‘Make the most of it,’ Dean said, pulling her into a hug.
‘I hope you have a really great time,’ said Lauren.
Skye could tell her mum wasn’t sure whether to hug her or not, so Skye leaned closer, then Lauren grabbed her and held her as tightly as she could.
Tam had been telling Skye that she should keep making an effort with her mum and how relationships needed work and good communication. ‘I’m not saying you’ve caused it all, Skye,’ Tam had said, ‘and I’m not saying your mum has either, but these things never happen without a bit of help from both sides. I should know! It’s great that everything is going so well for you both now, but keep it like that. Be open, talk.’
Now, Skye was pleased that she had. She felt her mum shake against her as if she was crying; when she pulled back, her eyes were damp.
What was she going to think when Skye told her about Todd? Then again, maybe he wasn’t the Todd she hoped he was, and then Skye’s mum would never know.
Skye ducked her head and got onto the small bus. She was the only one whose parents were there to see her off. The other kids had just drifted in like they always did, bags slung over their shoulders. Pastor Connor started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat, waiting for everyone to board. Skye found a seat by herself at the front, wondering if anyone would ask to sit next to her. But the others were all scattered throughout the bus, none of them sitting together. That was pretty strange—the Walk This Way kids all seemed to get along well.
‘Righto!’ called Sasha. ‘That’s everyone, right? We’re just waiting for Todd—he’s putting the eskies in the storage hold. Now, I wanted to let you know that this camp will be a bit different from the others. Todd will be staying in his house when we get there, and Pastor Connor and I will be in charge of you lot during the nights, because Todd has work to do in the house. Understood?’
Everyone was nodding and saying ‘yeah’, so Skye did too. She watched as a couple of the other kids put in their earbuds.
Why do you care whether they’re friendly? You’re on a mission!
When Todd boarded the bus, Skye felt it tilt towards the ground. He wasn’t a large man, but he was tall and beefy. Solid.
‘Can I sit with you?’ he asked Skye.
She glanced around. There were heaps of spare seats. He could sit anywhere. Did he want to talk to her because she seemed familiar? Nah, probably just because she was the newest kid in the group.
‘Yep,’ she said, shifting over.
‘Excited?’ he asked, as the bus pulled out into the traffic.
‘Sort of. Bit scared.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Never done anything like this before, I guess.’
She definitely hadn’t. This was the weirdest thing she’d ever done.
‘What does your family do for holidays?’
‘Um, we go to see my grandparents in Margaret River. One year we drove across the Nullarbor to Adelaide. I dunno, mostly we hang out in Perth and do things there. Movies, zoo, plays. Mum’s always tired from the end of term.’
‘My wife used to teach. She still teach, your mum?’ he asked, and Skye nodded. ‘You’ve got a brother or sister? Both?’
‘A brother. The Gold . . . I mean, his name’s Stu.’
‘Older, younger?’
‘Older.’ Skye turned and looked out of the window. Were these normal counsellor questions, or was Todd weirdly curious? ‘Um, have you got any kids?’
‘No. Unfortunately my wife and I weren’t able to have any.’
Not able to have kids? Shit, that wasn’t something she was expecting to hear. Maybe he really wasn’t the right Todd Atkinson. Disappointment surged through her.
Soon the traffic thinned and they were on the Great Northern Highway. Skye hadn’t been out this way much before.
‘I always find this drive very strange,’ Todd said. ‘So familiar but so different.’
‘What do you mean?’ Skye asked.
‘I lived on the farm for a very long time. Only moved to Perth after my wife got too sick to be nursed at home on the farm. So whenever I come back, it drags up a lot of tough memories. In some ways, I can’t wait to see how the place looks, how the horses are, what the season is doing. In other ways—’ he locked his fingers together until his knuckles went white ‘—I don’t like being there at all.’
He sounded so sad. Skye didn’t know what to say next. ‘So . . . you’ve got a couple of horses? That’s pretty cool.’
Todd nodded. ‘Five of them, actually.’
Skye didn’t say anything, but she felt another butterfly of excitement in her belly.
She decided to try a more serious question, since he seemed very keen to talk. ‘How did your wife die?’ she asked, then instantly felt uncomfortable. ‘I mean, you don’t have to tell me . . .’
‘She had cancer.’
‘Oh.’ Skye looked down at her hands. ‘My mum has just had cancer treatment.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Todd. ‘Though I don’t know why we say that. It never means anything or helps, does it?’
‘No.’
‘How’s your mum?’
Skye shrugged. ‘They say she’s okay at the moment. See, the thing is, I’ve read a lot about melanoma, and it can come back any time.’ She told him all about what she’d learned online.
She noticed that Todd had gone very still as he listened. He’d linked his hands together and was staring at them, like he was concentrating on what she said.
‘They say that melanoma is a difficult cancer to understand,’ he said. ‘But, Skye, any cancer can do just what you’ve said melanoma can. It’s unpredictable and, as much as we try to understand it, cancer still manages to outsmart the cleverest of doctors and scientists.’ He took a breath and seemed about to say more, then stopped. ‘But I’m sure your mum has very good doctors.’
