Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  How lovely she was, even now, with her blue eyes rimmed in red, and her lips ending in a tremulous downward curl. She blew her nose again. A slender nose, somewhat crooked at the tip. It spoiled the symmetry of her face, giving it an irresistible appeal.

  Dusty came pelting over. Kim shoved open the door and got out without a backward glance. Taj watched her go; she was wrapped up in her anger and hurt, and he was powerless to help. Her anguished plea for the dingoes played over and over in his mind. ‘They might be shot, or poisoned. They might starve. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you even care?’

  Of course he cared. The raising of each pup had been a labour of love. He’d fed them through the night, nursed them when they were sick, taught them to howl and even to hunt. He’d considered their welfare before his own, been both mother and father to them. Prepared them as well as he could for the threats they would face: snakes, snares, baits, men with guns. There was another threat too, one that he hadn’t shared with Kim. Taj had found fresh dingo scat by the creek. An exciting find, yet he hoped it belonged to a lone animal, Dusty’s father perhaps. If a wild pack had moved in to Journey’s End, well . . . dingoes were territorial, and the youngsters would come off worst in a fight. But now they were grown, he could not deny them their birthright. He hated that Kim thought him callous.

  But worst of all was her furious, ‘Don’t touch me.’ He’d misread things badly. For the last few weeks the two of them had been working together nearly every day. Planting, clearing, weeding, planning. Arguing about which seedlings were big enough to plant out, and which ones needed re-potting. Laughing at the mischief that Dusty got up to. Marvelling at the sheer size of the task ahead. Two people born worlds apart, brought together by a magnificent shared vision. Striking sparks off one another.

  A long-dormant feeling grew within him, unrecognised at first. A warm physical energy that lit up his body and radiated out. The attraction between them was tangible, and he’d been sure she felt it too. Kim had become his ally, his muse, his creative inspiration. Sometimes he imagined she was already his lover. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, any more than a man in the desert could take his eyes off a distant mirage, although he knew he’d never taste it.

  What did Jean say to the children? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. His confidence had been nothing but wishful thinking.

  A honking horn startled Taj out of his thoughts.

  ‘Get out of the road, mate.’ Ben in his LandCruiser, yelling and waving. Jake glared at Taj through the back window. Why the hell was Ben picking up the kids?

  The horn honked again and Taj moved his car a few metres before stopping. Ben shook his head and squeezed past.

  Taj had never viewed Ben as a rival. He’d seen how Kim was with him – friendly yet aloof, as she was with everyone. Though Ben often visited, there was no connection, why should there be? Kim and Ben had nothing in common. He had no feeling for the forest, no interest in wildlife or wilderness. He was a businessman, with no poetry in his soul.

  Taj watched him in the rear-view mirror, striding towards the house with Jake at his heels. Kim came round the corner, still visibly upset. Shit, he wished he could hear what they were saying. Then . . . Ben had Kim in his arms.

  Taj’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his knuckles showed white. A shudder ran through him as he pulled away and he drove faster than necessary onto the road.

  What a fool he’d been.

  Of course Kim and Ben had something in common – it was staring him in the face. Something vast and all-pervasive, which he could never compete with. They were shaped by the same society, the same culture. They shared a set of assumed values that, as an outsider, he could only guess at. For that’s what he was, and would always be. An outsider. This remote place, with its wild mountains and easy-going people, had lulled him into a false sense of belonging. He was accepted here, but only up to a point. There was a line he could not cross.

  For the rest of the drive, Taj struggled with a sudden and profound homesickness, a longing for the life he’d left behind in Afghanistan. But even as the memories struck home, one after the other, emptying him out, he knew he’d find no comfort there. That world was gone; utterly, tragically changed. There was no going back.

  His throat was tight with disappointment, so tight he found it hard to breathe. He might not have Kim. He might not be the one to help her heal. But he knew one thing for certain. If Ben wanted to be that man, Taj would have his eye on him.

