Hope's Road (7 page)

She fled inside, slamming the screen door. Switched off the back light. Watched through the louvre windows.

A few minutes later the ute started again, the noise of the motor rumbling across the paddock in the clear air. So, whoever it was, they weren't trying to be quiet.

It was then, as the ute pulled away, that she realised it was a LandCruiser. Travis Hunter. Checking on her. Making sure she'd got home safely. She moved back outside and watched the path of the vehicle as it disappeared then reappeared through the low level crossing at the creek. Sure enough, at the T intersection it turned left and then right, and up the hill it went. The last she saw of it were the tail-lights turning the final bend, and then ute and man disappeared, swallowed by tall box and ironbark stands.

Chapter 10

Shimmering azure water beckoned to Tammy from across the street. The photos advertising discount flights to the stunning islands off the coast of Queensland were in the window of the gift shop plus travel agency. Maybe she should just book a flight here and now, take off somewhere.

Tammy pushed her trolley of groceries away from the supermarket and towards the parked ute. Beyond the main street lay the lake, the pride of Narree. The water glinted in the sun. There were some school kids rowing, their sculls skim­ming along the surface. Oh, to be that age again. Young and carefree.

Ten years of marriage – almost a third of her life – wasted and not even a child to show for it. Shon hadn't wanted to start a family too early. Now, that was probably a blessing. Imagine dragging a child through divorce courts and property settlements. Not that there'd be much to settle. The property was hers. Only the run-off block had Shon's name on it. Still, she needed that land to run her dairy herd on during the winter to give the farm a break.

But how exactly was she going to get that two-timing, lying, cheating bastard safely off Montmorency? She'd have to engineer a confrontation with him. When he threatened to leave, just tell him to go, rather than begging him to stay as she'd done countless times over the last two years. What an idiot she'd been.

Unloading the groceries into the ute she pondered whether to just get in and go home or find some lunch. Shon was due back that afternoon. She decided to get lunch. Put off the inevitable.

As she walked towards the bakery, she spied a new gallery setting up shop a couple of doors down. Might be worth a look. She bought a roll and bottle of mineral water and then slowly moved towards the new store.

Displayed on its own in the window was a painting. Tammy suddenly forgot about eating lunch. The picture was incredible. It was of a woman, naked but tastefully so. Sphinx-like, her body was female, but with dainty feet rather than the haunches of a lion and she was adorned with the most incredible wings of iridescent colours, open to catch the rays of the sun. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, appearing to lean into the wind, face upturned as though she was sensing something. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile touched her face. It seemed the creature was about to take flight into her future. Tammy stared at the figure some more. Then it hit her what the angel was smelling, seeing, leaning towards.

Freedom.

‘She's beautiful, isn't she?' A voice came from the right. A tidy-looking stranger stood beside her. She was kitted out like a solicitor or a banker in a suit. ‘Alice Stringer. I own the gallery.' The woman caught Tammy's look of surprise. ‘No, I don't normally dress like this but I've just come back from the bank. Got to walk the walk, talk the talk.'

Tammy blushed. It wasn't the first time she'd wished her thoughts weren't transmitted so plainly to her face. ‘Tammy McCauley. I'm sorry. Stereotyping I guess. Arty types don't normally – '

‘Dress in suits, I know. I'll go out the back and slip into my kaftan if that makes you feel any better?' Alice Stringer's green eyes glinted mischievously.

Tammy warmed to the woman immediately. ‘So . . . how much?' she asked, waving her hand towards the window.

‘I'm not sure I want to sell her, actually.' Alice's gaze moved greedily over the picture. ‘But who am I kidding? I need the sale. This is actually a numbered print of an original painting. It's one of a series of three. I have number two in the shop but it's just arrived so I haven't unpacked it yet. I'm trying to get number three but it's taking a while.'

‘Who's the painter?'

‘Reyne Jennings. She's becoming big in the art world. Her original paintings are starting to sell for a
lot
of money.'

And Tammy could see why. The execution and detail of the print in front of her was exceptional.

‘Would you like to see the second one?'

‘Would I ever!'

‘Well, you finish your lunch and I'll unpack it.'

Tammy looked down at the forgotten roll in her hand. The bite she had taken tasted awful. ‘I don't want this any more. I'll just get rid of it and follow you in.'

