Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  Chapter 10

  ‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’ Katrina said, relaxing back in the passenger seat of Jack’s four-wheel-drive.

  They were driving along a gravel road that led to the lake, Jack at the wheel and Nick in the back. Nearby was open land for sheep and cattle grazing. In the distance were hills studded with stunted snow gums. The landscape was very different from the city, but it felt familiar to Katrina.

  ‘It certainly gets to you,’ Jack agreed. He pulled off the road into a turning area and drove down to the lake shore, the vehicle crunching on crushed chips of red clay.

  Nick jumped out as soon as the vehicle came to a halt.

  ‘Look at the drowned trees, Katina!’

  She climbed out and looked to where the boy was pointing, at the edge of the lake. Half-submerged in the glassy water stood the bleached remains of snow gums, their limbs washed silver by the rise and fall of the water. Some still stood, thrusting up from the lake with arms outstretched. Others had fallen and were rotting on the water’s edge, their sides covered in velvety green moss. Higher up on the embankment, fantastic shapes of driftwood tumbled together, jamming the creek gullies, obscuring the shore.

  Katrina approached the water’s edge, still using the cane but barely limping. She picked up a silvered branch of driftwood. It was light, shiny and hard, its swirling shape suggesting the original curving growth of the tree.

  She looked back at Jack and smiled, unable to help herself. ‘How magical!’

  ‘It is,’ he agreed, but a slight frown marred his forehead.

  Her heart contracted and she looked away. Instinctively she wanted to share her pleasure in the place with him, but his half-hearted response was a painful reminder of reality. Just because Jack mightn’t have married Ann-Marie for her money, didn’t mean that he was interested in her. Even if he was, it would be insane to hope for something from him. He had still betrayed her.

  ‘It’s a bit of a hike round to Murray Tom’s,’ Jack said, pulling a fishing rod from the back of the four-wheel-drive. ‘Thought I’d throw a line in on the way, maybe catch a trout for him. Hey, tiger, why don’t you show Katrina where the fish hide?’

  ‘Okay.’ Nick ran up and took her free hand. ‘You have to watch out for snakes, Katina. If you see a brown one with a yellow belly, just stand still, okay?’

  ‘What?’ She looked at him in horror. Was the boy serious? She’d had enough of snakes when her horse bolted. She had no desire to confront another one.

  ‘Are there snakes around here?’ she asked Jack.

  ‘They’re usually more frightened of you than you are of them,’ he said with the hint of a smile.

  She hoped so. But the idea of scaring a snake didn’t thrill her, either. At least she had the cane.

  With Nick walking beside her, she picked her way along the shore. After a while he tired of her slow pace and ran ahead, stopping every now and then when he thought he saw a shadow of a trout at the water’s edge.

  Jack waded through the water, moving at a leisurely pace, throwing out the line and reeling it in. Was that why he’d decided to fish? Because he knew she would have to take her time? If only she could believe he could be that thoughtful.

  He spun the line out high over his head and the lure landed with a plonk, sending concentric waves rippling over the clear surface of the lake. He turned her way. ‘This must be keeping you from your work, Katrina. What is it you do, exactly? Besides being psychic.’

  She examined his expression, but found no sign of mockery.

  ‘I work online, writing reports for a telecommunications consultancy,’ she said, glad to have the conversation on neutral ground.

  ‘How did you get into that?’

  ‘It started out part-time.’ She told him how when she finished studying Arts at university, the temporary job she found while she was waiting for something better turned into a career. ‘I work from home mostly, though there’s an office I can go into, if I want company.’

  ‘Remind me. You weren’t doing that when we…when we met, were you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, burying a sharp twinge of hurt. He didn’t remember. She lifted her head, determined not to let it get to her. Why should he remember? Obviously, what she did for a living hadn’t been what interested him. ‘I was working in a pet shop back then.’

  ‘That’s right!’ He grinned. ‘Your boss. You said he had a face like a bulldog and a temper to match.’

  She nearly stumbled over a piece of driftwood. ‘You remember that?’

