The magnificence of the mountain forest on the drive home from the game felt all the sweeter after the team’s victory. Only three points in it, wobbly without Clancy and against a mediocre team in the Tigers, but a win was a win. Trev had given her a full-on bear hug when the siren sounded. She’d mentioned him in her post-game speech: ‘And to Trev Rodham, genius-of-the-week award. Wonder why our strategy worked up the corridor at the back end of each quarter? Thank Trev, who drove all the way to watch the Tigers and record their game last week. Bloody legend, Trev.’ Everyone had cheered, and Trev, standing there in his camel-coloured duffel coat, looked as chuffed as if he’d just invented the paperclip.
The players had been exuberant. The tiny seed of hope they’d held in their chests had sprouted leaves. At the end of the game, the sheds were crammed with people as they’d belted out the team song. Mrs Lemmon had held Clem’s hand the whole way through, chirping away in her quavering little soprano.
The win had propelled the Cats to third on the ladder with still one more week of the home-and-away season before the finals—time enough to get Clancy back.
A wombat trundled across the road up ahead, not even bothering to speed up in the headlights. She slowed as its round bottom disappeared into the undergrowth, then planted her foot down hard on the last of the straight stretches before the climb up Katinga Hill. A rabbit dashed out from the right, leaping into the headlights. She gasped but held the wheel firm, kept driving straight. They said swerving was dangerous. The bump was hardly noticeable. She checked the rear-view mirror—little more than a smudge on the road in her tail-lights. She was thankful—a quick death, no need to stop and make sure of it. Something else in the mirror. A glimpse of headlights at the start of the long straight stretch behind her. She checked again—definitely headlights. It was rare to see any cars on this road, especially at this time of night. Must be her neighbour, Jim, from the sheep property next door.
She relaxed into the driving, felt the gentle roll of the car as it climbed around the sharp bends, the dark weight of the huge eucalypts forming an impenetrable canopy overhead. Then out into the rolling paddocks and the starry night again, before a sharp right onto her dirt driveway. As she walked across the path to the front door, she stopped to look up. She would never get over how thick the Milky Way was out here in the country. Thousands of faint, distant stars, joining together in a creamy glow, and the closer ones big and bright—like a smear of spangled butter across the sky.
She could hear Pocket going off in the backyard—his usual welcome. As she closed the front door he rushed inside and started an excited circling around her feet, sniffing the meat pie she’d trodden in at half-time.
She poured herself a half-nip of the cheap Scotch in the pantry and took Pocket outside to his kennel for the night. He strolled out, then suddenly stopped in his tracks, tail straight up in the air, looking right, growling. Something moved in the bushes along the fence.
‘It’s just a fox, crankypants. Go on, off you go.’
Pocket paused, the fur on his neck still bristling, then trotted over to his kennel, his eyes trained on the bushes, but all was dark and silent.
She locked the back door and, with the Scotch warming her stomach, headed for bed. She did not hear Pocket barking in the backyard about half an hour later.
She found the note the next day, pinned to the front door, made up of letters cut from the Valley News glued onto a grubby manila folder:
No more questions BITCH One and only Warning before we do some real Damage up here