Daisy had been her rock, her anchor. The one person who understood grief was a wild and unpredictable beast that wouldn’t be hurried. But now? Kim’s throat grew tight. She couldn’t take the words back, neither of them could. Her legs went weak. The last connection to her old world was slipping away.
Kim sank into a kitchen chair and buried her head in her hands. What to do? Teaching finished next week and the long, empty summer holidays stretched before her. Perhaps she could take the kids to her parents’ place at Castle Hill. Kim could see it now. Her mother smiling, well-meaning, serving the vegetables for Sunday lunch. ‘Have you been getting out much, Kimmy? I hate to see you moping around on your own the way you do.’ Her taciturn father, carving the roast, roaring at Jake for some minor breach of table manners. Abbey, asking if Grace could visit and bake ginger cakes with Grandma. But Grace wouldn’t come. Not unless she patched up this rift with Daisy. Could she do that? Could she apologise, say she didn’t mean it, ask forgiveness?
Kim got up and marched around the kitchen, filled with a terrible restless energy. The trouble was, she did mean it, most of it anyway. Daisy hadn’t lost her husband. She didn’t understand what that felt like, how paralysing it was. And no matter how hard Daisy protested, no matter how much she wanted to blame Jake, Stuart’s betrayal of his friend was inexcusable. The only thing Kim wanted to take back was the suggestion that Daisy should stay away, and that small concession wouldn’t be enough to repair the friendship. Not nearly enough.
Kim wandered into the family room, Jake too deeply absorbed in his game to notice. She studied his profile, drank in each detail. The morning light gleaming on his curly cap of fair hair. His perfect mouth, so much like Connor’s, pursed now in concentration. His stubborn chin. A wave of love welled up inside her and made it hard to draw breath. Jake. So young, so vulnerable. So many challenges ahead of him. How could she protect her beautiful boy? Her head started to throb. After coping here for two years, she couldn’t cope a day longer.
Kim glanced at the mantelpiece, half-expecting to see the little jar containing Scout’s ashes. But that jar was on another mantelpiece, on a peaceful mountainside, a world away from the smog and noise and misery of Sydney. And the answer came, clear as a clarion bell. Take a year’s leave. Take the kids out of school. Pick up and move to Journey’s End.
CHAPTER 7
Tingo was only an eight minute drive from Journey’s End. According to the sign, it boasted an official population of 330, although someone had clumsily changed the 0 to a 3 with a paintbrush. Whether this was in her family’s honour or not, Kim didn’t know.
She was waiting with Jake and Abbey on a rough-hewn timber bench outside the historic schoolhouse. The entire township of Tingo was historic, every building, all five of them: the general store-cum-post office, school, garage, sports club and memorial hall. Picturesque Cedar Creek wound its way through the centre of town: a perennial water-course that rose in the Comboyne Plateau, eventually meeting the Manning River at Kilawarra, west of Wingham, eighty kilometres downstream.
The schoolhouse had gabled eaves and window boxes spilling pink petunias. It could easily have been the set for a period movie. Very different from the ugly concrete and glass box that was Sturt Street Primary. The children were quiet, a little apprehensive, especially Jake. Kim didn’t press them for conversation. Even at her age there was something sobering about sitting outside a principal’s office.
They’d arrived at Journey’s End three days ago, station wagon piled high with stuff that seemed mainly to belong to the children. Toys, books, clothes, shoes, electronic games, cricket gear, bedding – and of course a mountain of stuffed animals. Bags of Kim’s belongings still languished in the hall back in Sydney. She’d been unable to squash them into the overloaded car. No matter. The estate agent who was renting out their townhouse could send them on. The most important thing was for the kids to have what they needed to feel at home.
The move had gone surprisingly smoothly. Kim had informed Sturt Street that her children would not be at school for the rest of term. She hadn’t expected any protests and didn’t get any. On the contrary, Principal Cornish could barely conceal her delight at seeing the back of Jake. ‘I’ll draw up the transfer papers right away and have them sent through to the new school. I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, Kim. It will be a chance for him to make a fresh start.’
