The Drifter

by Anthea Hodgson

  As she shut the gate again, she noticed the careful mend made by the drifter from the shed, and when she turned he was standing nearby watching her, his face hard.

  ‘Are you seeing Alex Bernard?’

  She shrugged. ‘Are you staying for dinner?’

  He stared at her, considering. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I think Ida would like you to,’ she said, turning to head back inside.

  ‘Would you?’ he asked, and she stopped.

  ‘I don’t think I care either way.’

  He scooped Finley up, looking irritated. ‘Then we’ll eat at my place,’ he said, and walked away.

  ‘It’s not your place, you know,’ she returned spitefully.

  He held up a hand in farewell, walked around the side of the workshop, and was gone.

  She walked slowly to the edge of the verandah and sat down with a soft thud. It was done. She stared out into the twilight sky, not seeing the soft pinks in the clouds that hung above her or the gathering grey of the shadows across the garden. She sat for a moment, stripped and exhausted, breathing in the sound of the galahs going to sleep in the pepper tree by the shearing shed and the scratch of the banksia against the water tank. Ida was home. She had managed that, at least. She had dragged her from the unwelcome safety of her parents’ house and she had survived the journey. Whatever happened next, at least Ida had seen her home again. The golden moon, which had been hiding, peeped out hopefully from behind the machinery shed.

  ‘Well! What a wonderful meal with a wonderful friend!’ Ida said contentedly. Her face was pale, and perhaps her eyes were a little sunken with age, or with disease, Cate didn’t know. ‘It’s a pity Henry couldn’t stay,’ she added. ‘He must be busy with something down at the old house.’

  Cate nodded. Yeah, he was busy resenting her. She poured more water into Ida’s glass.

  ‘I must say, you’re looking very happy, Aunty Ida,’ she commented. Reality was setting in and she had time to really look at the old lady in front of her and wonder how long she had to live, and whether she was enough to keep her safe. She wished Henry was sitting next to her.

  Ida blinked at her. ‘I am relieved, dear, and grateful to you. I’ve come home to all my memories and my friends for however long the Lord has given me.’

  Cate blinked at her.

  ‘I’m not afraid of dying, dear. I put my faith in God to watch over me and he’ll take me to heaven when it’s my time.’

  It comforted Cate that Ida was so at peace.

  ‘Do you ever wonder why He didn’t give you children, Aunty Ida?’ she asked quietly. There was the briefest of silences and Cate wished she’d shut up.

  ‘He did, dear. He sent me Audrey’s children and so many lovely local kids. I’ve had plenty of children in my life. And now, as a special reward, he sent me a champion – just when I needed you most.’

  Cate got up to make more tea. There were tears in her eyes because Ida couldn’t possibly know just how wrong she was. She wasn’t a champion. She was a 26-year-old screw-up without a home, a job, a partner, or any mates she could rely on. Oh, and she’d killed her best friend. She filled the kettle and set it to boil again, looking down to the sheds, where Henry was probably spending time packing his car and getting ready to leave her again.

  When she woke, it was raining heavily, which made both her and Ida very happy; it was turning into a great start to the season. She collected more wood from the verandah, lit the fire, settled Ida into her seat and made a fresh pot of tea. Then she switched on the lights so that it would be bright enough for her to see and got out a pile of old photo albums.

  ‘I thought you could show me some pictures, Aunty Ida. It’s too wet to go out today.’

  ‘Oh yes, dear! There are so many lovely shots of Uncle Jack from his shooting days, and I have a couple of great pictures of your father when he was a little boy.’ She patted the lounge next to her and Cate settled in to have a look.

  After a while, the phone rang. It was Deirdre.

  ‘How’s Ida?’ she demanded.

  ‘Actually, Mrs Broderick, she’s right here. Would you like to speak with her?’

  There was a pause. ‘Yes! Yes of course I would!’

  Cate grinned and handed Ida the phone.

  ‘Deirdre dear? Is that you? How lovely to hear from you on my first morning home.’ The women chatted for a few minutes.

  ‘Okay, dear. See you shortly,’ agreed Ida and hung up the phone. ‘Deirdre’s coming over in half an hour.’

