Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Once a week he drove to the library at Wingham, and lost himself in the classics, novels by Tolstoy, Kafka and Mark Twain. He found comfort in volumes of poetry by Wordsworth and Wilfred Owen. He borrowed books about the local environment – the forests, birds and animals – and studied them at night. People called him the hermit. Taj was proud of the simple, self-sufficient life he’d carved out for himself.

  When Taj lost a lamb to foxes, he looked to buy a Kuchi – the dogs his grandfather had used to protect the family flocks from wolves. It turned out the breed wasn’t available in Australia, so he bought a maremma instead. Farah, whose name meant joy. How he’d loved her. Then came the baiting blitz on dingoes. When Farah died, Taj picked himself up and purchased a pair of maremmas this time. Two had turned into three, then four . . .

  Carla leaped from the stream and bounded to him, burying her big, white head in his lap. He scratched her back. ‘You’re a good girl, eh?’ His dogs were loyal friends and fine companions, and once upon a time they’d been all he needed, but lately something had changed. He wanted more. He was hungry for human connection beyond chatting to the post office ladies or discussing clients’ odd jobs.

  His friend from the mines, Hakim, had found work at a sawmill north of Taree. Taj had finally responded to his texts and invited him home to share a meal. Their dinners were becoming a regular thing. Last week, when Pat Ryan asked him for the umpteenth time to join the Rural Fire Service, Taj had said yes. This morning, when Jean O’Neill suggested he lead the Junior Rangers Program at school next year, he’d agreed. He was even looking forward to it. And he was looking forward to showing Kim the orchids.

  Kim. Even before today, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. And now? Learning of her husband’s death in Afghanistan had moved him deeply. There was more to it than a tragic connection to his homeland. Taj recognised himself in this woman’s grief, and in her son’s blind anger. His heart swelled with feelings he’d thought long since dead.

  A clear piping call made him turn his head. An inquisitive willy wagtail sat on a red flowering hakea, within arm’s reach. ‘You are right, little one. Time to go.’ He stood up and gave a whistle. The dogs ran to him, and cocked their ears as a loud howling sounded through the trees. The dingoes were growing impatient for their turn.

  CHAPTER 11

  ‘Jake.’ Kim lifted the plate of buttered bread out of reach. ‘Clyde’s in the kitchen again.’

  The little kangaroo stood high on his back legs, balancing with his muscular tail, and trying to reach the benchtop. ‘Scram, you.’

  Jake ran in, grinning. ‘He wants a sandwich.’

  ‘Well, he can’t have one. What would Mel say? Now, take him outside.’

  Bonnie and Clyde hadn’t stayed for one night as promised. A week later and they were still there. Mel had taken in two orphaned possums in the meantime, and wanted to settle them before taking the little kangaroos back. Kim didn’t really mind. They were rather sweet. Mischievous though, and excellent escape artists. Her makeshift fence repairs were no match for two determined, half-grown joeys. When Taj came on Monday, she would ask him to fix the chook run properly, no matter what Jake said.

  Jake shepherded Clyde outside, and Kim went back to the sandwiches. She particularly missed Daisy at times like these. She missed the casual chatter while making kids’ lunches, the silly jokes, the shared understanding that only came after years of friendship. Kim shook away the thought and piled the sandwiches on a plate. Damn, the bread was stale and crumbling where she’d cut it. A headache was building behind her eyes. The high she’d been on last week when Taj gave her the orchids had faded, and she found herself aimless.

  During previous stays, when grand plans were still afoot, there hadn’t been enough minutes in the day. So much to do: identifying plants, collecting seeds, building terraces for future greenhouses, designing irrigation systems. She and Connor rose together at dawn and fell into each other’s arms late at night. Now she didn’t know what to do with herself, and each day dragged. The smell of dead dreams lay thick in the air.

  Kim missed teaching more than she’d expected to. For the last two years she’d volunteered for summer school, carrying on after second semester almost without a break. Juggling the kids between camps – Daisy and her parents helping – had been tricky and hadn’t left them much together time, but they managed. Work was a favourite coping mechanism, and without it she was lost. On top of all that, Abbey was sick, Jake was cranky whenever Taj turned up to work on the house, and her old life was still hijacking her at every turn.

