*
As we began our descent towards Alice Springs, I saw a marked change in the landscape below me. From the sky, it looked like a green oasis in the desert – which I supposed it was – but far more dramatic in colour. I saw a range of mountains that glinted purple in the hazy light, their irregular crowns like a massive set of teeth sticking up from the ground. The plane screeched to a fast and jerky halt on the short runway then all us passengers trooped off down the steps onto the tarmac.
‘Wow!’ I muttered as a wave of burning heat that could probably light a match just by sticking it in the air hit me. It burnt my nostrils as I breathed in and I was actually glad to get inside the air-conditioned terminal.
The airport wasn’t much bigger than the one in Broome, but it was buzzing with tourists. After grabbing a bottle of water and a few leaflets for hotels and places of interest, I sat down on a plastic chair to try and read them before I decided where to stay. I realised all the tourists were here because Alice Springs was the gateway to Ayers Rock – or Uluru, as Chrissie said it was called by the Aboriginal people. The leaflet said it was one of their most sacred sites and ‘only’ a six-hour drive away.
I then read about Alice Springs – or ‘the Alice’, as it was affectionately called. Indigenous art was obviously a very big deal here. There were several galleries both inside and outside town, ranging from the Many Hands Centre run by Aboriginal artists, to the Araluen Arts Centre – so modern it looked like a spaceship that had crash-landed in the middle of the desert.
Another tremor of excitement ran through me and some instinct told me that if I was going to find answers anywhere, it was going to be here.
‘My kantri,’ I murmured, remembering Chrissie’s granny saying the word. I then opened the leaflet on the Hermannsburg mission, which told me it was now a museum and a good couple of hours’ drive out of town. It also said Albert Namatjira had been born there. I had never even heard of him until yesterday, but I’d seen from the leaflets that his name was used for galleries, streets and buildings here. I tried to read more, but the words were doing a polka on the page, especially as most of them were Aboriginal names.
I then remembered I should turn my phone back on, and two messages pinged through, both from Chrissie.
Hi! Sorted you a hotel – just ask Keith at the tourist info desk at ASP airport and he’ll give you the deets! C x
Just spoke to the Qantas desk. The staff r giving me a trip for free as a pressie for all the flights I’ve sorted for tourists. STOKED!! Land tomorrow arvo. See you then!! x
I was amazed that this girl I hardly knew was making the effort to fly hundreds of miles to meet me. And even if I never found out who my family were, coming to Australia had been worth it, because I’d met Chrissie.
I walked across the concourse to the tourist information desk, where a tall freckled man with blond hair down to his shoulders was sitting at a computer.
‘Hi, are you Keith?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, who’s askin’?’
‘I think my friend Chrissie in Broome spoke to you earlier – she said you’ve got a hotel reservation for me?’
‘Ah, Chrissie’s mate, CeCe! I’ve got youse a special deal. Here we go.’ He handed me the booking sheet. ‘Just take a taxi to Leichhardt Terrace, next to the Todd River.’
‘Thanks for all your help.’
‘Any friend of Chrissie’s,’ he said with a friendly grin. ‘Have a good ’un!’
In the taxi, I marvelled at the easy way Chrissie had with everyone she met. She seemed totally comfortable in her own skin, with who she was.
By the grace of God, I am who I am . . .
For the first time, Pa Salt’s quotation on the armillary sphere began to make sense, because that was how I wanted to be too.
Half an hour later, I was installed in a ‘deluxe room’, which at least had a decent shower and a kettle. I looked out of the window expecting to see a river, like Keith had said, but was surprised to find only a dry, sandy riverbed with a few gnarled trees dotted around. It suddenly struck me that I was in the middle of the desert.
Dusk was falling when I ventured outside, and realised the air smelt different here – dry and fragrant, rather than the soupy humidity of Broome. I walked along a bridge that crossed the Todd riverbed and had a solitary pizza in a restaurant full of families chatting and laughing. I missed Chrissie’s company and felt really happy she was joining me tomorrow.
I wandered back to the hotel and spotted a newspaper on a coffee table in the reception area. I picked it up and saw it was a day-old English Times and wondered if there were any more developments on the Ace situation. The story had been demoted to a much smaller headline on the front page:
‘CHANGROK PLEADS GUILTY TO FRAUD’
There was a photograph of Ace – or at least the back of his head and shoulders – entering court and surrounded by an angry crowd. I could read the ‘full story here’, so I took the newspaper up to my room and tried to decipher the words.
Anand Changrok appeared at Woolwich Crown Court today, charged with fraud. Looking thin and haggard, Mr Changrok pleaded guilty to all charges. Bail was not granted by the judge and Mr Changrok is being remanded in custody until his trial, expected to take place in May. Outside the court, hundreds of Berners Bank customers threw eggs at him, waving banners demanding for their losses to be compensated.
The Chief Executive of Berners, Mr David Rutter, has sought to allay their fears.
‘We are aware of the sad and difficult situation our customers find themselves in. We continue to do everything in our power to compensate those affected.’
Asked how Mr Changrok could cover up the losses for so long and about his subsequent plea of guilty today, Mr Rutter declined to comment.
I climbed into bed and eventually fell into a troubled sleep, picturing Ace curled up on a thin prison-issue mattress.
*
I woke with a jolt to the sound of the telephone ringing, and answered it blearily.
‘’Lo?’
‘Cee!’
‘Chrissie?’
‘Yeah, I’m here! Come on, sleepyhead, it’s half three in the afternoon already! I’ll be up in a sec.’
There was a click as she hung up and I rolled out of bed to get dressed. A few minutes later, I heard her put the key in the lock, and the door opened.
‘Hi, darl’. Good ta see you.’ Chrissie greeted me with a bright smile and dropped her rucksack on the other twin bed.
‘You’re cool bunking in with me, right? Keith said there weren’t any other rooms available.’
‘No problem, I’ve shared a room with my sister my whole life.’
‘Lucky you. I had to share with my two brothers.’ Chrissie laughed then wrinkled her nose. ‘It always stank of “boy”, y’know?’
‘I have five sisters, remember? Our corridor stank of perfume.’