‘What say I make one last cup of tea, then cook a lasagna for dinner? Do you reckon Henry would like it?’ she asked.
‘He will if you make it, dear!’
Cate smiled and went to put the kettle on again. She piled everything onto an old silver tray and carried it back to the lounge.
Ida turned to her. ‘Oh, there you are, dear,’ she said. ‘Come and watch my favourite time of day.’
Cate sat beside her and listened to the trees moving slowly, and the sound of a lone cold sheep baaahing from the top of the dam. Cate handed Ida her cup of tea and glanced up as her aunt nudged her. A welcome swallow was swooping into its tidy clay nest under the eaves of the verandah, twittering gently.
‘He’s back,’ Ida whispered, without taking her eyes from him for an instant. ‘He’s back home to his nest, and he’ll have a clutch of chicks in there soon enough, if his usual charm is anything to go by!’ She chuckled. ‘Greetings, handsome fellow,’ she murmured, and his bright birdy eye glanced at her sharply, this way, then that. ‘Hello again, my little chap – I wish you beautiful babies in the spring. I wish that I could hear them chirping for their breakfast again.’
Cate’s eyes stung, but the little swallow hopped and skipped across the timber struts and directed three loud chirps in Ida’s direction.
Cate shoved half a Tim Tam in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to speak. She watched the light fade and the paddocks start to become shadows. ‘Are you afraid, Aunty Ida?’
Her great-aunt sipped her tea and watched the horizon disappearing before her.
‘No, dear, not really. There are worse things than an old lady dying at home with her friends and family. Many worse things.’ Cate listened. ‘Like dying young, or dying long after you’ve lost the will to live.’
She clutched Cate’s hand. ‘No, my darling girl. Better to go in the place of my choosing while life still holds some sweetness for me. I’ll be with God and with Jack soon enough, but life is life. Being alive isn’t just the breathing part. That’s too easy. It’s being here. With you.’
And they watched as the little welcome swallow dipped from under the shadows of the roof and out into the twilight sky.
A short time later, Cate went out into the breeze and found six fresh eggs in the chook shed. The chooks were doing well, despite the cold weather. The wind had blown all the clouds away and it was buffeting the willy-wagtails as they flitted and bounced around the vegetable garden. Cate heard a happy yip and looked up to see Finley bounding towards her with an old flat football.
She bent down to pat him. ‘Hi, Finley.’
‘He wants you to kick it,’ Henry called as he came towards her.
‘It’s flat.’
‘He doesn’t know that, Cate. Just give it a big kick with your little princess foot.’ He grinned. ‘And don’t say ouch. We don’t care if it hurts – we don’t want to hear it.’
‘Really? I bet I can kick this ball further than you,’ she said.
‘Really? Wanna bet?’
She sized him up. She had dated a number of footbally guys. She was probably good at this.
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘I bet I can kick this ball from here into the workshop, thereby scoring a goal and proving my football dominance. Now, if we needed to shoot it, peel it and eat it, then it’s all yours, Swagman!’
‘Do your worst, Princess! I look forward to taking you down!’
Finley was yapping like a dog gone crazy joyful wild. Cate kicked the ball as hard as she could, and then kept kicking it and chasing it, yelling into the wind, shrieking as Henry caught her in a massive bear hug, lifted her from the ground and kicked it for her, taking her, the dog and the old flat ball in a laughing, shrieking mess all the way to the shed.
And it was this happy noise that Ida listened to, smiling, as she left them.
What did they think was going to happen?
CHAPTER 34
When Cate and Henry fell through the door to the kitchen, they were laughing hard. His eyes were shining when he grabbed her face between his hands and landed a kiss on her surprised mouth.
‘Ida!’ he called. ‘Are you any better at footy than your niece?’
They found her the next moment, sitting back quietly in front of the fire, with her recipes still on her lap. Henry turned and hugged Cate hard against his chest, and she put her arms around him and hugged him back. Ida was gone. They didn’t speak, but she collected the ugly brown teapot from next to Ida’s body and made a strong brew – four spoons of tea, one for each of them, and one for the pot. They sat in the lounge with her and drank it. It tasted okay. Cate could get used to it.
