by Judy Nunn
They wouldn't hear of it when she said she'd ring for a taxi.
'No, no,' Jim insisted. 'Mike can have the car, he'll drive you home.'
'No, I won't,' Mike said, and his father looked at him askance. 'Jo prefers the bike, Dad.'
'Oh. Right.'
It was dark when they pulled up outside the flat in Kingsway.
'Don't come in, Mike,' she said as she opened the front door.
'Why not?' He was surprised. He'd presumed they'd make love again.
'Go home.'
He looked like a bewildered puppy uncertain of the order, and she laughed, realising that she'd sounded like a dog trainer.
'Maggie's making omelettes,' she said.
'Bugger the omelettes.'
'Go home to your family, Mike.' She kissed him. 'I've had a perfect day, and I'm tired.'
He left with the promise that he'd pick her up at eleven the following morning. Boxing Day at the beach was obligatory, and they were meeting up with a gang at the OBH for lunch.
Mike pondered a little upon his knock-back as he revved up the bike and roared off. Why hadn't Jo wanted sex? She had a healthy libido, and she'd never turned him down before. But then Jo could be quite arbitrary at times. He respected her for it, and he liked her unpredictability, which was probably the reason he hadn't been interested in other women since they'd been together. Then again, other women wouldn't have understood his work and the importance of it. Jo did. He'd never met anyone like Jo, she was a real one-off, he thought.
'I'm thinking of going down to Manjimup for the last fortnight of vacation,' Jo said six weeks later. 'Mum and Darren are back from New Zealand.'
'Oh.' Mike wondered briefly what had prompted her decision, but he didn't enquire. Since the long-ago night she'd told him about her stepfather, she'd made little mention of her family and he never pushed her for details. 'Sure,' he said.
'How did you go with Ray George?' she asked, changing the subject as she brought the coffees to the kitchen table and sat beside him.
Mike had arrived at the Kingsway flat after another full day with one of his supervisors, Dr Ray George, curator of crustacea at the WA Museum. He'd spent much of the holidays working – Jo hadn't seen him for the whole of the past week.
'Terrific!' he said, and launched into a further account of their research and its progression, all of which Jo normally found interesting. But today her mind was elsewhere.
'He asked if I'd like to join a team up north next year –'
Her attention was suddenly captured. 'A team up north?'
'Yep,' he continued eagerly. 'A WA Museum-based team is being sent to the Pilbara. They're going to ecologically map the Dampier Archipelago, and Ray George asked if I'd like to be a part of it.'
'And what did you say?' She tried to make the query sound casual.
'Hell, Jo, what could I say?' Mike laughed. In his enthu-siasm, he didn't notice the look on her face, or the fact that she seemed to be holding her breath. 'Their interest in me when I've still got a whole year of my PhD to go is one heck of a compliment!'
'Yes, of course it is.'
Well, that just about said it all, she thought. At least she could stop agonising over a decision now. Unwittingly, he'd decided for her. There was only one path she could take, and it terrified her.
'How exciting, Mike. I'm happy for you.' She gave him a peck on the cheek, then rose and crossed to the pantry. She needed to put some space between them. 'Are you hungry?' she asked, opening a cupboard door. 'Shall I get us something to eat?'
He didn't sense her unrest. 'Not yet. How about you grab your bathers and we go for a burl to North Cott?'
'Fantastic idea. Won't be a tick.'
She disappeared to the bedroom, where she sat for a moment or so, heart pounding wildly as she collected her thoughts. Then she reappeared, all smiles.
'Ready,' she said, towel and bathers rolled up under one arm.
Later that night, after they'd made love, she told him that she'd decided to go to Manjimup the following day.
'Tomorrow?' he queried. 'I thought you said next week.'
'The sooner I get it over with the better.'
'Right.' He was puzzled, it all seemed rather sudden. 'I'll drive you to the train.'
'No, Kathy'll drive me.' She snuggled up beside him and ran a hand over his chest. 'I'd rather say goodbye here, like this.'
He turned to her, but in the darkness of the bedroom he couldn't see the expression on her face. She'd been in a strange mood all evening, he realised – sort of withdrawn. He hoped nothing was wrong. But then Jo was Jo – she'd tell him if something was bothering her. It was probably just the impending trip to Manjimup.
He kissed her. 'I'll miss you,' he said.
'I'll miss you too.'
The new term started in late February, and Mike was concerned. Jo hadn't contacted him upon her return to Perth, and she was nowhere to be found on campus. She must still be in Manjimup, he thought. Perhaps something had happened to cause her to stay down there, perhaps her mother was ill. But surely she would have rung him if that were the case.
