The Drifter

by Anthea Hodgson

  ‘I don’t need comforting, you know! It was just a dumb dog – just a dumb old dog – it wasn’t even mine! I didn’t even know it!’ she growled, and her voice broke.

  ‘Him – you didn’t even know him,’ Henry corrected her, holding her close. ‘But you did.’

  She wriggled unhappily in his arms. ‘Shut up, Henry! You don’t know anything about me – who I am, or what I did! You hang around just close enough but still far enough away, and now Mac’s dead. He’s dead, and Brigit is dead, and Ida’s ill . . .’ Great. Now she was sniffling, and Henry was calmly watching her, like she was being reasonable. ‘And – I’ve been charged with causing Brigit’s death. I killed my best friend.’ Henry didn’t speak. ‘Do you even hear me? My best friend!’ His arm came around her. ‘Where can I go, Henry? Tell me where I can go where this doesn’t keep happening?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ he whispered, and gathered her in, and there they stayed for some time, doing nothing more than breathing. She felt her body shudder and her cheeks grow wet. She was crying over a dog. Henry stroked her hair and let her cry. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t mutter pointless platitudes. He just stroked her hair and allowed her to empty all her emotions, snot and tears onto his warm chest, as if that was why he had one in the first place.

  ‘Should we call Ida?’ she whispered eventually.

  ‘I don’t know. I guess we have to. When she comes home she’ll know, and she’ll be upset we didn’t tell her.’

  ‘It’ll be a blow, though.’ She felt him nod. She stayed still in the protection of his arms, and allowed herself to imagine someone had held her like that when Brigit had died. She soaked up his warmth and scent, and felt his kind heart thundering away in his chest.

  ‘Go fetch an old sheet. I’ll wrap him up and we’ll find him a nice spot.’

  She reluctantly got up and climbed out of his arms. She gave Mac a long glance.

  ‘Okay,’ she muttered and headed inside.

  She looked through the linen cupboard for a suitable shroud and brought it out to Henry. He had fetched a shovel and was giving Mac a pat when she opened the door.

  ‘He loved the timber patch up on the hill,’ she said. ‘We should take him up there.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, and soon they were in the ute and on their way. They found a good spot in a small group of gums, where the ground wasn’t too hard for digging, although the chink, chink sound the spade made on the earth told her it wasn’t easy, either.

  Eventually, Mac was buried, and they took it in turns filling the hole. Henry had been keen to put him in deep, in case foxes came to dig him up again. When they were finished, they patted the mound of earth and drove home. Cate was exhausted.

  ‘Bye,’ she murmured as soon as the ute fell silent. Henry looked at her, surprised, but she was already climbing out and heading into the house. She went to the lounge and lay on the couch for a long time, staring at the ceiling and dozing, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. She’d throw out the dog box tomorrow, and she’d have to tell Ida then, as well. She couldn’t ignore it. Ida deserved to know – she would hate to be treated like a child or an invalid. If her dog was dead, someone had to tell her.

  Cate realised later in the day that she had forgotten to eat. She took Vegemite toast into the spare room that doubled as an office and began flicking through farming magazines, looking for suggestions as to what was supposed to be going on out there. Next week she’d get Kel and Bronwyn over. She rested her head on her arms and heard a knock at the door. Of course it was Henry. When she dragged herself out to the front she saw him with a couple of sixpacks of beer and a sympathetic expression. He held out his hand but she didn’t take it, so he leaned in and grabbed hers anyway.

  ‘Come for a walk with me,’ he whispered, and her body did as it was told. They walked down to the dam without Mac wandering stiffly behind them, sniffing at fence posts and scratching the dirt at the scent of rabbits. It made Cate feel lonely, Sunday-night lonely, like it was never going to leave her. When they got to the dam, Henry sat her on his outdoor lounge and cracked open a beer for her. Then he did the same for himself.

  ‘To Mac,’ he said, holding up the beer in a toast. ‘A bloody good dog and a gentleman.’

