‘I don’t think you’ve met Charlie properly yet, Dad. Charlie Lewis.’ Rebecca nodded towards Charlie who stood beside her. Harry looked at him and said weakly, ‘I’d shake hands but …’ his voice trailed off.
Charlie, not sure if he should laugh at Harry’s attempt at a joke, waved a hand in the air and said, ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Saunders.’
‘And you know Sal.’
Harry nodded in her direction.
Silence again. Charlie and Harry turned their eyes to the television and watched the news clips of a golf tournament. Sally rummaged in her bag and produced an assortment of Landcare and farming magazines.
‘I brought you these.’ She placed them on the cabinet beside his bed. As he nodded in thanks, Rebecca’s heart raced. She could feel the pulse in her neck thumping beneath her skin. She looked at her father’s profile and suddenly wanted to scream at him. She wanted to hit, bash and claw him, heap all her rage over Tom onto him. Hate him. Mock him. Spit on him.
But he turned to look at her and said, ‘Bec. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to come.’ Tears started to run over the red rims of his eyes and he began to shudder and sob. He awkwardly put his left hand up to his eyes and wiped a big smear of tears across his face. Charlie watched the golf. Sally straightened the magazines and Bec stood numbly by the bed, not knowing what to say as Harry’s shoulders hunched and shook and he wiped snot and saliva away with the back of his hand.
‘I’m sorry. You’d better go. I’m sorry.’ What he said was barely audible. He tried to get the words out again, but they came out in deep moaning sobs. The other patients looked over at him. Charlie and Sally looked at each other and then left the room. Rebecca, tears now rolling from her eyes, reached for a box of tissues by his bed. She pulled out one for herself, then sat the box next to him. She drew the blue curtain around her father and left him there in the bed. She walked away down the corridor quickly, trying not to listen to the sobbing man behind her.
Outside a shock of sunlight and the roar of traffic beyond the hospital’s garden hit Rebecca’s senses with a jolt. Bec, Charlie and Sally squinted in the brightness, not knowing what to do or say.
‘Shall we sit over there for a while?’ Sally suggested, pointing to a seat beneath a shady oak tree.
On the seat Charlie put his arm around Bec and she rested her head on his shoulder. With a clenched fist she held the sodden tissue in her hand. Sal kicked at the pile of cigarette butts which lay on woodchips beneath the seat.
At last Sally said, ‘Do you want to hear my theory on life?’
‘Sure,’ said Bec.
‘Don’t laugh.’
‘Okay.’
She spoke with her jaw jutting out. ‘I believe people get sick or have accidents for a reason. Your dad’s sabotaged himself because he wants you back. It’s his way of punishing himself over everything that’s happened. It’s why he’s lost his arm.’
Rebecca sat up and looked at her friend. A deep frown line furrowed her brow. Sally shifted a little and softened her voice.
‘I know you might think this is none of my business and it’s hard to hear the meaning of life from a drunken, boy-chasing friend like me who broke your brother’s heart, but if you want to be happy, Bec, you’re going to have to sort this out. Your dad is the sort of bloke who won’t ask for help. He won’t, or at least can’t, ask you to come home. He can’t tell you he loves you. He can’t say he’s sorry. It’s just him. So life, the universe and everything has construed to bring this accident upon him, so that you can forgive him.’
‘Forgive him!’ exploded Bec. ‘How dare you tell me I should forgive that bastard! He virtually killed my brother!’
‘Bec.’ Charlie pleaded. ‘Hear her out. You’ve got to deal with this.’
She looked deep into his eyes. Sally put her hand on Rebecca’s arm. Sally was crying now.
‘Do you think I want to tell you this? I’ve virtually gutted myself over Tom’s death. I led him on. In my own little selfish way, I led him on. I liked the attention … and the fact a bloke was bonkers over me. If only I’d been truthful with myself and him, he mightn’t’ve … left us …’
‘Shhh!’ said Rebecca. ‘It’s okay Sal. It’s okay.’
The two girls hugged and each wiped tears from their faces. Charlie sat alone on the end of the bench. Staring. Swallowing. He knew what would come next.
