Hope's Road (27 page)

Chapter 44

It had been a disaster right from the start. Kat had stared at the old ute in consternation from the doorway of her motel room and had looked terrified when she spotted Billy bouncing up and down on the seat. ‘Hi there, Mum!'

She'd glanced towards Trav and he read the panic in her gaze as clearly as he could read the tracks of wildlife in the scrub. His heart sank towards his Ariat high-top boots.

She was going to bolt. Tammy and Joe were right. He shouldn't have thought it could be any different: he should have told Billy she just wasn't up to it and worn the boy's grief himself. Putting it off like this was only going to make it worse. He could
still
hear Katrina's quavering voice on the end of the phone that fateful day after she left.

‘Look after our baby. One day . . . tell him his mummy loved him . . . but I have to go. I have to leave to save myself, Travis. Can't you see? I've lost
me
. So many hopes, so many dreams . . . all gone.'

Hope – the stuff dreams were made of. He could tell
her
a thing or two about them being gone.

‘C'mon, Mum,' yelled his boy again. ‘Get in. We're heading back out to Belaren. I'll show you all my stuff.'

‘Lovely.' Katrina's voice was faint. Her hands fluttered around the long auburn curls hanging down off her shoulders.

Travis, still sitting at the wheel, watched it all like he was observing from above. He'd once hoped he and Kat would be together forever. Her spirit and more gregarious nature had balanced his preference for silence. She'd encouraged him to be something he'd thought he'd never be: outgoing and unreserved. She'd made him feel like the only person in the world capable of making her happy, of loving her and she, him. It was all an illusion, he could see that now. He could never be anything other than himself no matter how hard he tried, and that wasn't good enough for Katrina. She wanted more than him – and their child.

His ex-wife slid gracefully into the ute, where Billy grabbed her hand, eager to stake his claim on his mother.

‘Belaren is Nanna's old place. You'll love it,' said Billy beaming, and then he shot a serious glance towards his father. It was a look of warning – be nice to her.
You owe me.

‘Katrina,' said Trav, acknowledging her with a nod. ‘You okay if we go out home? Billy'd like to show you where he lives.' He was painfully aware of how stilted and polite the words sounded.

Katrina's eyes narrowed over Billy's head. ‘Yes, that's fine. So long as we don't take all afternoon. I have to be back in town for dinner. Some artist friends of Alice's. They want to organise another showing. A city gallery this time.'

Yep, that was the way of it. Art before her son. He glanced down at Billy, who was frowning and shaking his head.

‘But Mum! Don't you want to have tea with
us
?'

Katrina had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘I'm sorry, Billy, but this is really important to me.'

‘But –'

‘Billy,' interrrupted Trav, his voice laced with warning, ‘your mum's made other arrangements. We'll take her out to the farm and see how it goes.'

Katrina seemed to withdraw into herself from that moment. Billy chattered on, pointing out this and that – things that were of importance or significance in his young life. ‘So that's my school where Ms Greenaway teaches me. She's away today otherwise we could've taken you to meet her. She's really nice, isn't she, Dad?' Billy ran on before Trav could answer either way, continuing his litany until they turned down Hope's Road. ‘And that's where Tammy lives. She employs me to do farm work. And then that's Old Joe's place up there on McCauley's Hill. You can't see it clearly from here but he sure has the best view. He taught me to drive, didn't he, Dad?' On and on the child rambled, never pausing for breath, which only served to make Katrina's disconnection more apparent.

The mention of Billy driving was the only thing to jolt her. She had darted an appalled glance at Trav and he'd responded with a shrug. ‘He's good at it,' he commented in Billy's – and possibly Joe's – defence. Her big brown eyes widened slightly and then she sank back into her apathy. Trav didn't know whether to be flattered by her confidence in his judgement or horrified by her lack of interest.

The pain had ramped up a notch as they'd parked in front of the ramshackle cottage they called home. Kat's face had said it all.
This? This is what you call a house?

They'd gone inside and Katrina had climbed the ladder up to Billy's loft. Trav didn't know what took place up there but it seemed like only minutes before she was back down again, crowding his personal space. He didn't think any room would be big enough for him and Kat. Too much hurt, too much time and angst were lying between them.

