‘Dunno,’ he answered. ‘We’ll probably head up to Corrigin and ask around there.’
‘I hear they have a good bakery there.’
Kruger kicked his bike to life and his friends followed. ‘Thanks for your time,’ he said.
‘Wait!’
He turned.
‘Do you want to leave a number? Just in case?’
He scrawled a number down on a scrap of paper and she stuck it in her back pocket. He nodded at her, and they carefully took their bikes back down the corrugations on the drive to the main road.
She watched them turn left and stood perfectly still for a long time, listening to make sure they were still leaving, the sound of their bikes carrying over the dry paddocks.
Crap. What was going on? Who was he hiding from? She slapped her thigh, and Mac fell in beside her. They walked together to the old mud hut. It was probably a good chance to snoop. The walls of the hut were coarse and red. She ran her fingers gently along them, thinking about her great-grandfather digging the mud, mixing in the grass and straw she could still see, and leaving the bricks to bake in the Australian sun. What had it been like to live here? She looked through the thick window and could glimpse the dam. What was it like to take a bucket there, fill it with water for washing? Did they have to boil the scum off the water first? What colour were his clothes?
She could hear birds fluttering about in the old pepper tree outside, secretly scratching at the rusty tin roof. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Like cold ghosts trying to get in. The house was chilly, and she wondered how Henry, or Patrick, was coping. She’d have to get him something warm. This was ridiculous. She must be breaking some drifter’s hospitality code. But then she imagined he was breaking a few rules of his own. He was good about the one on not shaving, though. She had to give him that.
There was a large armchair in the corner of the kitchen. Cate vaguely recognised it as one her aunt had once had before it broke and was pensioned off to the shed. Henry had been decorating. She wandered over to it in the still room, and slowly sat, pretending she had lived here a hundred years ago; that she hadn’t happened yet, hadn’t screwed up so royally. No, she was just Constance from Perth, here to wash in dam water, cook meat, and try to grow vegetables in the dust around the house. And she had just planted a small pepper tree in the garden for a little shade.
The house was small but well-loved and well-maintained, and there were small stables next door with three happy horses and a buggy for running errands and going to town. It was a simple life, and she was contented with Edward, who was a hard worker and an honest man. Cate glanced out of the window. It would have held challenges, for sure, but it would also have been a simple way to live.
Thinking of which, someone was home. She heard the sound of his boots on the hard earth outside the house, stomping about slowly, like he was wondering where to go. She sat and listened to him walk this way and back again, then the sound of him entering. And she had forgotten to snoop, but she should have because now it was going to look suspicious and she hadn’t found out anything.
He was watching her as he entered, his face unreadable.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked evenly.
She continued to sit in the corner, in a position she hoped said I belong here.
‘I kind of live here. And I was looking for you,’ she replied. In a manner of speaking.
He entered the kitchen, looking displeased. He had been unbuttoning his shirt but he stopped. ‘Why?’
‘Where have you been?’
‘Feeding a mob of sheep.’ He glanced about, decided she wasn’t important enough to halt his routine, and reached for his bar of soap.
‘I had some visitors for you,’ she said. ‘I think you owe me an explanation.’
The words hung in the chilled air and froze him. ‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Three guys on motorbikes. One was called Kruger. They heard you were in the district.’
Now his gaze flowed out of the window and away. ‘Where are they now?’
‘I sent them away. I told them I didn’t know you, Patrick.’
He turned slowly to look at her, his eyes wide. ‘Why did you do that?’
She paused. It was a good question. Why did she do that? ‘Because you strike me as someone who is hiding, or who wants to be left alone.’
‘And you know I lied to you about my name.’
‘Yes, because you told me.’
‘And you have no idea who those guys were, or who I am?’
‘Um, no.’
‘And you don’t even know if I can be trusted. And you lied to protect me?’
Crap. Now she sounded like an idiot. ‘Well, good workmen are hard to find . . .’
