When Kate saw Nick again, much later in the night, he was lying in the muck beneath the bar. His boots were long gone, and Simmo and Blue had hold of his ankles and were dragging him out from under the trestle tables. The crowd had thinned down to the diehard drunks, who watched as Johnno sat riding Nick’s belly, rodeo-style. Nick’s short sandy hair was black with grime and his shirt was mottled with food dye. His teeth shone out in a drunken grin from behind a mask of cracking mud. He and Johnno rolled and wrestled, trying to wrench small tubes of red food dye from each other’s fists. When Nick succeeded in stealing Johnno’s bottle, he put it to his lips, sucked it in, washed it round, then pursed his lips and sprayed Johnno full force in the face. Eyes scrunched, red liquid dripping, Johnno looked like a gunshot victim from a Quentin Tarantino film. He retaliated like a bad-tempered bull, roughly dragging Nick up in a headlock. He grabbed a keg gun from the trestle table and squirted a jet of frothy beer into Nick’s face. Felicity was nowhere in sight.
Kate watched, laughing at the boys’ shenanigans. Blue was yapping at their ankles like a little dog trying to stir the big dogs into a fight as Nick and Johnno rolled and reefed each other about by their clothes, muscles straining. Two big country boys, drunk and playfighting. Young bulls going head to head.
When they accidentally kicked the leg out from under a trestle table and sent drinks flying, Razor at last stepped out from behind the bar. He put his big overalled body in between the boys and prised them apart.
‘Outside,’ Razor said sternly, spinning them round and giving them a good shove. Nick good-naturedly wavered his way towards the floodlit square of the shed’s entrance, where moths danced on the hot surface of the lights. Kate fell in step with him as he staggered down the loading ramp.
Once clear of the shed, Nick bent over, puffing hard in the rocky sheep yards, his hands on his thighs.
‘You right?’ Kate said, standing a little way off.
‘Shit-carted,’ was all he could manage.
‘Where’s Felicity?’
Nick shrugged, too drunk to speak. Kate looked around. On the fringe of darkness, in the next yard, she could make out tufts of green grass rising up from the barren rubble of rocks and dust. There must be water over there, she thought. Scruffing Nick by the collar, she led him to the fence.
‘Get over,’ she commanded.
‘Huh?’
She lifted his muddy foot onto the bottom rail. ‘Over.’
Nick obediently began to climb. When he reached the top rail of the yards he mumbled something before toppling over the other side. He landed with a thud on his back. Small clouds of dust rose like smoke around his body and hovered above him in the light spilling from the shearing shed.
Kate grabbed him by the arm and pulled.
‘C’mon, Nick. Just a little further.’
Once he was upright, he draped an arm over Kate’s shoulder and hobbled in his socks towards a dark oblong water trough. When they reached the trough, Nick slumped down beside it.
‘Stick your head in,’ Kate commanded.
‘Huh?’
‘In the trough. Stick your head in.’
‘Too bloody cold.’
Kate half lifted him. He splashed water onto his face.
‘More than that,’ she said, putting her hand on the back of his head and dunking him under. The first time he came up spluttering water and green weed. The second time he was swearing. The third, he was laughing.
‘What are you doing? It’s slimy in there!’
‘You’ll be right,’ Kate said, feeling in his jacket pockets for something to wipe his face with. She pulled out a scrunched handkerchief, wet it and began to mop his face. He was so drunk his eyes were half-closed. She stared at the long wet lashes that feathered his strong cheekbones. His full mouth. A kissable mouth, now it was cleaner. She wet the cloth again and wiped more mud from his face and neck.
‘Lucky you don’t have those curls anymore,’ she said. ‘You’d never get this crud out of them.’
Nick didn’t answer. His eyes were now almost completely closed. The band had stopped playing. Kate could hear the hiss of the trough’s faulty float valve and the drip of water as it trickled from the trough. She was kneeling, the ground damp beneath her knees. Above them hung the moon, watching from over Nick’s shoulder. A big moon, not yet quite full. Shining like an old silver coin on black velvet. A pesky moon that did nothing but prompt romance now they were alone.