Skye leaned her head against the window, watching the white lines disappear with each wheel turn. She realised there was something she could ask him about his wife. ‘You said your wife was a teacher. Did she ever put the kids she taught above you and her family?’
Todd steepled his fingers and tapped them against his mouth. ‘That’s an interesting question. At times, she certainly got caught up in the lives of her students and was very busy with them. But I never begrudged her that, because sometimes my job overtook our life too. Seeding and harvest are always the busiest times of the year for farmers. And then there’s shearing and lamb marking. Farming is always dependent on the weather so we have to work long hours when it’s good. I hardly saw my wife for two or three days at a time. Sometimes life does get in the way of family, but it evens itself out at other times. Have you felt like your mum is too busy with other kids for you?’
To her embarrassment, even though she’d been getting along okay with her mum and they’d worked so much out, Skye’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t say anything, so she nodded her head.
‘Ah. That’s a nasty feeling. Anything in particular that happened to make you think that, or is it how you’ve felt for a long time?’
‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘I don’t like report time. She’s always busy then. And sometimes she focuses on her students’ dramas more than us.’
Loud country music broke out over the speakers, the kind that only really old people liked, and Todd whooped with happiness.
‘What the hell is that?’ yelled Grant.
‘This, my friend,’ said Todd, ‘is called an education. Welcome to the legendary music of Slim Dusty.’
‘Oh my God, you’re not serious?’ cried Paige. ‘Make it stop.’ She put her hands over her ears, her brow crinkling like she was in pain.
‘Are you sure?’ Todd asked, laughing.
‘Yeah!’ said Paige and a few others.
Todd nodded at Pastor Connor, who stabbed at the audio player. The music changed to something with a doof-doof beat that was so much better.
‘Now my friends, if you don’t behave
, Slim Dusty will be your punishment!’
After that, all the kids started chatting, and Todd and Skye joined in. She realised that the other kids were pretty cool.
Eventually the bus turned into a dirt driveway and trundled down the two-wheel track towards a glimmering silver structure in the distance.
‘What’s that?’ Skye asked Todd, pointing at it.
‘My shearing shed. It’s not used anymore. I used to run eight thousand sheep when I was in my prime.’ He sounded wistful again.
‘Do you miss it?’
‘Oh, yeah. But, you know, I like what I do now. Walk This Way has been a godsend for me. I get to meet great kids like you. Keeps me young.’ He smiled.
Skye found herself smiling back. Even if it turned out he hadn’t been married to her biological grandmother, she was glad she’d met him.
‘Where are we camping?’
‘You’ll set up in the shearing shed. Roll the swags out there. Tents would be too hot . . . and you never know what might be crawling along the ground.’
Had he just said ‘crawling’? ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Snakes and spiders.’
‘Oh shit!’ She shuddered. ‘Are there a lot of them?’
‘I don’t have all their names and numbers,’ he said seriously. ‘They don’t tend to introduce themselves, they just turn up. Quite bad-mannered, really.’
‘That’s not even funny,’ she said.
He just grinned at her and raised an eyebrow.
When the bus pulled up, Skye got off very gingerly, keeping a sharp eye out for any creepy-crawlies. It was hot. The air seemed to shimmer and it was completely silent. No engine noise, no chatter of people on the streets, no horns. Just a long, long silence, broken only by the occasional bird call. She shivered despite the heat. There was a lot of nothingness out here.
Dear Diary,
The baby has gone. I’m glad. I never wanted it. I’m glad that I don’t know what sex it was or who it’s gone to. The way that child came into being means it’s most likely cursed.
The last nine months have been awful. Mummy and Daddy were so angry with me. It took them a long time to understand that this wasn’t my fault. When they did, they wanted to track him down. I didn’t want them to and finally managed to talk them around.
It’s better this way. I gave up the child and no other lives were ruined in the process. The treatment at the hospital was terrible, though. Single mothers are regarded as second-class citizens. We had no rights at all.
I met a girl there, Lizzie. She wanted to keep her baby, but the hospital staff wouldn’t let her. They tricked her into signing adoption papers by saying they were for registering the birth. Lizzie kept saying that she wouldn’t let them take the child, but they sedated her. When she came to, the baby was gone. It should be a public scandal.
The nurses said we couldn’t see the adoptive parents, but some of the girls snuck down to the offices within the hospital and watched through the windows. They would come back and tell stories of well-dressed young couples with expectation on their faces. Happily taking babies who weren’t theirs.
I feel so much older than my sixteen years. I’ve seen a business that preys on young women.
Some of the girls, like me, couldn’t wait to be rid of the child. A time in their lives they never wanted to remember. For others, like Lizzie, I suspect the whole sorry saga will destroy them. By the time Lizzie left the hospital, she wasn’t eating and hadn’t stopped crying for days. I often wonder about her. I wish I’d thought to get her address so that I could at least write to her.
Lizzie asked me once how I could give my baby up so easily. I told her I felt as though I had a foreign being inside of me; one I couldn’t relate to. I didn’t ask for it to be put there; it was through force and terror that it came into being.
The one thing I am certain of is that I will never tell anyone, my family will never tell anyone, and I don’t ever want to see or know of that child again. I hope that wherever it is, the child is well looked after and never learns the circumstances behind its creation.
