Central to Nowhere

by D. J. Blackmore

  Adam pulled himself up from the kitchen chair. He brought one hand up to move a tendril away from her neck, then with infinite care, he set down the crutches and took her in his arms. For a long moment he held her tightly. Like he didn’t want to let her go. She folded into his arms, melting in the pressure of his hands.

  ‘Summer isn’t long enough,’ he whispered.

  ‘Autumn has always been my favourite time of year, but right now, I never want to see the leaves drift from the trees again.’

  Adam spoke in her ear. ‘I’d like to take you to dinner. I’d like for you not to have to cook for everyone at Capricorn just once. I’d like to shower you …’ Here he stumbled for a moment. Seemed to lose track of what he was saying. ‘… Shower you with nice things.’ Adam pulled away a touch and sighed deeply. ‘But I don’t want to leave Michael here after what happened, even if Jack or one of the others were to come and watch him for a few hours. The only choice is Mum and Dad’s. I guess I could leave him there. If Dad has a good day, he’ll be fine, but you never know when he’ll take a turn. I’m not comfortable about it.’

  ‘How long has it been like that? With your father, I mean.’

  ‘Well, when I think about it, I think it’s been getting slowly worse for years. He’s gone downhill just lately. There have been times when he doesn’t even know who we are. For the most part he does, but then it’s like he looks straight through you. Soon he’ll forget how to talk, how to walk. And how to eat.’ He looked beyond her, perhaps looking into the future that he didn’t want to see.

  ‘Once, I was the boy and he was the man. But now he struggles to dress himself, or cut his food properly, or read the newspaper—he has become the child I used to be. It’s all wrong. It’s like the hands of the clock are going anti-clockwise, and he’s the only one on the journey backwards through the years. It’s frustrating, sometimes. Then you remember it’s not his fault. It’s just plain sad.’

  Adam was emotionally haggard. He needed sleep, needed far more than farm hands and kitchen help. He could do with the proverbial shoulder. Ivy put out a hand, lightly touching his arm.

  ‘We can go somewhere with Michael. I don’t mind. If our date is eating tea with your family, I’m happy to come along.’

  ‘Not very romantic, though, is it?’

  ‘I kind of think it’s romantic just being at your side talking to you.’

  He stared into her eyes and she let him see it was the truth.

  ‘It won’t hurt Michael to play cowboys with his grandad, and sit out in the sunroom with tea and Scotch-Finger biscuits. After all, they need time with him, too.’ Adam glanced away, his voice thick. ‘Time ticks away so fast.’

  ‘Just like summer.’

  ‘Just like summer,’ he agreed.

  The silence crackled like a flurry of leaves underfoot come winter. Everything and everyone had a season.

  Ivy followed Adam with her eyes as he made his way upstairs to bed. Outside, birds stirred. It was a poignant song; happy and sad. Ivy opened the screen door and gazed out. A bar of yellow, bright as an ingot, pooled on the edge of heaven and earth. She would stay at Capricorn Station for just as long as Adam and Michael needed her. Every day was one step closer to the goodbye she couldn’t face.

  Ivy knew stalling her inevitable departure would only make leaving harder than it had been before. She had fallen headlong into red dust and boots. And just as easy, if she wasn’t careful, she could fall head over heels for Adam O’Rourke.

  Ivy turned away and climbed the stairs with weary feet. Curling up on the bed under the sheet, she rested her head. Below the hollow of her heart, her arms cradled the emptiness that lingered within her still. But that didn’t mean her place was here with Adam and his young son. She’d lost one treasure and knew her heart couldn’t bear another break like that. Tears of loss and the thought of leaving when the time came, spilled over. The pillow muffled her sadness as she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Michael appeared like a technicolour dreamscape in Adam’s sleep. A rainbow afro at the bedside one minute, only to fade like dawn. Adam yawned. His feet peeped from the end of the untucked sheet. His skin beneath the cast itched and Adam longed to scratch with his impatient fingers. Wishing the plaster gone, he thought of Ivy. She got under his skin too, but in a totally different way. His smile was lazy as his eyes drifted with dust motes in the sunlight.

