The Drifter Read online

  He shrugged and went back to watching the willy-wagtails. The sun had gone now and left them alone. Silence fell. He didn’t bother looking back at her.

  ‘I left some dinner in your fridge,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t bother feeding me,’ he muttered. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Calm down, Samson – I wasn’t threatening to cut your hair.’

  Both of his hands came down beside him, and he turned slowly around to face her, staring at her for a few long moments, and her heart began to race, in case she had to make a dash for it. She didn’t actually believe it would help. Good grief – did she have to make a crack about his body? As if she had even noticed? His large arms tensed and flexed, and his long torso looked suddenly very powerful. She swallowed a couple of times and rubbed her arms, on which the hairs were standing to attention in alarm. His gaze was intense, and his eyes, his sad dark eyes, were the colour of billabongs. She blinked for something to do, and he visibly relaxed and turned back to the water.

  ‘Bloody sit down,’ he commanded. ‘You make the place look messy.’

  She gingerly covered the last couple of paces and sat next to him, accepted the beer he handed her without looking her way, and sucked down a quick gulp. She coughed, and the willy-wagtails flew away in frustration. She sat in his shadow, glancing out of the corner of her eye at his strong profile and large shoulder. It felt unspeakably good for no reason at all. She glanced doubtfully at her beer.

  ‘Keep trying,’ he murmured, and took another long pull of his own.

  She sat quietly next to him and did just that.

  CHAPTER 5

  Church Committee day was not one that Cate had been looking forward to. In a moment of weakness she had agreed to not only drive Aunty Ida into town, but to actually attend the meeting. She wasn’t sure what went on at church meetings. It sounded boring. She’d never been to one; she’d been in work meetings, which just meant someone would rather gossip with the new receptionist than answer the phone, and she’d joked about AA meetings a few times, but she’d never actually turned up and voted on stuff.

  She pulled on a clean skirt and T-shirt, and found a pair of sandals she’d never liked with a chunky heel that said I want my life back or I want to die. Either way. She put her hair in a ponytail, and set about filling the car from the pump near the machinery shed. It was rather stiff and took about fifty solid pumps to create enough suction to get the petrol up the pipe and into the tank. Then it was easier work, and she ground away with one arm, then the other, until the tank was filled; some petrol splashed out of the car and onto her shoes. Good. Easier to burn them later. There was a God.

  ‘Nice skirt.’ And here was Moses. ‘Where are you off to?’

  She stamped her foot to get the worst of the petrol off. ‘Thanks. Town – church meeting. Want anything?’

  Henry stood with his hands in his pockets. ‘Nah. I’ve got everything I need. Have fun. Didn’t pick you as a committee woman.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been surprising myself lately.’

  He appeared to almost smile, and she had the impression of a strong jaw and straight white teeth. She looked away. ‘Gotta go. I’ll be late, and I’ll miss something important. Like tea.’

  He was heading for the workshop, but he held up his hand in farewell. ‘Have fun, Princess,’ he said and disappeared inside the shed to fiddle about with drills, or whatever men did in sheds.

  Aunty Ida scrubbed up a treat. For some reason all the local ladies dressed up for their meetings. The rest of the time they bumped into each other in the street wearing an old jumper from 1992 and it was fine, but come meeting day, they were all in their scarves, beads and heels. Her aunt climbed into the car, holding a cake tin and wearing a cheerful expression. It wasn’t often she got to show off a member of the family; she was going to enjoy her afternoon immensely.

  Cate turned the key, and the radio lurched into life. She turned it off.

  ‘Sorry, Aunty Ida – let’s go, eh?’

  Ida nodded. She could probably hear Cate’s teeth gritting from the other side of the car, and she looked like she could care less. They chatted about the neighbours all the way into town. Her aunt was an encyclopedia of information about everyone’s family business, and she was in no way spectacular; it was like country women had invented the internet without the use of technology.

  ‘Now, dear, I’ll introduce you around,’ Ida explained. ‘We’ll have a quick meeting and then we’ll all have afternoon tea. It should be a nice outing for you – the local ladies are all good bakers, so you won’t go hungry. Luise Hofmann’s sponge cake is the stuff of local legend!’

