The Roadhouse

by Kerry McGinnis

  Padre Don pulled off his headset to call out but the engine noise drowned his words. Speech was impossible. I shook my head and he pointed below as the engine note changed and the plane banked, beginning its descent. I looked down and saw the distant complex of the roadhouse, tin roofs flashing in the sunlight, the garden trees enlarging from blobs to objects as I watched. There was dust on the road heading out between the swell of two ridges, beyond which lay the short gravel airstrip. Somebody coming to meet us.

  Then we were drifting down and the details of our surroundings sprang into view – gravel surface, clumps of whitewood frothing with pale green blossom overlaid with powdery red dust, the solidity of the range, the pitted surface of a boulder, then a great cloud of dust catching up to us as the plane slowed to walking pace, turned and began to taxi back to where the vehicle and its lone occupant waited.

  It was Bob in the same old station wagon – no changes there, then, or in his greeting as he nodded tersely at me. ‘G’day, Charlie.’

  ‘Bob,’ I said, ‘how are you?’

  ‘No good complaining.’ He took the bags Don was unloading and stowed them in the back of the vehicle.

  ‘Nobody listens,’ I agreed. ‘You know the padre, do you? And his wife?’

  ‘We’ve met.’ He nodded at them both while poking a finger up under the brim of his hat to lift it slightly in acknowledgement of the woman’s presence. ‘Padre. Missus. You wanna get in?’

  We drove back in silence. It took only minutes but it was time enough for the familiarity of the setting to enfold me again. The long shadow of the vehicle scurrying before us, the lavender tint of the range deepening to purple as the sun sank, the smell of dust, the untidy scribble of scrub amid a white mass of dried buffel grass, the spinifex rings a dusty olive across the ochre ridges and, then, half hidden behind the roadhouse we had pulled up before, the crooked roofline of the old homestead settled deep amid the shade trees and oleander of its eighty-year-old garden.

  ‘Welcome home, Charlie,’ Bob said as he switched off the motor. ‘I reckon it’s about time yer came back. Molly needs yer here.’ He pushed his door open and got out to unload the luggage, leaving me sitting there, stunned into silence.

  Chapter Two

  Mum greeted us at the roadhouse door that opened onto the verandah. I checked myself for a moment at the foot of the shallow steps before mounting them, gazing up at her, Bob’s strange words echoing in my mind. In my own experience my mother had never needed anyone. She was the most self-sufficient human being I had ever met, made so, I had always assumed, by my father’s nature. Dead these eight years, he had been a lazy, easygoing, feckless man who let things slide and slide until the pitch of circumstances placed them beyond recovery. It had cost him the station that his grandfather had pioneered, his health, and ultimately his life when chest pain had proved to be not the indigestion he had self-diagnosed, but a failing heart sending frantic signals of impending disaster, which, like so much else, he had ignored.

  Now, my searching gaze showed a tall woman with a crop of grey curls and a strong-boned face that was somewhat thinner than I remembered. She had big, capable hands and large feet (we took the same size in shoes). I suspected that when she was young her figure would have been described as ‘boyish’ – a term that had also been applied to mine. Her body had slackened a little with age but still retained a glimpse of its once lean grace and purpose of movement. We shared the same nose and arch of brow, though my colouring was somewhat fairer, her skin having had greater exposure to inland summers. Her eyes, hazel like mine, looked tired behind her glasses as they met my own.

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Mum.’ I ran up the steps and received a brief hug and a peck on my cheek. ‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, but she was already turning away to greet the others.

  ‘Don, Rae, how are you? Thank you for bringing her home. Bob will take your stuff over to the homestead if you’d like to come in? We’ll eat here – it’s easier. Charlie, can you show them through to freshen up? I have to go.’

