A loud banging jarred her from sleep. Barely light, and someone was knocking on the front door. More like pounding, or was that just her head? No, there it came again. Loud, angry, out of control. She checked the time. Seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. What on earth?
Kim shuffled down the hall in her dressing gown, with furry teeth and a headache.
Geoff Masters stood on the porch, his legs planted wide. Water dripped from his hat. Yesterday’s sunshine had given way to grey skies and rain.
‘A friendly warning to you, Kim. My wife’s coming home on Monday and I don’t want you filling her head with any more crap about dingoes. Wild dogs are the natural enemy of livestock, it stands to reason. But my Mel’s gullible, always has been, and for some reason, you seem to be able to talk her into any kind of crackpot scheme.’
‘Your Mel?’ Kim could just imagine how furious Mel would be at this characterisation.
‘And another thing – leave my boy alone while you’re at it. Todd was spouting some nonsense about wolves saving Yellowstone. He could only have got that from you.’
Kim did her best to appear imposing, which was difficult with pillow hair and a pilled dressing gown. ‘You’re wasting your time, Geoff. I’ll speak to whoever I like, whenever I like, and that includes Mel. You don’t run her life, and you certainly don’t run mine.’
His fleshy face reddened. ‘Why don’t you close your goddamned mouth?’
Kim didn’t respond at once. Mel had warned her about Geoff and his anger. ‘Once he starts, you have to shut up. He’s like a string of firecrackers. You have to let each one explode until it’s through, and not let it touch you.’ What must it have been like, being married to such a man?
Geoff thrust his face closer, a mask of contempt and rage, and something else . . .
‘Was it you, Geoff? How . . . brave. You don’t scare me. If there’s one more sign on my gate or one more harassing text, I’ll call in the police.’
‘You stupid bitch.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Those dingoes are as good as dead.’
She slammed the door in his face, too shaken to remember exactly what she’d said, apart from the lie. He did scare her. How he must have scared Mel.
A long shower, which took some of the fear away, some coffee, scrambled eggs and Panadol. Kim felt better, almost human. She’d been afraid of waking up full of regret. But no, her decision about Ben had been the right one. He wasn’t the man for her. What her mother said was true: things did look better in the morning. Except for Geoff Masters. And one other thing – they couldn’t find Dusty. He wasn’t there when Jake woke up.
Kim thought back to last night. She hadn’t checked in on the kids as usual and, in the confusion of Ben leaving, she hadn’t fastened the dog-proof safety chain on the back door. She had no idea when Dusty might have gone walkabout.
He’d be back when he was hungry. Dusty had wandered overnight before and come back safely. There was no reason to suspect this time would be any different. Yet in the back of Kim’s mind was a haunting vignette – the dingoes circling around her, shadowy figures shrouded in mist. Dusty shifting at their centre, the darkest shadow of all.
She wished Taj was back. It felt as if he’d been gone forever. She tried ringing him, but it went to voicemail.
The weather closed in further as the morning wore on. Jake had gone looking for Dusty in the paddocks and neither of them were back yet. Kim and Abbey sat on the verandah, staring out at the grey curtain of rain, the firewheel tree dark and sodden, the willow peppermint slumped under the weight of the water.
‘Aren’t we going to look too?’ Abbey asked
‘I thought we should wait for Jake to get back.’
‘We could leave him a note?’
‘Okay. Go get your coat.’
Kim gazed hopefully down the track. No dingo, no boy. Just a wet sky. Wait, there he was, trudging up from the sheds, shoulders hunched against the rain. Thank goodness. Kim prayed for the figure of a dog to be trotting at his heels: wanted it so badly that for one glorious moment she could see Dusty, clear as day. But it was a trick of the light.
‘We’ll start down on the road,’ Kim said, resolving to not say anything about Jake’s red eyes.
She turned right out of the gate and drove a few kilometres. Nothing. Back again and past their drive. A couple of kilometres on, her heart froze as a dark shape loomed on the verge. She slowed – a dead wombat. She felt ashamed for being so pleased.
The downpour redoubled its efforts. Poor Dusty, he was a sook with rain. Even with the windscreen wipers working overtime, it was hard to see. She pulled over for an oncoming car. Bangalow Road was too narrow for overtaking at the best of times, let alone when the runoffs each side were like rivers.
‘Look, Mum. It’s Taj.’
Abbey was right. The familiar old ute, caked in mud, piled high with tools. She closed her eyes and sagged with relief. Taj stopped his car. He came across to her, took her hand, his dark eyes the brightest thing in the rain-soaked day, his hand full of strength. Taj would know where to find Dusty.
Taj did find Dusty. His body lay in plain sight, in a paddock above the billabong. Too late to keep the kids away. The four of them stood and stared. The rain had stopped, and, as if in tribute, blue bands of sky appeared. A shaft of sunshine reached the ground.
Kim knelt down, blood thundering in her ears.
Dusty seemed smaller in death, sweeter, like a puppy again. His open eyes still seemed to see. He must be cold, with his fur all flat and bedraggled like that and his plumed tail lying in a puddle. She knelt down, reached out, touched him. It felt holy, like a psalm. An electric charge filled the space between them: expanding, intensifying, until she was sure the air itself would explode and jolt Dusty back to life. She waited, but it didn’t happen. The bloody hole in his head saw to that.
Abbey began to cry. Kim gazed at her children, her own heart breaking, thinking of that last day and how she’d pushed Dusty away. Jake’s lip trembled. With buckling knees, he fell on Dusty, stroking his still form, pulling his ears and tickling his tummy the way he liked. Jake looked at her, beseeching, disbelieving. His pain unbearable. Kim shook her head. No, this couldn’t possibly be happening.
Taj swept Dusty up, and cradled like a babe in arms, carried him to his car. Jake walked beside them, a hand on Dusty’s collar, while Kim and Abbey trailed behind. Taj laid the dingo with tender care on a tarpaulin in the back, folding a T-shirt to pillow his head.
Jake jumped in beside him.
‘No, darling, you need to come in our car.’
‘Leave him,’ said Taj. ‘The boy must say goodbye.’
Kim hesitated, then nodded. Taj fastened the sidegate, and cleared a place for Jake to sit. She laid a hand on Taj’s arm. Her pain was his pain too. ‘Thank you.’
His hat lay low over his eyes, but there was no hiding his silent tears. This could break them all.