I waited until the evening, not so much because it was cheaper then, but to allow us both time to absorb the news. Mum had, predictably, worked out the reason for the delay.
‘You’ll have heard from the doctor, then, Charlie?’
‘Yes. Doctor Spears rang. He explained about the tests. What did the specialist say?’
‘Pretty much the same, I imagine,’ she responded dryly. ‘It’s the operation or a heart attack, apparently. It’s been scheduled for a week from today at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Adelaide. I’ll go in as a public patient and there’s some sort of transport assistance scheme that he said I’d be eligible for. That’s quite a relief.’
‘Yes.’ It would certainly help but was unlikely to extend to relatives of the patient. ‘Mum, don’t you think we should talk about this? I mean, of course it’s your decision but the risks … I was thinking I’d drive in tomorrow and —’
‘No, Charlie,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s no need. Besides, I want you there, running things for me. Of course there are risks! Living is a risk, but does that mean we should all wish ourselves unborn? I understand it’s quite a lengthy operation, but Doctor Symes sees no reason why I shouldn’t get through it. I’m basically healthy and he said the surgeon he has in mind is first class. He’s already rung him and the man’s displaced another, less urgent case in my favour.’ I was silent for she’d obviously made up her mind. Apparently satisfied that I wasn’t about to argue further, she continued on. ‘Now, listen – about the Garnet. You might want to jot this down because there’re a few things coming up that you’ll have to deal with while I’m away. Ask Bob if you get stuck, but he’s not so good when it comes to record keeping, and tax time’s coming around again …’
Chapter Seven
In the morning I apologised stiffly to Bob for shouting at him. He grunted in reply, plainly not yet ready for olive branches. I said coldly, ‘You were right. She doesn’t want to see me. When’s the fuel tanker coming?’
‘Monday. If you need him to bring gas, yer want to order it today.’
‘Right.’ I added it to my list of things to do, the weightiest of which was ‘Write something for service’. By Saturday night I was in despair and still had nothing more to show than a few jottings about Annabelle’s parentage (untrue) and schooling. Beyond that I couldn’t think of a single thing to say; I hadn’t loved her, I wouldn’t miss her, and she wasn’t going to leave an irreparable hole in my life. I’d simply have to wing it, and if I dried up mid-sentence, I’d just have to pretend that grief was responsible. I must have learned something in the five years I’d wasted on acting.
By midday Sunday I was too busy to worry about it. In the usual way of things Saturday had seen few travellers at the Garnet, but Sunday saw a solid stream of people pulling in for fuel and refreshments and a break from the road. One of the fuel pumps jammed, and after a fruitless twenty minutes of tinkering, Bob used a felt pen to scrawl OUT OF ORDER across the bowser before hurrying back to serve impatient customers. Ute and I were fully occupied in the kitchen, filling and wrapping sandwiches, and assembling cups for afternoon tea. Bob already had the tables out and the urns filled with water. The roadhouse had only a modest number of chairs but he had improvised long bench seats made of planks of timber over logs scattered about on the lawn. They’d do for the service and the tea, he’d said roughly, and any bugger objecting to ’em could sit on the grass for him.
Padre Don and his wife flew in a little after one o’clock. Bob fetched them from the airstrip and, over a cup of tea, Don laid out the order of service for me.
‘I visited Molly last night,’ he said. ‘She looks well rested, and she seems positive about this operation she’s having next week. She asked if I’d play “In The Sweet By And By” for Annabelle. I thought around three songs would do. Would you like to choose the others, Charlie?’
‘Hymns, you mean?’ I asked doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure I know that many, padre.’
‘Just ordinary songs. Annabelle must have had favourites. Of course, whether I’d know them is another thing.’
‘Well,’ I ransacked my memory. ‘What about that Armstrong hit, “What A Wonderful World”? Do you know that.’
He hummed a few bars. ‘Yes, I do. That’s easy. And another one?’
‘“I Should Be So Lucky”. She was always singing that. Or do you think it’d be a bit insensitive?’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure I know —’
‘Yes, you do, Don,’ Rae interposed. ‘It goes like this.’ She began to sing and in a few moments he was bobbing his head in time and humming along.
