Kim woke to find Abbey braiding her hair. ‘Mum, stay still.’ The little girl bit her bottom lip in concentration. Tangles of golden pillow-mussed ringlets framed her face. She looked like an angel in the soft morning light. ‘What were those noises coming from under the floor last night?’
‘I think we must be sharing the house with a wombat,’ said Kim.
‘Can we call it Mothball, like the one in the book?’
It seemed like yesterday that Abbey was perched on Connor’s knee, listening to him read Diary Of A Wombat. Kim closed her eyes. Life was divided firmly into two parts – before and after Connor’s death. She referenced each memory this way. Trouble was, the after-Connor ones were multiplying in an untidy jumble, while the precious before memories remained finite and frozen in time.
‘Can we go exploring?’ asked Abbey.
‘After lunch,’ said Kim. ‘A man’s coming this morning to talk about selling the house.’
‘I don’t want to sell it,’ said Abbey. ‘Neither does Percy.’ She jumped up and took the toy poodle from the windowsill. ‘We want to live here with Mothball, and get a pony, and grow carrots.’
‘Live here?’ said Kim in astonishment. ‘What about the outside bathroom and the spiders in the toilet? What about school and your friends?’
Abbey shrugged and ran from the room in her pyjamas.
Kim sank back on the pillow. In daylight, Connor’s absence wasn’t so overwhelming. She’d slept unusually well in spite of the wombat. Bad dreams, so often her night-time companions, had not found her. She stretched. What was the estate agent’s name again? Stan? No – Ben. Ben Steele. He’d be there at ten. She got up and made a face as she caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror. In yesterday’s clothes and with a crooked crown of unfinished plaits. She’d better tidy herself up but, first, coffee. What time was it anyway? She went into the kitchen and looked at her phone. Dead. Oh well, it couldn’t be too late. She never slept in.
Kim checked there was water in the kettle and put it on the stove. Dead. Great. She went outside and took in a lungful of pure mountain air. It was a glorious morning, ringing with bellbirds. Curious wallabies watched her from the overgrown paddock below the dam. A shy half-grown joey dived for its mother’s pouch, gangly legs and tail jutting out at a crazy angle. Above the trees an eagle traced lazy loops in the sky. The sound of an axe on wood echoed round the hills. Jake must have been up at the crack of dawn. Abbey appeared from nowhere, and together they followed the noise down to the shed.
Jake and his trusty tomahawk were attacking a little log with gusto. ‘Yes!’ he cried, proudly glancing at his mother. She applauded as the timber fell in half. Jake punched the air in triumph and started on another log. Hard to believe this was the same boy who would barely leave his computer games back in Sydney.
‘Can we light the fire?’ he asked.
‘In the stove – yes,’ she said. ‘How else will I get my coffee? But not in the fireplace. We’ll do that tonight.’
An approaching thrum sounded on the road below, grew quiet then loud again. Clouds of white corellas burst from the treetops as a red LandCruiser made its way up the track. Kim combed her hair with her fingers. She would have liked a coffee first. Damn the estate agent for being so early.
The car bumped to a halt beside the shed. A tall, well-built man emerged, dressed in immaculate cricket whites, with thick fair hair tapering neatly to his collar, and a wide, friendly smile. He extended his hand. ‘Ben Steele, from Steele & Son, Estate Agents.’
Kim stepped back, a little shaken. Ben Steele bore a disturbing resemblance to her late husband. It wasn’t so much the shape of his face – too narrow for Connor’s. But the likeness was there in his bright blue eyes, the set of his mouth, the jut of his chin. It was there in his square shoulders and loose-limbed walk.
Jake took a swing at a new log. He dropped the tomahawk as it bounced off the hardwood, barely missing his leg.
‘Watch it, mate.’ Ben strode forward and picked up the little axe. He wet his forefinger and ran it down the blade. ‘Blunt as Old Nick.’
‘That’s good,’ said Kim.
‘It might sound odd, but a blunt axe is more dangerous than a sharp one,’ said Ben. ‘A honed blade bites into the wood and stays there. A blunt one glances off. What’s your name, son?’
