The day after Mum came home was hot, well over ninety degrees, and the road in front of the house shimmered so you weren’t always sure where the edges were.
I looked out of the lounge room windows and noticed all the plants were starting to lie over sideways in the heat. They just didn’t have the heart to fight the blazing, relentless sun, and I didn’t blame them. Mr Driver had been up watering at 6 am, but that wasn’t going to make a difference. Today was the day flowers were going to die on him. I did all this noticing not from our lounge room window, but from Mr Driver’s.
The day before, the day Mum had actually returned from Scotland at last, Mr Driver had taken his car to the Adelaide Airport to collect Mum from the plane with us, because we needed two vehicles to fit everyone and all Mum’s bags. Dad had rung Mum to come home, but she had gone on a trip with a cousin somewhere far away and they weren’t able to contact her. They said they might not see her for weeks and weeks. We buried Caleb six weeks before she touched down in Adelaide. Dad asked Ruthy and I to stay with the families we were living with until Mum came home because he had lots of things to sort out about Caleb and trying to find Mum to bring her home. And I think he asked us to stay where we were because he was so sad and because I should have told him about the sacrifice thing, and I didn’t.
Aunty Jean got crosser and crosser with me because I picked my head so much in the night, and she would only let me sleep on one old pillow that was stained yellow from snot and ear wax and dribble, and which was covered in an old towel she had pinned around it.
Ruthy and I were allowed to go to the main service when we buried Caleb, but we had to go home to the Roystons and the Hodgesons straight after because they didn’t think it was suitable for children to go to the graveside. I think they were very wrong about that, and I had two kinds of nightmares for the longest time afterwards.
The first nightmare was like a play where I was a Catholic priest who was organising the service, but I couldn’t get everyone to behave and line up by the graveside. I wanted them all to march around the grave to ‘Colonel Bogey’ from Bridge on the River Kwai, but they just wouldn’t do it properly, even though I waved a big ball of incense at them and threatened I could send them all to Hell. And then we were all standing by the open grave but the dirt kept dropping into the hole and filling up and I had to get down into the grave with a spade to try to get it out. When we finally buried Caleb, Ruthy and I cried and cried and cried, and then Ruthy would say, ‘Dorcas, you forgot to put him in the box – we have to do it all again,’ and the play would start from the beginning.
The second dream was worse. I think Caleb must have handed it on to me somehow. I was in a graveyard next to the shop from which we bought the fresh bread on Sundays. When I came out of the shop with the bread, I did the wrong thing and started to eat it because it was so soft and fragrant. I noticed Dad on a cross in a small graveyard next to the shop, and ran to him to try to get him down. He said he couldn’t get down because I had the bread of life in my hands and I’d picked a big hole in it, and because of that he’d have to die to save Caleb now. He said I’d never believed Caleb’s lungs were really bad, and if I hadn’t wanted a guinea pig so badly, none of this would have happened. He started to cry big drops of blood, and they splashed on the loaf of bread. He said, ‘Take, eat, this is my body. Take, drink. This is my blood,’ in his lovely tenor voice, and I walked back to the car with the bloody bread, but there was no one there. I just sat in the back by myself for a long time feeling like a giant stone was sitting in my heart until I woke up crying and scratching my scalp.
I did not know you could feel so bad. I thought Sixpence dying was the worst thing that could happen to me, but I was wrong. Losing Caleb meant I thought about Sixpence all the time again, every day. But at least I had been able to make her a bed and give her a kiss and say goodbye. At least she was in Mr Driver’s garden and I would be able to visit her every day when I got home. I didn’t know where Caleb was. I didn’t have a picture in my head about it. I kept trying to imagine what that place would look like. Would he have a nice tree overhead to keep him cool? Who was asleep next to him? Was it a nice person who would look after him at the resurrection until I could find him? I was pretty sure I was too naughty to be judged and given eternal life when Jesus came back, but if Jesus was at all kind, he would at least drag me out of the mud to check that Caleb had a friend and wasn’t too scared before he consigned me to everlasting death.
During the day I would sometimes think Caleb would turn up somewhere, laughing at us for being silly, and I would be able to run and hug him or perhaps give him tickle-death for giving us all such a scare. That would make me so happy for just a minute and then the happiness would burst like a big blister and all the hope would run out like blister water down my foot.
Normally any reason to go the airport was exciting, but it was Caleb in particular who would beg and beg and beg to go to see the planes, so the day we went to get Mum just felt heavy and sad. The Roystons picked up Ruthy and took us both to the airport, and handed us over to Dad. Mr Driver was there. Daniel had travelled in his car with him. There were crowds of people waiting to see people they loved come down the stairs from the front and back of the plane, and across the tarmac, which shimmered in the sun as though there was magic in the air.
