by Derek Hansen
‘There’s nothing wrong in defending yourself.’
‘You’ve convinced me it won’t come to that.’
‘It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. It would be different if you came down and stayed at my place.’
‘I really don’t want to drag you into my problems.’
‘I’m dragged, Linda, I’m here. What’s the difference? Me coming to your place or you coming to mine? Come and live with me. If I’m off somewhere on the spread, at least you’ll have the dogs to protect you.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe what? One, you’d be safer and, two, we wouldn’t have to sweat it out in here. We could sit outside on my veranda. Catch a breeze.’ Billy got up and walked over to the window. His eyes narrowed. ‘Uh-oh, you’ve got company.’
‘What!’
‘Come here and I’ll show you.’
‘It’s not him, is it?’ Linda rose from her chair and ran over to the window. Billy was pointing towards the track up the western ridge that Rodney used when he came to do her gardening.
‘Just to the right of the trail,’ said Billy. ‘In front of that scrubby gidgee.’
‘What? Oh, my God!’
‘Want to rethink the shotgun?’
‘Is it poisonous?’
‘Yeah, it’s poisonous all right.’
‘What is it?’
‘Red-belly black. It’ll make you mighty sick but probably won’t kill you.’
‘It’s coming towards us.’
‘It most likely lives under the house. Probably been living there for years. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re territorial. They keep the brown snakes away and they’re the real nasty buggers. Get bitten by a brown, all you can do is hope that your will’s in order. Most people out here don’t mind having a black around for that reason.’
‘Ugh,’ said Linda. ‘I hate snakes, I hate them all.’
‘So come and live at my place.’
‘Have you got a snake?’
‘Yeah. The dog lives under the front veranda and the snake lives under the back. We’ve learned to get along with each other. Funny thing is, the dog chases all the other snakes away except that one.’
Linda watched the black snake slither out of sight under the lip of the veranda, headed beneath the house.
‘Your place is looking better all the time.’
‘Then come home with me.’
Linda smiled and shrugged with resignation.
‘If the only alternative is sitting here like Ma Baker with a shotgun on my lap and being nagged to death I really don’t have a lot of choice.’
‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘Come home with me tonight.’
‘Whoa, boy. I need time to wash and pack things. I’ll have to clean out the fridge and freezer. It’ll take me all day tomorrow.’
‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Did you talk to your friend in town?’
‘Peter? Yeah. He hasn’t heard of anyone snooping around but he’ll keep his eye out. By the way, where’s the kelpie?’
‘Bella’s in the kitchen, keeping an eye on our dinner. I think I’ll go give her a hand.’
‘Dogs belong outside.’
‘My place, my call,’ said Linda.
Billy watched her go then sat down at the table, relieved that she’d finally come to her senses. He hadn’t told her about the tyre tracks he’d found down below the house because he hadn’t wanted to frighten her. They’d prompted him to ring Peter at the stock and station and ask him to be his eyes and ears. All the signs suggested someone had been snooping. If it had been an opal miner who’d taken the wrong turn, he would’ve just done a one-eighty and driven back the way he’d come. Why detour off into the bush out of sight? And whose were the footprints? There appeared to be two sets. He’d tried to follow their tracks but his abo eyes weren’t much use once they got in among the rocks and he’d lost them. But he’d seen enough to know that they’d headed uphill. But how far up? And why? He’d stayed over with Linda that night and the following night, just in case. He figured there was most likely an innocent explanation. Maybe some campers wanted to climb high enough to photograph the view. God knows, the relentless northwesters had made it too hot to climb all the way to the top. While that seemed the most reasonable explanation, it sat uneasily with him. Why now? He couldn’t recall anyone doing it before, though he appreciated he was hardly in a position to know. Nevertheless, it smacked of coincidence and Billy distrusted coincidences. He finished his beer and walked into the kitchen to get another.
