Bookmark Days (16 page)
‘Okay, okay!’ For once in my life I felt I might have something to write about.
I have to admit that when Katie left, there was a sigh of relief as well as the sadness. She’s very skilled at shaking my world around without trying all that hard. I love her for that, but . . .
The phone rang at eleven o’clock. Mum answered and the conversation I heard went, ‘Hello? May Stanton speaking . . . oh . . . hello . . . yes . . . yes, of course . . . no, that will be fine . . . you’re most welcome . . . no trouble at all . . . okay . . . bye.’
‘Who was that?’ I asked.
‘I . . . I’m not exactly sure. Wrong number . . . I think.’
Which made about as much sense to me as the one-sided phone conversation. It stuck in my head though and I puzzled about it between deep, warm thoughts of the boy next door. The two things merged just after lunch. A white Toyota wagon rode a cloud of dust along the driveway and stopped in the shade of the machinery shed.
The car was full of Carringtons. Les Senior was at the wheel, Les Junior – with his lower leg in a cast – in the passenger’s seat. In the back with the windows open was Nathaniel’s mum, Marilyn and Nathaniel himself. At the sight of me, he waved and started elbowing his mother to let him out.
They were smiling. They were all smiling and taking in their surroundings as if they’d pushed through the fence and were in a nice green paddock. They knew, like a flock of sheep, that they probably weren’t meant to be there, but there they were.
Mum came through the flywire door at a trot, drying her hands on a teatowel. Nan was hot on her heels. Dad materialised out of the machinery shed – also smiling as if it was no surprise – and Chooka pressed his face against the kitchen window.
Dad shook Les Senior’s hand then hurried around to give Junior a hand to get out of the car.
Junior accepted Dad’s hand. ‘Seems like all you ever do, Stanton, is drag me out of wrecks!’
We all laughed nervously.
‘Watch your mouth, boy,’ Senior said. ‘This car is a damned sight better than your own at the moment. You’re never too old for a hiding. Specially now you’re an invalid.’
Mrs Carrington peeled herself from the back seat and I couldn’t stand still. There was something in the air that felt like a thousand Christmases at once. She exchanged cheek-pecks with my mum and Nan. When it was my turn she dragged me close, hugged me and kissed my cheek.
‘So lovely to finally meet you, Avril, and thank you for everything you’ve done.’
‘Me? I didn’t do anything.’
Nathaniel dragged his mother off and hugged me and lifted me off the ground like they do in the movies. I felt like I was flying. He spun me around and around and when he lowered me to my feet again, he looked straight into my eyes.
‘Still love me then?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yeah. You haven’t changed your mind since last night?’
‘No way,’ he said.
We kissed. In broad daylight. In full view of everybody in the whole world who had an opinion about these things. They made their whooping noises and there was more clapping but I was lost. It was all lips and breath and his hand in my hair and the sweet heat of his body against mine.
‘Righto,’ Junior said. ‘Break it up you two. This is an official visit. Nate, can you grab the official gifts please?’
Nathaniel broke from the kiss, red-faced but still grinning like a cut pumpkin. He jogged to the back of their car.
Dad was rubbing his hands together. ‘Beauty! Gifts.’
Junior was serious. ‘A little thank-you for your help the other night. Things would have been a whole lot worse if you guys hadn’t turned up. So thanks.’
There were flowers for Mum, a box of beer for Dad and a basket stuffed to the brim with chocolates that Nathaniel gave to me.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘That’s very kind of you, Les,’ Dad said, and the men shook hands. ‘Very kind. I’m sorry it took an accident for us to work up the guts to shake hands again. I appreciate it.’
‘There’s more,’ Nathaniel’s grandad said. ‘Where’s Eddie?’
‘Who?’ Mum asked.
‘Hoppy,’ Nathaniel corrected.
‘Sorry, Hoppy, of course. Where is he?’
‘He’s inside,’ Nan said. ‘I’ll get him if you like.’
‘No!’ I said. ‘I’ll get him.’
Nan looked as thought she was going to insist, and then she changed her mind. ‘Okay, love.’
I found him in the lounge. He was looking out into the paddocks as if he was pondering crop rotation, but I knew better. His fingers had curled into fists and he’d positioned himself on the exact opposite side of the house to where the Carringtons had parked.
‘Hoppy?’
‘What?’
‘We have visitors.’
‘I’m not here.’
‘Hoppy, please . . .’
He turned. His cheeks were wet with tears. ‘I’m not here!’
He looked to the paddocks again, wiped his face on his sleeve and sniffed hard. For a minute, he was like my little brother, all bruised and fragile because he’d fallen off the bike.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll let them know.’
I left the room quietly. I kept hoping he’d call me back, but he never did.
Chooka was staring out the kitchen window. ‘Whose car is that?’ he asked.
‘It’s the neighbours. Come and say hello. They won’t bite.’
He held my hand. We walked into the yard. I tried to focus on the buzz of happiness that had been in my bones five minutes before, but it was covered in dust swirled up by the old man and his ghosts.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘He reckons he’s not home.’
