Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER
36
Rory, on learner plates, is driving Shelley’s ancient Subaru and she’s in the passenger seat. She winds down the window as Rory turns off the road, methodically puts the car into first, pulls on the brake and cuts the engine.
‘Just checking everything was okay when you got back last night.’
‘All good. Thanks again for looking after Keith Urban and Phoenix.’
‘Have you heard from the handsome Norwegian?’
I’d promised to call Kit when I got back to the saddlery, but he called me first. There are two deep scratches on his cornea. He has strict instructions from the specialist to get plenty of rest before his next appointment. No strenuous physical activity. No driving.
‘Earth to Mac.’ Shelley whistles and lifts a hand. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Kit is okay.’ I force a smile. ‘Hopefully he’ll follow the doctor’s instructions.’
She glances at Rory, filling in his logbook. ‘Are you ever going to admit how it is between you two?’
‘I like him. Possibly more than I should.’
‘He’s hot, you’re all-round awesome and you both like challenges. That’s a good start.’
‘I guess.’
Shelley lowers her voice. ‘Is he serious about you?’
I want to be with you. ‘I’m not sure what serious means to someone like him.’
‘Talk to him. Find out where he’s coming from.’
I’m suddenly flushed. ‘It’s on my list of things to do.’
She laughs. ‘Where are you off to?’
If I told Shelley I was driving to the mine, she’d ask me why and I wouldn’t want to lie. I cross my fingers behind my back.
‘I’ll take Keith Urban for a run, then dinner with Grandpa.’
‘Gordon will be happy to have you back. How is he? Still having trouble swallowing?’
I trace around the plaster on my thumb. ‘He liked hearing about the hike.’
Rory, after leaning over Shelley to store his logbook in the glove-box, puts his hands on the steering wheel.
‘Can I come over on the weekend, Mac? Get back on the tools?’
‘Remember Jimmy Bains? He’ll be here on Friday. Can you fit in an after-school visit?’
‘Jimmy?’ His face lights up. ‘Yes!’
‘As he’s into laser cutting, you might like to talk to him about your design and technology project for school.’
‘It’s due in a couple of months.’ Rory flushes. ‘You reckon he’d mind?’
‘So long as you do your prep, think about what direction you want to go in, I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.’
***
My recollection of the day I got stuck in the mud is patchy, but I recall it didn’t take long to get from where I sank to the offices and toilet block where Dad cleaned me up. The gate at the entry to the mine is closed, but the bulky padlock that should keep it secure is open. Besides weeds—ranging in size from spindly grasses to thistles taller than the tyres of my four-wheel drive— the landscape is barren. I’m looking for the stretch of road that runs alongside the kilometre-long chain-link fence that separates the mine from the bushland beyond, but when I finally find it my heart sinks.
What did I expect? A bright patch of green to mark the spot? Blue-lidded silver drums poking through the mud? We were in drought for six years after Dad died—it would have been a miracle if the basic rehabilitation work carried out on this land had survived that. If I didn’t have the film, there’d be no proof. But what would the film be proof of anyway?
I’ve pulled over for a closer look when a dusty cloud appears. The car is travelling the same road I did. It’s dark, possibly black, and pulls up a few hundred metres away. A three-point turn. Then it goes back the way it came. Going by the weeds on the road, no one else has been down here for days or weeks or months. Two vehicles in one day? Is it more than a coincidence?
The dust from the other car has settled by the time I climb into my four-wheel drive, lock the door and check my phone for reception. When I reach the place where I saw the car and look into my rear-view mirror, the spot where I was parked is clearly visible. The gate out of the mine is just as I left it. After driving through, I close it again.
***
Grandpa puts on a brave face as he hides his shaking hands, telling me he ate a large lunch so doesn’t need dinner. I perch on the chair next to his bed and lift lids on the plates.
‘If it were pumpkin soup, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving it. As it’s chicken soup, maybe you can try it?’
‘When you were poorly, chicken soup was always your favourite.’
‘You’d steam a whole chook in the pot.’