Mr Driver stayed a step away from us, to give us family privacy. I took his hand to bring him with us, but he just shook his head no very sadly and gently pushed me forward. We waited and waited. She seemed to be almost the last person to come through the chute. Ruthy and I saw her first and screamed, ‘Mum, Mum.’ Most people looked so happy to see friends and family when they came out of the tunnel from the plane, but Mum didn’t rush to where we stood. She just walked over carefully and elegantly on her high-heeled shoes, looking as though she’d just come fresh from the beauty parlour. She seemed taller and thinner and was wearing a dress I’d never seen before. It was baby blue with an empire line and no sleeves. Her sandals were the same shade of blue, and her bag was white leather with a shiny silver clasp and blue piping. Her hair was a different colour red than usual, and she had changed her eyeliner and mascara. She looked like our mum, but she also didn’t look like her.
She walked over to us at a usual kind of walking speed, handed Dad her flight bag and let him give her a peck on the cheek. She dropped to her knees to give Ruthy a cuddle, and then stood up to hug Daniel. Mum wouldn’t look at me and ignored me when I tugged at her arm to say hello. I was pretty sure my heart was going to break into pieces and come out of my mouth. I felt sick and confused and embarrassed and left out and ashamed all at the same time. I felt like running and running and running, but at the same time, I could hardly move. Dad pulled me to him and put his arm around my neck, and pushed my face into his shirt, which smelled like ironing aid and sweat and a bit of aftershave I didn’t recognise. So part of Mum didn’t seem the same, and part of Dad didn’t smell the same, and this felt wrong rather than interesting. I was very glad though that he didn’t let go until we were walking to the cars. I tried to stop the tears but they just kept falling and falling and I didn’t make a noise but I gave up the struggle and let them splash wherever they wanted.
Mr Driver walked a few feet behind us, and when I looked back at him to check he was okay and wouldn’t get lost in the crowds, he had the saddest look on his face. When we stepped out of the airport into the scorching sunlight, he asked if I would go in his car to keep him company on the way home. I wanted to be with my family, but Daniel said he’d come with us too, and that I could sit in the front. I didn’t argue. This wasn’t an arguing day. And, in fact, I didn’t seem to have any words available at that point in time. I felt a bit dizzy and as though I was somehow watching myself from a few feet away. It was like watching the old Super 8 movies Dad used to make of birthdays and Christmas. You knew they were real, and you knew you were in them, but somehow they seemed made up.
When we got home, I started to follow Daniel into the house, but he stopped me and he and Mr Driver gave each other a grown-up sort of look. He asked me to go with him for a minute into Mr Driver’s house and the three of us walked down the side drive to Mr Driver’s back door, and into the kitchen. Daniel took me over to Mr Driver’s chair and pulled me to sit on his knee. He hugged me and kissed my hair and stroked my cheek and when I looked up at him, his tears plonked on my face, and I wiped them away with my sleeve. I put my head on his chest and I felt him take a very deep breath.
‘Dorcas. You know this is a sad time for everyone, and especially for Mum because she … didn’t see Caleb before … before … well … and she’s a bit mixed-up and unhappy at the moment. And so she … we … she … thinks it would be a good idea if you stayed here with Mr Driver, just for a few days, until she gets over all her travelling tiredness.’
‘But I want to be home in my own room with Ruthy and my things and the wee patch and Mum and Dad and you,’ I said. ‘I really, really badly want that, Daniel. I’ve been away for so long. Is it because … because it’s my fault … about Caleb?’ I asked in a whisper. This was the question I knew had been hanging around in my head ever since the fire. It was like a blowfly in my brain. I could sort of hear it, and it came and went, and it was upsetting, but it would fly away from my thinking when I tried to catch it or swat it. It was definitely a blowfly not a butterfly, and I would quite like to catch it and squash it.
‘It’s not your fault!’ said Mr Driver. ‘None of this is your fault. You are a wonderful, wonderful girl and anyone who knows you knows that for sure. It’s not your fault your mum is very upset. But I would consider it a great favour to me if you would take my spare room, Dorcas, and just keep me company for a few days. Daniel and Ruthy and your dad are welcome in this house whenever they want to be, and in no time we’ll have you back in your room.’
I felt like a block of lead. My legs felt too heavy to carry me. My head felt too heavy for my neck to hold it up. My eyes were leaking, and Jesus was squeezing my heart again. Daniel let me hang on to him for ages, and Mr Driver made him a cup of coffee that he drank by sort of leaning it on the top of my head, which I didn’t mind at all. I could hear him slurping and I could hear it going into his insides. I could smell peanut paste and spearmint toothpaste and the funky smell boys had sometimes. I didn’t want to move, but eventually we heard Dad calling over the fence, and Daniel hugged me extra tight and nudged me to get up. He stood and looked at Mr Driver, who said, ‘It will be all right, son. She’ll be fine here. You know she’s always been my special girl. I won’t let anything happen to her, and when your mum is ready, you’ll all find a way forward.’