  CHAPTER 27

  Winter came soft-footed, bringing mild blue-sky days, and crystalline views across the range. The forest showed a different face: muted, gentler. Gathering strength for the fertile eruption of spring. Kim had forgotten how much she loved this time of year in Tingo. Clear mornings, cool nights. No more uncomfortable humidity. Leeches and ticks in abeyance, mosquitoes and flies as well.

  Kim and Taj still worked together. Their passion for the job of rewilding remained, and the dingo project was proving to be a success. Since their release a month earlier, the animals remained elusive, but all indications showed they were thriving. And they weren’t just living on rabbits. Taj had shown her several kills: wallabies and a goat. Her fears for the dingoes had so far been unfounded, yet Kim still missed them.

  She also missed her old relationship with Taj. Although physically there, he wasn’t available in the same way as before. He stuck strictly to business. He didn’t stop to point out sleepy koalas or decorated bowers or roosting owls. He didn’t forget himself and indulge her boundless curiosity with snippets about his old life. He found no excuse to touch her.

  She wanted their old rapport back, the close connection and easy banter. This new Taj was tightly controlled, formal, always on his best behaviour. It was what she’d asked for, she knew that, but perversely it was driving her mad. She even missed their arguments.

  ‘Should we go get another tankful?’ she said, spraying the last seedling of the waving field they’d just planted.

  Taj shook his head. ‘They’ve all been well watered.’

  Kim stuck her finger in the soil. ‘I’m not so sure. Winter’s our driest season. It might not rain for a while.’ Taj stopped spreading mulch around the roots of a little cassowary pine and headed for the ute. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Kim.

  ‘To get another tank of water.’

  ‘But you said we didn’t need it.’

  He swung to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘And you said we did.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Taj. Since when do you do what I say?’ She lightly punched his arm in frustration. There it was, that inexplicable frisson of excitement that always happened when they touched. Surely he felt it too. Was that why he stepped back so swiftly? Kim dragged her fingers through her hair. She could hardly blame him.

  She groaned and looked at her watch. ‘Don’t bother. We should get back anyway. It’s almost school pick-up time.’ Taj nodded and wordlessly began collecting tools. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you,’ she said. ‘The dingoes are already making a difference – to the creek flat plantings anyway. The goats are leaving them alone, and even the wallabies are steering clear. Do you think that’s because the pack has found a new den site lower down, closer to the creek?’

  Taj loaded the mattocks onto the ute. ‘Perhaps.’

  Kim tried again. ‘The creek’s much closer to Mel’s boundary. I hope they don’t start bothering her sheep.’ He began gathering up the trays of empty pots that were scattered over the ground. ‘What do you think? Will they go after Mel’s sheep?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘When you released the wolves in Afghanistan, did they ever go after local farmers’ flocks?’

  ‘No.’ He climbed up on the tray, and began securing the tools with jockey straps.

  Argh . . . she hated this! The way he shut down. She hadn’t realised how much their conversations had meant, how special they were. Nobody else could fill that space.

  Ben was witty, endless
ly entertaining, and made her laugh. She felt relaxed and safe with him, happier than she’d been in a long time. But he didn’t intrigue her the way Taj did.

  She could talk to Mel about dogs and orphans and the wildlife corridor. But Mel didn’t possess the breadth of vision or the encyclopaedic knowledge of ecosystems that Taj did. Nobody else understood the true significance of what they were trying to achieve.

  But Kim didn’t just miss shoptalk with Taj. It was so much more than that. She missed discussing politics, art, philosophy – all manner of things. She missed his out-of-the box thinking and questions that came from left field. ‘If you could go back to any moment in history, when would that be?’ he’d ask, as they toiled side by side, ripping the earth into furrows for planting. The conversation that followed would make time fly. Or he’d gaze at the sky and say, ‘I wonder if you see blue the same way I do?’

  Once, when they’d spent all day clearing a waterway choked by lantana, Taj asked her, ‘Is there anything people do that isn’t selfish?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I look at that stream and wonder – did we work so hard to help the stream, or to help ourselves because it makes us happy to bring it back to life?’

  ‘Does it matter why we did it?’ asked Kim. ‘As long as we did it?’