  ‘I remember a lot of things.’

  If he remembered such a small detail, after all this time, what else did he remember? Did he remember the things they’d said to each other after they made love, the intimacies they’d shared? But if he did, how could he face her now, having promised so much, and delivered so little?

  A splash sounded from the lake.

  Jack turned and dug his boots into the clay, his rod arcing with the weight of a fish. He spun the reel, pulling the line in. ‘Looks like we’ve caught lunch for Murray Tom.’

  * * *

  The old man’s hut was built of timber slabs and shingles. It sat at the edge of the lake, a couple of rickety chairs perching out front on a narrow veranda. Jutting into the water below was a tiny jetty made of piles of stones. Anchored to a tree stump nearby, a wooden dinghy sat half out of the water, the lake lapping at its mossy side.

  Murray Tom was standing out the front of the shack as they approached. The day was heating up, but Katrina saw he was wearing the same trench coat he’d been wearing the day the photo was taken. He looked dirty and unkempt, his huge beard sticking out. Her breathing quickened. Could this really be the kind man of her vision?

  ‘We brought you some tucker, Murray Tom,’ Jack called out, his fingers hooked into a rainbow trout’s gill.

  ‘That you, Jack?’ The old man broke into a grin. His eyes were scarred, the pupils veiled with a white film, Katrina saw as they drew closer. ‘Who you got with you there? That young Nick?’

  ‘G’day, Murray Tom.’ The boy scampered across to the dinghy. He climbed aboard and took up an oar, poking it into the shallow water at the side. Jack put the fish on a log and crouched by the water to wash his hands.

  ‘I’ve brought a friend from Sydney to meet you,’ he said. ‘Katrina.’

  She stiffened, a hollow feeling in her chest. A friend? Was that how he thought of her?

  ‘Hello, Murray Tom,’ she said.

  The old man turned toward her and reached out nicotine-stained fingers. She shook his hand and he didn’t let go at once. He leaned back, his milky eyes staring, as if examining her. The contact made her shiver.

  Finally he let her hand go.

  ‘Sydney, eh? That’s not your home though, is it, daughter? Where your people from?’

  Her chest tightened. The old man could have no idea the pain his simple statement brought up for her. He was right. Sydney didn’t feel like home. But how could he possibly know that?

  All of a sudden, she felt very still. The sun disappeared behind a cloud, dimming her vision. Her whole body grew electric, every hair charged with energy. Her hearing became acute. The lapping of the lake against the shore intensified. So did the rustle of gum leaves in the breeze. She heard the screech of cockatoos and cawing of crows in the distance.

  Then those sounds faded and she heard other, smaller sounds. The scuttling of a lizard across the rocks, the slither of a snake in the dry grass. Incredibly, she could hear the delicate plonk of a dragonfly as it landed on the water, the soft brush of a honey-eater’s wings.

  Somewhere far in the distance came a cry. Her own voice.

  Jack caught her before she even knew she’d fallen.

  Her eyes blinked open.

  At first, she was unable to recognise where she was. With his strong arms wrapping round her, she could feel Jack’s warm body against her own, hear the solid pounding of his heart, smell the mixture of sweat and aftershave on his skin
. Instead of feeling alarmed, however, she felt a deep sense of safety.

  She struggled against it. It was an illusion, not something to be trusted. It had to be. She was losing control again.

  ‘Katrina?’ His voice reverberated against her chest. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Better look after this woman, Jack,’ came Murray Tom’s gruff voice. ‘She’s a sensitive one all right. Bring her up and give her a cup of tea. Kettle’s already boiled.’

  Jack helped her onto the veranda and disappeared inside. She sat down, the rickety wicker chair creaking beneath her. Within a minute, he had returned with a tin mug.

  ‘This should fix you up,’ he said, handing her the mug.

  She sipped the strong, sweet, milky brew, trying to settle herself. But it was no good. There could be little doubt about it now. It was happening again. First the girl in the photo album. Now this. She had to get away before she lost it altogether, before she fell apart completely.

