Ford waited until she’d disappeared through the door before he said to Kavanagh, ‘What do you reckon?’
She looked around the kitchen again and nodded. ‘Best we’ll get.’
Ford went to the back door. ‘I’ll go get Grace and the bags,’ he said, leaving the door ajar.
Kavanagh did another tour of all the rooms. A bump on the outside wall made her peer out of the living-room window. Reynard was fitting the next storm shutter. She crossed the corridor to the main bedroom. She contemplated the double bed, and wondered whether Ford’s wife would arrive before she needed to make a decision about where she was going to sleep.
She went to the window, checked the security screen and the locks, and heard laughter. Ford was pushing Grace on the swing, his back to Kavanagh, his daughter flying as high as his head, screaming every time he pushed her, her hair streaming out behind her on the down swing. Each time she reached the top of the arc, Ford would step to one side and try to kiss her on the cheek as she hung in the air, his loud smooch followed by her high-pitched cackle, her hair flying out in a halo before she dropped down again.
Kavanagh thought about her own father, trying to retrieve memories of them playing together, but she could remember little. Her father was not that much older than Ford, only a dozen years or so, yet they seemed from different eras. She had always compared the men she knew to her father, the one constant in her life: strong, reliable, protective and stern, but watching Ford she wondered whether she had the wrong idea about the sort of man who made a good father.
FIFTEEN
It was an hour after sunset and Ford was pacing the kitchen barefoot, his feet slapping on the lino. He had two cigarettes going, one in his hand and another that he’d forgotten in the ashtray on the table. He’d found a bottle of vodka in the laundry cupboard among the washing powder and it sat next to the ashtray beside a single shot glass, and every few laps of the kitchen he would stop and stare at it but not dare lift it.
Kavanagh sat at the kitchen table reading a fly-spotted paperback she’d found on the shelf above the toilet. She was still dressed in the singlet and running shorts, her bare legs stretched out in front of her. She seemed unperturbed by Ford’s pacing or the noise of the television in the next room, or by the distant jukebox and hum of voices from the bar. She saw Ford looking at his watch. ‘I’m starting to think somebody picked her up,’ she said. ‘Diane said she saw men watching her. Maybe they caught up with her on the road.’
‘Why are Bronson and Wu still here?’ he said. ‘They should have gone to join up with the others, or headed back to Macau.’
Kavanagh put her book face down on the table. ‘What if someone else found her first?’
Ford sat down heavily on the chair opposite her and stared at the bottle. ‘Roth? You think it’s him? I thought he and Bronson both worked for McCann.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Kavanagh said. ‘Bronson doesn’t seem to like Roth. Maybe Bronson’s working for someone else.’
‘You seem pretty sure Roth is close.’
Kavanagh looked at the vodka bottle, frowned, and got up to see if there was anything else to drink in the fridge. ‘Diane says she knows where the gold is, and it’s somewhere round here. Roth will want to intercept her before she can tell me, and if he can’t find her he’ll move the gold. Either way, he’s going to show up.’ She opened the fridge door, but there was only a single carton of milk, a box of eggs, and a couple of bottles of mineral water. She looked at the cooker, which looked unused, as did the sink, and wondered if Reynard had all his meals in the bar.
Ford had paced another line across the kitchen and stood by the back door. ‘In the bar this afternoon, Bronson said he still had business in Marble Bar.’
‘Maybe he’s after the gold as well,’ Kavanagh said.
Ford walked back to the table and stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray. He saw the second cigarette still burning there, and picked it up. He took a long drag. ‘So what do we do?’ he said.
Kavanagh leaned against the fridge and folded her arms. ‘We’ve got no choice but to hang around here and see what happens. Wait for Bronson to make his next move.’
Ford drank from the shot glass, then picked up the vodka bottle and unscrewed the cap. As the bottle hovered over the glass, he caught her staring at him. ‘You want a drink?’ he asked.
‘All the time I’ve known you, you’ve only offered me shots of vodka or whisky,’ she said. ‘Won’t you ever buy a girl a glass of wine?’
