Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER
12
On Saturday evening, I find Aiden, short neat hair and conservatively dressed, standing next to the sign outside the nursing home.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘No problem.’ He smiles. ‘How’s the collarbone?’
‘Improving.’
‘And your grandfather?’
‘He’s had a really good week.’
A positive mental state isn’t going to change the course of Grandpa’s illness, but even when he’s too weak to move from his bed to his chair, he perks up when we talk about Summerfield and the documentary. There’s no certainty it’ll get the go-ahead, but it’s possible. He has something to focus on, something to look forward to.
The other items in Dad’s containers—school awards (mine and his); Christmas, birthday and Father’s Day cards; magazines featuring his work—were in pristine condition and, as far as I could tell, so were the cameras and canisters of film. When I sent the Viking a text giving him the news and letting him know there’d be a lot to pick up, he told me to keep everything dry and cool. Unlikely as it is that we’ll have a heatwave in April, I took three of the empty containers back to where I’d found them under the house before refilling them with camera gear and film and sealing them again.
Aiden walks companionably beside me as we cross the road to the pub. The Union Hotel was one of three pubs that operated in Summerfield when the mine was at its most productive. One of them was damaged in a fire and was eventually pulled down. The one on the edge of town next to the car-wrecker’s yard is boarded up. Like the shops on the main street, the two-storey Union has been rendered and painted. The balcony railing and shutters are white and the walls are sage green.
Aiden opens the door and stands back. ‘How long since you’ve been here?’
‘A few years.’
‘In other words, it was too long ago.’
‘It was difficult.’
‘People care about Gordon.’ He touches my arm. ‘They care about you.’
‘So long as I don’t talk about the mine.’ I walk through the door. ‘But if the documentary team chooses Summerfield, I’ll do my best to get haters onside.’
Because I’m with Aiden, who is universally liked, or because enough time has passed, or because Aiden has it right and attitudes have softened, even locals who turned their backs on me and Grandpa nod pleasantly enough. Some ask after Grandpa’s health. Gloria Evans, in her late sixties and still running sheep on her hundred-hectare property ten kilometres out of town, makes a beeline to our table. When I tell her Summerfield’s environment association will be starting up again, she assures me I’ll have her full support.
‘Claudine will want to be involved too,’ she says. ‘I’ll give her a call.’
‘Let her know I’ll see her at the library later in the week.’
Aiden buys a beer and a lemonade for our first round of drinks, and I buy the same for our second. We sit opposite each other in a booth as he talks about the work he does at the council, mostly advising on landowners’ regenerative agriculture projects.
‘It’s good some Summerfield engineers put their skills to good use.’
He laughs. ‘As Lucas Merewether is the only other engineer who lives here, I assume you’re talking about him. What’s he done this time?’
‘He had a dig about Grandpa not having access to in-home care because we didn’t live in a town supported by industry.’ I aim for a smile. ‘Maybe I overthought it, overreacted.’
Aiden grimaces. ‘Lucas gets fed up with miners getting bad reputations.’
‘He’s defensive, I get that. I also understand, as does Grandpa, that we still need power from traditional sources, but the mining industry only changes when it’s forced to.’
‘The environmental costs of the mine in Summerfield out-weighed the economic benefits, any fool could see that, but you know Lucas. He believes if he gives an inch to anyone, they’ll take a mile. He’d never admit to being wrong, but that doesn’t excuse what he said.’
‘Don’t repeat it, will you? I might’ve misinterpreted.’
‘Gordon forgave and kept talking. You retreated. And who could blame you, given the treatment you had to put up with?’
‘Grandpa never has a bad word to say about anyone.’
‘He wouldn’t have liked that you got hurt.’ He nods towards my arm. ‘Speaking of which, did you get compo for that?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘In other words, no.’
‘I got a horse, Phoenix, out of it.’
He smiles. ‘Any more film work lined up? Locals out Denman way will miss the extras and other work they got out of The Dragon Slayers . Seeing stars like Chloe Rochefort out and about gave them a buzz as well.’
I stir my lemonade, stab bubbles with my straw. ‘If the documentary goes ahead, I’ve agreed to stand in for Grandpa.’
He smiles. ‘You’d be great.’
‘I suspect I’ll be rubbish, but as I’m all there is, the documentary team will have to compensate in other ways.’
‘Hey …’ He puts his beer on the table with a clunk. ‘It’s not one of Kit Thorsen’s documentaries, is it? A mate of mine saw him at the service station, but figured he was here because he’s dating Chloe.’
