The Last Road Trip

by Gareth Crocker

  For the next three hours they toiled in the sun, labouring over every inch of the structure. Fortunately, Henry had brought along quick-drying paint, which allowed them to apply three coats. To reach the tree man’s head and upper torso, Henry had attached a large paintbrush to the top of a series of telescopic metal poles that were wired and then taped together. This negated the need for a ladder or any sort of scaffolding.

  When they were finished, Jack mopped his brow and walked over to Henry. ‘Thank you for allowing us to be a part of this.’

  ‘No, Jack, I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’ve told this story to quite a few guests over the years and nobody’s ever offered to get involved like this.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just because we have a little more time on our hands than most other people.’

  ‘No,’ Henry replied, shaking his head, ‘that’s not it. Time is normally the one thing people have in abundance when they come out to a town like ours.’

  As they gathered together – Rosie leaning on Lizzie’s arm from the exertion – Jack reached into his pocket and handed Henry an envelope. ‘Henry, I’d like you to have this.’

  ‘Wha— What is this, Jack?’

  ‘It’s a small gesture to help you with the upkeep here,’ he began. ‘And to keep The Galaxy going for a little while longer. It’s a special place, Henry. Last night was something else. Elizabeth and I will never forget it.’

  ‘Jack, this is very kind of you, but I can’t accept your money. Thank you, but no.’

  ‘I’m afraid you don’t really have a choice,’ Sam cut in, sounding every inch as weary as he felt. ‘Not if you know Jack the way we do.’

  ‘Just accept it,’ Rosie added. ‘If you don’t take whatever’s in there, Jack will likely tear it up or throw it away. I’ve seen him do it.’

  Conflicted, Henry looked down at the envelope. He decided that he would first see the extent of Jack’s generosity before deciding anything further. But before he could open the envelope, Jack reached out a hand to stop him. ‘I have only one small condition, Henry.’

  Henry looked back at him.

  ‘I want you to wait until we’re gone before you open it. And once you’ve opened it, I want your word that you’ll make use of it.’

  ‘Jack, I really don’t—’

  ‘Your word. Please.’

  Jack locked eyes with Henry, willing him to concede.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Jack?’

  ‘Because I want to. And because I have the means to.’

  Henry thought for a moment. ‘We hardly know each other.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true.’

  Henry rubbed his fingers across the surface of the envelope. Feeling that it wasn’t particularly heavy, he decided to give in to Jack’s wishes. He was loath to admit it, but a few extra notes could certainly come in handy. Even if they helped to keep The Galaxy going for another month.

  ‘All right, Jack, you have my word. Thank you. I hope this isn’t overly extravagant.’

  Jack thought about the cheque in the envelope and then shook his head.

  ‘It’s not,’ he said, shaking Henry’s hand. Not really.

  Part 4

  * * *

  A KISS TO THE SKY

  Thirty-eight

  The final stretch of road leading to Sutherland was like none Jack had ever encountered. Given how seldom it was used, he had expected it to be poorly maintained – scarred and pockmarked, strewn with potholes even – but what he found was something altogether different. Freshly laid, the blacktop’s immaculate glass-like surface swept and carved its way through subtle valleys and knolls that rose and fell like the sighs of a sleeping child. The stubby grassland combined with a paucity of trees meant that they could see for miles on end. The effect this had on the sky was nothing short of astonishing. It wasn’t merely above them – it was everywhere, painting blue every window in the car, as though a vast domed cloche had been set over them.

  ‘So this is what they mean by big sky,’ Jack said quietly, scanning the horizon. ‘Lizzie, you’ve undersold the place.’

  ‘By a lot,’ Rosie added, staring out over the moonlike fields.

  ‘Just wait until it gets dark. That’s when it really catches your breath. Whatever you’ve heard or read about, it won’t come close. Especially when the moon sets.’

