Mountain Ash

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘I’m a little early so we can drop Milly at Muriel’s for the night.’

  Jodie started. ‘For the night?’

  Alex fixed her with a perplexed smile. ‘Yes. Is that a problem?’ He then seemed to consciously soften his words. ‘I just thought it would be easier than waking her up later on to bring her home. You know these restaurants. Always running behind time.’

  He made it all sound so reasonable and for the life of her Jodie couldn’t fault his plans. She just hadn’t thought they’d leave Milly all night. Had thought they’d pick her up on the way home and that way Alex wouldn’t think he had licence to stay over.

  Jodie glanced down at her daughter, whose face was tracking from one adult to the other, trying to work out what was really being said. Milly wasn’t stupid, but hopefully she didn’t know enough to see through Alex’s plans. Jodie did, though, and that made the drive into Narree very quiet while she wrestled with the problem of whether she wanted to make love to him tonight.

  ‘You’re not saying much,’ said Alex, leaning across to take her hand. Brush a kiss across her skin.

  ‘It’s just the day, I guess,’ said Jodie.

  After the solicitor’s followed by their ice-cream treat, she and Milly had gone out to the cemetery to place some flowers on her father’s grave. Someone had been there before her. Probably one of his old teacher mates or someone from the chess club. Mother and daughter had cried together for a little while.

  ‘It gets easier,’ said Alex, taking back his hand to change down gears at the roundabout that led to Mue’s small terrace house. ‘When Elizabeth died, it was a shock, but you move on. Eventually.’

  Jodie looked across at her date for the night. There was a certain tone to his voice, like he was trying to keep some kind of emotion tightly under wraps. Was it anger? Regret? Alex had said they’d been married for twenty-seven years.

  ‘You never get over losing someone close to you, Jodie. But you do learn to live with it. I only wish I’d told her more how much she meant to me –’

  ‘Mummy, there’s Mue. She’s waiting for us,’ said Milly from the back of the BMW. ‘We’re going to have so much fun!’

  Jodie swung around to take in her daughter’s excitement. She was such a happy little girl. Not much rocked her boat. Not like her mother. Tendrils of unease were curling around her heart, squeezing it like a sponge. She didn’t want it to feel like this. Not now. This evening was supposed to be pleasurable. She was supposed to enjoy herself. She tried to force her uncertainty back under lock and key.

  Alex was turning the car into Mue’s driveway. Mue herself was sitting on the verandah waiting for them, a frown on her face.

  ‘You’re early!’ she called from her place on the steps. ‘And the problem with that is …?’ said Alex as he climbed from the car.

  ‘I wanted to finish my glass of sherry before young missy here arrived and saw an old lady drinking.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ piped Milly, bailing out of the car. ‘I’m used to it. Mum always has bubbles on a Friday night.’

  ‘Milly! You make me sound like an alcoholic!’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Mue. ‘Since when has one glass a week been counted as being a drunkard?’

  ‘Since it’s a bottle.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Alex, sounding surprised. ‘After the accident, should you really be drinking, Jodie? And by yourself?’

  Jodie scoffed. ‘I’m hardly by myself. Milly, Floss, Buggsy and Parnassus are wonderful company.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Alex, homing in on the last name. ‘The horse.’

  ‘He’s not just any horse,’ said Milly, indignation in her young voice. ‘He’s a very special horse. Grandpa gave him to Mummy.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Alex, now moving to grab Milly’s backpack, which in her excitement she’d left in the car. ‘Here you go, Muriel. I also have something else which might help.’ He clicked open the boot and dove in to grab out a parcel.

  Meanwhile Jodie came around the bonnet and gave her daughter a hug. She could feel tears starting to prick her eyes. Leaving Milly always did this to her. They weren’t voluntarily apart very often, other than during school time and when she had to work. ‘See ya, mate. Be good and –’

  ‘Remember my manners,’ chimed in Milly. The little girl grinned. ‘You don’t think I’d forget, Mum. Not with Muey around.’

  ‘This might give you something to do while Mummy and I are out,’ said Alex, coming up beside Jodie. He handed a flat, square present to Milly.