Jake was keen too. Kim hadn’t pulled any punches. He understood Journey’s End didn’t have an internet connection yet, so he’d be cut off from his RuneScape friends. He understood they’d need a landline installed for reliable phone reception, and a satellite dish before the television would work. The fact that Jake didn’t mind was testament to how bad things really had become for him at Sturt Street. But she wasn’t fooled. It would take more than a change of school to solve Jake’s problems.
Abbey had been less enthusiastic. The prospect of losing Grace loomed large, but she was a willing child and obliging by nature. A mention of lambs and joeys was enough to convince her, though they hadn’t paid a visit next door yet. Kim wasn’t quite ready for Mel and her disarming honesty.
If the truth be told, she was finding the move harder than the kids. Tingo had seemed like such a good idea. A place to take stock, catch up on some sleep, reconnect with her children. Jake would have room to run. Little head-in-the-clouds Abbey might become more grounded. And they would experience the old-fashioned freedoms that sheltered city childhoods did not allow.
It was all very well to daydream about going bush, but the reality was confronting. Kim had never shared their Sydney townhouse with Connor. At Journey’s End it was different. He inhabited the walls. Sometimes it seemed that if she spun around quickly enough, she might catch sight of him. She’d tried to prepare herself, to caution her heart against his physical absence. Yet all too often the past and present collided, and she was swallowed anew by grief.
Each day she passed the bookshelves he’d built in the hallway. Each morning she used the kettle they’d found together in the op shop in Wingham. The second-hand sash window he’d fitted in the lounge room still jammed. The doggy-flap he’d fitted in the back door went unused. Every room, every stick of furniture, every corner reminded her of Connor, and she could not hide from what had happened.
Scout’s ashes remained on the mantelpiece. She’d abandoned even the pretence of scattering them in the creek, feeling less ready now than she had been two months ago. It might bring closure, she told herself. Problem was, she didn’t want to close down her old life. She wanted to wedge it open for as long as possible. Kim twisted her wedding ring.
‘Look.’ Jake pointed to the mountains. An eagle wheeled in high ever-widening spirals. It vanished from sight where the blue folds of the ranges met the blue of the sky. Kim closed her eyes. Somewhere a currawong called. The scent of native mint wafted on the breeze, and she felt suddenly lighter. If she was stuck with this endless grief, Tingo was the best place to bear it.
A voice sang out. ‘Come in.’
They filed into the principal’s airy office: colourful artwork, dangling sun-catchers, vases of bright flowers. A full-figured, big-bosomed woman with kind grey eyes rose from behind the desk. Kim liked her at once. ‘I’m Jean O’Neill.’ There was a hint of a Scottish lilt in her voice. ‘You’ve no idea how excited we are for your family to be joining our little school next year.’
‘That’s very kind —’ began Kim.
‘Oh, I’m not being kind, dear. I’m being honest. Tingo is a P six school.’
‘P six?’
‘A school with twenty-five pupils or fewer. When our grade six students move to Wingham High next year, it leaves us perilously short of numbers.’
‘How short?’ asked Kim.
‘The department prefers enrolments not to fall below ten students. And with your children, we’ll reach that magical quota.’
‘Ten students?’ Kim shifted in her seat. She’d never heard of such a thing. Sturt Street had
over four hundred.
Jean sensed her reservation. ‘For new families, Tingo’s low numbers can take some getting used to. But there are many advantages to our unique small-school experience. The beautiful rural setting, for starters. Opportunities to learn and mature in a caring, tolerant, positive environment.’
‘So you have composite grades?’
‘Small multi-age groups allow for more natural learning – teaching by stages, not ages. Students work at their own developmental level, rather than grade expectations. Children get the sort of personal attention that’s impossible with larger classes, and they’re encouraged to know each other as people, rather than, You’re in grade three and I’m in grade five, so I’m not playing with you.’
‘But being so small, do you get enough funding? Do you have enough books and equipment?’
‘Oh yes. If anything, we’re over-resourced. With so few students, each dollar goes a long way. Every child receives an iPad, and has access to their own computer.’
‘How many teachers exactly does Tingo have?’