Ford caught the look in her eye and hesitated for a few seconds, then made a decision. He put down the bottle and strode down the corridor towards the bar. He put his head around the door of the living room to check on Grace. She was asleep on the couch with a smile of perfect beauty, the TV flickering in the dark room.
When he opened the front door, the noise from the bar got louder. There was a knot of people sitting in the breezeway smoking, and they watched him as he stepped between the chairs. The bar was full, the jukebox booming, the footy playing on the TV, and a group of men were clustered around the pool table watching the game. Most were dressed in T-shirts, shorts and thongs. A few had their wives with them for dinner, and wore a freshly ironed shirt with a collar. Reynard and Stacey stood side by side behind the bar, talking with Muddy and an old Aboriginal man with white hair and a round belly. Muddy smiled at Ford as he stepped up to the bar.
‘Did you fire up the LandCruiser, bro?’ he said. ‘She sweet or what?’
Ford nodded, tried to return the smile. ‘Purred like a sleeping lion,’ he said. ‘What do I owe you?’
‘Well, the going rate for a puncture is a cold carton of tinnies,’ said Muddy. ‘And I reckon you could give us a hundred for the racing tune-up.’
Ford whistled, his eyebrows raised. Reynard laughed. ‘When you travel in the Pilbara, you need to bring plenty of tyres and lots of money.’
Ford nodded to Reynard. ‘Give him his carton,’ he said, opening his wallet.
‘You owe me for the room, too,’ said Reynard.
Ford started pulling notes from his wallet and placing them on the bar. Reynard kept nodding until the wallet was empty.
Ford sighed. ‘I reckon all that might buy me a shot of that good whisky from the top shelf, and some sort of wine for the lady next door.’
Reynard took down the bottle and splashed whisky into a glass, then drew a bottle of white wine from the coolbox. He looked suspiciously at the label. ‘This is the only wine we got,’ he said. ‘No idea if it’s any good, but haven’t had any complaints. How are you going with that cop?’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Ford, taking the bottle and examining the label.
‘The colder they are, the hotter they get,’ said Reynard. ‘When a cold chick gets hot, man, how she sizzles.’
Muddy joined in. ‘Hey, bro. You know what the difference is between a cop and a sperm?’
Ford picked up the whisky glass and sniffed it, shaking his head.
‘A sperm has a one-in-a-million chance of becoming a human being.’ The three of them watched for Ford’s reaction. He ignored them and drank the whisky. It was better than he expected. They were all smiling at him.
‘Any news?’ he asked.
‘Those two guys cruised past about half an hour ago, driving an old ute,’ said Reynard. ‘We haven’t seen them since.’ He nodded towards the front door. Curtis was sitting in a chair beside the door, his arms folded, cuddling his beer.
‘I’ve got something else for you,’ said Reynard. He reached under the bar and pulled out a T-shirt, holding it up so Ford could read the words ‘Ironclad Hotel’ printed across it. ‘It’s clean,’ said Reynard, ‘which is more than I can say about that shirt you’re wearing.’
He threw it at Ford. ‘Just trying to give you a fighting chance with the blonde,’ said Reynard. ‘And besides, I don’t like you FIFO types coming into my bar in your work clothes.’
Ford raised the wine bottle and the T-shirt in salu
te and turned to go. He gave a small wave to Curtis and returned to the house the way he had come, pulling on the clean shirt before he stepped into the kitchen.
Kavanagh was sitting at the table reading when he came back in. She looked up and when she saw the T-shirt she raised an eyebrow. It was a size too small for him, hugging his long torso so she could see how wiry he was. She wondered how he might look if he ever made any effort with his appearance, but decided she liked him for not knowing how good-looking he was.
Ford put the bottle on the table in front of her and said, ‘You find some glasses for that while I put Grace to bed.’
He went to the living room, turned off the TV, and lifted his daughter off the sofa. She rested her head on his shoulder, her arms creeping around his neck, her legs wrapping round his torso as he carried her across the corridor to the second bedroom and laid her on the iron bed. He pulled the single sheet over her and kissed her forehead, then walked softly out of the room.