  Jack stood by the veranda post, looking at her as if afraid she’d faint again. She avoided his gaze, but she could guess what he was thinking. What he thought of her.

  ‘You gonna gut that trout for me, Jack?’ Murray Tom asked, settling into a chair beside her.

  ‘Sure.’ Jack went into the hut and returned with a knife, jumped off the veranda and loped down to the water. Crouching, he gutted the fish, throwing its entrails into the lake. Nearby, Nick ran along the shore, skipping stones across the shallow waves.

  ‘He’s a kind man, Jack is,’ Murray Tom murmured, shifting in the armchair. ‘Like his father. The Fairleys were always a good lot.’

  Katrina felt sick. She knew this was her cue. She was meant to talk to the old man about Nicholas, but she didn’t feel like questioning him. She didn’t feel like anything. All she wanted was to go back home to the safe little world she had created. Working via the internet. Tennis on Mondays, yoga on Thursdays, drinks or a movie with old uni friends on the weekend. Pretty well the same routine she’d established since her mother died. Her small, safe, lonely life.

  ‘It’s a pity about Jack’s wife, Ann-Marie,’ the old man was saying. ‘Dying so young. Brave of him to go through with the wedding, considering.’

  Katrina came to attention. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re a friend of Jack’s. I thought you’d know.’ Old Tom raised bushy eyebrows.

  She swallowed. ‘We met…just before he got married.’

  ‘How much has he told you about Ann-Marie?’

  ‘Not much.’

  The old man’s milky eyes stared into the distance. ‘Maybe you should ask him about it sometime.’

  He sat back in silence. She felt light-headed, as if there were some hidden meaning in his silence which lay beyond her reach.

  ‘Any rate,’ he said gruffly, ‘you didn’t come here to talk about that now, did you?’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. She braced herself to broach the subject. He made it easy for her.

  ‘Mates reckon the cops have a photo of me talking to young Nick at the showground. Guess they want to find out whether I know anything about the boy getting lost.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Would’ve said if I did.’ He poured himself another mug of tea and stirred sugar into his mug. ‘What does young Nick say?’

  ‘Very little,’ she admitted. ‘I get the feeling he knows something he’s not saying, though.’

  He grunted. ‘Maybe if you stop listening for what you want to hear, you’ll start hearing what’s important.’

  Katrina tilted her head, her skin prickling with gooseflesh. This time, she was certain there was a message for her in what he was saying. But she still couldn’t grasp it. Old Tom put the spoon back on the table. Softly, somewhere in her mind, she heard a voice. Be afraid, and you’ll find things to fear. But look with love…

  She clutched at the arms of the chair. It was the voice of her dream.

  ‘Wh-what did you say?’

  ‘Who, me?’ The old man faced her, his milky eyes blank. ‘Not a thing, daughter. Not a thing.’

  But he had communicated something, she was certain. And much more than the words she’d heard in her head. For a moment, she felt as if she was standing on a high mountain top, with the wind blowing, and the sense of the most exquisite love and light pouring through her. That love and light flooded every particle of her body, transforming her. She rested back in her chair, feeling more at peace now than she’d felt in a very long time.

  Jack clambered back onto the veranda. Nick came behind him, carrying the scaled and gutted trout.

  ‘Where do you want it, Murray Tom?’ the boy asked, holding the fish up for inspection as if the blind man could see.

  ‘On the sink, grandson,’ the old man said, reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair. ‘I’ll pan fry it later. Nothing better than a fresh rainbow for dinner, that’s what I say.’

  * * *

  On the way back around the lake to where they’d parked the car, Jack asked, ‘So, what did Tom have to say?’

  Katrina watched Nick running up ahead, jumping over rocks and logs. Murray Tom had said quite a lot, she realised, but not in any conventional way. Not in a way that she could tell Jack about. Already, the effect the old man had on her was beginning to seem unreal.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he had anything to do with Nick wandering off.’

  ‘Good.’