He couldn't help but compare her to the woman who'd been in this room only nights before. Tammy had looked like she belonged here, despite her more affluent upbringing. She'd made the shabby smallness seem all the more cosy with her warmth and easy-going presence. She hadn't made him feel defensive. If anything, she'd made him feel proud of the space he shared with his son. The way she wandered around the walls, asking questions about his photos, their homemade frames, enjoying the stories of the bush that went with each one. He could hear her laughter in the air, see the caramel in her eyes, feel the silkiness of her soft yet firm skin.

Trav shook himself. You're taking a break from her, remember?

He moved to put on the kettle, trying not to look towards the fridge and the rum and coke he would have preferred, just to get himself through this. He glanced across at Katrina, who was trying to appear interested in a bright green grasshopper that Billy had caught and ensconced in a jar with nail holes in the lid for air. After doing some research on Tammy's computer, the kid was planning to take it to school for Show and Tell.

She was now heading for the couch like it was a refuge. She sat down for a few seconds, then was up again as if the seats were full of blackberry thorns. How on earth could he have even contemplated getting back with her? She was like a flitting moth, eyes darting here and there, not able to meet his gaze for longer than a glance.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?' he asked, pulling out a couple of mugs.

‘Do you have herbal?'

‘Nope, sorry. Just normal stuff.'

‘Then no, thanks.'

You would have thought she'd just take a mug of tea and pretend to like it. That was how you did things in the country. Just to be polite. To be mates.

But this woman didn't want to be mates. She barely wanted to be friendly. She was just biding her time until she could head back to town. Well, stuff her, he thought. She could put up with it for a few hours after what she'd done to him and Billy.

So he let Billy drag her out into the wet. Let him haul her all over the hill in the rain. Pointing out the dogs, his bike, the track to the weir, and the place he called a cubbyhouse – a massive cypress tree so old the timbers had joined and made slabs big enough to stand on.

‘I really need to get back to town,' Katrina muttered to Trav while they were waiting for Billy to bring out his favourite truck.

‘Why so hasty?' He watched as she squirmed like a worm trying its damnedest to snig itself off a sharp hook.

‘I need to get ready for tonight. You don't seem to understand, Travis. It's really important to me.'

Trav pushed himself off the verandah pole against which he'd been leaning, shocked at the anger which was surging through him. ‘No, Katrina,
you
don't seem to understand. This boy is your
son
. Your own flesh and blood.
He's
supposed to be important to you.'

Startled, wide-eyed, Katrina was like a gazelle in the sights of a .243 rifle. She swayed a moment like she didn't know which way to turn. ‘I've worked hard to get myself to this point, Travis. You don't know how difficult it's been to try and prove myself.'

‘Believe me, lady, I've got a pretty fair idea.' He shook his head in wonder at her self-absorption.

‘Mum! Mum!' Billy broke in. ‘This is my most favourite truck ever.' The boy shoved a shiny black Western Star Prime Mover into Katrina's hands. With a shy smile, he added, ‘You can have it if you want. Can't she, Dad?'

Trav looked at Katrina. Saw her sudden withdrawal. An indistinct little movement but to a dog trapper trained to
observe
it was as clear as a full moon on a dark night.

And his heart went out to Billy. He wondered what he was going to do, what he was going to say to his son to alleviate the pain when his mother was gone. Again.

They dropped Katrina off around five o'clock. Her dinner date wasn't until seven but she was as keen to get away from them as Trav was to see her go.

Clearly in Katrina's world, she came before anything else. Had it always been like that? Even way back when they'd been together?

With startling clarity, Trav realised it had. And when he'd told her how he saw it, she'd got angry . . . just like he'd got this morning with old Joe. No wonder Joe had been so pissed off with him. In his own way, Travis was no better than Kat. All this time he'd been trying to convince himself that everything he'd done this past six years had been for his son. But in reality it had all been for himself. To hold hard to the security of the boundary fence – hold hard to what he knew – rather than wander off a well-worn track and delve into something new.

Billy didn't say much at tea. They'd gone to the pub anyway, and it wasn't a success. He stared across the table at his child. At the kid's thatch of red hair, his hazel eyes. The face, which was even now screwed up in concentration as he tried to read the wine list sitting between them. Studiously avoiding looking at his father.

Trav'd really buggered it up. But there was time to change. He just had to find a way to get off the fence.

Chapter 45

The phone rang on the bedside table beside Tammy. She slung out an arm, and answered it with a voice groggy from sleep.

