by Cameron Nunn
“What happened to you?” Rosie cried.
“I’m really sorry. I wandered up the creek.”
“What on earth did you do that for?” Gran asked.
“I went to where the pool used to be.”
“What were you doing up there?” Pa asked. His voice was angrier than usual. He stared intently as though he’d caught Will telling some sort of lie. “Who told you there was a pool?”
“Dad, I think. I slipped and . . .”
Pa’s face grew hard. “Well, there’s no pool, is there?” he demanded so forcefully that even Rosie looked startled.
“But there was once. There was a wall that was built as a dam and . . . I . . . lost my shoe in the mud next to the wall.”
“Fool of a boy!” His grandfather flung his cutlery down so hard that it clattered noisily across the plate and onto the table. “You’re not to go up there again. Never. Do you hear me?” He stood abruptly and the chair fell backwards. “I know what you’re up to. Don’t think I don’t know.” He spun around, giving the chair that lay on the floor a sudden kick so that it skittered across the kitchen. Then he slammed the wire door hard enough that it reverberated through the house.
For a time there was silence punctuated by the soft sobs of Rosie. Will had experienced the gruffness of his grandfather lots of times but this was different. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to see the pool and I slipped and . . .”
“It’s not your fault and don’t worry about him,” Gran said cutting off his apology, her voice low and measured. “I’ll talk to him later.” Gran turned to Rosie. “Sometimes even grown-ups can behave like children.”
“It was because Will lost his shoe,” Rosie said, clearly trying to make sense of it.
Will was still shaken. Gran stood up and went over to him. “Are you okay?” she asked, squeezing his hands gently the way his mum used to.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone that far. I’m really sorry I lost the shoe. I tried to find it. I really did.”
“Don’t worry. It’s only a shoe. There are more important things in this world.”
“But I don’t have another pair.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I’m wondering if one of Pa’s old pairs might fit you. Just till we can get across to Canowindra and buy you another pair.”
There was a sudden rise of panic in his throat. “I don’t want to make him angrier.” Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind he knew that wearing another person’s shoes was always bad luck.
“He wouldn’t know if any were missing, he’s got so many.”
Will gave one last pleading look, but Gran wandered down the hallway towards her bedroom. Will slowly followed her.
Gran and Pa’s room was like the rest of the house. Every corner was crammed with what seemed to Will like piles of junk. Gran fumbled around at the base of an old cupboard. “He never throws anything out. I’m sure there are plenty of old pairs in the back of the wardrobe.”
Then in triumph she held up a pair of what might once have been brown boots. Gran slapped them a couple of times in an attempt at shaking off years of dust. But even as she held them up, Will could see they’d be far too big.
“Just until we can get down to Canowindra,” Gran said brightly, holding them out to him.
The shoes smelt of old mildewy leather and dust and age, but Gran was watching so he put them on. As he took a step his foot slipped forward and he banged his toes in the front of the boots. “I feel really uncomfortable, Gran.”
“We can stuff some cotton wool in the toes. Then it’ll feel better.”
“Not about the boots.” Will hesitated. He didn’t want to be a pain but he just had to say something. If he left it, he’d stew on it and never get the courage to say anything. “I mean, not just about the boots. You’re really kind letting me borrow Pa’s boots and I know it’s my fault that I lost my shoe, but I feel awkward about wearing someone else’s boots.”
“Go on with you,” Gran smiled. “It’s not like Pa’s dead.”
Will swallowed deeply. “I don’t know why but everything I do just irritates him more. I didn’t lose my shoe on purpose and I don’t know why he’s so angry about the pool. It doesn’t matter what I do, he just seems to have it in for me.”
“Don’t be silly. From the moment you were born, you reminded me of your grandfather. And then when your mum and dad called you William, after your grandfather, I thought, well there you go. It proves my point.”
“But why do I make him so angry?”
“Just give him a little more time and he’ll come round. He flies off the handle sometimes but he’ll be stewing on it now, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. He’s like that, you know. He sparks up but he gets over it quickly. You wait, he’ll be apologising tonight for the way he spoke to you.” She paused. “I know it’s really hard at the moment, but give your grandfather a go. Just give him a go, Will. Give him a go.”
Dot was working outside, turning the soil of a vegetable garden with a large garden fork when Will climbed through the gap in the wire fence. She looked up and wiped the back of a gloved hand across her forehead. “You come to give me a hand?” she asked, sticking the fork in the ground and leaning on the handle.
Will smiled despondently. “I could give you a hand later, if you like.”
“I’m kidding. What’s on your mind?”
Will looked down at his feet.
“Thought they looked a tad big. There must be a clown somewhere going barefoot.”
“They’re Pa’s. I lost a shoe yesterday and now I’ve got to wear these. He went off at me yesterday. He just exploded and kept shouting that I was doing something and he knew what I was doing.”
