The Audrey of the Outback Collection by Christine Harris

dived in. Audrey counted to ten before he finally agreed.
    ‘It would be impolite of me not to eat more. You have gone to much trouble, Mrs B.’
    Audrey’s dad had called Mum ‘Mrs B’ for so long, that other people did too. Her real name was Everhilda, but that was a mouthful. Audrey stuck to ‘Mum’.
    Mr Akbar took one scone, then a second. And a third. ‘To save you having to offer me the plate yet again,’ he said.
    ‘And how have you been, Mr Akbar?’ Mrs Barlow sipped her tea while she waited for him to empty his mouth.
    It took a while. He didn’t seem to understand that scones were supposed to be eaten a bite at a time. With him, it was all or nothing.
    ‘I am well, thanks God.’ He nodded. ‘Although, only some little time ago I almost died.’
    Price and Audrey exchanged a look. If everything Mr Akbar said was true, then he’d had more adventures than you could shake a stick at. More than all the other men in Australia put together.
    ‘I made camp two days south,’ he said, ‘and woke in the night to a tickle on my face.’
    He paused, waiting for them all to think about the horrors that lurked in the dark.
    Audrey shivered, remembering the night she slept outside. Even Stumpy had been nervous.
    Mr Akbar burped loudly. A morsel of scone flew from his mouth. Burping was a sign of enjoying food in the country where Mr Akbar grew up. Audrey imagined a large family, all burping at the same time. Instead of playing cards at night, they could have burp competitions.
    ‘I kept my body still, but carefully reached out to strike a match,’ continued Mr Akbar. ‘Then I saw what was tickling.’
    Price sneaked a hand out towards the scone plate. He had eaten nearly as many as Mr Akbar. Audrey had lost count of the exact number, but it was a lot. She took another one herself, before they were all gone.
    Douglas ran back from the chookyard to weave in and out between them.
    Mr Akbar’s eyes popped wide open. ‘It was a death adder.’
    ‘Def!’ repeated Douglas.
    ‘If I had moved,’ explained Mr Akbar, ‘I would be in heaven before my time.’
    ‘But with a sore face,’ said Audrey. ‘Even if you wanted to go to heaven, it wouldn’t be worth getting bitten on the face by an adder.’
    Mr Akbar leaned forward and stared fiercely at each of them in turn. ‘Death adders are devious.’
    ‘What’s deevis?’ asked Audrey.
    ‘Adders trick ,’ he said. ‘They disguise their bodies in grasses and cross their tails in front of the mouth. If a small animal comes close, the adder wriggles its tail. The animal grabs at the tail. Suddenly the adder strikes with his fangs.’
    Douglas squealed.
    Audrey winced. ‘Our dog, Lightning, got bitten by a snake and he died.’
    ‘Peanuts,’ said Mr Akbar.
    Mrs Barlow handed her cup of tea to Audrey and lifted Douglas onto her lap. He stuck his thumb in his mouth.
    ‘Snakes are deevis, all right,’ said Audrey. ‘Mr Akbar, do you reckon dogs go to heaven? How come we don’t see their legs hanging down?’

Twenty-two
    ‘Mr Akbar, have you found a wife yet?’ asked Mrs Barlow.
    For as long as Audrey could remember, Mr Akbar had talked of his search for a wife. One time there actually was a woman that he liked, but on his next visit he had called her a ‘peanut’. So Audrey guessed it hadn’t worked out too well.
    ‘I am an intelligent man, clean, with a quick brain, yet I cannot find a wife.’
    ‘Maybe wives don’t like the smell of camels,’ said Audrey. She wanted to mention the spitting, too, but a warning glance from her mum suggested it was better not to say more.
    Mr Akbar flicked scone crumbs from his long, thin beard. ‘Where is your husband, Mrs B?’
    Mrs Barlow let Douglas wriggle off her lap. ‘Somewhere near Parachilna, I think.’
    Mr Akbar said nothing. He began stroking his beard the way people petted their dogs.
    The silence stretched.
    Mr Akbar’s face had gone very still, and so had his tongue.
    Audrey’s chest tightened.