He sat down at the table opposite Kavanagh and looked at the two glasses of wine she had poured. Kavanagh cradled hers between her hands, half of it drunk already. ‘How is it?’ he said.
‘Classy,’ she replied.
Ford took a mouthful and swilled it round his mouth. ‘Another few years and this will be ready for pouring down the sink,’ he said. He smiled at her. She smiled back, a glow in her eyes. Ford let the silence fill the space between them. Finally, he asked her, ‘Why did you come here?’
She contemplated the bottom of her glass. ‘You know the answer to that,’ she said. ‘I’m here for the gold.’
‘You’re not going to let me imagine that you might be here to see me?’
She smiled at that. ‘You really don’t see what’s happening right in front of you, do you?’
‘So me and Grace, we’re just a means to an end?’
Her smile dissolved and she took another sip of wine, making him wait, staring at him over the rim of the glass. She licked her lips. ‘I think you should be asking yourself why you came up here.’
‘Because Diane asked me to.’
‘So you’re thinking about her. You think she wants to get back together?’
‘I think that’s probably not what she wants, but it’s a possibility.’
Kavanagh looked at him hard now. ‘Why would you go back to her?’
Ford tried not to avert his eyes. ‘For my daughter’s sake.’
‘Seems a big sacrifice.’
It was Ford’s turn to drink now, a big swill that he let run down his throat. He’d had enough to drink to start to feel relaxed, or at least to fake it. ‘I was doing a ten-hour shift,’ he said. ‘Six days a week, in the world’s biggest hole in the ground. Forty-degree heat, middle of nowhere. Don’t talk about sacrifice. Putting up with the woman I used to love, the mother of my daughter, that sounds like a doddle compared to living up here.’
‘I feel obliged to remind you that she conspired to have you killed.’
Ford smiled, intent on not letting her upset him. ‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘That can have an awful effect on a man. Make him lose faith in himself. Almost gives him a feeling he isn’t wanted.’
She smiled too now. ‘You fought pretty hard to get your daughter back. Now you’re going to give her up again?’
He looked down at his hands. He couldn’t stare at the blank tin wall and he couldn’t look at her for more than a few moments. He spoke down into the glass, watching the vibrations of his voice move the surface of the wine. ‘It’s not until you have children that you understand how to give and expect nothing in return. I’m not giving her up. She’s not a possession. Whatever we can work out, Diane and me, has got to be better for Grace than what she has at the moment.’
‘So this is what you want?’
‘It’s not what I want,’ he said, ‘it’s what Grace wants. She wants her mother. You talk about the law being the one constant in your life. For me now, it’s love. It’s all I’ve got. But it’s not like the law. There’s nothing written down, no right and wrong. Most of the time I’m trying to guess the right thing to do and then I end up doing the wrong thing. I envy you your certainty.’
She emptied her glass and picked up the bottle. ‘You really are a glass-half-empty kind of guy, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘So top me up,’ he said, holding up his glass. She refilled their glasses and he watched the light refracted through the golden liquid dancing across the table. ‘We used to talk about her mother. Grace used to ask me about her every day. We used to go to sleep together wondering where she might be. Me making up lies about how her mum would be thinking about her.’
‘So how do you think this is going to work out? Some perfect picture you’ve got in your head of you back as a family?’
‘Three years ago Grace’s future seemed mapped out for her. We had the house in Shenton Park, both of us working hard, had her name down for a good school, money set aside. Now I see nothing in her future. A blank page. I’m just trying to rewrite something for her.’
‘Wasn’t it you that screwed up the marriage in the first place? You’re not an easy man to love. Are you going to change?’
Ford sighed. ‘I can’t be something I’m not. Grace would see straight through that. I had to let her come to me and take what she wanted. Now I have to let her do the same thing with her mother. I’m not sure I have the right to get between that.’
‘What about you? Are you going to be able to forgive Diane? You reckon you can rekindle the flame?’