  Night-time was the worst. That damned brass bed was haunted. She couldn’t fall asleep without dreaming of Connor. Sometimes she imagined the faces of his killers, and her hatred ran free. She felt herself unravelling as darker fantasies took hold. Frightening nightmares of revenge. And for the first time in her life, Kim was afraid of the dark.

  She’d always considered night a blessing, along with summer rain and poetry and silence. Once upon a time, Tingo’s midnight sky, ablaze with the Southern Cross, could put things into perspective. She was a traveller on island Earth, adrift in a stream of stars. Part of the great mystery of being. But now? When night closed in, all she felt was her own mortality, hers and her family’s. She couldn’t concentrate on reading a book. There was no droning television to fall asleep to, no online movies. Not even a radio to fill the emptiness with white noise. So she’d lie awake, wishing life was different. Overthinking everything. Listening to the crickets and frogs, and the eerie forest howling that punctuated the lonely, nocturnal hours at Journey’s End.

  Abbey came into the kitchen, wearing pyjamas and carrying Percy. Kim tried to shake the gloom away. ‘Feeling better, sweetie?’

  ‘I’m bored. I want to go outside and see the joeys.’

  Kim took the thermometer down from a top cupboard. ‘Put this under your tongue and keep your mouth closed. Wait until it beeps . . . Oh good. Normal.’

  ‘That means I’m well enough to come to the trivia night, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Kim had planned to use her daughter’s cold as an excuse. Why had she ever agreed in the first place? ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Great. Hungry. What’s to eat?’

  An echo came from behind her. ‘Yeah, what’s to eat? I’m starved.’

  ‘Sandwiches are on their way, Jake.’

  ‘Is Taj coming today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Jake stood there with Bonnie and Clyde. ‘They got out of their pen again. I think they’re hungry.

  Kim checked the kitchen clock. He was right; it was time for their milk. Joeys, even older ones, were more work than she’d imagined. Bonnie and Clyde were pretty independent, Mel had said – ‘They’ll be no trouble.’ But the little kangaroos were still on four bottles a day. They slept in the laundry – well, half the time they slept, snug and warm, in pouches hanging from the door. The rest of the time, like any curious young creatures, they went exploring. They got into the clothes hamper and spread dirty washing everywhere. They pulled open the cupboard and tipped out the laundry powder. They scattered lucerne cubes and droppings all over the floor. They escaped into the house through the door that wouldn’t close properly. One morning Kim found them snuggled up together, asleep on the couch.

  Each day Kim cleaned up after them, washed their pouch blankets, mixed the day’s milk, sterilised the bottles, and joey-proofed the house as much as possible. The kids helped, even Jake. She’d made helping a condition of the joeys’ extended stay.

  The responsibility had made a difference. Jake was more cooperative, more obliging, less hostile. But he still had his moments – way too many of them. He kept pestering her for a dog, and each refusal provoked a scene. Swearing, kicking doors, throwing things. It would be easier to give in. But the urn with Scout’s ashes still stood on the mantelpiece and Kim would not have Scout replaced until she was ready to let him go.

  Taj’s arrivals also triggered tantrums. E
ither that or Jake would shoot through. The handyman spent three days a week at Journey’s End, working his way through the list of repairs: a list that was growing and extending beyond the house. Each day, Kim thought of something else that needed doing. Ben’s cautionary comment still echoed in the back of her brain: ‘We don’t want to overcapitalise.’ Wise words. The sale had only been postponed, not cancelled.

  However, a year was a long time, and she might as well enjoy her time here. The old farmhouse would never be as grand as Mel’s gracious homestead, but it deserved more than a patch-up job, and she had the money. Not from the pitifully inadequate military compensation payment, but from Connor’s life insurance. She couldn’t think of anything he would have rather she spent it on.

  Whenever Kim thought of Connor now, she thought of Taj in the same breath. Yet whenever she mentioned Afghanistan or asked him about his old life, he shut down the conversation. This reticence made her suspicious and more inquisitive than ever. What did he have to hide? Plagued with curiosity, she began grilling other people, but nobody else in town knew any more about him than she did. Except for Winnie Goldsmith, the postmistress and town gossip. ‘Every month, without fail, he sends a parcel to Kabul.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what it is?’

