. ‘Not likely.’

‘There’s a lot more to do out here than you’d think. But I want to know why Life and Times has sent their star reporter to Nowhere Else – anything I should know?’

‘Well, nothing major, just a piece on the drought.’ Nicola hoped it would turn out to be more, but wasn’t really feeling at all optimistic. At least with the plane crash there had been specific leads to follow up.

What she needed now was an angle, no matter how tenuous; just a starting point of some sort. ‘Actually, I could probably use your help.’

‘Angle?’

‘Not yet.’ Nicola bit her lip. She hadn’t actually given any thought to the story. She was still coming to terms with the fact she was actually here to work; she’d been too busy dreaming of facials, mud wraps, and quaint shopping strips.

‘Hmm, come out to my office – better for thinking.’

‘Sure you’ve got time; I’m not imposing?’

‘No worries, I’m really just pottering around enjoying the peace I don’t get at home. Would never have believed two small children could make so much noise. Though I suppose they are boys,’ he added, directing her into a chair.

‘Oh,’ Nicola blurted, unable to hide her surprise.

‘So,’ Richard said, leaning back in his chair, ‘what really brings you here?’

‘Well I was actually looking for an internet connection – my motel room doesn’t have one.’

‘No, Nicola. I mean, what’s a city girl like you doing in the sticks?’

‘I told you – the drought.’

Richard’s raised eyebrows told Nicola he didn’t believe her. ‘What?’ she snapped.

‘Nothing. So, I know you got your career on track, what else has been going on – husband, boyfriend, kids?’

‘Fiancé actually. Scott; we’ve been living together almost eight years now.’

‘So when’s the big day?’

‘What? Oh … that … No plans as yet – too busy to even think about it,’ she lied.

The truth was she’d spent plenty of time browsing bridal magazines and dreaming of her perfect day. She’d hoped Scott would make the first move – if he really loved her he would. But he hadn’t said anything about it since brushing off her last enquiry twelve months ago.

At the time she’d accepted his, ‘Honey, I’m really too busy with the research on this new listing – maybe when it’s finished we can discuss it, but right now I don’t have the headspace’. But since then at least three new listings and five major clients had diverted his attention. She’d given up dropping hints.

‘Ah, so you’re escaping.’

‘What?’ Nicola asked, genuinely confused.

‘The trip out bush,’ Richard said, flapping an arm.

Nicola had forgotten just how nosy Richard was – the trouble with time and a selective memory. Now she was finding him damn annoying.

‘And you can talk – avoiding the wife and kids,’ she snarled. ‘Ouch, walked into that one,’ he said, grinning. ‘Anyway, this is different. Do you have any idea how rowdy kids are on polished boards with their …?’

‘Tell me about your wife,’ Nicola cut in. ‘Though I’ve gotta say, I never really pictured you as a family man.’

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Australian Dreams

Fiona McCallum