‘You trying to deflower me again,’ Nick mumbled, his eyes suddenly open as he studied Kate’s face.
‘How can I ever do that again?’
‘You could give it a go.’ Nick reached out and clasped her arm. ‘You’re an amazing woman, Kate Webster. You’re the mother of my child. Huh! ’Mazing.’
‘You’re drunk.’
Nick’s head lolled forwards as if to confirm it.
‘S’what if I am. You telling me you’re sober?’
Kate smiled at him. Yes she was, actually. The first time ever and it felt good. Like she was in control. Her anger towards her father could not touch her tonight. Not with Nick near her. And the few rums she’d had were warming her soul, not removing it, as on other nights, where she’d lost herself for hours and woken up with a stranger in her bed. Here she was outside, alone with Nick. Trailing him. Thirsty for him. And sober.
‘I just wanted to talk to you,’ Kate said. She sat down next to him, trying to pull the shreds of her dress over her bare legs. Goosebumps rose over her skin as the dampness of the ground near the trough seeped through.
‘I wanted to find out if you’re okay. Okay about … Nell.’
Nick sighed. Kate watched a look of sobriety slide across his face for a moment.
‘S’pose. I’ve been getting used to the idea. No choice.’
‘And Felicity?’
‘She knows.’
‘She knows! What did she say about it?’
Nick waved the question away. ‘Doesn’t matter now.’
He pulled a ring from his pocket, waved it in front of Kate’s face and tossed it. The ring caught the light, glimmered for a moment, then with a ‘plop’ it sank into the trough.
‘Hey!’ Kate said.
‘Mutual separation. As of …’ – Nick looked at his watch – ‘two hours ago.’ He began to slur his own version of his favourite Lee Kernaghan song, ‘Baby don’t lerve me, coz I’m country.’
‘Oh,’ Kate said, feeling genuine sympathy for him, but also a rush of delight at the possibility of being with him.
‘Had a D&M. Said I wasn’t for her. You know the drum. Took my ute, she did. Vamoosed on me.’
‘So you’re a free man?’
‘Me?’ Nick said. ‘A free man? You’re joking. I’ve got a crook dad, a sad mum and a very recent daughter I never knew about, a buggered farm and a big bloody drought. Hardly free! But there’s one thing I could have that would set me free, baby,’ he said, ‘and that’s you. You would be good. You would be nice. You would make me feel freeeee as a bird!’ He wasn’t looking at her, just mumbling drunk, his head downturned, his arms outstretched as if he had wings.
Kate laughed. ‘You’re pissed.’ But as she took in his words, Kate felt the tug of the moon above them, watching them from on high. She felt the pull of Nell’s heartbeat, asleep like an angel at home. She felt the surge of the seaswell that touched the shores of Bronty. And she felt Nick’s presence … a pull so strong that it almost hurt. She turned to him and lifted his head so he would look at her. The expression on his face was one of sadness, but also of longing. He leant towards her.
‘Can I kiss you?’ he muttered. ‘Like the last time?’
He gently traced his fingers over her cheeks. Then he rested the palm of his hand on the back of her head. His touch felt so right. He pulled her towards him. Kate breathed in his kiss. Laden sweet with alcohol and longing. She almost moaned at feeling him like this. She leaned closer, pressed her mouth to his. She felt his rough hands sliding over her skin, her bare shoulders, her neck. They kissed deeply. Hotly. Tongues slid together with want. Her hands slipped inside his wet shirt, needing to feel his skin. Her palms met with his torso as sleek and muscled as a bull. She heard his breathing, heavy with craving. She shut out the rest of the world. It was just her and Nick. And the moon and the night sky, silver on black. Her and Nick, kissing at the B&S. All over again.