  That was my welcome, but even after a five-year absence I had expected no more. My mother detested fuss. She turned away, leaving us to enter behind her, and I saw at once that there were customers at one of the tables set out amid the stands of merchandise, a party of three men, while a fourth waited at the bar. The two Toyotas parked behind the apron of concrete fronting the fuel pumps must have belonged to them. Mum hurried to the counter to serve a beer to the waiting man, then vanished through the plastic strips hanging across the kitchen entrance, and I lifted a hand to gesture at my companions. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

  We ate dinner on the back verandah of the roadhouse, at the long table that was permanently spread with a clear vinyl covering. Mum laid out the tablemats and placed the condiment tray and I helped her bring out the meal. Cold roast lamb served with mint sauce and a salad – staff and family meals at the Garnet leant towards menus that could be prepared in advance. As it was, Mum had to leave us almost immediately to attend to a customer whose arrival out front was announced by the ting of the doorbell. Bob had joined us at the table, hatless for once, his grey hair still wet from the comb. His tanned face with its dour expression seemed a little more lined than I remembered and I caught myself wondering about his age. He had always been old Bob, but then, even twenty seems ancient to a child.

  ‘Is this everyone?’ Surprised, I glanced from my mother’s vacated chair to Bob. ‘What’s happened to the cook?’

  ‘Left last week,’ he grunted. ‘Molly’s filling in. Told yer she could do with a hand.’

  ‘She must be busy, then,’ Rae said. ‘And with this tragedy to deal with as well. Did you know Annabelle, Bob?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, uninformatively.

  Then Mum returned, apologising, and seated herself with a little sigh. ‘I’m sorry. Fuel call. Which reminds me, Bob, the generator tank probably needs filling. I thought of it earlier, then forgot again.’

  He was frowning. ‘I’ll see to it. Them other blokes gone yet? Then why not shut up for the night? A bit late for station custom or travellers now, I reckon.’

  My mother, who had always made her own decisions, seemed grateful for the suggestion. ‘You’re probably right. We’ll do that. And it’ll give us the chance for a proper sit down and talk, something that’s been just about impossible lately.’ She sighed again, closing her eyes briefly and I felt a flicker of alarm.

  ‘You look dead beat, Mum.’

  She straightened as if to deny that momentary weakness. ‘Oh, I’m fine, Charlie. A bit tired, that’s all, because we’re shorthanded. I lost my cook last week and then the backpacker we had left as well … Don, I’d like your ideas about holding a memorial service for Annabelle. But let’s finish dinner first and we can talk about it over at the house. Now, who’s for sweets?’

  Conversation over the creamed rice dessert was confined to news from the Alice, and my flight, and my life in Melbourne. When the plates were cleared, Mum, at my insistence, took the Thorntons across to the house while I cleaned up. Bob helped, stacking and wiping dishes as if it were a normal part of his chores. I’d just rinsed a handful of silver when he broke his silence.

  ‘She seen the doctor, Molly did, on his clinic run. Then she got herself into the Alice to visit some other quack.’

  Fear lurched through me. ‘Why? What’s wrong with her?’

  He scowled at the silver he was wiping. ‘She ain’t said, but somethin’ is. She’s always tired. And her colour ain’t good – sort of greyish when we’ve had a busy day.’ He glared at me. ‘High time you came home, Charlie. Talk to ’er, make her see she can’t keep this up. Ain’t nobody indispensable and she’s old enough to know it. If she don’t ease up some, she’s gonna wind up killing herself.’

  I said fretfully, ‘I can’t help unless I know what the problem is, and she’s not likely to tell me. You know what Mum’s like! Is it stress, do you think? Is she worried about the business? What about Ann
abelle? I mean, something was obviously wrong there – has she been back here lately?’

  ‘The little minx came through with some bloke about ten days back. They left again after hardly no time. Didn’t even stay the night. So I dunno what that was about. Heading east they were – the Gold Coast, Molly reckoned. But she never told me why they’d come, or where from.’

  ‘It would have to have been from the Alice, wouldn’t it? Who was the man with her?’

  Bob shrugged, then set down the pot he was drying. ‘Some townie. All you see out here these days, backpackers and no-hopers like that useless damn cook. Riff-raff. Can’t hold down a job in town so they come out here to bludge, then clear off whenever it suits ’em.’

  ‘Have you advertised for another one yet?’ I asked, momentarily diverted from the point.