‘Go back in and see him, Bec,’ Sally urged. ‘It’s your chance with Waters Meeting. Do it. It’s your chance.’
Bec looked at her friend and drew in a deep breath. She stood suddenly and jogged away from Charlie and Sally towards the heavy glass doors of the hospital. Charlie watched her disappear into the massive building.
When Bec slipped in through the gap in the curtain, Harry was staring at the two lumps that were his feet beneath the white cotton bedspread.
‘Dad?’
He looked up, startled again. Then he patted the bed for her to sit. It was a strange action coming from Harry. She propped herself awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
‘Dad,’ she said, not knowing what to say next. The silence between them was painful and awkward. Instead Harry spoke for her. Through his pale thin lips he talked gently.
‘Rebecca, I want you to come home. I want you to take on the place. I need you.’
For a moment Rebecca felt a rush of warmth run through her. How often had she dreamt of her father saying those words? But the joy was short-lived. The anger came again.
‘You need me? You’re saying you need me? Huh! That’s obvious,’ she pointed at his stump. ‘You used Tom on the farm. Now he’s gone, you want to use me … What’s changed, Dad? Is a young woman more useful than an old man with one arm?’
She could see the stab of pain in his eyes from her hurtful words.
‘Bec,’ he said quietly, ‘I can understand your anger, but just this time, give me a chance. I decided before this,’ Harry inclined his head towards the freshly bandaged stump. ‘I decided before this happened. I was going to call you. I was going to ask if you’d come home. I promise. I was.’
Rebecca looked into his eyes and she believed him. Her father might have been a hard, silent man, but he certainly wasn’t a liar.
He continued, a pleading look stretched across his face. ‘If you want to come home, it’s there. I’m sorry it’s taken so much for me to realise.’
Rebecca knew he was referring to Tom, but saying his name was still too painful for Harry.
‘What do you say?’ Harry reached out his hand across his body and placed it lightly on Rebecca’s hand.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said with tears in her eyes as she felt the unfamiliar gentleness of his touch.
‘Don’t say anything yet,’ said Harry. ‘Just come here and give me a hug.’
Cautiously, Rebecca leaned towards her father as he awkwardly put his hand around her head and pulled her to his chest. He smelt of soap. She thought she might cry, but instead she stayed rigid, not trusting the moment. She drew away from him after a short while.
‘I’m sorry I’ve never been much of a hugger,’ Harry said. ‘If I had been, your mother might have stuck around longer.’
Rebecca shook her head sadly and then the tears began to fall. That’s when she found herself being cradled by her dad. Cradled in his one strong arm. Her hair being stroked by his one strong hand. She felt him kiss her on the crown of her head as he shushed her. Then he said it. He said, ‘I love you.’ And he began to cry too.
CHAPTER 43
In the stifling heat of the grain truck’s cab, Rebecca had played the images over and over in her head as she drove along the straight line of bitumen during harvest. She had pictured taking Charlie there, to Waters Meeting. The two of them swimming naked in the cool river. Lying on damp green clover beneath dappled shade. Making love in her big airy bedroom with the verandah doors open, curtains blowing softly and gum trees casting shadows on their skin. But when she drove her Subaru into the yard at Water
s Meeting the images dissolved. For one thing, Charlie wasn’t in the vehicle with her, so they hadn’t been together to share the spectacular view when they drove into the valley. Instead he was following behind in his ute.
They had fought about the journey in the tiny cottage at the Lewises’ farm. Charlie had insisted he needed his vehicle in case he had to rush home to the farm for work. His father had insisted too.
On the drive into her home district, Rebecca had wanted Charlie by her side, so she could tell him everything about the country and the farms they drove past. About the time when they drove Mick’s old Morris into the dam just past Dirty’s pub. Or the night Rebecca rode Ink Jet all the way home from the pub after her eighteenth birthday, so drunk she remembered waking up at the front gate and finding wattle flowers in her pocket and her saddlebags rattling with empty cans of Dark and Stormy.
