The Drifter

by Anthea Hodgson

  Cate listened to her stories and asked questions when she could. Henry was so gentle with Ida, she mused, and so patient. He drove slowly and stopped the ute to hear each instalment of her life, which surely couldn’t mean much to him. He knew none of the names, but he laughed at her cheek and moved them on to the next spot, driving over the rough earth as if he had nowhere he’d rather be in the whole world.

  ‘Oh, just stop here for a moment, Henry,’ Ida commanded.

  Henry stopped the ute.

  She stared fixedly out of the window. ‘Just over there, in the corner of the paddock, was where Jack had his stroke,’ she said. ‘We had a nice young man working for us at the time called Jordan, and Jack was refuelling the tractor one afternoon, and he just dropped to the ground. And young Jordan was marvellous – he got onto the emergency frequency on the radio and called for help immediately, but there was nothing to be done. Poor Jack died very quickly, which was a blessing, really, while I was at home writing out the minutes for the Progress Association, waiting for him to come back for dinner. I knew he’d be tired because he’d said the days were feeling pretty long, so I was listening for the sound of his boots on the verandah.’ She rearranged her hands in her lap. Again. Again. ‘But he never came home to me again.’

  They sat for a while, watching the paddock, now green and wet and shining, and listened to the cold wind push against the windows of the ute, as if there might be some clue left of Jack, who went out to work here and never came home.

  Ida was tired when Henry helped her inside, her old body slow and her breath laboured. It was startling to hear her struggle for breath when she had always been such a hardy country woman. She fell back in her seat with great relief.

  ‘Can you stay for a cup of tea, Henry? Or must you get back?’ She said it without a trace of irony, as if the rats at the old house had been keeping his dinner warm and they’d be devastated if he didn’t come home to put the bins out and watch Downton Abbey.

  Cate rolled her eyes on her way to the kitchen and went to make tea for Ida and to pour a wine for herself.

  ‘Yeah, I can stay for a while, Ida. That would be really nice.’

  Ida made a happy sound and Cate could hear them talking. ‘Henry. I think it’s high time you moved in to the house here, even if just for the winter. It does drop below zero out here, and I hate to think of you and Finley freezing to death in a house without doors or a proper roof.’

  ‘I’m comfortable enough, Ida,’ he returned. ‘I do like my own space and I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘Nonsense! You won’t be imposing. You’re our friend, and if it suits Cate, you can always move back to the house again at the end of winter.’

  Ida wasn’t going to be there then. It hung in the air for a moment as Cate entered with supper. Henry turned to her. ‘What do you really think?’ he asked her, his eyes searching hers.

  She didn’t want to bullshit him, and she noticed the way he kept moving his hands. ‘I’d be comfortable with it. Ida’s right, and it’s no hardship for me to share a bathroom.’

  He looked surprised but he nodded. ‘Okay. It’s a deal,’ he said to Ida, who was practically levitating with satisfaction and excitement. ‘Thanks very much to both of you. I’ll move into the spare room tomorrow.’

  ‘And you’ll sleep on the couch tonight,’ added Ida, smiling victoriously. ‘It’ll probably rain again later.’ She slowly shifted herself forward and came to a leaning stand, then righted herself and headed off to bed, Cate in discreet pursuit, switching on lights and finding her medication.

  He had flicked on the TV by the time she returned, and he stood and handed her the wine.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You might need this – it looks like we’re roomies.’

  She glanced at the blue carpet and remembered waking there alone. She took a sip and sat down. ‘What are we watching?’ she asked, feeling embarrassed when she spotted the nearly finished dark-blue jumper sitting in her nanna knitting basket.

  ‘Uh, nothing in particular.’ He passed her the remote and she began to flick through the channels, too aware of what had happened last time they were on this couch with glasses of wine in their hands.

  ‘Where did you go?’ she asked eventually.

  He didn’t look at her. ‘I went home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Yeah, to my family’s place in Melbourne.’ He shook his head, as if he hardly believed it himself. ‘It had been almost two years since I’d seen anyone in my family or contacted them.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘It was kind of intense,’ he admitted. ‘My mum and dad were beside themselves. They were so happy. And so hurt by me. I feel this terrible guilt.’

  ‘Then why did you leave?’

  ‘I also went to visit my fiancée – ex-fiancée. She was furious with me, and I totally get it. I would be, too.’

  ‘You had a fiancée?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And you left her.’ She looked into her wineglass. This conversation was not going well. These were facts she didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ he said. ‘She’s found a really nice bloke.’ He sounded almost pleased.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I was really happy for her. Relieved. It had eaten away at me, the shame of leaving my family, my friends, my woman. I had to go back and apologise to everyone I had hurt.’ His voice was faltering.

  ‘So that’s where you were.’

  Well, that was a lot better than the scenarios she had been dreaming up.

  He looked up at her, his face completely open. It was strange to see vulnerability in him.

  ‘And I caught up with Kruger and the boys – you met them a while ago. They’d been worried about me – they didn’t seem to believe I’m a complete arsehole, which came as a shock. But I went back because I couldn’t live with it anymore, and I wanted to be able to be worthy of you.’