‘Jake.’
‘You hit someone with a tomahawk, Jake, even by accident, even if nobody’s badly hurt, you don’t deserve to own one.’ He spun it in the air, deftly caught it, then ran his hand down the handle.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jake.
‘Testing the wedge is fixed in tight and the haft isn’t cracked.’ He swung it in mid-air and gave an approving nod. ‘Once it’s sharpened, you’ll have yourself a handy little axe. That’s an old blade, though. It needs looking after. Rust-proof the head by coating it in some oil after you use it. And whatever you do, never leave it in the rain.’
Jake was hanging on Ben’s every word and nodding furiously. Kim was surprised he wasn’t taking notes. Her son was clearly hungry for male mentoring, and she felt a surge of gratitude towards this man; this Connor look-alike – at once familiar and strange.
‘Are you going to play cricket after this?’ asked Jake.
‘Sure am.’
‘What are you?’
‘Fast bowler-slash-wicketkeeper.’
‘I played cricket last year,’ said Jake. ‘I wanted a turn at wicket keeping, but the coach said I need to learn to concentrate more.’
‘Got to listen to your coach,’ said Ben. ‘Do you bat? Bowl?’
‘I’m practising to be a spinner, but I’m not very good yet. I never get a go. I’m always put way out in the field. It really bugs me, but my coach says I’m too slow. That a batsman has time to make a sandwich while he waits for the ball.’
‘That’s a mongrel thing to say,’ said Ben. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t listen to him after all.’ He bowled an imaginary ball with easy grace, his arm strong and steady.
‘Don’t want to play again this year if I never get a turn.’ Jake picked up a stone and bowled it. ‘It’s not fair. I love cricket.’
Jake loved cricket? It was the first she’d heard of it. In fact, this whole conversation had taken her by surprise. Kim hadn’t paid much attention last year when Jake joined Stuart’s cricket team. Daisy always took the boys and dropped them home. To be honest, she’d thought it was just a phase. She thought Stuart had talked Jake into it and her son was a reluctant recruit. Aussie Rules was the only sport for Connor. She’d assumed Jake would follow suit. Even though he’d told her the game reminded him too much of his dad. Even though he wouldn’t even watch it on TV.
‘Pity you don’t play for Tingo, champ. We’re on the lookout for a spinner. I could guarantee you plenty of match practice.’ He gave the tomahawk a final twirl and handed it back.
‘You don’t think Jake’s too young to use that?’ asked Kim.
‘No way,’ said Ben. ‘How old are you, champ? Eleven? Twelve?’
‘Just turned twelve.’
‘I was chopping wood for my whole family at eight.’ Ben managed to keep a straight face. ‘But you need someone to teach you how to do it right. How about your dad?’
Jake turned his back and took a swing at a log.
Kim touched Ben’s tanned forearm and took him aside. ‘I’m . . . I’m a widow.’ It was her standard response when people asked about her husband, and was usually effective in silencing further questions. This time it didn’t work.
Ben glanced up to where Abbey was making daisy chains and bouquets of waratahs. ‘That’s a tough break,’ he said. ‘Must be hard, trying to raise two kids by yourself. How long . . . I mean . . . When did you lose him?’
Kim wasn’t used to talking about it. But instead of being annoyed at Ben’s audacity, she found herself opening up. ‘Connor died two years ago. And yes, it is hard without him. Sometimes it’s impossible.’
Kim saw admiration, not sympathy, on Ben’s face. A refreshing change. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask,’ he said.
With a final chop Jake split the little log and held up one half to show Ben. ‘You look a bit like my dad,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t he, Mum?’
Kim felt her cheeks flame.
‘Great work, champ.’ Ben gave Jake the thumbs up. ‘Now, down to business.’ He turned back to Kim. ‘Is there vehicle access to the back blocks?’
‘A few tracks,’ she said. ‘They’re pretty overgrown. Too rough for my car, even when it’s running properly, which it isn’t. But yours would manage.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Jake.
Abbey ran over. ‘And me?’
