In the dream a pair of galahs were following a twisting fence across the ocean. They hopped from one foot to the other along the barbed wire, and every time they tried to fly they fell fluttering and exhausted into the water. There was another bird too, a brighter one, like a rainbow parrot with sprays of coloured feathers, but as Sam woke the images started to fade and he couldn’t remember what the other bird was doing.
He and Katie were in the back of the car resting while Jon and Dettie sat in the front seats talking. Outside the sunset was coming on and the edges of the clouds were seared orange. Jon had his legs crossed, clutching his shin with one foot up on his knee. Sam liked the look of his shoe. Its faded blue canvas was stripped white at the heel and it had different coloured laces tied together with a double knot. The sole was worn through to a thin honeycomb pattern in the rubber and Sam wondered how far Jon had walked in them before they’d picked him up.
‘It’s getting a touch stuffy.’ Jon was lifting his beard so that the vent could hiss on his neck. ‘Would you mind if I cracked open a window, love?’
Dettie winced, and slowly nodded.
‘Just a fraction,’ he said. ‘Promise. I feel like I’m basting here.’
She clicked the fan to full power and turned both the vents above the radio towards him. ‘I’d rather not if we can help it,’ she said. ‘There’s all manner of bugs and fumes.’
He chuckled. ‘Bugs and fumes? You are a mad old bird, aren’t you?’ His foot wiggled as he grinned at her.
Sam was surprised that Dettie didn’t scold him or pull over the car. Instead she smiled tightly and shook her head.
‘So what’s got the lot of you headed out to the Nullarbor exactly?’ he asked. ‘If not for the air? I got the sense you’re meeting up with family?’
Dettie straightened the paddle-pop stick boomerang still hanging from the rear-vision mirror. ‘We’re going home.’ She sat up in her seat. ‘The children are my brother’s and it’s time he was with them again.’
Jon nodded. He watched the way she fiddled with her wedding ring. ‘So where’s your old man in all this?’ he asked. ‘Waiting up ahead? Or watching over the home fires?’
Dettie stiffened. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, love.’ Jon dropped his leg and sat up. ‘Recent, was it?’
‘A few years ago.’ She sniffed.
They were silent. Jon mopped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. The car rocked as they descended a hill. Sam’s eyelids were easing shut.
‘He liked to travel,’ Dettie said, raising her chin. ‘Ted, that is. My husband.’ She splayed her fingers to glance at her ring. ‘We used to go on trips. Up to the Blue Mountains. Tasmania. Once to Tahiti. He was very high up in business. Had meetings all over Sydney. All hours of the day.’
‘That’s great,’ Jon said. ‘Good for you. Good stuff. Getting out. Seeing the world. So, what did he do?’
But Dettie was busy tapping the steering wheel. ‘He used to wear all these ties to work.’ She laughed. ‘So many ties. All different kinds. I remember whenever we had an argument I’d just buy him a new tie. “You need these,” I’d say. “You certainly lose enough of them all over the place.” And he’d just shake his head and laugh. “You know me,” he’d say.’
Half smiling, Jon fanned himself with his map.
‘Then one afternoon,’ Dettie said, ‘he was in the middle of a very important business meeting—Ted was very important in the company, very respected—and when he leant against a window, the glass popped out. Twenty-three storeys he fell. Onto the footpath. And died.’
Jon coughed. He sat upright, staring at her with his mouth open, murmuring an apology. He obviously had no idea what to say. Sam didn’t know either. He had never heard Dettie talk about the day Uncle Ted died. It was one of those things no one ever discussed. He knew something had happened around the time he started primary school, but it must have all been very sudden. He couldn’t even remember a funeral.
‘That’s terrible, love,’ Jon said, rubbing the hair on his top lip. He shrugged. He shook his head. ‘Life, eh?’
Dettie’s hand snaked into her handbag, scratched around and came out with the photograph of Ted. ‘You have seventeen good years,’ she said, ‘and then—gone.’
Sam couldn’t see the photograph from where he was sitting, but he knew which one it was: Uncle Ted in his brown suit, his sleeves pulled up too short, drinking a can of beer at a family barbeque. He was bald, but his hair was combed over on top, and in the photo the wind was lifting it slightly at the edge, like the lid peeling from a tub of yoghurt.
‘He looks like a friendly sort.’ Jon passed it back.
Dettie held the photo out a moment, glancing down at Ted’s lopsided smile. He was facing away slightly, distracted by something beyond the camera. Her fingernail picked at the sticky tape that held its edges together, then she stuffed it back in the bottom of her bag. ‘So what about you?’ she asked.
Jon held up his left hand. ‘There used to be a ring on here,’ he said, ‘but you’ll notice there’s not anymore.’
Dettie stared back at him. ‘Is she dead?’
‘God, no,’ he said. ‘No, she’s in Liverpool.’ He made a clicking sound in his mouth. ‘Some people might argue that’s much the same thing, though.’
She didn’t laugh. ‘And you took your ring off?’
Jon crossed his legs again. ‘No point in keeping it, love,’ he said. ‘There was no more marriage, sad to say. That’s partly why I came over here.’
‘You left? You ran off on her?’ Dettie was glaring.
‘No. Untrue, love. No, I had the opposite problem. My lady didn’t want me.’ Jon was talking slower, picking at the hole in his jeans. ‘Second year of marriage,’ he said. ‘Thought we were happy. Heading for kids and all. But the missus—apparently wasn’t so happy.’ He cleared his throat. His tongue ran across his lips. He swallowed. ‘She did some things that weren’t nice. I got upset. She told me to leave. And I left. All very civil. Very grown-up.’
Dettie’s face softened to a frown. ‘She was cruel?’
Sam could only see the back of Jon’s head. He had turned away from Dettie, towards his window. The side of his beard was twitching like he was moving his jaw, but he didn’t speak.
Against his shoulder, Sam could feel Katie stirring. She was breathing in shallow gasps, her eyelids starting to flutter. He moved gradually, trying to nudge her off his arm. With Dettie and Jon concentrating on the road, he pushed slowly, quietly, easing her away. She slid softly against the opposite door, her head rolling on her neck, but as her cheek touched the doorframe, she kicked. Her foot clipped Dettie’s seat and she shook awake.
Jon looked back at them and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Katie beside him, stretching, smacking her lips; then she settled in her seat and was quiet again. After a moment, Sam pretended to be slowly waking up, easing his eyes open, but Jon had already turned back to watching the road.
There was a soft thump on the windscreen. Sam could see a streak of grey where something small had struck. It was a moth. There were hundreds of them, a cloud rippling across the sky. Spots lit yellow by the headlights, whirling away into the trees. Another struck the glass in a dull pop, only a puff of smeared dust remaining.
‘It’s getting late,’ Dettie said. ‘If you wanted to head on with us tomorrow, we’re probably going to just pull up along the road somewhere to sleep.’
Jon was flicking through Dettie’s collection of cassettes.
‘Or we could drop you off at a hotel along the way.’
‘No, it’s all good for me, love,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind the company.’
Dettie shrugged and scanned the rear-vision mirror. The sun had sunk below the horizon. The sky around it was a wash of orange dissolving into blue ink. Sam thought about his uncle Ted as he closed his eyes, the occasional thump of a moth hurling itself against the window punctuating the quiet.