  ‘Maybe it does,’ said Taj. ‘Maybe intention is everything.’

  ‘Seen that way, even love is selfish,’ said Kim. ‘We want to protect our loved ones because they bring us joy. Because we can’t afford to lose them.’

  ‘And what if we can’t protect them?’ he said. ‘What then?’

  Something intensely personal in his tone put a lump in her throat. ‘All we can do is our best,’ she said. ‘Then we have to move on, without guilt. We owe it to them. We owe it ourselves.’

  Taj had pondered her answer for a long time. ‘That is wise advice,’ he’d said at last. ‘Perhaps you should follow it.’

  These conversations remained with her, sometimes keeping her awake until the early hours. Pondering. The stillness of night helped Kim see things more clearly. Slowly, tentatively, she’d been piecing together the broken pieces of her life, making sense of them. And now, without Taj to act as a catalyst, she’d come to a dead end.

  Taj stowed the last rake onto the tray, and put up the gate. ‘Are you ready?’

  No, she wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not to be cut off from that other part of Taj’s life. The part that knew where the lyrebirds danced and the brumbies ran. The part full of richness and meaning that challenged how she saw the world. His stories of Afghanistan, which connected her in some small way to Connor. When would she ever be ready for that?

  CHAPTER 28

  Mel pulled Huey from his hollow log. ‘Lucky last.’

  Kim reached over and stroked the quoll’s soft fur. Huey craned his neck towards her and hissed, his mouth gaping impossibly wide. ‘How old do they have to be before we can release them?’

  ‘At least a year,’ said Mel. ‘Old enough to have a fighting chance against predators. The zoo let seven young quolls go at Devil Falls last year. They were wearing tracking collars. Cats killed five of them within a month.’

  A year. Kim watched as Mel deftly measured and weighed the feisty quoll. She’d grown very fond of her rare charges. It saddened her to think she would not be there to see them released.

  ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with them,’ said Mel, putting Huey back in his log. ‘He’s put on three hundred grams since I last weighed him.’

  ‘They ought to be growing,’ said Kim. ‘You should see the amount they eat. Taj can barely keep them supplied with rabbits.’

  ‘Tell him to come to my place,’ said Mel, as she pulled Minnie from a nest box by her spotty tail. ‘Plenty of rabbits at home. Too many. Or ask Ben to help out. He loves a bit of spotlighting. Dropped off a goat for my dogs last week. Said he’s shot a few on his place in the last fortnight.’ She weighed the quoll, released it, and wrote down the results in a notebook. ‘Was he ever cranky about it too. He said . . . No, I shouldn’t say.’

  ‘You can’t start to say something and then change your mind,’ said Kim. All she had to do was wait. Mel couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.

  ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Kim. ‘You have to tell me now.’

  ‘He said the goats got through from your place.’

  So that’s why the new plantings were doing so well. The goats had cleared off next door. This was wonderful. The first tangible proof that the presence of dingoes was fundamentally changing the behaviour of their prey.

  ‘I don’t know why you look so happy about it,’ Mel said. ‘Feral goats are a bloody nuisance. They’ll play havoc with your seedlings.’

  ‘I have a feeling the goats won’t be a problem here any longer.’

  ‘Don’t know how you figure that,’ said Mel, as she began packing the set of scales away in its box. ‘Not unless you get somebody to clear them out for you.’

  Kim was bursting to explain that she’d done just that. That she had her own roving squad of native guardians that were targeting the ferals, keeping the kangaroo and wallaby populations down, giving the rainforest a chance. But Taj was dead against telling anybody yet. Next time she saw him she’d ask if they could bring Mel in on it.

  ‘By the way,’ said Mel. ‘Ben reckons he spotted a dingo down on the road. Next week I’m laying some baits along my boundaries, so you’d better keep Dusty locked up.’

  ‘You can’t,’ said Kim, with a shiver.

  ‘Why not? Sultan can’t be everywhere at once. I’ve got enough trouble with foxes already, without dingoes as well.’