He crossed the sandy floor and dropped to his knees in front of her. His huge arm came out and dragged her forward to him in one movement, and he kissed her hard on the mouth, pulling her torso along his length and separating her legs so that he fitted into a full body embrace. His warm mouth took hers, and his tongue swept into her and stroked her. He groaned hungrily, and she felt her whole body come alive with him.
He felt hard. Bloody hell, he felt fantastic. Her hands went to his shoulders and mapped his hot, smooth skin down his chest. He had been sweating, and his scent was taking her places she probably shouldn’t go. She was breathing heavily, and so was he, his eyes on her, his hands in the small of her back and cupping her backside.
They paused, alight; her hands shyly reached up to his face to touch his long, sweaty hair and his beard. It was strange to her. His eyes flickered, as if her touch hurt him physically. His large chest was rising and falling, moving against her, and, as he watched her, she took her hand down the expanse of his chest to the small scar she knew would be there. He flinched and grabbed her hand, looking into her eyes, warning her.
‘What happened to you?’ she whispered.
He didn’t speak. Just looked at her, hungry and alone. Then he was gone, standing up and leaning back, his shirt hiding his secret, and his face hiding the fact that he had been there at all.
‘I’m sorry. Thank you. For having faith in me, even though I’ve given you no reason to.’ He grabbed an old towel with a Coke symbol on it. ‘I’m off to the bathroom while the sun’s out.’ He smiled. ‘You can see yourself out.’
‘You are a riddle wrapped in a shitload of hair, Henry.’ She stood, slowly – because there was absolutely no blood left in her legs, or her brain, obviously.
He slung the towel over his shoulder. ‘True. And I’m not your problem. You’ll have Awesome Alex sorted out by now, I’d imagine.’
She shot him a look of irritation. ‘Don’t patronise me, homeless hobo person. I’m getting a lot of stuff sorted out for myself. You should totally try it sometime.’
And she got to be the one to stalk out and leave him there, looking after her, which was far more satisfying than the reverse.
CHAPTER 21
Cate hurried home so she could stare into the mirror and work out if Henry actually had kissed her brains out. She half walked, half trotted back to Ida’s, her heart jumping and fluttering around her like a happy bird. She paused at the door to pat Mac, who was smiling like something excellent had died under the shearing shed. Maybe he thought his plan was coming together.
‘Good old dog,’ she whispered into his fur. ‘What do you think of Henry?’ Everyone knew dogs were excellent judges of character. ‘Why are people looking for him?’
Mac stopped panting and looked directly into her eyes.
‘And what is he hiding from?’
Mac panted again, and leaned on her leg. He wasn’t worried. He liked Henry the swagman; they were mates.
When she could think again, she realised she was due in town in a few minutes. She swore, redid her hair (Henry had messed her up), grabbed her bag and dashed for the car. It was a fairly quick drive to town, along a sparse avenue of salmon gums and sugar gums, and the road was straight. It gave her ten minutes to think about Alex, a
nd how nice he was, and to try to get the feel of Henry’s kiss out of her mind. She wondered how many books they had in the school library. Windstorm Primary School couldn’t be that big.
When she got to town she pulled up next to the school where, as promised, Sarah had booked a couple of other friends to help as well. Cate was interested to see a few new cars there. It was a great opportunity to meet some of the younger women of the district.
‘This is Fiona,’ said Sarah. ‘She’s a local farmer and part-time teacher at the school.’ Fiona was a tall, attractive woman with broad shoulders, a broader smile, and beautiful bright brown eyes.
‘Lovely to meet you, Cate! I hear you might be here for a while?’
‘I’m just looking after Ida’s place until she gets back.’
Sarah smiled at her. ‘Well, I think that’s really great of you. And it’s good for us – we love company, don’t we, Lara?’ She had to call out to another tall woman with a short brown bob, who was helping a young child choose a book. She looked up and smiled.