‘Rob Sellers here, Tammy.'

The man sounded exhausted. ‘Yes, Rob?' said Tammy as she struggled to sit up. She took a look at the clock. It was five in the morning. She couldn't believe she'd finally slept. She hadn't dropped her head on the pillow until well past midnight.

‘It's a big one and it's on its way,' said Rob.

‘How much water?'

‘About ninety thousand megalitres.'

Ninety thousand
?
That was
beyond
a major flood. Tammy swallowed, trying to stem the tide of panic rushing through her body.

‘You ready, girl?'

‘Yep. About as ready as I'll ever be.' Far out. How was the old place going to handle that much water? Maybe she should sandbag the back of the house?

‘Stay safe then,' said Rob as he rang off.

Tammy struggled out of bed. Cocked her ear, thinking she'd heard a rifle shot.

She donned her milking clothes, grabbed a piece of toast and headed out into the rain, to bring in her cows to milk and face whatever the day was going to bring.

Ninety thousand megalitres? Tammy shuddered. Montmorency had never seen a flood that size in her lifetime.

Travis Hunter was ecstatic. He'd finally shot the damn wild dog. He'd got it right on dawn, in the pouring rain, just as the bastard came under the fence and was heading for a cow giving birth. The dog had stopped to lap up some calf shit, the look on the scraggy face blissful as it tasted all that creamy muck.

Trav got that black head in the crosshairs of his .243 rifle, propped up on a bipod, sucked in a breath to steady himself and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The shot rang out from his gun. The wild dog was punched in the head by the bullet, dead centre of the eyes. It was a classy piece of work. Finally, he was in the right place at the right time. Trav breathed a normal breath. Thank God that job was done. He'd grab the carcass and head back up to Belaren. He'd left Billy up there on his own. He ignored the nagging voice in his head that he was just putting off seeing Tammy. Go visit her now, you gutless bastard, it said.

Trav walked the boundary fence to his ute. Dragged the carcass over the wire. Stashed his rifle in the locker on the trayback and threw in the body of the dog. With a determined set to his jaw, he pointed the ute in the direction of Belaren.

Old Joe was worried. It was seven in the morning and in the still air he could hear the klaxon sirens going off up at the weir wall to warn anyone who was downstream fishing that they were about to let a shitload of water go. Rob Sellers had rung earlier to let him know – even though up on his rocky hill he had no country that would be flood-affected, it was still good to be kept in the loop.

There was a bloody lot of water to come down the river. More than he'd ever seen before. He might get a better view of the valley below if he crossed to the edge of the hill. He reefed himself out of his chair and limped to the verandah steps but changed his mind. Thank goodness he didn't seem to have done any more damage to his hip when he fell yesterday, just bruising, but climbing down those steps might be pushing the friendship a bit. He shuffled back to his chair. Cursed – he didn't have any binoculars. He'd lent them to bloody Hunter for tracking that wild dog. He picked up his gun again. Even though the gun scope gave him a narrow view, it was better than nothing.

The rain was still falling and he'd seen lights moving around for what seemed like half the night down on Montmorency Downs. That conniving little strumpet dropping her fences, no doubt.

Travis Hunter hadn't lit his fire this morning either, causing Joe to wonder where the hell the man was. ‘Probably with that ex-wife of his,' he muttered to Boots as he rocked his chair back and forth. ‘I don't know why the man would want to go near that woman after all she's done to him.'

Boots whimpered in return. ‘Argh, Boots, what would I do without you to talk to, mate?'

The phone rang. An old-fashioned trill, urgent in its appeal. Could he be bothered? Was there anyone he really wanted to talk with today? Hardly. They'd all shown their true colours and pissed off.

The damned thing rang and rang. As Joe didn't have an answering service there wasn't anything to stop it. Bugger. He'd better get up and answer the bloody piece of junk.

Joe staggered to his feet and shuffled into the house.

‘McCauley,' he said into the receiver, annoyance apparent. He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘What do
you
want?'

‘Nup,' said Joe, in response to a question. He listened some more while he swung around towards the front verandah. He could hear Boots moving across the boards, like he was dragging something. Damned dog. He'd probably got hold of Joe's gumboot. He'd give that dog what-for in a minute. He refocused back on the phone conversation. What was that about Billy?