Ben opened the back door of the twin cab. ‘Hop in, kids.’ He turned to Kim with a grin. There was that touch of Connor again, the slightly crooked mouth, the boyish charm. She found it impossible not to smile back.
It was a grand tour. Surprising to see how swiftly nature was reclaiming the land. Clumps of wattle, tea-tree and eucalyptus saplings had sprung up all through the unstocked pasture. Weeds too. Camphor laurel, lantana and privet. Wallabies and a mob of forester kangaroos bounded away from the car. ‘Cheeky buggers,’ said Ben. ‘What a waste of good grass.’
‘Look,’ said Kim. Three horses stood atop a hill to their right. Proud heads raised, still as statues. Dark figures framed by blue sky. Kim held her breath, captivated by the sight. In a blink they were gone. Had she imagined them?
‘Brumbies,’ said Ben. ‘They must have crossed out of the park. That’s what happens when you let a run go. It’s a magnet for every pest about.’
They followed the winding track uphill along the property’s western boundary, pitching and sliding into the worst ruts. Lush weed-free pastures stretched beyond the boundary fence, a stark contrast to the neglected, overgrown paddocks of Journey’s End. ‘My place,’ said Ben, gesturing to it. ‘Granite Hills. We’re neighbours.’
They left the paddocks behind them, and started up a steep timbered ridge. She’d forgotten how magnificent these forests truly were. Towering stands of tallowwood and blue gum gave way to subtropical rainforest as they climbed. A profusion of tree ferns and bangalow palms. The broad, buttressed trunks of yellow carabeen, red cedar and black booyong – giants that had never felt the axe-man’s bite. Elkhorns and bird’s nest ferns graced the upper branches. Kim exhaled. What a privilege to see part of the rare Gondwana Rainforests of eastern Australia that had remained unchanged for millions of years.
It took half an hour to reach the northern boundary, where Kim’s property joined Tarringtops National Park. Ben stopped the car and they got out to admire the view. Journey’s End stretched out before them. The valley’s broad green axis. Winding Cedar Creek, which threaded through the little township of Tingo after leaving her land. The fingers of forest reaching out from the foothills.
‘That’s our house,’ said Kim
Abbey stood on tiptoe for a better view. ‘It looks so small.’
‘What about over there?’ Jake pointed to the east, where slopes of emerald green lay dotted with cottonwool sheep. ‘Is that ours too?’
Ben shook his head. ‘That’s She-Oak Springs. Belongs to a friend of mine, Geoff Masters, your neighbour on the other side. He runs fine wool merinos and a few coloured sheep to keep his wife happy. Top little property. Shows how good this land can be when you look after it.’ Kim didn’t miss the mild censure in his voice. ‘Come on,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s have a look at that creek frontage.’
Afterwards, she and Ben stood on the verandah watching Jake tempt a friendly blue-tongue lizard with bits of ripe banana. Abbey ran after some rabbits. They vanished under a pile of rusty corrugated iron in what was once the garden. The only plants still flourishing were the waratahs, spectacular in a profusion of showy red blooms.
Ben gestured towards the forested hillside, topped by a sky of brilliant blue. Then south to where the creek meandered between blue gums. ‘That’s a view to die for. Buyers will love it.’ He picked at the flaking paint of the verandah rail. ‘But I’ve got to be frank, Kim, there’s a hell of a lot needs doing.’
‘I want to sell Journey’s End as is,’ she said. ‘I’m flexible on price.’
Ben fixed her with his unsettling blue eyes. ‘You need to fix this house up, or knock it down. It won’t sell as is in this market. And as for the land, I could hardly give it away. Your paddocks need new fences. They’re thick with regrowth, overrun with rabbits and roos. The place needs a lot of work before it would sell as a grazing run.’ Kim’s face fell and Ben’s expression softened. ‘Nice timber, though, and plenty of it: blackbutt, tallowwood, blue gum. Hard to find old stands of quality wood these days – outside of parks that is. It’d be worth a lot to the right contractor.’
Kim shook her head. ‘There’s a conservation covenant on Journey’s End.’
He frowned. ‘That’ll drag down the value. Could you remove it maybe?’