‘Yeah – has Sarah roped you in, too? She does that.’ Lara laughed. ‘Just when you think you have time to get some of your own stuff done, she swoops in and demands you go fix something.’
‘Lara’s a local artist,’ Sarah explained. ‘She welds steel offcuts and farm junk into amazing creations.’
‘Wow, sounds very cool,’ Cate said as she shook Lara’s hand. Lara looked way too slight to lift a piece of steel, much less bend it to her will.
Sarah led the way to the back of the library. ‘First things first,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to go for an hour or so, but I can come back during sport. Lara knows what to do, she used to be a librarian, so I’ll let her tell you the plan.’ She gestured proudly to a massive stash of chocolate biscuits and a kettle. ‘I suggest you begin with a cup of tea and a chocky bickie.’
‘Great idea,’ agreed Fiona, and put on the first kettle of the day.
Cate had a great time. The girls were terrific fun; they were quick to laugh and generous with their observations. Sarah was back before long and Lara had them sorting a pile of the older, more damaged books to be mended, while cataloguing the new additions. Cate relaxed for the first time in a while, chatting about the countries they had been to, the careers they had enjoyed, and even better, the ones they had despised and left behind. She heard about their husbands and their farms, their kids, their in-laws and their siblings. Sometimes she added bits of her own, but she was happy to just be with them. Her own life felt flawed and far away.
She thought of Brigit, beautiful Brigit, who would never do these things, and she felt a familiar wave of sadness and regret pass through her.
‘You okay?’ asked Lara quietly.
She shook herself. ‘Of course. I’m just concerned that that dragon doesn’t want to be in that wagon.’
‘Have a chocolate biscuit,’ demanded Sarah. ‘You worry too much.’
Cate happily took the biscuit. ‘Do either of you know anything about gardens?’ she asked.
Lara nodded. ‘A little. But you know who’s an amazing gardener?’
Cate looked blank.
‘Tricia Baldwin.’
Sarah nodded. ‘She’s away with her girls and their horses at the moment, but she’s back in a couple of days. We should come out and have a look at your garden. We could help you make it really beautiful for Ida. We’d have to get Audrey over, which means we’d have to have Deirdre, because she’d never forgive us if we left her out.’ Sarah was seeing the possibilities.
‘We can have an afternoon tea! We can help make Ida’s house perfect for her!’
The enthusiasm was infectious. Almost.
‘Will there be baking?’ Cate asked.
The girls looked at her apologetically.
‘Yes, but just do something simple, like scones? Or maybe buy something from Kath?’
That sounded okay. Really. Cate let her brain catch up. She was beginning to suspect that was how these country women got things done: they filled you with chocolate biscuits, then they launched some enthusiastic plan that involved you, and you couldn’t hear them over the sweet saliva rushing past your ears.
After another hour of work and planning, it was time to go. Cate stretched. She was stiff after bending over books for so long. She could hear the kids coming out of their classrooms, shouting and clumping down the wooden steps to the basketball court. There were only forty-eight of them, but it felt like more. She farewelled the girls.
As she climbed into the car her phone rang. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Cate, it’s Alex.’
She smiled, maybe a little guiltily. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I meant to call you to thank you for last night. I had a great time.’
‘Me too,’ he said, and she felt him smile. ‘Can we do it again sometime?’
She laughed. ‘Of course. My turn to cook – or to heat up something up from the co-op.’
‘Deal. Where are you now? You sound like you’re out.’
‘I am. I was helping out at the school library. A few local girls were adding books to the collection and taking out the old ones.’
‘How did you get dragged into that?’
‘Like everything around here, I’m not entirely sure.’
‘Well, I’m glad to see you’re fitting right in.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’
‘And now you’re heading over to the co-op?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yep, you’re totally a local now.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t make it sound so final!’
‘Call me,’ he replied, and hung up before she could tell him she was busy.
At the co-op Kath was happy to see her.
