Chapter 31

As predicted, the power went out during the storm and didn’t come back on until late Tuesday evening, but we were safe to go outside by noon. Jedda and I popped Bindi in the pram, put Charlie on his leash and took a slow walk to assess the destruction. He was in his element, excited by all the people and sniffing all the various odours that had been drawn out by the squall.

I couldn’t believe I’d actually been caught in the middle of a cyclone. Now that it was over, it almost felt surreal, except for the fact its effects were visible everywhere. The normally tidy streets were dirty with mud and debris as if someone had flown over the town and emptied a massive rubbish bin. People from the shire and the SES were clearing tree branches and other mess off the main street with ropes and chainsaws.

Although many trees had been ripped apart, the buildings appeared to have been relatively unscathed—thank God—apart from a couple of broken windows. Jedda’s house was fine and the cafe had only suffered a few leaks. As we did our tour of the town, Jedda took photos and spoke to locals for an article in the next edition of the Reporter.

Closer to the beach, the impact on properties was significantly greater—a number of houses had sheets of corrugated iron or gutters torn off and one house appeared to have lost its roof completely. Falling trees had landed on cars, almost splitting them in two; windows were broken, the tape seeming to have had little effect at all. At least one trampoline had ended up on the beach.

My heart went out to the residents; according to Jedda, the damage could take weeks, even months, to repair. My sensible shoes were among the casualties, turning from white to a muddy brown as we trudged along the road.

I held my breath as we approached the shack and Jedda took my hand and squeezed it, but I let out a sigh of relief as it came into view. The roof was still pinned to its awnings and although debris littered the yard, it wouldn’t be too difficult to clean up.

Sadly, inside told another story.

The front door stuck as I tried to open it and, after slamming my body against it like they did in the cop shows, it budged with a loud groan.

‘Oh my God,’ I gasped. The ceiling in the tiny entrance and living room had completely fallen in. The carpet was no longer visible, but mixed in with the broken ceiling, rainwater and the odd dead cockroach were hundreds of little black dots. My stomach revolted. Possum droppings! ‘Ew.’

‘Lucky you stayed with me last night,’ Jedda said as she stepped inside behind me, Bindi on her hip.