‘I don’t want to remove it.’
Ben whistled through his teeth. ‘So, we’re looking at the tree change market. You’ll still have to spend a few bucks to bring the house up to scratch. But you’ll never get top dollar from that sort of buyer.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kim.
‘That’s not something I hear very often.’ Ben looked as if he hoped she might take the words back.
‘Who would I get to fix up the house?’ asked Kim. ‘I don’t know anybody in Tingo.’
‘I can help you there.’ Ben’s smile returned, wide and warm. He certainly was handsome, distractingly so. Or was it just the resemblance to Connor? ‘There’s a handyman down the road who can turn his hand to anything. Reliable bloke, too. I’ll see if he can drop round tomorrow.’ Ben got in his car, opened the window and waved to Jake. ‘Maybe I’ll swing by and sharpen that tomahawk for you.’
Abbey, who was hiding behind her as Ben left, said, ‘Jake says that man looks like Daddy. Does he, Mum?’
Kim studied her daughter’s upturned face. The freckles dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The blue eyes, as intense and unfathomable as a Siamese cat. She wrapped her arms around the girl’s slim shoulders. ‘Yes, I think he does a bit.’
A furrow appeared in Abbey’s baby-smooth brow. ‘I can’t remember enough of Daddy to tell.’
Kim bit her lip. It was these little heartbreaks that kept her sorrow alive. She put on a smile she did not feel. ‘Let’s go inside and have some lunch. Maybe the power’s back on by now.’
They were in luck. Kim made rounds of toasted cheese. She tried to make banana bread, using flour and sugar she found in some old metal canisters. It flopped in the middle, and she couldn’t tell if it was the fault of the ancient oven, or the past-their-use-by-date ingredients. The kids ate it anyway.
Kim couldn’t put it off any longer, so they took Scout’s ashes down to the creek. It had been Jake’s idea to scatter them there where the dog had loved to play. They stood on the little bridge, gazing down at a stream so clear they might have counted the pebbles of its bed. Waratahs and bangalow palms graced the banks, trailing their leaves in the swift-running water. Ancient tree ferns reached for the sky, their soft fronds casting cool, dappled shade.
The children looked at her expectantly. Even Jake was solemn. Kim wet her lips and thought of some last words. She fingered the smooth metal jar, traced its raised paw-print design, unscrewed the lid a fraction. Her heart thudded against her ribs. That whooshing noise wasn’t the creek, but the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Her fingers froze.
Seconds ticked by in silence, except for the chiming of bellbirds. The moment yawned wide. She couldn’t do it, wasn’t ready to let go. Wasn’t ready to cast Scout away and all that would go with him.
Abbey shifted impatiently. ‘Mum?’ Her quiet question broke the spell.
‘Let’s not do this now,’ said Kim. ‘Let’s go look at the neighbour’s sheep instead.’ She tucked the little urn safely into her pocket. She could breathe again. A look passed between the children as they moved off the bridge and down the path leading to the eastern boundary.
A flock of newly shorn sheep grazed in the paddock next door, stretched out in a line beside a bush gully. Stout pine posts strung with taut barbed wire and ring-lock mesh divided the two properties – a stark contrast to Kim’s own sagging fences.
‘Lambs,’ said Abbey.
A pair of snowy, newborn twins played chasey around their mother. A movement in the trees caught Kim’s eye. She shielded her eyes from the sun and peered closer. There, a big red fox was crouching in the shadows, ears pricked towards the flock. She stood statue-still, mouth dry, hypnotised by the sinister tableau before her.
‘Look,’ cried Jake. A big, unshorn sheep was charging for the gully where the predator waited in ambush. The fox turned and fled while the flock crowded together for protection, keeping the youngest lambs at their centre.
‘What a brave sheep,’ said Kim, breathing a sigh of relief on behalf of the lambs.
‘It’s not a sheep,’ said Jake. ‘Look at its tail.’
