Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER
14
Rory charges through the open double doors of the primary school hall and shoots an imaginary ball through a hoop. Shelley, carrying Rory’s school bag, follows him in.
She counts the rows of chairs I’ve set out. ‘That’s a lot of people.’
‘The environment association hasn’t had a public meeting in over three years.’ I separate a chair from the stack. ‘Grandpa would say too many seats is better than too few.’
In the hope that Rory does his homework during the meeting, Shelley drags a small table across the floor and places a chair behind it. ‘Have you heard from Kit yet? Is the documentary going ahead?’
I’ve heard crickets from Kit since I kissed him sixteen days ago, and now we’re three weeks into April. A break is a good thing, isn’t it, when we’ve never had a civil conversation and he worries about me unnecessarily and—
‘Mac? Any news?’
I plant a smile on my face. ‘Erik, the producer, confirmed what Kit said. They like all three of the shortlisted submissions, and that includes Summerfield. The next step is a trial. It’ll be good for our submission if I can report positively on what happens tonight.’
Shelley looks around the room. ‘I’ve told everyone I can think of to come.’
‘I’ve put notices up around town and sent emails to those who used to be involved, but many have moved on.’ I zip my hoodie. ‘The cold night won’t help.’
‘I hope Kit turns up.’ She waves her hand in front of her face. ‘I can’t believe he’s even better looking in real life than he is on the screen.’
‘You didn’t mind he said no to a selfie?’
‘He said “later” not “no”. Didn’t he tell you he came back?’
He kissed me and then … ‘No. No he didn’t.’
‘I got the first selfie. Everyone else lined up, right around the bar.’ She grins. ‘The bride-to-be almost wet herself with excitement.’
‘I didn’t know …’
‘You were freaked out at the attention he was attracting. Anyone could see that.’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s all good, Mac, really. I know what you’ve gone through with your mum.’
In addition to coming from an alternate universe, the Viking is from my mother’s world. Airbrush kisses that don’t mean anything. Being on show all the time. I’ve never wanted the things that attach to celebrity. I don’t want them now. Yes, I’m attracted to him. And yes, we both want what’s best for the documentary. But when he comes back, if he comes back, we’ll know where we stand. I’ll keep my distance and he’ll keep his.
As I complete the rows with the last of the chairs, a group of locals—residents, shop and business owners and farmers—appear at the door.
‘Come in!’ I call out.
I’m setting out paper cups, instant coffee, tea bags and biscuits when Lucas and Aiden approach. The week before last Aiden, as he’d promised to do when we went to the pub, called to ask me out to lunch, but given I’d kissed Kit a few days before, it didn’t feel right to say yes. We took take-away coffees to the park instead.
He’s careful of my arm as we hug. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Good evening, Mac.’ Lucas pockets his keys. ‘This is reminiscent of the old days, isn’t it?’
When you shut down Grandpa’s supporters? When you shouted louder than anybody else?
‘I hope not.’
Stepping back, Lucas tries for another smile. His gaze shifts briefly to Aiden before returning to me.
‘I’m still of the opinion that if Summerfield was supported by industry, the town would have better health and nursing care,’ he says, ‘but given Gordon’s poor health, I should have chosen my words more carefully.’
Aiden shifts from one foot to the other. ‘Not here, Lucas.’
‘It’s as good a place as any,’ Lucas says. ‘Mac’s grandfather was born in Summerfield and it’s here he wants to die. I apologise for any hurt caused.’
My nod is stiff. ‘Thank you.’
When Lucas walks away, Aiden smiles apologetically. ‘I hoped suggesting he might not be welcome would put him off coming.’
‘I don’t want to cause problems between you.’
‘And you won’t,’ Aiden says.
‘Rory!’ Shelley shouts across the room. ‘Come and do your homework!’
