Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Ben started off well, batting with easy precision, taking the score to sixty-five and putting on a show. Jake and Todd came back to the car when they were hungry. They sat on the bonnet, eating oranges and watching the game.

  Jake cheered and horns honked as Ben hit a six and held his bat aloft. The next shot wasn’t so pretty. The ball went up in the air, and seemed to hang, teasing them all. But when it finally plunged to earth, the Wingham fielder dropped an easy catch.

  ‘He’s leading a charmed life,’ said Mel. ‘At this rate, Tingo will win before we finish our beers.’

  But it wasn’t to be. The next ball was spun to leg stump. Ben faced it squarely and made a huge swing, a slog sweep, going down on one knee in dramatic fashion. Once again, the ball hovered in mid-air. This time, however, it fell straight into a fielder’s hands. Ben was out.

  ‘Oh no.’ Kim looked at the scoreboard, but it hadn’t been updated since lunch. ‘Where does that leave us?’

  For an admitted scatterbrain, Mel was a surprisingly accurate score-keeper. ‘We’re forty-five runs down, with five batsmen to go. But to be honest, we don’t have any good ones left.’

  ‘What about Taj?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s never played before, but he was handy in the field this morning. Maybe he can bat a bit. He’ll come on last, so hopefully we won’t need him.’

  They hadn’t seen much of Taj during the day. He hadn’t joined them for lunch. He’d brought the girls back to the car a few times, and stayed once for a cold drink. Jake had been rude, asking him if he’d played cricket before, helpfully reciting the rules in a sarcastic voice that made Todd laugh. Kim had told Jake off, and Taj politely ignored him.

  The next batsman was up, and the crowd were paying attention. This was the pointy end of the game. People stopped chatting in the shade, stopped buying sausages in bread and cans of drink. They wandered back to the sidelines, to their chairs and cars, and settled in for the final chapters.

  The score crept up to 103, before disaster struck. The Wingham bowler was on fire. He took a hat trick, sending one batsman after another back to the change room without scoring.

  Ben arrived back at the car, swigging a lemonade, and they all congratulated him on his innings. ‘What about that six?’ said Jake with a grin. ‘You were fantastic. We’ll win, won’t we?’

  Ben frowned. ‘Two wickets left. We should be okay if Nick can keep the strike.’

  Nick did just that, taking six from one over.

  Drinks came on, and Tingo still needed seventeen runs. The first delivery of the next over was fast and straight. Too fast. Nick’s middle stump cartwheeled away. Horns blared and cheers went up from the Wingham side of the ground. ‘That’s it,’ said Ben, ‘We’re screwed.’ Jake’s face fell.

  ‘It’s up to Taj now,’ whispered Mel.

  Taj wandered out to the middle wearing borrowed cricket whites. He looked different, more civilised. Kim found herself wondering if the polo shirt hid his tattoo, or whether the top still showed through the open neck.

  ‘Think he knows which end to hold the bat?’ said Ben.

  Taj took guard and the field closed in. Kim flinched as he faced a bouncer. Who said cricket was safer than football? He ducked, and regained his balance. The next ball was full and wide. He planted his foot, swung hard towards mid-off – and missed.

  The crowd groaned. ‘That wasn’t a bad shot,’ said Mel. ‘He was unlucky.’

  Next he met a ball like the one that undid Nick. With a classic straight drive he sent it back over the head of the bowler. It went for six and Tingo cheered. It wasn’t over yet. Eleven needed.

  Kim watched Taj swing his bat in a sure, practiced stroke while waiting for the fielder. Her pulse quickened, and a quiver ran through her. Kim cleared her throat and glanced at Mel, afraid she would somehow guess.

  Last ball of the over, short into Taj’s ribs. Kim’s hand flew to her mouth.

  ‘Yes!’ yelled Todd. ‘A leg bye.’ They scampered through for a run. ‘Ten to go.’

  ‘Idiots,’ Ben said, ‘Why did they take that run? Now when the bowlers change ends, Taj is on strike again.’

  ‘And you think that’s a bad thing, why?’ asked Mel.