  Then he remembered the intruder and stress opened his eyes wide. Had he locked the door before he went to bed? He couldn’t remember. Sleep had knocked him out cold. Whoever had been stealing into the station hadn’t found anything, so he supposed there was no reason for them to return. Or was there? What if they were after something besides money? The idea buzzed around in his head. He couldn’t swat the thought. Adam threw back the sheet and put his feet to the floor. The firm foundation of floorboards settled his mind and he blew off unease.

  Ivy was in the kitchen when he went downstairs. The smell of breakfast met him at the door. So did Ivy’s smile.

  ‘Is Michael up and about yet?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  ‘The smell of pikelets will have him up soon enough,’ he said. ‘They’ve become his favourite.’

  Ivy coupled her nod with a smile. ‘Is that what woke you?’

  He grinned and accepted the coffee with a dopey smile.

  ‘Jack and the others have already been in for breakfast. I found their dishes when I got up.’

  Adam frowned. ‘I can’t remember locking the door.’

  ‘I was last upstairs. I did it,’ she told him. Adam sighed his relief. ‘But, do the men have a key?’

  He nodded. ‘They do. We’re going to have a policy to secure the place every night. If it means the blokes unlocking the door to let themselves in, then so be it. Things are getting rough when you have to lock up your valuables in the back blocks.’

  ‘You think it was only money the thief was after?’

  ‘I’m asking myself the same thing. Still, if it had been anything else, I reckon he would have let you know it. Unless I scared him in the act before he could get upstairs. And that’s something I don’t like to even consider. Maybe calling the coppers is not such a bad idea.’

  Ivy set breakfast out on the table. Adam watched her movements. The way she set out the Bunnykins mug, he knew she put there especially for Michael, when she could have easily given him any old cup. He took a mouthful of coffee and digested the knowledge.

  Ivy cared about his son.

  The reminder to distance himself was considered before he pushed it aside.

  ‘Want me to go up and wake Michael?’

  Adam gave his thanks by the way of a lopsided smile. ‘Thanks for helping out the disabled.’

  ‘Reckon I can climb those stairs a bit quicker than you. We’ll be back down before the pikelets grow cold.’ She gave him a wink.

  He knew what he was feeling was no holiday romance, no summer crush. He wasn’t after a fling. Adam searched the bottom of his coffee cup for clarity, but all he knew was that his world felt right when he was with her.

  ‘Michael’s not in his bed.’

  Adam turned around to look at her. He asked her stupidly, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Beats me. He’s not upstairs. I’ve searched everywhere. In all the rooms, the sleep outs. He’s not up there.’

  ‘Michael?’ He heard the panic in his own voice. In his mind he saw the scatter of Malteasers, a dark hoodie-covered intruder, and blood swooshed around inside his head.

  ‘Michael! Michael! Son, where are you?’ Adam teetered on the verandah looking over the paddocks. Empty, desolate, but fear loaded his voice to sit like lead in his heart.

  Then he took the stairs on wings.

  He couldn’t remember for the life of him whether Michael had been beside his bed or whether he had dre
amed it all.

  The noisy clamour of cast and crutches went with him as he stumbled across the yard. Then he gave up the aid of crutches, throwing them away from him as he went.

  A spray of cockatoos took to the air, scattering to disappear into relentless blue. Jarring his senses, they flew haphazard over empty paddocks, desolate plains.

  He glimpsed RJ then, and swung the question, ‘Have you seen Michael?’

  RJ shrugged. Shook his head, vacant as a sleepwalker.

  Adam found Jack. ‘I haven’t seen him, no.’ Jack stood with two galvanised buckets of milk. It sloshed near the brim, and foam spilled and spotted the ground at his feet. It was pure white against the dirt. Adam stared down, unblinking. He didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Put down the milk. Go look in the garden, every nook and cranny. I’ll check the paddocks.’

  He heard Ivy at his back, calling his little boy’s name. It was a sound as lonely as the curlew keening in the distance. His heart flapped wild and erratic as his eyes scanned the barren beyond.