‘I put veggies in too.’
‘Carrots and peas. No pumpkin.’
‘I’d add a bit of barley.’ He chuckles. ‘Slip in some lentils.’
I put a tiny piece of chicken on a spoon. ‘Take one for the team.’
He grips the tray as he sips. ‘Don’t seem right you have to do this.’
‘You’d do it for me.’
‘That I would.’
‘I went out to the mine today.’
‘To scope out the work that has to be done?’
‘There’ll be a team of engineers to sort that out.’ Another spoonful. ‘I went to a place Dad took me to just before he died. When the mining company had finished with it, they levelled out a section and laid topsoil. They planted native grasses and shrubs, not much else.’
‘Sam complained about that, how the operator did the bare minimum.’
‘I wanted to see if the vegetation was still there, but it was like a moonscape.’
‘There weren’t the regulations there are now.’
‘Did Dad ever tell you about waste from the mine? Hazardous waste?’
‘Being a coal mine, there was nothing like you’d get in a uranium or gold mine. Why’d you ask?’
‘No reason.’ I put the plate back on the tray. ‘Dessert?’
By the time Grandpa has finished a bowl of vanilla mousse and I’ve said goodnight, it’s after six and pinprick stars dot the sky. Winter is almost over, but the nights are still cool. Keith Urban bounces on the spot as if warming up.
‘Let’s go home.’
Within a couple of minutes, we’re on the bridge. A four-wheel drive I don’t recognise is parked out the front of the saddlery. A client? Unlikely at this hour. It’d be unusual not to have a dusty car in the country, but this one is black and I’m suddenly uneasy. When I whistle again, Keith Urban comes to heel.
‘Stay close.’
The man leaning against the bonnet has dark brown hair pushed back from his forehead. Late forties? Early fifties? He smells strongly of aftershave.
‘Mac Henry, right?’ The man smiles. ‘Your father was a good-looking man, but like I always said to him, “Your girl is the spitting image of her mother”.’
When he holds out his hand I keep mine by my side. ‘Who are you?’
‘Have I done it again? My wife says I shoot my mouth off too early.’ He winks and smiles. ‘In just a few months, November, we’ll have been married for twenty-five years. If anyone would know my faults, she would.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
He’s still smiling as he drops his hand. ‘Angelo Galo. Angelo.’
‘The saddlery closed two hours ago.’
He nods towards the house. ‘Mind if we have a chat? I won’t keep you long.’
‘How did you know my father?’
‘Samuel and I go way back.’ Keith Urban sniffs Angelo’s hand. ‘I haven’t met this fella. Slim Dusty was a fine old dog.’
‘Why won’t you answer?’
‘There I go again, talking too much. Sam and I were good mates at school, then we worked together at the mines.’
‘Dad only worked at one.’ I glance at the car. ‘You were out there today.’
‘I came to see you earlier just as you were pulling onto the road. You turned off at Rolston Street—there’s nothing there but the mine.’
‘Why follow me? Why turn around before I drove back? Why are you here?’
‘Look …’ He whistles under his breath. ‘Just let me say my piece, and then you’ll be done with me. Five minutes, that’s all I need.’
‘I don’t know you.’
‘And you had two long plaits the last time I saw you.’ Yet another smile as he taps the side of his head. ‘Should’ve done this earlier. I’ll get you a card.’
He opens the passenger door and scrabbles in his glovebox before plucking out a wallet, searching through the contents and holding out a card.
‘Last I heard,’ he says, ‘serial killers don’t park in clear view or hand out phone numbers.’
A mining company logo is printed on the card, as is a name, number and email address. It looks legitimate but …
‘Would my grandfather remember you?’
‘The last time I saw Gordon, who had a memory for faces that was second to none, would’ve been a year or two after your father’s funeral. My family moved up north after that. How is Gordon? I’ve heard he’s sick.’
‘Why are you back here now?’
‘When does my five minutes start?’
It’s dark. Notwithstanding what he says, I don’t trust him. ‘We can talk on the verandah.’
