by Jane Harper
“Xander, listen, about yesterday—”
“Finished. Better.” Xander pulled the tie tight and stepped away. He looked over at Bub, who was staring at Cameron’s painting. “Hey, do you think the painting might upset people today? With that story about the stockman wandering off?”
“No one believes that shit,” Bub said, not turning around. He took a sip of his beer and pointed the bottle’s neck at the grave. “He raped an Aboriginal girl and got himself killed for it, everyone knows that. Don’t know why he gets so much bloody glory.”
“Is that true?” Xander said, looking to Nathan, who shook his head. It was true there were plenty of white blokes who had done all that, and worse, but not in this case. He opened his mouth, but was cut short by a noise outside.
Bub turned to the window. “It’s here,” he said.
Nathan and Xander joined him at the glass. Out on the driveway, the funeral director’s black four-wheel drive was pulling up. It had been modified to carry six-foot-long cargo in the back. The vehicle might have been shiny when it set off from St. Helens, but the journey had branded it with the same grit and grime as everything else. At the homestead fence, Ilse stood watching its arrival, flanked on either side by her daughters’ small figures. Together, they looked like a flock of birds, all in black, the edges of their skirts catching, feather-like, in the wind.
Far beyond them, Nathan could just make out a distant billow of dust. The neighbors were arriving.
* * *
The service was brisk and to the point, conducted by a chaplain from St. Helens who at least seemed to understand that however much Cameron Bright might be missed, it didn’t make the sun any less hot. The freshly turned soil around the grave was already dry and flaky, and the shade of the gum tree wasn’t enough for those sweltering in their once-a-year outfits. Nathan stood in his shirtsleeves and his fancy knotted tie and looked around the crowd with a strangely detached interest.
There were maybe forty there, he counted, as they all fidgeted in their town clothes and best hats. A good turnout. Excellent, in fact. He hadn’t seen most of them in years, but he recognized about two-thirds. Old Tom, young Tom, Kylie from the service station—with a couple of kids in tow now—and Geoff, who used to be her boyfriend, and now looked to be her husband. That dickhead engineer who’d been based out at Atherton for years—Nathan couldn’t remember his name, there were so many dickheads over at Atherton. Steve from the clinic, of course. No Glenn, but no surprise there.
Nathan had phoned the police station that morning and been diverted again. Sergeant McKenna was still clearing up from that tour bus spill in the north. Did Nathan want to leave another message? “Just ask him to call me,” he’d said finally, and hung up.
Nathan didn’t know the chaplain, and from the generalized phrases he was leaning on, felt sure the guy had never actually met Cameron. Nathan mostly tuned out the service and stared at his neighbors, taking in the graying hair and the extra kilos. Most of them stared back, curious and with a slightly bewildered air, like they’d almost forgotten that he really existed.
Liz nearly made it through. The dreadful keening started in her throat as the chaplain neared the end, and grew to an eerie crescendo by the time Sophie and Lo were invited forward to plant a small sapling at the head of the grave. Liz’s shoulders heaved and her cries were muffled as she buried her face in her sleeve. Harry whispered something, taking her arm and attempting to lead her away, but she shook him off violently.
Lo, eyes wide and trowel quivering in her hand, took one look and started to wail herself, followed quickly by Sophie. Ilse took a swift step forward, scooping them close to her and ushering them toward the house.
“But what about the tree?” Lo’s voice floated back, high-pitched through her sobs. “We’re supposed to plant the tree.”
Without a word, Liz picked up the discarded trowel and dropped to her knees. She dug, hard and fast, stabbing the blade into the loose soil as the dust flew up and clung to the dark fabric of her dress. Her grief was the raw and messy kind, and Nathan could see people glancing away, uncomfortable. The act of memorial had taken a voyeuristic turn, and eventually he couldn’t stand it any longer. He stepped forward, picked up the other trowel, and dug with her. As soon as the hole was big enough, Liz grabbed the sapling and shoved it in, covering it loosely with the grainy earth. It wouldn’t survive, Nathan thought—it wasn’t deep enough—but at least it was done. He stood up and helped Liz toward the house, ignoring the gawping eyes of his neighbors as they watched him leave.
29
An hour later, Liz had been tucked up in her darkened bedroom with a mild sedative supplied by Steve, and Nathan found himself standing alone by the lounge room door. The room was fuller than he had ever seen it and, despite the heat, some of the crowd had spilled into the hall and out onto the veranda. They left a self-conscious clearing around Cameron’s painting, though, Nathan noticed.
“At least no one’s touching it.” Nathan heard the voice by his side. Ilse was looking past him at the picture.
“I thought we should take it down.”
She frowned. “No, not at his funeral. People would ask about it. It’s Cam’s legacy. He would’ve wanted it there for everyone to see.” There was a faint note in her tone he couldn’t quite make out over the noise.
“That’s what Bub said too.”
“Did he?”
“Pretty much. And Mum.”
“They’re right.”
They probably were, Nathan thought now. The guests might have been keeping a respectful distance but they all threw snatched glances toward the painting. Curious but reluctant to appear ghoulish. He saw Katy squeeze through the doorway and into the crowd, holding a tray of sandwiches. Instead of passing them around, she dumped the tray on a table and walked straight back out.