  ‘To Mac. A mate to Jack and Ida.’ They clinked their bottles and smiled slowly at each other, then took a long sip without looking away for a moment.

  The rules of the dam were pretty simple, and she was getting used to them. No talking. She leaned back against the hay bale and propped her knees up, comfortably drinking her first, then second beer. Her mind was a million miles away and she could hardly taste it. A flock of pink-and-grey galahs swooped over to the stringy trees nearby and complained and chortled at each other for a while, until one of them startled at something and they flashed away, their beautiful blush-pink chests fanning out into the sky. She finished her second bottle and sat back so that she was slightly behind Henry and could watch him, and wonder about him.

  ‘Tell me about Brigit,’ he said. He pulled out another beer and handed it to her, without looking around. ‘How did she die?’

  ‘She was my best friend.’ Cate sighed, as if she was already tired of this story. ‘We were always out somewhere or other. A couple of months ago we were driving to a party up in the hills – we were both over the limit, and we’d taken a couple of e’s. There was an accident and her neck was broken – she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and we ended up upside down in a ditch. She died instantly.’

  ‘Who was driving the car?’

  ‘I was.’

  He was silent again and she was strangely comforted. She began to hold up her bottle, to see if she could still see the horizon through the glass.

  Finally, Henry spoke again. ‘I was in the army,’ he said.

  Cate put the cold glass to her lips and drew the bitter beer deep into her mouth. It was a start.

  CHAPTER 22

  Cate called Ida the next day. She got her on the phone, asked how she was, then just came right out and said it. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

  ‘How did he die, dear?’ she whispered.

  Cate felt tears flowing down her face. ‘It was very peaceful, Aunty Ida. I fed him and put him to bed and he died quietly during the night. Probably went to sleep and never woke up.’

  She could hear the old lady sniffing. ‘He was Jack’s dog, really,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘But – but he was my friend for an even longer time after Jack died. He’s been my company and my family.’ There was another long pause Cate didn’t try to fill. ‘He was my link to Jack.’

  ‘Aunty Ida, there’s nothing I can say except that I know what a great dog he was and I know you’ll miss him. Henry and I buried him in a lovely spot up at the timber patch.’ She heard a sound that might have been good but she couldn’t be sure. Someone took the phone.

  ‘Cate? I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I can tell you what you are really doing is unnecessarily upsetting a frail old lady.’ It was her mother.

  Cate felt terrible.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mum, but I thought she deserved the truth, and she’s going to find out anyway when she comes home. I don’t want to spoil her homecoming by lying to her about her dog.’

  There was a pause, and from the sound on the line Cate guessed her mother was moving out of earshot. ‘Ida may not be coming home, Cate, so you may have upset her for nothing.’

  ‘What? She’s not? But we’re fitting out the house for her.’

  ‘Cate. Listen. The doctors are very concerned about her heart. We’re doing our best here, but she’s very old. We can’t expect miracles.’

  ‘But she’s going to get better . . .’

  ‘She has narrowing in a couple of the blood vessels in her heart, Catie,’ her mother said patiently. ‘It’s serious. I know you’re doing what you can to help, but her cardiologist says if she doesn’t have a coronary artery bypass graft on the two veins, she won’t survive for long.’ Cate fe
lt her breath hitch. ‘Fixing the house is really sweet, Catie, but it probably won’t matter.’

  ‘I’m coming to Perth tomorrow. I need to see her,’ Cate said.

  ‘And do you think you might have time to spend with us while you’re here?’

  Cate rolled her eyes. ‘Sure, but I won’t have much time to spare. I’ve got lots to do,’ she said, and I can’t take many more conversations about my bad choices.

  ‘Well, I know you’ll be busy seeing Helen while you’re down. Cate, it’s really time to get onto this now. Pretending it isn’t happening doesn’t mean it’s not happening.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I know that already.’

  ‘Darling, I worry about you. I really do.’ Her voice was kind.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. But you can stop now.’

  ‘Darling, I’m here. You could talk to me, you know.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ve gotta go.’

