Previously Published Book
Australian Fiction
Everyone at The Ridge knew that Old Andy had come up with a big black. Everyone knew that he was cutting it himself, with his shaky hands and failing eyesight. They'd see the light burning in his shack at night. They'd listen for the rumbling hum of his grinder, and the smoother sound of his flat lap. He'd bugger the stone for sure, they'd say to one another.
But there was a lot they didn't know about the opal and the things Old Andy could see in it when light awakened the colours that played across the background of black notch. There was a lot they didn't know about Old Andy too, if it came to that...