Cate had known this was coming; it was why they were here, and now it was done. She thought about calling her parents. She would have to speak to them soon.
Henry put another log on the fire, then came to sit next to her and stroked her hair. ‘You okay?’ he whispered.
She nodded slowly. ‘You?’
‘Yeah. She was a great woman.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you did the right thing by her. Don’t forget it. No matter what your family says.’
‘Yeah.’
It was later they called the Windstorm ambulance and Ida was taken away. It was kind of tiring, but also a relief to Cate that she wasn’t waiting anymore, worrying that Ida might suffer at the end, or change her mind, leaving it too late for Cate to get her to help. Ida was dead. And Cate’s parents could judge her all they wanted. She couldn’t care too much anymore. It was a waste of time and energy. Henry had called them for her earlier and had refused to put her on the line.
They ate at the old kitchen table, before Henry pulled her to her feet, a bottle of wine in his other hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ve stoked the fire.’
Cate looked at his face and saw that it was suddenly resolved. She let him hold her hand and followed him to the lounge. They sat on the blue carpet while he poured another glass.
‘I was a captain in the army,’ he began without preamble. ‘I completed three tours of Afghanistan and spent some time in Iraq. I enjoyed it. It was exciting, dangerous at times, and it was full of men I admired and respected. We spent a lot of time in very difficult situations, and the guys I was with were incredible. I owe a number of them my life.’
He looked at the fire and took another sip of wine. ‘I’ve never told you this because I was too ashamed. But today’s the day. On my final tour, I made a mistake and it killed two of my men.’
‘What happened?’ she whispered.
‘We were in a tiny village in the Uruzgan Province. A guy named Butto was my 2IC, and he wanted me to check something out. We went over to a small house yard made of mudbricks – all the houses in the village looked the same, built out of the mountains around them, I suppose. Inside was a family of locals surrounding a young girl. She was maybe nine or ten, it was hard to tell, but she was pale and only half conscious – her leg was missing. We assumed she’d stepped on an IED – a landmine. Our section translator talked to the family and got the story – sure enough, the poor kid had been hurt playing outside the village that day. Gibby, our medic, worked on her, but we knew she needed a medivac as soon as we could arrange it. He reckoned she only had a few hours more left in her. We called it in on the section radio. All the time we were talking, the locals were watching us, not knowing if they trusted us. We got the feeling the situation could turn nasty pretty quickly. Anyway, it turned out MERT – the Medical Emergency Response Team – and the choppers were out. They were going to take five hours to get to us, which we knew was going to be too late.
‘Butto and I knew the kid was going to die. And her mum knew it, too. She was holding on to her like she was enough to keep her there, but she knew. You only had to look at her – she knew. It was a hard decision because the girl was probably going to die anyway, but I looked at that woman holding her daughter, and I could see Butto thinking the same thing I was. We had to take her. Had to. You never knew in the villages who was T
aliban and who wasn’t. I wanted to keep moving because we’d be sitting ducks if we stayed, but – there was the girl. Home-base compound was twelve kilometres up the next mountain – we could see it from where we stood – but it was at least three hours on foot. The area had been swept for activity less than a week before, but we had no way of knowing if the Taliban were back again. So we took her. Loaded her up onto a stretcher. Gibby and Kruger carried her out of town, with half the village following, shouting at us to save her.
‘It was heavy going. After a couple of hours, the light started to fade, and we had to push harder to keep the same pace. We took turns carrying the stretcher, the boys kept watching for movement on the hillsides, and Gibby kept checking the girl to make sure she was still with us. It was while we were walking back, not really speaking, just moving, that I had time to realise what a risk I was taking, and it scared the crap out of me. I suppose the guys felt the same way, but they never let on. Just did as I told them, did their duty. You know that feeling you get when something changes and you know you’re being watched? Well, that’s what happened, and it wasn’t a tickle. I don’t know what it was, but we were all instantly alight with it, this fear – this awareness that shit was going down.