‘You’re right. That’s the music sorted, then. I’ve planned just a short service, then we’ll have the songs and a prayer. As Molly’s not here, would you say a few words, Charlie? Just a bit about your cousin – an anecdote or favourite memory would do. I’m a bit disadvantaged celebrating the life of someone I didn’t know.’
I drew a breath. ‘Yes, I will. Now, are you staying overnight? You’re more than welcome if you’d like to.’
‘Thank you,’ Don said, ‘but I need to get back. Rae came up with an idea about that though.’
‘Yes?’
Rae smiled. ‘It’s wonderful how God works things out. I’m sure you’d love to see your mother before she flies south, and I just happen to know that young Mike Webb’s in the Alice today and heading back out tomorrow. He’s head stockman at Abbey Downs. So, how would you like to fly in with us this afternoon, see Molly tonight and get a lift home next day? I know you’re busy here but you’d be back by lunchtime. What do you think?’
‘Oh, Rae, that would be great. Thank you! I’ll take you up on that.’ And Bob be blowed, I thought. If anything went wrong with the op it could be my last chance to see Mum – even if it meant being rebuked for disobedience.
Half an hour later the neighbours began arriving in traybacks and station wagons. Some I knew, like George and Bess Himan from Upatak, the Maddisons from Arcadia, and Kathleen Mallory and three of her married sons. Bryan, I was relieved to see, wasn’t among them. Kathleen’s husband had died falling from a windmill platform, and Con, the eldest boy, had managed the property ever since.
Tom Cleary introduced me to his wife, Marilyn. She, like Ben Damson, the manager of Kharko, and his wife, Sue, were strangers to me, as were the young couple from the Red Tank store. I forgot their names the moment Kathleen finished introducing me, being more intent on excusing myself than listening.
The full stock camp from Mt Farlow arrived, piled into the back of the truck driven by old Spider Webb. Despite knowing him all my life, for he’d been a crony of Dad’s, I’d never heard his proper name, and was a little disconcerted to find myself pulled into a rum-smelling hug when I greeted him.
‘How you doing, Charlie? I was sorry to hear the news.’ His powerful old arms squeezed my ribs, and the bristly grey beard was like wire against my cheek. ‘Your dad woulda been heartbroken today. I don’t see Molly anywhere. How’s she taking it?’
‘She’s in hospital, Spider. Her heart’s playing up.’
‘That’s too bad,’ he said and thumped his own barrel chest. ‘Gawd, she’s only a nipper compared to me.’ He was, I judged, well into his seventies and looked as hale as a man twenty years younger. The gate clicked again and I glanced around to see a stranger heading towards me. Somebody must have pointed me out to him.
I nudged Spider. ‘Who’s this?’ The man wore the ubiquitous station uniform of jeans, boots and Akubra, the clothes tidily pressed.
‘New manager from Abbey Downs. Been in the job since March. Kevin … Kevin …’ He frowned, shook his head and said, ‘Nup, lost it. Looks like he’s brung his camp too. Guess they’re like mine, all customers of Molly’s.’
‘Yes,’ I said and went forward to greet him but was interrupted because Don had just appeared beside the small table set up near the replaced fence on which a candle, a miniature brass cross and his bible lay. He caught my eye, nodded, then rais
ed a hand, calling, ‘A bit of hush please, everyone!’
The crowd gradually fell silent and began to spread themselves among the benches just as Abe and Rose Pennon and their three children hurried into the garden. The Pennons were from Penny Hills and they, along with the few contractors, and a travelling saddler who’d been working at Kharko, brought the running total in my head up to twenty-five. About the number I’d calculated on.
‘Sorry, Charlie.’ Rose, harried and flustered, with a grizzling toddler in one arm, aimed a kiss at my cheek. ‘Flat tyre, and the jack collapsed on Abe. Held us up.’
Abe’s right hand, bandaged and cradled protectively in his left, looked sore but Padre Don had begun the service, so I settled myself beside Rose, wondering how Bob was faring. Ute was minding the roadhouse, having declined to attend.
