by Lucy Gordon
Bessie was harnessed in the back seat but he heard her whine.
‘Home,’ he told her and the word felt …
Yeah, like the word he wasn’t allowed to feel. He needed to hand Bessie over and get out of here, memories intact.
He pulled up. Bounce tore down from the veranda, Mardie following a trifle more sedately but not much. She was smiling.
What cost that smile?
‘Bessie.’ He let her out and Mardie was on her knees, hugging, and Bounce was going wild, trying to reach his friend. He watched the group hug and felt his heart twist.
‘Bessie.’ It was a quavering voice from the veranda and Bessie froze. Pulled out from the group hug in an instant.
Looked up.
Really looked.
Her eyes worked fine. Her hearing was even better. She knew who was on the veranda and she was gone, flying across the yard, up the steps, reaching the old man in the vast padded hospital chair. Skidding to a stop. Not jumping. Just sitting, hard beside him.
Charlie’s gnarled old hand dropped to her silky head and she quivered from nose to tail. She put a paw up, as if in entreaty. Quivered some more.
‘Up,’ he whispered and she needed no more persuasion. She was up on his blanketed knees, licking his face, her paws on his shoulders, doing what an untrained, out-of-control dog would do when reunited with her beloved owner.
Only this was no untrained dog. Charlie chuckled and submitted to licking, and even hugged back himself, but he was frail and he knew it.
‘Enough,’ he said, and Bessie was off his knee in an instant, sitting beside him, looking adoringly up at him. Charlie was smiling and smiling.
So was Blake.
And Mardie.
And so was her mother, and the nurse who stood silently behind. Groping for tissues all round.
He’d thought he was bringing Bessie back to Mardie. Instead … Here were Charlie and Etta and a nurse with a name tag that said she was Liz, administrator of the Banksia Bay Nursing Home. He was bringing Bessie home to Banksia Bay, to be enveloped once again in this all-embracing town.
‘Welcome home,’ Mardie said as he reached her, to him alone, and she hugged him unself-consciously, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Could he accept that welcome?
He thought suddenly of that night all those years ago, shut in the house, bored, tired, fed up with listening to the grown-up party downstairs. One moment’s breaking of the rules. Let’s go out and swim.
That moment felt like now.
‘You want to see what she can do?’ Charlie asked, his voice cracked with age and pride, and the moment when he could have hugged Mardie back was past. When he could have whirled her round and round in his arms and held her to him and declared he, too, was truly home …
It was a fantasy. A stupid, dangerous longing.
‘Of course,’ he managed and put Mardie aside, and heaven alone knew the effort that cost him.
‘Charlie’s wonderful with dogs,’ Etta said placidly from her chair, looking from Mardie to Blake and back again, and Blake knew she was asking questions in her mind that couldn’t be answered.
‘Charlie’s the best dog-trainer in the district,’ Liz said. ‘Half the dogs in this town have been trained by Charlie, or by guys Charlie’s trained to train, and the younger dogs have reached the stage where they seem almost to have been trained by Charlie’s dogs. Generations of dogs, teaching each other, courtesy of Charlie. His legacy will live for ever.’
Charlie’s wrinkled face worked; he tried not to smile, tried not to look as if he wasn’t moved. But he was.
Even in the past four weeks Charlie had slipped; Blake could see that.
Liz was giving him a gift. An affirmation.
As maybe in his turn Charlie had gifted each of them.
Banksia Bay. His refuge. Blake felt …
Mardie took his hand and squeezed, but it was a message, nothing more.
He couldn’t feel.
The offer from the Flying Dotor … An insidious siren song.
Not as insidious as Mardie.
‘I’ve put some sheep in the home paddock,’ she said. ‘You want to help take Mum and Charlie down to watch these guys strut their stuff?’
To be drawn further into this emotion?
He had no choice. There was no escaping, but did he want to escape?
Yes. He told himself that harshly.
Only not yet. All eyes were on him. He was their audience.
He was Charlie’s affirmation.
So they took the two big hospital chairs across to the gate into the home paddock where Mardie had herded six sheep. They were young ones, yearlings, wild and silly, ready to run any which way.
She’d set pegs up at intervals and a tiny corral in the centre of the paddock, with an entrance about the width of a man. Or a sheep.
‘Walk up,’ Charlie said to Bessie and Bessie’s eyes, the eyes that had been hidden for so long, lit with excitement and pure instinctive pleasure.
‘Stay,’ Mardie told Bounce and Bounce quivered and stayed.
‘In here,’ Charlie said, his voice scarcely a whisper, but Bessie heard. ‘Look back. Get back, take time, come by …’
And in moments the sheep were transformed from a bunch of silly youngsters to a beautifully controlled, collie-trained flock. Bessie moved almost without command, glancing back at Charlie every so often, a tiny glance, watching Charlie’s hand. Watching each and every one of the sheep. Weaving them seamlessly through the pegs, out and back, out and back, and then into the tiny gap and into the makeshift coral.
Done.
As a display of sheer skill, of communication between man and dog, it was breathtaking.
‘That’ll do,’ Charlie said gruffly and Bessie came flying back to his side and sat again, totally attentive, waiting for the next order.