  The next ball thudded into Taj’s pads. An appeal of Howzat! The bowler spun around, imploring the umpire to raise his finger and give Taj out. A roar came from the crowd, then silence. Kim’s heart was in her mouth. It was as if the world, not just this match, turned on the outcome. The umpire’s hand started upward then halted. He shook his head, said something to the bowler, and clasped his hands once again behind his back.

  The entire ground held its breath. The next ball was almost identical, just a touch more down the leg side. Taj was masterful, owning the pitch. With a deft flick of the wrists, he sent it for four. The crowd cheered and beeped their horns. Only six runs needed now.

  ‘Lucky edge,’ said Ben.

  ‘That was no edge,’ said Mel. ‘He can play. We can win this.’

  The field scattered. Gone were the three slips and short leg. It was game on.

  The next ball rose towards Taj’s throat. He stepped back, pivoted and sent it flying. The fielder at deep mid-wicket watched it sail over his head.

  The umpire raised both hands. Six. Horns blared and Tingo erupted. Even Jake bounced up and down. They’d won. They’d beaten the favourites, and Taj was a hero. A flush of pleasure coloured Kim’s cheeks. That man was full of hidden talents. Was there anything Taj Kahn couldn’t do?

  It was late when Ben brought them home from celebrations at the Tingo sports club. Abbey and Jake were finally in bed. Kim stood with Ben on the verandah, staring into the night, abuzz from too much champagne. Such a gorgeous evening, alive with nocturnal sounds, and the warm wind whispering through the branches of the firewheel tree. Ben was quieter than usual: serious, thoughtful. She studied his rugged face in profile.

  They’d said goodbye in the kitchen some time before, yet still he lingered. There was no need for the outside light. The moon and stars blazed as they only did in the bush, patterning Ben’s shirt with shifting shadows. Kim was in no hurry for him to go. After a day of fun and friends, she wasn’t looking forward to being alone.

  Ben turned to her, such a familiar face, handsome in the soft moonshine. He came close, closer still, until his tall figure blocked out the starry sky. All she could see was him. He swung her into the circle of his arms, and Kim’s head began to spin. The wine? Something more? Ben pressed his mouth to hers, coaxing, questing, his lips warm and sweet. She responded instinctively, swept up in the moment, reliving a hundred kisses with Connor on this very spot. Dizzy with remembering. It was only when Ben kissed the pulsing hollow of her throat, that she pulled away.

  He drew her back, and she stiffened. ‘I’m not ready for this.’

  A sigh escaped him. ‘I’ll just have to wait then.’

  ‘I might never be ready,’ she said. ‘Don’t wait.’

  ‘Let me make up my own mind.’ He took hold of her hand, stroked her palm with his thumb. ‘Let’s just see where we go. Okay?’

  Her thoughts raced, searching for an answer. Where was the harm? She liked the feel of his fingers, the solid nearness of him. ‘Okay.’

  He raised his eyes to heaven and whispered, ‘Thank you, God.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Ben Steele. Did anybody ever tell you that?’

  ‘Only all the time.’ He kissed her again, this time chastely on the cheek, before vaulting over the verandah rail.

  ‘Show-off!’

  Twin blades of light pierced the dark, as he swung the car round and headed down the track. She stayed watching long after he’d disappeared from sight, thinking of all that had happened. Taj surprising them all, winning the match for Tingo in such style. Celebrating with their friends at the sports club. The warm sense of belonging. Ben kissing her, saying he’d wait. What a day it had been.

  CHAPTER 25

  Taj dragged the mangled carcass through
the gate and escaped before the dingoes had a chance to greet him. They turned their attention to the fresh kill, yelping in excitement, licking and tearing at the bloodstained fur.

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Kim.

  The truck in front of her had hit the wallaby on Bangalow Road the night before, and hadn’t even stopped. The animal was still jerking and trembling when she got out to help, and found a baby in its pouch. She’d taken the joey straight to Mel. Then she’d dragged the mother’s bloody body to the side of the road for Taj to collect in the morning. Life here was a far cry from suburban Sydney. Simpler, yes, but also tough and uncompromising – even brutal at times. The wallaby’s death had not been entirely in vain. Wallabies, wild goats, roos and rabbits were the only food the dingoes were allowed to eat.

