Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  The woman stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘Melanie Masters, your neighbour on the right. Call me Mel.’ Kim introduced herself. ‘Nice to see a friendly face,’ said Mel. ‘It gets a bit lonely out here.’

  Kim forced a smile. She wasn’t accustomed to making small talk, didn’t want to. What was the point? They wouldn’t be neighbours for long. And these days she shunned company, apart from Daisy. Even Daisy was sometimes too much, urging her to join the committee at Jake’s cricket club, telling her to get out more, to meet people. It wasn’t going to happen. Daisy was her best friend, and even she didn’t understand. How could she? Daisy hadn’t lost her husband, her best friend, her lover. Daisy hadn’t lost her life. Kim shifted her feet uneasily. She wished the rest of the world could move on without her, and leave her alone with her memories.

  Mel didn’t take the hint and showed no sign of going. She seemed content to watch the children play with her dog. ‘That’s a nice puppy,’ Kim said at last, for the awkward silence had lasted too long even for her. ‘I don’t recognise the breed.’

  ‘Snow is a maremma,’ said Mel. ‘A livestock guardian dog. She’s supposed to be living with my coloured flock 24/7, bonding with them. That’s how you train them. But since Geoff moved out . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘Geoff’s my husband – he left me last month. Found somebody else.’ Her tone was almost apologetic. Snow ran to Mel, and put a paw on her leg. ‘Let’s just say, at the moment I need Snow more than the sheep do.’

  Kim smoothed her hair. Had she heard right? Had Mel really confided such a private thing to a stranger? It was beyond belief. Kim had moved after Connor died, and her new neighbours barely knew her name, let alone anything about her personal life. By contrast, Mel seemed to be wearing her pain on the outside of her skin.

  Mel hugged her pup, and Kim felt a twinge of envy. She’d had that same comfort with Scout not too long ago and craved it again. She stroked the silver urn in her pocket, and said, ‘Dogs are good friends.’

  Mel brightened. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ She let Snow run back to Abbey and Jake and circled her toe around a knot in the verandah floor. ‘I was wondering . . .’ Her sentence slid to a halt.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was wondering . . . Would you and your children like to come to my place for dinner? Your little girl might like to see the new lambs.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Kim, ‘but I’ve got a lot to do.’

  ‘I want to,’ said Abbey. ‘I want to see the lambs.’

  Kim tried to ignore her. ‘You see, Melanie . . . Mel . . . I only came here to put Journey’s End on the market. We’re going back to Sydney tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh . . . of course, that’s fine.’ Kim recognised Mel’s determined cheeriness all too well. She was an expert at faking happiness herself. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ She whistled her dog and headed off.

  Abbey gave up pouting and took up pleading, and jumping up and down. ‘Please, Mummy,’ she chanted. ‘Please, please, please, please . . .’

  ‘Ow, mind my toes. Are you aiming for them?’

  ‘Please, please, please . . .’ Her voice grew louder.

  Mel heard and turned around, sensing an ally. ‘I’ve got some orphan joeys that the kids might like to see as well. And a baby wombat.’ She looked as hopeful as Abbey.

  ‘Okay,’ Kim told Abbey. ‘You win.’

  Roses grew in an ornamental garden by the porch steps at She-Oak Springs. How lovely. Kim had a soft spot for roses. She stopped to smell a large bloom with a swirling centre of ruffled scarlet.

  This homestead was quite a contrast to her own rundown farmhouse. Both buildings shared wraparound verandahs. But where Kim’s had a rusty roof with leaky nail-holes, Mel’s was elegant and bullnosed, with wrought-iron lacework in the corners. The house boasted a fresh coat of paint – federation green with glossy cream accents around solid cedar windows. What was left of the paintwork at Journey’s End was flaking away. Kim admired the luxuriant grapevine draping the portico, the broad bird-feeding tables festooned with quarrelsome king parrots, the colourful leadlight surrounding the front door. She-Oak Springs was beautiful, no doubt about it. But the house was surrounded by sheep paddocks, and didn’t have the million-dollar views of Journey’s End. Kim was suddenly looking forward to meeting Ben’s handyman in the morning. How might her old farmhouse scrub up given the same sort of tender loving care? She put her nose to another flower.