He called around to the flat on Saturday morning when he knew Kathy would be there.
'Hi, Mike.'
Kathy wasn't surprised to see him. She'd been expecting him to call.
'Where's Jo?' he asked. 'She hasn't rung me. Is she still in Manjimup?'
'No, she's in Sydney.'
'Sydney?' He was confused. 'What's she doing in Sydney?'
'I've no idea.'
'How long's she going to be there?' His mind was jumbled – why on earth hadn't she told him? 'When's she coming back?'
'She's not.'
'What do you mean?'
'Just that. She's dropped out of uni, she's gone to Sydney and she's not coming back.'
'She's dropped out of uni!' He was echoing her foolishly, but he couldn't help it, he was in a state of utter disbelief. 'Why? And why didn't she tell me?'
'I think it's her way of calling things quits.'
He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
'It's over, Mike.'
'Why? Why is it over?'
'I don't know, she didn't say.'
'Where's she staying? What's her phone number?'
'She didn't tell me that either. But she left you a letter. Hang on.'
Kathy disappeared and returned seconds later with an envelope. She handed it to him, expecting him to leave so that he could read its contents in private. But he didn't.
Mike ripped the envelope open and scanned the note, barely taking in Jo's words as he searched for a phone number or an address. But there was none. He was starting to feel desperate.
'She must have left an address. How can I get in touch with her?'
'You can't. I'm sorry, Mike.' Kathy could see the distrust in his eyes. 'I honestly don't have a contact for her. She didn't leave me with one.'
He looked so shattered that she started to feel sorry for him.
'Perhaps she didn't know where she was going to be staying,' she said. 'Perhaps she'll get in touch when she's settled.'
She wouldn't, Kathy thought, remembering the exchange that had taken place when she'd driven Jo to the railway station just three weeks previously.
'I won't be coming back, Kath,' Jo had said as she'd taken her suitcase from the boot of the car. 'I'm arranging for my gear to be shipped from Manjimup and then I'm off to Sydney.' She'd handed Kathy two envelopes. 'There's a month's rent in one. And a note for Mike in the other.'
'Why?' Kathy, too, had been flabbergasted. 'Why are you going?'
'I need to distance myself from him, and I can't do that in Perth.'
'What's wrong? What's happened between you?'
'Nothing – that's just it. I'm not a part of his life. Hang on to the note for me,' she instructed. 'When he comes around to the flat, as I know he will in a few weeks when the holidays are over and I'm not back at uni, give it to him then. Not before.' She'd dropped her brittle manner. Her smile h
ad been a little tremulous and her tone apolo-getic. 'I'm sorry to land you with this. I know it seems gutless, but I've decided it's the only way.'
Then she'd kissed Kathy on the cheek and picked up her suitcase. 'Thanks for everything. Bye, Kath.' And she'd walked off into the station without a backward glance, leaving Kathy in complete amazement. Jo Whitely had always been a decisive person and a woman of few words, but surely this was taking things to the extreme.
'I'm really sorry I can't be more help, Mike,' Kathy said now, and she meant it. She'd developed a recent antipathy towards men, having been dumped by her boyfriend two months previously, and whatever had gone wrong in the relationship between Mike and Jo, her sympathies had initially been on Jo's side. Now, however, as she looked at Mike, so completely devastated, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
'Jo's always been a bit of a mystery, Mike,' she said. 'And now she's decided to disappear. It's weird, I know, but that's the way she wants it.'
Mike wasn't interested in Kathy's views or her sympathy. 'What's her mother's phone number in Manjimup?' Why hadn't he ever thought to ask Jo that, he wondered.
'I wouldn't have a clue. She never talked about her family, and she never stayed in touch when she went home. Odd, don't you think ...?'
But Kathy's chatter went unheeded. He was leaving without even saying goodbye.
Mike read and re-read Jo's brief note, hearing her voice, but finding no satisfactory explanation in her words.
Forgive me, my darling, for not saying goodbye. It will appear the action of a coward, and that's exactly what it is. I simply don't have the courage to confront you.
You've always admitted that your work takes precedence, Mike, and I've respected your honesty. But I realised, when you spoke of your trip to the Pilbara, that there will never be a place for me in your future. You need to be free. I've probably known it for some time and blindly refused to recognise the truth, but I do now. Just as I recognise that I need to be free too. I have a future of my own to pursue.
I treasure what we've shared, Mike, and I always will. I wish you good luck with the extraordinary career you so rightly deserve.
I love you. There, I've said it.
Jo.
