Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Kim dropped the kids at school, and then went to the general store to pick up the paper. ‘Morning, Des.’ She looked about for the pile of Gazettes. They weren’t in their usual position on the shelf. ‘Isn’t the local paper in yet?’

  ‘All sold out.’

  ‘Sold out? It’s only nine o’clock.’

  Winnie hurried in from out the back, flourishing a single newspaper. ‘Well, my girl, you’ve certainly set the cat amongst the pigeons.’ Her face was flushed with excitement. ‘Here, I’ve saved you a copy.’

  Kim took the offered paper. Blazoned across the front page in big letters she read: WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WOLF? DINGOES – FRIEND OR FOE? The headline was accompanied by a photo of a snarling dingo captioned ‘The Killer Among Us’.

  She could have cheerfully strangled Del.

  ‘I didn’t realise the article would be quite so prominent.’

  ‘Prominent?’ Des laughed. ‘That’s an understatement. It’s all people are talking about.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s right,’ said Winnie. ‘Opinions are running pretty high. Some people can’t see past the headline.’

  ‘But my Win’s been sticking up for you.’ Des grinned and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘I certainly have,’ said Winnie. ‘When Geoff Masters said you should be run out of town, I told him what a silly old fool he was.’

  ‘Run out of town?’ asked Kim. ‘What is this, the wild west?’

  Des whooped with laughter. He clearly found the whole thing hilarious. ‘Well, you can hardly blame him. It’s his stock them dingoes are killing.’

  Kim bristled. ‘No, it’s not. It’s Mel’s.’

  Des shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make it any more fun for the sheep.’

  ‘You don’t understand. The dingoes aren’t killing anybody’s sheep.’

  ‘But you just said —’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Des.’ Winnie gave Kim a reassuring smile. ‘Here’s your newspaper, love. Maybe it’s just as well we’ve sold out of them.’

  Kim turned on her heel with as much dignity as she could muster. Going out the door, she overheard Des say, ‘Hold the fort, Win. I’m doing a run into Wingham for more copies.’

  Kim drove home, too dejected to look at the article. Only after she’d made a strong coffee did she sit down to read it, prepared for the worst. But once she got past the sensational headline it actually wasn’t so bad. You could even call it balanced.

  ‘Cutting-edge research is questioning the logic of culling dingoes, and wondering whether they shouldn’t, in fact, be re-introduced into regions where they’re locally extinct. Botanist Kim Sullivan is doing just that as part of an innovative rewilding project on her property at Tingo.’

  Then they quoted her: ‘ “Dingoes play a vital role in protecting small native animals and birds, by getting rid of cats and foxes.” ’

  It then outlined the risk of attack and stock losses attributed to dingoes, and the various methods used to destroy them.

  ‘Yet according to Kim Sullivan, culling is counterproductive. It increases predation, by destroying pack structure. “Juveniles without leadership are much more likely to target livestock and interbreed with domestic dogs. If you kill the alpha pair, breeding goes ballistic.” She denied her dingoes were responsible for the death of two sheep on a neighbour’s land, stating there was no conclusive proof.’

  The article went on to discuss livestock guardian dogs, and other ways to deter attacks. ‘ “Dingoes help graziers by providing 24/7 pest management,” Ms Sullivan said. “They kill or drive away kangaroos, rabbits, pigs, and goats, reduce competition for grass, and help farmers’ hip pockets.” ’

  It finished with her before and after photos of the rainforest plots and a last comment: ‘ “Putting away the guns, traps and poisons might be the best way forward, for forests and farmers alike.” ’

  Kim reread the article several times. The more she read it, the more she liked it. Surely anybody reading this would understand what she and Taj were trying to do? She really should have mentioned Taj. After all, this was all his idea. She couldn’t wait to show him.

  The problem was, Taj still wasn’t back from his out-of-town fencing job. Of course he had to earn a living. She sometimes wondered how he managed, spending so much time working at her place for free.

  No Taj. No Mel. Daisy a five-hour drive away. The kids back at school. It was getting a wee bit lonely at Journey’s End. Thank goodness for Ben. Dusty pushed through the screen door, and laid his head on her knee. ‘Oh, and you of course.’ She tugged at his ears the way he liked. ‘Who could forget you? How about a slap-up breakfast of bacon and eggs?’ At the word breakfast he trotted to the fridge.