  ‘Oh, crap!’

  ‘Language, dear.’

  ‘Do I have to bake?’

  ‘No, of course not. We country women are about more than just cakes.’

  Deirdre arrived with an enormous cake. She also carried with her a dozen eggs and a large jug of fresh cream.

  ‘Milked the cow this morning. This was spare,’ she grunted, slamming it down on the old kitchen table with a loud sniff of disgust at her cow for daring to over-produce.

  ‘Is she trying to give you another heart attack?’ Cate muttered to Ida.

  ‘Cup of tea, dear?’ Ida asked mildly.

  ‘Yes please, not too strong though, Ida, the young ones always make it too strong.’

  Ida nodded sympathetically.

  Cate winced and lit the stovetop.

  Audrey Higgins-Devine had once been a great beauty. She was still a very attractive and stylish woman, and she was soon standing on the doorstep with a batch of her daughter’s brownies and a box of old dresses.

  ‘Cate! You look so well. How’s Henry? Behaving himself?’

  ‘Um, I imagine so – he’s working down in the shed,’ she replied.

  Audrey nodded her approval. ‘Now, where’s my Ida?’

  Cate indicated the lounge room with a smile and headed off to make more tea. Ida had been propped up in there for a while. Cate listened to Ida, Deirdre and Audrey holding court.

  ‘Oh, and do you remember the Mackeseys moving into Dale’s old place?’

  ‘And Pete Meenan found all that stuff that got pinched from the pub.’

  ‘Oh, yes, but Mike Barker was always hanging around —’

  ‘Yes, dear, but do you remember his eyes?’

  ‘What I wouldn’t have done for those eyes, Ida!’

  ‘Oh, Audrey! Stop!’ More giggles.

  Cate scooped three spoons, and one for the pot.

  ‘Of course you know who’s got lovely eyes?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Henry!’

  Oh, for God’s sake!

  ‘Oh, yes. He’s very handsome.’

  ‘Isn’t he? And of course you know he only has eyes for one girl?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Yes, of course!’

  More gentle laughter. Maybe they knew she was eavesdropping; the house wasn’t that big.

  She arranged the rather delicious-looking brownies on a pretty china plate, and three floral teacups and saucers on an old tray and carried them into the lounge.

  ‘Here you are, girls,’ she announced. ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, we were just chatting about the Queen. We like to keep up to date on her comings and goings,’ Ida replied blandly. She really was a bit of a smart-arse.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Cate replied, and served them morning tea.

  ‘Look what I found in my box,’ said Audrey, when she had taken a quick sip of her tea and given Cate an approving nod. She opened it up and produced a glorious dress circa nineteen fifty-something in velvety shades of blue and grey.

  Cate gasped. It was lovely. ‘Wow,’ she murmured, and leaned forward to touch the fabric.

  ‘This,’ explained Audrey proudly, ‘was the dress I wore to my engagement party at the Windstorm town hall. Do you remember, Ida?’

  Ida beamed. ‘Of course! You looked like a princess. And Albert looked like a prince! And I remember you had that band – what were they called? Some old dears who used to get together and blow their trumpets? The Corone
ts! They were a hoot. It was like having Glenn Miller playing at the Windstorm Lake.’

  Audrey laughed. ‘And the drummer, who drummed faster the drunker he got. Ha!’

  Deirdre cackled. ‘I ended up dancing so fast I nearly broke my leg!’

  They gazed contentedly at the shining sapphire fabric again and Cate could see that they were the same girls they had always been; that their tired feet hadn’t forgotten the intricate steps and their hearts hadn’t forgotten why they had wanted to dance in the first place. They were the same, and the world was as young and as old as it had always been, and their love for each other was stronger than the years. She found herself smiling at the memory that wasn’t even hers.

  Ida took another nibble on her brownie, looking into the middle distance while her mind travelled back in time.

  Audrey pulled another creation out of her box and took another sip of tea.

  ‘And where’s your swagman now?’ Deirdre demanded later, as she enjoyed her third cup of dishwater.

  ‘I think he’s working over in the workshop,’ Cate supplied.

  Deirdre looked approving. ‘Well, tell him I’ve got something for him in the back of the car, if he’s interested.’