  What should she say? How could she convince Mel to change her mind without revealing the secret? ‘Isn’t baiting cruel?’

  ‘Not as cruel as having my sheep ripped apart by wild dogs.’

  ‘Has that happened before?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Mel. ‘But Parks and Wildlife used to run wild dog eradication programs. That was before dingoes in Tarringtops were protected. Now the programs only happen if landholders report stock losses.’

  ‘Why don’t you wait?’ said Kim. ‘See what happens?’

  ‘What, wait until I lose sheep? That’s ridiculous!’

  Kim stepped back. She’d hit a sore point. It was the first time she’d seen mild-mannered Mel angry with anybody except Geoff.

  ‘Journey’s End is just a hobby for you, Kim, but I’m not playing at being a farmer. I took a real financial hit when Geoff left. The bank only let me hold onto She-Oak Springs because there’s a niche market for premium fleeces from craft groups and hand-spinners – the coloured ones especially. My flock is the result of years of careful breeding. They’re my livelihood. I can’t afford to lose a single sheep.’

  Kim frowned. She’d been too caught up in her own plans to give much thought to how her friend was travelling, financially or otherwise. Despite her grand garden and homestead, Mel was the definition of asset-rich, cash-poor.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve been selfish.’ Kim reached out to grasp Mel’s hands. ‘But this is important. Please, please don’t lay down bait. If you lose any stock, I’ll compensate you, I guarantee it.’

  Mel looked confused. ‘Just tell me what’s going on. I thought we were friends.’

  Kim let go of Mel’s hands, sighed. Knew what she had to do and knew that Taj wouldn’t like it.

  ‘Kim?’ Mel put a warm hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She pulled herself together. ‘Have we finished with the quolls? Come to the house then. You might need a coffee after I tell you – or something stronger.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ said Mel. ‘You and Taj have released an entire pack of dingoes, right here, at Journey’s End.’

  ‘Just six animals, but . . . yes.’ Kim poured them both coffees and sat down opposite Mel at the kitchen table, ran her fingers over the rough wood.

  ‘Why would you do t
hat?’

  ‘To protect the regeneration sites. To get rid of the ferals and reduce the number of roos and wallabies. To restore balance to the ecosystem.’

  Mel stood up and moved away from the table to the window. ‘What about my sheep? Didn’t you think about how this would affect me?’

  ‘Of course we did,’ said Kim. ‘Taj laced lamb carcasses with a chemical that made the dingoes sick, to put them off killing sheep. He raised them on goats and deer, rabbits and roadkill. He released them into an area filled with plenty of game.’ She stood up too. ‘It’s counterintuitive, I know, but Taj says the dingoes will actually help you. Your sheep will have less competition for grass. Taj says the reason you’re overrun by foxes in the first place is because the dingoes were wiped out.’

  ‘So dingoes kill foxes?’

  ‘That’s right, and cats too. Taj says even their scent and scat are deterrents for feral predators. Journey’s End will be a much safer place to release the quolls.’

  ‘Taj says this, Taj says that.’ Mel tapped a fretful finger on the windowsill. ‘How much does Taj actually know about how things work in Australia?’

  ‘He’s very well qualified – lots of field experience.’

  ‘In Afghanistan? I’ve seen the news reports. The only animals over there are overworked donkeys and half-starved, mangy dogs.’

  ‘That’s what I thought too,’ said Kim. ‘But we’re wrong. The north-east of the country, where Taj comes from, has big forests. Taj worked with wolves. He says dingoes are our version of wolves.’

  ‘That’s comforting.’ Mel looked less convinced that ever. ‘Sorry, Kim, but I can’t get my head around this.’ She sat down again, drained her coffee. ‘I won’t bait your precious dingoes, but don’t expect me to be happy about them either. At the end of the day, I’m a farmer. I have to report stock losses directly to the Rural Lands Protection Board, whether you compensate me or not. It’s the law. After that, it won’t be up to me what happens.’

  ‘The dingoes will improve things for everybody,’ said Kim. ‘Just give me a chance to prove it.’