Max was still eyeing him hopefully. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know, mate. I know nothing about dogs.’
Max was suddenly gushing with excitement. ‘I can help train her,’ he said. ‘I can come every night and feed her and play with her.’ He jumped up, knocking over his hot chocolate and stepping on the pup’s paw, making her yelp. ‘Oh, Bonnie,’ Max cried, picking her up and burying his face in her ruff, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
Leon’s guts twisted. The pup was sniffing around on the lawn now, tail up and wagging—she had no idea her future was being determined. But what would he do with a dog? He didn’t need one, even though the pup needed a home. He was away working all day; wouldn’t a dog require company? ‘I don’t have a fence,’ he pointed out.
‘I’ll help you make one,’ Max said. ‘Or maybe Bonnie can stay inside.’
‘She’s not house-trained, so she’ll shit and piss everywhere.’
‘That doesn’t matter. It’s not your house anyway. And Mrs Westbury’s dead. She won’t mind.’
But Leon would mind.
Max sighed and looked at him seriously. ‘Okay, then. I’ll clean up the poo.’
This made Leon laugh because, from the look on Max’s face, he could tell this was a significant commitment. ‘Really?’ he said.
The boy nodded. ‘Really. And we’ll build a fence next weekend. Mum will help. She’s good at that stuff. She used to live on a farm.’
Leon felt himself melting. What else could he do? He wished he didn’t have a conscience. ‘All right, then, I’ll give it a go. But if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to give her to someone else. And remember, you said you’d help train her and clean up her poo.’
The kid leaped in the air, punching at the sky with his fist, even more animated than when he’d scored that goal yesterday. Clearly this was more important. But Leon had a sick sensation. A pup! How the hell was he going to manage that?
‘Oh, I’ve got this for you too,’ Max said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Mum said to give it to you. It’s for the forest festival. In case you want to go.’
Leon took the brochure; it had a picture of a log truck on the front. ‘Are you going?’ he asked.
Max shrugged. ‘We have to.’
‘Is it good?’
‘It’s all right.’
‘Okay then. I’ll go too.’
The boy’s smile was as big as the sky. ‘I’ll go get some dog food—Mum said you could have some.’
‘What about a collar?’
‘We don’t have one small enough. Mum said you could get one at the supermarket.’
Leon had the distinct feeling of being ambushed. The boy had an answer for everything.
After Max went home, Leon felt the full extent of his error. As soon as he took the pup inside, she peed on the floor without looking the slightest bit guilty. Luckily Leon didn’t have carpets but his heart sank. He mopped up the wee with paper towels, realising just how uncomfortable he was with this new situation. Was this how people felt when they came home with a new baby? A small thing became a big thing, then your life changed and you couldn’t go back?
He tipped some kibble that Max had given him into a bowl, then set it on the floor with a pot of water. While he made coffee, Bonnie worked her way through the kibble, crunching it with little sharp teeth. Then she lapped water, splashing it everywhere. Leon wiped up and threw down a rug for her to sleep on.
In the lounge room, he turned on the TV to watch a replay of last night’s footy. He was just beginning to relax and forget about the dog when she started whining. Didn’t she have what she needed? The whining grew louder, so he took her outside and she had another wee. Maybe that was the problem. Dogs liked being outside.
He tied her to the back door with a piece of rope then slipped inside, but she started whingeing again and scraping at the door. Leon tried to ignore it, but the whining turned into a howl so he let her back in. She sat on his feet and looked at him and licked at his jeans while he watched TV. He pushed her gently away with his foot, but she came straight back, shoving at his hand with her wet nose. Next thing she was flinging herself at his legs and scratching to get up, but no way was he going to let her on the couch. He deflected her again, but she took no notice and returned for more, still whingeing. Leon turned up the TV and refused to look at her. She paced the room restlessly then took a run-up, hurled herself up on the couch and crawled onto his lap. Leon shoved her off again. No dogs on the couch. On, off, on, off. Finally, the pup gave up and curled in a circle on the floor.
Leon looked down at her. He knew nothing about dogs, but he’d promised to give it a go for the boy’s sake. He sighed. He could go online and search up advice for new dog owners, but he was already feeling tired.
