by Steve Hawke
‘There’s some bits and pieces in this story need filling in, you dog. What’s going on?’
‘I still don’t quite believe it myself. But listen, before I tell you, I’ve got to make sure. Anne’s ok with us being here? She was fine on the phone, but … you know. That first time. The cradle-snatching thing. Ruvini’s flying in on Thursday.’
‘Anne’s good, mate.’
‘And you?’
‘Of course. I told you way back when to take the plunge. You should always listen to your Uncle Joe. It’s a hell of a detour you’ve taken.’
Eric relaxes, sighs. ‘It surely is.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us what you were up to?’
‘Going back to see her was the hardest, scariest thing I’ve ever done. Best you didn’t know anything if it didn’t work—which is what I was expecting. But I decided I had to try. And thank god I did.’
‘Was it open arms the minute she laid eyes on you?’
‘Hardly. But I’ve discovered I do a good grovel when I need to.’
‘Wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that.’
‘I think that kettle’s boiled. I need a shower to get human again after that bloody flight. I’ll be back down in a bit hey.’
‘Take your time. I’ve got all day these days.’
Eric gives him a look, then heads inside.
Joe picks up the paper, looks at the puzzle for a few moments, but lays it aside, murmuring, ‘All the time in the world … like sand running through the hourglass.’ There is a flicker of a thought that those two metaphors don’t match, but he does not pursue it. He sits there dreamily, drifting on the morning breeze, speckled with leaf shadow.
He is still there when Eric comes out the back door, cup of coffee in hand. Joe looks puzzled, until he remembers that Eric came in last night.
‘Old mate! Why didn’t you tell me you were up? How was the flight? Here, give me a hug you bastard.’
Eric steps back as Joe scrambles out of his seat. In the flurry of movement and bewilderment, Eric drops his coffee mug. A shatter and a splash of hot coffee. Both of them jumping backwards.
‘Joe?!’ Eric can’t hide his distress.
‘It’s only a fucking coffee cup mate.’ Holding out his arms for the hug. ‘Come here.’
Eric takes another step back. ‘Joe, we were just talking about—’
Realisation is dawning. ‘What? Oh no.’
‘About Ruvini.’
‘Of course, of course.’ But he is still bewildered. ‘What?’ He sinks back into his chair. ‘What have I done?’ But it is not really a question. He has to make the head jerk happen, but still the earlier conversation does not come back. ‘What have I done?’ Urgently this time.
‘Nothing Joe, nothing. We were just talking.’
‘About Ruvini?’
‘Yeah, about Ruvini.’
‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing Joe. I was just—’
Joe interrupts. ‘Did I fuck it up?’
‘There’s nothing to fuck u—’
‘Tell me.’
‘There’s nothing to t—’
‘Don’t fucking tell me then.’
‘Where’s this coming from Joe? What have I done?’
Joe is on his feet now, kicking aside shards of cup. ‘How do you think I feel, living with it! Missing bits!’ He is half aware of what an arsehole he is being, but the look of fear in Eric’s eyes only aggravates him. ‘Not knowing what kind of a fool I’ve made of myself when I see that look! At least Anne doesn’t run away from it like you.’
‘Run away?’
‘You want to. I can tell.’
GOT AN ACE?
Anne elbows the door open, and starts shedding bags and parcels onto the kitchen table. ‘G’day Eric. Where’s Joe?’
‘Not sure.’
‘Just been getting some bits and pieces for the trip. And some nice cutlets for tonight. Still partial to a cutlet? D’you get a decent sleep?’
‘Yes and yes.’
This time his flat tone registers, and she turns.
‘Eric?’
His smile is forced.
‘Oh no. Joe?’
‘I haven’t seen it before.’
‘What happened?’
As he struggles through an account of what took place Anne sits opposite him, and reaches out to take his hand.
‘How do you cope?’ he asks plaintively.
‘There’s no golden formula, Eric. It’s one day at a time.’
‘He was so aggressive.’
‘Aggressive?’ She is genuinely surprised. ‘Come on. Let’s go out and find him. He’s probably in the shed feeling shitty at himself.’
‘You don’t think it would be better if just you go out?’