  Sam looked over at her. ‘The moon?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. The moon’s obviously very beautiful in its own right, but it throws too much light in the sky. It detracts from the stars. Few amateur stargazers realise this, but you really have to wait for the moon to set to truly experience the Sutherland night sky. Normally an hour or two before dawn.’

  ‘What happens when there’s no moon?’

  Elizabeth paused to consider the question. ‘Well, at that time of the morning there’s no sound out here. No birds. No insects. No traffic. There’s nothing. Just the sound of your breathing and a sky so wide and black that it feels like you’re floating through space. When I first saw it, in the minutes after the moon had set, I started to cry. Makes you believe in God. Or at least a God. It’s that sort of experience.’

  ‘Who were you with that first time?’

  Elizabeth turned to Rosie. ‘My father. I couldn’t have been more than about fourteen. We camped out the whole night. Spoke for hours. I told him things that I don’t imagine many teenage girls tell their fathers. I often dream about that night. It was so cold, but I didn’t care.’

  ‘Sounds like a great memory to have in your locker.’

  ‘It is,’ Elizabeth replied and then offered an unsteady smile. ‘And it isn’t.’

  ‘Where was this? On your parents’ farm?’

  ‘Actually, no. It was at an abandoned drive-in on the edge of town.’

  ‘Sutherland had a drive-in? In those days?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well, not really. Someone had built a large sheet-metal screen and a small building to house the projector, but nothing ever came of it. It was very early days for drive-ins and I imagine projectors must’ve been terribly expensive. I don’t know any of the details, just that no film ever made it onto that screen. Not as far as I know. Which is quite a pity, really. Not that the town would’ve been able to support the drive-in for long. There just weren’t enough people around. Anyway, it was the ideal setting for my father and me. Perched on top of a small hill, with an uninterrupted view of the sky.’

  Jack breathed in deeply. ‘What is it about these small towns and their big ambitions?’

  For a while they drove in silence, each trying to imagine the night sky as Elizabeth had described it. A few minutes later they drifted past a small sign welcoming visitors to Sutherland. The rusted metal was coated bronze in the late-afternoon sun. Jack turned back to look at Elizabeth. ‘Here we go, Lizzie. You ready to come home?’

  She looked down into her hands and, as she did so, Jack caught sight of the trepidation in her eyes. ‘I don’t know, Jack. I hope so.’

  Thirty-nine

  ‘There it is,’ Elizabeth whispered, chewing the nail on her index finger.

  The old farmhouse appeared into view at the end of a sand road. Set at the foot of a small hill, it was a squat stone building with a pitched corrugated-iron roof that, many years ago, had been painted green. To the right of the main house stood a circular stone building which, even from their vantage point, they could see had lost much of its thatched roof to the passing years, like an old man whose hair was thinning out.

  ‘What’s that second building?’ Jack asked.

  ‘My father’s studio,’ she replied, numb. ‘I believe some of his paintings are still inside. Ones my father wanted me to have. Joseph offered to have them shipped to me years ago, but I never followed through with it. I just couldn’t face them.’

  Joseph Thobela was the elderly handyman who, over the years, had done what he could to keep the farm from slipping entirely into ruin. At his age now, many of the jobs that needed doing were well beyond him, b
ut he still worked diligently to keep the property as well maintained as he could – the evidence of which was clear to see as they pulled up to the main house. The window frames had been freshly painted and the old front door – now decades old – shone with a new coat of varnish. A bright square of manicured green lawn was bordered by vivid white and yellow wild flowers. A lone tree to the left of the house offered at least some shade from the punishing heat.

  As the car drew to a halt, Sam reached out his hand to Elizabeth. ‘You OK?’

  Elizabeth gripped his fingers tightly and nodded.

  ‘You’re shaking.’

  ‘It’s just a lot to take in.’

  Stepping from the car, Elizabeth felt as if she were wading through a memory. All her movements seemed slower, less responsive to thought. Her gaze landed on the old tree and she turned towards it, as if under its spell. Stretching out a hand, she gently caressed the bark to test that it was real.

