Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  ‘How y’goin’?’ Rosa’s cheerful face appeared around the door, her cheeks glowing with fresh air and sunshine.

  ‘Good,’ replied Catriona as she poured them both a mug of tea, and prepared for a long gossip. Rosa smelled of sunshine and horseflesh, a poignant reminder that Catriona hadn’t been out riding for over a week. ‘You look as if you enjoyed your ride. Did Connor go with you?’

  Rosa plumped down in the chair and ruffled her hair; it was damp with sweat and stood on end, which appeared to be the way she preferred it. ‘Yeah. The old bludger’s finally decided there’s more to life than cows,’ she said with a grin. ‘We rode up to the old place and had a look around; it felt odd seeing it again.’

  Catriona smiled. ‘It’s always strange going back to our childhood haunts,’ she said. ‘They seem so much smaller than we remembered.’

  Rosa pulled a face. ‘Smaller, shabbier, I can’t believe there were five of us living in there. No wonder our lives were in such chaos.’

  ‘Your father didn’t help,’ replied Catriona.

  ‘I was lucky he left when he did,’ said Rosa as she plucked at a loose thread in her shirt. ‘I don’t remember him at all.’ She licked her lips. ‘Poor Connor,’ she sighed. ‘He still bears the scars, you know. In here.’ She touched her head.

  ‘He’s much more confident than before,’ said Catriona. ‘The years have seen to that. And since he and Belinda have come to their senses, I think we’ll see him blossom.’

  Rosa grinned. ‘I hate to think what his phone bill’s going to be. They’re always talking to one another. Ain’t love grand?’ Rosa jumped up from the table and searched in the larder for some biscuits.

  Catriona wandered over to the window. She could see Connor’s confident stride as he loped across the yard, the damaged knee appearing to give him less discomfort now his mind was easier. His very demeanour spoke of renewed confidence in himself and in his life, and Catriona prayed fervently it would remain so.

  Rosa cut a slice of cake for each of them. ‘I baked it this morning when you were over with Cookie,’ she muttered as she eyed it critically. ‘It looks OK, but I don’t know what it will taste like.’

  Catriona nibbled the chocolate cake and lifted an eyebrow. ‘It’s delicious. I didn’t know you could cook.’

  ‘I can if I want to,’ she retorted. ‘It’s just I can’t be bothered. Woolworths and I have this arrangement. They make the cakes, I buy them.’

  Catriona looked at Rosa and realised what was behind all this domesticity. ‘You must be bored, darling.’

  ‘Not bored,’ she replied. ‘Just restless. I’ve got a lot of work piling up back at the office, and my boss is beginning to make disgruntled noises.’ She put down her cup and looked back at Catriona. ‘I’m going to have to leave, soon, Mum. My two weeks are nearly up.’

  ‘I’m going to miss you dreadfully,’ said Catriona as she reached for her hand. ‘Just promise you won’t leave it so long before your next visit?’

  Rosa nodded. ‘I’ll do my best to visit regularly.’ She grinned. ‘If only to keep track of Connor and Belinda’s romance.’

  They finished the tea and cake and Rosa left to have a shower whilst Catriona finished preparing the shepherd’s pie. As she worked, she thought about their earlier conversation. It had surprised her that Rosa and Connor had gone back to the old house. It wasn’t exactly somewhere that evoked pleasant memories. Yet, she had returned in her mind to Atherton to lay ghosts. Perhaps Rosa and Connor needed to do the same?

  Catriona sang to herself as she laid the table. The kitchen was warm and filled with steam as she bustled about with pots and pans. Connor had come in from the yard and was sitting sideways on at the table, his injured leg stuck out to ease his knee as he read through the latest farm catalogue. ‘Thinking of new ways to spend my money?’ she teased.

  He put down the catalogue and leaned back in his chair. ‘Rosa and I went out to the old place today,’ he began with a certain degree of hesitancy.

  ‘Rosa told me,’ she said, wondering where this was leading.

