Somebody's Child

Abstract

Somebody's Child Jena Woodhouse (bio) 1 She rode into town on the back of a friend's motorbike. I'd just put a sign in the window: "Staff wanted for busy hotel snack bar. Apply within." I remember it like yesterday. She swung her leg over the pillion and walked straight up to the sign. There was a rucksack on her back, but that was all she carried. She asked if I was the owner, then she asked about the job. She said she had experience as a cook, barista, waitress, barmaid. Within five minutes she was hired. Told me the motorcyclist was a friend she'd hooked up with on the road. She was Swiss, he was German, so they spoke the same language. I said he could stay for a few nights too, do some odd jobs in return for a bed, gave them a room upstairs. He was a photojournalist, wanted to take photos of the old mine workings on a property near here. Said some of his countrymen had been digging there, a century or so ago, hoping to find gold. But as we know, there wasn't much of that. She was as good as her word. Could do all she said she could, and more. Energy in spades. A great little worker, she turned out to be. Lovely girl too, and a bit of a looker. The bachelors from miles around got wind of her arrival, and business boomed. We could hardly keep up. I had to keep an eye on her, though. She being so young, and a foreigner and all. I had to tell her a few times, It's not a good idea to get too friendly with those young blokes. They're starved for company like yours, don't give 'em ideas or you might be sorry. I worried about her being so young and so far from home. What about your family, lovey? What about your Mum? She must be worried sick about you being on the other side of the world— But she wasn't having any of it—reckoned she could take care of herself, and that was that. I just had to hope she was right. 2 Yeah, I remember her well. Worked for Ma Driscoll, who owns the pub and caf, for about six months. All us blokes liked the look of her, but she wasn't having any. Polite, real nice to talk to, liked a good laugh, but wouldn't get too familiar, like. Didn't accept invitations unless it was to a general wingding—a barbecue or something where there were plenty of people. Wary, she was, until she met Gray. Reckon she must've seen some of them TV series about lonely blokes in the bush. Reckon he fitted the bill. Tall, dark, [End Page 361] handsome. Brooding type. Man of few words. Women seem to like a bit of a mystery, but there was no mystery there: he just wasn't much of a talker. Anyway, she seemed to fall for him, hook, line, and sinker. Moved into the homestead real quick, she did. Course, he wasn't short of a quid, he's got the biggest run in the district, but I don't reckon it was just for the money. She seemed to be head over heels for a bit. She wasn't much more than a kid, for all she acted so grown up. She was too young for him. He had a history. Not as if she was the first. The others couldn't stick it for more than a few months. Couldn't say why. Some were city girls he'd met through one of them dating sites. Didn't know what they were in for, did they, out here where the crows fly backward. Anyway, this one thought she knew better, thought she could make a go of it. Poor little blighter, now she's gone missing, the devil knows what's become of her— 3 He was my only surviving son, his father's pride and joy. His dad was killed in an accident a few years back. Sinking a bore. He...