Through a Camel's Eye by Dorothy Johnston

barbecue tea. I’ve got two little kiddies and my youngest - he’s only seven, but his father was showing him how to cook the sausages. I guess you’ve heard about the argument - that’s why you’re ringing me?’
    Chris said that he had.
    Mrs Desmain’s account tallied with what the McIntyres had said.
    â€˜What did Mrs Benton do when the argument broke out?’ Chris asked.
    â€˜She tried to calm her husband down, but she wasn’t having much success. Then Alex came over and had a go at him.’
    â€˜Did you see where Mrs Benton went?’
    â€˜Not then, I didn’t. We finished our tea, and my husband took the boys to the games room while I did a bit of cleaning up. Then, when I was on my way back, Margaret came to the door of her cabin. I could see that she’d been crying. I went inside and we talked for a few minutes. I asked if there was anything I could do, but she said there wasn’t. She said they’d have to leave in the morning.’
    â€˜Did you see any signs that Jack Benton might be violent towards his wife?’
    â€˜Beat her up, you mean?’
    â€˜I’m not making suggestions, Mrs. Desmain. I’d just like you to cast your mind back and tell me what you remember.’
    â€˜I was upset when I heard she’d gone missing, and then when her body was found - I mean, it wasn’t as though we were friends or anything, but I felt upset. I never saw any signs of violence. Maybe she was the sort of person who hates a fuss. That husband of hers was the opposite. The more noise he made the happier he was. I do remember her saying to me that they wouldn’t get in anywhere else without a booking. Not over the Christmas break.’
    â€˜Did you see Mrs Benton again?’
    â€˜No, I didn’t. It was a lovely day the next day. The weather hadn’t been too good, but that morning was lovely. We got up early and took the boys to the beach. I remember looking over to the Benton’s cabin, and that big car of theirs was gone.’
    â€˜Did any of the other campers talk about the argument?’
    â€˜Not to me. Well, we weren’t the Bentons’ neighbours. Maybe they talked about it. And they were a lot older than we were. We tended to mix more with other parents of young kids. The Bentons had never had children.’
    â€˜Did Mrs Benton tell you that?’
    â€˜It was when we were in the laundry. There was a little girl there with her mother. About the same age as my Josh. I could tell by the way Margaret looked at her that she had no kids of her own. And then she said how lucky I was to have Josh and Nathan. I must say, I felt a bit taken aback because I hadn’t realised she’d noticed. They weren’t in the laundry with me.’
    â€˜She knew their names?’
    â€˜Oh, no. “Two great kids”, she said.’

SIXTEEN
    Anthea spent Sunday morning cleaning her already spotless flat.
    She looked across at her neighbour’s garden. The weatherboard walls, painted white, were thick with vines, as was the fence that separated his cottage from the units. A man was living in the cottage on his own. At least she’d only seen a single man, sturdily built, with a self-sufficient air.
    The cottage was tiny. Anthea couldn’t imagine that it contained more than three rooms, at the most. The pear and apple trees were in flower, or trees that she guessed were pear and apple. The plain concrete surrounds of the units were easy to keep clean and involved practically no maintenance. Anthea found herself regretting that the fruit blossoms did not blow her way.
    With the last of her boxes unpacked, her rooms looked spartan, as though something was missing. Not something, but someone, thought Anthea. Other tenants had pot plants on their balconies. She could buy a pot plant. She could buy twenty pot plants. Tears came to her eyes.
    Her neighbours in the units were quiet and hadn’t bothered to make