‘Well, mainly it’s just me,’ said Jean. ‘But the school has plenty of support. A local lady is helping the kids practise for the Christmas concert this morning. She’s a retired music tutor. And we have fully-qualified sports, language and drama teachers who come in on a part-time basis. This school has been the heart and soul of our community for one hundred and thirty years. We do expect parents to be closely involved in our programs, Kim. I assume that won’t be a problem?’
‘No problem at all. But just so you know, we only plan to stay for a year so Jake can repeat grade six without the baggage from his old school. When my teaching leave is over, we’ll go back to Sydney.’
‘Twelve months is a long time.’ Jean raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we’ll change your mind?’
Connor had gone to a small school at Port Macquarie on the north coast. He’d loved it there. It wasn’t as small as this one, of course. Tingo Public School might well be the smallest school in Australia, yet something told her it might also be precisely what her son needed. It felt very good to be wanted for a change.
Jean turned to Jake. ‘Delighted to meet you, young man.’ She gave his hand a hearty shake. ‘I hear you’re a budding spin bowler. That’s lucky for Tingo. The town’s junior side could really use your help.’ Was there the hint of a smile on Jake’s face? ‘Todd and Brent are particularly excited you’ll be in their grade next year. Would you like to meet them once we’re done here?’ Jean’s charm offensive had apparently worked, for Jake’s smile widened into a shy grin.
‘Todd is Melanie Masters’ boy and roughly the same age,’ Jean said to Kim. ‘She’s your neighbour.’
‘We’ve already met.’
‘Splendid. Melanie has a girl too, Nikki, who can’t wait to meet your daughter.’ Jean turned her attention to Abbey. ‘Your mother tells me you love animals. You’ll be a big help next year with our new ducklings then.’
‘Ducklings?’
‘Next year is our Year Of Sustainability. We’re raising a flock of Muscovy ducks to keep snails and weeds down in the orchard and vegie gardens. Every student will have their own duckling to care for.’
‘I love ducklings,’ squealed Abbey. Even Jake looked pleased.
Kim was impressed, and not only with the duck idea. Jean O’Neill had a knack for saying the right thing, and had won both kids over in record time. This was no mean feat, especially in Jake’s case.
‘Time for the tour.’
The school grounds were attractive, lovingly maintained and absurdly large for the few children being catered for. Murals adorned every spare wall: bright images of birds and balls and butterflies. Flowers bloomed along a maze of well-trodden paths, dividing play areas from the vegetable gardens and twin ovals. A life-size batsman with a baggy green hat, ready to swing, was sculpted from an old tree stump.
‘Chickens.’ Abbey ran over to where half-a-dozen red hens were basking in the sun.
‘Come and meet our jack-of-all-trades,’ said Jean. ‘We couldn’t do without him.’
A tall, broad-shouldered man on a stepladder was building what appeared to be a chook house. He swung his head as they approached. Kim drew in a quick breath. Those piercing dark eyes. That scarred cheek. Taj stepped down, screwdriver in hand.
‘We’ve already met,’ said Kim.
‘Lovely.’ Jean beamed at them both, as a bell rang. ‘Lunchtime,’ she said. ‘Taj, show Kim the orchard while I take Abbey and Jake to meet the other children.’ She took Abbey by the hand.
Kim was ready to argue. Jake would not be confident enough to go without her. But, surprisingly, her son followed the principal without a murmur. She breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.
Taj took off his hat. Kim thought back to that first day, when he appeared out of nowhere to fix their car. She’d been cautious of him then, perhaps a little frightened. Even when Taj turned up at the house with Ben she’d had lingering doubts. But seeing him today? Here at this sparkling school, drenched in sunshine, surrounded by adventure playgrounds and flower gardens, and vouched for by the delightful Jean O’Neill? Her earlier misgivings seemed foolish. Still, she hadn’t forgotten how he’d challenged her about selling Journey’s End.
‘My apologies, Mrs. Sullivan. I haven’t started the repairs to your home.’
‘Too busy building chicken coops, I see.’ What was that accent? Would it be prying to ask where he came from? ‘You seem to be everyone’s favourite handyman.’