  ‘It’s been left to rot, and it’s a shame. Could be a bonzer little place if it was done up again.’ He fiddled with the catalogue. ‘I was thinking Belinda and I could live there,’ he finished.

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ she said warmly. She placed an enormous plate of food in front of him. ‘I’m just a little surprised you want to use it again. The memories of that place can’t be pleasant,’ she said finally.

  Connor fidgeted in his chair and rubbed his knee. ‘What happened there is in the past. This is for me and Belinda for the future. The manager’s cottage won’t be big enough for when we start a family.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Con,’ groaned Rosa who’d finished her shower and was now in search of food. ‘Putting the cart before the horse, aren’t you? Give the girl a chance.’

  He blushed and grinned and carried on eating his dinner, and the rest of the evening was spent making plans. Catriona finally went to bed as Connor was excitedly discussing the ideas with Belinda who was still in Cairns.

  *

  The dawn chorus was at full throttle when Catriona pushed back the covers and clambered out of bed. She’d slept well, and although this would be Rosa’s last full day here, she had plans for making it special. It had been lovely to hear her singing in the shower, even if her voice could frighten a crow at nine yards. Yet it would be too quiet without her, for this short, but traumatic visit had invoked memories of Poppy. How alike they were in their colourful enthusiasm for life, and in their endearing personalities. It was as if Poppy’s spirit lived on in her granddaughter, and for that she was blessed.

  She showered and dressed and stood at the window for a while, watching the smoke curling from the cookhouse chimney and the men standing about having a cigarette and a yarn before they got on with the business of the day. She felt content, at ease with her home, her family and her surroundings. And now the spectre of Kane had been banished, she could get on with her life and look forward to the arrival of the next generation.

  She smiled with pleasure as she watched the birds. They were swarming in great clouds of colour against the pale blue of the early morning sky and as she followed their flight, she realised she would never tire of the glory of these creatures for they were free of all earthly troubles, free to come and go as they pleased.

  The sight and sound of the birds took her thoughts to Billy Bird-song. Had he found the freedom he’d sought, was he back in the Dreamtime amongst his ancestors? She suspected he was, for she’d heard the keening of his women and most of the Aborigine men had left to go on walkabout three days ago. There would be a mourning ceremony followed by a corroboree, which meant they would probably stagger back here the worse for wear after the grog they’d drunk.

  Catriona turned from the window and headed for the kitchen. The Aborigine’s ability to sense things never ceased to amaze her, for there was no logical way they could have known Billy was dead. Yet, perhaps by their very nature, they had preserved the ability to tune into their sixth sense – for unlike their brothers who lived in the cities and had different cares, they still lived here and mostly adhered to the tribal customs – perhaps this was what had enhanced their ancient instincts and knowledge.

  Rosa was still asleep, curled up in bed with Archie. The ginger tom hadn’t appreciated being kicked off Catriona’s bed during the night. ‘Silly old bugger,’ she muttered as he opened one cold, reproachful eye and glared at her. ‘You can sulk all you want, but I bet you’re hungry.’

  He leaped off the bed as she walked down the hall and wound himself around her legs, threatening to up-end her in his eagerness for food. Cupboard love was all very well, she thought as she opened the tin and forked the smelly meat out, but this was taking things too far.

  Rosa padded into the kitchen. ‘You spoil that cat,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘He weighs a ton and kept me awake half the night with his snoring. You should put him on a diet.’<
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  Catriona eyed Archie and he eyed her back. Neither of them thought much of the idea, and decided to treat the suggestion with the contempt it deserved.

  Catriona put the kettle on the hob and bread in the toaster; she was excited about the plans for the day, but it might be an idea to check that Rosa hadn’t made any of her own. ‘What do you want to do on your last day, Rosa?’

  Rosa sat at the table, her hair standing on end, her face still bleary with sleep. She yawned again. ‘I’m going to have to ask the mechanic to check the oil and water in the Station ute and make sure everything’s right for the long drive back tomorrow afternoon,’ she said. ‘Then I want to go back to the old place and consolidate a few ideas for the furniture and the type of kitchen and bathroom they’ll need. Once I’ve got the measurements, I can order it all in Sydney when I get back.’