  ‘Course I bloody have,’ he said, ‘but they don’t grow on trees. If the employment mob can find one in the Alice, he’ll be out on the mail tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s good, then.’ I wiped the sink down and rinsed the dishcloth. ‘I’ll try and talk to Mum, Bob, and at least find out what the doctor’s visit was about.’ The dread word that nobody wanted to hear gibbered in the corner of my mind. It couldn’t be cancer, it simply couldn’t! But a tiny voice whispered, Why not? Why should the Carvers be exempt? Heartbreak, heart attack, suicide – why not cancer as well? What was so special about my family that fate should preserve us from that?

  Abruptly I said, ‘What do you suppose she wanted – Annabelle? She must’ve come for a purpose if she didn’t even stay overnight! Was this the first time she’d been back? Last I heard, she had some office job over in Townsville, but that was years ago.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Molly didn’t say nothin’ but she weren’t happy about it. An’ it’s the first time Annabelle’d been home in a coupla years. Made a big fuss when she got here … It was all: How are you, Bob? Great to see you … Didn’t bother with no goodbye, but. She and Molly rowed, I reckon.’

  ‘What about the man with her?’

  He shrugged. ‘Fancied himself, that one. Standover merchant, I reckon. I didn’t take to him.’ That didn’t mean much, of course. Bob’s approach to liking anybody would have made a tortoise into a racehorse. He hesitated and a look that was almost shame crossed his face. ‘Matter o’ fact,’ he said, not meeting my eye, ‘I brung the old dog over from my camp for the day.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Well, I thought he might’ve needed seeing off. I wouldn’t’ve got no help from that dozy cook if it’d come to it.’

  ‘It’s still Jasper, then?’ He’d be the third cattle dog of Bob’s that I could remember, each with the single-minded savagery of the breed when it came to defending their own.

  ‘Yeah.’ He hung up the tea towel. ‘The bush ain’t what it was, Charlie. Full of strangers these days. I reckon it’s down to the better roads. Too easy to get around now and there’s some that come we could do without. Like those two. She might be Molly’s niece but she’s never been nothin’ but trouble. Well, we’ve got enough of our own to deal with without that.’

  ‘Annabelle’s dead, Bob. She won’t be troubling anyone ever again.’

  His eyes flickered. ‘Yeah. I forgot. Well, I don’t s’pose you’re too sorry, Charlie.’

  I said as neutrally as I could, ‘It’s old history. Over and done with,’ and took a last look about the kitchen. ‘Anything else needed, or are you off now?’

  ‘Reckon I’ll pump the diesel for the genny first. You go on over.’

  ‘All right. See you in the morning. Goodnight, Bob.’

  ‘Get yourself a torch.’ He plucked his hat off the hook near the bar and limped out.

  My hand reached automatically to the shelf by the door to find one of the several which, as long as I could remember, had always lived there. The back door closed on its lock behind me and I followed the slim fall of torchlight along the path and through the gate into the older garden surrounding the house that, eighty years before, had been built as the original homestead of Garnet Downs.

  I found Mum and her guests drinking tea in the poky little front room that served as a lounge. The old house had three bedrooms and a long side verandah, latticed in for shade and coolness, which was used for extra bed space as required. My cousin and I had slept out there through hot summer nights, and had shared a large table at the other end for schoolwork during our primary school years.

  In the lounge, the slate floor had sunk slightly but the now-empty fireplace in the chimney breast still drew well, making the lounge a snug spot in winter. Seeing me enter, Mum made to rise and I moved quickly to forestall her, helping myself from the tray on the side table.

  ‘Did you get something sorted, then?’ I asked, carrying my cup and saucer to the padded cane chair beside Rae’s. ‘I’ve been thinking – won’t there have to be an inquest?’

  Mum looked to Don for his opinion. ‘I hadn’t considered that. Tom said nothing about it, but I suppose …?’

  ‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘I believe in such cases the authorities do – but it needn’t change your plans, Molly. It would probably be months, maybe even a year, before they’d convene one.’

  ‘Who would do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Well’ – Rae wrinkled her brow, her hair shining silver in the light – ‘a coroner’s court would hold it. An inquiry into the circumstances surrounding the death, just for the record, you know. It’s mostly a formality. A legal nicety. Held in whichever town the death occurred.’