  Cate laughed. The cake part sounded great.

  The paddocks slid past them in the afternoon light, faded by the late-summer sun. The stubble was growing thinner now, and some paddocks were patiently waiting for the rains that were still weeks away. Here and there thin mallee trees and salmon gums were scattered around the fence lines like stitching on a clumsy blanket, and the narrow sandy tracks the sheep made cut through the landscape like scars. Then the bush thickened to scrub and they passed the cemetery and the signs that welcomed them to town. The lake was empty because the hungry blue sky had stolen all the water, the tennis club was deserted, and the hall was empty. A car passed them, and they glanced at the numberplates to see if it was local. It wasn’t.

  Cate pulled in to the church, which was a modern construction, built by local efforts years ago when the old building, left over from the Second World War, had been condemned. ‘Here’s our church,’ Ida announced as if Cate was about to be amazed, and climbed slowly out of the car. To be fair, she was right to be proud, Cate thought. She had heard many times about the determination with which the town had built the new church, securing funds by donating truckloads of grain during the harvest that year, working hard at busy bees, thumping desks, holding meetings and making calls. Cate remembered her mother rolling her eyes at all the activity. Ida is wearing herself out for nothing, she had said. There’s no one left in the town to use the church anyway – they should just go to Wickepin or Corrigin instead and use the money for something else. But the ladies of the Church Committee had obviously disagreed, and here it was, serving every denomination.

  The meeting ran on rails. It was easy to believe the countryside was empty, until there was something on in town and the cars began pulling up, and women bearing cake tins, books, DVDs and one or two young children came rushing through the door. Ida was in her element. She introduced Cate to a small sea of faces she didn’t recognise. Here was formidable Deirdre, whose farm had sat next to Ida’s for over a hundred years, and who had her own cow that she milked twice a day, and here was gentle Audrey, who was at the centre of so many of Ida’s stories, and here was bossy Sarah, a young teacher new to the district, whose cheerful voice carried above the crowd, just waiting to tell the assembled to take out their coloured pencils.

  ‘Ladies,’ came the command, ‘shall we get going?’ And they took to their pews and began to go through the attendance and the minutes of the previous meeting. Sitting next to her were Margaret and Libby, who leaned over to introduce themselves in stage whispers.

  ‘Very happy to see you here,’ Margaret said with great signif­icance, as if Cate’s absence had been the topic of discussion for some time.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cate murmured, as the ladies found their places and began to quieten down.

  She let her mind drift with her eyes, and told herself stories about the rest of the gathered quorum. Here were two sisters, dressed in similar shades of glowing red, with crazy curly dark hair in which they showed no interest. They lived on farms next to each other, having married brothers who played guitar to them at family barbecues, and here was a middle-aged lady of considerable girth, who had been a great beauty in her day, in Sydney, before she fell pregnant to a sailor, and took to the bush as a shearers’ cook when her family disowned her . . .

  Cate glanced up to find at least half of the women pr
esent had their hands in the air, and Deirdre Broderick was glaring at her because she was absolutely not listening and had been caught out. She stuck her hand in the air, glancing at Ida to make sure it was what she wanted. Ida nodded slightly in approval.

  ‘Very good – thank you, all,’ noted Audrey Higgins-Devine with a quick nod. Cate wondered what she’d just supported, and the meeting moved on to the next item on the agenda.

  The afternoon was warm and the church hall was stuffy, so Cate was relieved when the meeting ended, and a short lady in a floral dress she thought may have been Luise Hofmann cracked out the cakes. The women changed gears, from business to pleasure. Cate slowly, and with great dignity, stuffed a sponge into her face while she eavesdropped on the conversations around her.

  ‘Here, Ida, I found that book you wanted about Gina Rinehart. Robbie had it in the office.’

  ‘Did you want a lift to Narrogin next week? I’m going around ten o’clock – I could easily pick you up —’

  ‘How’s your mum going now, after the surgery? Is she a bit more mobile?’