Grant turned off Stony Creek Road onto the loop and reset the odometer of his rented Nissan Patrol. So far his instructions had been pinpoint accurate, clearly the work of a man anxious to protect his third instalment of one hundred dollars. Though his lights were on low beam, Grant was acutely aware of how obvious they were in the vast blackness around him and to anyone on the lookout. Occasionally pairs of rubies stared back at him in the spill of the beams but he didn’t give a thought to which animals they might belong. He only had eyes for the road and his odometer. Dealing in tenths of kilometres was bad enough given the normal variation between odometers, but tenths of tenths was inviting trouble. What were his chances of finding the right track at ‘a whisker under point-six-five kilometres’ when every gap in the scrub looked like it could be the start of a trail? Grant slowed down to fifteen k’s. Even with the airconditioner running at full bore he was sweating. As the odometer tripped over point six his headlights picked up wheel ruts arcing to the right thirty metres ahead of him. Grant grunted with satisfaction. It had to be the right track. His instructions told him to proceed for another one-point-one kilometres and to park alongside the car shelter, but they allowed for a different kind of surprise to the one he had planned. Instead, he angled off into the bush after covering just two hundred metres, stopped behind a thicket of pines and turned off his lights.
Before leaving the Nissan, Grant covered his face, arms and hands with Rid insect repellent. He slipped the Rid, his torch, the contract, a bottle of water and the opened box of cartridges into his backpack, picked up his rifle and followed his tyre marks back to the track to make sure his Nissan was well enough hidden. Satisfied, he set off on foot up the sand ridge towards Linda’s. He’d dressed completely in black and even considered blackening his face, but it had been apparent from early on in the evening that the precaution would be unnecessary. Although the first crescent of the new moon lay on its back low above the western horizon and the sky was filled with stars, it took all of Grant’s concentration just to see the track in front of him.
It was so dark he would’ve missed the fork if he hadn’t been looking for it. He continued uphill, more cautious now, but was soon forced to stop. Unbelievably, where he stood was even darker than it had been down where he’d left his car. He had no choice but to use his torch. He’d focused the lens on his Magnalite so that it gave a narrow beam with very little spill but he still didn’t trust it not to reveal his presence. He cupped his hand over the lens before turning the torch on and allowed only a sliver of light through his fingers. He realised he was in a gully surrounded by trees, the canopies of which had joined to completely block out the stars. He dared to raise the filtered beam of his torch so that it shone uphill. The moment he caught the dull reflection of something metal way up ahead of him he switched the torch off. It had to be Linda’s car or the car shelter. He slowly and deliberately made his way forward, arms out in front of him in case there were tree trunks or other obstacles in his way. It reminded him of the nights he’d woken up in strange hotel rooms, with no idea where the bathroom was or where the light switch was, and found his way entirely by touch. But that was before, when he’d had the world at his feet and travelled so often he sometimes couldn’t even remember which country he was in. The memory caused bitterness to rise like acid in his throat. He carried on up the hill until he was no longer certain he was headed
the right way.
He risked another quick flash of light through his fingers and almost gasped out loud. It wasn’t just the closeness of the Toyota that stunned him, even though it was less than two metres in front of him and he’d had no idea it was there, but the fact that there were two cars. Two cars! At no stage had Grant considered that Linda would have company and he’d made no provision in his plans. Yet he should have considered the possibility. He had little doubt that the Toyota in the car shelter was Linda’s or that the ute alongside belonged to the person called Billy Dwyer. Natural caution told him to turn around and try again another night, when Linda was alone, but he couldn’t face the delay. What if someone found his car tracks? What if Linda decided to up anchor and take off? Grant shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. His grip tightened on his rifle. The presence of Billy Dwyer changed nothing. The only difference was that Billy might have to learn that friendship with Linda always came at a price.
‘I’m really going to miss this place,’ said Linda. She picked up her coffee, leaned back in her chair and took a sip. ‘The funny thing is, it’s the opposite of everything I thought I wanted.’
‘What did you want?’
‘What everyone wants. Big beautiful house, fabulous water views and stylish furniture. But this place has really got to me.’
‘You’ve done a good job on it.’
