‘Oh, I doubt that,’ I said, disingenuously. I quite like the sound of Ellie’s dad. Maybe it was her mum who chose the chairs.
Frank wasn’t quite done with this. Actually, he reckoned I wasn’t fearsome at all. He reckoned as school principals go, Ms Farmer, I was probably a bit of a pussycat. He smiled blithely at me. What he probably reckoned was that he’d ventured out of his depth, and was scurrying back. Little did he know.
Pussycat, owl or pea-green boat, I said, it was time we dispensed with formality. No more Ms Farmer. They had better call me Thea. Immediately after saying that I regretted it.
He responded with another smile. ‘Cool.’ It was a tentative, rather charming smile. He couldn’t imagine the Wombat was up for that yet though, not quite. He thought he might need a bit of practice, too. He took a deep breath. ‘Thea. There, I did it. Did I do okay? Did I pass?’ We shared a little laugh.
Frank didn’t seem in the least tired. That’s youth for you. Wombat must be his pet name for the niece, of whom he seems fond. Said he wanted to sit me down and tell me all about her. The circumstances, why she was with them. Not tonight you won’t, I said firmly, another time. Another time may never come, I thought to myself, but this may be being unduly optimistic.
It’s probably some kind of trendy, extended family business. Divorce, or perhaps there’s been some awful accident. Best not to know? Anyway, it was late, and Teddy and I wanted the place to ourselves.
Before he left he said I must come over for coffee soon. With no time to dredge up an all-purpose excuse I avoided a response. I daresay I can come up with something. But he was probably just saying that for politeness’ sake. He seems a well-mannered young man, more personable than I rated him initially.
I must admit I was quite pleased when I got up this morning to find everything shipshape. The place looked less of a shambles than it has for some time. I kept getting little whiffs of Sandy’s pipe tobacco, not unpleasant. You get the same savoury whiffs in the shop, even though he confines his pipe to the back room.
The other good thing was having no blasted bottles to deal with. Frank had taken them. He said he’d drop them in the recycling this morning as he was catching an early train to Sydney.
He turns out to be something in music. A composer? You couldn’t make a living from that, surely. Perhaps he writes advertising jingles, or are they obsolete? Ollie Nugent was talking to him about whatever it was, and they seemed to get on. Ollie’s in IT. He’s been raking it in, according to Monique, but she thinks the economic downturn might scuttle all that.
Apparently Frank can work from home much of the time. He enthused about how great it is being able to ‘chill out’ up here. ‘Give me the simple life,’ he sang in a light baritone. What does she do? I’ve forgotten already. He didn’t say how long the niece was staying with them, and I didn’t ask because I had no interest in knowing.
Still, I approved of their use of my surname until invited to do otherwise, even if it was prompted by my unimaginable level of seniority. You hardly ever hear this nowadays. And their conscientious use of Ms was to be applauded. No trespassing on the thin ice of Miss, or the hallowed ground of Mrs. No assumptions either way, which is as it should be. Gruesome pronunciation apart, Ms is one of the few contributions of modern etiquette that is a resounding improvement. Modern manners being a contradiction in terms, as a rule.
Anyhow, I’ve discharged my social obligations. Now I can safely ignore them for a while. And vice versa, let us undevoutly hope.
So they see me as an intimidating figure. Out of touch too, I imagine. Well, they’re probably right there. I wonder what emotional history they have constructed for me, if any. However inventive, it is unlikely to be accurate.
Admittedly, I did find myself warming to Frank somewhat. No doubt the martinis were responsible for that. But he is a very open, rather likeable young man, and not unattractive either, upon closer inspection. Thinking it over, I can see it was exposure to this openness that made me unnecessarily uneasy. It led me to believe he was interested in my career history when he was merely being polite.
Felt better today. In a penitential mood, went for the two-point-five hour undercliff walk to make up for the sloth of the last two days. Left at six-thirty and completed it in under two hours. Teddy didn’t mind me going too much. He’s always sluggish at that hour.