‘For why?’ she had asked practically, when I’d told her she was welcome. ‘I did not know this woman. I will bring the tea when is finished.’ I wished my own decisions could be as clear and decisive.
Padre Don spoke with the ease of long practice, and when it came time for the songs, his long fingers danced across the accordion buttons, his voice lifting with his wife’s to give a lead to the rest of us. ‘In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore …’ Rose squeezed my hand, her voice soaring sweetly, and when the hymn was done we sang the other songs, introduced by Don as favourites of the person whose life we celebrated. Then it was my turn.
I made my way to the front. I felt a moment of paralysing indecision as my gaze roved over the assembly before me; a sea of hats and jeans mingled with the brighter shades of women’s clothing. The sun shone and the lawn was green and fresh-looking from a recent watering. Bob was staring at me. He gave an encouraging nod and it seemed to free my tongue. I drew a steadying lungful of air and breathed slowly out, organising my thoughts; after all, I needn’t say anything I didn’t mean.
‘My cousin Annabelle grew up with me in the homestead right behind you,’ I began. My voice sounded weak; I cleared my throat, projected it further. ‘She was an orphan, for her soldier father died in Vietnam, her mother in a road fatality …’ I sketched in her primary years, her time in boarding school.
It sounded more like a work resume than a eulogy. I moved a hand behind my back and clenched it, starting again. ‘Annabelle was very beautiful, clever too – she always did well at school – but something must have been missing from her life for her to have decided to end it. I’ve been away from home, out of touch with her for some years, so I can’t say what it was that made her so dreadfully unhappy, but she must have had a reason to do what she did. She was smart, sensible, so whatever had happened to her …’ I couldn’t see an end and the sentence tailed off.
I cleared my throat. ‘Self-murder is a deed of desperation, leaving questions one can never answer. It’s a cruel act both for those who suffer it and those who remain, but today’ – I looked at the faces before me, wrinkled, tanned, fresh, young and old, none knowing when their own time would come – ‘we should remember not the deed itself but the unknown reason behind it. Those of you who knew and loved my cousin shouldn’t blame Annabelle for leaving us the way she did. There can be no blame, only grief for the unhappiness she suffered. Thank you all for coming today. It means a lot, especially to Molly who is presently in hospital.’
Don closed the service with a prayer then, and as if she’d been listening behind a door, Ute appeared in the garden with the first tray. Glad to escape, I moved to help her, but Kathleen Mallory followed me into the roadhouse. I gritted my teeth knowing I couldn’t rebuff her offer to help carry the platters out to the table.
‘That was a good send-off for her, Charlie,’ she said in her husky tones that always had me suppressing the desire to cough. ‘You spoke well of her. Shame Molly couldn’t be here. How is she?’
‘Not well. She’s having a heart operation next week.’
Kathleen tutted. ‘Sorry to hear it. Give her my best next time you speak. They do say troubles come in threes. So how have you been?’ She glanced at my left hand. ‘No ring yet? Well, I know somebody who’ll be mighty pleased to hear that. He’s been waiting for you to come home. He —’
I stopped in the doorway, forcing her to a halt behind me. ‘Kathleen,’ I said coolly, ‘I don’t want to know. I have no interest whatsoever in getting back with Bryan. He acted despicably, and if you can’t see that then I’m sorry for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meal to serve.’ I left her with her mouth still opening, as much on the back foot as her pushy personality would ever let her be. I felt a flush of triumph at my action. My own firmness awed me and I prayed it would be enough to end the subject for all time.
After that I was kept busy pouring coffee for those who didn’t want tea, refilling plates and the urns themselves, and being introduced to those I hadn’t met. Bill Maddison, a quiet, wire-thin man told me earnestly that he’d have brought his fiddle if he’d known there was to be music, but the padre had done well with his squeeze box. Others spoke of Annabelle, some even lamenting the loss of her beauty.
‘What a waste. Best-looking sheila this country’s ever seen,’ George Himan sighed, oblivious to his wife’s glare, though her kick to his shin elicited a pained, ‘What the hell’s that for, woman?’
