Red Dirt Country

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Well, there you go,’ she said, turning away from him and walking back into the kitchen, her sarcasm plain. ‘I get to sit at home all day with your kids, and you waltz in here and tell me how great your day was and you’re taking off for a week. Where’s the fairness in that?’

  Staring at her retreating back, Dave kicked himself for not reading the signs as soon as he got home. He had been on a high and should have handled this news differently. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He’d wear it now.

  ‘Sorry, honey,’ he said, following her into the kitchen. ‘I should have started that all off differently. How was your day?’

  ‘Not that it matters to you, clearly,’ Mel said, a wooden spoon in her hand. ‘But it was shit. Thanks for asking.’ She slammed the spoon down on the bench.

  ‘Where’s Bec?’

  ‘With Mum and Dad. She had another meltdown in the shopping centre and I needed a break.’

  Dave looked at her. ‘What do you mean “another one”?’

  ‘She has tantrums all the time—when you’re not around, Dave. If you’d listened to me, you would have heard me tell you. Bec is very hard to deal with.’ She rounded on him, eyes wild with anger.

  ‘I’ve never seen that. Even in all the time I was on leave, I didn’t see that.’

  ‘No, because she’s good for you. It’s only when you’re not here or I take her out in public that she gets difficult. And now you’re telling me you’re going to be away, as well as going to Queensland for the court case. This is shit, Dave. Just shit.’ She leaned against the bench and sagged a little. ‘This isn’t how I imagined our lives would be once we moved back here.’

  Dave wanted to go to her, but he knew she’d reject his advances. It would be best if he kept his distance for the time being.

  ‘Come on, Mel,’ he said quietly. ‘You know I came back from Barrabine to be with you. This isn’t all about me. You wanted to be close to your parents and so here we are.’

  ‘You keep telling yourself that, Dave, but I know better.’ Mel stood straight up and crossed her arms, staring him in the face. ‘You came back here because you got offered the job with the stock squad. If that hadn’t happened, I’m almost one hundred per cent sure you would’ve stayed in that horrible little town, with Spencer and all your mates. It wouldn’t have mattered if Bec and I were there or not.’

  A jolt of guilt shot through Dave as he wondered if she was right.

  No. No, she wasn’t. He remembered the conversations they’d had while he was still in hospital after the shooting. They’d both said they wanted to be together. It wouldn’t have mattered where that was. Surely home was where the other was: two arms and a heartbeat.

  Maybe not, Dave thought.

  ‘That’s not true, Mel. Or fair. Don’t you remember what we talked about …’

  ‘Who are you chasing up north?’ she challenged. ‘Someone else who is going to shoot you? What if their aim is better this time? You’ll forever be the hero, and Bec and the baby will be without their dad and I’ll be without a husband.’ She sighed and ran her hands through her hair before turning away. ‘Can’t you see how dangerous this job is? What you love could take you away from people who love you.’

  ‘Mel, honey, this is what I do,’ Dave said carefully. ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘Well, I hate the job!’ Her voice rose in frustration. ‘I hate the police force. I wish you’d leave it. Do something that was normal and safe, like … like,’ she threw her hands in the air, ‘I don’t know—an accountant.’

  As inappropriate as it was to laugh, Dave couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of Mel’s suggestion.

  This time he decided it was worth trying to give her a hug. To defuse the situation. He reached out and held out his arms. ‘Come here,’ he said.

  She took a step backwards but he kept coming.

  ‘I know you’re frightened, honey, but I’m not going to let anything happen to me again.’ He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly until he felt her relax against him. Kissing her head, he whispered, ‘It’s going to be okay.’

  ‘How can you even know that?’ she said in a small voice. ‘How can you even know?’

  Mel had gone to pick up Bec from her parents’ place and Dave was sitting on the porch with a beer, listening to the hum of the traffic. He kept going over and over their fight.

