by Jennie Jones
‘Should be someone around to help out,’ Imelda said, stepping into the middle of Thompson Street and looking towards town. ‘There y’go. There’s Johno.’
‘I don’t expect anyone to help …’ Adele’s words trailed off when Imelda put two fingers into her mouth and produced a high-pitched, shrill whistle the way a farmer would when he was calling his dogs.
Ali slipped her hand into Adele’s and Adele looked down to reassure her child, only to find Ali had a smile on her face. Adele squeezed her daughter’s hand, feeling a puff of pleasure in her chest as she did every time Ali acknowledged something going on around her.
The man called Johno changed course and started walking down Thompson Street.
‘Need a hand,’ Imelda shouted to him. ‘Any chance you and your brother can spare a half-hour?’
Johno halted and raised a long arm. ‘I’ll go get him. Back in a sec.’
Imelda turned to Adele. ‘Johno’s younger brother is here for a quick visit. They’ll both help us.’
Adele nodded in acknowledgement of the information. ‘And Johno?’
‘Johno owns the pub. He’s also on the Dulili Project Committee. He won’t be opening yet though, so he can spare a half-hour.’ She said it as though it were a given that he’d help out, and since his brother also appeared to be about to do the same thing, Adele stepped back, with Ali still in hand, and turned to look at her new home.
She took a slow breath and let it out in a grateful sigh. Help, and her own house. Two things she’d never had.
***
Fifty minutes later the van was empty and Adele and Ali were moved into their new home. Furniture had been placed in all the right rooms, and boxes and bags were stacked in the small front living room, waiting to be emptied. Adele had spotted a washing machine, and the back garden had one of those round, umbrella-type washing lines. Ali was wandering around that area of garden now, picking her way through grass that came up to her calves and occasionally stopping to collect a stone or a twig, putting her treasures into a biodegradable bag Adele had emptied for her.
‘How’s Tom?’ Johno’s brother, Jason, asked Imelda.
‘Oh, you know.’ Imelda shrugged. ‘He’ll be back sometime this week.’
‘Good,’ Jason said. ‘Tell him I’ll catch him at Johno’s place then. Johno will shout him a beer. Oh, Miss Devereux—pop in for a free beer yourself sometime.
‘Yes,’ Johno said. ‘Don’t hesitate. My brother’s good at giving away free pints.’ He grinned. ‘You’re welcome anytime and I’d be delighted to honour the shout of a free drink. But I’m guessing you might prefer wine.’ Adele followed the men to the front door. She’d learned a lot about the town in the last fifty minutes. These men were big-hearted—and strong—and both had an easily given smile for Adele and for Ali. Neither had said anything about Ali’s lack of verbal responses.
‘Thank you,’ Adele said. ‘Maybe one day.’ She couldn’t see herself going to the pub on her own. Even if she found a child carer.
‘It’s mostly men though,’ Johno said. ‘Or married couples but we have a few single women like yourself.’
A swift worry entered Adele’s mind: were there single mothers in Dulili? Surely there were one or two. And surely her single mother status wouldn’t shock anyone. She’d been accepted as a new resident, after all, and they’d known that she was a Miss and that she had a daughter.
Johno turned to Adele and held out his hand. ‘Welcome to Dulili, Adele. Good to have you here.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Adele said, grateful for the chance to shake his hand and offer her thanks. And relieved of her last worry too—they wouldn’t welcome her if they didn’t like the idea of single mothers. ‘You too, Jason.’
‘No problem,’ Jason said, taking her offered hand. ‘You need help with anything else just pop into the pub and ask. Johno will be around like a shot.’
Johno laughed and slapped his brother playfully on the shoulder. He glanced at Adele, his smile still in place. ‘And if I’m busy, I’ll send Jason. There are a few kids in town,’ he added, as though the thought had just struck him. ‘Most of them around Ali’s age.’