Then he had an idea. Maybe his mum might know somebody who wanted a dog—she was connected with everyone in her community. Or perhaps she wouldn’t mind taking Bonnie herself. God knows, Leon’s dad wasn’t much company. A dog might be perfect. He fetched his keys, scooped up the pup, and put her in a cardboard box in his car.
Bonnie was asleep when Leon pulled up outside his parents’ place at Adventure Bay, Bruny Island. It had been tough trip. Bonnie had spent the first hour howling and trying to jump out of the box until Leon’s nerves were jangling. Then she’d finally fallen asleep. It was clear she didn’t take after Rosie, who’d been a much easier passenger.
On the ferry across to the island, Leon had left Bonnie in the car so he could stand up front watching the light shift over the silver-grey water, just as he’d always done on this passage. It had been peaceful until someone tapped him on the shoulder and told him the puppy was crying. When he’d returned to the car, Bonnie had launched herself onto his lap and insisted on staying there. It hadn’t been easy driving the island’s rough roads with a dog draped over his legs.
He hadn’t called ahead to tell his parents he was coming, but he figured they would most likely be home—they never went anywhere these days because of Dad’s health. Mum’s small white car was in the garage, the curtains were open, and there was Minnie the cat, surveying her world from the window. Leon hesitated. He hadn’t thought of the cat; Mum might not appreciate a canine companion for Minnie. But he was here now, so he might as well give Mum the chance to say no.
He transferred the sleeping pup onto the passenger seat then got out of the car, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to wake her. The scent of salt air greeted him. The soft hiss of waves on the beach across the road. The clacking of a yellow wattlebird in the trees. Everything so still, you could almost hear the grass growing. He’d forgotten how drowsy and peaceful it could be here, how the hush settled as soon as you arrived.
His mother was frowning when she opened the door, probably expecting Stan—but her wrinkles dissolved into smiles when she saw Leon. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ She hugged him, and he inhaled her familiar scent of coffee, flour and perfume. ‘Come in,’ she beckoned. ‘I’ve just baked a cake. I’ll put the kettle on so we can have tea with your father.’
The house was as if he’d left yesterday, but the kitchen seemed smaller and darker—he’d forgotten how it lost the light mid-morning because of the shadowy pine trees.
Minnie came trotting down the hall, tail erect and jerking. She came up confidently and was about to bunt her head against his leg when she paused and sniffed his trousers, probably smelling the pup. Then she rubbed her head against his calf. Maybe she didn’t mind dogs. Some cats were okay with them, Leon had heard. He dragged out a chair and sat down. ‘How are things?’ he asked his mum.
She smiled tiredly. ‘We’re managing. Your father has good days and bad. The illness never really lets up.’
Leon was sliding into a hole. He’d had a break from his folks and their daily struggles with illness, yet the moment he stepped into this place he felt drained. He’d given so much to support his mum these past years; now he had nothing left. ‘Any more trips t
o the hospital?’ he asked, trying to be conversational.
She laughed feebly. ‘Not this week. We had some check-up tests a few weeks ago to see how his liver is going—that time when I rang you because he was vomiting—but it’s much the same.’
‘How about Stan? He still coming around?’
‘A bit.’
‘What’s been happening? Dad getting into the grog?’
She bypassed the question, took a knife from the drawer and started slicing the cake. It was chocolate, he noted, with a slick coat of icing.
‘Mum?’ Leon probed. ‘Has he been hitting you?’
Her eyes darted to his face and away again. ‘No, he’s too weak.’ Her mouth was small and tight.
‘But he’s tried?’
She lifted a slice of cake on the knife, put it on a plate and pushed it across to Leon. ‘Here. Try this.’
‘Mum, has he hurt you? I need to know.’
She met his eyes levelly. ‘I know you worry, Leon, but it’s okay. I don’t need you to come and live with me again. It’s not necessary. I’m at work most of the week, and when he gets out of hand, I go for a walk. He can’t chase me anymore—he’s too sick.’