  Dusty hadn’t been in Jake’s room this morning, when she woke him for school. She thought back to Taj’s advice – ‘Don’t let him wander.’ It was easier said than done. Dusty was a clever escape artist. A dingo’s broad head was the widest part of his body, which meant if his head could fit through, so could the rest of him. Dusty had quickly learned to use the doggy door. She’d had to board it up. The screen doors didn’t stop him, and neither did the main doors unless they were locked, and she’d lost the house keys a few weeks earlier. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Nobody locked up in Tingo, but it meant she couldn’t secure him inside. The outside runs were full of possums and wallabies and other assorted wildlife. When she tied him up, the kids complained, and it wasn’t just them. Who could withstand his sad eyes and pitiful howls? She needed a locksmith. In the meantime, she’d have to put safety chains on the doors, front and back. The dingo article could make life more dangerous for wandering dogs.

  Kim spent the day fertilising tube-stock and transferring root-bound plants into larger pots. Spring wasn’t far away and soon there’d be a burgeoning of new growth. Dusty was good company, copying everything she did. When she fetched empty pots from the shed, so did he. When she dug in the mulch pile, so did he, showering her in pine bark. Kim had to draw the line, though, when he started pulling plants out of pots. ‘No Dusty, you’d better let me do that.’ He reproached her with a furrowed brow.

  Time slipped away. It always did when she was working with the plants. She forgot lunch and was late feeding the currawong chicks and joeys. Bonnie and Clyde were quite big now and no longer needed milk, but she still gave them bottles as a treat when she fed the others.

  ‘Done,’ Kim told Dusty at last. ‘Stay here while I go get the kids.’ The pup cocked his head at her, and then went to lie down on the porch. He never wandered during the day. Ben thought it strange that she had conversations with Dusty, but to her it seemed entirely natural. He was as much a member of the family as anybody.

  She found her car keys and took off down the drive. As she approached the gate, her stomach lurched. Taped to the fence was a white sheet, with the words Dingo-Loving Bitch scrawled across it in red paint.

  Bile rose in her throat. Kim scanned the road in both directions. Empty. Feeling a little shaky, she climbed from the car, ripped down the sheet and stuffed it under bracken at the side of the road. She’d come back for it later. The main thing was not to let the kids see it. The forest took on a sinister feel as she drove the short distance to Tingo. An unfamiliar car on the side of the road near Ben’s place filled her with suspicion, and she memorised its number plate.

  Jake and Abbey were fifty metres down the road from the school gate, waiting for her. She hadn’t expected them to be so prompt. First day back, seeing their friends again after the long holiday break? She thought she’d have to go looking.

  Abbey seemed happy enough, but Jake was a mess: face like thunder, grazed cheek, torn collar. He climbed in without a word, volunteering for the back seat. As she drove, Kim observed him in the rear-view mirror with a cold creeping sense of déjà vu: the bowed head and knitted brow. The hunched back. How many times had she picked him up from his old school looking like that?

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘He had a f
ight with Todd,’ whispered Abbey.

  ‘Shut up!’ Jake savagely kicked the back of his sister’s seat. Jake and Todd were best buddies. What would it take for them to fight?

  Abbey turned round in her seat, made a face at her brother, and then said in a stage whisper, ‘It was about the dingoes.’

  Kim slammed on the brakes as she missed the Bangalow Road turn-off.

  Damn Del Fisher and her stupid article.

  Jake’s foot crashed into the back of Abbey’s seat again. ‘I said, shut up.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Kim. ‘We’ll talk about this when we get home.’

  She parked the car and Jake called Dusty and headed for the sheds. The hollow sound of an axe on wood soon echoed round the hills.

  Abbey frowned. ‘Aren’t you going to yell at him?’

  ‘No, I’m going to talk to him.’ Kim put an arm round her daughter’s shoulder. ‘But first, I’m going to talk to you.’

  They sat in the kitchen, suitably fortified with choc-chip biscuits and milk. ‘Now,’ said Kim. ‘What happened at school?’