“That’s your grandfather for you.” She turned and continued forking the soil as she spoke. “I don’t think anyone knows what he means. I’m not even sure he always does. Don’t take it to heart. Some people are just like that and you can’t change them. It’s just the way they are.” She stopped and looked at the work she’d done. “Bloody hard yakka this stuff.” Then turning back to Will, “Is Rosie okay?”
Will nodded slowly. “It’s just me that pisses him off. He hardly even notices that Rosie’s there most of the time.”
Dot took off her gloves and threw them and the fork onto the garden. “C’mon,” she said, “I think it might be time for a cup of tea.” She turned and began walking back up to the house.
As they walked around the good side of the house, Will asked, “Dot, do you ever have the feeling that you’ve been somewhere, that you’ve never actually been? Like a feeling you’ve been there before, only you haven’t.”
“Been there? Sure. Everyone does. It’s called deja vu,” she said, stamping her boots to shake off the dirt from the garden.
“No, I mean really, like you’ve been somewhere before. Like you’re remembering something that . . .” He tried to put into words what he felt, not just about the pool, but about the farm, about the house on the hill, about everything. “I don’t know. It’s just like I’ve been here before but it’s all changed.”
She stopped cleaning her boots. “Has your grandfather said something to you?”
“Like what? How much he hates me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dot said, dismissing the question. “I think you’d better come inside.”
Dot’s house always had that reassuring warmth like an old jumper that could never be thrown out despite the holes in the elbows. Will sat at the kitchen table, like he always did and Dot put on the electric jug and came back over to where he was sitting.
“Who used to live here?” Will asked.
“Where? Right here?” Dot gestured to the kitchen.
Will nodded.
“I’ve always lived here. And before that it was my parents, and before them my grandparents.”
“How about my grandparents’ farm?” He began folding and unfolding a small chewing gum wrapper left on the table, trying to focus on what was itching his mind.
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br /> “You’re full of questions,” said Dot, folding her arms. “Their farm used to be part of this farm, until my grandmother sold it to your grandfather. He built that house that you’re staying in with his own hands.”
“So no one lived there before Gran and Pa.” There was that itch again.
She shook her head. “Why are you asking? Are you sure it isn’t something your grandfather said?” As she spoke the kettle began boiling and she walked back to the bench and began making the cups of tea.
“I was just wondering.” He wanted to say more but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to know. Dot had her back to him but she’d stopped speaking and there was an awkward silence.
When she came back with two cups of tea, her face looked concerned. “Something’s bugging you and it isn’t just the shoes.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t take what your grandfather says too much to heart. Your grandfather’s cross with just about everyone. He’s always cross with me. He wouldn’t even speak to my father when he was alive.” She sat down and sipped slowly on her tea, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not saying that he’s not a good man. He doesn’t drink and in his own way he’s kind to your gran. He just gets a bee in his bonnet about things and then there’s no turning him. I’ll tell you a story, but don’t you go telling him that I told you.” She smiled conspiratorially. “I was only very young when your grandfather bought the land from my grandmother. He’d come to work as a farmhand and my grandmother took a shine to him, goodness knows why. She sold the land to him at what seemed a bargain price. My father was furious. He accused your grandfather of preying on my grandmother’s mind. She was into her eighties at the time. Well, you can imagine what that did for neighbourly relations. But it got even worse when your grandfather insisted on calling his property Brymedura.”
Will looked puzzled. “I don’t get it? Why did that annoy your father?”
“This property is called Brymedura as well. You can’t have two properties with the same name. Well, my father went crazy claiming that it wasn’t enough that he’d stolen a large part of the property but that he wanted to steal the name as well. It was such a ridiculous argument and it went on for years. It was only my grandmother who took your grandfather’s side and said that if that is what he has called his share, then that’s what it’d be called. I think her age had made her sentimental. But that was the start of the not speaking between my father and your grandfather, and it just seems to have been handed on from father to daughter.” She pushed herself back in the chair and took another long sip of tea.
“If Pa cheated your father . . .”
“Nonsense,” Dot said, waving her hand at him. “It wasn’t half as bad as you imagine. In the fifties the bottom had dropped out of the wool market. We probably needed to sell some land to survive. The property was much bigger than we could manage and hiring extra workers was expensive. And for all my father’s high-mindedness about wanting to pass the family farm on to his children, he later sold two more parcels of land much bigger than the one that my grandmother sold. If you want to know the truth, I think my father was just jealous that my grandmother took such a strong interest in your grandfather, and that’s the heart of it.” She put her mug down heavily.
“But that doesn’t give him the right to treat you like crap.” Will’s voice was full of concern.
“You don’t need to worry about that. I get my own back every now and then. And besides, your grandmother’s been a great friend as long as I’ve known her. We’ve had some great laughs together. Whatever happened between my father and your grandfather has nothing to do with you or me. And there are some things, that . . . well . . .” She paused as if weighing up whether to say something, and then changed her mind. “You can spend your whole life apologising for someone else’s mistakes. But I’ve learned one important lesson from your grandfather, and that’s not to let his mood change who I am and what I do. At the end of the day you’ve got two choices.”
“Like what?”
