Grey nomads

This short story is an *IA Writing Competition (fiction category) entry.

The fold-up table was positioned in front of the gleaming Winnebago, blocking an inviting dawn with a sun that had pretty much decided to provide a showcase kind of a day, as it brushed the ocean. Reds and oranges twirled kaleidoscope-like on the horizon, with the colours dissipating across the water to waves gently massaging the beach. Beyond the whitewash, a pod of dolphins went about their morning constitutional swim across the bay.

Old mate’s eyes strayed from the Winnebago to the day’s planning before him. A hard copy map was spread out in tablecloth fashion, a laptop, iPad and mobile phone were all within easy reach and a thick bunch of discount dockets were paper clipped and to the side next to his reading glasses.

The sun now filtered through the adjacent bush and kookaburras again mistook the morning for a late-night party.

With the focus of a military general, old mate flicked from the iPad to the laptop and with different coloured highlighters and pens, would make a note on the hard copy map. He fingered through the discount dockets and made entries on the satellite navigation app on his phone. The ritual was punctuated with the odd extra deep breath and the intermittent “a-ha”. He changed glasses often and wiped away the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief and used the palm of his hand to remind the little remaining grey hair to stay on his head.

After a while, he stretched and looked across at the Winnebago and took in the breadth of its enormity. He smiled at the sum total of his life and made mental notes about oil and tyre pressures and fantasised about the latest accessories in Motorhome Monthly magazine. The hilarity of the kookaburras jolted him back to his planning.

His wife strolled over with a cup of tea and a cup of hot water and placed both on the edge of the table. He rubbed his chin, picked the teabag from her cup of tea and placed it in his cup of hot water.

“Getting there, love. Getting there. Almost got the day sorted.”

She moved to the front of the Winnebago, for a panoramic view of the ocean, gently sucked in the salt air and afforded herself a half smile about their long-planned trip around Australia. They had both worked hard, the kids had well and truly left home, the superannuation was adequate, the fortnightly pension certain and their health... well, their health was pretty much linked to her husband’s inability to button up his shirt completely, a thought that bumped her back to the present.

“Nice shirt, love. I don’t remember washing that one. Where did you get that from? It still looks a bit damp though.”

He rubbed the shirt down over his ample stomach and tried again to do up two of the middle buttons.

“Someone left it on the clothesline.”

She shook her head slightly and returned to her collection of pamphlets on the Eurobodalla Shire. She scanned through glossy brochures on whale watching, idyllic beaches, national parks, boutique villages and histories from Indigenous to present-day Australia. She circled her key points of interest and joined her husband.

He checked his watch.

“Okay, love. Now what would you like to do today?”

She was about to respond when he stated:

“We’ve got to be out of here before the rangers come by at 8:00 AM, otherwise we’re up for camping fees. So the first stop is a lovely cup of coffee at the Driver Reviver just here; along the highway.”

She put a brochure on the table and pointed out the whale watching cruise. He studied the brochure and then rifled through his dockets.

“Yeah, that one looks good. Gee, they’re a bit tight on the senior discount but there is a two-for-one deal on a Tuesday so let’s think about that one.”

She nodded in agreement as he returned to the map. His hand cradled his chin and his other finger followed the highlighted line on the map.

“From Driver Reviver we ought to head to this place here, for the early bird breakfast special that ties in with the loyalty card which counts to the Fly Buys and frequent flyer points on the credit card. It’s best we head north today because the southerly will come up this afternoon and by gee that chews up the fuel. Anyhow, it fits in nicely with the discount petrol at this spot according to the fuel app.”

He was becoming somewhat animated but he stalled to address her apparent discomfort: “It's all in the planning, love.” And he repeated to no one in particular, “All in the planning.”

He deliberately slowed his speech and flicked up a spreadsheet on the laptop. He carefully pointed to the income column and guided her across to the expenditure budget. He outlined a route and a timeline and cross-referred to a range of apps. His fingers traced across the hard copy map.

“So I reckon we try this Mexican restaurant here for lunch. According to this app, if we write a review, they will reimburse the cost of the meal. It’s air-conditioned, too, and today is going to be very warm.”

She countered with her dislike for Mexican food as she regathered the whale watching brochure.

“It doesn’t have to be a positive review. In fact, they like a bit of honesty. It’s a good thing to do as it prevents people from going to places they might not like; our bit of contribution to the grey nomad community, if you like.”

He then gave her a choice of sitting out the early afternoon heat at either the community library or the shopping mall.

Before she could answer, he raised his eyebrows.

“‘Let's go for the library. Always end up spending money at the mall.”

He then guided her to an accommodation app on the iPad and a farm location in the hinterland behind the coast.

“I reckon this is the go for tonight, love. We can stay here for free and they will even throw in dinner and breakfast. All we have to do is pack tomatoes for a couple of hours in the morning.”

He removed the twice-used tea bag from his cup and took a long sip.

She sighed and returned to her chair facing the ocean, studied the whale watching brochure and folded it away. Her eyes traced across the ocean for a long moment and then froze on a single spout of water in the far distance, a momentary silver candle on the blue icing of the wrinkled sea.

With half-opened mouth, she turned to her husband but he was busy packing up the Winnebago.

Her eyes squinted back to the ocean and her heart jumped as the belly of the humpback flashed white as it breached in tour en l’air precision and then surrendered to the pull of the shimmering blue. She sighed deeply.

“All done, love. All done. Pity we don’t have time for a bush walk, but it’s nearly 8:00 AM. Let’s attack the day. Can’t sit here and daydream.”

Both were now seated in the Winnebago with old mate pushing various buttons, scanning the controls and making final entries on the satellite navigation in preparation for the Battle of Grey Nomads. Old mate gave a nervous smile and the weakest of waves to the shaking head of the approaching ranger, while his wife wondered at the early morning kangaroos. She was jolted back to the moment, with a sudden stop of the touring tank and the pop of a shaken bottle of home brew from behind his seat.

He jumped out of the Winnebago.

“Crikey! Someone’s left some shorts on the clothesline.”

She reached for the daily medication and decided to double her husband’s dosage, leaned back and swallowed her favourite yellow tablet and thought about the whale.

John Longhurst is a former industrial advocate and political adviser. He currently works as an English and History teacher on the South Coast of NSW.

* Full IA Writing Competition details HERE.