My powers of recovery remain strong. Physically, that is. Walked briskly past their house without giving it one glance, let alone a second. Could have walked longer if I hadn’t known Teddy would be awake and waiting for me.
Fifty yards from my gate I thought I was home and hosed, then heard my name hesitantly pronounced. The girl Kim, needless to say, shoulders hunched and proffering an envelope. I took it from her with a cursory nod and kept going. I’d finished my water bottle and Teddy needed his breakfast.
After we’d both eaten I remembered the damn thing. Had the usual hunt for the reading glasses. They were in the bed. Is that the fifteenth time or the fiftieth?
Inside the envelope was a handmade card, a folded sheet of thin cardboard with a drawing of a cattle dog and girl sitting side by side on cushions on the floor watching television. The figures were unmistakably Teddy and Kim. Teddy had his tongue lolling out. It was surprisingly well done, painted in watercolours. Signed K. Campbell, in the bottom right-hand corner, with a small PTO, and please see PS.
Overleaf were two messages:
Dear Ms Farmer,
Thank you for lending Teddy. I hope he enjoyed his evening as much as I did, from Kim xx.
It was written in that undisciplined hand that slopes off in all directions. Her name was enclosed again by a line drawing of a wombat.
Underneath:
Many thanks, Thea, for a great night, warm wishes, Ellice and Frank, in more sophisticated script. They’d all signed their names in different-coloured inks. At the bottom was the small PS, which I nearly missed, in spite of the reminder:
Frank helped with the finer points of Teddy’s visage.
The finer points? Visage? Curious terms for her to use. I looked at Teddy’s face. It was a remarkable likeness. Very observant. I placed the card on the mantelpiece in the living room. I suppose I should have opened it in her presence, but how was I to know?
At least there are some people left who still write thank-you letters.
Davy called. He’s old school about things like that, always punctilious. Had a right old time at my knees-up, he said, very jolly. They were quite hip, my new neighbours, weren’t they? Oho, yes, they’d keep me on my toes.
Oho. Lucky old me.
I went out early again in the hope of seeing no one, but still ran into three separate groups. Mainly French and Japanese, map-reading couples with serious backpacks, overtaking me. They looked as if they were heading for the canyon, a full day’s hike, or maybe a more adventurous expedition and camping out for two or three days. Strong, striding young people, all saying hello.
Walkers always greet one another as they pass. They’re that kind of person. Being out and about in a spectacular setting tends to make you well disposed to your fellow humans, even if you’re not especially that way to start with. Is this a motherhood statement or is it true? I suspect it may be more true of others than of me. Any amiable tendencies that trickle my way are liable to disperse, I find, rather swiftly.
All the paths and hiking trails winding along the cliff tops and down into the valleys can take in only a tiny fraction of the national park. The area covers hundreds of thousands of hectares. Those in frequent use are well-kept and the rump of humanity sticks to them, thankfully. But if you venture further afield many tracks, often well over a century old, overgrown and assailed annually by deluges of stormwater and fallen trees, are impossible for any council to maintain.
Fortunately, Teddy has the unerring instincts of a homing pigeon. Without him, in years gone by, as we explored half-obliterated trails together, I would have come to grief many times.
Nowadays the walks are rated according to grades of difficulty. What happened in the past, when plump and perspiring tourists found themselves confronted with a succession of perpendicular iron ladders? I haven’t done one of those demanding walks for some time, but I can still do the uphill trudges. Just as well, because there’s usually a fair amount of climbing. If I take my time I can tackle plenty of steps, but not the hundreds I used to do, and sadly no more ladders.
Teddy loved our daylong rambles, but you hardly see dogs at all now. People are much more obedient and stick to the few trails where dogs are permitted. They keep them on leash, usually, as they are supposed to do, even in areas where you rarely or never see a ranger.