She thinks briefly. Shakes her head. ‘Come on.’
Joe is at his workbench, sanding a piece of the puzzle he’s supposed to be making for James. It has been untouched for weeks until now. He doesn’t look up when he hears them enter. They watch silently as he works away at the intricately cut fish’s fin.
Anne points at the cards and crib board with a raised eyebrow. A query. A suggestion.
Eric sits in his chair, gathers up the cards, and begins to shuffle.
Anne coughs. Joe looks around, takes in the scene.
Still silent, he comes across and sits in his chair. Eric puts the pegs in their starting positions, saying softly, ‘My deal, your cut.’
Joe reaches out and cuts the deck.
Anne backs out of the shed as Eric deals.
They play silently for the first few hands, until Joe speaks. ‘Sorry mate.’
They exchange a look.
‘No worries,’ Eric says.
Joe plays his card. ‘But that’s three kings for thirty, and six points to me. Got an ace?’
‘Bastard,’ Eric laughs.
They play on, the card banter flowing, until they hear Claire arrive home with the kids.
When they make their way inside there is all the expected chaos of Claire exuberantly greeting Eric for the first time in years, James excited to see his Pop, Miriam waking up noisily and none too happily; but as soon as she can politely disengage from Eric, Claire calls them to attention.
‘Mum, Dad.’
Clearly there is big news. They glance at each other nervously, but she seems happy.
‘Prof Simmons summoned me to his office today. I was so-o nervous.’ But it is clear from her grin that it has gone well. ‘He said my presentation was “excellent”. The work’s progressing really well, he reckons. And! …’
‘And?’ Joe and Anne ask it together.
‘No teasing,’ Joe adds.
‘He’s offered to upgrade me to three days a week, starting next month.’
She does a jig on the spot, then reaches out to take Miriam from Anne.
Joe puts an arm around Anne, and holds his other out for a high five. With her arms full of Miriam, Claire has to contort, but manages to return the gesture, and blows him a kiss.
He reaches across Miriam to plant a real one on her cheek. ‘Not even your faux pas of a father could fuck it up for you.’
‘It’s forgotten, Dad. Like Mum said to me afterwards, it was the most Joe thing you’ve said in weeks. Even if it was unforgiveable.’
She grins sheepishly.
‘Sort of.’
THE ROAST
The dishes are stacked, and Eric has promised to do them in the morning. It’s quite a pile; Anne has gone the whole hog for the last dinner before she and Joe fly north. Claire is still putting the kids down. Joe and Anne and Eric troop into the lounge room and settle into comfy chairs. Eric pats his stomach.
‘You can cook me roast lamb anytime you like Anne.’
‘Is Ruvini vegetarian?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. My god she can cook though. What curries!’ He kisses his fingers and spreads them in the gourmet’s gesture, smiling dreamily.
Anne laughs. ‘Listen to you rabbi
t on about her all day like a lovesick teenager! It’s …’ She’s stumped herself. Then, ‘It’s gorgeous Eric. There, that’s a word I’ve never used for you before.’
‘Shut up will you.’
‘I’m just pissed off we’re going to miss her.’
‘When did you say she’s getting here?’ asks Joe.
Eric can’t help the tightening of his lips, the glance at Anne. He cannot adjust himself to the repetitions. Every time it happens he feels an inner tension. ‘Thursday.’
‘And how long’s she stopping again?’
Eric’s voice is tight too. ‘Like I said, for good I hope. But it depends Joe. If it goes well, and she likes it here, there’s a whole lot of stuff to be sorted with Immigration.’
‘Of course … You old dog you.’
Eric takes a deep breath, holding himself in.
Anne jumps in. ‘It’s not going to be a lovers’ nest here Eric, with Claire and the kids around.’
‘Ruvini loves kids. She’s not some delicate flower, Anne. Besides, I’ll get to spend some quality time with Claire and her brood. You know, I don’t think I’ve shared a house with your girl since that Shark Bay holiday we all had. Remember that one Joe?’
‘Oh vaguely. Three Spanish mackerel, a fifteen-pound snapper and a wahoo for me. Not to mention all the small fry. What was your score again? Seem to remember I outfished you that time.’