‘He’s … Charlie’s been teaching me,’ Mardie said in a voice that was none too steady. ‘Want to watch?’
So they watched as Bounce gave it his best.
He wasn’t close to as slick as Bessie was. The communication between Bounce and Mardie wasn’t as great. At one stage he saw Bessie half stand, as if aching to help. Charlie’s hand rested on her head.
‘Stay,’ he said softly. ‘Young ‘uns have to learn.’
And Bounce was learning and so was Mardie. The sheep were eventually back in the corral and Mardie’s beam was as wide as a house.
‘How’s that?’
‘They all clapped and laughed and Bounce bounced back to Bessie. Charlie released her, and the dogs did a wide joyous circle of the whole paddock. Not touching. There was no longer need for touch. Bessie had her eyes back. Still they didn’t leave each other. Siamese twins. Touching at the heart.
Mardie’s hand was suddenly in his, and this time there was no pressure. No message. It was simply because … she wanted her hand to be in his.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you from all of us.’
He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to kiss her more than anything else in the world.
Robbie … Don’t go near the pool …
Mardie deserved more than being used as a refuge.
‘I need to go,’ he said and glanced at his watch. ‘I … There’s things to do. I leave for the States on Tuesday.’
‘Of course.’ She tugged back, reminded of reality. ‘You can’t stay for …’
‘No.’ Blunt. Curt. He watched Etta’s face fall.
He didn’t see Mardie’s face fall. He carefully wasn’t looking at Mardie. He’d pulled right away.
‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ she said.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Liz said. ‘You guys play with the dogs for a few more minutes,’ she told Charlie and Etta. ‘Mardie and I’ll push you inside when the kettle boils.’
Liz had thus given them privacy. It meant Mardie could walk him back to the car and they didn’t have an audience,
Mardie sl
ipped her hand back into his as they walked.
He should pull away. He didn’t.
‘I’m sad you’re going back,’ she said softly. ‘You could have made a difference with North Coast Rescue.’
‘I’ll make a difference with what I’m doing.’
‘By sitting in an office?’
‘I’m good at fund-raising.’
‘Yes, but does it give you pleasure?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘No.’ She pulled her hand away.
They reached the car. He should get in and go. Leave. Drive away and never come back.
‘I should never have come,’ he said.
‘I’m glad you did. It’s like … closure.’
‘I’ve always hated that word.’
‘Me, too,’ she whispered and she turned into him. Looked up.
And he didn’t get into the car.
For first there was something he had to do. Something he had no choice in, for every nerve in his body was telling him to do it.
He cupped her chin with his hands, he stooped and he kissed her.
Her lips met his. Merged.
Heat, want, need. It exploded between them, surging at the point of contact and spreading.
It was as if his world had suddenly melted, merged, fused. All centring round this one point.
This woman in his arms.
He held her, gently and then more urgently. She was on tiptoe to meet him and he lifted her, hugging her close. Melting.
Mardie. His Mardie.
Not his Mardie. He’d made his decision.
But to walk away would hurt. Why not savour this last piece of surrender, for surrender it surely was? Surrendering himself to what he wanted most in the world.
This woman in his arms.
This woman he was kissing.
This woman who was kissing him. For the roles were changing, the delineation was blurring.
A man and a woman and a need as primeval as time itself.
History was disappearing. History and pain and even sense. Especially sense.
His defences were crumbling as he held her, as her breasts crushed against his chest, as she merged into him.
Mardie.
He’d met her when he was too young to know what a woman was. She’d become part of him in a slow, insidious process that now seemed inevitable, unalterable. She was like part of him, part of his childhood, part of his teens, but … part of who he was right now.
She knew him as no other woman could know him. She’d exposed parts of him he’d hidden with years of carefully built barriers, because behind the barriers … pain.
Where was the pain now?
Not here. Not with this kiss. Not with this wonder.
It was waiting. He knew that, even as he surrendered to the here and now, to the pure loveliness of this moment. Self-recriminations were right behind him, waiting to take over. But he had this one moment. His kiss intensified, became more urgent, more compelling.
Mardie …
But she was suddenly withdrawing, just a little. He felt her body stiffen. Her hands fought to find purchase between them, and she pushed him away.
It felt as if part of himself was being torn, to let her go.
He had to let her go.
‘This … this is some goodbye kiss,’ she said in a voice that said she was shaken to the core.
‘It is.’ He wanted to reach out and touch her again. Gather her back into his arms.
Surrender …
Stay here. Stay safe. Banksia Bay. Mardie. Its own sweet siren song.
Staying safe couldn’t last. The world was out there.
To retreat … To come home …
It wasn’t his home.
‘Thank you … for being you,’ he said simply. ‘I’ve loved this time.’
‘No, you haven’t. It’s torn you in two.’
‘Maybe it has,’ he said simply. ‘But at least now, when I walk away I know there’s truth between us. Friendship.’
‘Like that will help.’
‘Mardie …’
‘I know,’ she said bleakly. ‘You can’t help it. You need to save the world and somehow you think you can’t do it here. You can’t think that I do it, that my mum did it, that Liz up there does it, that Charlie does it, too, in his way.’ She paused. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.