  Cate packed a bag and was ready to go first thing in the morning. As she was filling the car Henry came to find her.

  ‘How are you, Princess?’ he asked quietly.

  She shrugged. ‘Not great. You?’

  ‘I’m okay. Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m going to Perth for a couple of days to see Ida. I spoke to her yesterday.’

  ‘How’d she take it?’ He gestured for her to move aside, and started pumping the petrol for her. It wasn’t that hard, but he made it look really easy, flicking the handle back and forth like he was shaking a bottle of tomato sauce.

  ‘Not too well, and Mum says she might not be coming back at all.’

  He paused for a second, then recommenced. ‘Do they know we’re setting the house up for her?’

  ‘They don’t care. Her heart’s too bad. She could die.’

  He stopped now and looked at her. ‘We’re all going to die, Princess.’

  She felt her face harden. ‘I think I’ve worked that out already.’ She moved towards the door, and he was there in a moment, holding it open for her.

  ‘When are you back?’ he asked.

  She put on her sunglasses. ‘Dunno. You can keep the chooks alive for me, can’t you?’

  He nodded, and contemplatively swung the door back and forth. ‘Sure. Do you ever think about visiting Brigit’s parents?’

  Ice washed through her veins and she shivered. ‘All the time,’ she muttered.

  After a moment he nodded once more. ‘Drive carefully. Please. You’ve got a bit on your mind.’ He closed the door, his expression unreadable.

  She had the strange feeling he didn’t want her to go, and she wondered if he was unsettled because someone was looking for him. It wasn’t her problem. He was a very big boy and he could well and truly take care of himself. He rapped twice on the roof of the car in farewell and walked off towards the workshop. She glanced at him again as she turned into the drive, with his wide shoulders, narrow waist and shaggy hair. He was looking right at home.

  The drive to Perth went more quickly than she’d anticipated. She considered dropping in to Brookton on the way for a bad coffee, then thought she may as well wait it out and go somewhere decent when she got to town. It was nearly three hours later that she was in Mount Hawthorn’s main drag, and running in to the New Norcia café for a takeaway flat white.

  She parked in the drive to her parents’ home and knocked on the door. After a moment her mother was there, and they kissed each other briefly on the cheek.

  Her mum was dressed in grey cropped pants and a crisp white blouse. She was always in some form of monochromatic outfit because it suited her to have a wardrobe she could coordinate without the need for much attention. She was a practical woman who dedicated her working life to the University of Western Australia Library, and her spare time to classical music and arthouse films. She stood neatly in the doorway, holding a cup of green tea in her hand.

  ‘Hello, Cate,’ she said. ‘Good drive?’

  ‘Yes, it was fine. I needed a coffee though.’

  ‘Well, come in and say hi to your father and Ida,’ she said, and Cate followed her in, feeling her heart sink as she stepped through the door.

  The house was perfection. The walls were white and the living room was devoid of clutter or almost any sign that people lived there. There was a large and beautiful abstract painting on one wall, which Cate knew her mother had spent months paying for after she had finished her degree years ago, but it was the only splash of colour in the room, and the only memento. The floors were wooden but clear of rugs and carpets. The low modular couch was white and a vase in the middle of the table held a single flower – white.

  Ida was perched rather uncomfortably on the white couch, where she could have a view of the garden and the light that eased its way carefully inside. She was wearing a large and extremely colourful dressing gown, which Cate recognised as one she had given her mother in case she ever wanted to cut loose. She hadn’t, but she’d kept the gown because it made her smile. Now it had a friendly stranglehold on Ida, who looked utterly out of place, both in lounge wear and seated upon modern furnishings. She was smaller and frailer in her parents’ home, Cate thought, as if the clashing colours and carelessness of her own home somehow made her bigger and brighter, and now she was being slowly bled away into neutrals and greys and whites. Cate fought back the feeling that it was like seeing an animal in captivity. This was Ida, she told herself. She knew all about houses in the city.

