‘Children can be needy,’ Bruce replied, ‘especially when they’re as little as yours and can’t do anything for themselves.’ He stepped away and poured a beer for another customer, while Ian looked down at Alroy. ‘Be hard not to have a proper base.’
‘But families did that in the Depression, didn’t they? All on the road together. Some of them even walked to the next job, rather than driving. I’ve got a car, so they’d be comfortable.’ He scratched his head and leaned back, looking at the ceiling.
‘If you want my advice, cobber,’ Bruce said, ‘then you’ll stay here. Find a job on a farm. Or a shearing team that sticks around. You’d have the best of both worlds—the shearing and the time with the boys, and watching your kids grow up. If you keep up with this flitting here, there and everywhere, your kids won’t know you when you come home. How long has it been since you left here? Twelve months?’
‘That’s what you told me last time I was here, that when they were twelve months was one of the nicest times with the kids, so here I am. Fronted up and ready to be a dad.’
Bruce looked at him and shook his head. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘You still spending time with your boy behind the bar?’
‘Sure am, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I wouldn’t like it if I didn’t get to see him every day. Boys and their fathers have a special bond and I’m making sure ours is unbreakable.’
‘What about your other kids?’
‘I spend time with them too.’
Looking at Alroy again, Ian saw his button nose peeking out above the blanket that was snuggled up to his chin, and his mouth moving in a sucking motion while he slept. Ian felt something stir inside him, but he didn’t know what it was. A bubble. A warm feeling in his stomach, like he’d had too many whiskeys.
Leaning forward, he pulled the blanket back and looked carefully at the child’s face. He thought he could see traces of his grandfather and his mother—he only had photos to show him what she had looked like, but Alroy’s chin was pointy, like hers had been. The fine ginger hair was the same colour as his own. He couldn’t stop himself; he reached out and stroked the hair. It was soft and downy, almost like the lambs’ wool he shore, but not as dense.
Startling at the touch, Alroy’s eyes flew open and he looked at Ian. He opened his mouth to scream, but instinctively Ian put his hand on the boy’s stomach and rocked him gently from side to side as he’d seen Rosie do earlier.
‘Now then,’ he whispered.
Alroy’s mouth closed and he looked at Ian and let out a noise that sounded like a giggle. In an instant, Ian saw his own eyes reflected in his son’s. Green. Bright.
My son, he marvelled. I have a son. What do you think about that, Granddad? I can’t believe it either.
‘Reckon we might be up for last drinks,’ Bruce said as he closed the cash register and dimmed the lights in the bar.
‘I’ll have one more,’ Ian said, tearing his eyes away from the pram.
‘Where’s your next shed?’
‘Heading out to the Nullarbor first thing in the morning.’
‘And your family? What are you going to do about them?’
Ian shrugged. ‘Rose made it pretty clear she wasn’t coming. I’m still hoping to talk her around.’
Bruce shook his head again. ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?’
‘Oh, yeah, I have, mate, but I’m not made to put down roots. Guess if that means I have to give up seeing my kids grow up, then so be it.’ Alroy started to grizzle, which in seconds became a full-blown cry.
‘Reckon your boy doesn’t like the sound of that,’ Bruce said. ‘Can’t say I blame him.’
‘Maybe not,’ Ian said as he picked Alroy up and jiggled him around until he quietened.
‘Looks like he needs a feed to me.’
Glancing at the screwed-up face on his shoulder, Ian remembered seeing a tin and two bottles on the bench in the kitchen.
‘Well then, I’d better get home and give him something to eat.’ Popping Alroy back in the pram, he nodded to Bruce. ‘See you round.’
‘Take care, cobber. Look after your family.’
The cold night air made Ian stop and tuck Alroy’s blanket around his little body before he walked quickly back to the house.
Inside, he picked up the tin and tried to ignore Alroy’s cries while he read the instructions.