  The pack had been living in the acclimation pen for more than a month now. Taj, with Kim’s help, had fenced off fifty square metres of land high on the remote northern boundary of Journey’s End. Each day Kim dropped the kids at school, and by the time she got home, Taj would be waiting for her, his battered ute piled high with tools and materials. It had been a steep learning curve, but by the time they’d strained and stapled the last section of mesh, Kim was a pretty handy fencer. She could wield a post-hole digger and strain wire with the best.

  She’d also learned a bit more about Taj. Her desire to talk to him about Afghanistan was matched by his reticence on the subject, but he’d let some things slip. Intriguing snippets about his former life in Nuristan, meaning land of light. Like the fact that he’d once run a junior ranger program for school children, teaching them about the importance of wilderness. And that he too had reason to hate the Taliban, although he wouldn’t tell her what it was. This admission came as a relief. Connor’s death was never far away, and Taj’s silence had fuelled her own fears about where his loyalty might lie.

  He had experience with carnivore release projects. Not with dingoes, but with wolves in Nuristan. Abbey was right. Taj had raised a group of orphaned cubs, held them in an acclimation pen for several months, and then successfully reintroduced the pack into the wild.

  ‘Okay, so you’re a wolf-whisperer,’ said Kim. ‘But how do you know your talents will stretch to dingoes?’

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘But wolves and dingoes are both keystone predators, they fill the same niche. There’s a good chance they’ll react in the same way. Dingoes are smaller, though, so we won’t have to build this fence so high.’

  Even so, the enclosure stood three metres tall, with a ground apron to prevent digging and an inverted top to prevent climbing. It contained a permanent spring and rocky outcrops to serve as potential den sites.

  Taj laced lamb carcasses with the nausea-inducing chemical thiabendazole, and put them in the pen. ‘It’s the same concept biologists use to teach quolls not to eat cane toads,’ he said. ‘I trialled it back in Afghanistan to help keep the wolves away from flocks. If predators eat a certain type of animal and get sick a few times, they stop seeing that species as prey. They even teach their young to avoid it.’

  Kim had been dubious about this theory, but it seemed to be working. The last sheep he’d given to the dingoes hadn’t been touched. After a few days, she’d insisted he remove the stinking, flyblown body from the corner of the pen. If only she could tell Mel how hard they were trying to keep her sheep safe. But on this point she and Taj were in firm agreement – the dingo project must remain secret, at least for now.

  They only visited the pack twice a week to provide a feed of rabbits, goats or roadkill. Keeping human contact to a minimum was difficult for Kim. She hated ignoring the friendly animals. But the dingoes were already wilder, less interested in their human jailers, more attuned to their environment.

  ‘It’s called a soft release,’ said Taj. ‘Slowly getting the dingoes used to their new surroundings, and less reliant on us. Hopefully it will also reset their homing instinct, so they won’t head straight back to my place.’

  ‘What happens when we let them go?’

  ‘We’ll open the gate, and walk away. The rest is up to the dingoes.’

  That day had finally arrived, and this wallaby carcass would be their last offering to the pack.

  ‘Do you want to do the honours?’ Taj asked.

  Kim gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘You just want me to take the blame when this goes horribly wrong.’ She was only half joking. Now the moment of release had arrived, her courage was failing.

  Taj must have sensed her misgivings. ‘Think of these dingoes as the guardians of Journey’s End. Defending the forest, just as my maremmas defend Mel’s flocks. They can’t protect anything if we keep them locked up.’

  A hush fell on the bush. Kim stared at Taj, couldn’t look away. She could feel the throb of anticipation in his veins, and her body pulsed in time with his. One by one, the feeding dingoes stopped their meal and turned to watch.

  ‘Now,’ said Taj. Kim opened the gate, and he laid his big hand on her shoulder. An undeniable charge passed between them. ‘Back in the car.’