I used to be naughty. But Teddy was far too well trained to think of hurtling off into the bush. The worst thing he ever did was catch that lizard. It was a fairly small one, about five inches, but I felt bad about it for weeks. Longer, I suppose, because I still think about it.
People are more aware these days about conservation and the fragility of our wildlife. They’re more informed. If Teddy were suddenly, miraculously rejuvenated I would think twice about taking him on the public trails where we might be challenged. Or if I did I’d keep him on a lead. Have I become more law-abiding in my old age? If you’re invisible it should be the other way round, shouldn’t it? You can get away with more.
It’s a different matter on our own private walks, the ones only Teddy and I know about. The ones that harbour our secrets. We’ve never encountered another living soul there, human or canine. May that goodness and mercy continue all the days of our lives, O imaginary lord. All the remaining days.
I always did have a mutinous streak. Which is odd, considering my profession. There are few more responsible jobs than teaching, let alone being head of a school. As I know to my cost. Did that irresponsibility intensify, I wonder, as a reaction to my work? I don’t know that I was ever particularly fond of children as a genus. Had I been more fond I might have been more vigilant on their behalf, might I not?
Some were all right. If anything, I identified most with the troublemakers, because they were generally the individualists, the ones with the most gumption and disdain for authority.
I think of landscape as having similar characteristics to children: introverted or outgoing. It can be passive like England, dreamy and civilised; equally, it can be unstable or high-spirited. I inhabit an ancient, swashbuckling land whose weather and topography are dramatic – and unpredictable.
Is that why I respond to it so powerfully? And not only me, of course. It is a World Heritage Site. Even after living here for twelve years and spending weekends for decades before that, I am never oblivious to what is on my doorstep. This vast, secretive wilderness.
Apart from restoring Teddy’s youthful vigour, and obliterating the invaders breathing down my neck, my third dearest wish is to write poetry. But my best efforts continue to be pathetic. Bathetic, to be brutal about it. Elementary rhymes, not unlike the scatological doggerel everyone wrote at university, seem to be my limit. I could never show them to the writing class. There is no future in them. Perhaps if I liked children more I could write a book for them in simple rhyming couplets.
As Oscar says, a journal is a way of keeping one’s writing muscles toned, a generative, quotidian task. When he intoned those words I caught his eye. He and I have fallen into the mischievous habit, now and then, of using words only the two of us understand.
I do get something resembling enjoyment from this diary. It is a continuing dialogue with myself, a daily – quotidian – autobiography. I can think on the computer page, express things I wouldn’t normally say to anyone. Even to Teddy. It’s true that it is an outlet, Oscar is right about that. I seem to be becoming downright expansive. Or is it longwinded? Teddy, who was always a rambunctious boy, might find the details tedious, even if he understood them.
I am going to have to pull back. I’m worried things may be taking too familiar a turn. Best if we keep right out of each other’s way for a while. What I emphatically do not want is for them to construct a sad existence for me. I don’t want them to imagine I’m lonely.
I had to take Teddy to the vet. Nothing serious, only his prescription and check-up. Occasionally these expeditions are harder than they used to be, because of his dickey back leg. Sometimes it plays up, and then he has trouble jumping on to the seat.
The Campbell-Carrington trio saw me struggling a bit and came over. The couple went back promptly, saying the electrician was coming to put in a few more power points. I thought there were plenty of power points, I’d made a point of putting in more than you need. But they said you can never have too many of the damn things.
The tiresome girl was still hovering over Teddy. Close up, you can see she has some Asian input, around the mouth especially and the eyes. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. She was chewing gum, a particularly unsavoury habit. Didn’t seem inclined to leave, but nor did she want to say anything to me. Instead she murmured away to Teddy in a sing-song voice, ruffling her fingers through the thick fur around his shoulders in the way he likes. Chattering away to him as if there were all the time in the world and they were the only two in it. She flashed me a quick sidelong glance in which there was a hint of provocation.