  Abbey pulled at Kim’s shorts and gave a delighted squeal. A little wombat had emerged from under the deck and was barrelling for them at startling speed.

  ‘Look out.’ Mel tried to block its path. The baby dodged and barged into Kim’s legs with the force of a mini-bulldozer, knocking her off her feet. She fell sideways into the garden, getting raked by thorns on the way down and grazing her bare knees.

  Mel rushed over with a horrified expression on her face. ‘Mind Geraldine.’

  Geraldine? Who the hell was Geraldine? Kim reached out and took hold of a log to help her up. Something about it didn’t feel right – its bark too soft, almost leathery. Shit, it was moving. Kim screamed as the log rose on three legs and transformed into a two metre goanna. It hissed loudly and whipped her with its snake-like tail, before racing for the house and scaling a verandah post.

  ‘Cool,’ yelled Jake. He ran over and stood beaming up at the indignant reptile.

  Mel helped Kim to her feet. ‘Sorry. Geraldine was hit by a car and lost a leg. She’s become a bit of a pet, and lives in the rose garden.’

  Snow ran to the front door and let herself in by opening the flywire with her teeth. ‘Come on,’ said Mel. ‘Your kids might like to help with the lunchtime feeds.’

  They found themselves in a large laundry, where half-a-dozen hessian potato sacks were strung up along the windowsill like Christmas stockings. Mel put her hand into one of them, and drew out a tiny, barely-furred joey. The look of delight on Abbey’s face was something to see. ‘Can I pat it?’ She stroked the baby’s dove-grey neck and kissed its muzzle. A little pink tongue emerged to lick her nose. She squealed with delight and Kim smiled. She wanted to pat the joey too.

  Before she could say anything, Mel dumped the cute bundle into her arms. ‘Hold her while I warm the milk.’ She hurried off to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Kim stroked the joey’s skin, soft as fine silk. Enchanting. She cuddled it close and let it suck her finger. The pouch it lay in was made from a printed cotton T-shirt, with the neck and armholes neatly double-stitched. The joey wriggled about, first its tail and then its gangly legs jutting out. Kim wrapped the youngster tighter. Mel returned carrying a baby’s bottle, fitted with an odd extended teat. She retrieved the joey from Kim and offered it the milk. Once it was feeding well, she let Abbey have a turn.

  Jake moved closer and closer to the joey, until he could feign indifference no more. ‘Where’s its mother?’

  ‘She was shot,’ said Mel. ‘Local farmers have permits to cull roos. There’s a heap of them round, too many. If shooters find pouch young, they sometimes bring them to me.’

  When the bottle was empty, Mel gently prised it from Abbey’s grasp, washed the joey with a damp sponge, and put it back in its pouch. She took a long look at Jake, as if she was sizing him up. ‘Will you help me feed the next one? He’s a lot bigger and stronger. I could do with a hand.’

  Jake sprang forward with the sort of physical enthusiasm that Kim had forgotten he was capable of. For a moment she barely recognised him. Her son suddenly looked older than twelve. He was at that mysterious ’twixt-and-’tween age – not quite a child but not yet a young man. She wished Connor was there to see it.

  They all pitched in with the feedings. ‘Thanks,’ said Mel when they were done. ‘The kids usually help out, but they’re away at the moment.’

  ‘What kids?’ asked Jake.

  ‘My daughter Nikki is eight.’ Mel ran a sink of hot soapy water and dunked the empty bottles and teats in to soak. ‘And I have a son, Todd. He’s eleven. They
’re with . . . their father for the weekend.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘Such a shame you guys aren’t going to stay on here in Tingo. Our little primary school could really use some new enrolments.’ She dried her hands. ‘Though I guess Jake might be starting high school next year?’

  Jake glared at his mother and thumped from the room. Abbey ran after him, while Mel looked bewildered. ‘You’ve hit on a sore point,’ said Kim. ‘They want him to repeat grade six. Ever since his father died, Jake’s really struggled at school.’ Kim twisted her wedding ring, surprised she’d shared this with a complete stranger. Yet something about Mel’s own candour had made it easy.

  ‘And I had the gall to complain about Geoff leaving,’ said Mel. ‘That’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through.’