  Cate nodded.

  ‘Well - off you go!’ Deirdre turned to roll her eyes in exasperation at Ida and Audrey. Really. Young people.

  Cate left the scene of the crime against beverages and went to find Henry, without knowing quite what sort of mood he’d be in. She wasn’t sure if they were even talking.

  She found him hitting a piece of machinery with a hammer. He looked up at her grimly.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. He grunted and hit the poor thing again. ‘Uh, Deirdre Broderick is here, and she wants to give you something.’

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘I don’t know. Go ask her.’

  He sighed. He knew he had to or he’d look rude. That was only okay with Cate, not with some poor defenceless old battleaxe who would tear a strip off him in a heartbeat.

  ‘Have you slept with him?’ he asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It does to me.’

  ‘Really, because I slept with you, and it didn’t seem to make much difference to your wig-out-and-fuck-off plans.’

  ‘Cate, I didn’t wig out and fuck off.’

  She looked sceptical.

  He put down the hammer and crossed the shed to her. He held her arms and looked carefully at her. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I hope I never misled you. I had something important to do. I do want to talk about it, but now is not the time – you’ve got enough on your plate at the moment.’

  He was so fantastic-looking it was unfair. She took in his cheekbones and his dark-hazel eyes. He caught her and held her there effortlessly, like he knew she was an easy target. Then he glanced down at his hands, which had become softer on her arms. A heavy silence fell between them. She could hear him breathe, and when she dared to look back into his eyes to see if she was just imagining this, he was asking her the same question.

  ‘Come on, Swagman,’ she muttered. The ladies were waiting.

  He followed her so he could at least watch her backside as she walked and it wouldn’t be a wasted trip.

  They crossed quickly to the house through the grey morning. Although the rain had paused at the homestead, it was pouring further up the race and it would be raining again at the house in a few minutes. He was from Victoria. He knew all about rain. He stepped over a large puddle, glanced up at Cate’s retreating form, and was glad to be back.

  They went inside to the sound of laughter. It was astounding: Deirdre Broderick was laughing. They glanced at each other. Bizarre. The women had a pile of old photos out and a plate piled high with cake.

  ‘Cate! Henry! Come inside out of the weather. Deirdre and Audrey have been making me laugh and laugh, looking at these old photos. Ah, the memories.’

  Deirdre’s gaze lit upon Henry. ‘Ah, here’s the swagman. I’ve got a few things for you,’ she said gruffly and left the room.

  ‘Should I go help her?’ Cate asked Ida.

  ‘No, dear, she’d be highly offended. She’ll be back in a moment.’

  Cate sat down and grabbed a slice of cake. It was delicious. ‘Wow. What sort of cake is this? Lemon?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Deirdre’s specialty. It’s lemon-syrup cake. She’ll be glad you like it,’ Audrey said.

  The woman in question came back in with two large bags of men’s clothes. She placed them at Henry’s feet.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I know it can be rough when you have nothing, so I found some spare clothes from my boys. It must be getting cold over at the old house.’

  Henry looked amazed. He gazed down at the large bags and then up at Mrs Battleaxe. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, around here, we just say thank you,’ she grumbled awkwardly.

  He crossed the room and shook her hand. ‘I never expected such generosity, Mrs Broderick. Thank you very much – these will be brilliant.’ He was grinning like it was a new car. Deirdre almost smiled; she looked marginally less grim.

  ‘Well, don’t go telling all your freeloading drifter mates we’re a soft touch in Windstorm, that’s all. We don’t want their kind around here.’

  ‘Deirdre!’ It wasn’t hard to disappoint Ida sometimes.

  ‘Well, my dear, we don’t! Henry is obviously a cut above, and quite a good worker. But often these people will take a mile if you give them half a chance. I don’t mean Henry. I mean some of his drug- and alcohol-fuelled mates.’ She nodded with satisfaction, her point made.

  Cate was grinning like a border collie pup. Good old Deirdre.

  ‘Well, that’s that, Ida. I’ll see you both later.’ Deirdre turned for the door and Cate and Henry stood to see her out. She turned again in the doorway, where the soft grey light of the clouds outside surrounded her. ‘It’s good to have you home, pet,’ she said to Ida, and with a glance at the shining windows, she was gone.