‘You’re a chip off the old block then,’ Angelo says as he follows me up the stairs, ‘both you and Gordon being saddlers and having a liking for this spot.’
As Angelo sits on a chair, I lean against the railing with Keith Urban at my feet. He seems to be as conflicted as I am, wagging his tail one minute and pressing against my leg the next.
‘I can’t blame you for being cautious,’ Angelo says, ‘with all the trouble you’ve had. My daughters are younger than you are, but the idea of them living all on their own, it does my head in.’
‘What trouble?’
‘I’ve been catching up with mates from the old days. Your dad would have known them too. I heard someone broke into your house.’
‘Dad had very few friends in Summerfield.’
‘That wasn’t the case when he was at school. From kindergarten onwards, the two of us were inseparable. Gordon will confirm that.’
‘Why come and see me now?’
‘You’re keen as mustard to not only fix up the mine site, but get it filmed for a documentary. It sounds like a good way to go, but there’s something you might want to know beforehand. Something you might want to keep quiet about.’
A white four-wheel drive, headlights on high beam, drives over the bridge. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I’ve had it on good authority, right from the horse’s mouth as a matter of fact, that your father was up to his neck in something.’
My hands fist at my sides. ‘And you’re here to tell me what that is?’
‘Sam had photos, film, didn’t he? About something that happened at the mine.’
‘How would …’ I strengthen my voice. ‘How would you know that?’
‘Like I said, the horse’s mouth.’
Keith Urban follows a scent to the verandah steps, but then comes back to heel. ‘Is Joseph Rossi your horse’s mouth?’
Angelo barks a laugh. ‘From what I hear, he’s a horse’s arse.’
‘You know him?’
‘As you’ll appreciate, Italian families used to be big in Summer-field.’ He shrugs. ‘Joseph is a second cousin goodness knows how many times removed on my wife’s side. Never met him in my life. Someone gave him a bit of cash, didn’t they? To find the film?’
Angelo knows about the film. And he’s admitted he’s related, however distantly, to Joseph. Two connections. An owl hoots and I jump.
‘Joseph has denied any knowledge of the film,’ I say.
‘Is that right?’
When I lean a hip against the railing, my phone in my front pocket digs into my thigh. If Angelo makes a move, I’ll leap down the steps to the ground and—
‘Mac.’ He holds out a hand. ‘You’ve got nothing to fear from me.’
Am I so transparent? ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m here today, gone tomorrow—there’s no reason for me to lie. Not only that, what happened with your dad was a long time ago. In my view, we ought to let bygones be bygones. Summerfield gets a new start with this documentary and it’s great to see you’re getting behind it. All I’m here for is to give you a warning. Why get people offside all over again?’
‘You said my father was up to his neck in something. What did you mean?’
‘Sam worked in the office at the mine, you’ll know that already. Part of his job was organising waste collection. Trouble was, there were a few bad apples in the mob that had the contract to get rid of it. Sam knew they cut corners—he got cash in hand for turning a blind eye.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘The contractors mightn’t have transported the waste like they should, they might have bent the rules regarding the storage facilities where it ended up. Sam mightn’t have been in on the detail, but he knew what was going on.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘There weren’t the checks and balances we have now, everything traced with QR codes and goodness only knows what else.’
‘Dad wouldn’t have been involved.’
‘When he found his precious daughter knee deep in waste on the mine site, he’d have wished he hadn’t been. Understandably, it all got a bit too close to home. Sam told the contractors he had a video taken at the mine and other evidence too. He said he could prove that, on this occasion anyway, they’d buried the waste in a dangerous way. To Sam’s credit, he said it should stop.’
I’m light-headed, shaky. ‘Dad would never have condoned dumping.’
‘In the usual run of things, maybe not, but working extra shifts was never going to bring in the cash to pay for lawyers. Gordon did what he could to help out, mortgaging the saddlery, but being out here it was never worth much.’
‘They managed.’