  ‘I think Belinda might prefer to choose for herself,’ Catriona said with gentle reproach as she filled the teapot and placed it on the table. ‘After all, she’s the one who’ll be living there.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ retorted Rosa. ‘But surely she wouldn’t mind if I helped get the place straight?’

  Catriona sat down and took her hand. ‘I’m sure she’d love to have you help, but she must be the one to make the house a home for her and Connor, so be patient and wait to be asked.’ She smiled at Rosa to take the sting out of her words and was once again reminded forcibly of Poppy. Rosa and her grandmother shared the same impatience and impetuosity, the same zestful enthusiasm for life, although at this moment it was sadly lacking in the yawning Rosa. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said. ‘It will give us a chance for some fresh air, which might actually wake you up.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Rosa said. ‘It’s that bloody cat’s fault. I wish he’d go back to sleeping with you.’

  Catriona walked around the ravenous Archie who was gobbling his breakfast, and sat down at the table. ‘Archie’s sulking,’ she said. ‘He’ll come back to me when he’s ready and not before.’ She folded her hands on the table and smiled at Rosa. ‘I think we should get the old wagon out of the barn,’ she said. ‘We could get one of the older, quieter horses to pull it, and go off exploring. It will be quite like old times.’

  ‘Are you totally insane?’ Rosa looked at her, fully awake, eyes wide in horror. ‘It’s likely to fall to pieces the minute it’s moved out of the barn. And besides, aren’t you a bit old to be jigged about?’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said dryly. ‘I might be over sixty, but I’m not ready for my coffin just yet.’

  Rosa blushed. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Me and my big mouth.’

  ‘It would help if the mouth and brain were co-ordinated,’ she retorted. She lathered golden butter on the hot toast and bit into it. Having demolished the first slice, she buttered the second. Her appetite was as undiminished as ever, and with it came a burst of energy and enthusiasm for the coming day. ‘When we’ve finished here,’ she said finally, ‘you can go and tell Connor to get the men to pull the wagon out of the barn and put old Razor in the traces.’

  ‘Connor won’t like it,’ said Rosa with a waspish stubbornness.

  ‘Connor doesn’t have to come with us,’ Catriona retorted. ‘Just do as I say, Rosa. It’ll be fun, and we can take a picnic like we used to when you were kids.’

  Rosa heaved a great sigh, finished her mug of tea and, muttering to herself, stomped out of the room. Catriona grinned. Despite being in her late twenties, Rosa sometimes behaved as if she was still twelve.

  An hour later they were standing in the yard watching the wagon being slowly drawn from the barn. Catriona looked around her and was hard-pushed not to make an acid comment on the lack of work being done about the place. The men had turned out in force to watch and none of them seemed remotely inclined to earn their wages.

  She soon forgot her audience as she stood beside the picnic basket and ran her hands along the wagon’s green and gold paint. She was remembering the long, sunny years of her childhood when this had been her home. It looked much smaller than she remembered, and rather battered, despite the new coat of paint and smart wheels. Yet there was a certain majesty about it and she couldn’t wait to climb on board.

  Connor was standing at the horse’s head, holding onto the bridle and Catriona went to stand next to him. ‘There’s no need to hold him so firmly,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s too old and fat to bolt.’

  ‘Razor might be old and fat, but he’s not used to pulling wagons,’ he grumbled. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing, A bit like you, really,’ he added glaring down at her.

  ‘We know exactly what we’re doing, don’t we, boy?’ she retorted as she patted Razor’s grey muzzle. ‘We just need a little bit of time to remember how, that’s all.’