Eric just shakes his head and laughs. ‘We’re up for anything, my girl and me. Childcare if needed. Cooking and general bonhomie, no problem. And if there happen to be any dramas,’ he gives Anne a meaningful look, ‘I’ll be there by her side.’ He lets his tone become more jocular. ‘I shall stand in loco parentis. I might be acting like a besotted teen—which is how I feel if you’ll excuse me saying so—but I promise I’ll look after your daughter.’
He blushes furiously when Claire walks in, yawning. ‘They’re down at last. You talking about me Uncle Eric?’
‘I was just reminding your parents of the time you slipped a jellyfish down my bathers at Shark Bay. I’m terrified what might happen to me, left here at your mercy.’
‘Just you wait.’ She smiles tiredly at him and collapses into a chair.
Joe yawns hugely. ‘It’s catching, Claire Bear. Big day tomorrow. Think I better get my beauty sleep. Good roast darling.’ He looks to Eric. ‘What time is it we’re heading to the airport?’
‘I’ve got a meeting now Joe, r—’ He bites off ‘remember’. ‘Tying up the last of the loose ends with IV. I can’t take you to the airport now.’
This time Joe recognises the tightness in his voice. Stiffens. Then slumps back down. ‘That’s right. You’ve booked the taxi haven’t you Anne?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course you have.’ He pushes himself out of his recliner. ‘Ok then, I’ll be off to bed. I’ll see you both in the morning won’t I?’ he asks of Claire and Eric. They both confirm. ‘Ok then.’
He bends down to kiss Claire goodnight. She draws him into a hug, then releases. He stands in front of Eric, looking, feeling befuddled. To his surprise, Eric gets up and hugs him fiercely, with tears in his eyes, voice cracking as he says, ‘See you in the morning mate.’
‘See you.’
Anne follows him out of the room to the foot of the stairs. ‘My bed, remember.’
He shrugs her off. ‘I know.’
‘I need a beer,’ Eric exhales, eyes closed, when she returns to the room.
‘I’ve stopped buying it Eric, it’s not good for him. There’s a bottle of red. Back right of the bottom shelf, out of sight. I’ll have a glass too please.’
‘Me too,’ says Claire. She turns to her mother as Eric heads to the kitchen. ‘Are you sure he’s up to this?’
‘No, I’m not. But he needs it. And so do I. We can’t just keep sitting in this—oh, it feels like a bloody prison sometimes Claire. I need to be in the bush. I need to see some birds. And if he keeps it together long enough to catch his fucking barra, then all the bloody better. If it stuffs up and I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere with him and I don’t know what to do, then so be fucking it.’
Eric returns with the bottle. Anne snatches it and splashes wine into the glasses. Eric takes his, subsides back into his chair, takes a deep draught. ‘I’m sorry Anne, I’m no good at this. I never had a bedside manner, but this is totally beyond me.’ Another gulp. ‘It just tears me up, every moment I’m with him.’ He looks at his feet, lowers his voice. ‘I’ll find somewhere else for me and Ruvini before you get back.’
‘Eric!’ It is a strangled cry. ‘You’re his only real friend!’
‘Jesus. Do you think I don’t know it. But I can’t do it. I don’t know whether to cry or to scream. I …’ He shudders. ‘I can’t be with him.’
Eric reaches for the bottle and shakily pours himself another glass. ‘Not twenty-four seven like this anyway. I’ll visit Anne. I promise. But I can’t stay here.’
He is crying. Gasping. He can only stop himself by draining his glass. He pours another. Tosses that one back too. Unable to even say goodnight to them, he scurries off up the stairs.
Claire comes and sits beside her mother on the sofa. They do not speak, but they lean into each other for a long time before Claire kisses her gently, whispers, ‘I need to go to bed Mum,’ kisses her again, and departs.
It is a long time and an empty bottle before Anne makes her own way to bed.
MAKING MEMORIES
Anne puts the packet of Viagra in her toiletries bag, zips it closed and places it in her suitcase.
Never thought I’d have to resort to this.