  The child looked up at her mother with questioning eyes. Jodie nodded. ‘Go on, you can open it now.’

  Milly didn’t need any more encouragement. She ripped into the parcel like it was Christmas Day all wrapped up in one box. And pulled out a book. A thick cardboard one with press-buttons to make farmyard animal sounds.

  Something Milly would’ve loved when she was three or four.

  ‘Ummm … thanks, Mr McGregor.’

  Jodie had never been so proud of her little girl. It didn’t matter that her daughter, at seven, was reading chapter books suitable for those aged nine. She still remembered her manners.

  Mue walked up to pat Jodie’s shoulder. ‘She’ll be fine. Run along and have yourself a great night.’ Then she turned to Milly and took her hand. ‘We’re going to make patty cakes for the street stall and little missy here is going to be in charge of decorating the icing with hundreds and thousands.’

  Milly’s grin nearly split her face in half and her dimple sunk into her cheek like a buttonhole. ‘Yay!’ she cried. ‘See ya, Mum. Mr McGregor.’

  The little girl thrust her new book at the housekeeper-cum-nanny and ran inside, Mue trailing after, waggling her fingers. ‘Bye now, kiddies. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She winked at Jodie, smiled at Alex and went inside, collecting the half-full sherry glass as she did so.

  Their dinner was delicious. The atmosphere of the hotel turned high-class restaurant was romantic. Alex was attentive, almost to the point of being clingy, like he couldn’t believe he finally had her all to himself. Their dinner conversation was hearty as Alex regaled Jodie with stories of his week. The man had a way of making the most boring event appear exciting. Even in the tender moments of reminiscing about her father, Alex was able to make her laugh with some of the silly things Robert Ashton had done.

  He was adept too at avoiding any subject he didn’t wish to discuss. Like his son. Jodie tried more than once to introduce the topic. She didn’t know anything about him. No one in town had been forthcoming either. They hadn’t seen the bloke in years so he didn’t warrant much attention. Alex dodged her dogged questions at every turn until: ‘Jodie, you can ask me anything you like except anything to do with the boy. I really don’t want to discuss it.’

  And that was the end of that. She was starting to work out that whatever Alex McGregor didn’t want to do, didn’t get done. Ever.

  It was after eleven-thirty when they finally left the hotel, past midnight when Alex drove through the gateway and started the car up McCauley’s Hill towards Jodie’s house. Now she had to face the subject she’d been avoiding all night. Would she let Alex stay the night?

  She still didn’t have the answer when Alex stopped the car, turned off the motor and sat in silence, gazing across at his date with a heavy look in his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow. Cleared his throat. ‘Are you going to invite me in?’

  Jodie took in the intensity of his gaze, his heightened colour and the manly hand that grasped one of her own. It was dry and firm and yet there was a slight quiver. As if, despite all outward appearances, he wasn’t sure exactly where he stood.

  She turned away from his study of her features. Looked up at the Milky Way swimming with sparkling diamante-like stars. What if she decided to forge ahead, to say yes? In her right mind she knew he would probably never love her, not like the love you read about in books or saw in the movies, but she was old enough and wise enough now to realise that that stuff was the product of
a whole lot of very vivid imaginations. Look what had happened with Rhys. So-called love just led you down the paths of pain and anguish, whereas regard, admiration, respect led you to safety and a place that was protected. For both her and Milly.

  ‘Jodie?’

  She turned back to the man. ‘Sure: I thought you’d never ask.’

  The moon shone its silvery beams through Jodie’s window, cracked open enough to allow in slivers of fresh air. She lay and stared up at the disjointed ceiling boards, which were shown up by the ghostly light. Someone had obviously repaired the roof at some stage. She could track the nail marks across the second-hand wood. She started counting the knots in the Baltic: anything to stop her from thinking about what had just happened.