  Yes, he knew he could take some of the blame. He should have handled the whole situation differently but, hell, the things Mel had said had shocked him. He could see what she was saying came from a place of fear—well, he hoped that’s all it was—but to actually ask him to leave the job? She knew that’s all he’d ever wanted to do, known right from the moment they’d met. That first night they’d walked on the beach and talked about their dreams. He’d told her he wanted to be a stockie. Nothing else. And that would mean trips away because, funnily enough, stock didn’t get stolen in the city.

  Maybe she hadn’t realised what his job would entail. Had he told her enough about it? Did he need to take some of the blame here?

  He sighed and took another sip of beer, just as the phone started to ring. ‘Burrows,’ he said, grabbing the phone that was sitting beside him.

  ‘How’s it all going? Settled in yet?’ Spencer’s voice was clear down the line.

  ‘God, I’m glad to hear from you,’ Dave said, getting up to grab another beer. ‘It’s been great. Been to the saleyards, met a heap of people. But I’ve had some moments—’

  ‘Oh, yeah, what sort of moments?’ Spencer interrupted as if he knew.

  ‘Mel. Tonight.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Tell me about the good stuff first.’

  ‘Got my first case! Gotta take a trip north. Been some cattle stolen from a station out of Boogarin. Bob and I leave tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Spencer’s voice held meaning. He knew without being told where the ‘moments’ had come from. ‘And how did that go down at home?’

  ‘About as you’d expect.’ He grabbed another can out of the fridge and cracked it open as he stood in the kitchen. ‘Actually, no. It was worse.’ He swallowed half the liquid before he could stop himself.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She asked me to give up the job.’

  The humming down the line seemed extra loud to Dave as he walked back onto the porch and sat down, leaning up against the post.

  ‘Well, that’s new,’ Spencer finally answered. ‘Not unexpected, but new.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Spencer groaned and Dave could hear him scratch at his stubble. ‘Now, I want you to hear me out, Dave. Just listen before you say anything. It seems to me that you’ve got some hard decisions to make. I’ve seen this time and time again, where plenty of coppers have changed their roles to make their wives happy. They’ve gone to the country. They’ve gone back to the city. They’ve changed who they are and who they want to be, because of the wife. Next thing you know, the wife up and leaves anyway. You know why? Because it’s not the job they hate. It’s the fact their husband isn’t who they want him to be.

  ‘And you can fight for this, fight for your marriage, but it doesn’t mean you’ll win. If she’s not prepared to meet you halfway, Dave, well, you can twist and turn and reinvent yourself into all sorts of roles, but you’re only going to make yourself miserable.’

  Dave picked up a stick and started drawing shapes in the dirt as he listened. Spencer was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. He did know coppers who’d changed their lives because of their wives and it hadn’t made an ounce of difference. Their marriages had failed anyway.

  The silence purred between them again, Spencer waiting for Dave now.

  ‘Dave?’

  Dave wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I know,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I know.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it any easier.’

  ‘She’s only saying all of this because she’s frightened I’ll get hurt again.’

  ‘Of cour
se she’d be frightened. You’ve been shot! That type of incident brings everyone’s mortality home. Tell me, has she had any counselling?’

  Dave let out a bark of laughter. ‘No. If you ask her, she’s not the one with the problem.’

  ‘You know as well as I do, that’s a problem in itself.’

  ‘I don’t think today is the day to bring it up with her.’

  Spencer gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Perhaps not. So, tell me a bit more about the job.’

  Dave stopped doodling in the dirt and gave a brief outline of what he knew. ‘We’re going up there to talk to everyone and see what we can find out. Sounds like there is a bit of antagonism between the white station owners and the Aboriginal station owners,’ he finished.

  ‘Piece of advice about dealing with the Aboriginal community. They are peaceful people. When you go and talk with them, make sure you sit down in the dirt with them. If you stand to talk, especially to the Elders, they’ll take that as confrontational. You’ve got to be on the same level as them.’

  ‘Sounds like this Kevin is a bit of a goer. He’s been down here at an ag college—got some type of scholarship, according to Glenn.’