‘You need to lock your bedroom at night,’ Leon said. ‘Have you still got that padlock I organised for you?’
She nodded and watched in silence while he tackled the cake. When the kettle boiled, she poured tea.
‘Why don’t you go and see your father?’ she suggested. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Leon didn’t want to see his dad after what his mum had just told him.
‘Please, Leon,’ she said. ‘Do it for me. I want you two to get along.’
What choice did he have when she put it like that? Resigned, he headed down the hallway, scooping up the cat on the way.
He smelled his dad before he saw him, and so did the cat. Just outside the bedroom, Minnie stiffened. Leon held on, murmuring, ‘Sorry, cat, we’re in this together.’ She shot him a foul look with wild eyes and tried to escape, but he secured a handful of scruff and clung on.
Dad was yellow and thin. He registered Leon briefly before turning back to the TV.
‘Hey, Dad,’ Leon said, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt.
Dad gave a sour smile. ‘Well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in.’
‘It’s vice versa.’ Leon carried Minnie forward. It took some effort to unplug her claws from his sleeve, and when he put her on the bed she tried to bolt. Dad stretched out a hand to pat her but Minnie hissed, and when Leon released her she pelted into the hallway. Leon sat on a chair, waiting for his dad to start talking—which, of course, he didn’t. It would be up to Leon to get things going, as usual. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘All right.’
‘Mum said you’ve had a few tests.’
‘Yeah. Same old bullshit. No miracle cures.’
‘Stopping the grog would help.’
‘I have.’
‘Mum said the blood tests don’t show it.’
His dad said nothing.
‘What about Stan?’ Leon went on. ‘What’s he been giving you? I’ll guarantee it’s not water.’
Dad eyed him sourly. ‘Why are you here?’
Leon sighed. So, that’s how it’s going to be. ‘You’re not exactly pleased to see me, are you? I thought it’d be nice to drop in.’
‘What’s a man supposed to do?’ Dad scoffed. ‘A highland jig? You know I can hardly get out of bed.’
Leon was grimly pleased that his dad was stuck in bed—that kept Mum safe. ‘I’ve been visiting Grandpa every week,’ he said. ‘He’s not a bad bloke. We’ve been getting to know each other again.’
‘Putting on a show, is he?’ Dad grunted.
‘I like him. He’s good for a chat.’
‘He’s a troublemaker, that’s what he is. Has he ever told you how he used to keep his hands warm in summer?’
‘You don’t need to keep your hands warm in summer.’
‘Exactly. Tell him I told you to ask.’
‘Sure. I might drop in and see him on my way home.’
‘Give him my love,’ Dad said.
Leon ignored the sarcastic tone. ‘You should call him sometime. He’d like to hear from you.’
‘Like hell,’ Dad snorted.
‘He’s decent,’ Leon added. ‘You used to be like him before you got hooked on the grog.’
Dad scowled; clearly he didn’t take this as a compliment. ‘How’s your job? Converting any lost souls to conservation?’
‘Mostly preaching to the converted.’
Dad sniffed. ‘That’s how it goes. Just like religion.’
Mum tiptoed in with a tray on which she’d carefully arranged her best cups and saucers and teapot: the special Wedgwood set with the floral design and gold trim. ‘How are my two favourite boys getting on?’ she asked. Her smile had a tentative edge to it.
‘Like a house on fire,’ Dad said. ‘Just as you’d expect.’
She poured tea through the gumleaf-shaped strainer Leon had given her for Christmas one year. She was funny like that, the way she trotted out the gifts he’d given to prove she remembered. She got stuck on objects as if it was things that mattered, not the way people behaved. The tea set and strainer were evidence of how much she wanted Leon to get along with his dad. I’m trying, he tried to tell her with his eyes.
They all made a reasonable attempt at pretence—up until Leon introduced the pup. Then things went pear-shaped.