The Viking told me he wasn’t dating Chloe but that was two weeks ago and … I search for words.
‘You’ve heard of him too?’
‘Who hasn’t heard of Kit Thorsen? When you said documentary, I was thinking Landline on the ABC, not worldwide exposure …’ Shaking his head, he picks up his beer and drinks. ‘A Thorsen documentary would be massive for Summerfield.’
‘Grandpa likes to think big.’
He laughs. ‘You don’t say.’
‘Dad’s film work is relevant too.’
‘You had your sketchbook, he had his camera. I remember how he took you camping in the school holidays and on weekends.’
I sip my drink, put it carefully back on the coaster. ‘It turns out Grandpa stored a lot of Dad’s film, not only of places close to home but Antarctica. The documentary could give his work a chance to get out in the world. He would’ve liked that.’
‘Antarctica? I’d love to go there.’
‘As a tourist, you’re limited as to where you can go.’ I finish my lemonade. ‘I have an early start tomorrow. I’d better get home.’
‘What are you doing next Saturday?’
‘Like a date?’
He laughs a groan. ‘Your face!’
I put hair behind my ears. ‘I was surprised.’
‘Horrified, more like it.’
‘I’m not used to dating, but …’ Aiden is my age, thoughtful and friendly. He lives in the district and we used to be friends. We’re still friends. Could I be attracted to him? Not in the unsettling, infuriating, confusing way I’m attracted to the Viking, but in a nice, regular, sensible kind of way.
‘We could go out for lunch one day,’ I say. ‘As friends.’
He grins. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
***
The orthopaedic specialist told me I was okay to get behind the wheel, but it was important to be guided by pain. The day before yesterday I drove to the end of the main street and back. Yesterday I drove ten kilometres, the country version of ‘around the block’. Today I drove for an hour. My arm twinges when I turn into the saddlery, so I take care as I unclip my belt and jump from the seat to the ground.
‘All good.’
I’m reaching for a saddle from the back seat when a knot of uncertainty forms in my chest. Keith Urban sleeps on the verandah when I go out. He hears my car and leaps down the steps and—
‘Keith!’
Did I lock him inside by mistake? I take the steps two at a time to the verandah, unlock the front door and—
Hurried footsteps. A door slams shut. A second door.
‘Keith!’
As Keith Urban whines and scratches at Grandpa’s bedroom door, I dart around the workbench and jump over a bucket of tools. When I open the door, Keith charges past and, hackles raised, runs circles round the workshop. He scratches at the door that leads to the kitchen and sunroom. My voice is a croak as I take his collar and pull him back. ‘Quiet.’ I force myself to count to a hundred. And then I thump on the door. ‘Who’s there?’
Silence. When I let go of Keith’s collar, turn the handle, kick open the door and jump back, he charges into the living room.
Grandma’s pink and white vase with hand-painted flowers. The dappled Shetland pony Dad bought in Sydney and gave me for my birthday. A cut-glass bowl filled with gumnuts. All smashed on the floor. Desperation? Anger? What the …
‘Keith! Come! Get over here!’
When Keith Urban reluctantly does as he’s told, I sit on the floor and check his feet for shards of porcelain and glass.
The bookcase has been tipped over and every book, a hundred of them or more, is on the floor. Dad’s containers that I didn’t put back under the house, the containers stuffed with paperwork about court proceedings and tax, his trophies and knick-knacks, are turned upside down. Mounds of paper and folders are messed up with everything else.
A break and enter in Summerfield? At a saddlery? Tension claws at my chest. There was no car parked out the front. Keeping Keith close, I walk onto the back verandah. Phoenix’s paddock to the left. Straight ahead, a sloping lawn backed by wattle and bottlebrush trees and behind that and to the right, more paddocks. Someone could have parked in the town and come to the saddlery on foot, but they’d have risked being seen as they crossed the bridge. And if they did steal something, they’d have had to carry it out again. Phoenix grazes peacefully in the paddock. What did he see?
Keith Urban follows me into the workshop, watching on as I retrieve the metal tin that sits on the leather ottoman in the corner and open it up. A stack of business cards with my bank details, which is how most clients pay. A cheque from Mrs Abe I haven’t got around to banking yet. A hundred and forty dollars in cash. My laptop is on a shelf, baskets of spools of thread either side. Grandpa’s bedroom, besides fresh scratches on the inside of the door, is neat and tidy, as is his sitting room. My bedroom appears to be untouched but just in case, I open the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. A bracelet Mum gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Dad’s old watch. A small silver brooch studded with tiny sapphires that Grandpa gave to Grandma. As I call the police, I rack my brain for anything else of value in the house.