On first reading, Mike felt dismayed by the note's awful finality. It couldn't be over, surely. Not just like that. Then the more he read it, the more the note angered him. How dare she offer him no right of reply. And why should his talk of the Pilbara have been such a catalyst? It was a bloody research trip, for God's sake, he wasn't disappearing from the face of the earth.
The flames of Mike's anger were fuelled by a deep anxiety. He couldn't lose Jo. He mustn't. He loved her. But then he'd never told her so. Was that why she'd left him? Impossible! She knew he loved her. Of course she knew!
Anxiety became desperation, and desperation became panic as Sunday slowly slipped by. Then on Monday he checked with the university. Yes, Johanna Whitely had resigned from her course. She'd simply dropped out. It was a mystery to everyone – she'd been such a good student. He asked around amongst her friends, but they were equally mystified.
He'd try Manjimup, he decided – her mother would know where she was. But Jesus Christ, he thought frantically, I don't even know her mother's name. The step-father's name was Darren. Darren bloody who? He racked his brains, thinking of the conversation they'd had that night after he'd come out of hospital. She'd been full of self-loathing as she'd told him that the man she detested was putting her through uni. What had she said? Darren can afford it – he's quite well off. That was it, he remembered, Darren was a manager for Bunnings Timber Mills.
He rang Bunnings in Manjimup and asked for Darren the manager. 'It's a personal call,' he said to the secretary. She put him through.
'Hello, Darren Collins,' a male voice said.
'Mr Collins, I'm a friend of Jo's, I go to uni with her. My name's Mike McAllister.'
'Ah, yes?'
It was apparent from the man's uninterested tone that he'd never heard the name. So Jo had never mentioned him, Mike thought.
'I'm after a contact address or phone number for her.'
'She's gone to Sydney.'
'Yes, I know that. But she doesn't seem to have left any contact number with her flatmate here in Perth, and I wondered whether –'
'No, I'm sorry, I can't help you there.'
Can't or won't, Mike thought.
'Mr Collins, I'm a very good friend of Jo's, and I really would –'
The voice cut him off irritably. 'Quite frankly . . . um . . . I'm sorry, who is this again?'
'Mike. Mike McAllister.'
'Yes. Mike. Well, quite frankly, Johanna hasn't as yet informed us of her exact whereabouts. She's causing her mother a great deal of concern. She's a headstrong girl who follows her own inclinations, and I'm sure if she wants you to know where to find her, she'll inform you.'
'Perhaps if I could speak to her mother –'
'You most certainly may not.'
The man was going to hang up any minute. In desperation, Mike asked, 'Do you know why she dropped out of university and went to Sydney?'
'I've got no bloody idea, boy,' Darren said, dropping the act. 'Your guess is as good as mine.' Then he hung up.
Johanna had disappeared into thin air, it seemed. Mike had nowhere to turn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Baxter died in late April, just two months short of his sixteenth birthday. It was a peaceful death. Mike discovered him in the early hours of the morning, curled up on the old grey army blanket that served as his bed in the downstairs laundry. He'd had a heart attack during his sleep.
He phoned Jools in Melbourne that night. She was deeply affected, as he'd anticipated she would be.
'Oh ...' He heard a quick intake of breath and sensed the tears instantly gathering. 'Oh no, not Bax ...' She was trying to control herself, but with little success. 'Oh ...oh ...poor old Bax ...' Then she caved in altogether. 'When did it happen?' she asked through her sobs.
'I don't know. Sometime during the night, I suppose. I found him this morning.'
'This morning!' There was a gulp of surprise and the sobs halted. 'Why didn't you ring me earlier?' 'You don't like being rung at work. You said they can't even put calls through when you're in the studio.'
'Oh, for God's sake, Mike! This isn't a social call! You could have left a message with the switchboard! I could have rung you back!' The sobs started up again. 'This is family ... This is Baxter ...'
'This is a dog!'
A pause, followed by a series of small gasps while the sobs became sniffles, then Jools's disbelieving voice down the line.
'How can you say that? Baxter's our past. He's our childhood. We grew up together. How can you say he's just a dog?' Her voice was starting to falter again. 'Baxter was more, he was much, much more.'
'I didn't say he was just a dog,' Mike replied patiently. 'He was a good mate, I agree.' Jools's reaction was understandable, he supposed – she'd known the animal since she was five years old – but it was silly to be over-emotional. 'The fact is, Jools, he was a dog, and he nearly made it to sixteen, which is well over a hundred years in human terms, and that's a pretty damn good innings, and he died in his sleep, presumably without pain, so I don't think there's much cause for grief.'