‘Shush there, little mate,’ he hushed as he boiled the kettle and rolled the pram with his foot. Grabbing the measuring spoon next to the tin he put in the amount of formula needed, then mixed it up with the hot water, before pouring it into the bottle.
He bent down and gave the milk to Alroy, who grabbed at it greedily. Ian helped guide it to his mouth where he took two sucks, then screamed loudly and threw it away.
‘What?’ Ian asked in surprise. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’ He picked the bottle up and tried to put it in Alroy’s mouth again, but the screaming continued, his little face growing red with exertion.
As Ian held the bottle, he realised it was very hot. Too hot for a little mouth, he assumed. He poured in cold water and gave it a shake, then gently held it out to the screaming baby, who this time gulped at the milk and settled quickly, sucking hard.
Ian watched him for a moment, before smiling. ‘Well then, lad, I managed that all right, didn’t I?’ He opened the fridge, pleased with himself, and rummaged around for something to eat.
There was ham and cheese, so he made a sandwich and watched Alroy as he continued to drink.
Moments later, the bottle was empty and Alroy was crying again.
‘You want more? Surely not.’ He picked him up. ‘Maybe I need to burp you again,’ he said quietly, remembering what he’d had to do the first time he’d seen the babies a year ago. He tapped Alroy’s back a few times but nothing happened.
Ian walked around the kitchen holding the squirming child until he heard a loud fart and felt heat under his hand. He looked at Alroy in horror.
‘Ah, have you done what I think you’ve done?’
The crying stopped and Ian held him at arm’s length, regarding him with a turned-up nose. ‘Well, my boy, I didn’t think about that. Guess we’d better fix you up somehow.’ Still holding him out, he went into the bedroom and found some nappies.
Lying Alroy on the floor, Ian gingerly undid the all-in-one suit and looked at the cloth nappy beneath it. He took a breath and tried to undo the safety pins, his large sausage-like fingers struggling with the fiddly-ness of them.
‘What’s all this about, then?’ he asked, as he put them aside and opened the nappy. Trying not to gag, he looked around for something to wipe Alroy’s bottom with but didn’t know what to use.
‘Best way to fix this,’ he said, looking at Alroy. ‘The garden hose.’
Outside, he switched on the verandah light, placed Alroy on the grass and looked around for a tap.
Alroy, happy with the unexpected turn of events, chatted in a language Ian didn’t understand, then giggled loudly. ‘Wonder where your mum is,’ Ian said as he turned the tap on and squirted it towards Alroy.
With a loud scream of shock, Alroy started to cry, but Ian didn’t stop until he was clean.
‘Yeah, it’s a bit chilly there, lad, I know. But better than having shit all over you.’ He took him back inside and dressed him again, not knowing whether the nappy he put on was going to hold anything or not. Alroy was still sniffling.
‘Tell you what, my lad, let’s go for a drive. That’ll distract you.’ He gathered up a few items and then picked up Alroy. He glanced around the kitchen before he turned off the light and shut the door behind them.
Chapter 26
2020
After the rain the night before and during the morning, Zara opened the door to a calm, blue-sky day. The familiar chill of the icy air still bit at her cheeks as she walked, but it was pleasant without the wind.
She walked along the pavement, her hands tucked tightly
into the pockets of her Driza-Bone coat, her hair whipping around her face. She avoided the small puddles so her jeans and leather boots didn’t get wet, all the while keeping an eye out for the car that had cased her place last night, and for Essie.
And for Jack.
The main street was quiet. Although all the shops were open, only a few cars were parked diagonally in front of them.
Waving to a couple outside the supermarket, she kept going until she passed the school-zone sign, reminding drivers to keep to a slower speed.
Large dew drops fell from the trees along the front fence of the school, and the buses were lined up, six in a row ready to depart in different directions around the council boundaries.
School was just about to be dismissed for the day, and Zara wanted to be in place to see if the strange car was there. If it was, she could be almost certain Essie was being followed. The next question was: by whom? Dave had indicated he thought it was the drug dealers, but exactly who were they?