Ilse watched her with narrowed eyes. “God, they’re useless. Both of them.” A pause. “I could sack them,” she added suddenly, realization dawning in her voice.
“You might not have to. I think they’re planning to leave.”
“Still. I could. If I wanted to.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
A woman with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair caught Ilse’s eye across the room and raised her hand in a small wave.
“Who’s that?” Nathan said.
“I don’t know. I thought she was waving at you.”
“I don’t think so.”
The woman waved again, a little hesitant now, and Ilse sighed. “I’d better go and speak to a few people anyway. I’ll talk to you later.”
Nathan sipped his beer and watched her make her way over to the woman in the corner. Ilse offered her hand, and they exchanged a few words, their heads tilted close to hear each other over the chatter. Then Ilse turned and pointed to Nathan. She said something else, and the woman thanked her and threaded her way through the crowd toward him.
“Nathan. Hello. It was actually you I was waving at,” the woman said, once she was in front of him. She gave an embarrassed smile. “You don’t remember me. That’s okay. It’s Melanie. Birch? From Atherton.”
“Melanie.” He was struggling.
“From Atherton? Or I was, anyway, for a few years. And now, I’m back.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Don’t worry, I was a couple of years behind you, so I don’t think you even noticed me then. But I was friends with Jacqui when you two were dating.”
“Oh. Right. I don’t—” He was still struggling, but at least she was still smiling. “Jacqui and I have been divorced a while, so—”
“Oh. Me too.” She shrugged. “City bloke. Didn’t work out, surprise surprise, so after that I went traveling for a while. Was out west for a couple of years, and now I’ve ended up here again. Still working with the horses.”
“Right.” Nathan could now just about picture the girl he sometimes saw around at the gymkhanas, part of Jacqui’s loose circle. A strawberry-blonde ponytail and lots of freckles in the summer. There we
ren’t loads of young people around, but they came and went with surprising frequency, to schools and jobs and other places. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known her name was Melanie, having only really had eyes for Jacqui. Melanie was pretty, though. Both then and now.
“I’m sorry to hear about you and Jacqui. That’s a shame, I thought you’d work out. You were so good together.” She hesitated, as if deciding how much to say, then gave him a small sideways smile. “We were all horribly jealous of her because there were so many arseholes and never any good guys, and she grabbed you so quickly. She was always telling us how much fun you two were having and how you made her laugh.”
“Really?” Didn’t sound like Jacqui. Not at the end, anyway. Although—the memories were buried pretty deep—perhaps at the start. At the start, Nathan might have said the same about her. He looked at Melanie, properly this time. “So how do you like being back?”
“It’s very quiet. I’d forgotten.”
“Yeah. It is. Quite quiet.” Nathan’s mind was utterly blank. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Across the room, he saw Ilse glance toward them, then immediately look away. She was being talked at by an older woman Nathan didn’t recognize.
“Anyway,” Melanie said. “Listen, I’m so sorry about Cameron, and I completely realize this isn’t an ideal time, but I wasn’t sure when I might run into you again, so I wanted to say hi. I mean, I don’t know if you’re ever in town—”
“I’m not. Hardly ever.”
“Oh.” She blinked, then recovered. “Well, if you ever were and wanted to catch up for a drink or something, let me know.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“You can call me over at Atherton. And it’s Melanie.”
“Melanie. Yeah, I know. Got it.”
“Good. Okay, then.” She smiled, and as she turned to move away, she touched his arm lightly in a way that no one had touched Nathan for a very long time. The heat of her fingertips lingered on his skin, so clear and sharp it was almost painful. He watched her blend back into the crowd, then jumped as Harry suddenly appeared at his side.
“I’m going to be honest, mate, I’m not sure you’re in any position to play hard to get.” Harry handed him a fresh beer.
“Jesus, Harry. I don’t even think that’s what she was—”
“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t try, will you? You should give her a call. Start showing your face in town a bit.”
“She’s been away. She won’t know—”
“About all that business with Keith? She will. If she’s based at Atherton, they’ll have said something. No question.”
“Still. I dunno. I’ll think about it.”
“Do. Because you’re not making it easy, mate.”
“Easy for who?”
“Anyone. Them. You.” Harry nodded at the crowd. “At least give them a chance to forgive you.”
“I did my begging ten years ago. It didn’t work out well.”
“No one’s asking you to do that. Just meet them halfway. Or a bit more, maybe. A lot of time has gone by.”
“Same faces.”
“Some. Some not.” Harry dropped his voice. “And a couple of them have been asking about you. Young Tom. Geoff. Asking what you’ve been up to. Look at them. They know that could’ve easily been you we buried out there. Still could be, one day soon, if they’re not careful. And that’d be something they’d all have to live with. This kind of thing brings things into perspective, puts people in a forgiving mood.”
“Yeah? Well, good on them.”
“I’m just saying, mate.”
Nathan shrugged. Across the room, he could see Bub chatting to a group of blokes about his age. Over in the corner, Ilse had escaped the older woman and was now talking to Steve.