  They stepped over the rocks, the waves lapping at the shore. The sun sat low in the west now, casting long shadows. The air was cooler, a hint of a cold night to come. Another night at Yarrangobilla. With Jack.

  Her heart ached. She wanted to ask him about Ann-Marie, wanted to ask what it was that Murray Tom thought she should know, but she couldn’t. Whatever it was, he’d chosen not to tell her, and she had long ago forfeited the right to question him. Or had she? Perhaps not. What was she afraid she’d hear?

  ‘Jack —’

  ‘Katrina —’

  ‘You first,’ she said.

  ‘What happened back there, when we first got to Murray Tom’s?’ he asked. ‘After you fainted. It looked like you went into some kind of trance.’

  ‘It wasn’t a faint exactly. And it nothing to do with Nick or Murray Tom.’

  ‘What was it about?’

  Katrina breathed deep. For so long, she had struggled to hide her gift from the world, scared people might think she was crazy. But she no longer felt like hiding. Why should she minimise her experience? She had a gift. So what? Maybe, if she accepted herself more, other people would, too. Maybe, instead of fearing it, she could use it for good.

  But the risk of opening up to Jack Fairley, of trusting him with the truth about herself, felt overwhelming. Could she tell him in a way he would understand?

  ‘It was about this place,’ she said at last. ‘A sense of seeing things clearly, minutely.’

  ‘So, nothing to do with your…psychic stuff.’

  She half smiled. ‘Some people think psychic phenomena is just that. Heightened perception.’

  ‘Is that what you believe?’

  ‘I think there’s something to be said for that understanding. Years ago, people thought electricity was magic. Now we have wifi and the internet. I guess until human beings learn how to harness nature’s power, it’s natural to be suspicious or doubt that it exists. Maybe the same thing applies to so-called psychic “powers”? Don’t you think that’s possible?’

  ‘I guess anything’s possible.’

  She listened to the crunch of shale beneath their feet as they walked, and she looked out at the distant mountains. The trees and rocks looked mauve in the shadows. Wallabies and kangaroos bounded down from the hills, coming down to the lake for a drink.

  ‘Out here, you get plenty of time to think,’ Jack said, ‘and there aren’t many people to talk to. Spend long enough in the mountains and you soon realise how little about the world we really know. All you have to do is take a look round. The wilderness. The
snow storms. Even the night sky. All those stars.’

  His words enchanted her.

  ‘I’d like to see those stars,’ she said softly.

  He glanced sideways at her. ‘I could show you them tonight.’

  Her heart beat shallowly in her chest. Of course she wanted him to show her the stars. But she wanted more, so much more. A feeling of exhilaration mixed with terror swept over her. Was it possible she and Jack had a future? But how could she ever forgive him? How could she ever trust him? The question opened up a deep part of her she had been struggling to repress.

  She wanted Jack. She had wanted him since the first time she saw him. Some power she didn’t understand drew her to him, in a far more profound way than mere sexual attraction. And it scared her. Scared her because it meant she had to relinquish control, had to give him the power to hurt her all over again — but trust him not to.

  If only she could believe in him.

  ‘Do you ever get lonely, Jack? Living out here?’ She knew she was stepping closer to the brink, but she couldn’t help it.

  A trout jumped in the water, dropping back with a forlorn splash.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he answered.

  A wild yearning swept over her. Here on the deserted shore, with the afternoon light reflecting off the lake, the ripples from the fish ever-widening, she sensed the depth of his loneliness, and ached to ease it away.

  But how could she fix something in him that was still so wounded in herself? She had been lonely all her life. Though she had never really known how much, until now. Lonely for someone to love. Lonely for someone to accept her for who she was, in all her complexity.

  Jack Fairley wasn’t that someone, was he? How could he be? How could he care for her as she deserved to be cared for? What had really changed?

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d better get Nick back home.’

  * * *

  When they arrived back at the homestead, Jack went straight through to his office, leaving Katrina and Nick to the pasta and fresh salad Mike had prepared for dinner. He’d grab something later. He had to know whether Eriksson’s secretary had been in touch.