She runs through her mental checklist; all good. There is still three quarters of an hour before the taxi is due, but Anne likes to be prepared.
Hang on, where’s his rod tube? And where’s he got to?
Joe unscrews the lid of the white poly tube and extracts his barra rod. That’s what he calls it, even if he is yet to land one. He pushes the two halves firmly together, then holds it at eye level as if sighting a rifle, twisting gently to ensure that the ferrules are aligned precisely with the reel brackets.
‘Always make sure it’s lined up properly, James … Yeah, that’s it.’
He flicks the rod with a loose wrist a couple of times as he surveys the terrain and picks his mark, four feet short of Anne’s favourite grevillea. He does not notice her quietly open the front door.
‘It’s all in the wrist, lad. A bit like throwing darts—not that I’m any good at that. Pick your spot, line up, flick … Aah, perfect see. Just this side of the snag. If there’s a barra under there, that plop when the lure hits the water’ll get her interested.’
A tug on the rod, three quick turns on the imaginary reel.
‘You’ve got to convince her it’s a fish. Little tug see, and the lure’ll bob under … She’s poking her nose out now, having a look … Reel in a few more turns—not too much. Another tug, like this. Reel again … Whooh, there she goes! It’s a strike.’
He continues calling the action, even as he acts out the role of grandson James, playing the fish with increasing excitement.
‘Go young feller, that’s it. Go .. Oh no, easy, easy, or she’ll throw the lure … Good one, she’s out in the open water now. Let her run, let her run, but keep the line tight … Reel in now, reel, keep it tight … Ah bugger. Don’t worry James.’ He sags, and lets the rod flop to the lawn at his feet. ‘You’ve got to lose a few before you land one. Grandpa sure has. Another cast? There’s plenty of time … plenty of time.’
‘What are you doing Joe?’
He turns with a start. For a moment he is embarrassed, but he quickly gathers himself, and answers almost defiantly.
‘Making memories.’
August 2007
I’LL DRIVE
‘Say hello to Bullfrog Hole from me,’ Rosa says with a grin. ‘Good things happen there. And good luck with your finch, Anne. Sorry I’m going to miss you on your way out, but I’ll be in Broome. Sa
y gidday to Eric from me.’ A wave and she is gone, striding off towards the clinic.
‘What a star of a woman.’ Joe shakes his head admiringly as he heads to the driver’s door of the car.
‘I want to drive.’ Anne is holding out her hand for the keys.
‘What’d’you mean? I’m still good for that.’
‘Of course you’re still good for it. I was hoping you might supervise me though; give some tips if I need them. If I don’t see my finch on this trip, I might want to come back here one day. I want to be sure I can do the drive.’
‘Without me you mean?’
‘Who knows, Joe. Who bloody knows.’ She beckons for the keys with a grin, keeping it cheerful. ‘Hand them over.’
He does so with reasonable grace, and only a bit of a grumble in his voice as he climbs into the passenger seat. ‘Two-wheel drive for now. Never use four-wheel until you need it.’
Anne starts the engine, then gives a cheeky salute. ‘Two-wheel drive, Captain!’
It takes her half an hour longer than it would’ve Joe, but the sixty-five kays of station backtracks are negotiated with a minimum of drama. Only one of the creek crossings has more than a puddle of water, and she only has to use low four a couple of times. There is still a good two hours of daylight left when she pulls up next to the river fig where they camped last time. Joe leans across to give her a peck. ‘Good going girl.’
They allow themselves the luxury of sitting on the sandbank above the waterhole in the softening light, reabsorbing, remembering, before turning their attention to setting up camp.
Anne is delighted beyond reasonable measure to find that the circle of stones that formed their hearth last time is almost intact. She’d assumed that the intervening floods would’ve washed away the signs of their presence. She hangs the mosquito net from the same limb of the fig as before, and arranges their double swag beneath its folds, while Joe finds some replacement stones to complete the hearth, gathers wood and sets a fire. Card table and folding chairs set up in the shade. Billy and pannikins and tea makings from the tuckerbox. In what feels like no time they have their toes stretched out to the fire, watching the flames licking at the billy, their fingers entwining, smiles spreading.