‘Someone yelled Contact and the adrenaline just exploded through me. There were bullets flying and men taking whatever cover they could find to fire back. We dragged the girl off the stretcher and tried to find a safe spot for her behind a rock, but it wasn’t really big enough. When I looked back to where we had already walked, there was a swarm of men rushing towards us, and there was nothing for it but to fight for our lives. Then I realised I could hear mortars hitting the ground all around us – a couple of guys were positioned above us on the slope, and they were firing down the hillside. There was no way to find cover. When those things hit the ground, you feel it, all the way up your spine – the ground vibrates. It’s loud. I turned around to yell at Goughy to get a call-out on the radio, to see if we could get some cover, but he was gone. His face was missing. And the radio wasn’t even spare parts.
‘When I looked for Butto, he was down, and his legs had been badly shot in the battle, but he was still trying to fire up the hill. I must’ve yelled at him because he looked at me and gestured for me to stay away, the tough bastard. “No!” he yelled, “Up there! Three hundred metres – we’re all fucked!” He kept firing like it was going to help, and I looked up to where he was pointing at the two men on the mortar. And I could only think that the whole thing was my fault – I had made the decision, brought them here to die; we were flanked, outnumbered and outgunned. I guess I just lost hope then – for myself, anyway – and I just ran. Didn’t think, just ran up that bloody hill towards those pricks who were killing my mates. It was rage, and it was time for me to die.’ Cate found she was holding her breath. She gripped her glass, and the wine inside trembled.
‘I ran up the hill, firing towards them, hoping to take them out. My rifle ran out of bullets. I dropped it and pulled out a grenade. I was screaming at them while I ran, trying to get their attention so they’d stop firing down the hill. They saw me and they pulled out pistols and started shooting. I was a moving target, but I was getting closer, and so were the bullets. When they hit me, I hardly noticed – just kept running. I pulled the pin from the grenade and I started counting my steps. One, two, three, four. They started to panic and fumbled for their knives, shouting and screaming at each other, at me. I got hit in the chest, but I didn’t care because I was almost there, and my lungs were going to hold out long enough to take them with me. I kept counting. Five, six, seven, eight. There were so many bullets I stopped thinking I’d get close enough – so I threw the grenade. And that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in a German-base hospital to hear what I already knew – that Butto and Goughy were dead.’
Silence. They listened to the low flames whispering secrets into the burning wood.
‘What happened to the girl?’
‘I never found out – because I didn’t want to know.’ He was watching the fire, and he’d given up on the glass and held the wine bottle by the neck. ‘I caused the death of men who I admired and trusted, men who had trusted me. I felt, and I still feel, like a failure. Their bodies were sent home and they were buried, quite rightly, with full honours, while I recovered. I wish my scars were worse, so they would match how I feel.’
Cate knew the rules. Shut up.
‘When I came home I lost it. I guess I had a breakdown. I couldn’t be in the army anymore, I didn’t deserve to, and I knew I would keep killing my men because I was a bad leader who couldn’t be trusted. I walked out and left everything behind. My fiancée, my family, my military career, and I drove around Australia in a crappy old car, moving on every couple of weeks, until I came here. I guess I was lost. And then I found you.’
The fire burned through a large mallee root, and part of it threatened to drop out of the fireplace. Cate leaned forward and poked it back with the fire iron. It crackled in protest, then sank back into the low flames. He handed her the bottle.
‘The medal you found in the glove box is the Medal for Gallantry. I can’t even look at it because I earned it the day I killed two of my men. It makes me sick to think of it. I’ve nearly thrown it away a hundred times, but I’m too gutless, even for that —’
‘Don’t,’ she said, and he looked at her in surprise. ‘If you’re planning to throw that medal away – don’t.’ The fire spat at them.
‘Why not?’
‘Because that medal means something.’