Kim took a second look. Jake was right – not a sheep at all, but a dog. A large shaggy white dog with a noble head, small high-set ears and a plumed tail. It turned to face them and began a low steady barking. She looked around for its owner. Apart from the flock, the paddock was empty. Kim steered the children away from the fence. The dog seemed satisfied and retreated to where the sheep stood, bunched and alert, in the middle of the paddock. He merged into the flock.
‘He may not be a sheep,’ said Kim. ‘But he seems to think he’s one.’
‘He’s like Lambert the Sheepish Lion.’ Abbey began to sing the song from the old Disney cartoon about a baby lion that was mistakenly left with a flock by the stork. Lambert lived his life thinking he was a sheep. He only found his courage when forced to defend the flock from a wolf. The show had always been one of Abbey’s favourites.
They started back towards the house. ‘Can we get a dog?’ asked Jake.
A knot tightened in her stomach. It was a fair question, but one she’d been dreading. Scout had died more than two weeks ago. It was astonishing that Jake hadn’t asked her before now. Kim took a steadying breath, and tried to see the situation from his point of view. They’d had a pet before, so why not again? And from a practical viewpoint, the love and companionship of a loyal dog could make a big difference to Jake: distract him from his anger, make him more responsible, get him out of his bedroom.
Kim walked faster, making Abbey trot to keep up. Jake ran on ahead, then swung around to face her, blocking her path. ‘Well?’
She cringed at the demanding edge to his voice. Normally she gave in when she heard it in order to avoid the inevitable argument. ‘We’ll see.’
Jake’s eyes blazed. ‘I’m not stupid. We’ll see is code for no.’
Abbey moved to stand beside him, set her chin in a determined line and stuck out her lower lip. Kim backed up a step. She had a mutiny on her hands.
‘Jake’s right,’ said Abbey. ‘We’ll see does mean no. Why can’t we have a dog, Mum?’
What could she tell them? That replacing the little border terrier would feel like a betrayal, not only of Scout but of Connor as well? Saying no wasn’t a good answer, or even a rational one. But emotionally, it was the only answer she could give.
‘We’ll talk about it later.’ Kim pushed past the children and hurried down the path, close to tears. Pity about the handyman coming in the morning. Otherwise she’d leave tonight.
When they got back to the house, a woman was standing on the verandah. Mid-thirties, with dark, curly hair escaping from a rubber band, spaniel eyes and a round face. She wore an oversized T-shirt, track pants and a melancholy air. A fluffy white pup sat beside her, a mini-version of the dog that had defended the sheep. This one looked endearingly like a lamb and was, of course, a magnet for the children. They made a beeline for the puppy, stroking its fleecy coat and starting up an energetic game of tag. Kim silently cursed their visitor for her terrible timing.
The woman stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘Melanie Masters, your neighbour on the right. Call me Mel.’ Kim introduced herself. ‘Nice to see a friendly face,’ said Mel. ‘It gets a bit lonely out here.’
Kim forced a smile. She wasn’t accustomed to making small talk, didn’t want to. What was the point? They wouldn’t be neighbours for long. And these days she shunned company, apart from Daisy. Even Daisy was sometimes too much, urging her to join the committee at Jake’s cricket club, telling her to get out more, to meet people. It wasn’t going to happen. Daisy was her best friend, and even she didn’t understand. How could she? Daisy hadn’t lost her husband, her best friend, her lover. Daisy hadn’t lost her life. Kim shifted her feet uneasily. She wished the rest of the world could move on without her, and leave her alone with her memories.
Mel didn’t take the hint and showed no sign of going. She seemed content to watch the children play with her dog. ‘That’s a nice puppy,’ Kim said at last, for the awkward silence had lasted too long even for her. ‘I don’t recognise the breed.’
‘Snow is a maremma,’ said Mel. ‘A livestock guardian dog. She’s supposed to be living with my coloured flock 24/7, bonding with them. That’s how you train them. But since Geoff moved out . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘Geoff’s my husband – he left me last month. Found somebody else.’ Her tone was almost apologetic. Snow ran to Mel, and put a paw on her leg. ‘Let’s just say, at the moment I need Snow more than the sheep do.’