Dot got up and walked back to the sink with her mug. “Either you stand up to him and say, ‘Stick it up your bum. You’re not going to make me feel bad just because you’re a cranky old bugger.”
He laughed. “Or?”
She walked over and said quietly, “You’ll just have to poison his coffee.”
Will smiled. It was what he liked about Dot. She could see the funny side of everything. “What sort of poison do you think would work best?” He tried to sound serious as though the idea needed some careful planning.
“I was kidding, just so we’re clear, but hypothetically I think strychnine is the worst. Or so I’ve read.”
“And you have some strychnine that I could have?”
“Okay, you’re giving me the creeps.”
“I don’t know if I can stand up to him. He just gets so angry.” He suddenly became serious and stared down at the table. It was like his dad all over again.
“Look at me, Will.” He raised his head. Dot was standing right next to him. The laughter had gone. “If you don’t stand up to him then you’ll forever be his doormat. Will, no one has the right to make another person feel bad just because they happen to share the same space. What’s the worst he can do? So he gets angry with you. He’s already done that, so there’s not much left to lose. Seriously.”
“Gran thinks it might get better if I just give him time.” He stared at the old coffee rings on the table.
“And what do you think?”
Will shook his head.
“He’s had seventy or more years to get better. I don’t think time is what he needs.” Dot paused. “He needs a good kick up the bum.”
Will smiled in spite of how helpless he felt at Dot’s suggestion. “I think that’s why my dad won’t talk to him anymore.”
“Families are complicated. You’re not your dad and you’re not your grandfather. Your dad and your grandfather fought the whole time, for as long as I can remember. Neither of them learned to say sorry. It might be that your grandfather burns off another relationship but you’ve got to try. For his sake as well as yours. You’re not doing him any favours letting him behave like the town bully.”
Will thought about it. He looked at his half-drunk mug of tea. “You know that Dad won’t even talk to Pa. And he doesn’t ever talk about growing up or what it was like living here. He’s never even been back to Murga. Pa could die tomorrow and my dad wouldn’t even care. I’ve got no idea why he named me after the person he can’t stand.”
Dot sat back down and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe that was his idea of a peace offering.”
It was something that Will hadn’t considered before. “It didn’t make any difference. He should’ve chosen someone better to name me after.” He knew he was whining again.
“Names are funny things. You don’t get to choose your relatives and you don’t get to choose your name. For better or for worse they somehow choose us.” She leant forward onto the table. “I’m not saying that your dad didn’t have a big part in your name.” She paused. “My name’s Dot. I was named after my father’s sister, Aunt Dorothea. Do I look like a Dorothea? It means ‘gift from God’. Somehow I came to be Dot, just plain and simple Dot. You’re not your grandfather, but you are Will Richards and you can’t change that. It’s not just your name, it’s who you are. And whether you like it or not, you share that name with your grandfather.” She reached over to Will’s cup. “You finished with that or are you waiting until it’s completely cold?”
Will pushed the mug across the table and Dot headed back to the sink. “Did you ever wish you’d been named after someone else?” Will asked.
“Only when my father kept calling me Dorothea,” she laughed.
“I don’t suppose your father’s name was Jack?”
Dot laughed again without turning around. “You ask the strangest questions. His name was Frank.”
Cain and me were sent to the south paddock with four others. Mr O’Neill rode ahe
ad of us with provisions for the days we’d spend working on the dam. The path weren’t near as well-worn as the track to the north. Already bushes what had been cut back in previous seasons were pushing forward across the thin path.
I wanted to talk to Cain without the others hearing, so I walked faster in the hope he’d keep up with me. I were counting on the fact that Jack would be the slowest.
“Steady there lad or you’ll arrive before Mr O’Neill,” Cain said.
Without looking across, I asked, “Did you tell Miss O’Neill about the sídhe?”
“If she said I did, well then I must have.”
“Do you believe there are things what we can’t see?”
“Don’t you?”
“Miss O’Neill said it’s just what we want to believe, that it’s not real. Have you ever seen spirits?”
Cain were silent for a few moments as we walked, his boots crunching on the dry grass and leaves. “There’s a great many things I ain’t seen I believe in. Do you believe in God?”
I said naught but Cain took that as answer enough.
“There you are then. You can’t see him and yet you believe he’s there.”
“But spirits is different.”
“Are they? There were a time when great men said the world were flat and if you kept sailing you’d eventually fall off the edge.” He moved his hand as though it were an imaginary boat what had reached the edge of the map and were now plummeting into the abyss. “Then one day someone says the world is round. All the great men of learning laughed because they couldn’t see the world. Begging Miss O’Neill’s pardon, but I think ’tis a foolish thing to say something can’t be true just because you can’t see it.”
I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. A crow flying above us let out a low guttural caw. “When I were there at the grave with Sarah, I thought I could sense her spirit. Not like a ghost or nothing; just a feeling, like a voice whispering gently in words what I couldn’t understand.”
I looked across, wondering whether Cain were laughing.