  Kim turned swiftly to the window to hide her face. Yes, Mel’s grief was different, very different. But at least she understood about loss – loss of a friend, a lover, a partner for life. ‘I suppose, in the end, we’re both alone,’ she said, managing to look at Mel again. ‘However it happened.’

  Mel’s sad brown eyes grew soft. ‘It will be hard for Jake, staying down. Kids can be cruel.’

  Kim swallowed. This was her fear. Jake had been told that he risked repeating if his behaviour didn’t improve. He’d laughed it off. If anything, the warnings seemed to make him act out more. Jake didn’t do his homework, picked fights with other kids, skipped classes, talked back to teachers. There’d been countless conferences, discipline programs, second chances. Nothing had worked.

  That final dreadful meeting with Kate Cornish at Sturt Street was burned into Kim’s brain. ‘Your son is not emotionally ready for secondary school.’ The principal’s tone was calm and soothing, as though she was speaking to a small child. Kim could hear Jake rampaging around, outside in the corridor. ‘He has difficulty taking instruction. He also lacks social skills and the building blocks needed for the more challenging academic tasks that lie ahead. I recommend that he repeats grade six here at Campbelltown, and that we put in some extra supports to help him achieve success.’

  Kim had felt lost. She couldn’t disagree with the substance of the principal’s remarks. Since Connor died, Jake had regressed. He was emotionally immature. He found friendships increasingly difficult and struggled with schoolwork. But what about the harm repeating the year might do to his already shaky self-esteem? What would Connor say? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t channel him anymore. In the end she’d agreed.

  Jake met the news with an eye roll and a shrug. ‘Whatever.’ But it was a feigned indifference. Kim had known how much he was hurting.

  Abbey came back in and grabbed Kim’s hand. ‘The lambs. Come see the lambs.’

  Kim followed her daughter around the back of the house to a sheltered straw-filled pen. Four lambs were playing king-of-the-castle on bales of hay. A greenhouse stood next to the pen. Kim tried to peer through the opaque shade cloth.

  ‘I grow local plants,’ said Mel. ‘For a bit of a hobby. Geoff thinks it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘Can I take a look?’

  Timber trestle tables laden with neat rows of tube-stock stood on either side of a narrow centre aisle. Overhead trellises supported a poly-pipe watering system. A great degree of care had gone into the set-up and Kim felt a little jealous. This was a version of what she might have had if Connor had lived. Kim brushed the feathery foliage of a batch of seedlings with the back of her hand. ‘Red cedar,’ she said. ‘And are those black booyong?’

  Mel shrugged. ‘No idea. Half the time I don’t know what seeds I’m growing. I just like doing it.’

  Kim’s fingertips wandered lovingly over the young plants. ‘Yes, definitely black booyong. They’re starting to get their adult palm-like foliage. See these seven leaflets with the wavy edges? That’s very distinctive.’

  Mel cocked an eyebrow. ‘How do you know so much?’

  ‘I’m head of horticulture at Campbelltown College,’ said Kim. ‘Run-of-the-mill stuff, I’m afraid. Basic botany, soil science, pests and diseases – that sort of thing.’ She picked up an exquisite little tamarind seedling. ‘But my real interest is in rainforest plants like these.’ She brushed her hair back from her face. Talking about her passion didn’t come naturally. So few people were interested. ‘I’m also good at growing vegetables. I know more about sooty mould and mealy bugs than a person should.’

  ‘Plants are all trial and error for me,’ said Mel.

  ‘Well, you’re doing something right. Your garden’s gorgeous, and these seedlings all look healthy.’

  ‘Really?’ Mel beamed with pride. ‘I’ve got pests that I bet you won’t find in Sydney, though.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Wallabies,’ said Mel. ‘Rabbits. Kangaroos that have been forced from the lowlands by land clearing. Geoff shoots deer up near the national park, and wild goats. We’ve never had goats before. Whenever I plant my trees out, they get nibbled down in no time.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Kim. ‘We don’t get deer in Campbelltown.’

  ‘I tried putting up tree guards, but they didn’t work. Maybe they weren’t tall enough.’ Mel picked up a tube and inspected the seedling. ‘How am I going to protect you?’

  ‘Mum,’ called Abbey. ‘Look at this.’