Kim smoothed her hair. Had she heard right? Had Mel really confided such a private thing to a stranger? It was beyond belief. Kim had moved after Connor died, and her new neighbours barely knew her name, let alone anything about her personal life. By contrast, Mel seemed to be wearing her pain on the outside of her skin.
Mel hugged her pup, and Kim felt a twinge of envy. She’d had that same comfort with Scout not too long ago and craved it again. She stroked the silver urn in her pocket, and said, ‘Dogs are good friends.’
Mel brightened. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ She let Snow run back to Abbey and Jake and circled her toe around a knot in the verandah floor. ‘I was wondering . . .’ Her sentence slid to a halt.
‘Yes?’
‘I was wondering . . . Would you and your children like to come to my place for dinner? Your little girl might like to see the new lambs.’
‘Sorry,’ said Kim, ‘but I’ve got a lot to do.’
‘I want to,’ said Abbey. ‘I want to see the lambs.’
Kim tried to ignore her. ‘You see, Melanie . . . Mel . . . I only came here to put Journey’s End on the market. We’re going back to Sydney tomorrow.’
‘Oh . . . of course, that’s fine.’ Kim recognised Mel’s determined cheeriness all too well. She was an expert at faking happiness herself. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ She whistled her dog and headed off.
Abbey gave up pouting and took up pleading, and jumping up and down. ‘Please, Mummy,’ she chanted. ‘Please, please, please, please . . .’
‘Ow, mind my toes. Are you aiming for them?’
‘Please, please, please . . .’ Her voice grew louder.
Mel heard and turned around, sensing an ally. ‘I’ve got some orphan joeys that the kids might like to see as well. And a baby wombat.’ She looked as hopeful as Abbey.
‘Okay,’ Kim told Abbey. ‘You win.’
Roses grew in an ornamental garden by the porch steps at She-Oak Springs. How lovely. Kim had a soft spot for roses. She stopped to smell a large bloom with a swirling centre of ruffled scarlet.
This homestead was quite a contrast to her own rundown farmhouse. Both buildings shared wraparound verandahs. But where Kim’s had a rusty roof with leaky nail-holes, Mel’s was elegant and bullnosed, with wrought-iron lacework in the corners. The house boasted a fresh coat of paint – federation green with glossy cream accents around solid cedar windows. What was left of the paintwork at Journey’s End was flaking away. Kim admired the luxuriant grapevine draping the portico, the broad bird-feeding tables festooned with quarrelsome king parrots, the colourful leadlight surrounding the front door. She-Oak Springs was beautiful, no doubt about it. But the house was surrounded by sheep paddocks, and didn’t have the million-dollar views of Journey’s End. Kim was suddenly looking forward to meeting Ben’s handyman in the morning. How might her old farmhouse scrub up given the same sort of tender loving care? She put her nose to another flower.
Abbey pulled at Kim’s shorts and gave a delighted squeal. A little wombat had emerged from under the deck and was barrelling for them at startling speed.
‘Look out.’ Mel tried to block its path. The baby dodged and barged into Kim’s legs with the force of a mini-bulldozer, knocking her off her feet. She fell sideways into the garden, getting raked by thorns on the way down and grazing her bare knees.
Mel rushed over with a horrified expression on her face. ‘Mind Geraldine.’
Geraldine? Who the hell was Geraldine? Kim reached out and took hold of a log to help her up. Something about it didn’t feel right – its bark too soft, almost leathery. Shit, it was moving. Kim screamed as the log rose on three legs and transformed into a two metre goanna. It hissed loudly and whipped her with its snake-like tail, before racing for the house and scaling a verandah post.
‘Cool,’ yelled Jake. He ran over and stood beaming up at the indignant reptile.
Mel helped Kim to her feet. ‘Sorry. Geraldine was hit by a car and lost a leg. She’s become a bit of a pet, and lives in the rose garden.’
Snow ran to the front door and let herself in by opening the flywire with her teeth. ‘Come on,’ said Mel. ‘Your kids might like to help with the lunchtime feeds.’