Now that it’s gone, I can join my family in focusing on our new life in Australia. We do have the house with the backyard. And a puppy, although he’s not really a puppy anymore.
Chapter 31
Todd woke in his old bed, in his old home, and stared at the paint peeling on the ceiling. He could hear the generator going. Pastor Connor would have started it so they could have hot water in the showers. It wouldn’t be long until they’d be eating their breakfast and walking to the pocket of bush on the eastern boundary, where they’d fish for yabbies in the lake.
Skye would be Todd’s priority today. Then, tonight, he would have to start sorting out his wife’s study. If he was going to rent out the house, he had to do it. There was no way around it.
He threw back the covers, got out of bed and went to put the kettle on. Then his eyes caught on the last picture he’d taken of Jacqui, and he fell into a reverie. Only the whistling of the kettle made him tear his gaze away.
Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, glinting off the granite speckles in the benchtop as he put a spoonful of powdered coffee into the cup and added a teaspoon of sugar. A pecking noise caused him to look up, and a fleeting smile crossed his face.
‘I’m coming. Be patient. It was a hard night and I’m a little slow this morning,’ he said to the magpie at the window. ‘I’m glad you’re still here. Keep thinking that one day I’ll come back and you won’t be.’
Todd opened the fridge. When Jacqui was alive, it had always been full of fruit and veggies, and leftover casseroles or quiches. Even though he had just arrived, its almost empty shelves were another reminder that she was gone. As he reached in, he saw only the tub of butter, the litre of milk and the packet of processed ham he had brought with him from Perth. And the mince for the magpie.
He’d never have touched processed meat when Jacqui was alive. She’d always made sure that cold meat from their own animals was tucked away in a Tupperware container. He’d never even tasted the salty rubbish in packets. But these days he only cooked for himself, so making a proper dinner seemed like a waste of effort.
He grabbed half a handful of the meat, picked up his coffee and went through the French doors onto the balcony. Stepping out into the warmth of the early morning, he found the magpie waiting for him on the table. ‘Going to be hot today,’ he said to the old bird as he set his cup on the glass tabletop and held out the mince.
Then he glanced around and sighed. The green of the gum trees gave the illusion of coolness, but he knew better. By nine, the sun would be a fiery ball in the cloudless sky.
Jacqui had been diagnosed with melanoma three years before. By the time it had been found, it was stage four and she’d gone straight into a palliative care program at home. They’d had to act fast and make decisions, big decisions they knew would change everything.
At first she’d been against selling the farm; leasing it had been her preferred option, so after she was gone Todd could go back to something he knew and loved. Todd, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine coming back here without Jacqui. Just the thought of returning to their old life without her made him want to curl up and die. What was left out there for a man on the wrong side of fifty, who perhaps had only another ten years of farming in him? And he didn’t have anyone left to leave the farm to. So they’d compromised and sold most of their fifteen thousand acres, keeping two thousand and the farmhouse on in case he wanted to come home.
In the Perth Hills, they’d found a large house on five acres and the property had enough of a rural atmosphere for them both to feel comfortable. But Jacqui had survived only another six months after they’d bought that place.
Now, he was pleased he’d kept the two thousand acres. The kids from Walk This Way always loved it up here, away from the temptations of their daily lives. It had become their sanctuary.
The magpie warbled and crept closer, craning his
neck to see if there was still meat in Todd’s hand. ‘Being greedy?’ He laughed as he held out another small amount. The magpie looked up at him before plucking the mince from Todd’s fingers, then flew to the edge of the railing. He set down the meat before eating daintily.
‘Is he your pet?’
Skye had come up the path. After their chat on the bus yesterday, she’d sought him out. He smiled at her, and she grinned back.
‘He’s been here for eight years,’ Todd explained. ‘Got a nest just up there in that tree. Brings his babies in every year to meet us, but none have ever stayed as friendly as this guy. My late wife, Jacqui, used to feed him too.’
‘Can I try?’
‘Course.’ He handed her some mince, then showed her how to place it in the palm of her hand and hold it out.
The magpie looked at her warily but hopped closer. Todd watched, smiling, as the bird cocked his head to one side and gave Skye a beady stare, then hopped closer again.
‘Just don’t move,’ Todd murmured.
With a flutter of wings, the magpie half flew and half walked, grabbed the meat and took off into the tree to the sound of Skye’s short, sharp squeal.
‘What?’ Todd asked, bemused.
‘I thought he was going to peck me!’
‘He wants the mince, not your hand.’
Skye laughed. Then her expression turned serious. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘No worries, go right ahead.’
‘You seemed to know a bit about melanoma, when we were talking on the bus. Why’s that?’
Three years, and Todd still had trouble saying it. He stared out over the country. The golden stubble paddocks were the only sign that there had been a crop in them not more than three months ago. Along the fences grew statice wildflowers, mingling with wild oats and brome grass. Jacqui would go along the fences and cut the purple-and-white flowers to put on the table during summer. It was so hot and dry and dusty; she used to say that she ‘needed the colour’. He could almost hear her saying it now.
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