Tammy moved up the street to deposit her rubbish, contemplating the picture. She had inherited a love of art from her grandmother. Shon had never had any time for it, so she hadn't bought anything since they'd married.

What was stopping her now though? Why should Shon dictate to her any more?

She walked into the gallery and found Alice on her knees extricating another print from its packaging. When the picture was finally revealed, both women sucked in their breaths. It was unbelievable. The angel had taken off and was flying. Slipstreams and eddies buffeted her magnificent wings, causing the iridescent colours to sparkle in the sun. Her free-flowing clothing reminded Tammy of a picture she'd once seen in a children's Bible of the Archangel Gabriel. The sheaths of cloth around the figure in front of her floated with serene grace. The expression on the woman's face was one of sheer bliss. Freedom. Happiness. Love. The print was numbered 4/100, exactly the same as the one in the window.

Tammy knew she had to have them. They contained everything she was feeling, especially the need to throw off the shackles of submission and subordination forced on her these last few years.

‘I'll take them. Both of them.'

‘Don't you want to know how much first?'

‘No. Yes. Well, how much?'

Alice named a sum which made Tammy pause. But she swallowed and said she'd take them all the same. She might just have to dip into the principal of her inheritance from her grandmother, but she didn't care. These prints symbolised her future and she needed a talisman to hang onto, to give her the guts and determination to do what needed to be done. Get rid of Shon.

‘I'll let you know when the third print comes in. You can have that for a reduced amount seeing you're taking these two. I haven't seen a picture of it yet, but if it's anything like these, you won't be disappointed.'

Tammy watched as the woman retrieved the first print from the window and packaged them together. She felt a small kernel of satisfaction uncurl in her belly. They were perfect. She could almost feel herself inside the sphinx-angel's body, riding the wind, energy suffusing her whole being.

She was doing it. Getting her life back. Baby steps, that's for sure, but still it was forward motion.

And that was what counted.

Chapter 11

The antique milkcan sat squat on its side, a thick slot cut into the lid for the day's mail currently spilling from its rusty depths. Tammy pulled the ute into her driveway, wound down the window and hauled out the letters. The old Buddha stared at her from his spot by the front gate-post. She'd never rubbed his belly; she left that kind of hocus-pocus stuff to Lucy. Her friend's fascination with the blasted thing was the only real reason she left it there. That and Shon. She paused, glanced towards the homestead. He was home. She could see his ute. She looked back at the grey effigy. Maybe it was time to take the sledgehammer to it.

Then again, maybe she
should
try rubbing the old bloke. Maybe he could help her kick Shon out.

She jumped out of the ute and stomped towards the Buddha. Squatting down she rubbed her hand over the old fella's prodigious belly. Round and round she went. Give me the strength, the guts and the determination to do this. To follow through, kick the bastard out, to survive and learn to live my life again.

A ute rumbled past on the road behind her. She automatic­ally turned to see who it was. Two people peered through the LandCruiser windscreen: one an earnest little boy, the other a rugged-looking man with a half-smile on his face. Caught you, he seemed to be saying. Blushing, Tammy flung her hand in the air in acknowledgement and quickly stood up, swiping her palms against each other.

Shon's twin-cab was parked hard up against the garden fence. He always did that, as though he was clinging to something solid, claiming his right to be there. She marched up the path, taking big long strides in an effort to reinforce her determination to do what had to be done.

‘Shon? Shon!' she yelled as she walked in the door. ‘What're you
doing
?' She could hear him, swearing and slamming cupboard doors. The homestead looked like a team of thieves had ransacked the place. Kitchen drawers were turned inside out, the doors on the sideboard in the living room swung dejectedly while the contents lay strewn across the floor. Tammy followed the trail of destruction through the formal lounge and down the long passage towards the main bedroom of the house.

He was standing beside their antique solid oak bed.

‘What's going on?'

‘What the fuck does it look like? I'm leaving. Finally got my ticket out of here.'

The words took the wind clean out of her.
She'd
been going to tell
him
to get out, so why was she so shocked that he'd got in first?

‘I don't love you and I hate living here.' He had turned from the cupboard to look at her. His eyes were hard and spilling with distaste, his face contorted with anger and frustration. She wondered if he'd ever really loved her.

‘It's all about
you
. Your family,' he raged, his cheeks swelling with self-righteousness. ‘Now it's going to be about
me
.'

‘What?'