Today’s trip from Charlie’s flat land to the valley had felt extra long. The distance that stretched between the two farms put a feeling of desperation into Rebecca’s heart. When they swung their vehicles into service stations along the way for fuel and food, the mood between them was tense. A few words, a quick kiss, and they were back on the road again. Each alone in their vehicles with a monologue of uncertain thoughts running through their heads. Rebecca didn’t even stop at the Fur Trapper. She drove straight on by. In her dream she had taken Charlie there for a beer and a back slap from Dirty before driving him on to Waters Meeting.
Now that she was here, standing on the weedy gravel drive, Rebecca’s heart sank further. The farm had changed so much. She’d noticed it right from the front gate. Potholes in the road, thistles and ferns overrunning what was once improved pasture. Fences lying on the ground as if they’d just given up. What was the point anyway, there was no stock to keep in or out.
The house, instead of looking like her charming childhood home set amidst greenery, looked shabby and old, like a beautiful woman who no longer cared. Everything had given up. Grey branches from the big pines had cracked and fallen across the once-sentinel garden fence. The branches stuck up into the air at angry angles like broken shards of bones. The sheds looked rough and tumble. Boards slipped from their sides and tin flapped and banged steadily in the wind.
When she stopped the ute near the side gate of the garden, Rebecca remembered her dogs that were clipped on the back. Dags, Mossy, Bessie and Stubby were dancing with excitement to be let off, especially Tom’s dog, Bessie. They knew they were home. Bec suspected Bessie would go looking for Tom straightaway, even as far as the hut.
‘Settle down,’ Bec growled at them. She unclipped them all except for Bessie. ‘Sorry, girl.’ She stroked her. ‘In a little while.’
Charlie parked next to her vehicle, got out of his ute and stretched, looking around and up at the massive mountains which shot up suddenly from the grassy flats.
‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Real goat country.’
The comment stung her. She grabbed her dusty bags from the back and walked towards the house, swearing as she struggled with the gate’s chain.
‘Calm down,’ Charlie said as he helped her with it.
It was obvious Ink Jet and Hank had found their way into the garden earlier that morning. They had left trails of fresh manure across the pathways and eaten some of the garden-bed plants down to thick green stalks.
From the front gate Bec looked for the horses. Her eyes searched for a black dot and a chestnut dot dozing beneath a tree on the river flat, tails swishing away an occasional fly. But instead the river flats were bare.
‘I wonder where Hank and Stinky are,’ she said, more to herself than Charlie. Charlie followed her gaze.
‘They’ll be about,’ he said.
She’d imagined coming home to the horses and calling out to them. In her mind they had come cantering and whickering towards her. But there was no sign of them. Another piece of her dream slipped away.
On the porch, flies buzzed in the shade. Cobwebs spun across the openings of cracked leather boots had caught soft fuzzy seeds of dandelions and sharp slivers of grass seeds. From out of the laundry the wormy ginger cat trotted, greeting them with a high-pitched friendly meow. Bec felt his ribby side rub against her leg. She picked him up.
‘Helloooo,’ she said softly and was appalled to see the fleas and weeping sores spread over his body.
‘Don’t worry, puss. I’m home now.’ She put the purring cat down. ‘We’ll feed you up in no time.’
As she searched for the key in the boot box, Charlie kept his hands in his pockets and his mouth shut.
It was dark inside. All the curtains had been drawn. The deep interior of the house was silent except for the buzz of a large blowfly which flew past their heads as they stood, waiting for their eyes to grow used to the dimness of the hallway.
Light from the sunroom made a square on the carpet in the hall. Rebecca moved towards it and entered the kitchen. The room smelt of Pinoclean.
‘I reckon Dirty’s wife’s been here to clean up after Dad’s accident,’ Bec said aloud to herself.
She began to open the cupboards and look in the fridge.
‘Strange,’ she said. ‘Whoever it was who cleaned up has also stocked the pantry and fridge.’ She picked up the box of Pistachio Café Selection biscuits.
‘It doesn’t look like it was anyone from town … especially not Dirty’s wife.’ She picked up the packet of half-eaten camembert cheese.
‘Definitely not Dirty’s wife …’
‘What?’ said Charlie, walking into the kitchen.