  ‘Then he’ll be different to the Elders, but when you’re talking with the old men, they’ll be sitting around the fire, so you sit too. It’ll make all the difference.’

  ‘Right.’ He heard the car pull up into the driveway. ‘Sounds like everyone’s home. Better go.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone line before Spencer’s grave voice said, ‘Good luck.’

  Chapter 10

  The road north was long and straight. Bob and Dave had got started at first light—after Dave had said goodbye to Melinda, who had turned her back on him again, and Bec, who’d been sleeping, her eyes shut tightly, little hands curled up into fists.

  His heart had hurt when he’d closed the door and walked down the path, but it hadn’t lasted long. The thrill of what lay ahead took over.

  By the time Bob and Dave had hit the highway, the sun was high and they’d passed through small towns and wide-open paddocks of green crops. Dave knew there had been good rainfall in the wheat belt and, being early September, the crops were still tall and green, and swayed in the wind, giving everyone who drove through the area a feeling that the land was a living, breathing body.

  They’d had to navigate their way around the caravan procession—the wildflower season was beginning, and the grey nomads were heading north to take in their fill of pinks, blues and yellows that stretched across the land. The lethargic movement of the big four-wheel drives pulling the rocking caravans gave Dave a headache as he tried to pass not one but three in a row. The caravaners weren’t in any hurry.

  Just before dark, they pulled off the main road and down a small two-wheeled track and found a spot to set up camp. The red soil was sticking to Dave’s boots as he grabbed the tarps from the back of the vehicle and spread them on the ground to minimise the amount of dirt that would get tracked into their bedrolls. He got the swags down from the roof rack and threw them onto the tarps.

  The small clearing, on the edge of a narrow, dry creek bed, was the perfect spot for the night. There were dead trees to provide firewood and the ground was flat—a good thing when sleeping in a swag. He’d slept in places where he’d felt like he was going to slide down a hill!

  ‘Nothing better,’ Bob sighed as he took a can, the fifth for the day, Dave realised, out of the Engel fridge in the back of the four-wheel drive. He walked to the front of the vehicle, leaned against the bullbar and stood watching the sun slip below the horizon, while Dave started gathering up sticks to light a fire. His grandfather had always taught him that you did the jobs of the camp first, before sitting down and enjoying the night. Easier to collect wood and set up in daylight than in the dark. Bob hadn’t got that memo. Or he was just letting Dave the newbie do it all.

  He cracked a few smaller twigs off branches of dead trees and gathered some dried grasses from the clumps of golden feed, then placed them on the ground in front of Bob and put a match to them, watching the orange flames flicker up and catch hold. Walking off, he went a little further afield and grabbed some larger logs and dragged them back to fire. Three trips like that and he thought he had enough to last through the night.

  ‘Just going for a look,’ he called to Bob, who was happily sitting in front of the fire, sipping on his beer.

  ‘Don’t get lost,’ Bob yelled back.

  Dave ignored the comment and followed what looked like a kangaroo track. The narrow path wound through some shrubby trees and tufts of thick golden grasses. Stones littered the ground and large red boulders were strewn across some of the heavily wooded areas. A carpet of vivid wildflowers stretched out as far as he could see, covering the ground in red, with the hum of bees darting from one flower to the next. Dave didn’t know what sort the flowers were, but their vivid green leaves and tall, bright red flower stems nodded at him in the gentle wind.

  Brushing his hand over them, he wondered what Melinda was doing. Probably finishing up dinner and putting Bec to bed. He hoped Bec’d get a bedtime story tonight. One about a brave policeman who was out helping little old ladies across the street and fighting bad people to make Australia safe.

  Somehow he doubted that. More likely to be one about a unicorn or a horse. Mel favoured those, whereas he made up stories about policemen and acted them out, causing Bec to fall about in fits of laughter. Never that good when he was trying to get her to sleep, according to Mel, but Bec loved them.