  ‘A swing,’ she uttered, pointing to the air around her. ‘There used to be a swing over here.’

  She looked up into the branches overhead and felt her arms prickle. While the swing was long gone, there were still two frayed lengths of rope suspended from a branch high above them. Over the decades the rope had fused into the tree, now forever part of it.

  She shut her eyes and, as she did, she could almost feel her father’s hands on her back, gently pushing her in the swing that no longer existed.

  ‘I don’t think I can do this. It’s too much. What was I thinking coming back here? I must’ve been—’

  Jack hurried over to her. ‘Take it easy, Liz. You can do this. We’re all here for you. There’s no need to rush. We’ll take our time … together. Maybe we should just wait outside here for a while longer. Catch our breath. How does that sound?’

  As if drawing on Jack’s strength, she took a calming breath and tried to compose herself. ‘OK. That sounds good.’

  Jack ushered her over to a wooden bench. She had only just sat down when the front door opened and an elderly black man stepped out. Despite the late-afternoon heat, he wore an ancient sports jacket that was thinning at the elbows. His polished shoes and freshly ironed trousers were complemented by a Humphrey-Bogart-style hat. His skin sheened with sweat. Seeing Elizabeth, he removed his hat and patted down his grey hair. ‘Miss Bethy?’ he asked with an air of reverence.

  ‘Joseph? Oh my God. Joseph!’

  A broad smile parted his straggly beard. Elizabeth hurried to her feet and rushed over to embrace him. ‘We’re a few days late. I’m so sorry. I should’ve let you know.’

  He closed his eyes as they met. ‘Not at all. I’m just glad you’re here now.’

  Elizabeth could feel her body trembling again. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for all that you’ve done for me. For my family. All these years.’

  Joseph reached for her hands. ‘I only wish I could have done more. There are many things I can no longer do. I’m sorry. I should—’

  Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘No, Joseph. I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe it’s taken all this time for me to come back. I’m so ashamed.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Miss Bethy. I know how difficult it was for you when your mother and father passed. It was a horrible time.’

  ‘But it was a lifetime ago.’

  ‘Some things aren’t touched by the years.’

  ‘Oh, Joseph, there are so many things I want to speak to you about. I have so many questions.’

  But before she could ask any of them, Jack stepped forward.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jack … everyone. Forgive me. This remarkable man is Joseph Thobela. He was born in Zimbabwe, but has worked with my family his whole life. He’s been caring for the farm since I was a girl.’

  After the introductions were done, Joseph began to turn the rim of his hat through his fingers. ‘Are you ready to see your home again, Miss Bethy?’

  ‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘But let’s go slowly, Joseph. OK?’

  He smiled at that. ‘Since I’ve passed eighty years, everything I do is slowly.’

  Forty

  A time capsule. That was how her aunt had described it after a visit six years earlier. And while she was right, Elizabeth thought, she was also wrong. The place certainly did look much the same as it once did – uncannily so, in fact – but unlike something trapped in stasis for decades, the house had not been left to gather age and dust. It had been regularly cleaned and cared for, the scent of fresh lemon in the air testifying to the fact. The wooden floors were polished and shone brightly in the afternoon light. Frayed and threadbare as they were, the tablecloths and curtains were all clean. There was no dust on any of the surfaces that Elizabeth could see. No yellowed newspapers lying around. Nothing to suggest that the home was not still being lived in – albeit by people set in their ways either by habit or by lack of means, unwilling or unable to update their furnishings. Which, in the Karoo, was hardly uncommon in any event.

  Struggling to keep her emotions in check, Elizabeth made her way through the entrance hall and into the sitting room. The old oak dining-room table – where they had spent so much time together as a family – still seemed to help anchor the house in the way it always had. Trying not to dwell on the empty chairs that surrounded it, she turned towards the kitchen. ‘Does the stove still work?’