  Winnie lowered her voice. ‘Taj never tells me anything, but he buys the post pack in the shop, so I see what goes into it. An international money order, there’s always one of those. And different gifts: books, toys, pretty soaps and perfume. Do you think he has a family back home in Afghanistan?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Kim was more intrigued than ever.

  Abbey and the joeys cannoned into her. They were playing a game of chasey round the kitchen. ‘Watch out.’ Kim lit the stove, took the prepared bottles from the fridge, and started warming them up. Next trip to Wingham, she really needed to get a microwave and a battery-operated radio.

  Jake began a gentle boxing match with Clyde. ‘When are we going to the trivia night? Todd’s coming too. I can’t wait.’

  Dammit. Both the kids were looking forward to tonight. How could she disappoint them? ‘Who wants to make brownies?’ she said, drying her hands on the tea towel. ‘We’re supposed to bring a plate.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Kim pulled in behind a row of cars at the Tingo Memorial Hall. It was the first time she’d been out socially among strangers for more than two years, and she felt sick.

  Jake grabbed the Tupperware container off the back seat and jumped from the car. Abbey’s fingers crept into Kim’s hand. ‘Mummy, are you all right?’

  Kim gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Trust Abbey to understand. Her daughter was a living, breathing, emotional barometer. ‘I’m fine, darling. Let’s go.’

  The little hall, like Doctor Who’s Tardis, seemed larger inside than out. Kim stood by the door, holding Abbey’s hand. The interior was a time capsule. Displays of black and white photographs: timber-cutters, plough horses, rows of children sitting outside Tingo’s schoolhouse in nineteenth-century clothes. Chintz curtains hung at small square windows, solid cedar benches lined the walls, and a stage stood at one end.

  ‘What do I do with this?’ Jake held out the box of brownies. Kim pointed to a trestle table at the back, groaning with cakes and sandwiches. Jake plonked it down and ran off. A dozen people milled about, setting up tables and chairs. Kim looked around for Mel or Ben. They weren’t there. She didn’t know a soul.

  A middle-aged Aboriginal man spied her loitering in the doorway. He was large and lean, his warm brown eyes almost lost under a tangle of eyebrows. ‘Kim, is it?’ He shook her hand. ‘I’m Brigade Captain Pat Ryan.’

  ‘This is my daughter, Abbey.’ Abbey hid behind her mother. ‘And Jake’s here somewhere.’

  ‘Come and meet Shirley,’ said Pat.

  Kim ventured in with an arm around Abbey’s shoulder. Pat introduced his wife, a plump, friendly woman, whose dark cheeks dimpled when she smiled. She put a welcoming hand on Kim’s arm. ‘This stuffy old town needs new blood. We’re all thrilled you’ve come to live here. You’ve saved the school, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Jean told me.’

  Shirley beamed at Abbey. ‘Now, who’s this pretty little girl?’

  ‘We’ve got joeys.’

  ‘Have you, sweetheart?’ Shirley took Abbey’s hand and patted it. ‘Now come and have something to eat, both of you. The pizzas are warming in the kitchen.’

  Kim trailed after them, keeping an eye on the door for Ben. Along the way, Pat introduced her to various people. Old Charlie, the town mechanic, the one Taj had warned her about. Vera, who helped Winnie in the post office, with a beehive bun that seemed lacquered to her head. Des who ran the store, a heavy, ginger-haired man with a round face like an over-ripe peach. And Bev, Charlie’s wife, small and watchful as a bird.

  Kim spotted her son by the food table, helping himself to a lamington. Jake turned round, mouth crammed full and cream-smeared, and his eyes lit up. Ben was in the doorway, weighed down by a slab of beer. He winked at Kim on his way to the kitchen. ‘You’re on my table.’

  Abbey pulled at her sleeve. ‘There’s Nikki.’