Taj bowed his head a fraction, acknowledging the compliment. ‘I help Jean out when I can.’ He put down his screwdriver and washed his hands under a tap. ‘You’re moving to Tingo then? This is a fine school. Your children will be happy here.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Would you like to see the orchard?’
‘Please.’
They walked along well-tended rows of mandarins, limes, lychees and assorted nut trees – all thriving on the sunny slope above fern-fringed Cedar Creek.
‘When will you start on my house?’
‘Next week.’
Kim touched a plump low-hanging orange. Taj stopped, picked the fruit and offered it to her solemnly, as if it was something precious. She slipped it in her bag and kept on walking. ‘Could you do more than the quick face lift we talked about last time? I want to make the house structurally sound again.’ He nodded. ‘And work needs doing on the fences and sheds. Are you available? Will you have the time?’
‘I am at your service, Mrs Sullivan, for as long as you need me.’
‘Thank you, Taj . . . and please, call me Kim. Now, let’s go back. I’m dying to find out how my kids are getting on.’
They walked up the hill, where Taj excused himself and returned to work. A noisy group of children burst from the double doors of a classroom and ran to the old-school play equipment: high steel slides and swings and monkey bars. To Kim’s delight, she spotted Jake and Abbey among them.
Jean came over with a self-satisfied smile. ‘The introductions went well, I think.’
Kim was growing more optimistic by the minute. ‘Jake has . . . Since his father died he’s had problems making friends and keeping them. He gets angry sometimes.’
‘I’ve read the report by Kate Cornish sent over from Sturt Street.’
‘Oh.’ That left Kim a little deflated. She’d hoped to put a positive spin on Jake’s story before Jean learned too much of his history.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jean. ‘Jake’s been through a lot; you all have. His behaviour is perfectly understandable.’
‘It is?’ Kim could have hugged her. ‘Yes, yes, of course it is.’ She put a hand on her heart. ‘I think this school is what Jake needs right now.’
‘Don’t forget, it works both ways. Jake and Abbey are also what we need. Tingo Public School might not even have been here next year without them.’
Jake ran over, out of breath, eyes shining. ‘Todd’s in the cricket club. He wants me to
join. He asked me over to his house to practice. He’ll be in my class next year.’
‘That’s wonderful, darling.’ Kim put a hand on Jean’s arm. ‘Thank you.’ It was a heartfelt sentiment. ‘We’ve taken up enough of your time.’ She looked around for Abbey. ‘Where’s your sister?’ Jake pointed to the half-built chook house. Abbey was creeping up on the hens, but each time she got close enough to touch one it trotted out of reach. Taj stepped off the ladder and the birds flocked around him. He gently scooped up a hen, and knelt down so the girl could stroke it.
‘Look at that,’ said Jean. ‘Taj doesn’t have much to say to people, but he certainly has a way with animals.’
‘He’s going to be doing some renovations for me. Ben Steele recommended him.’
‘Couldn’t get a better man. He can turn his hand to anything. Carpentry, plumbing, roofing, fencing – he does the lot. And he’s reliable to boot.’
‘Has he been living in Tingo for very long?’
‘About two years, but I think he’s been in Australia for a lot longer. He built himself a shack out in the bush, lived like a hermit, and started doing odd jobs. It took folks a while to warm to him. I know nothing about his life before he came here, nobody does. As I said before, he doesn’t like to talk. But this town takes people as they find them. I guarantee you won’t find a soul who’ll say a bad word about Taj Khan.’
Kim watched as Taj placed the hen into Abbey’s arms. ‘His accent. What is it? Indian? Pakistani?’
‘Oh no, dear. Taj is from Afghanistan. He’s a refugee from that terrible war.’
Kim felt like she’d been struck. The sunlight faded around her.
Jake frowned. ‘My dad was killed in Afghanistan. I hate those people.’
Jean put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m very sorry about your father. You’ve suffered a terrible loss.’ She paused. ‘But the war isn’t Taj’s fault. I’m sure he wants peace as much as anybody.’
Jake’s eyes flared with anger and he shook Jean’s hand away. ‘You don’t know that. You said yourself you don’t know anything about him.’
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