  Abbey launched into a blow-by-blow account of her day from the moment she entered the schoolyard. Kim let her talk. But after twenty minutes, Abbey had only made it as far as recess, and Kim interrupted. ‘It certainly sounds like you’ve had a good day. What about Jake?’

  Abbey rolled her eyes. ‘That’s what you wanted to know about all along, isn’t it?’

  ‘I want to know about you too, of course I do. But you’re much better at telling me things than Jake is.’

  Abbey took another biscuit. ‘How much better?’

  ‘Heaps better,’ said Kim. ‘Now when did this fight happen?’

  ‘After school. I didn’t hear the first bit, because me and Nikki stayed behind to help put the library books away.’

  Abbey paused so Kim could congratulate her for helping. It was clear she was going to milk this for all it was worth. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Well’ – she dipped the biscuit in her glass of milk – ‘I went to look for Jake, because Jean wanted to know if he’d brought back his holiday books.’

  He hadn’t. Kim knew exactly where those two Deltora Quest novels were – on the shelf above the outside loo.

  ‘Then I heard all this shouting. Todd was showing Jake a newspaper, and then they were, like, wrestling around on the ground beneath the pine trees.’

  ‘Is Todd all right?’

  ‘As all right as Jake is. Anyway, Todd was yelling that the dingoes were sheep-killers, and his dad was going to shoot them all. Jake said he’d better not try it and that Todd’s dad was wrong. Then Todd said, “What would a townie like you know?” And they started punching each other again.’

  ‘What did Jean do?’

  Abbey finished her milk. ‘Jean didn’t see. Can I go play with Dusty now?’

  ‘Better not, sweetie. He’s with Jake. Steer clear of your brother for a bit, okay?’

  ‘Then can I watch TV? They’re showing The Saddle Club again, right from the beginning.’

  ‘Go on then.’ Abbey took one last biscuit and ran off. Soon the television was blaring away in the lounge room. Kim sat for the longest time, grappling with her thoughts. Why had she let Taj talk her into releasing dingoes at Journey’s End? Ben was right, she must have been out of her mind.

  She tried Mel’s mobile. No answer. She tried the She-Oak Springs landline. Nicole picked up. ‘Oh, it’s you. If your thug of a son so much as goes near Todd again, I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Let’s keep things in perspective,’ said Kim. ‘Two boys had a dust-up at school, that’s all, and, from what I hear, Todd was as much to blame as Jake. Now, is Mel there please?’

  Nicole hung up.

  Kim tried Taj, but he was out of range. Bloody hell. She left a message for him to call her. Her anxiety was coalescing into smouldering anger. This was his fault. Sure, she’d gone along with the dingo plan, but that was because she hadn’t understood how whacky it was. All that talk of wolf-whispering and top-order predators and trophic cascades. She was a botanist from Campbelltown, for god’s sake. What did she know about dingoes or the tidal wave of feeling they stirred up in the bush? She was losing friends over this; her kids were suffering. And what about the vile sign on the fence?

  Kim fought to calm her jangled nerves. For the first time in a long time she craved Connor. Automatically she felt for his ring, but it was in her bedroom drawer. She was in the habit of taking it off each morning now. But she always put it back on at night, otherwise she couldn’t sleep. A stiffness in her throat made it hard to swallow. Wine would help, but she didn’t have any. What about that bottle of Baileys Mel had given her for Christmas? There it was, in the top cupboard. She mixed it with a bit of milk in a mug, and took a swig. The creamy liqueur went down well, easing her tight throat. Just what she needed before tackling her son. She’d give him a bit longer. Let him vent his anger on the logs for a while.

  The back door slammed, making her jump. Jake marched in with an armload of firewood, dumping it into the corner wood-box with a thud. He swung to face her, eyes wild and red. He’d been crying. ‘Mum, it’s like you’re deliberately trying to get people to hate me,’ he said. ‘Did our dingoes kill Todd’s sheep?’

  ‘Taj doesn’t think so.’

  ‘I don’t care what he thinks. What do you think? Is Todd’s dad right?’

  Kim patted the chair beside her. ‘Sit.’

  Jake ranged around the room for a while. Finally he plonked down beside her, eyes trained on the floor.