I left Bess quarrelling with him in a repressed undertone. Bob was standing in a group that included Spider Webb and the policeman. I looked for Ute and found her in the roadhouse serving a traveller who’d pulled in for fuel.
‘I thought we’d closed?’
She shrugged. ‘The man is banging on the door. He cannot go without the fuel, no?’
‘I don’t suppose he can. Thank you, Ute. And for the eats – they were very good. I hope you had some yourself?’
‘Of course. Is finished the kitchen work, so I will stay here now, yes? In case more peoples come.’
‘Thank you. Our guests will start to leave soon.’ I had an overnight bag ready and had added to it a few extra things for Mum, including Annabelle’s letter. I would decide whether or not to hand it over when I saw her. The tea was long finished, the children, tired of the solemnity impressed upon them for the occasion, were growing rowdy before the crowd began to disperse. When the last repetitive condolence had been uttered, Don and Rae helped me carry the dirty platters and teacups to the kitchen. Bob brought in the urns, halting in the doorway to speak.
‘You ready, then, Padre? I’ll get the vehicle.’
‘I’m going with them,’ I announced. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Suit yerself,’ he said stolidly. ‘Give Molly my best.’
‘Of course I will. And thanks for your help today, Bob.’ He shrugged and left to bring the station wagon to the door.
We reached the Alice in daylight and I accompanied the Thorntons to the manse beside the church where I would stay overnight.
‘Should I contact this Mike Webb? Can I contact him?’ I asked Rae. ‘To let him know I’m here, I mean. I don’t want him shooting off without me tomorrow.’
‘I’ll ring and leave a message for him now,’ she said. ‘He’ll be staying at the backpackers’ lodge. It’s where all the young fellows stay – well, those who don’t come to town to drink. Cheaper than the pubs, you see.’
‘Thanks, Rae. I take it he’s old Spider’s son?’
‘No,’ Don, filling a kettle at the sink, answered for her. ‘His nephew, or his nephew’s son, I don’t recall exactly. At any rate he’s a Top End man. His father owned a property somewhere up that way, but he lost it. The Webbs are a big family – Spider’s father married twice, and both wives produced sons. There were triplets in the first family and, what’s more, all three survived.’
‘That must have been unusual for those days?’
‘I would think so. Spider himself has a twin, I believe.’
Some buried memory stirred and I laughed suddenly. ‘Yes – I’d forgotten. And do you know what he’s called? I thought Spider was bad enough but
his brother is known as Funnel. Gruesome or not?’
‘It wouldn’t have been his mother’s choice,’ Rae said, replacing the phone. She had been speaking animatedly into it and looked across to smile at me. ‘I was going to leave a message but Mike was actually there. He’ll pick you up at eight in the morning.’
‘Wonderful, thank you, Rae.’ Now all I had to do was survive Mum’s displeasure at my disobeying her.
Don drove me to the hospital after an early evening meal. ‘Visiting hours run till nine,’ he said. ‘I’ve a few people to visit myself first before I see Molly.’
I thanked him, appreciating his tact, and followed the painted arrows through to the wards. Mum had a room to herself and was watching television. Unnoticed, I stood in the doorway for a moment, observing her, feeling my heart lurch at seeing her like this – so vulnerable in her nightie, her hair looking greyer still against the white of pillow and counterpane.
She sensed me and her eyes widened in surprise, the light glinting off her glasses as her head turned to take me in. ‘Charlie!’ The television winked off. ‘What are you doing here? I told you —’
‘Don flew me in, Mum. Don’t fuss. I’m heading back in the morning. How are you?’ I pecked her cheek. ‘I’ve brought you a few more things. More nighties and some talc and extra toothpaste – there’s not much in the tube you’ve got. I found a bed jacket too, and extra undies … So how are you feeling?’
‘Bored.’ There was a half-finished crossword next to the box of tissues on the trolley tray beside the bed. ‘How did the service go today? Many turn up for it?’
‘Heaps.’ I enumerated them. ‘The manager from Abby Downs, Kevin somebody —’
‘Gates,’ she supplied.
‘Yes, he brought his stock camp, but not his wife —’
The Roadhouse Page 6