‘It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my mates, and to the men who lost their lives.’
‘So how can you dare to throw away something that means so much – that isn’t even yours?’ She shook her head. ‘No. You keep it. You owe it to them to keep it safe.’
‘I don’t know what it means anymore,’ he said quietly. His hand moved subconsciously to his arm and rubbed his tattoo, in case it had come away from his skin.
‘Yes you do. And if you’ve forgotten, you’ll remember again one day. You’ll open this box and there it will be. Waiting for you.’ She handed the bottle back to him.
He smiled grimly at her and leaned his large, warm body against hers for a moment, his face lighter in the glow from the flames.
‘Those men who’ve gone before me shouldn’t have. And it hurts me. Every day,’ he said softly, and he paused as if there was a hymn for them but he had forgotten the words.
Cate nodded at the fire, almost holding her breath, in case he remembered she was still there.
‘I don’t believe in heaven, or God, or ghosts. Just memories. That’s where my friends live now. I almost admire people who can maintain a belief in the supernatural. It must take incredible discipline for intelligent, educated people to pretend to themselves there’s a way to cheat death, that there’s a god out there who gives a damn about the human race in general, and them in particular. I understand they’re afraid of dying – and I don’t judge them for that. But there’s no heaven for the dead – there’s only the love of the living.’
He was playing with the label on the bottle. ‘All that’s left is to remember them – with love and respect. The men I lost were my heroes. They were big men – I can’t even tell you how massive they were. They were strong, funny, furious and brave – blazing with life – and they weren’t gods. They were bigger than gods to me.’
She sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. ‘I don’t know anything about war, Henry, but I do know you, and you’re wrong to think you killed those men. They died because you were together in a war, and you did your best in circumstances I can’t understand. It’s tragic that they were killed, but sometimes life is random, and it could easily have been you in their place, without anyone being to blame.’ She took his large hand. ‘I’m sorry you feel this burden. I hope you can come to terms with it one day.’ He squeezed her fingers. ‘Hey,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here. Let’s face it, I’m a bit cra
p – but I’m here. And whatever you need – I can help you, if you’ll let me.’
She felt him take a great, shuddering breath. She slowly reached over to him and he turned to her, hurt and ashamed. She knew that face. It was one they shared. She kissed him, climbed into his lap, and fell asleep.
Late that night, she heard the curlew again, and dreamed of Ida greeting her beloved Jack on the verandah, finally coming home to her at the end of the day.
Dear Brigit, if you see Aunty Ida, kiss her for me. I didn’t kiss her enough.
CHAPTER 35
The funeral was at the Windstorm Cemetery. It was a bright winter’s day, and the town and district had turned out in force. Henry wore a suit and shaved. He looked very formal. Cate’s parents were coming from Perth for the day; they weren’t keen to hang around, and Cate was glad. It was going to be difficult enough. She wore a black dress and pulled her hair into a bun. She had woken early on that morning filled with nervous energy. Ida was going in the ground. Cate had helped put her there.
Henry kept checking on her. ‘Are you okay, Cate?’ he asked a number of times, reaching out to touch her, as if he could take her temperature and tell if she was going to be all right. She started cleaning the kitchen an hour before they had to leave. There was little for her to do on the day; the committee ladies were putting on cups of tea and cake at the hall next to the lake. She looked out into the garden, where the rosemary and the vegetables were shining, green and vibrant and full of life, and the winter sun was flashing through the windows.
They drove in together, Henry with his elbow out of the window, like he had forgotten he was wearing a suit. The cool air was threatening to mess up Cate’s chignon, but she didn’t mind; she liked driving into town with him too much to care. When they got to the church the front pews were occupied by her family on one side, and Deirdre, Audrey and a couple of distant cousins on the other. Cate paused, and felt a pang of regret because she badly wanted to sit next to Audrey and Deirdre, in their best beads and brightest dresses, rather than with her own family. She felt the light weight of the community watching her, wondering why she was dithering there.
The Drifter Page 28