Zara leaned against a tree and put her sunglasses on. Glancing around, she recognised most the cars parked to pick the kids up. Janine Docker from out on Nymbina Road—the school bus didn’t go past her front gate. Mrs Parker—she was picking up her grandchildren. Down the side street, Zara saw a circle of town mums leaning against their cars and talking. Nothing strange here.
Essie was parked a few metres away from the other vehicles and stayed in the car. It seemed to Zara as if she were reading the paper while she waited.
As the bell sounded and the children ran into the playground, Zara saw Essie get out of her car and walk over, just as she had the day before.
And, as had happened the day before, the other mothers turned away from the older woman. They put their heads together and whispered, all the while watching Essie and Paris as they made their way to their car.
Zara watched them drive away in the direction of the oval. Surely not netball training again today? Regardless, she knew it was time to come clean and talk to Essie openly.
The carpark and oval were empty, and Essie was sitting on the bench watching Paris play on the swings in the playground, when Zara sat next to her.
‘Hi, Essie. How are you today?’
‘Hello, love, out for some exercise? Such a good thing to do for the soul.’
Zara laughed. ‘I’d like to say yes, but I can’t. I did need to clear my head though, so I thought a walk was in order.’
A movement caught her eye and Zara turned quickly to look at the oval. Who would be there without a car?
A figure in the distance was running around the edge of the oval. Squinting, Zara tried to work out if it was the same woman; she was too far away to tell for certain, but Zara thought it was.
Zara leaned in towards Essie. ‘Essie, every time you come here, is there a woman exercising?’
Glancing over, Essie smiled. ‘Oh, yes, for about the last three months, she’s here. Doesn’t talk, though. I have to say, she’s not very friendly. I tried to chat with her once, asking if she was training for an event. She answered my questions but couldn’t get away from me quick enough.’ She paused. ‘You know, the funny thing is that I never see her around town.’ Essie shrugged. ‘Still, I hadn’t met you before either. Barker is small, but not so small that we know everyone, especially people out of our generation.’
Zara’s mind whirred as she processed Essie’s words, then she slowly asked, ‘Do you come at the same time every day?’
‘Yes, straight after school. Sometimes Paris has friends with her and sometimes not. I like to give her a dose of fresh air before we head home. My garden, even though it’s lovely, is not very big.’
Pulling out her phone, Zara zoomed in, hoping the extra magnification would help, and it did. The woman was now walking with her hands on her hips, shaking her legs as if she were nearly finished her workout.
Same woman. Without a doubt.
Click.
Zara looked at the photo to see if it was clear enough to show Dave. Grainy, but the woman’s features showed.
‘Who are you?’ Essie asked in a tentative voice. ‘Why are you doing that?’
Confused, Zara looked over at her. ‘What? I’m Zara.’
‘I know, but who are you?’ Her voice was laden with meaning.
‘Oh.’ She put down her phone and looked at Essie. ‘I work for the Farming Telegraph,’ she admitted.
‘A journalist?’ Essie snatched her handbag and got up, calling to Paris. ‘Come on, darling, we have to go.’
‘No, wait! Don’t go. I’m a journo, but I also freelance—I feel something’s not right with your case and I want to help you. Find out who is really behind the drugs, so you can clear your name and not be hassled anymore.’
Essie rounded on Zara, her cheeks red.
Zara thought she was going to yell at her, her eyes were so furious, but instead Essie regarded her for a moment, then raised her head high. ‘Well, young lady, I would appreciate it if you’d stay away from me and my granddaughter. We have nothing to say to you.’ She went to Paris, who was sliding down the slippery dip and bent down to whisper in her ear. Then she took her granddaughter’s hand and walked towards the car, not looking at Zara.
Zara knew there was no point in trying to persuade her to talk now. Instead, she sat on the bench and waited until the woman on the oval had finished her stretches, watching to see where she would go.
Setting off at a quick pace, the woman headed towards the street, about five minutes after Essie left, but turned in the opposite direction to Essie’s home.