‘I’m afraid Ali might not take to others quickly,’ Adele said. She swallowed an irrational fear that had never been there before. ‘We think she’s experienced something she doesn’t want to talk about.’ By ‘we’, she meant herself. Nobody knew for sure why Ali had stopped talking, because Adele had left Sydney just as the first appointment with a school counsellor had been set up, after months of waiting. But these people who had helped her move into her new home deserved the short explanation, at the least. ‘But we’re getting there.’ She smiled and tried to bury her concerns about gossip. She’d have to face it, and so would Ali. It had been different in Sydney, where they’d got lost in the crowds. But here, in Dulili, everyone appeared to know everyone else’s business.
Both men shrugged off her response. ‘In her own time, then,’ Johno said.
‘No pressure,’ Jason agreed.
‘Thank you.’
The men made their way to the street. ‘See you, Imelda.’
‘So long.’
The men sauntered down the street towards town and the pub.
‘Righto,’ Imelda said to Adele as she stepped outside onto the cracked-concrete path. ‘I’ll let you get on.’
‘Thanks for everything, Imelda.’ Adele held her hand out and the old girl shook it, with a firm grip and a shrug of her bony shoulders.
‘I’ll get my grandson to check the house over for you,’ she said. ‘Meant him to do it before you arrived, but he’s dealing with something else.’
‘There’s no need. I’m sure I’ll cope.’
‘I’ll get him to call over,’ Imelda said, ignoring Adele’s affirmation of self-sufficiency. ‘Should be sometime this week. I imagine you’ll get a few visitors. Evelyn Mitchell—she’ll be over with a basket of goods and a lot of information.’
‘Evelyn is the lady I’ve been dealing with up until now,’ Adele said. ‘All my correspondence has been with her.’
‘Yes, she runs the Dulili Project Committee. Got a small hand in a big bag, but she manages.’
So far, everyone Adele had met in Dulili had shown generosity with their hands and with their welcoming spirit. It might take Adele a while to get used to the support.
‘Just don’t take any notice of Rob Wynther if he comes around,’ Imelda said.
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a pain in the arse, that’s why not. He’s in the historic group, so watch out for him.’
‘Right. Thanks.’ Adele had been given a number of options for a volunteer’s role and she’d chosen to sort through documents and photographs for the historic society, which Imelda obviously knew. The society was hoping to produce a pamphlet, which they’d charge a dollar for. ‘I’ll have to see Cath Foster at the school first. I’m working there two days a week.’ Miss Foster was the primary school teacher and all-round everything else at the school.
‘I know,’ Imelda said. ‘Reckon you won’t be asked to start work for a fortnight though. They’ll give you a chance to settle in first.’ She nodded towards the back of the house, over Adele’s shoulder, where Ali was still playing find-a-pebble-kiss-it-and-keep-it, a game she’d made up for herself and her stuffed animals. ‘Give your little one time to settle too. How old is she?’
‘Eight.’
‘Looks like a six-year-old.’
Adele agreed with a nod of her head but didn’t voice her thoughts on Imelda’s comments. It would take Ali longer than a fortnight to settle, but the entire reason Adele had uprooted them from the city was for Ali. She didn’t care how long it took, so long as her child was protected and given a peaceful, supportive chance to heal.
***
The first task the next morning was to return the hire van to Orange, where Adele had arranged to drop it off. The first problem of the morning had been the discovery that the bus out of Orange
didn’t go as far as Dulili, so they were under foot power.
Adele’s sneakers squeaked on the stubby grass but it was safer walking on the verge than on the road. The sun was high but not giving off too much warmth, thankfully.
‘I’m sorry, Ali,’ she told her daughter, holding her hand to help her keep moving. Full steam ahead for Ali was a slow pace for Adele, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. They’d only walked two kilometres or so and already Ali was flagging. The problem they faced, which almost had Adele in tears, was that this particular area was seriously hilly. It would only be a twenty minute drive at most but it was going to take them hours to walk. A shopkeeper in Carcoar had warned her and he’d offered to call someone in Dulili on her behalf, but she had no one. Imelda didn’t have a car—not that she knew of. This was their first full day, she couldn’t possibly ask for assistance. She was meant to be living under her own steam. ‘We’ll keep stopping for breaks,’ she told Ali. ‘We’ll be fine.’ Pretty soon she’d be carrying Ali. Thank goodness she hadn’t done any more shopping in Orange or she’d have had to leave it on the roadside.