‘Hi, Cate. How’s Ida going?’ Everyone asked after Ida all the time.
‘She’s okay. Getting pretty grumpy with her doctor. I know she wants to come back as soon as she can, but my parents want her to be strong enough for bypass surgery.’ She put a box of cereal and some steaks on the counter along with her vegetables. ‘And now I see how frail she’s become, I realise she’ll need some modifications to the house to keep her safe, like handles in the bathroom – stuff like that.’
Kath began punching in the prices of her shopping.
‘You know they have an age and disability services place in Narrogin that handles that sort of stuff? Maybe go in and see what ideas they have for you.’
‘Great idea,’ replied Cate, and backed it up with another great idea: a block of Old Jamaica chocolate. Genius.
When she got home, Mac was waiting for her. He smiled at her and waved his tail. Where have you been for so long? he said.
She patted him and poured out a full bowl of dog food. ‘Sorry, Mac. I was busy today. We’ll go down to the dam tomorrow, if you like.’
Mac thumped his tail hard on the verandah. Of course he’d like. Cate plumped up his bed, which was a pile of old rags in a cardboard box, and went inside for a coffee as the late-afternoon light fell slowly from the sky.
She looked about the house as she drank her coffee, mentally noting what changes would need to be made. She could see why Ida wanted to come home so badly. She had lived here in this district forever, and she had lived her life with Jack within these walls. Cate was going to do whatever it took to make the house appropriate for her. She flopped for a long moment on the lounge, and allowed herself to think about Henry. It took a while, and the room grew dark.
Then she made herself think about Alex as well, because he was a nice guy, a good cook, and everyone knew who he was and where he was going. She thought about her day, and wondered if she wanted to go there, too. She barely ate dinner – she was full of chocolate biscuits – but she picked at some leftovers from the fridge, then had another go at knitting while she watched QI on the ABC. Then she took herself off to sleep away the chilled, dark night.
In the morning she woke to the sound of magpies and willy wagtails. She rolled out of bed and went to the back verandah to catch the f
irst warming rays of sunlight, glancing about to see if Mac had beaten her there. He had slept in. Lazy. She whistled the same whistle she remembered Uncle Jack using, sounding a shy trill into the quiet morning. Shweeep! Nothing. Poor old thing was getting pretty deaf. She sighed and headed around the front. His old bones would love a good hour in the sun to start his day. She rounded the corner to wake him, and found him lying there, waiting for her.
She sat down with a thump next to his old body when she realised he was never going to greet her for the new day. He was still in bed, but his heart had stopped, and his old soul was off chasing rabbits under the shearing shed. His eyes were open. She wondered if he had woken, surprised, as he’d had a heart attack, because he didn’t know that dogs could die.
‘Good dog, Mac,’ she whispered, over and over, because there was nothing else she could do for him, and because it was true. ‘Good boy.’
She stroked his soft fur on his stiff body, feeling the perfect velvet of his ears and the matted grey piles under his collar. She sat with him for a long time, listening to her own breath, and the sounds of the magpies still carolling from the gum trees down at the dam. The sun finally reached the front verandah and warmed her again, and the chill that had seized her seeped away. She lay down on the rough boards in the warmth, next to the dead dog. She couldn’t think about burying him.
She couldn’t move because the world was suddenly too heavy for her to carry anymore, because she was deserted again. Only months ago, her life was huge and open and waiting for her, but now it was bitter and angry with her, and it kept taking away her favourite things, biting her and kicking her while she was down.
She didn’t know how long she lay there together with Mac, her arm around him, but after a while she heard footsteps coming closer. Then running.
‘Cate! Cate! Are you all right?’
She opened her eyes as Henry reached her and grabbed her shoulders with his large hands.
She sat up. ‘He’s dead.’
He looked sideways and saw him. ‘Shit.’ He pulled her to him in a warm hug.
‘Let me go!’ she snapped. She tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn’t release her.
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