Zara let out a sigh. Perhaps she was on the wrong track.
Twenty-four hours later, Zara was in the pub. Hopper had the fire roaring and there were two customers sitting close, warming their hands.
Overnight, a cold front had roared up from the south, bring heavy grey clouds and a curtain of drizzle. The warmth of the flames was welcome, even though it stung her cheeks.
‘How’s it all going?’ she asked, leaning on the bar and picking up a coaster, which she twisted around in her fingers.
‘Slow. The weather’s keeping everyone away.’
‘Yeah, you haven’t even got your regular in.’ She nodded to a stool that was usually kept warm by an old gambler.
‘He’s in hospital. Got gout.’
Zara chuckled. ‘Don’t suppose that’s surprising.’
‘What are you working on?’
Leaning in, Zara said, ‘Well, that’s why I’m here. You know Essie Carter?’
‘Sure do. Been here longer than I have.’
‘What do you know about her?’
Hopper made a groaning noise as he sighed. ‘What type of things do you want to know? Always been a bit of a strange old duck. Keeps to herself mostly. Don’t think she’s ever set foot through my pub door.
‘Her husband used to cut everyone’s hair in town and he kept to himself too. Used to come and have a beer every Friday night after he’d closed the shop, then head home for tea. You could set your watch by him. Five-fifteen and he’d order a schooner of bitter, sit right over there.’ He pointed to the window. ‘Never really spoke to anyone. I always thought he must’ve got sick of people talking to him during the day.’
‘Did she ever get involved in anything strange. Illegal?’
‘What?’ His voice rose like his eyebrows. ‘They were both involved in the church.’
‘I don’t know that that counts them out,’ Zara said.
‘Oh.’ Hopper’s voice held meaning. ‘Yeah, point taken. Hmm. I’m trying to think who would be able to tell you more. I don’t know if she was born in Barker, or moved here later. She’s just always been part of the furniture.’ He paused. ‘This was before my time but I know back in the early seventies and eighties the butter factory used to go hell for leather and the trains would be constantly going, taking the grain away. Some people living in the cities couldn’t get jobs, so they came to places they could. Maybe she was one of them? A lot of people moved on when the boo
m stopped, and the town got quiet. After the butter factory shut, and the trains stopped running because the grain dried up.’
‘Can you think of anyone else who would know about her?’ She glanced over her shoulder as the door opened. A customer came in and sat at the other end of the bar, in front of the TV showing the horse races.
‘In for a punt, Lucky?’ Hopper said to him as he went to pull a beer.
‘Got a tip for race five,’ he said, looking down at the newspaper he had put on the counter. Zara could see red rings marked around some of the races.
Zara got up. ‘I’d better go. Thanks for your help.’
‘Let me think about who else could know anything. I’ll give you a call.’
‘Cheers, Hopper.’
Outside, Zara dialled Lachie’s number as she walked.
‘Zara, any news?’ Lachie greeted her call.
‘I was hoping you’d have some for me.’
‘Not yet. I made a few calls after I spoke to you but haven’t had any luck yet.’
Her call waiting beeped and she took it away from her ear to check. Hopper.
‘I’ll call you back, Lachie,’ she said and disconnected without giving him time to say goodbye. ‘That was quick,’ she greeted Hopper.
‘I had a thought. Don’t know why I didn’t remember when I was talking to you. Have you come across Old Ted Leeson?’
Zara paused for a moment. ‘Don’t think I have.’
‘Well, he’s a real old timer, I help him out occasionally. Maybe go and see him out at Two Mile Creek.’
Zara frowned. ‘Where’s Two Mile Creek? I’ve never heard of it. Is there a community out there?’
‘Nope, just old Ted. You’ll need to head out towards the old railway bridge. Count three gum trees from the bridge and you’ll see a narrow two-wheel track. Follow that down until you see his camp. Ted’s been down there since they closed the train line.’
The Shearer's Wife Page 19