  ‘What? Of me?’

  Cate’s heart stopped. Afraid.

  ‘I guess I mean I didn’t want to feel like a piece of crap who just walked out on everyone and then tried to start a new relationship in secret, without being honest with the people who loved me. The people I hurt. It took my dignity. I know you won’t trust me yet, but I’d like you to.’

  ‘Man. When you get serious, you really get serious.’

  ‘There’s a woman dying in the next room. Life is short.’

  She lay her head back on the soft couch and watched the fire for a long time.

  ‘Henry, if I’m convicted, it means I’ll be going to prison.’

  ‘But you’ll survive, Cate. You’ve got this big heart that won’t give up.’

  ‘You won’t want me – it’s too awful, it’s too much.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting. And I’ll never stop wanting you. And your big bloody heart.’

  She had been hiding. She had been afraid her heart would shatter, but it was still here. And it was strong.

  His large hand reached down and found hers, and in the quiet of the room she could hear the police officer ask her again, Who was driving the car?

  I was.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was late morning. Cate waited for Ida to wake, wandering around the garden and visiting the chooks. A car was coming up the drive. Cate squinted. Oh. Alex. She really had ignored him lately. It was a long-standing policy of hers to ignore stuff that was too hard. She glanced down to the shed, where Henry was presumably fixing something, and hoped he wouldn’t come out. This was going to be potentially awkward enough. She smiled at Alex bravely and approached the car window.

  ‘Hi, neighbour,’ she greeted him. ‘Need a cup of sugar?’

  He smiled back and climbed out. ‘Nah, I’m sweet enough.’

  She knew it was true. ‘Want to come in?’

  ‘No thanks,’ he replied. ‘I just wanted to come over to clear something up.’

  She feigned ignorance. ‘Oh, really?’

  He got out of the car a
nd gestured for her to sit on the verandah with him.

  ‘When we went out the other night, I felt as if we had a good time.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And I thought when I asked you to call me that you probably would.’

  She winced. ‘Uh, it’s been really busy with Ida.’

  He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. ‘Really? Or are you just bullshitting me because it’s easier for you?’

  She moved some dirt with her boot. ‘It’s easier.’

  He swore under his breath. ‘And you couldn’t just be straight with me?’

  ‘Oh, man, I’m so sorry, Alex. It just —’

  In a shining example of spectacular timing, Henry came out of the shed. He nodded at Alex and headed their way.

  ‘Oh, fuck me, is this what it is?’ he muttered. ‘So – you and Henry?’

  ‘No, not really . . .’

  Henry looked grim. ‘Not really, Cate?’

  Brilliant. Now Alex turned to her. ‘So you don’t even show enough courtesy to let me know I’m wasting my time, while you’re getting it on with the local homeless dude.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Hang on!’ Henry was really irritated now.

  ‘Nah, mate, you hang on! Why do you think you’ve got the right to take advantage of someone like Cate when you can’t even commit to staying around? Where the fuck have you been, eh?’

  Henry took a few steps forward and angled his head. ‘That’s none of your business, dickhead.’

  ‘I feel as if Cate is my business. If you’re just using her, then we’ve got a problem.’ They were chest to chest now, and they were getting pretty angry.

  ‘Hey! Guys! I’m right here! I’m my OWN business!’

  They ignored her.

  ‘Just go home, Alex. She doesn’t want you – have some fucking dignity.’

  Alex swung at him but Henry’s arm came up and blocked the blow, then shoved Alex back so that he fell against his car. He appeared momentarily shocked and for a moment Henry looked like he was about to do a whole lot more.

  ‘Henry!’

  Henry turned to her, pissed off.

  ‘Stop it!’

  He sighed and walked in a tight circle. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, and she wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Alex didn’t seem to care to find out. He walked over and kissed her cheek, watched closely by Henry.

  ‘You should’ve just been straight with me,’ he told her, and then climbed back into his car, throwing Henry a backward glance.

  ‘See if you can keep your shit together this time, Henry – she’s a great girl.’

  Henry had his hands on his hips like he’d been running. He nodded because he probably didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Alex had wound down the window and his elbow was draped casually outside. ‘Oh, I think you should know that Kath from the co-op is gossiping about you.’

  Cate felt instantly sick. Heat and cold flooded through her.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ she asked, although she really didn’t want to know.

  ‘That you killed your friend. Is it true?’

  ‘Yeah. Car accident – I was driving.’

  ‘Shit – sorry to hear it.’ He looked sympathetic, which was more than she felt she deserved.

  ‘I was hoping to get away from it for a while.’

  He smiled grimly. ‘You should’ve tried New York.’

  When the car had finally disappeared down the driveway, Henry walked away without looking back.

  ‘Henry!’ He stopped. ‘Don’t go!’ She was afraid. She was a coward and she had hurt him.

  ‘What was that, Cate?’ He stood completely still, his back to her.

  ‘That was kindness – it was kindness.’

  ‘Lying to him? Or lying to yourself?’ She felt sick.