  ‘Dave!’ Bob’s voice cut through the silence and pulled him back to the present.

  ‘Coming.’ As he turned around to head back to camp, he saw movement to the side of him. Letting his eyes adjust, he realised there was an emu camped under a tree. It was almost the same colour as the trunk. The large bird saw Dave too and was up in a flash, running away. Dave watched it go, then turned and headed back.

  ‘Emu out there,’ he said as he got a beer out from the back of the troopy and went to sit down. He realised the fire needed more wood, so he stopped and threw another log on.

  ‘There’ll be heaps of them. And goannas. Maybe a dog or two. Always see something different when you get up here.’ Bob had got the two chairs out from the back of the vehicle and set them around the fire, and was relaxing in front of the dancing flames with another can.

  ‘This is the life. Sit down, Dave!’ he said, waving his can towards the chair. ‘You’re making the place look untidy fussing around like that.’

  Dave was stoking the fire. Sparks shot up high in the air with a crackle.

  ‘Need to build up some coals so we can cook tea. Then we’re all organised.’

  ‘Plenty of time for all of that. Enjoy the sunset, Dave. Enjoy the fact we’re outside and haven’t got any pressures for the moment.’

  Dave wanted to harrumph at that. He had plenty of pressures. How would Mel feel tonight, not having a phone call from him? He guessed he could find out quickly enough—they had a satellite phone in the troopy—but he didn’t want to ask to use it and there wasn’t any mobile range here.

  ‘Why didn’t you have a beer today at lunch?’ Bob asked. ‘Reckon you might have to loosen up a bit if you’re going to be a stockie. That’s how you make friends up here.’

  Cracking open his first can, Dave looked at him incredulously. ‘I’m not going to have one while I’m driving. Especially driving a cop car. I don’t want to lose the job I’ve always wanted!’

  Bob shrugged. ‘No traffic coppers out here. We’re a million miles from anywhere.’ He looked around. ‘That’s one of the reasons I love being back out here. There’re very few rules.’

  Not answering, Dave poked the fire with his foot and watched as sparks flew again into the ever-dimming night sky. He could see the evening star now and the shades of pinks and purples were becoming deeper as they faded towards black. Bob was right, he thought as he stretched out in his chair, this was the life.

  T
hey were silent, listening to the call of the bush and staring into the fire. Dave wondered if Bob had a family and he asked as much.

  ‘Got a couple of kids. In their late twenties. Don’t see ’em much.’

  ‘What about your wife? She doesn’t mind you being away a lot?’

  ‘Haven’t got anyone waiting for me at home. Best way to be in this job, always on the road, or at least a lot of the time. Doesn’t make for great relationships when you’re sleeping in a swag more than in the marital bed.’

  Dave found himself nodding. He had thought the same thing more than once since Mel’s outburst yesterday. They hadn’t really had time to sort through what she’d said and then he’d had to leave.

  ‘The bush TV could keep us entertained for hours when we were young blokes,’ Bob said as he watched the flames jumping around.

  ‘Yeah, one of the best things about camping,’ Dave agreed. ‘Tell me when you’re ready for me to cook a feed. Reckon we’ll have steak tonight. I’ll get the barbecue out in a minute.’

  ‘I’m probably right for a bit.’ He turned to Dave. ‘Did you hear me when I said you might need to lighten up a bit if you’re going to be a stockie?’

  Dave opened his mouth to disagree, but Bob talked on. ‘Look at this country here. It’s not all about work. It’s about the beauty of being free. And a few beers aren’t going to end the world for you, you know.’

  ‘But it is about work! What happens if we’ve got to go out and track some cattle at night or something and you’re half cut? Don’t reckon I’d keep my job if the commissioner found that out.’

  Bob scratched at his cheeks and sighed. ‘I pity you young blokes. In my day we’d have someone locked up before noon and be on the gas by lunchtime. Often we’d never get home until two in the morning and then we’d front up the next day and do it all again.’