‘Doesn’t the countryside smell lovely?’ she said, trying to distract herself as much as her daughter.
The country air was new to Ali, and Adele had forgotten how crisp and tangy the smell of earth and vegetation was.
She slowed her pace even more, to give Ali a bit of a rest, and a memory of herself at Ali’s age came clearly to her mind. Adele’s father hadn’t held her hand and he’d given minimum attention to how far or how fast she could walk. She’d usually walk-skipped on those occasions she’d found herself at his side. She didn’t chatter to him because it wasn’t allowed. He’d never said ‘Don’t talk to me’, but from an even younger age than Ali, Adele had known she was a nuisance. It was because of her own childhood that she understood the place her daughter was in now. A world of her own, where nothing bad happened unless you were torn from its safety.
The purr of an engine broke her thoughts but she didn’t look over her shoulder. She moved Ali further onto the grassy verge and kept them walking, but came to a stop when a black ute pulled up beside them. She clutched Ali’s hand a little tighter.
The passenger window lowered and the dark-haired driver looped an arm on the steering wheel as he peered out at her. ‘You lose your vehicle?’ he asked in an abrupt tone.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Did you break down?’ he asked, his voice so deep the sound of it almost reverberated in Adele’s chest.
‘No.’ She wasn’t about to tell this man about her predicament—this stranger. Although, there was no real warning bell in her head, and he appeared to be distracted by something other than forcing two females into his vehicle.
‘No,’ she said again, more firmly, cutting off her thoughts. She didn’t want visions of being terrorised by someone to go any further.
He studied her face, one eyebrow kinked in his frown, his dark eyes pondering something. At least he didn’t run his eye over her body. That had happened too frequently in the Sydney office. Some men felt it was their right to gauge a woman’s worth by her appearance rather than her administration skills.
Adele didn’t take her eyes off his but he filled her peripheral vision. A big man. He filled the seat, the cab, and her senses. He had one arm hooked on the backrest of the passenger seat, hand hanging lazily, the other arm still on the steering wheel.
‘Where are you headed?’
Adele started. ‘Dulili.’
He checked her left hand. ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he looked away in some sort of exasperation. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve taken on a farm all by yourself.’ He directed whatever depths his mood had taken back at Adele. ‘The dollar deal.’ It wasn’t a question so Adele didn’t respond. If he lived in the area, which he must, he would know all about the Dulili project to regenerate the town. ‘A farm?’ He asked this time.
Had he been looking for a wedding ring when he’d checked her hand? He wouldn’t find one. Adele shook her head. ‘No.’ She stepped back from the vehicle, suddenly furious with him for no reason she could rightly explain, except that he was rude.
He indicated the back seat of his truck. ‘You’d better get in.’
‘No thank you.’
He leaned across the cab and opened the passenger door. ‘Don’t worry. That’s where I’m headed. You might as well get in. It’ll take you until nightfall to walk to Dulili with these hills. What are you doing out here without a car anyway?’
Adele didn’t move but she mentally estimated the time of the walk ahead. Half a day, easily, at this pace. She could cope, but Ali couldn’t. Still, she hesitated.
His consideration—that was, his frown—deepened, then he took a breath. ‘Evelyn Mitchell, Johno, Imelda …’ he listed. ‘Hell, who else?’ he asked himself with a look away. He swung his gaze to Ali and seemed to brighten for a second. ‘Cath Foster—schoolteacher. Hang on.’ He tilted and fished for something in the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out a mobile phone and flicked through something on the screen. ‘Here you go—Cath’s number, the school.’ He recited the number Adele knew by heart then offered her his mobile. ‘You can call her. She knows me.’
‘There’s no school today. It’s Saturday.’ He hadn’t given her his name, but somehow it looked like he’d simply forgotten to do that while he attempted to reassure her he wasn’t going to drive into the bush with his female passengers and mallet them to death after taking his pleasure. ‘I take it you have no intention of killing us on the way?’ she asked.