They found themselves in a large laundry, where half-a-dozen hessian potato sacks were strung up along the windowsill like Christmas stockings. Mel put her hand into one of them, and drew out a tiny, barely-furred joey. The look of delight on Abbey’s face was something to see. ‘Can I pat it?’ She stroked the baby’s dove-grey neck and kissed its muzzle. A little pink tongue emerged to lick her nose. She squealed with delight and Kim smiled. She wanted to pat the joey too.
Before she could say anything, Mel dumped the cute bundle into her arms. ‘Hold her while I warm the milk.’ She hurried off to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Kim stroked the joey’s skin, soft as fine silk. Enchanting. She cuddled it close and let it suck her finger. The pouch it lay in was made from a printed cotton T-shirt, with the neck and armholes neatly double-stitched. The joey wriggled about, first its tail and then its gangly legs jutting out. Kim wrapped the youngster tighter. Mel returned carrying a baby’s bottle, fitted with an odd extended teat. She retrieved the joey from Kim and offered it the milk. Once it was feeding well, she let Abbey have a turn.
Jake moved closer and closer to the joey, until he could feign indifference no more. ‘Where’s its mother?’
‘She was shot,’ said Mel. ‘Local farmers have permits to cull roos. There’s a heap of them round, too many. If shooters find pouch young, they sometimes bring them to me.’
When the bottle was empty, Mel gently prised it from Abbey’s grasp, washed the joey with a damp sponge, and put it back in its pouch. She took a long look at Jake, as if she was sizing him up. ‘Will you help me feed the next one? He’s a lot bigger and stronger. I could do with a hand.’
Jake sprang forward with the sort of physical enthusiasm that Kim had forgotten he was capable of. For a moment she barely recognised him. Her son suddenly looked older than twelve. He was at that mysterious ’twixt-and-’tween age – not quite a child but not yet a young man. She wished Connor was there to see it.
They all pitched in with the feedings. ‘Thanks,’ said Mel when they were done. ‘The kids usually help out, but they’re away at the moment.’
‘What kids?’ asked Jake.
‘My daughter Nikki is eight.’ Mel ran a sink of hot soapy water and dunked the empty bottles and teats in to soak. ‘And I have a son, Todd. He’s eleven. They’re with . . . their father for the weekend.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘Such a shame you guys aren’t going to stay on here in Tingo. Our little primary school could really use some new enrolments.’ She dried her hands. ‘Though I guess Jake might be starting high school next year?’
Jake glared at his mother and thumped from the room. Abbey ran after him, while Mel looked bewildered. ‘You’ve hit on a sore point,’ said Kim. ‘They want him to repeat grade six. Ever since his father died, Jake’s really struggled at school.’ Kim twisted her wedding ring, surprised she’d shared this with a complete stranger. Yet something about Mel’s own candour had made it easy.
‘And I had the gall to complain about Geoff leaving,’ said Mel. ‘That’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through.’
Kim turned swiftly to the window to hide her face. Yes, Mel’s grief was different, very different. But at least she understood about loss – loss of a friend, a lover, a partner for life. ‘I suppose, in the end, we’re both alone,’ she said, managing to look at Mel again. ‘However it happened.’
Mel’s sad brown eyes grew soft. ‘It will be hard for Jake, staying down. Kids can be cruel.’
Kim swallowed. This was her fear. Jake had been told that he risked repeating if his behaviour didn’t improve. He’d laughed it off. If anything, the warnings seemed to make him act out more. Jake didn’t do his homework, picked fights with other kids, skipped classes, talked back to teachers. There’d been countless conferences, discipline programs, second chances. Nothing had worked.
That final dreadful meeting with Kate Cornish at Sturt Street was burned into Kim’s brain. ‘Your son is not emotionally ready for secondary school.’ The principal’s tone was calm and soothing, as though she was speaking to a small child. Kim could hear Jake rampaging around, outside in the corridor. ‘He has difficulty taking instruction. He also lacks social skills and the building blocks needed for the more challenging academic tasks that lie ahead. I recommend that he repeats grade six here at Campbelltown, and that we put in some extra supports to help him achieve success.’
