Someone she didn’t know she was? Was that a good thing? How far into this relationship had they been? Zac felt the ramifications of Ava’s statement lodge in his brain. Had they reached the point of sleeping together, then? So soon after Roslyn? The thought stunned him.
They drove along the dusty red track in silence for a few minutes. Past another square red hole in the earth with a solar pump, the dam quarter-filled with red water, but all around the land stretched dry, covered by saltbush and scarce tufts of olive-green bush.
On a small rise, Zac saw the long verandahs of the homestead resting among the scrubby trees and a cluster of smaller buildings that were scattered like petite mushrooms around the mother.
‘Here we are, then, Setabilly Station,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
And she drove this most weeks to come home? In Sydney, he used to complain about the half-hour travel to work, through traffic.
The craggy mountain range behind the house was distant yet close enough to see the fissures and valleys in the purple-coloured haze. The house seemed set into the small hill, not just simply standing on it. Probably because it was made of what looked like mortar-joined, hand-picked red stone. As they drew closer, he could see that the brown trunks of timber verandah posts held up a never-ending story of corrugated-iron roof like the one in The House That Jack Built – it had new rooms and extensions added haphazardly until it sprawled like a gnarled hand with a few stubby fingers poking out. The patch of sparse greener grass under the surrounding trees and a roundel of roses sat it in an oasis among the saltbush like a rustic prize.
As they drove closer, red-earth tracks disappeared left and right towards other scattered buildings and stands of low trees. Another line of trees veered off at a tangent and Zac realised the homestead looked down on a watercourse. He wondered if it was the Finke River, but he didn’t ask. He’d detected a shift in Ava’s mood, a crease between her eyes, a quieter, almost absent tone, and he wondered what sobering subject held her thoughts.
He’d pestered her with questions for most of the way because she intrigued him, and every answer opened another line of thought for him. His mind kept bouncing back to that game of ‘imagine’ about Weipa, which had been a hoot. He hadn’t been so engaged with conversation on a drive for years, and he still wasn’t sure what made them get on so well.
Perhaps it was her matter-of-fact answers, or the dry humour, or the understated tenacity of her family in times of hardship. Or, on a less noble level, the visceral sexual awareness between them that shimmered so much he felt like he was smoking hot and ready to ignite. Her strength, determination and sheer will were certainly unique in his world.
That wasn’t a reason to push him into a relationship with a woman so far disconnected from his world, but it wasn’t something he could ignore either.
They passed another of the natty FARM STAY signs he’d seen at the main gate, the shiny, metal, scaled-down, three-dimensional homestead board mounted on a post, about a metre across and complete with miniature working windmills and an arrow pointing the way to the house. The metal house models made his mouth twitch because they were clever, and he remembered them from the website he’d visited. He wondered where they’d purchased them, or whether they’d made them. Knowing what he did about Ava’s family, the latter wouldn’t surprise him.
A thin, mature, black dog ran up to the car, barking, tail wagging, the intelligent doggy face alive with curiosity to see who was in the car with Ava. Zac loved dogs, and one day he planned on adopting one. He might need an object of affection for when he looked back at these times with the increasingly fascinating Ava May, the desert midwife. He stared at the excited canine and he laughed out loud in response. He might need a dog quite badly, in fact.
They pulled up at the main entrance, though it seemed every room in the house facing them had its own door outside to the verandah. He recognised the main door by the welcome mat and the row of boots standing to attention outside.
The door stood open and he saw Ava’s grandmother – Mirium, she’d told him at the hospital – though Ava referred to her as Mim. The small, well-tanned, white-haired woman called, ‘Reggie.’ The dog obeyed immediately and came to sit, very still, beside her at the door. She bent and rubbed his ears and the black tail slapped the floor of the verandah in ecstasy.
Then Ava’s mother, slightly taller, equally well-tanned, with Ava’s blue eyes and snub nose, stepped past her and smiled in Ava’s direction as she climbed out of the car.
He couldn’t help comparing the welcoming delight on the faces of the two women to the gracious acknowledgement his wife had showed when he’d arrived home each day. Poor little rich boy, he mocked himself, and opened his door.
Ava’s mother smiled at him, nodded and gestured them towards the door. ‘Come in, come in. Come and have a cold drink. And late lunch. You must be starving.’