‘What would be the point?’ he responded with what looked like a flash of humour in his eyes. ‘You’ve neither of you got enough meat on your bones to make it worthwhile getting my machete out.’
‘There wasn’t a bus from Carcoar,’ she said as explanation, swallowing her smile. Not that she’d decided to take his offer of a lift but, under the circumstances, consideration was high. ‘That’s why we’re walking.’
He nodded, but didn’t appear to be interested in her excuses. ‘Here.’ He thrust his mobile at her. ‘Hold on to it with your finger on triple-zero. The code to unlock it is zero-two-seven-zero. Try it.’
Adele did so, then looked up at him.
‘The kid can sit in the back seat. She’s small enough to fit comfortably, and my gear is strapped in. It won’t fall on her.’ He jabbed his chin at Ali with the merest hint of a smile, as though he’d met someone in the pouring rain and would prefer to get beneath shelter than stand around swapping how-do-you-dos while getting wet.
Adele didn’t bother introducing her daughter, but she had made her decision. ‘Thank you.’ That one word from him, ‘comfortably’, stuck out in his otherwise taciturn manner and reassured her even more than the offer of his phone. And anyway, the man had something on his mind that had nothing to do with the two strays he was picking up. Adele could almost taste the bad mood emanating from him.
She looked for the handle or shift that would flip the front passenger seat.
He leaned across the cab and indicated the side of the seat. ‘Electric. Middle switch.’
Adele felt the heat of her embarrassment on her cheeks and behind her eyes. ‘Thanks.’ So she wasn’t used to modern vehicles. So what?
She settled Ali in the seat, next to a number of metal tool boxes and suitcases piled behind the driver’s seat but all carefully secured, as he’d said. She pulled the seatbelt around Ali’s slender shoulders and clicked it into place. She patted her knee and gave her a reassuring smile. Ali blinked.
Hitting the correct switch to flip the front seat back into place, Adele hauled herself up into the cab. Big truck for a big guy. The leather seat swamped her, but she felt a bit of a thrill as her bottom sank into luxurious quality. It was the kind of seat she could fall asleep in.
He—whoever he was—looked behind her seat. ‘Pull your seat forwards a little to give the kid a bit more leg room.’ He took his focus to the road, slipping the truck into gea
r. ‘Front button,’ he added.
Adele did so, then checked behind her and smiled at Ali, who blinked.
***
Adele couldn’t say conversation on the fifteen-minute journey was sparse because there wasn’t any conversation.
‘You can drop us here,’ she told him as he drove down High Street. ‘We live on Thompson Street.’
‘Jesus,’ he said softly, but not quietly enough for Adele not to have heard.
He turned left into their street and continued to drive. Before Adele had a chance to tell him which house, they’d reached the end of the street. He pulled up at the far corner house—her house—and turned to look at her.
Adele’s eyebrows rose and her mouth opened but she couldn’t find any words. It had been the most enigmatic fifteen minutes of her life. Yet they’d not spoken. It must be the vehicle, she decided, taking her eyes off him. The closeness to a full-bodied, outdoor-working man instead of some of the skinny self-absorbed suits she was used to, plus the luxury elements of aircon and the leather seat.
‘Thank you,’ she said at last, and unclipped her seatbelt. She was aware of him lifting his chin just before she opened the door to get out and presumed that was his way of acknowledging her thanks. She left his mobile on the dash.
She used the correct button to flip the seat and reached inside to unclip Ali’s seatbelt. Her daughter was looking at their chauffeur, her gaze steady. Adele chanced a look at the big man in the driving seat and found him studying Ali with the same keen, yet non-confrontational, intensity.
Adele pulled her daughter from the seat, lowering her to the ground with ease, her slight weight not an issue. ‘Thanks again,’ she said before closing the passenger door and stepping back, Ali’s hand in hers.
He nodded, then turned his attention to driving. He did a U-turn, drove down the street and pulled up outside Imelda Wade’s house. He got out of the cab, beeped the remote to lock his ute and strode to Imelda’s front door, not sparing a glance for the dusty, tired refugees he’d just given a lift to.