‘You know better than anyone how your dad doted on you. He took the kickbacks because he was desperate, and desperate men can be bought. Not that I’m blaming him, mind. But taking bribes, killing himself, it’s all tied up.’
‘He was killed in an accident!’
‘From what I’ve heard, he confronted whoever was responsible for the waste and threatened to expose them.’ Angelo grimaces. ‘You don’t go threatening people like that. They told Sam that since they couldn’t trust him to keep quiet, they’d let it be known that he’d been on the payroll.’
‘Did you get this from the horse’s mouth as well?’
A stiff smile. ‘Sam knew what exposure would mean. He’d be the worst kind of hypocrite for turning a blind eye to dumping waste, and he’d lose the respect of his father. To top it all off, he’d lose any chance of keeping you.’
‘Dad would never have left me deliberately.’
‘He rode off a bend in the road he’d taken a hundred times.’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Because of the threats he’d got, he was likely in a right old state. Why wouldn’t he be?’
‘Why wouldn’t this come out earlier?’
‘No point, with your father gone. The dodgy contractors cleaned up the mess they’d left at the mine and then they nicked off. Gordon couldn’t face having Sam’s things around and cleared everything out of the house. Problem solved.’
‘How would you know all this?’
‘What difference does that make? It all adds up, Mac. Word gets out that Gordon has applied to get a documentary team out here. Next thing, you’re calling a community meeting and telling everyone you’ve got a whole lot of film. If there are photos and videos of penguins, what’s to say other film, film Sam was making threats about, isn’t there too?’
‘Who would be desperate enough to pay someone to break into the saddlery?’
Angelo straightens his collar. ‘Like I said before, leave the past in the past.’
A silver four-wheel drive tows a cream vintage caravan over the bridge. ‘I could go to the police.’
‘That’s your right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Sam wasn’t the only man involved, but those with careers and families to protect will pin the blame on him. How’s a dead man going to defend himself? And what about the documentary? Sam, Gordon— their reputations will suffer if this ever gets out. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.’
Locals have spent years thinking the worst of my family. Angelo is lying, he must be. But …
‘What happened to the waste dumped at the mine?’
‘Soon as this blew up, those leaking drums came out of the ground. You were there today. Nothing to see.’
‘I didn’t know where to look.’
‘It’s not the first time a man’s accepted a bit of cash to do the right thing by his family and it won’t be the last. Sam’s problem was he regretted it and thought he could get off the hook. If you do have that film and splash it around, it’ll not only trash your father’s reputation, but put noses out of joint around here.’
‘Your old mates among them.’
‘You’ve done nothing to deserve the grief you’ve got, but you’ll only get more if you make this public.’
‘They’d threaten me like they threatened my father?’
‘It wouldn’t look good for the documentary, which as I understand it means a great deal to Gordon. Sam the environmental warrior being involved in dodgy deals to hide waste isn’t a good look.’
‘I was with Dad that day. He had no idea those drums were there.’
‘He had no idea they’d been dumped on his doorstep, that’s why he was surprised.’
‘This “horse’s mouth”. What proof does he have?’
‘There must have been something going on or no one would be naming your father or searching your house. If you have film, and I’m thinking you do, keep it to yourself, that’s all I’m suggesting.’
Long after Angelo has driven away, I’m still sitting on Grandpa’s chair on the verandah. I should give Keith Urban, sitting patiently at my feet, his dinner. And Phoenix is looking hopefully over the fence and needs his rugs changed but …
My feet stay firmly planted on the ground. There are barbs of possibility in what Angelo said. I attributed Dad’s agitation on the day he died to the court papers he’d opened, but was there something else as well? Is that why he told Grandpa he had someone to see? Why was he adamant I keep quiet about getting stuck in the mud? To save Grandpa from worry like Dad said, or because he’d worked out what had gone on? Was that relevant too? Should I go to the police or not? Now I have Dad’s reputation to think about, as well as the documentary.
I tip forward, put my head in my hands. Kit. We shared a bed and I suspect I’m in love with him. He cares about me. For now, he wants to be with me. If he were here, if he knew about this, what would he say?