Mothers and Daughters by Kylie Ladd Page A

pulled down her cargo pants, the phone in her back pocket falling to the floor. As she stooped for it, head pounding, it occurred to her that she should probably ring Todd. She hadn’t called yesterday, and they were about to disappear up into the Dreamtime or something, where there was apparently no reception . . . Fiona sat down on the toilet, relaxed her bladder and punched in the numbers. Who cared if the backpacker heard her; she probably couldn’t even speak English.
    Todd sounded flustered when he answered. ‘Hello?’ he barked.
    ‘Hey, it’s me,’ Fiona said, urine still flowing between her legs. God, it was a relief to let go.
    ‘Oh, you’ve remembered us, have you?’ he asked in that half-joking, half-sniping tone she knew so well.
    ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call yesterday. The plane was delayed,’ she lied, ‘then I knew you were going to be out all afternoon. Did you have a good time?’
    ‘Yeah, it was alright,’ Todd said. ‘Got a bit of a hangover now, but. Dom too.’
    ‘I hope you didn’t let him drive home.’ The words were out before she could stop them.
    ‘Jeez, you’re unreal. You piss off on holiday, spending a fortune, then ring up to nag. Go back to your chardonnay, Fiona. We’re doing just fine.’
    Fiona took a deep breath. Please dispose of sanitary items in the bin provided , said a sign on the back of the door in front of her. The euphemism had always amused her. The items weren’t that sanitary by the time you disposed of them.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just worry about him after last time. And I miss you both. Caro’s already driving me nuts.’ She wasn’t really, but she said it for Todd, who had never liked her friend.
    ‘Well, it was your choice,’ he replied, still miffed. ‘I’ve gotta go. Some of us have to work. Have a good time.’
    He hung up, and she sat there fuming. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about Kalangalla, that she wouldn’t be able to call . . . he hadn’t even asked her what she was doing, or if she was having fun. Arsehole. Fiona wiped herself, then stood up to flush, tempted to throw the damn phone down the toilet as well. When she went out to wash her hands the backpacker had gone, but the sink was full of gristle and soggy shreds of lettuce.

    ‘Here we are,’ said Amira as she spotted the sign for the turn-off to Kalangalla. ‘Almost there.’
    ‘Thank fucking Christ,’ moaned Fiona, stirring herself from where she’d slumped back against the window the minute they’d left Cable Beach. She wouldn’t be the only one who’d be glad to get out, Amira thought. The others had chattered and laughed as they’d headed along the bitumen road out of Broome, but had fallen silent as soon as they turned onto the red dirt of the Cape Leveque track and the corrugations began. It was too hard to talk when your teeth were jolting together and your head kept threatening to hit the roof of the car.
    ‘That took forever ,’ Janey complained from the back seat. ‘I wouldn’t come here again unless I could fly.’
    ‘Some people do fly in,’ Amira said. In the rear-view mirror she could see Janey checking her reflection in a compact, lips pursed critically. Like mother, like daughter. ‘There’s an airstrip at the Wajarrgi resort, ten or so minutes away. Tourists sometimes fly up from Broome to spend the day there.’
    Janey snapped the compact shut. ‘That’s how I’m getting back then.’
    ‘Is it worth visiting the resort?’ Morag asked.
    ‘Definitely,’ said Amira, slowing as she came through the gate into the community. ‘I’ve already booked us in for lunch on Wednesday. The restaurant’s fabulous, and there’s some really lovely snorkelling areas. Mind you,’ she added, bringing the troop-carrier to a halt beside the administration building, ‘our own beach is none too shabby either. I’ll take you down once you’ve unpacked and got settled.’
    She looked out in pride and