  ‘I couldn’t hurt him. I couldn’t think of a good reason – that it isn’t him.’ That it’s you. Henry turned to her but stayed where he was, distant again, his hands on his hips, pissed off.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘Don’t expect everything of me when you won’t even tell me what happened to you, Henry. You want it all but how can I really know you if you won’t trust me?’

  He stared at her, immobile, and he nodded. It had been too much, and he needed the shed. ‘I trust you,’ he muttered, and walked away.

  Cate sat on the verandah. Everyone knew. She wondered how long ago Kath had started talking about her, and if Deirdre and Audrey had heard yet. There were some dried gum leaves gathering under the bottom step. She picked them up and began absent-mindedly shredding them in her fingers. At least Ida didn’t know about her; maybe she could be the one to tell her before she heard it somewhere else. The thought of it made her ill.

  Ida was asleep again by early afternoon. She slept a lot, was tired all the time, as though her body was winding down, preparing itself for the biggest rest in stages. Her eyes never failed to take in what life surrounded her. Never failed to notice a magpie on the back fence she had once known well. Never failed to see the bloom on a tree she thought was too early, or the touch of the wind that might have been visiting her from Albany where she and Jack had holidayed so happily years ago. But now she was resting in case she didn’t have the energy to make the final push away from them all. Cate stayed on the verandah, her feet dangling over the edge, catching the weak rays of the sun and wondering how she had come to be here at the end of something so large and yet so small.

  A white van was driving along the main road on its way to Corrigin. She watched its progress without much interest, waiting for the sound to stretch out as it pulled away from the bend near the front gate. It didn’t, but instead turned slowly, almost reluctantly, and made its way over the corrugations to the house. Henry came outside to see who it was and was standing, hands on hips, when Cate came around to the front of the house to find a man in stubbies and a work shirt, holding a clipboard. He spoke to Henry.

  ‘Does Cate Christie live here?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ he replied.

  ‘Because I’ve got a load of her stuff here – I s’pose she’s been waiting for it.’

  Cate looked on stupidly. Stuff? What stuff?

  The man opened the back of the truck and she went to look. Inside was indeed all her stuff from her parents’ house. Her stomach twisted. This was her life come back to her. Because it no longer belonged in the home she had always known.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she murmured weakly, because for some silly reason she couldn’t bear it if the man saw her cry and took the news back to her parents.

  ‘Look, Henry. It’s my stuff.’ She gestured to the verandah. ‘Just put it all there,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort it out later.’

  He nodded briefly and set about plopping her old life onto the verandah, like it had no place to go. Henry stood next to her as she watched boxes of her past come out of the truck and go to the shelter of Ida’s home. His stillness was a comfort to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, like he was telling her to hold it together a little bit longer.

  Eventually, the man was finished and she signed her name, adding an exclamation mark for effect. She shook his hand and offered him a drink.

  ‘Nah, thanks, love. It’s a long trip back to the city. I’d like to get straight back on the road, if ya don’t mind.’

  She smiled. Just a little bit longer.

  He nodded, and with a brief farewell swung back into the cab, fired up the engine and was gone.

  In two steps Cate was sitting on the verandah. ‘Damn. That was brutal.’

  Henry joined her and put his arm around her. ‘Cate – it’s just stuff.’

  ‘No it’s not.’

  He looked at the pile. ‘You want it?’

  She touched her cheeks and found them wet with tears, sticky and unpleasant.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She rubbed her face, as if it would make it go away.

  Dear Cate, your mother and I thought you might appreciate the return of yo
ur things.

  The first box held her favourite T-shirts from high school, her year twelve dance dress and photos from the school camp where she had first kissed a boy. There were pages of bad poetry in the back of an exercise book she remembered from Religious Education. She had struggled to find something funny to rhyme with resurrection. Well, maybe she hadn’t struggled that much.

  We were shocked and saddened to see how selfish you have become, and disappointed to see the immaturity that has long held you back is still letting you down.

  There was a large shopping bag from a boutique she used to like in Claremont, and it held every dumb letter she and her girlfriends had exchanged. Many of them were notes passed at school. There were postcards with ‘party report’ written on them, and an unsophisticated code about who had reached which base with which boy. There were also magazine pictures of boys, famous boys mostly, from bands, or from movies she used to watch again and again, as if she could unlock the secret to them all.

  One day, perhaps soon, you will take the time to reflect on your actions and the impact they have had on others, and you will have cause to regret the situation in which you have placed a frightened old lady. You don’t have the benefit of experience to understand the gravity of your choice, so we will try to forgive you. We do love you, even though you may choose not to believe it. Mum and Dad xx

  There were some suit bags, bulging with business suits in colours that really never suited her, and which she intended never to wear again, and there were boxes of books she had read and been unable to part with, fostering the foolish dream that one day she would have a room made of books that knew her history as well as she knew theirs. She flicked through one or two, while Henry watched her.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘They’re punishing you.’

  She nodded, with her face still wet. ‘It’s fine,’ she whispered. ‘It’s fine. I sort of knew what to expect. I’ve been the family screw-up for so long it’s like we all know how this goes.’