‘I'll be wanting half of the farm of course. You'll be hearing from me solicitor.'

‘Half the farm? No way. You can't do that! It's mine.'

‘Just watch me.' And then he grinned, sly and malicious.

Why had she let things go on this long? She could feel her heart breaking into tiny pieces. Her eyes strayed to the wedding photo above the bed on the wall. He'd been so charming and loving back then. When had it all changed? When had he decided
she
wasn't what he wanted any more?

And now their marriage was over, and he didn't give a damn.

‘You will be fighting me the whole way, Shon Murphy. You have no right to this property. No right at all. It was left to
me
.'

‘Yeah well, what about all the work I've done on the place? I've a right to a part of it and I'll be having it. I need the money for me half-share in the pub.'

He was going into business with Joanne? ‘You were planning this all along, weren't you? Living here, rooting her and just waiting for your chance.'

He refused to look at her.

Poor Joanne. Tammy was shocked that she could actually feel sympathy for the duped woman. She probably thought she was getting a god. In reality she was getting the devil's spawn.

‘Well, go on,' she said, battling to keep her voice steady. He was never going to know just how much she was hurting. ‘You've been threatening to leave for long enough. Just get the hell out of here.' She turned and walked back up the passage, through the kitchen, and out the back door. Kept on walking until she could see neither him, his ute nor the property.

She glanced up at McCauley's Hill. A glint of glass flashed in the sun, catching her eye. The old bastard was up there on his verandah, probably observing all this through the scope on his rifle. He'd be having a ball, watching and laughing. She wished with all her heart that she could go up there, be with family. But that was never to be.

She had no family. No one. Not any more.

Up on his hill Joe shifted forwards in his rocking chair. A movement in the grass made him swing his gun towards the east. A whole pocket of bloody rabbits had burrowed out the side of the hill below the house. Little shits. He envisaged blowing up their holes with dynamite. That'd do the trick. Plug up the ends of the burrows bar one, shove a few sticks in and
bang!
Bloody beautiful. Rabbit parts flying everywhere. But it wouldn't do his hill no good either. No good at all. He was having enough trouble with erosion as it was, what with the crumbling soil structure and the rabbits undermining it all.

Nope. Maybe he could gas 'em? Only problem was the last time he did that he'd nearly gassed
himself
. Somehow the stuff had come up through his shower drain hole; the greywater must've been running into a rabbit burrow. He'd had to sleep out in the shed in his swag for a week, waiting for the smell to disappear. Bugger that for a joke. He could try baiting them but he had the bloody dogs and they'd eat anything.

Joe sighed, reached down to fondle the ears of the old dog at his feet. Boots shuffled in, obviously loving the feel of his owner's hand.

So, thought Joe, I'm back to the gun.

A bit of grey fluff bobbed up and Joe was quick to bring the scope of the .22 rifle up to his eye. The barrel wobbled as the old man tried to get his balance. ‘Bloody rocking chair,' he muttered. He should build himself a rail around the verandah, then he could rest the gun on it. He settled himself, concentrating on the grey smudge moving in his gun sight. He slowly breathed out, increasing the pressure on the trigger as all the air left his lungs.

Bang!

The dogs jumped. Joe jumped. And the bunny ran on, unmarked and more determined than ever to make it to his burrow and safety.

Fuck it!

The old man brought the rifle scope back to his eye to have another go but his attention was caught by a glimpse of blue, moving at a cracking pace, heading north. It was the girl. She reminded him of a good horse. She had long thoroughbred-like strides, head held high to the sun's rays. A hand coming up every now and then to wipe the eyes. Mmm . . .

At the sound of a ute he swung the scope back towards Montmorency Downs. It was that prick Murphy, coming down the drive in his twin-cab. Why he needed a twin-cab, Joe didn't know. It wasn't as if he'd produced any little buggers. Fancy mixing McCauley blood with that Irish scum's. Where the hell was the girl's brain the day she'd married that bloke? Most likely down south. That lot of Murphys always were a showy bunch, strutting here and there like bloody cockerels. The angle of their dangle was pretty huge according to local folklore.

Murphy's ute seemed to hover at the front gate. There was a buggy in the back. That'd be right. Off to have a game of golf, leaving the girl to deal with all that irrigation water he could see pooling in the channel. She was obviously about to start watering the place and it was a big job on your own. Shon Murphy was a miserable bloody bastard to leave her to it.