  ‘Yes, it does. It’s a good stove.’

  Elizabeth nodded and then headed into the kitchen. She had barely made it over the threshold when she stopped, mid-step, unable to move any further. Ahead of her, she could see her mother – or at least the memory of her – standing at the sink, her arms elbow deep in soapy water. She was humming a tune, just as she always did, and now Elizabeth hummed along with her. For a moment she could imagine her younger self standing beside her mother, the late-afternoon sun illuminating them both.

  After a while, Elizabeth looked away from the sink and allowed her gaze to sweep around the room. The old counters, the ancient stove and even a small table, where she used to do her homework, were all still present and accounted for, like old friends who weren’t quite friends any more. She shook her head at the sight of them. This didn’t seem at all like a home where nobody lived. She turned to Jack. ‘It feels like they’ve just stepped out for a few minutes. That they’ll be coming home any time now. Can you feel it?’

  There was a pleading in her voice that Jack had never heard before. It made the hairs on his arms rise up.

  From the kitchen, they moved into the lounge with its grand fireplace. For the first time since they had stepped into the house, Elizabeth smiled. ‘My father used to read to me right over there,’ she whispered, pointing to an otherwise unexceptional expanse of floor. ‘At night I’d fetch a blanket and the pillows from my bed and I’d stare out into the flames. He had such a kind voice. Sometimes I wouldn’t even listen to the story. Just the sound of his words. It was wonderful.’

  Rosie stepped forward until she was standing right beside Elizabeth, and, reaching out, began to rub her friend’s back. Sam, in turn, slipped his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. He knew what it was to read to a child.

  After a while they continued on through the rest of the house. There was a sitting room, four spare rooms, a study and two bathrooms – each of which held hundreds if not thousands of memories. Some were vague and distant, like shadows at one’s fingertips, while others were so vivid that Elizabeth could recall the finest details. Her parents’ bedroom had been particularly difficult to get through, especially when she saw that certain of her mother’s personal effects were still on her dressing table. A brush. A hand mirror. An old perfume bottle. Elizabeth resisted the urge to smell the fragrance. She knew it was a step too far. For now at least.

  And then, finally, she was standing outside her old room. A room she had been back to in her mind so many times over the years. She was about to step inside, when Joseph took hold of her hand.

  ‘Miss Bethy, your father asked me
to keep two of the rooms just like they were. The room where he made his paintings and your room. Do you understand?’

  Not entirely sure what Joseph meant, Elizabeth nodded anyway and then carefully pushed open the door. While the rest of the house had somehow kept up with the passing years – old paperbacks, newspapers and other perishables had been discarded – this was not the case in her old room. Everything that once was had not just been left alone; it had been left precisely the way it used to be. Her closet doors were still splayed wide open, the chair in front of her desk pulled askew as though she had just stepped out to the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. The novels and magazines on her bookshelf still held the one-time interests of a restless girl, only now they were rumpled and discoloured by time. On the bed, a broken suitcase lay with its lid flipped open.

  And that’s when it hit her. The room had not just been preserved the way it was when she had lived at home. It had been kept exactly as it was on the day she had left for the airport. Which is why, she now understood as she turned to peer in the closet, almost all her clothes were missing. And why, lying open on the desk was a vintage brochure for the airline that had carried her away. An old shoe, presumably not good enough to travel to France, was lying on its side in the middle of the room, no doubt a casualty of her rush to get to the airport. Realising that the shoe had lain on its side for more than fifty winters, she walked over to it and picked it up. Cradling it in her hands, she carried it over to her bed and sat down. She stared at the shoe for a long while before finally surrendering herself fully to the decades of regret and remorse that had so blighted her adult life.

  As the sobs took hold of her, she began to truly grasp what her leaving had done to her parents. How her father had insisted on keeping her room just as it was, as if in doing so he could still hold on to a trace of his little girl.