  Mel and her children had arrived with a packet of Tim Tams and a bottle of wine. Mel looked different. No shapeless T-shirts tonight. She wore a pretty, floaty top, and her hair was softer and shinier; more wavy than curly. She caught Kim’s eye and hurried over, ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’ She gave Kim an unexpected hug. ‘This is so great. Are you on my team?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you are now. Welcome to the Bright Sparks. Come on.’ Mel led Kim to a table. ‘Sit down. I’ll help serve the pizzas, then get us some glasses and open this wine.’

  ‘Should I help?’

  ‘No. You stay here and relax.’

  Mel was like an instant friend, just add water. Kim did as she was told, apart from the relaxing bit. Before Connor’s death, she’d never been an extrovert, but now even this small gathering made her heart race. She fought the urge to leave.

  A few more people were arriving. Jean O’Neill with bags of chips and a bottle of red. A middle-aged man who looked like a farmer, carrying a six-pack of Bundaberg Rum and Coke. Two thirty-something couples, together with a few children she recognised from the school visit. She spent some anxious minutes, wondering how her kids would fit in. Well, look at that. They seamlessly joined the gang, laughing and joking, eating cakes and running round the edge of the hall. Jake was making friends here easily, real friends that weren’t embarrassed about him.

  Ben delivered two big plates of pizza slices. ‘Come and get it.’ Jake arrived first. ‘Got something for you, champ.’ Ben pulled a battered cricket ball from his pocket. ‘This little beauty took a hat-trick against Wingham last week. Won us the match. It’s yours.’

  Jake’s face split into a wide grin. ‘Thanks.’ Todd asked to see the ball and Jake proudly showed it off. Kim felt a rush of gratitude towards Ben and the little town that was taking her son to its heart.

  Pat set a card table up on stage and rang a bell. ‘Questions start in five minutes. There’s a list on the noticeboard if you’re not sure what team you’re on. And the games cupboard at the back is open, so kids, help yourself.’

  ‘I hope you like chablis.’ Mel poured the wine. ‘To your new life!’

  Kim gingerly clinked glasses, uncomfortable with the toast. Twelve months leave was an interlude at best, not a new life.

  ‘Christmas is just round the corner,’ said Mel. ‘Less than a fortnight. I suppose you have family in Sydney?’

  Kim nodded. ‘Mum and Dad. My brother’s in London. He isn’t coming home this year. And then there’s Connor’s family.’ She’d almost mentioned Daisy and had to bite her tongue. Their families usually spent Christmas Eve together. A tradition for years: feasting, drinking and exchanging gifts – her favourite part of the festive season. Since Connor died she’d felt like a third wheel, yet the tradition had continued. What would she do this Chr
istmas Eve? Her parents would love them to spend it at their place for the first time in fifteen years. Her throat went tight, and a wave of missing Daisy knocked her flat.

  Ben sat down beside her. His long legs took some folding to fit in the chair. ‘You two already into the plonk?’ He flashed them a devastating smile, and Mel giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘Excuse me, ladies. Think I’ll grab a beer myself before we start.’ He ate a pizza slice in two mouthfuls before heading for the kitchen.

  Jean patted Kim’s hand as she walked past. ‘Watch out for that one,’ she said. ‘He plays the field.’

  Mel waited until Ben was out of earshot. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

  Kim took a swig of her wine. What could she say? Yes, he is gorgeous. He’s almost as handsome as my dead husband?

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Mel. ‘How can I feel that way about Ben when Geoff and I only split up a few months ago, right?’

  The thought had crossed Kim’s mind. A long time after Connor’s death, and she still couldn’t desire another man. She still felt married. It was different for Mel, though. Her husband had betrayed her, deserted her. Whoever this Geoff was, he didn’t deserve that kind of loyalty.

  ‘Oh god, it’s him.’ Mel’s face turned white. A short, stocky man a few years older than Mel was walking in the door. People turned to stare and a murmur passed around the room. A plump, dark-haired girl hung on his arm; she looked young enough to be his daughter.

  ‘That’s Geoff?’ Kim surprised herself by putting a comforting hand on Mel’s arm. ‘Are you all right? Do you want to go?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’

  Ben came back with his beer, a pen and a notepad. Jean followed and sat down next to him with a glass of red. He passed her the pen and paper.