Kim had felt lost. She couldn’t disagree with the substance of the principal’s remarks. Since Connor died, Jake had regressed. He was emotionally immature. He found friendships increasingly difficult and struggled with schoolwork. But what about the harm repeating the year might do to his already shaky self-esteem? What would Connor say? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t channel him anymore. In the end she’d agreed.
Jake met the news with an eye roll and a shrug. ‘Whatever.’ But it was a feigned indifference. Kim had known how much he was hurting.
Abbey came back in and grabbed Kim’s hand. ‘The lambs. Come see the lambs.’
Kim followed her daughter around the back of the house to a sheltered straw-filled pen. Four lambs were playing king-of-the-castle on bales of hay. A greenhouse stood next to the pen. Kim tried to peer through the opaque shade cloth.
‘I grow local plants,’ said Mel. ‘For a bit of a hobby. Geoff thinks it’s a waste of time.’
‘Can I take a look?’
Timber trestle tables laden with neat rows of tube-stock stood on either side of a narrow centre aisle. Overhead trellises supported a poly-pipe watering system. A great degree of care had gone into the set-up and Kim felt a little jealous. This was a version of what she might have had if Connor had lived. Kim brushed the feathery foliage of a batch of seedlings with the back of her hand. ‘Red cedar,’ she said. ‘And are those black booyong?’
Mel shrugged. ‘No idea. Half the time I don’t know what seeds I’m growing. I just like doing it.’
Kim’s fingertips wandered lovingly over the young plants. ‘Yes, definitely black booyong. They’re starting to get their adult palm-like foliage. See these seven leaflets with the wavy edges? That’s very distinctive.’
Mel cocked an eyebrow. ‘How do you know so much?’
‘I’m head of horticulture at Campbelltown College,’ said Kim. ‘Run-of-the-mill stuff, I’m afraid. Basic botany, soil science, pests and diseases – that sort of thing.’ She picked up an exquisite little tamarind seedling. ‘But my real interest is in rainforest plants like these.’ She brushed her hair back from her face. Talking about her passion didn’t come naturally. So few people were interested. ‘I’m also good at growing vegetables. I know more about sooty mould and mealy bugs than a person should.’
‘Plants are all trial and error for me,’ said Mel.
‘Well, you’re doing something right. Your garden’s gorgeous, and these seedlings all look healthy.’
‘Really?’ Mel beamed with pride. ‘I’ve got pests that I bet you won’t find in Sydney, though.’
‘Try me.’
‘Wallabies,’ said Mel. ‘Rabbits. Kangaroos that have been forced from the lowlands by land clearing. Geoff shoots deer up near the national park, and wild goats. We’ve never had goats before. Whenever I plant my trees out, they get nibbled down in no time.’
‘You’re right,’ said Kim. ‘We don’t get deer in Campbelltown.’
‘I tried putting up tree guards, but they didn’t work. Maybe they weren’t tall enough.’ Mel picked up a tube and inspected the seedling. ‘How am I going to protect you?’
‘Mum,’ called Abbey. ‘Look at this.’
They went outside and found Abbey sitting cross-legged in the straw, with a lamb lying either side of her. It was a sweet scene. Kim snapped a pic with her phone, something she hardly ever did these days. It seemed wrong somehow to take family photos, knowing Connor could never be in them again.
‘Come on, kids,’ said Kim. ‘Time to go.’
‘What about dinner?’ asked Mel.
‘No thanks.’ Kim wanted to get away. She-Oak Springs reminded her far too much of her failed dream. ‘I’ve got to get back.’
‘How about tomorrow? My kids come home in the morning. They’d love to meet Jake and Abbey.’
‘I’m afraid we’re heading back to Sydney tomorrow.’
‘Oh . . . Well, it’s been great meeting you.’
‘You too.’ Kim wasn’t just being polite. She didn’t often feel a connection with anyone these days.
It took some time to coax the children away from Snow. They set off home along the overgrown track. Kim felt for the silver urn in her pocket, turning it over in her fingers. Abbey slipped her hand into her mother’s and gave it a squeeze. ‘We are getting our own dog, Mum. He just hasn’t arrived yet.’