‘I said, someone has been here since the accident.’
‘This place is huge!’ he said, ignoring her and looking up at the old ceilings, stunned by the size of the house.
‘And empty,’ said Bec.
As she stood there in the kitchen Bec wasn’t sure what to do. Where to start. She felt like calling out for Tom. He’d be along the hall somewhere, in the office, or his room upstairs. She stood for a moment choking back tears. Charlie put his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck.
‘Cup of tea?’ she said in a voice that almost cracked. Then she broke away from him and moved to the kettle, wondering why it felt as if she were entertaining a stranger.
‘I’ll get the milk and other stuff out of the car,’ said Charlie.
As the electric kettle boiled in the kitchen, Rebecca ran from room to room, roughly tugging back curtains and sending the blinds whipping up in a noisy flurry. She wanted light and life in the house again. In the office the red light flashed angrily and urgently on the message machine. Bec knew it would be clogged with calls from the bank manager, stock agencies wanting payments, messages about Harry’s accident. She decided to listen to them later.
From the damp darkness of the dining room Bec knelt on an old sofa and peered out the window. Through the dull light of the pines she saw the garage. It looked sinister. She imagined Tom hanging there and shuddered.
‘Helllooooo?’ Charlie was wandering down the hall looking into the rooms, trying to like the musty smell of the old house. Trying to feel comfortable in it, for Bec’s sake.
‘I think I’ve solved the mystery of the restocked cupboards,’ he said with a grin. ‘I just had a poke about the sheds, and your mum’s car is parked in one.’
‘Mum?’ said Rebecca with surprise. ‘What’s she doing here?’
‘I sung out, but there’s definitely no one about,’ said Charlie.
‘Ahh. That explains Inky and Hank. They must’ve gone for a ride on them.’
Rebecca fell silent, trying to absorb the strangeness of what was happening. The strangeness of being back at Waters Meeting. Of her mother being here, somewhere.
Charlie stood in the doorway, trying to read her mood. ‘The kettle’s boiled,’ he said.
Rebecca turned her back to the view of the garage and ran to him. She sucked in a breath and looked at him. Leaning there on the doorframe in his jeans and blue shirt. Sleeves rolled up, green eyes shining. She felt a wa
ve of desire run through her.
‘Come on,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘We’ll have a cuppa later. I’ll show you upstairs … and my bedroom.’ She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. ‘Before Mum and Peter get back …’ All of a sudden she wanted to feel alive. Wanted the warmth and comfort of Charlie’s smooth skin against her, to shut out the coldness, shut out death and the decay of the house and farm.
She took him by the hand and led him up the creaking stairs. He ran his hand over the smooth wood of the banister and followed her up.
She planned to throw him down on the bed and love him so hard he would never leave for the flat country again. And then tomorrow she planned to take him for a mountain horse ride so he could lose himself in the wildness of her landscape. She played it over in her head. But instead when she threw open the door of her room the thick smell of death choked in her throat. She looked to the brown patch on the ceiling and fresh fat squirming maggots on the cover of her bedspread.
‘Bloody possums,’ she said and sighed.
——
The last of the day had turned grey, and misty clouds clung to the sides of the mountains. Mossy was sniffing about the garden when she let out a sudden bark. The other dogs pricked their ears and barked too, following Mossy’s stare towards the river crossing. Rebecca looked up and was relieved to see Frankie and Peter splashing across the shining stones riding Ink Jet and Hank. A footsore Henbury waddled some distance behind. A smile came to Rebecca’s face.
‘Charlie!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘They’re back … They won’t get caught in the rain after all.’
Charlie emerged from the side of the house, wiping his hands together having just tossed the dead possum on a wood heap. He rinsed his hands under a tap and stood watching the black mare and chestnut gelding walking fast over the paddocks towards them. Frankie rode a little way ahead on Ink Jet while Hank ambled quickly behind with his ears pricked up. Soon they’d be taking off the saddles, saddlebags and sleeping rolls and the horses would be set free to trot away together and sniff and paw at the ground, preparing to roll on the grass with grunts of pleasure.
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