  ‘Now, can you help me up, dear? I just need to fetch a vase for Audrey.’

  Cate gently raised Ida out of the chair, then walked with her to the kitchen. When she came back, Audrey was packing the dresses slowly and carefully into her box.

  ‘I’ll be off shortly, Cate,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to wear her out – she already looks tired.’ Her eyes were wet and her cheerful voice shook, and Cate, standing there in front of a woman she only knew in legend, was surprised again that old people could still cry; that the relentless burden of the world hadn’t already worn them down so much that they could still feel sadness.

  ‘Of course,’ she muttered thickly and reached out to hug Audrey’s soft form, feeling the weight of memories it carried brush secretly against her. The door opened and Ida was back again, holding an old brown vase.

  ‘Here’s your vase, dear! I’ve only had it for ten years or so!’ They laughed.

  ‘I’ll fill it with flowers for you, Ida,’ Audrey promised, fussing with the vase as if it was really worth something.

  ‘Well,’ she announced cheerfully to Ida, ‘I’ll be off. I must get lunch for Kel – Bronwyn’s away in Narrogin today. You stay well, and I’ll see you at the committee meeting on Thursday.’

  Ida smiled peacefully. ‘Of course, dear. I’ll see you Thursday.’ They hugged warmly, and once Audrey had settled Ida back on her couch, she walked to the car, with Cate carrying her box of secrets and stories. Cate put the package on the passenger seat and Audrey took her hands.

  ‘Look after her, dear, won’t you? She’s not just my best friend, she’s my sister.’

  Cate bit her lips together and nodded. ‘You’ll see her again,’ she assured her.

  Audrey looked back at the house. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t believe I will. I’ve been around for long enough to know when I’m saying goodbye.’

  Cate glanced at the ground and a familiar chill crept down her spine and settled in her gut. She heard the distant sound
of sirens screaming that they could save Brigit on the side of the road, she heard two old friends saying goodbye for now, pretending they would see each other again, and a million lifetimes in between.

  Audrey looked at her with sympathy. ‘Don’t be sad, Cate. That’s life. We’re making way, that’s all. Ida has given me a wonderful life of friendship and laughter. That’s what I’ll take with me, and when I’m gone, you will take her with you. It’s how we go on after death, dear. If we take the time to really know each other, and to love each other, we can carry the hearts of those we love with us.’ She opened the door of her old car, and leaned there for a moment.

  ‘One day, perhaps you’ll teach your child to knit, or bake, to make a joke, or sing a song, and there you’ll be. Not sitting on a cloud – back in your child’s heart, where you belong. That’s what I want. And that’s what I want for my Ida, too.’ Audrey squeezed Cate’s hands again. ‘You can do that, Cate – take her with you. That’s all. Ida is a fine woman, and she deserves to go with you.’

  She climbed carefully into the car, her knobbly hands finding the steering wheel and her trousers hitching up slightly as her old legs felt for the pedals. Then she turned the key and was off with a wave of her hand, bumping down the corrugations on the driveway, past the ghost of a young woman roaring up to the house in an old ute, yelling out the window at the dusty kids piled in the back.

  CHAPTER 32

  The weather cleared the next day, meaning they could jump in the ute and take a quick tour of the farm. The crop was pushing through the damp earth, and early in the day, or later, when the winter sun was tired and dipping low, the pale-green blades glowed like acres and acres of tiny emeralds. They paused here and there, and Ida looked out with a practised eye to spot landmarks with which she was long familiar.

  That tree line leads to the Brodericks’ place. When my dad was a boy, he used to ride his bike there to collect fresh cream for Mum. Or, That granite outcrop was where we had our Christmas party one year. A lovely day, but too hot, and we saw an enormous snake. I think Libby chased it away for us – her son Josh would have introduced her to a few snakes. We thought it was going to eat darling little Alex Bernard. And there’s the Higgins-Devines’ over there. Audrey was brave enough to try to teach me to knit fifty years ago. I never did get the hang of it, but we had a lovely time talking about men!