They were standing apart from the other mourners, in the no-man’s-land under the painting. Ilse had her head close to Steve’s and looked to be speaking in a low voice. She was saying something, her face unusually agitated, while Steve pursed his lips. When Ilse stopped, the nurse shook his head. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off and started whispering again, more urgently this time. The crowd shifted and resettled, and Nathan lost sight of them.
He leaned back against the wall. It was hot in the room, and the chatter suddenly sounded loud. Nathan put down his beer and reached for the water jug on the nearest table. It was empty, as were two others he could see.
“I’m going to fill these up,” he said to Harry.
Harry shrugged. “I’m telling you, mate. You’re not doing yourself any favors, hiding away today.”
Nathan didn’t reply.
The kitchen was no cooler, but at least it was quiet. Katy was standing alone by the sink, staring out of the window. She started as Nathan clattered the jugs on the draining board.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said. “I thought you were Simon.”
“No. Where is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
Nathan checked the fridge. No cold water in there. He went back to the sink. The water ran hot from both taps, but it would have to do.
“Listen—” He held the jug under the stream. “You two might be planning to hit the road soon, but you’re still on the payroll today.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t feel a hundred percent.” Katy leaned against the counter, and Nathan saw that her face was in fact a little pale. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to have her serving food, he thought.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s probably the heat.”
“The nurse is around. Do you want me to get him?”
“No. Thanks.” She went over to the table and picked up another tray of sandwiches.
Nathan watched as she put it straight back down again, a pained look on her face. “Look,” he said. “We’ll manage. Go and lie down if you’re ill—”
“Who’s ill?” Simon stood at the door with an empty tray in his hand.
“No one,” Katy said. “I’m just a bit hot. Let’s get back to work.” She swapped Simon’s empty tray for the full one. “You take that, and I’ll take these.” She picked up the water jugs and flashed a smile. It looked almost real. “And everyone’s happy.”
She walked out of the kitchen and, after a beat, Simon followed. Nathan watched them go. Out in the hallway himself, he could hear the sound of chatter, louder now as more people spilled out from the cramped living room.
Nathan could see a few faces he recognized. Maybe he should go and try to talk to them. Go and find Melanie, even. Try to think of something to say this time. It was possible that Harry was right. Maybe people would forgive him.
Or—Nathan’s thoughts darkened fast these days—maybe not. It had taken Nathan a long time—years—to get used to his life as it was. The swift cut of rejection had hurt enough at the time when it was sharp and fresh, but it was the way the wound had festered that had been the killer. He had got through it once, barely. He knew with wholehearted certainty that he could not do it again. A group of men jostled out of the living room and down the hall in his direction. Quickly, Nathan opened the nearest door and stepped inside. Ilse’s office.
He shut the door behind him and breathed out. It was peaceful in there, the noise from the lounge and the hallway nothing more than a muffled hum. He stood for a minute, enjoying the peace, then walked over to the window. On the veranda, Sophie was playing some game with Kylie’s kids, while Lo looked on. Xander was nearby, leaning against a post and chatting to a girl who looked around his age. She was smiling.
At the other side of the yard, someone was standing alone by the graves. Bub. He seemed to have his fly done up at least, Nathan thought, so that was something. His brother wasn’t even looking at the earth. He was standing at the fence, with his back to the house, staring out into the beyond. Nathan watched for a minute more, then turned and looked at the wall calendar. Bub’s mustering plans. Written on and then firmly crossed off.
Nathan sat down in the spare office chair and re
ached for the day planner on the desk. He flicked to the section Ilse had pointed out to him, and began to read the mustering notes. They were detailed, laying out what a change in the schedule would involve. The pros and cons, risks and rewards. He read it through, twice, then leaned back, thinking. Bub and Cameron had both been right, in their own ways. It was a good plan, but there were snags that needed to be ironed out before anything should happen. Just because Bub was the only one left to argue his case didn’t mean Cam hadn’t had a point.
Nathan started to close the diary, then stopped. Idly, he flipped the pages to the present week. There was almost nothing listed. The activity had been halted by a combination of Christmas and Cameron’s death. The days were mostly empty, and whatever was written there looked as though it had been added some weeks earlier.
He turned back another page, to the day Cameron had gone missing. There were quite a few items written down, listed in Ilse’s handwriting. Reminders of several phone calls to be made, and a handful of invoices to chase before the end of the year. The weeks before showed more of the same. The day Ilse’s husband had died looked to have been just another busy day for her in a busy six months.
He turned back and forth a few more pages. Everything she had written down appeared to be fairly standard stuff. He made similar phone calls and orders himself, he just didn’t record them as efficiently. Ilse might not have asked for this, Nathan thought, and Bub might not like it, but she would probably be pretty good at running this place if she had to. Now she did have to, he supposed. He was about to close the book again when something at the bottom of a page caught his eye.
In the corner was a single tick with a time written next to it. Nathan frowned and turned back a few pages, then a few more. The same mark had been made every day for the whole year, as far as he could see. There was no other information, just the check mark and the numbers. The time recorded varied over two hours, coming in anywhere between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m. Nathan stared at it. Somewhere, deep inside, he felt a stirring of recognition.