  ‘Whatever you may think of Taj,’ she said, ‘you have to admit he’s a good bushman.’ Hesitation, then a begrudging nod. ‘And Taj didn’t find dingo footprints anywhere near those carcasses. Plenty of fox tracks, crows, even eagles. But no dingoes. What he did find were bullets and spent rifle shells.’ Jake glanced up. ‘The sheep were shot, and eaten by scavengers later. Our dingoes had nothing to do with it.’

  Jake let out a long breath. ‘You have to tell Mel.’

  ‘How?’ said Kim. ‘I don’t know where she is. She won’t answer her phone or my texts, she’s not on Facebook, and her guard dog of a sister won’t give her my messages.’

  Jake frowned, the way he did when puzzling over a Chinese checkers move. He put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. They sat awhile in silence. Slowly the fury leaked out of him, like air from a pricked beach ball, leaving him merely sad and deflated. ‘What do I say to Todd tomorrow?’

  ‘How about sorry?’ Kim pushed the plate of biscuits across, and dipped one in her Baileys.

  Jake ate two while pondering her suggestion. ‘I’m sorry about the fight, but I’m not sorry about sticking up for the dingoes.’

  Kim moved her chair close, and rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Why not make it a kind of non-specific apology? Just say sorry and leave it at that.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Do you want us to try and catch the dingoes so Todd’s dad isn’t bothered?’

  ‘What would happen to them?’

  ‘I don’t know, a zoo, or something?’

  A fierce glint showed in his eyes. ‘They’ve done nothing wrong. They shouldn’t be locked up just because Todd’s dad is an idiot.’

  Tears threatened a comeback. Jake was loyal to a fault. How she hated having put him in this position. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, and got up to light the fire, but not before pouring herself another drink.

  ‘Ben’s coming round tonight. That should cheer you up.’

  But it didn’t. Jake left for his room. Ben was no fan of dingoes, and her son knew it.

  Night had wrapped the little house in darkness, and the roast was dry and overcooked, when Ben rang to say he couldn’t make dinner. Oh. Disappointment on disappointment. She tried to sound like it didn’t matter. ‘Could I still come round later, after nine?’ he asked, his voice warm. ‘Yes, yes of course.’ The cloud of loneliness that had been moving in cleared a little.

  Ten o
’clock. Kids in bed. Ben still hadn’t arrived and Kim was drunk and bored. Maybe he wasn’t coming. She left the cosiness of the fire and went to the kitchen, where the window gave a good view of the drive. Nothing. This was as good a time as any to go down to the front gate, pull that disgusting sign out of the bushes, and get rid of it.

  A mist had crept down the mountain, smothering the moon and stars. Blackness swallowed the torchlight a few metres from her face. It must be cold, because she was shivering, but with a belly full of Baileys she couldn’t feel it.

  Kim started down the track, stumbling on the rough ground, crossing the bridge over Cedar Creek’s black, rushing waters. She’d almost reached the gate when something stirred out in the dark. A rustling in the ferns. The wind, or something else? Kim stopped. Nothing showed in the torch beam, except an owl, gliding through the night like a grey ghost. Still the sense of being watched was growing. Her skin bristled with the ancient fear of what lived in the night, beyond the fire-glow.

  The noise came again. Kim held her breath as a dingo stepped out of the shadows, then another and another, lining up side-by-side like soldiers. Next moment they were all around her, greeting her with the joy and affection owed to a lost member of the pack. Fear turned to wonder as they slipped like wraiths in and out of the torchlight. Pressing their warm, soft bodies against her legs, yodelling with quiet excitement. It was hard to tell them apart in the dark, but she recognised Red, the alpha male, pushing his wet nose into her hand. And Dusty’s sisters, gambolling around her, a jumble of pouncing bodies and wagging tails. A darker dog approached, and a prickle of fear returned. Could this be the wild dingo that had joined the pack? It came closer. No, not a wild dingo at all. Dusty.

  Red briefly touched noses with him. Kim watched in dismay as Dusty joined in their play, romping around, chasing his sisters, even cheekily pulling Red’s tail. This was not his first encounter with the pack. They knew him, accepted him.