One afternoon, when Alice was on her way back from the riverbed with a fistful of wildflowers, Merle, the owner of the pub and hotel, intercepted her at the bar.
‘Alice Hart,’ she announced. ‘You’ve got a phone call.’
Alice followed Merle into a small office behind the bar. Her palms were sweaty. Had June found her?
The phone receiver sat on the desk. Alice waited until she was alone, wiped her sweaty hands on her shorts and picked it up.
‘Hello?’ she asked. She pressed her other hand over her ear to drown out the noise of the pub at knock-off time.
‘I thought you’d want to know your dog is all better,’ Moss said on the other end of the line.
Alice exhaled.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi,’ she exclaimed, giddy with relief.
‘Hi there.’ Moss chuckled.
‘Sorry.’ Alice inwardly kicked herself. ‘Thanks for letting me know. That’s wonderful news.’
‘I thought you’d think so. When can you come and pick her up? She’s fat, happy and fluffier than Merle’s perm.’
Laughter took Alice by surprise. As did the warmth in his voice.
‘Tomorrow,’ she heard herself say.
‘Great.’ A pause. ‘How have you been?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ Alice said, fidgeting with her picked flowers. ‘Sorry I haven’t …’
‘Not a problem. You’ve been busy. Getting rest. Borrowing the entire catalogue of the town library.’
‘What?’
‘Small town.’ Moss laughed easily. ‘It’s not hard to make news around here. Apparently, you like to read.’
Merle cleared her throat at the door.
‘Sorry, I have to go,’ Alice said.
‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Where?’ Alice asked.
‘The Bean on Main Street. Eleven?’
‘Sure.’
Alice hung up.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered to Merle as she left her office.
‘No problem.’ Merle smiled curiously, an eyebrow raised. ‘Fancy a beer, love? It’s happy hour.’
‘Maybe I could take it to my —’
‘Nope.’ Merle cut her off with a hand held up. ‘No one drinks alone on my watch. Come and sit at the bar. Tell me what you’re doing here, holed up alone in my pub in the middle of nowhere. I love a good story.’
The thought of telling anyone anything about her life before she drove into Agnes Bluff made Alice nauseous. Moss’s words rang in her ears. It’s not hard to make news around here.
Moss hung up the phone, staring at it as if it might offer him answers to his questions about Alice Hart. Questions that had nagged at him for days. He’d waited and waited for her to come back for the puppy, but she hadn’t. Regular chats with Merle kept him updated. She was still there. She was okay. She hadn’t blacked out again as far as anyone knew. Why do you care so much? Merle asked him. You of all people should know you can’t save every stray. Moss changed the subject. He couldn’t tell Merle he cared because Alice was the first person who made him feel like he had anything to offer, anything to give, in the five years he’d been in town. After losing Clara and Patrick, he never expected to feel any such thing again. And yet. There she was. Alice Hart. A woman who knew how to speak through flowers.
He went to the fridge, got a beer and returned to his desk. A nudge of the mouse brought the computer screen back to life. Moss’s pulse quickened at the sight of her photo he’d found earlier. It was top of his search results. Alice Hart. Floriographer. Thornfield Farm. Her profile was on the About Us page. In the photo she was standing deep in a field of flowers, surrounded by gnarled gum trees, holding a bouquet of natives so large it nearly dwarfed her body. She looked sidelong at the camera. A barely there smile. Eyes clear. Her hair piled on her head, fastened with an enormous red heart-like flower.
Alice Hart has lived at Thornfield for most of her life and grew up on the farm’s language of native flowers. She is a skilled floriographer and can help you to create the perfect arrangement to speak from your heart. Available for consultation by appointment only.
He’d Googled floriographer next: a person fluent in the language of flowers, a craze that was at the height of its popularity in the Victorian era. He’d hoped that Googling her might quash his fascination, but her enigmatic story only fuelled it.
Moss leaned back in his chair, reading the Thornfield contact information. He sipped his beer. Picked up the phone and put it down. Hesitated for a few moments, then reached forward and picked up the phone again. Dialled the number on the website, gripping his beer bottle as he listened to it ring.
He was just about to hang up when a woman answered, her voice thick with tears.
Alice settled herself at the bar. The sunset filled the pub with a kaleidoscope of colour.
Merle set a fresh coaster down and sat an icy pint of beer on top of it. ‘Cheers,’ Merle raised a shot of bourbon. ‘So now, Alice Hart, tell me what you’re doing here all alone? Where’ve you come from? Where’re you going?’
Alice wrapped both hands around her beer.
‘Oh now, don’t clam up. Everyone here’s got a story. You think you’re the only whitefella who’s run away to the desert to become someone else? Forgive me, darlin’, but you’re not that special.’ Merle tapped her acrylic fingernails on the bar. A loud shout came from the beer garden outside. ‘Oi! Cut that shit out!’ Merle bellowed, making Alice jump. ‘Don’t go anywhere, pet, just gotta sort out this kerfuffle.’
Alice exhaled in relief. Around her the noise rose steadily as the pub filled. Carrying her flower pickings and beer, she squeezed herself off her stool and wriggled her way outside into the cooling blue dusk. She took a sip of her beer and opened her fist. The flowers were crushed. As she was looking them over, Alice became aware someone was behind her.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,’ a woman said, raising a pouch of tobacco in explanation. Her voice was kind. Alice nodded, gripping her beer. The woman rolled a smoke, lit a match and bent her head towards the small flame. She was wearing a uniform but in the dim light Alice couldn’t make out the insignia. She waved the smoke away from Alice as she exhaled.
‘It’s the only pub for a hundred clicks. Gets pretty busy.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Alice said. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘Oh, right. Been in town long?’ the woman asked.
‘A month today.’
‘Lived in the Territory long?’ She raised an eyebrow at Alice.
‘A month today,’ Alice said, feeling herself smile.
‘Aha. You’ve got about two months to go then.’
‘Until?’
‘You start to feel like you’re not on another planet. I’d guess a classic newbie to the desert, from the city or the coast. You’ve got that telltale deer-in-the-headlights look about you.’
Alice stared at her. ‘How do you know this isn’t just how I look?’ she heard herself say.
The woman was quiet for a moment, before chuckling. ‘Shit, you’re absolutely right. Sorry. That was rude of me.’
Alice nodded, studying her beer fizz.
‘I live down the road. Grew up in the red dirt,’ the woman said, smiling. ‘Which might explain my highly evolved social skills.’
Alice couldn’t help but look up and return her smile.
‘I’m Sarah, by the way.’
‘Alice.’
They shook hands.
‘What do you do out here, Sarah?’ Alice gestured at her uniform.
‘I manage the park,’ she replied, poking a thumb in an obscure direction over her shoulder.
‘The park?’
‘Kililpitjara. The national park? You haven’t been yet, I take it.’