  Beside her, her lover shuffled and grunted. She transferred her attention from the woody knots above her head to the man’s face. Normally, when awake, Alex McGregor’s cornflower-blue eyes shone with life and intensity. His physique was sturdy and ruggedly attractive. But in sleep the man looked his age. He was lying on his side, and the creases and wrinkles of his cheeks lay atop one another until he stirred, turned over and faced the other direction. Jodie couldn’t stifle her sigh. She wished he’d just wake up and leave. Allow her the peace and space to analyse the evening. Her eyes fell on the condom packet fluttering on her bedside table in the very early morning breeze. At least he’d come prepared. Having not had a lover in years she wasn’t on the pill.

  Maybe she could wake him up? Tell him she had a headache and could he go? A bit late for that now, sunshine.

  Making love to Alex wasn’t what she’d expected it to be. Sometimes, in the past, she’d tried to imagine what sex would be like, with him, an older man. Had built an image or vision in her mind that it would be akin to supping on fine vintage wine. Full-flavoured, smooth, melodious, ripe. Fulfilling.

  Sure, the closeness, the feeling of being wanted had been a balm to her soul. It had been so long since she’d been held by a lover and there was nothing to compare it with. Sometimes you just needed a man’s arms around you. However she’d been left feeling frustrated and unsatisfied. Alex had been gentle to start out, and she had been hesitant, not sure of him enough to know exactly what to do, how to play the game of love to ensure enjoyment for both of them. Once she’d set herself to pleasuring him, hoping to get the same in return, things had progressed better. Yet as Alex had climbed the heights of passion towards a climax, he’d become forceful and, without any care as to whether she was ready or not, had plunged on in, done his thing and then rolled off. She’d been left hanging, thinking, ‘So that was it?’ He’d then gone to sleep – he’d just assumed it had been as good for her as it had been for him. And for him she was sure it had been great: Rhys had been an excellent tutor in the arts of pleasuring a man.

  There had been no real emotional connection or feelings of reassurance from such an intimate act. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! Was it because the love session had been filled with awkward moments? His arm here, her leg there, nothing working in perfect concert? Or was it because the whole night felt as if it had almost been forced, play-acted somehow, like ‘this is how you play grown-ups’ from the minute Alex had collected her from McCauley’s Hill to the moments after they’d made love?

  It hadn’t been like that with Rhys. Yeah, and look where that led you, Ashton!

  She flipped and flopped under the covers, trying to find answers while Alex slept soundly. Sleep was a long time coming and Jodie was only able to form one conclusion. With Alex, life wouldn’t be about passion and reaching for the stars like it had been with Rhys.

  A relationship with Alex was about letting your head rule your heart, something she had never been very good at doing.

  But if she wanted security, propriety, continuity and a well-mapped path …

  If she wanted an end to vulnerability, that feeling which overwhelmed a single mother’s life …

  Alex McGregor was her answer.

  Chapter 11

  ‘He doesn’t need a hand any more,’ said Wally, coming out of the phone box. The old bloke had refused to use Nate’s mobile phone, preferring ‘a good old-fashioned ear piece rather than one that’s gunna give me a brain tumour!’

  Whatever.

  So he’d found a normal public phone for Wal in Roma.

  ‘Damn,’ said Nate, getting up from the ground where he’d been squatting. Alex McGregor and Glenevelyn were now marching towards them. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Already got someone. But I’ve got another idea.’

  ‘Hit me with it. Anything’s better than going straight home.’

  Wal cocked his head to the side. ‘It’ll be colder than here.’

  ‘Got to get used to it sometime.’ The chill of both the weather and his father’s attitude, Nate silently acknowledged.

  ‘I know this bloke down in the Snowy Mountains. Dan Caldwell. He runs brumby camps – brings kids who’ve run off the rails in the city to his joint and teams them up with wild brumbies. He might need a hand? Won’t be anything in it but board and keep.’

  Nate stood by the phone booth, considering. He’d heard about blokes like this Dan. It would give them a roof over their heads for a few weeks and something worthwhile to do. Gaining the trust of a wild horse was no mean feat, the same as gaining the trust and respect of a child or adolescent. It was something you had to work hard for. It was a shame his father didn’t realise that. From Nate’s experience, the old man dominated those around him through fear rather than through trust or respect.