  The curious dingoes trotted to the open gate. They paused, puzzled. The two smallest ones, Dusty’s sisters, ventured outside the pen. With wagging tails they trotted to the ute and jumped up at the windows, seeking attention.

  ‘Ignore them,’ whispered Taj.

  It was hard. Apart from their sandy colouring, they looked very much like Dusty – not like wild animals at all. She wanted to reassure them, tell them it was for the best, give them a final cuddle. But Taj laid a hand on her arm and pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Shh . . . don’t speak.’

  Once again, Kim’s body betrayed her. She could see ink on skin through the open neck of his shirt. How would it feel to undo those buttons, one by one, and reveal the whole tattoo? She closed her eyes, wanting him to touch her again, wishing that she didn’t. His presence swelled, filling the cabin. Pushing everything else away.

  Why was this happening? If Ben had caused her to respond like this, she might have accepted it. She might even have welcomed it, taking it as a sign that she was finally ready to move on. That her valiant efforts to let go of the past were working. But it hadn’t happened with Ben. In spite of his resemblance to Connor. In spite of his help with Jake, and his movie-star good looks and the way he made her laugh. It hadn’t happened during the nights they’d stayed up late playing cards, or watching television. Not even when they’d shared that drunken kiss on the verandah after the cricket final. Ben had made his feelings plain. He was the natural choice if she were to let herself love again. He was right for her and especially right for Jake. A familiar face. Caring and protective. A soft place to fall.

  Taj, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. A man of a faith she knew nothing about – a man disturbing in every way. A loner. From a different culture and the country that took Connor. And with, she could feel it, shadows in his past. Jake loathed him. Even Ben seemed to dislike Taj these days. His attitude had changed from one of friendliness – if somewhat patronising – to veiled hostility.

  Taj touched her arm again and she lashed out, striking his chest with a sideways fist. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘Forgive me. I said your name, and thought you didn’t hear.’

  Had Taj spoken? Was she so lost in tangled thinking that she didn’t hear? Taj subtly moved his body away from her. ‘I thought you might have wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye?’ Kim looked out the window. The pen was empty. She opened the door, hoping to give Dusty’s sisters a final hug in spite of Taj’s warning. They were gone too.

  ‘Will we see them again?’ Her mouth was dry, and thick with fear for them.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Catch them. Bring them back.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she got out of the car. ‘They might be shot, or poisoned.’ Her voice cracked. ‘They might starve.’

  ‘Kim —’

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Don’t you even care?’

  This was why
she hadn’t wanted another dog, why she hadn’t wanted Dusty. Why she didn’t want to get attached. She should never have agreed to this stupid plan in the first place, sending the young dingoes into who-knew-what kind of danger. Why hadn’t she insisted they stay with Taj? Why couldn’t she keep the things she loved safe?

  Kim knelt down and sobbed, a wild, primal howling that didn’t sound like it came from her own throat. In the forest to the north, the dingoes answered, adding their voices to the song of despair. When Kim raised her swollen eyes, Taj was weeping too.

  CHAPTER 26

  They drove home from the release site in silence. Taj stole the occasional glance at Kim. Each time she was staring out the window. He hadn’t realised what a wrench it would be for her to let the dingoes go, and his mind was awash with unfamiliar feelings. Kim’s raw torrent of emotion had flooded his defences, exposing the jagged, long-submerged rocks of his own grief.

  When they reached the house, Kim sat awhile, blinking back tears and staring into the middle distance. Taj handed her a dusty tissue he’d found in the centre console. She blew her nose, rubbed her blank eyes. He wanted to reassure her, tell her the dingoes would be safe, that she had nothing to fear. But that would be a lie. Risk was the price of freedom; he knew that better than anybody.

  He glanced at the clock. ‘Are you okay to drive? Would you like me to pick Abbey and Jake up from school?’

  Kim shook her head. She seemed entirely forlorn, like a lost child. Taj burned with words that wouldn’t come, hating that he’d added to her misery. He’d dreamed of doing the opposite, dreamed of lifting the sadness from her eyes. Whether on full show or lurking beneath the surface, it was always there. Taj recognised it all too well. He saw it in the mirror each morning.