After the last of the stragglers wander in, I close the doors against the wind. Gloria, Grandpa’s sheep-farmer friend, and Claudine, Summerfield’s librarian and community worker, both dressed warmly in pants, jumpers and colourful scarves, sit in the front row. Claudine, who agreed to record names and contact details, has a clipboard on her lap and Gloria holds the pens. They both smile encouragingly as I sit on the edge of the stage. The rest of the front row is mostly taken up by shop owners. Four students from the local high school sit in the back row notwithstanding the rows of empty chairs in front. Mr and Mrs Patel, pharmacists who have a hobby farm, and a few farmers from outlying properties, clearly anxious for the meeting to start so they’re not home too late, shush people around them.
I start by telling everyone how Grandpa ran the Summerfield Environment Association in the lead-up to and aftermath of the mine closure, but explain that many others involved have moved out of the district through retirement or change of career, or they have young families to look after so can’t be as actively involved. Grandpa always hoped, still hopes, I tell them, that now the government has made a commitment to fund the first stage of the project—demolition of the dam and preliminary rehabilitation work—the town can get together and start thinking about even longer term plans for Summerfield.
Straight away people put up their hands.
How will we be involved? The more support the association has, the more effective it will be in lobbying for additional funding. We have to communicate to the government that Summerfield has a future as a thriving regional town.
What happens first? Contractors will be employed to demolish the dam and reshape the landscape. There’ll be waterflows, drainage and a hundred other things to consider alongside the reintroduction of flora and fauna. This will bring new people to the town and provide work for those that already live here.
Where will the plants come from? In mine projects elsewhere, nurseries have been established to facilitate the transfer of locally grown plant species. There’s no reason that can’t happen here.
Where do we get the animals? Once a healthy and stable environment has been created, native species will move in.
This will take years. We can’t only think about this generation but future ones.
When someone opens the door and it squeaks, most of the audience turn. Marie McAdams, dressed elegantly in flared pants, a matching jacket and a silk shirt, looks annoyed when Lucas jumps to his feet and holds out his hand. She shakes it briefly before, on the balls of her feet so her heels don’t clatter so much, she sits at the end of a row.
Grandpa used to make saddles for Marie and her children’s horses, and because their postcard-perfect thoroughbred stud is in Denman she always invited him to stay to lunch. Even though she was also a partner in a city accounting firm at the time, she sent boxes of ready-made meals to Grandpa after Dad’s death.
Claudine waves the clipboard over her head. ‘Should I hand this around?’ Before I have a chance to reply, she walks to Marie. ‘Would you like to be on our email list, Mrs McAdams? It’s for anyone interested in being involved in the environment association.’
Marie nods graciously. ‘I’d be delighted.’
‘While Claudine collects names,’ I say, ‘are there any more questions?’
The supermarket owner, Cheryl Brown, raises her hand. ‘What this town needs is jobs that pay wages. Most of us struggle to feed our families. You can’t be expecting us to waste time by writing to politicians or doing other thankless tasks.’
Cheryl doesn’t struggle and there’s no way she’d volunteer for anything but …
How would Grandpa respond? I take a calming breath.
‘You can help in other ways. For example, you own shops in Summerfield, Mudgee and Denman. Maybe put up a notice telling people about the association and asking if they’d like to come to our meetings and get involved?’
Cheryl grumbles as she sits, but brightens considerably when another shop owner complains that a new slab of bushland will contribute nothing to Summerfield’s future viability. A man who used to be employed by the mine leaps from his seat to agree. When one of the students warns the man about a warming planet, he barks a laugh and shouts her down.
Marie stands. ‘You have two options, sir,’ she says firmly. ‘One, take your seat. Two, leave immediately. I refuse to countenance your abuse of this young woman.’
The man looks around for support, but when others who were egging him on shuffle their feet or look the other way, he takes Marie’s second option and, cursing loudly, leaves the hall. Marie waits until the door slams behind the man before speaking again.
‘As I understand it,’ she says firmly, ‘this meeting was called to provide general information and to discuss improvements to land which is a blight on Summerfield’s landscape.’
‘It wasn’t a blight when it was a mine!’ Cheryl calls out.