‘Thanks, but it’s more than that. Everything here is basic but the truth is, it’s enough. The cooker’s a dinosaur but it works fine. Same with the washing machine. I haven’t missed not having a dishwasher. In fact, I’ve enjoyed doing the dishes, especially with you drying.’
‘You can do the dishes down at my place.’
‘You’re too kind. What worries me is that once I leave here I won’t come back. These canvases will remain unfinished and so will the garden. The house will go back to the way it was when you first showed it to me, and that would be a real shame.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t come back.’
‘My life’s in the city, Billy. Like the house, sooner or later I’m going to have to go back to the way I was too. One way or another the issue with Grant will have to be resolved. The last few days have made that blindingly clear. Maybe I’ll have to take the initiative, although God only knows how. Damn it! If only he’d got those Garuda commercials.’
‘Do I have to go back to the way I was or is there a place for me in your plans?’
Linda rocked forward and put her coffee down. She reached across the table and took Billy’s hands in hers.
‘Billy Dwyer, how could you possibly —’
The kelpie’s sudden explosive bark cut her short. Billy leaped to his feet. Linda spun around screaming as the kelpie raced past her towards the veranda and threw itself snarling at the screen door. The figure standing there was little more than a dark shape but his rifle was hard to miss. It was pointed at the kelpie.
‘Bella! Heel!’
The kelpie turned around obediently and crept back to Billy, tail between its legs. It lay down at Billy’s feet, growling softly, eyes fixed on the intruder as he pushed open the screen door and stepped inside.
‘Good move, cowboy, you just saved your puppy dog’s life,’ said Grant. ‘And maybe even the bitch’s.’ He swung his rifle around so that it pointed directly at Linda. ‘Hello, Linda. What’s the matter? Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
Grant closed the screen door behind him and moved carefully into the room until he was level with her. All the while in gaol whenever he’d imagined this moment it had always begun with a punch that had been six long years gathering force and momentum. He knew exactly how it would happen. He’d watched it replayed endlessly in slow motion and super slow motion, seen his fist smash into her jaw from every angle as though it was TV coverage of the knockout punch in a title fight. He’d seen her face split open, the explosion of blood, spittle and splintered teeth. He’d seen it, felt it and rejoiced in it. But in his imaginings she’d always been alone, his hands had been free and not gripped around a rifle, and common sense had never been a factor. It took a supreme effort to restrain his fists, to rein in his fury and put the lid on his bitterness. There was plenty of time for revenge, he told himself, and plenty of ways of taking it. He found he was breathing hard and gulping air, not so much from the effort of sneaking up the hill but from the tension, and took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. He looked into Linda’s eyes and felt a surge of satisfaction when he saw the sheer terror there. It was as though she’d been reading his mind, reading his intentions, watching the replays. All the blood had drained from her face and stripped the colour from her lips. Her whole body shook with fear. He’d seen her scared before, but never so scared and never without so much reason. Christ Almighty, he wanted to slap her, his whole being cried out with the need, but he knew if he started in on her he wouldn’t be able to stop and that could ruin everything. He forced his gaze away and onto Billy. It was time to check out the boyfriend.
Grant smiled. He couldn’t help himself. If he’d had to cast an archetypal, strong, steadfast, honest-as-theday-is-long country boy for a film, Billy would have been a shoo-in for the part. He was a living cliché, right down to the moleskins and RM Williams boots. Grant couldn’t help wondering what Linda was doing with a bloke like him. He wouldn’t have picked Billy as her type at all. But clearly Linda saw enough to like to take him into her bed, which made Billy a problem and one he had to deal with. He swung his rifle off Linda and onto Billy and went immediately on his guard when there was no reaction. Grant had expected to see something, at least a flicker of nervousness or apprehension. But the eyes that met his didn’t waver. Grant kept staring at Billy, trying to figure him out as he addressed his ex-wife.
‘Where are your manners, Linda? You know I like a beer when I come in.’
Linda immediately backed away towards the kitchen, as though scared of what he’d do if she took her eyes off him.
