The (loved) one who almost got away
Apr 16, 2015 10:40:00 GMT 9.5
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Post by Willow on Apr 16, 2015 10:40:00 GMT 9.5
The (loved) one who almost got away
KATE LEGGE THE AUSTRALIAN APRIL 13, 2015 12:00AM
We won the lottery when my older brother introduced us to the girl who has been part of our extended family for more than three decades. I call Gai my sister out-of-law since they are not married, even though they have raised two fine sons and remain madly in love after all the ups and downs that life has delivered them.
Gai is irrepressible. One of those rare individuals, she could make friends with a gatepost. She chats up the couple outside the cafe or the man behind her in the queue or the ticket collector on the ferry, and before long the thin-lipped, sour-faced gentleman leaning on the rail looking out to sea will be drawn into a conversation, confidences will be exchanged, sometimes invitations to tea, but everyone gets off the boat more cheerful for the encounter.
This Easter she and my brother planned to drive from their home on the central coast of NSW to Melbourne. They would be staying at my place to look after Dad, the dog and the cat while I absconded to Sydney to be with our younger brother, who lives near them. We were swapping care responsibilities in the hope that a change is almost as good as a complete holiday, which neither of us can enjoy right now.
They left on Wednesday evening after work and hit the Hume Highway, where a steady stream of holiday traffic wove between the huge freight trucks bolting along this arterial route at a terrifying pace. I rang them at about 10.30pm to go over last-minute arrangements since I would be gone before they arrived on my doorstep. My brother answered the phone in a worried, urgent voice.
“Gai?” he asked.
“It’s me,” I said, puzzled. “Isn’t Gai with you?”
“She was,” he garbled frantically. “We stopped by the side of the road to change drivers. I thought she was in the back seat asleep, but she’s not here.”
The notion of Gai not making her presence felt, even while nodding quietly off to sleep, was preposterous enough, but the possibility he had left her by the side of the Hume Highway in the pitch black of night was unthinkable.
“When did you realise she wasn’t in the car?” I demanded.
“Just now,” he spluttered. Apparently, he’d been careering along the road at the maximum speed limit of 110km/h for a good 20 minutes with his occasional remarks going unanswered and not a single snore or grunt to confirm her presence. Finally, the lack of response concerned him enough to grope for her familiar shape with his spare hand, only to discover a vacant seat.
“I can’t find a place to U-turn,” he panicked. “I think I’ll call the police.”
As it turned out, the police had been alerted by other drivers with their wits about them. Truckies reported “an older woman” making her way across acres of bitumen to the other side of the highway, concerned she might be a dementia sufferer on the lam or escaping from a facility. She had no phone, no wallet, nothing except the clothes she was wearing and a Tupperware container full of crackers and dried fruit, which she’d retrieved from the back of the car before it took off without her. The truckies had enough sense to realise this small female figure was in a dangerous predicament.
By the time my brother got through to the emergency number to report his missing “wife” their implausible escapade had caused much hilarity and disbelief.
“We’ve got her at the station,” he was informed. Never one to stew with anger, Gai by this time was chatting away with the coppers who’d rescued her from the roadside.
Amazed at her calm demeanour, they gave her a cup of tea, glad for her company and an incident that offered those on duty welcome relief from the more serious accidents and conflicts that disturb their peace on the holiday weekend.
“Don’t tell anyone,” my brother begged me as he drove to pick her up.
“You’re kidding,” laughed the taxi driver who took me to the airport.
We’re still shaking our heads. The family has almost forgiven him for forgetting his better half. He couldn’t live without her and nor could we.
KATE LEGGE THE AUSTRALIAN APRIL 13, 2015 12:00AM
We won the lottery when my older brother introduced us to the girl who has been part of our extended family for more than three decades. I call Gai my sister out-of-law since they are not married, even though they have raised two fine sons and remain madly in love after all the ups and downs that life has delivered them.
Gai is irrepressible. One of those rare individuals, she could make friends with a gatepost. She chats up the couple outside the cafe or the man behind her in the queue or the ticket collector on the ferry, and before long the thin-lipped, sour-faced gentleman leaning on the rail looking out to sea will be drawn into a conversation, confidences will be exchanged, sometimes invitations to tea, but everyone gets off the boat more cheerful for the encounter.
This Easter she and my brother planned to drive from their home on the central coast of NSW to Melbourne. They would be staying at my place to look after Dad, the dog and the cat while I absconded to Sydney to be with our younger brother, who lives near them. We were swapping care responsibilities in the hope that a change is almost as good as a complete holiday, which neither of us can enjoy right now.
They left on Wednesday evening after work and hit the Hume Highway, where a steady stream of holiday traffic wove between the huge freight trucks bolting along this arterial route at a terrifying pace. I rang them at about 10.30pm to go over last-minute arrangements since I would be gone before they arrived on my doorstep. My brother answered the phone in a worried, urgent voice.
“Gai?” he asked.
“It’s me,” I said, puzzled. “Isn’t Gai with you?”
“She was,” he garbled frantically. “We stopped by the side of the road to change drivers. I thought she was in the back seat asleep, but she’s not here.”
The notion of Gai not making her presence felt, even while nodding quietly off to sleep, was preposterous enough, but the possibility he had left her by the side of the Hume Highway in the pitch black of night was unthinkable.
“When did you realise she wasn’t in the car?” I demanded.
“Just now,” he spluttered. Apparently, he’d been careering along the road at the maximum speed limit of 110km/h for a good 20 minutes with his occasional remarks going unanswered and not a single snore or grunt to confirm her presence. Finally, the lack of response concerned him enough to grope for her familiar shape with his spare hand, only to discover a vacant seat.
“I can’t find a place to U-turn,” he panicked. “I think I’ll call the police.”
As it turned out, the police had been alerted by other drivers with their wits about them. Truckies reported “an older woman” making her way across acres of bitumen to the other side of the highway, concerned she might be a dementia sufferer on the lam or escaping from a facility. She had no phone, no wallet, nothing except the clothes she was wearing and a Tupperware container full of crackers and dried fruit, which she’d retrieved from the back of the car before it took off without her. The truckies had enough sense to realise this small female figure was in a dangerous predicament.
By the time my brother got through to the emergency number to report his missing “wife” their implausible escapade had caused much hilarity and disbelief.
“We’ve got her at the station,” he was informed. Never one to stew with anger, Gai by this time was chatting away with the coppers who’d rescued her from the roadside.
Amazed at her calm demeanour, they gave her a cup of tea, glad for her company and an incident that offered those on duty welcome relief from the more serious accidents and conflicts that disturb their peace on the holiday weekend.
“Don’t tell anyone,” my brother begged me as he drove to pick her up.
“You’re kidding,” laughed the taxi driver who took me to the airport.
We’re still shaking our heads. The family has almost forgiven him for forgetting his better half. He couldn’t live without her and nor could we.