  Connor muttered something which didn’t sound complimentary, either to her or Razor, and she chose to ignore it by moving away to the side of the wagon. It would be impossible to climb up to the buckboard, she realised sadly. She no longer had the strength in her arms to pull herself up, or the power in her legs to balance on the hub of the wheel and swing over the lip, and she wasn’t about to make a complete fool of herself in front of everyone by trying. ‘I’ll get on at the back,’ she said imperiously. ‘Someone come and help me.’ There were murmurs and a lot of shuffling of feet. ‘Quickly,’ she ordered, her impatience making her sharp – it was like being back in the theatre.

  With Rosa pushing from behind, and Cookie hauling at the front, she finally managed to get inside. She stood for a moment in the gloom of the wagon to catch her breath. The forgotten scents of long ago drifted back to her and she was lost in the memories of those seemingly endless days and nights she’d once spent in here. She could smell turpentine and cedar wood, fresh paint and a hint of perfume. When she closed her eyes she thought she could hear Patch yapping and Poppy calling out, thought she could see the sparkle of sequins and the colour of her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Are you right, missus?’ The anxious voice was at her shoulder.

  Catriona turned and was faced with Cookie’s bulk. He seemed to fill the enclosed space. ‘Of course I’m right,’ she retorted. ‘Help me on to the buckboard.’

  Cookie eyed her thoughtfully and before she could protest he’d swung her up in his arms and was carrying her through the wagon to the wooden bench at the front. Having deposited her rather too firmly on the seat, he backed away and scuttled off. ‘Well, really,’ she breathed.

  Connor and Rosa clambered up beside her, uninhibited by age and infirmity, and Connor took the reins. ‘Where to?’ he asked, his mood obviously only slightly improved.

  ‘The old house first, and then out to the waterfall. I want to see as much as possible.’

  Razor began to plod across the yard and Catriona grabbed hold of the seat until she’d once again grown accustomed to the sway and jolt of the wagon. She heard the rattle of the wheels and the jingle of harness, and it all came flooding back. Her mother and father were with her, she was sure of that. And in the ghostly wagons that followed them so silently along the outback tracks, she could hear the laughter of the comedian and the chorus girls and the high-pitched yap of the little terrier called Patch.

  As the day wore on and the sun climbed higher in the sky they roamed over the pastures and beside the billabongs. They watched an eagle hovering above them and saw a mob of kangaroos bound away into the bush. The pine-covered mountains were in sharp focus today, each tree clearly marked, as were the great stone monoliths which lay like beached whales in the wavering heat of the deserted grasslands, and the tall, rust-coloured termite mounds that poked through the scrub like so many grave-stones.

  Catriona breathed in the scents and sights and sounds of this land called Belvedere, and was content.

  *

  Tom yawned and stretched and collected the statements into a pile. He’d found it difficult to sleep since hearing Catriona’s story, haunted by the images she’d invoked and the reality of the forbidding surroundings in wh
ich it had taken place.

  He and Belinda had been in Cairns for ten days. It had been confirmed that Wolff had sold the story to the press, but instead of instant dismissal, he’d had his wrists slapped and been sent back to Sydney. Tom wasn’t looking forward to facing his boss after that debacle, but he was impatient to return home and get his life back on track.

  Tom shunted the paperwork into a folder and picked up the rest of the documents on his desk and dropped them into his briefcase. Following Catriona’s statement, he’d managed to delve deeper into the life of Demetri Yvchenkov, and these documents would have to be handed on to his heirs. His digging into Kane’s past had also been successful, and now he had to decide how to relate his discoveries to Catriona.

  It had taken three days to uncover the remains beneath the shed and another two to determine the cause of death. The acid Catriona and Velda had poured over him had done its work, yet there was enough for forensics to work on. The remains would be released for cremation today, and the simple ceremony would be paid for by the state. He doubted there would be any mourners for such a man.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Belinda was standing in the doorway.

  Tom plucked his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. ‘You’re looking smart,’ he said as he took in the black skirt and jacket and the neat white blouse.

  Belinda pulled a face. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I went shopping especially. Thought I should make the effort, but I’ll never get used to wearing a skirt, or heels.’ She grimaced again as she slipped one foot out of the low-heeled pumps and massaged her toes. ‘Bloody things are crippling me.’