‘Make it two,’ said Grant. ‘Save yourself a second trip. And don’t even think of doing anything silly or I’ll give lover boy here a second navel.’
He scanned the room while he waited for Linda to return. He had to get Billy — in fact, both of them — into a position where they were no threat. When he noticed the deep sofa he smiled. Linda had bought a similar sofa for their apartment. It looked great and there was no doubting its comfort, but people sank so deeply into it they almost needed a crane to get back to their feet. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d complained about it. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe the sofa was the same one from their apartment. It looked pretty much how he remembered it. Maybe it was something she’d kept when they’d separated. Whatever, new or old, it would serve his purpose.
‘Okay, just put the beers down on the table. Now I want the two of you to go and sit on the sofa. And take the dog with you.’
Grant opened one of the cans and knocked back half of the contents in a couple of gulps. He smiled again with grim satisfaction when he saw Billy’s dismay as he realised the helplessness of the position the sofa had put him in. Grant perched on the edge of the table, laid his rifle down alongside him and slipped off his backpack.
‘You must be Billy Dwyer.’
‘That’s right. Mind if I smoke?’
‘What?’ Billy’s simple request caught Grant off guard. ‘No, go ahead.’ Grant watched carefully as Billy pulled the pack of tobacco from his shirt pocket and began to make a rollie. As a director, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the contrast between the two. Billy could’ve been watching grass grow while Linda looked like she was about to piss herself. It was hard to believe they were playing the same scene. ‘I suppose Linda got you up here for protection.’
‘It was my choice.’
‘Ah, Billy, why do we all make the same mistake? Thing is, super bitch here doesn’t need your protection, or mine, or anyone else’s for that matter. It’s us who need protecting from her.’
‘That’s not the way I hea
rd it.’ Billy rolled his cigarette and licked the edge of the paper. He tamped both ends twice before sticking it between his lips and lighting it.
‘Well, it wouldn’t be, would it? You’re being played for a fool, Billy. But don’t worry, you’re not the first and Linda’s fooled better men than you. She’s good, Billy, really good. You managed to fool the judge and the jury, didn’t you, Linda, and, as far as I can tell, the entire police force as well? That’s right, isn’t it? See? She’s not denying anything. Doesn’t that tell you something? Believe me, Billy, as long as you live, which may not be all that much longer come to think of it, you will never meet a more cold-hearted, calculating, ruthlessly ambitious bitch than this little schoolteacher here. She’s the Queen of Bitches. Right, Linda?’
When Linda didn’t respond he screamed at her: ‘Right, Linda!’
‘Yes!’ It was more of a sob than a word.
‘What are you?’
‘Queen of Bitches.’ Linda was shaking so badly she was barely coherent.
‘Sorry? What did you say?’
‘She said, Queen of Bitches.’ Billy drew deeply on his cigarette and looked for somewhere to butt it. ‘When you finish with that can I’d like to use it as an ashtray.’
Grant took a last pull from the can and tossed it to Billy. The beer had hardly put a dent in his thirst. He took another deep breath to let his anger subside. But, Christ, there was so much anger it was hard to keep it bottled up.
‘Well, Billy, you heard it from her own mouth. She is the Queen of Bitches, self-confessed. The question is, are you convinced? Do you believe her?’
‘No.’
‘That’s a shame. You disappoint me, Billy. Here I am, trying to help you understand what we’re dealing with, but you won’t listen. I can see that I’m just going to have to tell you my side of the story. You don’t mind if I tell lover boy what really happened, do you, Linda? Tell him how you put your sweet little hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth but told a whole lot of porkies instead? Why are you staring at the floor? Is it really so hard for you to look me in the eye and face the truth? Christ, you’re pathetic! You should’ve seen her in court, Billy. My God, what a performance! She wasn’t pathetic then. I had no idea she was such a good actor. You know, I almost stood to applaud. I’ve directed a lot of very fine actors, Billy, the best in the country, but I’ve never got a performance like that out of any of them. Never! Doesn’t it make you wonder, Billy, if she’s been putting on a little act for you?’