‘Increased employment is fundamental to the viability of this town,’ Marie says. ‘No one disputes that. But rehabilitation of the mine site is a starting point for new opportunities, including employment.’
‘Last year, engineers were swarming all over the mine,’ someone shouts. ‘This year there’s been nothing.’
‘Work will start in the next few months,’ I say.
‘You said it yourself—that funding is only for the early work.’
‘It’s a start.’ I cross my fingers behind my back. ‘We’ll get more.’
‘It’s important to make the most of the opportunities we’ve been given,’ Marie says. ‘For example, the government provides additional support to local initiatives. Mac was talking about nurseries when I walked in—within one or two years, there’ll be a guaranteed market for whatever plants local nurseries are able to provide. Workers, skilled and unskilled, will be employed on the site in various roles. This will ensure long-term employment.’
‘Business has never been worse,’ Cheryl says.
‘For decades, there’ve been concerns about air and ground pollution and damage to waterways and water tables,’ Marie says. ‘Now the mine has closed, the value of property will increase. Private investment is a real possibility.’
‘If not for your grandfather,’ Cheryl shouts to me, ‘the town wouldn’t be in this mess! Why spend time and money on land that will never go back to how it was?’
‘The wetlands are important environmentally, as is native bushland.’ Gloria nods enthusiastically at my words, and Claudine pumps the air. ‘Grazing land is valuable to our community. A lake will encourage bird and native wildlife and could also be used for recreation.’
‘You haven’t convinced me!’
As some in the audience shout out in support of Cheryl, Keith Urban scrabbles across the floor, skids to a stop and sits at my feet. I look towards the doors and—
Kit’s boots are filthy, his jeans are stained at the knees and the collar of his thick cotton shirt is half up and half down. His hair is spiky—like he’s swiped through it with mud on his hands. Our eyes meet, but only for a moment. The crowd falls silent as he walks across the hall and sits in the row behind Marie.
I clear my throat. ‘We have five minutes. Any more questions?’
‘It’s a comment really, not a question.’ Mike Farnsworth, a cattle producer, gets to his feet. ‘Only yesterday I had a chap out of Sydney wanting a patch of my land. Special cheese, he was planning to make, combining milk from different types of cows. I don’t believe he’d have turned up if the mine hadn’t been shut down.’
‘You going to sell?’ another farmer asks.
‘For the right price, I just might,’ Mike says.
‘Thoroughbred studs and racehorse facilities employ workers,’ Marie says. ‘In addition, Summerfield land is suitable for wineries, cider and gin production, and a host of other industries.’
‘Andrew is expanding his apple orchards,’ Mike says. ‘He’s got government support to build an apple juicing plant up there. All apple, no concentrates.’
‘New industry brings jobs and opportunities,’ Marie says. ‘Particularly for a town that welcomes change.’
‘Any more questions?’ When no one else raises their hands, I thank everyone for coming. ‘There’s tea and coffee up the back.’
‘Don’t forget to put your name on the list!’ Claudine, waving her clipboard, calls out. ‘The more the merrier!’
The students move forward in a pack before lining up to write down their details.
‘Would it be okay if our friends come along next time?’ one of them asks. ‘We’re studying environmental science for our HSC.’
‘That’d be great.’
As Claudine, smiling warmly in welcome, supervises the queue, Gloria herds those wanting refreshments into another orderly queue. When Kit walks towards me, Lucas Merewether steps in front of him and holds out a hand. I should be relieved but …
As he talks to Lucas, Kit bows his scruffy head. How long was he outside? And why did Keith Urban, who I told to stay at home, precede him into the hall? When I spoke with Erik last week, he was quietly spoken and courteous. He explained he’d hoped that, because of my injury, they wouldn’t need me to take part in a trial hike where I’d be filmed, but as he, Kit and others on the Polar Institute’s selection committee had differing views on the shortlisted submissions, a trial was the only option. Astrid, who called later that day, was more direct. Erik supported Summerfield. Others were leaning towards the alternative shortlisted candidates.