  ‘Righto. Give him a ring. I’ll go fuel up the ute. Catch you back here in five.’

  It took them another week to make their way down to Victoria. Wally wanted to stop at Cumnock, near Dubbo, and look up another old mate. They’d been on a fencing crew together years ago, out near Windorah. Of course, that was another drinking session.

  ‘Geez, Wal, how many old mates have you got?’ said Nate on the fifth morning after finally leaving Cumnock. He was nursing the mother of all hangovers. ‘At this rate I won’t have a head or a job.’

  ‘You said you were giving up the sheilas anyway,’ said Wal, with a wicked grin. ‘Get it? Head? Job?’

  Nate, who was also suffering lack of sleep, groaned. ‘Wal. I am never going near another girl again.’

  ‘Famous last words, McGregor.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Wal. ‘You said that before you ended up in bed with Danielle.’

  ‘I fuckin’ well did not. You were the one who said, and I quote,’ Nate held up two fingers like they were inverted commas, ‘“You’re going to wait until you get the right one, settle down and have billy lids until your dick falls off.”’

  ‘Did I?’ said Wal, with mild surprise. ‘Geez, I can be full of wisdom sometimes.’ The old man almost looked proud.

  ‘Well, I’m not getting laid again until she is the right one.’

  ‘And you think I’m convinced of that?’

  ‘You better believe it.’

  Wal gazed at Nate, sucking air through the gaps in his mouth as he considered the man driving. ‘Okay. Give me your wallet.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give me your wallet.’

  Nate could see, for a change, the old bloke was deadly serious. Grumbling, he lifted his arse off the seat, dragged his wallet out of his back pocket and chucked it across the ute. ‘Not much in there if you’re wanting a bet, unless the currency is condoms.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Wal, opening the leather fold and extracting two packaged condoms from the zippered section. He opened both and blew them into balloons, then wound down his window and threw them one after the other into the breeze.

  Nate watched the whole procedure in horror but didn’t stop it. In the rear-view mirror two pale balloons bounced through the air and landed smack bang in the middle of the highway, right on top of a squished road kill. God only knew what the next driver coming along would think. Weather balloons? Fly-blown kidneys?
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br />   He turned back to Wal. ‘You sure all that grog over the past few days didn’t affect more than your liver?’

  ‘I’m in better shape than you.’

  And Nate had to admit, for a man in his late fifties who’d drunk more than his share of rum last night, Wal was looking mighty chipper.

  ‘You said you won’t need them,’ stated Wal matter-of-factly. ‘So I’m getting rid of them so you’re not tempted to dip the wick until you find the right sheila.’

  ‘Right,’ said Nate, deciding then and there he wasn’t mentioning the spare he had in the back of the glove box. The one his father gave him years back ‘in case he felt the need to sow his wild oats’. Ha! The old man was one to talk. The things his father had done that even his wife Elizabeth – especially Elizabeth – didn’t know about. But his son had a fair idea. Nate had heard rumours about his father’s philandering ways when he was away at meetings.

  He decided it was time to get the conversation back on track. Casting another look in the mirror at the disappearing balloons, which by now were thrusting themselves frantically against a fence post, he said, ‘Anyway, you never answered my question. How many mates?’

  The man slouched in the passenger seat smiled. ‘A few.’ He turned to Nate and said, ‘A lesson for you, lad, if you care to listen. You can’t have too many mates. You have people in your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. And me, well …’ The old bloke turned and looked out the window at the scenery streaking by. ‘I don’t have a wife and kids, see, to keep me in one place. So I drift. Me bosses are there for a reason, me workmates – other stockies – for a season and, well, the rest of the people, the ones that I really like, we’re mates for a lifetime.’

  ‘So how come you don’t have anywhere to go?’ asked Nate. A wounded look punched Wal’s face and Nate could have kicked himself. ‘I mean, you know, instead of coming back down south with me. You’ve got to be desperate to want to head to my old man and Glenevelyn.’

  Wal’s features altered instantly from hurt to settled. ‘I want to see the high country. I’ve seen a fair bit of this big country of ours called Australia but I’ve never been up in them mountains.’