‘Fuck,' he said into the phone. And then his world fell away.

Trav couldn't find Billy. He'd called him. ‘
Billy
!
'

He trailed around the kid's favourite haunts on Belaren, his panic increasing as each spot yielded no sign of him. Where the hell could he be this early in the morning? Maybe Tammy's or Joe's? But last night he'd promised to hang around while Trav went to stake out the dog.

Trav searched for some clues. The kid normally took his pushbike when he was heading to Tammy's and the old BMX was still leaning up against the shed, so that counted her out. Plus seeing he'd just been down there Trav was sure he'd have spotted him somewhere. He heard the insidious voice in the back of his mind whispering,
You should have gone and seen her.

He shut that thought down. He'd ring Joe, even though their last words to each other hadn't been the best. As he ran towards the house, he cocked his ear at the sound of a sudden district siren.

A flood? He raced inside and there, on the bench, was the answering machine blinking. He hit the play button. ‘Rob Sellers here, Hunter. A big flood's coming. Just thought you should know. Can you look out for Tammy for me? She's down at Montmorency on her own. Thanks, mate. Ring me if you need anything.'

Now he
really
needed to find Billy. He dialled Joe's number. Waited and waited until he finally answered, ‘McCauley.'

The old man didn't sound happy to be disturbed. Well, bugger him. Billy was more important right now.

‘Joe, it's Hunter here.'

‘What do
you
want?'

‘Is Billy there?'

‘Nup.'

‘Shit. He's not here either. He was supposed stay put until I got back. I've been down at Tammy's. Shot the wild dog this morning. Got back and Billy was gone.'

‘Fuck,' said Joe. And then there was an almighty crash on the other end of the phone.

‘Joe?
Joe?
Goddamn it,
Joe
!'

‘I'm still here. Me hip just gave way. Tryin' to see what the damn dog's doin'.'

‘Are you all right? I'll come over.'

‘Fuck off,' the old man said. ‘I'm all right. Get out and find that boy.'

‘You sure?'

‘Course I'm fuckin' sure.'

Trav hung up and took off at a run. Where the hell should he start looking?

Joe slowly got back up onto his feet, using the solid oak telephone table to aid him. In swinging around to check on the dog the pain in his hip had dropped him like a sinker on a fishing line. He'd hit the floor with a dull thud.

Now his thoughts were running rampant. Where was Billy? He'd better not be down on the flats; the flood would be here in no time and the kid wouldn't stand a chance. Water was insidious. It rushed into places you wouldn't have believed possible. After a lifetime of watching floods and their consequences, Joe could feel his heart starting to hammer with panic. He couldn't believe how much that boy had come to feel like his own. He'd never forgive Hunter if something happened to Billy. He'd never forgive
himself
. Maybe he would see something through the gun sight. He'd give it a whirl – anything to find the child before the water found him.

Joe carefully limped back towards the front verandah using the wall to steady himself. At the screen door he paused. No Boots. Where the hell was that damned dog? Probably lit out for the sheds knowing Joe'd be after him for chewing on his gummies.

Joe kept moving, eyes focused on the gun, until he glimpsed a scrap of black. Then some shaggy white. What the hell?

He shuffled towards the steps, peered down over the verandah and saw Boots lying in the rain, the rubber side of a gumboot propped in his mouth. ‘Ya bugger of a dog. Get back up here and help me look for this boy.'

The dog was on his tummy and facing towards the valley of Narree.

‘Boots! Get up here, ya mangey old bastard.'

The dog was still. Didn't even look up at the sound of Joe's voice.

Cold dread started to trickle down Joe's spine. A leaden feeling pitted his tummy. He tried calling again, hesitant and soft. ‘Boots?'

The dog and boot just lay still in the rain.

He didn't even think about the steps, didn't even consider the fact he might be risking his gammy hip. He just launched himself towards his best mate lying in the slop and mud. He stumbled the last few feet, threw himself forwards so that he landed right beside the dog. He tried to lift the animal but the weight was too much and man and dog slid sideways into the muck. Joe buried his face into the wet, shaggy mane of the border collie – the friend who'd never left his side for sixteen long years.

‘Boots?' whispered Joe. His chest started to convulse with sobs. ‘Oh, Boots,' he said again. He let out a howl of despair that echoed across the expanse of McCauley's Hill, the place he and Boots had shared so much.