Alf stepped out into blinding shards of early afternoon light. A scrawny anxious-eyed kid of about eight materialised before him.
"Hey mister, have you seen me dad in there anywhere?"
"Nick off," Alf snarled and shoved the kid away. The lad spun off to his mates.
His outing had started well enough with a good feed of bangers, mash and gravy. Belle the barmaid had snuck an extra snag on his plate with a wink. She was pleasant scenery in a pub of mostly male customers.
With a full belly and ready to settle into a relaxing afternoon he was none too pleased to see Stiffy Edwards looking his way.
You could say that yarns of all shapes and sizes crawled around the walls of Dinnys Hotel like daddy longlegs spiders. Even Jock the barman pulled as many legs as he did beers.
But the sight of Stiffy threading his way through table after table and bodies on chairs was enough to unsettle anyone and make them think up an exit plan quick.
Stiffy was like a broken record that got stuck on boring.
If it wasn't the tale of his daring dash bareback on his mare Lightning clutching the reins in one hand and the Watters kid who'd been bitten by a snake in the other, it was the story of a nutter called Bill from Gill Creek who thought he was Batman and kept a herd of camels.
Alfie boy was in no mood to sit twiddling his thumbs, getting his ears bashed and wishing Stiffy would either go hoarse or fall asleep in his chair.
And that is why he opted for an escape plan and found himself on the footpath outside his favourite watering hole instead of inside having an agreeable afternoon of darts and meat raffles.
He crossed the road, ducked into Smith's Newsagency for a few scratchies then ambled on past Mooney's Milkbar with its blinking jukebox and pinging pinball machines.
Empty and abandoned on the edge of the road stood the old cement horse trough. And there is good old Uncle Joe carting trays of crusty high-tops and fluffy white bread rolls through streets and lanes pulled by his long-serving horse, Mabel.
Joe was so attached to Mabel that when she eventually died he dropped his bundle and wanted to go too so they could deliver bread to God and Jesus, and all the saints and angels forever.
That's how much he loved her.
The western sun bit into the back of his neck as he made his way up past Weavers and further still the Thompson wreck that people rushed by so they didn't have to look.
Veering around the corner into Duffy Street a little breeze struck up and shadows wrapped houses in cool sheets.
There was no rush, Betty had shot through months ago just when it was back to the two of them.
He spat at the ground.
More than thirty years ago they'd met in a cloud of Apple Blossom outside the Windy Flats community hall.
He was a strapping nineteen year old, strong from working his father's farm. His old man sure got his money's worth out of him.
The hall was crushed with bodies swaying to the music of Slim Stevens' Starlights but when it got too sticky he'd ducked out for some fresh air and a fag.
He spotted her under a willow waiting for her cousin Jolene Peterson and after some smooth talking she was inside and in his arms dancing the Gypsy Tap.
Betty was something back then. Full lips thick with pink lipstick, a good big bust, shapely hips and an auburn mane pulled up in a perky ponytail tied with pink ribbon.
Before he knew it she had a bump and he was in St Saviours tying the knot in front of some priest or other.
Betty's Apple Blossom perfume was soon replaced by the stink of dirty nappies. And that's when everything changed.
She was a feisty piece. He had to put his foot down and let her know who was boss. She soon learnt.
They moved around and she kept dropping them - four all up - three girls and a boy. The kids kept her busy, too busy for him.
He unlocked the door. Dishes cluttered the sink and the bed went unmade but who cared, he only had himself to please.
At the Dinnys that night after a flutter on the pokies a glass smashed down next to his. Stiffy Edwards. And the grog had loosened his tongue.
"Did I ever tell you the one about Batman Bill from Gill Creek?" he began, "Yep, gave the kids rides on his camels at school fetes. Made a ton of money for them he did. Here comes Batman, here comes Batman they'd all yell."
Alf groaned.
"One time the weather turned something crook. Rained for weeks. The town was saturated, then all the water travelled down the rivers."
Stiffy took a gulp of beer.
"Well, weren't they in a pickle. So what does Bill do?
"He rounds up his camels and rescues them from rooftops and trees.
"Got them all to higher ground he did.
"Bloody ships of the desert mate, they were ships of the river.
"Those camels with their long bloody legs waded through all that water like it was a puddle."
Alf had heard enough. He got up and left.
Marion was in the back room sorting clothes that Betty had left behind. She loved her brother and kept an eye on him.
"Have you decided what you are going to do with Betty's ashes yet?", she called from the doorway, "And what do you make of this?"
She handed him a battered photograph of a man in a Batman outfit standing near some camels.
Alf looked at it, turned it over and read the barely legible handwriting - To Dear Betty, with love always, Bill.