Funny thing was Murphy hadn't always been like that. When the girl's grandparents had been alive, Murphy had pitched in right beside Tammy. At the time Joe had been thinking maybe he was wrong about the bloke. But then had come the accident eight years ago and the fight to save the place from the creditors. Tom must've been running pretty close to the wire to keep Mae in the style to which she'd become accustomed. Joe snorted. It was that air of entitlement she carried around with her. She'd always thought she was better than anybody else, him and his brother included.

According to the stock agent her grandparents had left Tammy the place wholus bolus and that had pissed Murphy right off. Something to do with his name not being on the title when he reckoned he'd earned it. That was back in the days when Joe was still puttering around up the bush, cutting firewood and ripping a few posts, while other men his age opted for the local bowling green. Old habits died hard in a bushman. He'd camp away most of the week, coming back to the house – and Nellie – on weekends.

He hadn't wanted to know what was going on down at the bottom of the hill, but Nellie had been right onto it, drawing the stock agent out over scones and jam and cups of tea. Ah, she'd had the way of it, Nellie, to get people to talk without them even knowing they were doing it.

A bit like his own mother, Daphne.

Despite the fact he tried to push it away, Daphne's voice replayed in his head, as it had done countless times over the years, ‘Oh, Joseph, you're breaking our hearts! Make up with Tom. You're
both
married now.'

His parents, and also he suspected his brother, hadn't realised Mae Rouget had been with him first. They had assumed the rift was because Tom had got married, breaking their brothers' bond, and despite his mother's heckling, Joe's pride would never let him tell otherwise.

He heaved a sigh. It was a bit late for recriminations. They were all gone now.

Joe adjusted the gun scope a bit more, focusing in on the rear seat and tub tray of the ute. Sheesh! There was more than golf clubs in the back. Suitcases, big striped plastic bags; much more than was necessary for a trip away. Fishing rods, a bar fridge, a leather chair, and was that a mattress shoved in the side, flapping around like Rolf Harris's wobble board?

‘Good God, is the man
leaving
?' Joe muttered to Boots and Digger. He leaned down again and fondled the first pair of ears that came within reach.

He trained the scope back south. Sure enough the blue blur was disappearing over the other side of the hill, following the trail of power lines towards the massive irrigation weir of Lake Grace. A couple more loping, sure strides and one more swipe of a hand and the neat figure was gone. Over the horizon and out of sight.

Meanwhile the vehicle was still hovering at the Montmorency Downs gateway, and then it was moving, turning right towards town, slowly sneaking along the road past the hardwood post and wire boundary fence erected after the awful accident years before that killed young Patty O'Hara. Terrible mess that one. Joe shuddered, turned his attention back to the vehicle.

The ute was moving idly along as though its driver had all the time in the world. Then Joe saw the camera. The bastard was taking photos. What the –?

A few minutes ticked by, more photos, and then the engine noise changed as the driver cranked the ute up a gear and took off.

‘Good riddance to scum,' Joe muttered to his dogs. Below him two tails thumped their agreement.

After Shon had left, all was quiet around the valley. So the old man decided to swing his scope around, towards the scrub that hunkered down on the edge of his property.

He spotted something wandering in his paddock. It moved fast, then slow. Fast then slow, running then dropping into the grass. The person – because that's what Joe decided it was – moved closer and closer, skulking around the perimeter of his sheds. Then he couldn't see the bugger, much and all as he tried. Joe didn't want to leave the verandah because up here he had the chance of a good shot. Though he didn't want to hit 'em. Just scare the bastard, whoever it was.

Why the hell couldn't people just leave an old man alone? He didn't do nothin' to nobody so why should they come botherin' him? But they had, over the years. And he could imagine why. ‘Mad old Joe McCauley' they called him. He knew that and guessed it had become a bit of a dare to sneak onto the place, say you'd been there and not been shot.

A flutter of blue and red caught his attention.

There it was again. Joe leaned forwards in the chair, squinting his rheumy eyes to bring the material into focus. It was somewhere near the barn, moving fast. He scanned the ramshackle cluster of outbuildings sitting beyond the more modern machinery shed. A glimpse down near the old stable between the corrugated iron walls and the wood shed.

He shifted the rifle in his lap. Squinted down the barrel – and brought that wee scrap of colour up and into focus.