  Overhead, the sky was without a cloud. The heat of the day would be unforgiving, even under the shade of twisted trees. Their cramped roots gave shelter to kangaroo and emu, but it would be parching for a little lone boy.

  ‘Michael! Michael!’ His panic grew legs and Adam was stumbling forward, limping through the scrub. A snake moved to Adam’s left, its dull copper coil signalling danger. Wary and watchful, the king brown disappeared through a camouflage of dead leaves. Adam’s pulse beat thick and heavy, as though the snake had bitten him. But it was only the slow bleed of fear pumping sluggishly through his veins.

  ‘Michael!’ Desperation had him running then, dragging his cast through dust. Sticks and rocks hobbled his progress, but he trampled through the gully regardless. Towards the band of trees that lined Dry Creek, towards the terror that he didn’t want to face. Adam headed there.

  The creek wasn’t always as its name suggested. Right now, it ran full and deep. Deep enough to bury a child beneath the current of fast flowing water. Could Michael swim? Adam had no idea, but no child was safe alone by a river bank.

  Maybe other hands had snatched him from his sleep during the night? Perhaps it wasn’t the swollen tide, but an intruder who had slipped inside the station house and robbed him of his child.

  Adam glanced through the trees. A horse like Lipstick emerged, a taffy with platinum mane. Was it her? Adam rocked back on his heels, squinting against the glare. Sweat stung his eyes. His vision blurred. His tongue was a dry wad of cotton; a gag in his gaping mouth. Something had stung him between the open toes of his cast. Just a green ant bite, probably.

  The horse trotted towards him. He vaguely wondered why she was down the creek. Why had she been left out? He didn’t care. Adam continued on towards the trees. Lipstick trotted towards him, but Adam kept going; didn’t pay her any mind. Lipstick circled in front of him. Threw up her head. Nodded impatience. Circled again. Even went so far as to nudge him with her muzzle. Adam stopped, jerked around.

  ‘I haven’t got time for you!’ he yelled. ‘You don’t know! You’re a stupid horse, and you’ve got no idea!’ Tears and spit flecked the air. He cast his eyes to the sky. To the sun, a ball of blinding light. Adam noisily dragged on air. Half fell and then righted himself, howling in despair.

  The horse nickered. She trotted forward, then back. Did the same dance over again.

  Adam took stock of his cast and measured up the horse. Broken leg. No reins. But then, that was too bad. She could do her worst. He didn’t care. Let her try. He hoisted himself, holding on to her mane. He let her feel the pressure of his heels but there was no need. The filly trotted through sheoak and shade without Adam making one demand. Adam scanned the water for his son. But Michael wasn’t there. He tried to turn the horse’s head, but she ignored his cue and kept on.

  ‘Great, just great.’ He cursed the hooves underneath him. Stupid horse was more trouble than she was worth. He’d teach Michael how to choose horses, and … the breath caught in his throat.

  Water ran over boulders, cascading down from the mountains, and there, between the rocks, was Michael. His rainbow wig was bright in the morning light. The afro streamed colour. It had streaked down his cheeks, as he hung there in the water, caught by his shirt.

  Adam slid to the ground and plunged into the current towards his son. He tried to pull the kid’s shirt clear, and took a barbed branch with it. It hung down Michael’s back like a broken angel’s wing, and Adam grabbed his boy and fell onto his knees with him onto the boulders and pebbles of the bank.

  Michael’s arms came around his neck and clung in fear and relief. His body was sodden, but his tears fell heavy and warm. Adam lifted his head to the sky beyond the canopy of trees, pulling his son into his arms.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I … I wanted to go for a swim. I got caught and I couldn’t get out. I yelled out. I was crying, but you didn’t come.’

  ‘I’d never leave you, mate. I’ve been looking everywhere. Ivy made you breakfast and went to get you, but you weren’t there.’

  ‘You didn’t get up, so I went out to look at the horses. The one with white hair was nodding. That’s how she says hello.’

  Adam sunk down in the shallows with Michael in his lap. ‘When you were born I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. I will always come looking for you.’ He stared at the pull of the water, remembering the day. His words flowed with the current. The water carried them away. Adam wiped the tears from his face but they ran like the creek bed.