  ‘Ballina,’ Mum murmured. ‘At night, they think. Her clothes were found at daybreak by somebody walking the beach.’

  Her words seemed to hang in the air and for the first time I felt the full horror of my cousin’s act, seeing in my mind’s eye the empty beach, black and silver under the stars. How desperate must she have been to have ended it there all alone in the dark water? My skin crawled. As an inlander I had no affinity with the ocean and the nameless dangers it held, and could imagine no death worse than drowning.

  At that moment I forgave her the wrong she had done me; it wasn’t to say I would forget it, but the knowledge that she had been driven to such lengths made my decision possible. In the final analysis she must have damaged herself far more than she had me. ‘What on earth was she doing in Ballina?’ I asked. ‘The whole thing is just so weird!’

  ‘Perhaps the letter will tell us. Charlie,’ Mum said, ‘What do you say to Sunday week for the service? Is that too long a wait for you? The date suits Don and it’ll give me time to let people know. We’ll have it in the Garnet’s garden, I thought – maybe two-ish? That way we could serve everyone afternoon tea and they’d still have time enough to get home in daylight. Could you stay that long?’

  ‘Yes, of course. There’s no hurry, Mum. It looks like you could do with a hand so I’ll stick around for a bit.’

  ‘But your career —’ She stopped, then sighed, exasperated. ‘It’s Bob, isn’t it? What’s he been saying to you?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ I answered lightly. ‘Nothing’s the same. The world’s going to the dogs.’ I nodded at Don and Rae. ‘A real Cheerful Charlie, old Bob. Rain brings floods, sunshine drought, and if there’s anything left over from either it’ll be bushfires next …’

  Don chuckled. ‘I’ve met a few like that. Salt of the earth as a rule. Very well, then, Molly. I’ll bring the accordion along. If there’re any particular songs you’d like played, or that were a favourite of Annabelle’s … They needn’t be hymns, you know. Have a think about it.’ He put down his empty cup and rose. ‘We’ll leave you to it now. So goodnight to you both, and thank you for an excellent dinner.’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Molly, and goodnight. Nice to meet you, Charlie.’ Rae had risen with her husband. Mum stood too and I began collecting the cups, marvelling at the ease with which the padre’s wife hugged her hostess before quitting the room. I envied her assured approach; my own attempts at such closeness with my mother felt forced and awkward, while her emb
races were fleeting and rare. As far back as I could remember casual hugs had never come easily to either of us.

  ‘Leave that, Charlie,’ Mum said once we were alone. ‘You’ve been travelling all day. It’ll wait till the morning.’

  ‘It’s fine, really it is, but there’s something that won’t wait.’ With our audience gone I was blunt; it was the only way with Mum. ‘I need to talk to you. You were right about Bob. He’s worried about you. He said you’d seen a doctor – what for? Are you ill?’

  ‘It was nothing. That man! Good God, if you can’t get to my age without a few aches and pains … Bob’s worse than an old woman.’

  ‘If it was no more than that, why did you need to see another doctor in the Alice?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven sake! How did he find out about that?’

  I shrugged. ‘Overheard you making the appointment? What does it matter? He did, and now I want to know what’s wrong. Is it’ – my voice faltered – ‘life threatening, Mum? You’ll have to tell me if it is. I’m your daughter, for God’s sake! Don’t you think I have a right to know?’

  ‘Oh, very well. I can see I’ll have no peace until the whole world knows my business. So much fuss! It’s my heart.’ I must’ve paled for she flapped a dismissive hand. ‘It’s nothing major, just a bit of an irregularity. I saw some doctor at the monthly clinic at the hospital. He wants to do further tests but seems to think that a pacemaker will fix it. I’ll be good as new once that’s fitted.’

  ‘And until it is?’

  ‘Well, I’m supposed to take things quietly,’ she admitted crossly, ‘which is easy for him to say! As if I can spend my days lying around while the place falls down around me. But that’s my problem, not yours. You’ve got your own career to worry about.’