Anyone hurt? ‘No.’
Damage to property? ‘Going by the dings in the doorframe, they used a crowbar to force the lock on the back door. My horse ornament, Grandma’s vase, a bowl … They’re not valuable, not in a monetary sense.’
Don’t move anything until we get there . ‘When will that be?’ Tomorrow, maybe Thursday.
***
Jeremiah Jones, a young and friendly senior constable, arrives with an earnest probationary officer on Wednesday morning. Keith Urban follows them as they sprinkle white dust to check for fingerprints, but the kelpie soon tires of the novelty and lies on his side at my feet. Jeremiah, pointing to the doorframe, tells me it’s likely that whoever broke in wore gloves.
‘A clean criminal?’
‘A criminal with intent,’ he says with a grimace as he looks around at the mess of papers and broken ornaments on the floor. ‘It’s more likely than not he was looking for something.’
‘Whatever it was, it wasn’t here. So he won’t come back, right?’
‘Let’s hope not.’ He checks the back door. ‘You’ve changed this lock?’ He indicates the shed. ‘Anything taken from there?’
‘Not that I can see. And nothing from under the house or anywhere else I can think of. I’ve fitted chains to the front and back doors for when I’m inside the house.’
‘You’re on your own, aren’t you?’
I nudge Keith Urban with my toe, waking him up. ‘There are two of us.’
***
As the sun is shining brightly on Friday afternoon, Grandpa and the other nursing home residents have been walked or wheeled into the courtyard for afternoon tea. One of the carers pushes Grandpa’s chair to a table shaded by a liquidambar tree.
‘Mr Henry spends quite enough time listening to our other residents,’ the carer says.
‘It’s good to have a yarn,’ Grandpa replies.
‘I wish everyone was as patient with dementia sufferers. You’ve heard those yarns quite a few times.’
‘So long as they’re willing to talk, I’m happy to listen,’ Grandpa says. ‘Anyway, it gives me an excuse to repeat my stories too.’
I hide a smile. ‘Is that right?’
‘Why are you early, Mary Mackenzie? What’s going on today?’
‘I’m meeting Kit Thorsen at five. I was worried I’d miss dinner.’
‘You’re giving him the film? Unconditional, like we discussed.’
‘We’ll let him use it whether Summerfield is chosen or not but …’ I put a finger against my lips and lower my voice to a whisper, ‘he doesn’t need to know that yet.’
‘He’ll give credit where it’s due. He’s a fair man.’
‘You’ve only seen him on television.’
‘You don’t think he’s fair?’
I sigh. ‘Yes, he’s fair.’
‘I wish Sam was here, Mackenzie, particularly at times like this. Imagine how excited he’d be.’
‘He might have made his own documentary by now.’
‘But if he hadn’t and the snow bloke had come knocking on our door, Sam would have been under the house in a jiffy, bringing up those boxes. He would have been cock-a-hoop to have his work appreciated all around the world.’
This isn’t the first time I’ve been thankful that I returned Dad’s film and cameras to the storage space under the house so they’d stay cool. If the containers holding them had been turned upside down like the other containers were, the contents could have been damaged. I didn’t tell Grandpa what had happened because I didn’t want him to worry, but I made him a secret promise. I’m careful to shut the windows and lock the doors at night. The police called this morning. There are no useful fingerprints, and I’m allowed to clean up.
‘Mackenzie? What’s going on in that head of yours?’
A burnished copper leaf spirals from the tree. ‘Did I tell you I picked up Mikey Hodgkin’s saddle? He wants me to shorten the tree.’
‘He’d be better to buy a new saddle.’
I pick up the leaf, turn it around. ‘I’d better get home and tidy up.’
‘You’re always as neat as a pin.’
‘Dad’s paperwork is all over the floor.’
‘Why not take the snow bloke to the pub?’ He grins. ‘On me.’ I’m not keen on going to the pub twice in one week, but the Viking said he was meeting Astrid, who has agreed to direct the documentary, before he comes to Summerfield. As Astrid is in Denman, he’d have been on the road for a couple of hours. I’d have to invite him in and offer him something to eat and drink. Then what? Do I put my hands on his chest to prove I can touch him? Will my stomach flip when he smiles? Where am I with him? Where do I want to be? Why can’t I work that out?
‘That’s a great idea, Grandpa. I’ll ask him to meet me there.’