‘Jake.’ Kim lifted the plate of buttered bread out of reach. ‘Clyde’s in the kitchen again.’
The little kangaroo stood high on his back legs, balancing with his muscular tail, and trying to reach the benchtop. ‘Scram, you.’
Jake ran in, grinning. ‘He wants a sandwich.’
‘Well, he can’t have one. What would Mel say? Now, take him outside.’
Bonnie and Clyde hadn’t stayed for one night as promised. A week later and they were still there. Mel had taken in two orphaned possums in the meantime, and wanted to settle them before taking the little kangaroos back. Kim didn’t really mind. They were rather sweet. Mischievous though, and excellent escape artists. Her makeshift fence repairs were no match for two determined, half-grown joeys. When Taj came on Monday, she would ask him to fix the chook run properly, no matter what Jake said.
Jake shepherded Clyde outside, and Kim went back to the sandwiches. She particularly missed Daisy at times like these. She missed the casual chatter while making kids’ lunches, the silly jokes, the shared understanding that only came after years of friendship. Kim shook away the thought and piled the sandwiches on a plate. Damn, the bread was stale and crumbling where she’d cut it. A headache was building behind her eyes. The high she’d been on last week when Taj gave her the orchids had faded, and she found herself aimless.
During previous stays, when grand plans were still afoot, there hadn’t been enough minutes in the day. So much to do: identifying plants, collecting seeds, building terraces for future greenhouses, designing irrigation systems. She and Connor rose together at dawn and fell into each other’s arms late at night. Now she didn’t know what to do with herself, and each day dragged. The smell of dead dreams lay thick in the air.
Kim missed teaching more than she’d expected to. For the last two years she’d volunteered for summer school, carrying on after second semester almost without a break. Juggling the kids between camps – Daisy and her parents helping – had been tricky and hadn’t left them much together time, but they managed. Work was a favourite coping mechanism, and without it she was lost. On top of all that, Abbey was sick, Jake was cranky whenever Taj turned up to work on the house, and her old life was still hijacking her at every turn.
Night-time was the worst. That damned brass bed was haunted. She couldn’t fall asleep without dreaming of Connor. Sometimes she imagined the faces of his killers, and her hatred ran free. She felt herself unravelling as darker fantasies took hold. Frightening nightmares of revenge. And for the first time in her life, Kim was afraid of the dark.
She’d always considered night a blessing, along with summer rain and poetry and silence. Once upon a time, Tingo’s midnight sky, ablaze with the Southern Cross, could put things into perspective. She was a traveller on island Earth, adrift in a stream of stars. Part of the great mystery of being. But now? When night closed in, all she felt was her own mortality, hers and her family’s. She couldn’t concentrate on reading a book. There was no droning television to fall asleep to, no online movies. Not even a radio to fill the emptiness with white noise. So she’d lie awake, wishing life was different. Overthinking everything. Listening to the crickets and frogs, and the eerie forest howling that punctuated the lonely, nocturnal hours at Journey’s End.
Abbey came into the kitchen, wearing pyjamas and carrying Percy. Kim tried to shake the gloom away. ‘Feeling better, sweetie?’
‘I’m bored. I want to go outside and see the joeys.’
Kim took the thermometer down from a top cupboard. ‘Put this under your tongue and keep your mouth closed. Wait until it beeps . . . Oh good. Normal.’
‘That means I’m well enough to come to the trivia night, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kim had planned to use her daughter’s cold as an excuse. Why had she ever agreed in the first place? ‘How do you feel?’
‘Great. Hungry. What’s to eat?’
An echo came from behind her. ‘Yeah, what’s to eat? I’m starved.’
‘Sandwiches are on their way, Jake.’
‘Is Taj coming today?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Jake stood there with Bonnie and Clyde. ‘They got out of their pen again. I think they’re hungry.
Kim checked the kitchen clock. He was right; it was time for their milk. Joeys, even older ones, were more work than she’d imagined. Bonnie and Clyde were pretty independent, Mel had said – ‘They’ll be no trouble.’ But the little kangaroos were still on four bottles a day. They slept in the laundry – well, half the time they slept, snug and warm, in pouches hanging from the door. The rest of the time, like any curious young creatures, they went exploring. They got into the clothes hamper and spread dirty washing everywhere. They pulled open the cupboard and tipped out the laundry powder. They scattered lucerne cubes and droppings all over the floor. They escaped into the house through the door that wouldn’t close properly. One morning Kim found them snuggled up together, asleep on the couch.
Each day Kim cleaned up after them, washed their pouch blankets, mixed the day’s milk, sterilised the bottles, and joey-proofed the house as much as possible. The kids helped, even Jake. She’d made helping a condition of the joeys’ extended stay.
The responsibility had made a difference. Jake was more cooperative, more obliging, less hostile. But he still had his moments – way too many of them. He kept pestering her for a dog, and each refusal provoked a scene. Swearing, kicking doors, throwing things. It would be easier to give in. But the urn with Scout’s ashes still stood on the mantelpiece and Kim would not have Scout replaced until she was ready to let him go.
Taj’s arrivals also triggered tantrums. Either that or Jake would shoot through. The handyman spent three days a week at Journey’s End, working his way through the list of repairs: a list that was growing and extending beyond the house. Each day, Kim thought of something else that needed doing. Ben’s cautionary comment still echoed in the back of her brain: ‘We don’t want to overcapitalise.’ Wise words. The sale had only been postponed, not cancelled.
However, a year was a long time, and she might as well enjoy her time here. The old farmhouse would never be as grand as Mel’s gracious homestead, but it deserved more than a patch-up job, and she had the money. Not from the pitifully inadequate military compensation payment, but from Connor’s life insurance. She couldn’t think of anything he would have rather she spent it on.
Whenever Kim thought of Connor now, she thought of Taj in the same breath. Yet whenever she mentioned Afghanistan or asked him about his old life, he shut down the conversation. This reticence made her suspicious and more inquisitive than ever. What did he have to hide? Plagued with curiosity, she began grilling other people, but nobody else in town knew any more about him than she did. Except for Winnie Goldsmith, the postmistress and town gossip. ‘Every month, without fail, he sends a parcel to Kabul.’
‘I don’t suppose you know what it is?’
Winnie lowered her voice. ‘Taj never tells me anything, but he buys the post pack in the shop, so I see what goes into it. An international money order, there’s always one of those. And different gifts: books, toys, pretty soaps and perfume. Do you think he has a family back home in Afghanistan?’
‘Who knows?’ Kim was more intrigued than ever.
Abbey and the joeys cannoned into her. They were playing a game of chasey round the kitchen. ‘Watch out.’ Kim lit the stove, took the prepared bottles from the fridge, and started warming them up. Next trip to Wingham, she really needed to get a microwave and a battery-operated radio.
Jake began a gentle boxing match with Clyde. ‘When are we going to the trivia night? Todd’s coming too. I can’t wait.’
Dammit. Both the kids were looking forward to tonight. How could she disappoint them? ‘Who wants to make brownies?’ she said, drying her hands on the tea towel. ‘We’re supposed to bring a plate.’