I didn’t know what I had expected from my day tour to Arnhem Land, but being asked out for a drink by my tour guide wasn’t it.
We returned to Jabiru in the late afternoon. Back at the caravan park, I washed off the day’s dust and sweat and brushed my hair out of their tangled braids. I didn’t bother putting on make-up- Brett had assured me there was no need to dress up for the Jabiru Golf Club. I picked out a burnt orange pantsuit, crushed in my suitcase, and a pair of black sandals.
Nervous anticipation charged my racing heart as I waited at the entrance to the caravan park. Was I foolish for going out with someone I barely knew, in a tiny outback town, with no getaway vehicle if things took a bad turn?
I spotted a 4WD pull into the caravan park, and I climbed in. Brett grinned at me.
‘You’re very dressed up for where I’m taking you.’
Despite my best attempts to dress down, I had still overdone it. My sandals did have diamantes on them.
‘You can take the girl out of the Gold Coast,’ I laughed, ‘but you can’t take the Gold Coast out of the girl!’
I hadn’t been to a golf club before, but looking around, I knew it wasn’t like the ones back home. It would have been perfectly acceptable to wear the T-shirt and shorts I had worn that day. Brett bought our drinks; Jabiru was a ‘dry’ community, and only residents were allowed to purchase alcohol. I sipped my cider, cool and refreshing in the unrelenting heat.
‘So how long have you been in Jabiru?’ I asked.
‘Twenty years, on and off,’ said Brett. ‘I first came when I was eighteen.’
‘Where are you from originally?’
‘The Blue Mountains. I was back there for a year in 2020. I was visiting my folks and got stuck when the borders closed.’
‘What other travel have you done?’
‘I’ve driven around Australia twice in my 4WD. I also lived in Denmark for a few years with
a girlfriend.’
Brett asked what life was like on the Gold Coast. As I described the sun–soaked glitz and glamour of the beachside city I called home, I expected to see bedazzlement in his eyes. What I saw was more like bemusement. I saw the same haze as I talked about exploring Darwin the previous week. Cities- even the small coastal capital of the NT- were not his world.
Brett seemed a little awkward now. I suspected asking me out for a drink had been opportunistic, and he didn’t know what to do next. He ordered another round of drinks, and greeted other locals as they passed by us on their way to the smoker’s area. I could only imagine the questions he would get at after-work drinks tomorrow.
‘There’s a Thai restaurant near my place,’ said Brett. ‘We could grab some takeaway for dinner, if you like?’
I agreed.
Brett bought for me the Jabiru equivalent of a six-pack of ciders, half a dozen 330ml bottles in a plastic bag. Having drunk two already, I was feeling slightly tipsy. As we cut across town in his 4WD, I looked out the window, trying to keep my bearings.
The retired mining dormitory house Brett called home was surrounded by a high diamond mesh fence secured by a padlock. He explained that in Jabiru, thieves assumed if you had a 4WD, you had tools to steal. Inside, the living room was in the centre of the house, where the floor was sunken below the level of the bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom. The simple décor consisted of two old couches and a coffee table between them. There was a bookshelf in the corner. My curiosity got the better of me, and I moved to inspect its contents.
‘Don’t judge me on what’s there,’ said Brett. ‘Those were there when I moved in.’
‘Don’t worry, there are some good books here,’ I reassured. ‘I’ll put the best ones in the middle. If you don’t read any others, read those ones.’
Over another round of drinks, we found a common interest in industrial hard rock music, in particular Nine Inch Nails and Queens of the Stone Age. I was delighted to discover Brett knew about Type O Negative, one of my favourite bands. I learned he had been in a band twenty years earlier, and they had even won Triple J Unearthed.
‘You could play some of your songs for me,’ I said.
‘Maybe. First, I’d like to hear your short story.’
‘I’d be happy to read it to you.’
‘I’d like that. We better get dinner first, though, before the Thai place closes.’
We walked the short distance to the restaurant, which was tucked within another holiday resort. Back at the house, we sat on the couches in Brett’s outdoor area. After we’d eaten, I opened a document in my phone’s cloud storage.
‘This story is about the star-crossed love between an orc and an elf. There are two versions, but they’re short. I’ll read you both and you can tell me which one you like best.’
‘Okay,’ said Brett.
I looked up occasionally as I read: Brett sat slouched, his eyes wide but heavy. His mouth dropped open slightly. Enthralled, bewildered, exhausted. When I finished reading, he gave me his feedback.
‘I like the second version. It’s more…dark.’ He sat forward. ‘Can I play you some of my songs?’
‘Yes please!’
‘I’ll get you another cider. You’ll need it.’
We moved inside to the living room, and Brett sat on the coffee table opposite me, propping his guitar on his lap. ‘I’ve never played these for anyone.’
‘Why not?’ I probed.
Brett shrugged. He gently strummed his guitar, his voice soft and husky, his lyrics soaked in alcohol and addiction and fraught with heartache. At the end of the first song, he put the guitar aside.
‘Sorry for making you suffer through that.’
‘Stop apologising and keep playing!’ I insisted.
This was a different side to the man who had navigated the bumpy terrain of Arnhem Land. Someone who entertained a busload of tourists every day but shied away when sharing his own songs with one person. When he had finished his set, he put his guitar away.
‘Thanks for listening.’
‘My pleasure. You should share your music more often. It’s beautiful.’
Brett nodded.
‘You know, it’s rare I have someone on the tour close to my age.’
I laughed. ‘I bet.’
‘That’s why I asked you out for a drink.’ Brett yawned. ‘Sorry. I have work tomorrow. You’re welcome to stay. I have a spare room. Or I can walk you back to your van.’
My adrenaline fizzled. The night was slipping away, and the delightfully random encounter was ending. It had been such a surreal experience, not the way I had expected to spend my last night in Jabiru. But it had been better than sitting in my van by myself. I didn’t want it to be over yet, but I didn’t want to force it on either.
‘Where are you headed tomorrow?’ Brett asked as we walked.
‘Cooinda Lodge. I’ll stop at Mirray Lookout on the way.’
‘The Burrungkuy walking track is way better,’ he insisted. ‘It has some great views and rock art.’
We reached the entrance to the caravan park.
‘Are you right getting to your van from here?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
Brett leaned in for a hug, kissed me on the cheek and headed back into the night. I lay in the back of my van, my head still spinning from the cider. I wondered what Brett had thought of me. Had I overwhelmed him with my big city energy? With my glamorous crushed pantsuit and sparkly sandals?
I had tried not to have expectations for the night, but I had also been ready for anything: a longer kiss, a night spent at the dormitory. A whirlwind romance with a Mel Gibson lookalike would have been the perfect addition to my adventure. What a story to tell my friends back home!
But even if nothing had ‘happened’, I would have been content just to have a warm body to sleep next to.
I wrote a short story titled ‘Jabiru’, about my evening with Brett. It was selected in the 2023 Outback Writers festival Short Story Competition, and published in the 2023 anthology ‘The Outback’.
Click here to view and purchase a hard copy of The Outback: Anthology of Stories Volume 8. Ebook edition of my story ‘Jabiru’ coming soon.
Kate Kelsen 