Before letting Bonnie loose in the hallway, Leon had shut the cat safely in the kitchen. But Minnie had learned a new trick since Leon had left home—she had worked out how to open the door. Now she hunched in the corridor, hissing and spitting as the pup skittered up to her, yipping excitedly. She reacted by racing down to Dad’s room and leaping onto the bed, knocking his teacup, which went flying onto the carpet. It would have survived if Bonnie hadn’t bounded into the room and accidentally bounced on top of the cup, splitting it into pieces as she leaped at the bed, scrabbling with her paws and trying to reach Minnie. Leon wasn’t sure who yowled louder: the cat or his mum. He grabbed at Bonnie, spilling his own cup onto the floor and shattering it. Then it was Dad’s turn to yell as Minnie dug her claws into his belly and launched for the curtains. The pup barked shrilly. Leon cursed. And Mum was in tears, counting the fragments of her special crockery on the floor.
‘Where the fuck did that dog come from?’ Dad wheezed, grasping at his scratched abdomen.
By then, Leon had the pup in his arms and was trying to contain her frantically paddling legs. ‘I thought she could be a get-well gift,’ Leon said, grasping for a way to appease his dad. ‘A nice surprise for you.’
‘She’s a fucking surprise, all right,’ Dad spat. ‘Just look what she’s done to your mum.’
Leon clutched Bonnie to his chest and tried to calm his weeping mother. ‘Mum. Sorry. It’s okay. I can replace those cups.’
But his mum just picked up the tray and rushed from the room.
‘Get rid of that dog,’ Dad yelled. ‘Get it out of here.’
Leon felt himself imploding. ‘Back off, Dad. I’m taking her out.’
‘No, you back off. You come in here and mess up our lives—’
‘It’s you who’s been wrecking lives, Dad.’
His dad picked up a coffee cup from the bedside table and hurled it at Leon, who sidestepped neatly, allowing the mug to crash into the wall. Leon wanted to stay and rip in—he wasn’t finished with his dad yet—but Bonnie was whimpering, scared by the raised voices so he carried her out and returned her to the car. When he went back into the house, his mum had gone out, which was good; it would give him free rein with his father.
There was something satisfying about storming down the hallway and into the bedroom where his dad was captive. A healthier man might have done a runner or stood up to confront him. Leon knew Mum wouldn’t want them to argue like this, but there were things that had to be said. How could she feel
sorry for such an arsehole? How could she tolerate his drunkenness, even now, with his liver shot to pieces?
At the bedroom door, Leon let loose. ‘You leave Mum alone, do you hear me? If you touch her again, I’ll kill you.’ His dad snivelled, eyes dark with anger and impotence. ‘And no more Stan,’ Leon went on. ‘If I hear he’s been here again, I’ll personally organise a restraining order.’ He ran a hand through his hair as his fury suddenly dissipated into something else, a sort of sadness. ‘I can’t believe we have to go over this again. Three years of bashing Mum because of the grog and you still can’t leave off, even when your liver is cooked. Do you want to die?’
Dad’s jaw jutted. ‘Man might as well be dead, if he can’t drink.’
‘That’s not what you used to say,’ Leon said. ‘You used to have values.’
Dad slumped, bitterness in the twist of his mouth. ‘As I said, might as well be dead. Not the man I used to be.’
‘I was hoping to find the pup a home,’ Leon said. ‘That’s why I came. The rest of the litter was drowned, and I thought you and Mum could use the company. She certainly could.’
‘Are you trying to make me feel bad?’ Dad croaked. ‘Because let me tell you, it’s not possible to feel worse than I already feel.’
‘A dog might make you feel better. Dogs are good like that.’
‘What would you know? It was a stupid idea. Take the dog and go. She’s not wanted here. And neither are you.’
Leon stood up. His father was right. His plan had been ridiculous, based on a selfish desire to escape responsibility for the pup. A dog would be too much work for his mum. She had enough to do, caring for his dad.
He walked away, nursing an uncomfortable feeling that his dad had won again. Nothing had changed.
On the way home, Leon felt down. He shouldn’t have bumbled in there, ruffling his parents’ quiet lives. He felt guilty about the whole thing, so he stopped in to see Grandpa at the old people’s home. Who better to talk to than someone who’d known Dad since birth and followed the trajectory of his life: the good, the bad and the ugly.
The Orchardist's Daughter Page 17