‘Sorry. You don’t understand and you’ll never understand. Off you go and save the world in your own way, my lovely Blake, and know I’ll always think of you. With love. Because I can’t help myself. But there’ll always be a little part of Banksia Bay that’s home for you, Blake, whether you want it or not. Don’t forget it. Don’t forget us.’
* * *
They were waiting for her. Her mother, Charlie, Liz and the two dogs.
Bessie whimpered as if she realised what she’d lost and Charlie hushed her.
Her mother held out her hand and she took it and then stooped and let Etta hug her. Her mother’s hugs … Once upon a time they’d made things better. Not now.
‘He’s not coming back?’ Liz asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘Sorry, girl,’ Charlie said.
There was a moment’s silence while they all thought of some thing to say.
Then … ‘That dog of yours needs work,’ Charlie said roughly. ‘You want a quick lesson before Liz orders us all in for scones and tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, trying valiantly not to … well, not to stand and wail. A girl had some pride.
‘Well, let’s get on with it,’ Charlie said. ‘Time’s short. We’ve got things to do. Get yourself together, girl, and move on.’
‘You’re tired,’ Liz said.
‘Not too tired for what she loves,’ Charlie retorted. ‘Never too tired for that.’
He drove back to Sydney feeling empty.
So what was new? He’d had this emptiness in his gut for ever.
Not when he was with Mardie. When he was with Mardie she filled his life.
It was a dangerous, insidious sweetness.
Why couldn’t a man just give in?
And do what …?
North Coast Rescue would give him a job in a heartbeat. ‘We fly clinics three days a week,’ Riley had told him. ‘We almost always fly north. It’d be a snap to detour through Banksia Bay—there’s a light airstrip at the back of the town. We could pick you up on the way, drop you off on the way back. Long days, but, mate, they’re so satisfying.’
Three days a week. The rest … Writing? Teaching online? Doing some foundation work?
Helping Mardie train Bounce.
He’d never change the world.
He’d change a little bit.
It wasn’t enough to stop this fierce, desolate drive within him.
How could he let it go?
See a shrink in the States? Come back cured?
No. He’d come back with the guilt in recess. He could never live with Mardie on those terms—she deserved so much more.
Get over it.
He thought of what he’d left behind. Mardie. Etta and Charlie. Bounce and Bessie. Sheep and hens, beach and farm.
It had been a refuge when he was a child. It had been a refuge now as he came to terms with dengue.
A man couldn’t stay in a refuge for ever. He had to face his demons on his own.
He returned to Sydney.
He spent time consulting with two Australian doctors who’d volunteered to spend a year each in Africa.
He packed up the apartment, and put it on the market. It had been stupid to keep it all these years. He was never coming back.
Two more days … The loose ends were being tied.
Monday night. At one in the morning, he was staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come.
A phone call.
‘Blake?’
Mardie. He was upright in an instant, flicking on the light. Her voice …
‘What’s happened?’
&
nbsp; ‘No … no drama,’ she said but he could tell by her voice that she’d been crying. ‘It’s just … Charlie died yesterday. In his sleep. It’s … it’s fine. It was his time. Liz … Liz knew he was slipping. She came out and got Bessie, and Bessie was asleep on his bed when he died. He knew she was there. He knew she was safe, and well and happy.’ She caught her breath. Struggled to go on.
‘It’s just … I wasn’t going to tell you, you don’t need to know, but then I thought … I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d tell you and you can do what you want with it. His funeral’s this afternoon. No one’s expecting you to come. It’s … it’s nothing to do with you but I thought … I thought I’d let you know and let you decide whether it’s anything to do with you or not.’
She shouldn’t have told him.
She sat in the front pew, with her mother in her wheelchair beside her and Bessie at her feet. The Banksia Bay vicar saw nothing wrong and everything right with Charlie’s dog being here, being part of the ceremony.
Charlie’s coffin was loaded with every trophy, every ribbon, he and his dogs had ever won. There were photographs everywhere.
Charlie and dogs. He’d never had children but his dogs lived on.
Mardie was almost totally focused on Charlie, almost totally focused on what the vicar was saying. But a tiny part of her was aware of the door.
This one last chance …
He wasn’t taking it. He wouldn’t come.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart, you have us,’ her mother whispered, taking her hand, and she flushed. Was she so obvious?
‘I don’t need anyone.’
‘Nonsense,’ Etta said sharply. ‘We all need everyone.’
He came. He’d meant to go in. At the last minute he stopped himself. He still felt as if he had no place here.
Going in would be a statement he had no wish to make.
Instead he parked his car on the hill overlooking the church. Watched people go in. Watched people gather outside. Many, many people, most of them attached to … dogs?
The service was being broadcast on loudspeakers so the crowd outside could hear. The day was still and warm, and the sound carried.
He heard people talk of Charlie, with respect and with affection.
He heard Mardie. Had they asked her to speak the eulogy, then? Her voice came over the loudspeaker, true and clear. ‘Charlie’s dog, Bessie, is here. If Bessie has a voice, here’s what she’d like to say about Charlie …’