‘When you’ve been together twelve years, that’s not the most important thing,’ said Ford.
Kavanagh stood up, stretched her back, walked to the fridge and took out one of the bottles of water and filled her glass. ‘You could live without passion?’ she said, staring at the tiles above the sink. ‘I’m not sure I could do that.’
Ford turned his chair to face her, put his elbows on his knees, nursing the wine glass in his hands. ‘Infatuation is the exciting bit at the beginning,’ he said. ‘Real love is the boring part that comes later. Kids change everything. You want to have children?’
She shrugged. ‘Some day.’
‘Well, until you do, you should enjoy this time when you know all the answers. When you have kids, you’ll find the world isn’t so certain anymore. The world shrinks. You stop caring about yourself, or other people. The world gets smaller until it’s just a small circle about six feet in diameter centred on your kid.’
She sighed. ‘We are all capable of telling ourselves all sorts of lies in order not to face the truth.’
‘I know that better than anyone,’ said Ford. ‘I’m giving up one thing for something else. I learnt that we lose ourselves when we try to deny these changes, when we deny that life involves loss.’
She turned to him and her eyes shone with a determination, a decision made. She took three quick strides across the floor towards him, put her hands on his shoulders and straddled him on the chair. She sat down in his lap and looked directly into his eyes. ‘You really can’t read any kind of signal a woman gives you, can you?’
‘I can read this one,’ said Ford. ‘No ambiguity here.’
That made her smile, relax a little. ‘What I like about you is that you don’t have any moves. No lines.’
‘I don’t understand much about women.’
‘It’s sweet that you say that as if I don’t already know.’
Ford shrugged under her hands. ‘I know guys are supposed to have the patter, but I can’t. The moment I think I know what a woman wants, she wants something different. You’re hard to read, and I made a mistake once already, remember? I figured you were impervious to flattery and humour and flirting.’
She tightened her grip on his shoulders, her fingers digging in. ‘All women want flirting,’ she said. ‘It’s just a matter of the degree of subtlety.’
‘This is subtle?’
She laughed now, having fun. ‘It needed drastic action. If I’d waited for you, it might have bee
n a long weekend. Is this how fast you work?’
Ford put his hands on her waist, feeling the taut muscles under his fingers. ‘I wait to see what the woman does. I try to react to that.’ He slid his arms around her, but stopped when he felt the hard metal of the gun in the back of her waistband. ‘I learnt something today,’ he said. ‘All about the Chinese concept of wu-wei. It’s about letting things happen. I’m a bit like that. Action through inaction.’
‘And do you get a lot of action?’
‘Not so much.’
She leaned forward and kissed him, just the lightest pressure, her eyes closed. He could taste the wine on her lips, recognised the sandalwood and jasmine of her perfume.
She leaned back. ‘I wanted to kiss you the first time you made me laugh.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘The moment never seemed right.’
‘I’m not sure it is now.’
She didn’t answer that, looking past his shoulder at the blank window, then she ruffled his thick hair, plucking at the strands of grey around his temples. ‘I’m curious about your wife,’ she said. ‘I only saw her once, from a way away in that hangar, but I’ve seen the chaos she left behind, especially the mess in your head.’ She tapped him on the forehead with her knuckles, then smiled when he winced. She put her other hand to his head, held it still and kissed him hard, pressing her body into him, crushing her lips against his, opening her mouth now. She kissed him in a way he hadn’t been kissed in five years.
When she released him he sat stunned, his breathing shallow.
‘Even now, you’re not here,’ she said, her eyes misting. ‘You’re not in the moment. You’re thinking about her. You don’t know what you want. Your head’s telling you one thing, but your body’s telling me something different.’ She picked up his glass of wine and finished it in one gulp, grimacing as she swallowed. He looked at the slender nape of her neck, exposed where her hair was cropped short, the bleached white hairs against her pale skin, almost invisible, and he put his face to her and kissed her behind the ear.
‘Do you have a condom?’ she said quietly.
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