But I don’t care. I’ve given the police as much as I can. I would rather forget it all, because I need to begin again.
I went to James’s grave this morning, and talked to him for a long time. It was the first time for over a week. I tried to explain what happened. I know he can’t hear me, but I needed to do it, and there is some comfort in it. I don’t miss him any less, but I notice I’m liking me more.
Sarah is getting married when we get the divorce organised, and she says I’ll be invited to the wedding. I’d rather she stayed married to me, but that’s a stupid thing to feel, so I’ll settle with being happy for her. I plan to give her what is left of the cash, and ask for some time to get the farm productive again so I can pay out her share. We’ll see how that goes.
I asked Lenny and Trevor if they could work for me three days a week to start to get things into shape. They agreed to. I’ve also cleaned up my house, used some of the money to get the windows repaired, and spent longs days digging, weeding, and rehabilitating Mum’s garden. I think it is a good place for James to rest. And for me to go forward from.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had known, in the beginning, that that first box was from Dad: if Constable Murray had brought the box to me herself, or I had seen Dad’s note on the inside of the box on the day the money arrived. If I knew then that the cash was a gift from my father, maybe none of this would have happened. When those boxes of ash arrived, I would have taken them straight to the police. There’d be no story to tell. No one would have been shot at, threatened, bashed, knocked out, or hurt, and Tom wouldn’t be leaving.
I know Tom is so excited with the possibilities of his new life that I need to stop wishing he’d stay. I will soon.
I leave my mailbox behind, and drive towards Elaine’s. She’ll be waiting at her front gate, because she is always on time.
Elaine has told me she didn’t know anything about Ben’s underworld life. She’s still having trouble accepting that Buzzcut and his mates were working for him. Apparently, Ben had never shown his nasty side until he started demanding she produce the boxes. He claimed the family who the pottery was for were threatening to hurt him if he didn’t find the boxes. I suppose that’s all true. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to believe.
An echidna waddles along the side of the road, all spines and snout, and I slow down in case he decides to cross. But he turns unhurriedly into the long grass, and I am amazed, again, at how he manages to be bizarre and perfect all at the same time. It gives me a sense of peace, and I realise I’m happy enough to be me, to be Dave Martin. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t say that if all this crazy stuff hadn’t happened.
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