Kit said he’d leave the decision on the trial to others. Because of what had happened, what was happening, between us? Does it make a difference anyway, when he’s already labelled me a risk-taker?
An expectant crowd forms around Kit, keeping its distance until one of the students breaks ranks and tries to hug him. When he holds out his hand the student, clearly embarrassed, shies away, but Kit beckons her to return with her friends. A teacher appears and Kit searches his pockets. He pulls out a card and hands it over.
Keith Urban nudges my hand. ‘You brought the Viking here, didn’t you?’ When he wags his tail, I speak more firmly. ‘You’d better go outside before the education department gives you a detention.’
‘Mac.’ Marie touches my arm. ‘Gordon and I speak on the phone, but he tells me not to visit. It saddens me.’
‘He’s excited about the environment association starting up again. I can’t wait to tell him you were here tonight. And what you said.’
‘I’m sorry I was late.’
‘You rescued me.’
‘From Cheryl and that ghastly man?’ She huffs. ‘It was inevitable the mine would close within the next few years. You and Gordon, in articulating what many others were thinking but were too afraid to say, merely brought the end date forward.’
‘Grandpa had the bit between his teeth.’
‘He regrets his inability to support you in the aftermath.’
‘He’s always supported me.’ I manage a smile. ‘But yes, if he’d had another year on the verandah to smooth things over, it would’ve been easier.’
‘Kit Thorsen’s appearance was timely.’ Kit is laughing at something Rory is saying. ‘As Summerfield is on the Polar Institute shortlist, I presume you’ve met him before?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure why he’s here.’
‘The interest shown tonight can’t harm your proposal.’
Marie is tall, but Kit, walking purposefully towards us, is at least a head taller.
‘Mackenzie.’ His grip is firm. His hand is cold.
I’m suddenly much too warm. ‘Hey.’
‘Your dog followed me from the saddlery. I waited outside.’
‘I presume the cold doesn’t bother you.’ Marie smiles as she holds out her hand. ‘Marie McAdams. My husband Laurence and I live on the outskirts of Denman. As he thoroughly enjoys your documentaries, he’ll be peeved he stayed behind to watch the rugby.’
Kit nods politely. ‘You spoke well.’
‘There was a great deal of regional support for the closure of the mine, but little from Summerfield itself. The Henrys, both Gordon and Mac, stuck out their necks for the town.’ She touches my arm. ‘You will call, won’t you, if you need support? The association will no doubt stir things up again.’
I look around. There are still so many people. Because a Viking turned up? ‘It’s not as bad as it was.’
‘I’ll have a word with a few of our dissenters over there.’ She shakes Kit’s hand again. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Thorsen.’
‘Kit.’
She hands him a card. ‘Perhaps you could come to McAdams Park for dinner one evening?’
Does everyone have to be so welcoming?
Gloria and Claudine are collecting empty cups as Aiden and I move the last of the chairs and stack them at the front of the hall. When I tell Aiden that Lucas has been waiting at the door and looking at his watch for the past five minutes, he hugs me goodbye. ‘I’ll call.’
Claudine folds her apron before reclaiming the clipboard. ‘I’ll compile a mailing list and draft a welcome email. Is that all right?’
‘I hereby appoint you secretary and communications officer of the Summerfield Environment Association. Thanks so much, Claudine. That would be brilliant.’ I wipe under the urn and pack the last of the tea and coffee into a bag. ‘Did you walk here? If you come back to the saddlery, I’ll drive you home.’
‘I’m only a kilometre away.’ Claudine smiles as she pulls on a hand-crocheted cap. ‘I’ll enjoy the fresh air.’
Kit shakes hands with the stragglers, but politely if bluntly keeps conversation to a minimum. I wait until Claudine and Gloria are safely at the end of the path before turning off the lights. Cars bump over potholes in the carpark. Muffled shouts goodbye. I close the doors and lock them.
The strengthening breeze whistles through the gums as I turn to Kit. ‘Do you want to come to the saddlery?’
After nodding agreement, he falls into step next to me. After that …
Silence.