  ‘And then the vet tells me she’s pregnant! Rotten dog. Puppies! I need puppies like a hole in the head —’

  ‘Then I made it in to yoga just in time, and we had quite a good group – around a dozen of us in all —’

  She gazed along the trestle table to find a source of chocolate, and was thrilled to see dainty lamingtons and large soft brownies groaning with chocolate chips. She moved surreptitiously towards them.

  ‘So, Cate.’ It was Deirdre Broderick, who had so thoroughly disapproved of her earlier. ‘I see you’ve come back to visit your aunt.’

  ‘Yes, I thought it was time I made the effort . . .’ she began.

  Deirdre sniffed loudly. ‘More than time, I would have thought,’ she snapped. ‘She’s an old woman now. And we see no sign of your family paying her any attention.’

  Cate flushed. ‘Oh. Uh, I suppose we’re fairly busy in Perth, and we wait for her to come to us,’ she offered. She had little idea, and she had previously given it no thought.

  Deirdre sighed impatiently. ‘Really! She can’t make it to Perth easily anymore. Your family should know that!’

  Audrey Higgins-Devine held out a cup of tea. ‘Tea, Deirdre?’ she asked mildly. Deirdre took the cup.

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ she responded more gently.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ll want a cup, Cate?’ Audrey inquired.

  Cate shook her head with a smile. ‘No thanks, I’m fine with all the cakes.’

  ‘You know, I’ve been watching you, and you remind me of your father when he was a young man.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes, very handsome he was, and always looking like he had somewhere better to be.’

  Oops. ‘Oh – not at all – I’m enjoying spending time with Aunty Ida,’ she assured her.

  ‘Of course! I beg your pardon. I just mean you look like a fish out of water here, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you know, some fish did manage to evolve and grow legs,’ she said.

  Audrey laughed. ‘So they did.’

  Another voice broke through the small crowd. It was like a very loud siren. ‘Anyone who wants a couple of tickets in the netball raffle – come and see me before the end of the meeting.’

  Cate whirled around to see Sarah, the local teacher, holding up a book of tickets. Man, her voice could cut glass. Deirdre looked disapproving again, and Cate began to move away from her to dip out on the next round. She picked up a lamington just as Deirdre was having her say to Audrey, who smiled happily.

  ‘Yes, dear, but think how handy she’ll be if we ever have a fire!’

  Cate did her best to dissolve into the background, which was difficult when her aunt insisted on introducing her to all her friends and when Libby Heffernan had lined her up for a hit of tennis and a glass of wine the following week at the lake. She stood quite happily near the doorway chatting to the women who wanted to know who she was, and she observed her aunt in her natural environment – she was not sad old Ida alone on the farm. She was a woman at the centre of the gathering, making jokes with Margaret, swapping books with Deirdre, and reminding Audrey to watch a documentary on ancient Greece next week. There was so much laughter here, and so much interest. Ida seemed to be at the heart of so many conversations, the strange mix of age groups and fashion choices forgotten. It became clear to Cate why her aunt was refusing to leave the farm. Her family was here. The thought made her inexplicably happy and sad at the same time.

  When afternoon tea was complete, Ida and Cate went to the co-op for a few supplies. It was worn now, but had served the local community for many years, and Kath Hayles had been there for at least half of them.

  ‘And who’s this?’ she demanded good-naturedly as she stacked groceries into a box.

  ‘This,’ Ida said proudly, ‘is my grand-niece, Cate. She’s come to stay for a bit.’

  Kath smiled broadly. ‘How nice! You’ll have some company out there. And how are you enjoying the country, Cate?’

  Cate smiled back. ‘Very well, thanks. It’s great to spend time with Aunty Ida.’

  ‘She’s even been having a look about the farm, and doing odd jobs for me,’ supplied Ida.

  Kath looked impressed. ‘So you know something about farms?’