I responded to that by saying loudly, ‘We’re going now,’ and opening the driver’s door. She came round and muttered a question about Teddy’s leg. We had a perfunctory exchange about medical matters before I cut it short. I don’t disparage her concern, but she seems not to understand that this hip business is quite normal for his age. He is in perfect health otherwise. She talks too fast and has a tendency to mumble. I was impatient to go, and completely forgot to mention her thank-you card.
She was still hanging about after I’d climbed in, scuffling her bare, dirty feet in the dust. She said, ‘I like how Teddy gets to sit beside you on the passenger seat. It makes him feel important, like he’s a human.’
Then I spent what should have been a pleasant drive feeling guilty about being brusque and having forgotten about her drawing.
The school year starts soon. She’ll be going home. That will be one invader less.
It was a mistake, having the drinks party. It was a rush of blood to the head, I can’t imagine what came over me. It gave the wrong impression, because I don’t want this neighbourly business. I don’t want to feel guilty or beholden – I want none of it. Next thing we know they’ll be racing over for a cosy little chat whenever I have a shopping bag to unload.
I think I’ll start parking the chariot in a different place, behind the house where it can’t be seen from over there. I could start using the back door, I’m sure I can rig up something for Teddy. A plank, so he can walk up onto the seat when he needs to. Or I could get Giorgio to make another set of steps, like the ones he installed for Teddy at the end of my bed. That would work well, if they were permanently in the same place. I’d just have to be a bit more precise with the parking. Unloading him is no problem because his front legs are fine.
Reading this over, I am aware that my behaviour might be judged unreasonable, but I cannot be held accountable for that. Who is there to judge? Reasonable or unreasonable, it is of no consequence. I am responsible only to myself and to Teddy. If they label me selfish or unneighbourly – or just plain blunt – it’s fine by me. It’s how I like it.
That’s nothing to what happened today.
I took Teddy on his sixty-minute circuit. It’s essential he gets his exercise every day. But as he plods along in front of me and I slow my pace to accommodate him I think of his youthful, bounding self. The exuberant way he fetched balls and sticks. He’ll still chase gamely after a ball, but I suspect he is only doing it to please me. We humour one another, rather, I imagine, like a contented old married couple.
We were pottering along the downhill stretch, skirting the fallen tree and approaching the white scribbly gum that grows out of the outcrop. Approaching what I think of as my magical place, t
he rock formation Namatjira might have painted.
We were about a hundred yards away when Teddy spotted something. He stopped and stood stock-still in front of me, ears pricked. At first I thought it might be a rare sighting of a lyrebird or a swamp wallaby. He barked once, then darted ahead with a spurt of energy, tail flying. There was a blurred flurry of white and red, and Teddy’s excited noises.
This was unprecedented, and so shocking that it took me a moment to register what was happening. Then it dawned on me. It was that infernal girl again, the niece Kim, in a white cotton hat and red T-shirt, perched up inside a crook of the sandstone where it rolls under itself into a cresting wave formation. If not for Teddy I’d have missed her completely. She was only just visible behind the leaning tree trunk. I think she must have been sitting in the hollow of the wave, reading.
I felt winded, as if I’d been punched in the solar plexus. I had three distinct thoughts in quick succession. First: this is our private sanctuary. Second: in all these years I have never known another person to come here. And third: I will not have it.
Teddy was bounding up to lick her face, untroubled by any of these thoughts. One of the rare times when we were not in accord.
I didn’t linger or hesitate. I whistled him back and turned on my heel. He trotted after me obediently after a short interval. Nor did I once look behind, although in my mind’s eye I saw the girl standing up in confusion, staring after us. Teddy was disconcerted too. He wanted to go back and see her and continue the walk, I could tell.
I found myself breathing heavily as I strode home. An uphill gradient, but that wasn’t the reason. I should have said something. Confronted her? With what? I have no legitimate grounds for confrontation. It is public land. She is as entitled to wander through it as Teddy and I.
The Precipice Page 4
