Chapter Forty-Nine
CHAPTER
49
When Phoenix turns his head, as if wondering why I’m taking so long, I readjust his saddle blanket. Dougie smiles as he lifts his camera.
‘Astrid wants to get this background footage out of the way before the team expands and we get out to the mine.’
‘I thought you’d be sick of me by now.’
‘Your first trial was in May, now we’re into October. You’ve come a long way.’
‘Are we almost done?’
‘One more take.’
After lifting a saddle onto Phoenix’s back, I look straight into the lens. ‘It’ll be a long time before we see improvements at the mine, but this time next year, the dam will be demolished. Water will flow from the Summers River to the streams and wetlands …’
A few minutes later, Dougie holds up a hand. ‘Cut.’
‘Can I finish saddling Phoenix now?’
‘Kit’s not keen on that steed.’
It was only a week ago that Kit told everyone at the meeting that I’d proven myself. He also said I didn’t need his support but he’d do what I wanted. I know what I want, but I haven’t had the chance to communicate it. His phone signal on the island, even when he goes outside, is limited and unreliable. Also …
I want to be with him when we talk about how we feel.
I think he wants that too.
Phoenix stands quietly as I fasten the buckles on the girth. Keith Urban, not fazed by the warmth of the day, jumps over the gate and loops around Dougie like a whirlpool.
‘Are you okay with what Gordon is planning when it’s over?’ Dougie asks.
I cling onto the stirrup. ‘When what is over?’
‘I thought he would have talked to you by now.’ Grimacing a little, Dougie packs away his camera. ‘After roping me in as his sidekick, he got Erik and Astrid onside, then the rest of the team. One of the nurses is helping out too.’
‘I wondered why Frances was avoiding me.’
Dougie fills me in. As funeral pyres are not only illegal but bad for the environment, Grandpa wants to be cremated in the usual way, but that’s to be followed by a party with a nod to Viking traditions. His ashes will be scattered in the national park and he thinks it’ll be a good idea to film it.
‘He sees it as a way to contribute to the documentary.’ Dougie hops from one foot to the other. ‘If this doesn’t get your blessing, Gordon said he won’t do it, but …’
I thread my fingers through Phoenix’s tail to work through the tangles. ‘Frances said it was past time I respected his wishes.’
‘Gordon doesn’t know this, Mac, but Erik has been in talks with your local council about a visitor centre for Summerfield. The production team will cover construction costs, and the council will set aside land and guarantee ongoing funding.’ He draws air quotes. ‘“The Gordon Henry Visitor Centre”. What do you think of that?’
My lip wobbles. ‘I love it.’
Dougie chuckles. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many names are on Gordon’s funeral guest list. For starters, Keith Urban.’
‘If Keith is going …’ I sniff but nod bravely, ‘I’ll come too.’
‘ The Keith Urban.’
‘Grandpa loves Keith’s music but why would he come to Grandpa’s funeral? They’ve never met.’
‘Astrid and Keith’s wife …’ Dougie holds up crossed fingers. ‘It turns out they’re like that.’
***
Grandpa, propped up in bed, sips stewed apple from a teaspoon to please me. ‘Kit told me to break it to you weeks ago,’ he says.
‘I’ll support a Viking funeral if that’s what you want.’
‘The thing is, Mary Mackenzie …’ His face is as white as the pillowcase. ‘I’m a little weary.’
I take his hand. ‘You’ve been busy.’
‘If there’s an afterlife, I’d like to see your grandma, and my boy Sam.’
My throat is tight. ‘You can catch up on the verandah.’
‘My family, my home and this town. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’
‘I’ll take care of the saddlery for you.’
‘That London bloke at the meeting said he wanted to see more of you. And I’ve got a good idea of what your dad would’ve said— nothing wrong with a bit of adventure.’
‘Dad wasn’t always happy, was he? Maybe that’s why I modelled myself on you.’
Grandpa’s smile is gentle. ‘Your dad was never happier than when he was with you.’
When the school bell rings, children spill from the classrooms. It must be a sports day because they’re wearing different shirts. Blue. Yellow. Red. Green.
‘Did I always sketch with lead pencils, Grandpa?’
He releases a shallow breath. ‘You don’t recall when you stopped colouring in?’
‘I remember that my teachers thought it was odd. I must have been young.’
‘You were a mite, maybe five or six, and you’d been at school in Summerfield for two terms, which was a longer spell than usual. I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, but …’
‘Mum took me away again.’
‘Your dad was at the mine when the school called, so I got there first. The car your mum had sent to collect you was parked out the front, and your mum was on the phone to the principal. You were screaming blue murder as the chauffeur did up your seatbelt. I’ve forgotten the principal’s name. Mrs Ross?’
‘Miss Rossiter.’
‘She pleaded with your mum to wait for just two minutes, so she could get your pencil case.’ Grandpa pats my hand. ‘You see where I’m going with this? Back then, you loved your colours.’
‘Mum wouldn’t wait, would she?’
‘She told Miss Rossiter that when she got you home, you’d get the biggest box of Derwent coloured pencils that money could buy.’ His eyes glisten with tears. ‘You can work out the rest.’
‘I refused Mum’s coloured pencils.’
Grandpa wheezes a laugh. ‘You were a stubborn little thing.’ I hold a glass to his mouth and he sips. ‘Trouble was, you were with your mum for quite a few months. By the time you came back, you’d got good at drawing with lead.’
‘Maybe I should try colour again.’
His eyes crinkle at the sides. ‘You might as well give it a shot.’
‘I won’t dance at your funeral, Grandpa.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’
‘I won’t let them film me.’
‘Kit wouldn’t allow it,’ he says quietly.
‘I miss him.’
Grandpa sighs as he takes my hand. ‘Some might say you’re still stubborn.’
‘He thinks I need him. I know he needs me.’
‘And what do you propose to do about that?’