  ‘I don’t really, but we’ve got help from, uh, Henry, who’s working for us for a little while.’ Did that sound weird? ‘He’s a tall guy with a beard. Maybe you’ve seen him around?’ And now she had a vague description out there, just in case they were murdered in their beds.

  ‘Yes, I think I’ve seen him in here. Doesn’t say much.’ Kath finished filling her box.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve had him in here. Silent type. I didn’t know he was with you.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Ida, keen to impart her theory on swaggies. ‘He’s very welcome to stay in our old house until he gets back on his feet.’

  Or kills us and buries us in a paddock.

  It was late afternoon by the time they made it home, and the sun was softer across the shining bark of the salmon gums behind the house. Mac had noticed their arrival and was wandering out of the workshop with great dignity to see what news was to be found on the car tyres from the trip to town. He sniffed forensically and gazed at them in deep thought, as if he was diagnosing whether their meeting had been a success.

  ‘Well, Mac,’ Ida bent down slowly to pat him, ‘we had a lovely afternoon tea, and all the girls were delighted to see Cate again.’

  Mac panted smugly. He had suspected it would go well. He glanced back to the sheep yards and sat down, giving the impression he had to take a few moments to plan something.

  ‘He’s in charge of the farm now, is he, Aunty Ida?’ Cate asked.

  Her aunt chuckled lightly. ‘Oh, yes, he’s the dog about the place, all right. I don’t know where I’d be without him. He’s been my dear companion since Jack died.’

  Cate bent to stroke Mac’s soft ears. ‘I’m sorry he’s not still here,’ she murmured.

  Ida pulled the back door of the car open and began unloading her cake tins. ‘But he is, dear.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Jack is always here, Cate.’ She put the tins on the roof of the car and looked about. ‘I can see the exact shape of his back as he leans over the drafting race, I can hear the clump of his boots stamping off the mud on the verandah, and the sound of him whistling to Mac from the workshop. There is not one corner of this place he doesn’t inhabit. Not one fence or gate, or piece of machinery I can’t see him working on. He’s always here, dear, with me.’

  ‘But don’t you believe he went to heaven?’

  Ida glanced around slowly and reverently, taking in the gentle fall of the parched earth and the line of gum trees along the horizon. She took in the corrugated-iron sheds, the sheep yards, the junk pile of old machines and inventions that had died and were waiting to live again. The workshop door lay open, the shearing s
hed was empty and the ute was parked facing up the race to the back paddock. There was work here still to be done. She was smiling, and her eyes were shining brightly when she finally turned back to Cate.

  ‘But, darling, this is his heaven.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Cate had decided to put the ute to good use. There were mountains of stuff throughout the house that had been breeding since the late eighties, and most of it had to go. She could probably just take loads to the tip, and the rest she figured she could get past Ida by donating it to the needy. She’d have a good go tomorrow. Right now, she was hungry for actual food; cake was all very well, but she needed something more substantial. She made her way to the little kitchen and put bread in the toaster and rummaged for the Vegemite.

  When it was ready, she went out to the weathered verandah lovingly decorated by Mac, pulled up an old plastic chair, and surveyed the garden. She’d have loved a coffee, but it was pointless to dwell. She wondered what the girls were up to. Maybe they had been shopping in Claremont and now they were off to Cottesloe for dinner. Saskia and Madonna loved the beach. Every time Cate went over to the workshop her phone pinged with a message from the girls letting her know she was missing out on another sunset over the sea, or a new cocktail at The Beach Club. It made her smile, but in many ways it felt like they were in a foreign country.

  The garden had seen better days. It was rough and straggly; half of it needed a hard pruning, which she didn’t know how to do, and the other half needed pulling out, which she could work out, if necessary, but which didn’t fill her with joy. She resolved to water it occasionally and to see where that took her. She watched the sheds for movement and wondered what Henry was up to. Probably enjoying his water views. The water tank at the side of the house was looking quite old. When she had finished eating she wandered around it, tapping experimentally to see where the water reached. It was low. Maybe that was her next job. She could hear Ida calling her, so she went back inside, stepping over a couple of old sheep bones and spider-infested boots next to the back door on the way.