They shook hands, which reminded me that my brother was a grown-up man now, but then Daniel stepped towards Mr Driver and hugged him briefly before turning and walking out the door. It wasn’t just Mum and Dad that looked and smelled different. Daniel had grown taller and more handsome. His shoulders were broader and his bottom was littler. Dad’s lovely big brown eyes had copied themselves onto his face, as had Mum’s high cheekbones and thin, neat nose. I found myself staring at him very hard, as though I thought he’d leave me again, and I wanted to remember every bit of him I could.
When he left, I just stood at the back door. I didn’t know what to do. After an hour that was about a minute, Mr Driver took my hand and led me outside. We walked down to Sixpence’s house, and he put another chair next to mine, and said why didn’t I tell Sixpence about today. He was pretty sure she would want to know, even all the sad bits. But I couldn’t find my words. After a while he led me back inside, and he didn’t leave me until he tucked me into bed. He sat next to me, and I could tell he was trying to find kind things to say. I heard his back door open and sat up in bed straight up like a rocket ship. I hoped against hope it was my mum or my dad, but it was Daniel. He had brought over my Don Quixote book, which I had forgotten to take back to the school library before I went to the Roystons’. He changed places with Mr Driver and started to read.
I listened to the story I had come to know well. Like me, Don Quixote loved knights and chivalry, and decided he should be a knight-errant in search of adventures. He makes his tired old horse Rocinante take him to an inn he thinks in his mixed-up brain is a castle, and decides to rescue Dulcinea, who is a neighbour who doesn’t even like him much and doesn’t feel the least need to be rescued. It’s a good story, but it’s a sad one too, because Don Quixote made everything up and wasn’t right in the head and couldn’t see the world the way it really was. And I lay there thinking that this was my problem too. I wanted what I wanted and I didn’t notice what the real world looked like. In the real world, Caleb had bad lungs and that was more important than me needing a pet. In the real world, Mum was sick and I was naughty and didn’t help her enough. In the real world, I was meant to notice my little brother was upset and let a grown-up know properly, but I was too busy with my own dreams that had dried up my brain like Mr Quixote.
After a while Daniel’s words drifted away, and I must have gone to sleep for a short time. I woke up to the sound of the two men talking. They had left the door open a crack, I guess in case I woke up and was a bit scared, and I crawled out of bed and sat at the door to listen.
‘She told me not to come here. She told us all not to come to see her,’ I heard Daniel say, and then he made a kind of choking noise. ‘I told her the time for her to be telling me what to do was over, and that if she didn’t want me back in New South Wales, she’d better think twice before she used me to punish Dorcas, or she’d go from two sons to no sons.’
‘Good for you, lad. Good for you. I hope it won’t take long to sort itself out.’
‘How can she be like this?’ I heard Daniel ask. ‘I just don’t understand.’
‘I think you do understand, son. Maybe you don’t agree, but you do understand. Look what she put you through. After all, it was your mother, not your father, who insisted you leave after … after the incident. I think she’s just got so little fuel in her tank that she can’t face it when things don’t line up properly. She has to tidy them up and trim them straight and try to change their colour, just like she does with all the ladies’ hair.’
‘She didn’t write to me or contact me for the nine months I was away,’ said Daniel.
‘Not even a note?’ I could tell from his voice Mr Driver was very surprised.
‘No. Thank goodness for my weekly call from Dad, and all the letters from Ruthy.’
Mr Driver leaned over and I think he patted Daniel on the hand. ‘I don’t think anything in the world could stop that child writing.’
‘I told Mum and Dad last night I’m going to law school next year.’ There was a silence.
‘I thought your church frowned on going to law school, not that I ever understood why,’ said Mr Driver.
‘They think it sets you up to make decisions that might be against God’s will, or some such rubbish. But I’m going to go. And if they try to fight it, I’ll stop going to church. I’ve had enough of all this Christian goodness. Look where it gets us all.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve always thought you’d make a very good lawyer. If they don’t let you stay with them, son, you can have my spare room here if you’d like it. I’ll swap you for some maintenance around the place and free legal advice about how to stop Mrs Kerfoops’s cat from urinating all over my veggies.’
They both laughed. It made me smile for a minute. I heard a chair scrape, and Daniel say, ‘I’ll just look in on her before I go’.
‘You do that, son, and don’t worry about her. I’ll take good care of her. She’s my mate.’
I jumped into bed and pretended I was asleep as he quietly opened the door to look in on me. I wasn’t ready to talk about what I’d just heard. I put my head under the blankets and thought about Mum not handing over Daniel’s letters, and Mum and Dad forbidding Daniel to be a lawyer, and most of all, Mum being the one who made Daniel go away, and some of me was frightened, but a tiny, pinky-toe-sized piece of me thought, Well I’m not the only one she’s pushed away. I’m not the only one she’s pushed away. I’m not the only one …