  Ida was relieved to see her. She rose slowly from the couch and gave her a big hug, folding her up like a precious gift in her arms.

  ‘Cate. Dear, dear girl,’ she said, and held her wordlessly. ‘Thank you for looking after Mac. It gives me great comfort to know he was so well looked after at the end.’ She dabbed her eyes quickly.

  ‘Let me make you a cup of tea and tell you about the farm,’ Cate offered.

  Ida smiled weakly; her face was grey. ‘I’d love that, dear,’ she said, and they settled in to the kitchen to swap all their news. Ida was hungry for information. She questioned Cate about everything. Who had come with the shearing team? How was Alf? How were the paddocks looking? Did Reg from the co-op help her with supplies for shearing? The questions went on and on, and Cate answered them all patiently, aware that Ida needed to prove to herself and the multicoloured dressing gown that she was more than this. More than a little old lady gazing out of a window to where other people were living their lives.

  ‘I’m very worried, Cate,’ Ida confided quietly after the chat had slowed. She glanced over at her mother making dinner in the kitchen, like a well-cared-for prisoner. ‘Your parents seem very determined that I have this bypass surgery.’

  Cate waited for her to continue.

  ‘I don’t want to, dear,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘You’ll understand, Cate. You know how it is to be out on the farm, to be free.’

  Cate glanced guiltily across at her mother as she chopped up some asparagus.

  ‘I don’t want to be mucked about with, dear, but I can’t seem to convince them. They seem to think they know what’s best for me.’ She took her hands. ‘But they don’t.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with them, Aunty Ida. I know they mean well. They just don’t want to let you down.’

  Ida looked sad. ‘I know.’

  But they are. The thought dived into Cate’s mind before she had the chance to stop it.

  After their long chat, Cate could see Ida tiring.

  ‘Shall I take you for a lie-down, Aunty Ida?’ she asked.

  Ida nodded. She looked very pale.

  ‘That sounds like a good idea, Cate. I’m feeling worn out at the moment.’ She said it like it was a mystery, and she hadn’t just suffered a heart attack.

  Cate put an arm around her frail, almost formless body, and guided her down the passage to her room. She took off her slippers and settled her into the bed.

  ‘You’ll take me home again soon, won’t you, Cate?’ she said, her eyes
suddenly intent upon her.

  ‘Yes, of course I will. I’ll take you home very, very soon.’

  The old lady closed her eyes.

  You see? Cate told herself. You can pretend anything you like.

  CHAPTER 23

  Helen Dowling’s office was a modest affair in the centre of the city. Cate caught a small, dark lift to the third floor and found herself efficiently seated next to a window with a cup of coffee in hand, facing a charming woman with a short ash-blonde bob.

  ‘Cate,’ Helen began. ‘So glad you could make it.’

  Cate forced a small smile. She just wanted it to be over. ‘No problem. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you.’

  ‘Not to worry, but now that you’ve been charged, we need to discuss the case, even though we’re still a few months from a court date.’

  ‘It takes a while, doesn’t it?’ Cate said.

  ‘Well, yes. The court system gets backed up sometimes. Now that you’ve been charged with dangerous driving causing death, I wanted to talk to you about a couple of aspects of the case, and talk about possible options for a defence.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

  ‘Do you have the paperwork from the police there?’ Cate handed it over and sat back in her seat, while Helen looked through the Statement of Material Facts document. After a while she nodded, as if she wasn’t surprised or concerned by anything she had read.

  ‘Let’s just go back over your statement, okay? Can you tell me in your own words what happened?’

  ‘Sure,’ Cate replied, and started the story from the beginning. The bar, the drinks, the ecstasy, the drive, the car flipping over and – the victim.

  There was a long pause, while Helen looked at her statement.

  ‘Okay, Cate – there we have it. Let’s talk about your plea.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘You were driving the car, and you were under the influence of alcohol and ecstasy. From what you’ve told me, and from your statement to the police, it seems that the only way to go with this is to plea —’

  ‘Guilty,’ Cate whispered. ‘Guilty.’