  They went outside and found Abbey sitting cross-legged in the straw, with a lamb lying either side of her. It was a sweet scene. Kim snapped a pic with her phone, something she hardly ever did these days. It seemed wrong somehow to take family photos, knowing Connor could never be in them again.

  ‘Come on, kids,’ said Kim. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘What about dinner?’ asked Mel.

  ‘No thanks.’ Kim wanted to get away. She-Oak Springs reminded her far too much of her failed dream. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘How about tomorrow? My kids come home in the morning. They’d love to meet Jake and Abbey.’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re heading back to Sydney tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh . . . Well, it’s been great meeting you.’

  ‘You too.’ Kim wasn’t just being polite. She didn’t often feel a connection with anyone these days.

  It took some time to coax the children away from Snow. They set off home along the overgrown track. Kim felt for the silver urn in her pocket, turning it over in her fingers. Abbey slipped her hand into her mother’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘We are getting our own dog, Mum. He just hasn’t arrived yet.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Kim had planned to clean the back verandah when she got home, or maybe clear out the kitchen cupboards, but she didn’t have the heart for it. Picking through the leftovers of her failed future was hardly an enticing prospect. The kids got stuck into building a cubby with scrap timber. Jake seemed to have forgotten all about his iPad. She watched them for a while then wandered back inside. Perhaps packing up the hall bookcase would be easier. She found cardboard boxes in the narrow spare room Connor had built by enclosing a section of verandah.

  The shelves were stocked with an odd assortment of things, mainly collected from the second-hand shop in Wingham, with rainy days in mind. Old Grass Roots and Earth Garden magazines. Picture books. Well-thumbed James Patterson thrillers. She selected one with a tattered cover, inhaling its sweet musty smell. Truth or Die, one of Connor’s favourites. She sighed and willed herself to put it in the box.

  Half-a-dozen rural romances came next. Jillaroo, The Bark Cutters, Mountain Ash . . . She’d always loved getting lost in these outback tales, imagining that she and Connor might live out their own thrilling country love story, right here at Journey’s End.

  And, look, her botany books. Cronin’s Australian Rainforest Plants. A booklet on local field management from Parks and Wildlife. Webb’s Rare and Threatened Flora of the Great Eastern Escarpment. Kim took it off the shelf and flipped through it. The page opened at a full colour plate of a strappy glossy-green plant, perched high on a cliff face. Four nodding flower spikes bore dozens of delicate white blooms with dramatic cr
imson hearts – the lovely ravine orchid. No record existed of this endangered plant at Tingo, but computer modelling predicted it as ‘likely to occur’. Well, if it was here, she’d never find it now.

  Kim gave up on her task, too restless to continue, and took the book into the kitchen. Propping it open on the bench against the cracked splashback tiles, she settled into some serious cleaning.

  Later that evening, after a tea of sausages in bread, Jake and Abbey were yawning and ready for bed. They’d had more exercise in one day here than in a week back in Sydney. She soon followed them, daring her own bedroom this time. She read a book until her eyes were tired, but sleep would not come.

  Kim felt more on her own than usual, lying rigid in the dark. Loneliness was her constant companion. Sometimes it sat in her stomach like undigested food, or crept through her bones. Sometimes it faded to a mere ache, but it never left her entirely, and tonight was as bad as it got. She listened for the wombat to begin work on the foundations, or the scrabble of a possum in the roof. Nothing. She would even have welcomed the strange howling from the forest, any evidence that she wasn’t utterly alone. But all was silent. Not even the rhythmic call of a boobook owl to keep her company.

  She got up, felt her way to the hall cupboard and found Connor’s old Driza-Bone. Wrapped in its musty embrace, she went back to bed and waited for morning. The moon had almost completed its journey across the sky before sleep found her.

  Kim woke from a fitful sleep, having survived another first without Connor. The last time she’d slept in this old brass bed, it had been filled with him – with them. Filled with joy and sex and plans for the future. She craved his warmth, could still feel his breath on her neck, his weight on her body, his lips on her spine.

  Kim set her mind to rewind, searching, snatching at each precious scrap of memory linked to this space: the two of them talking long into the night, sharing a bottle of wine by candlelight, the urgent press of his mouth, the fit of her breast in his hand. Her mind burned with bittersweet recollections. She was running out of first-without-Connor moments. One day they’d be all gone.