  Adam looked over to where Lipstick waited, with a shine in her eyes suggesting triumph. ‘Lipstick brought me to you this morning. She showed me the way.’

  ‘She’s my circus pony! She let me get on her back and go for a ride. I climbed up and jumped on like one of the monkeys at the circus.’

  Lipstick stood waiting on the bank. A pale forelock hung over one luminous eye. She blinked at Adam. He shook his head. Michael was cold and wet, his lips were blue, but his eyes were shining, his smile was alight. And Adam hung his head on Michael’s shoulder.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ivy, Adam and Michael stood amidst the plate-sized leaves of prickly pumpkins. They moved through the hillock of green to find the biggest pumpkin with the best bloom. Ivy watched as Adam knocked on it. It rang hollow.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Michael cupped an ear with his hand.

  Adam grinned. ‘Well, if they are at home, they aren’t answering.’

  Michael giggled.

  ‘I’m checking to see if it’s ripe. Hear how it sounds hollow? That means it’s good for a roast dinner.’

  Michael looked at the rippled green monster nestled between the leaves, and gave it a dubious eye. There were a lot of foods that gave Michael the heebie-jeebies, and Ivy guessed that Adam would have fun trying to rope the boy into healthy eating habits.

  ‘It’s called a Queensland blue.’ Adam cut the stem and held it up. It was impressive. Adam was more active now that he wore a moon boot to help his mobility and stop atrophy of his leg as it continued to heal. He made his way through the kitchen garden and sat the pumpkin down on the step, wiping the sap off his small knife onto his jeans, before putting it back inside the leather keeper. He limped back to meet them where they stood together, partially shaded from the sun between the stands of sweetcorn.

  Ivy’s hat had dipped down to her eyes. Adam adjusted it for her with slow and careful hands, spending more time than he needed to. Ivy smiled and put her hands up to settle the hat more firmly on her head, and Adam caught and held them clasped between his own.

  ‘What else can we get?’

  Michael came between them, cutting the moment short.

  ‘How about a few zucchinis?’

  ‘No.’ Michael wished them away with his hands.

  Adam bent to the task anyway.


  ‘I like hot chips.’

  ‘Well, maybe we can make some, one day.’

  ‘Do you know how to cook them?’ Michael was impressed.

  ‘Sure do.’ He looked up at Ivy with a wink. ‘Pretty sure we lived off chips and steak and eggs before you came.’

  ‘Can we have them for dinner?’

  ‘Sunday is always roast. Well, it will be from now on, especially if your granny and grandad want to come. But you know what?’ Adam put the zucchinis in the basket that Ivy held out. ‘If you eat up some pumpkin and zucchini, I reckon I could probably make us some chips one day soon. I’ll even put a fried egg on top, so when you cut it, all the yellow runs out.’

  ‘Or tomato sauce ...’

  Adam laughed. ‘Yeah, if that’s what you like. We’ve got some spuds I’ve started to grow over there’—he pointed—‘but for now, we’ve got potatoes in the pantry.’

  In the kitchen, Adam cut the pumpkin. It smelled sweet as a melon. The kitchen curtains moved in the afternoon breeze as Adam worked, cutting off the thick skin, removing the seeds. Beef sizzled in its own juices and the smell would bring the men before Ivy could sound the dinner bell.

  ‘Mum’s hoping that bringing Dad back home here on a regular basis might help to jog his memory. I’m not so sure. Wishful thinking won’t cure Alzheimer’s. I wish it could.’

  Ivy nodded. ‘Perhaps hope gives her strength.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe visiting with family helps share the load.’ He set some seeds on the window sill. Ivy frowned.

  ‘To dry for planting after the winter. When the colder weather comes and frizzles the leaves, we’ll pick the rest of the crop and set them along the rafters in the shed to dry. The doctor said Mum should put Dad into hospital for a while to give her a bit of respite, but surely he’s not that bad yet?’ Adam was finding it hard coming to terms with the Alzheimer’s that was stealing away everything Trevor O’Rourke used to be.