The flywire door slammed. We all looked.
Hoppy dragged his hat on as he walked across the compound. His eyes were raw, lips tight. He stopped on the edge of the circle and nodded to Les Senior.
‘Hello Eddie,’ Senior said. ‘Glad you could join us.’
He stood in front of my grandfather. I could see little bubbles of sweat on his brow. He couldn’t find a comfortable place for his hands. ‘I’ve come to say sorry. Sorry for everything.’
Hoppy nodded once more. He looked cornered, frightened, on the verge of tears again. ‘You . . . you don’t need to do this.’
‘But I do,’ Les said. ‘Somebody has to.’ He took a wrapped gift from his jacket pocket. ‘Open it.’
Hoppy peeled the paper away to reveal a small axe. He turned the thing in his hands and started shaking. He was shaking and then he was laughing aloud.
‘I’m supposed to bury it, right?’ he said.
Senior smiled. ‘You got it,’ he said, and slapped Hoppy’s arm.
‘I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘What’s the joke?’
‘It’s a hatchet,’ Hoppy explained. ‘Old saying. Bury the hatchet. End to the fighting.’
They shook hands. Hoppy was still laughing. He put his arm on the old man’s shoulder and they fell into a brief and awkward backslapping hug.
‘Avril?’ Hoppy said. ‘Grab us a shovel, will you, love.’
We buried the hatchet in a shallow grave beside the stockyards. The nannas held hands and cried quietly. Nathaniel sat on the top rail and I sat beside him. Our knees touched and stuck like magnets.
‘Do you think it’ll grow?’ Les Junior said.
‘The soil’s pretty good,’ Hoppy said. ‘Bit of rain and we’ll see a flaming paddock full of hatchets.’
‘New cash crop,’ Les Senior suggested. ‘Probably a market for them in New York or somewhere.’
Chooka watched the men with a puzzled look on his face. When they were done stomping the dirt back into place, he climbed the stock rail and sat next to me. ‘If it doesn’t grow,’ he whispered, ‘I’m going to dig it up.’
‘You can’t do that,’ I whispered back. ‘Dig it up and they’ll start fighting again.’
We had another barbecue that night. The men opened the box of beer and sat around on plastic chairs while the women made salads and chatted in the kitchen. Nathaniel and I moved between the two groups, held hands and played games with Chooka. Were we adults or kids? Did we fit with the women or the men? Were we Stantons and Carringtons? All of the above.
‘Where did your nickname come from, Hoppy?’ Nathaniel asked.
My grandad had a smile on his face, a genuine smile. ‘Had it since I was a kid.’
‘My uncle Reg gave it to him,’ Les Senior said.
‘That’s right. He did too,’ Hoppy agreed.
‘In the thirties we were . . . I don’t know, eight or ten years old or something, Eddie and I used to do a bit of ferreting. Well, a lot of ferreting, actually. Tons of rabbits around in those days. I carried the ferrets and the nets, Eddie carried the dead rabbits. We caught so many bunnies one time that Eddie couldn’t carry them all. He had them slung over his shoulders and hanging off his belt and everything.’
‘Reg reckoned I’d turned into a rabbit,’ my grandad continued. ‘Thought Hoppy was a good name for a rabbit and it stuck.’
‘I didn’t know that story,’ I said.
‘Neither did I,’ my dad said.
‘I owe you a special apology,’ Nathaniel’s grandad said to me.
‘Me? What for?’
‘For the other night. I lost my temper. There are no excuses.’
‘Apology accepted,’ I said. I squeezed the back of his hand. It was as simple as that.
His other hand closed over the top and he squeezed me back. ‘Thank you.’
‘While we’re at it,’ Hoppy said, ‘I’d like to say sorry to the boy. Sorry for chewing you out about the fence. You were being an absolute gentleman and I acted like a pig-headed fool.’
‘No worries, Hoppy. Was my fault anyway.’
‘Yeah, I know that. I was trying to make allowances for your bloodline.’
There was a moment of brittle silence, then the old men laughed. We all joined in and the world seemed a little smaller, the past a little closer. Nathaniel squeezed my hand and it was the future that made me want to sing. It felt like the first day of the rest of my life.
Hey Katie,
Thanks for the (extremely long) email and the pictures. It took about two hours to download but there you were – all big smiles and cool sunnies. I admit that Jacob does look nice in board shorts. I’m so jealous of you guys being able to jump on a train and go to the beach. On our planet that translates to ‘jump on the quad and go to the big dam’. Doesn’t have quite the same appeal.
It seems so totally ironic that the only time in your ENTIRE LIFE (well, it feels that way) that you don’t have an official boyfriend (or six), I have! (not six . . . just one). I do understand what you wrote about ‘just having fun’ with Jacob, though. Love comes in a million shapes and sizes.
Me? School work and farm work have crowded in around me and Nathaniel. We spend a maximum of one hour on the phone per day (our rules) and we’re allowed to stay over at each other’s places on Saturday nights (their rules). We’re harvesting at the moment so there’s also the added bonus time on the two-way radios in the tractors. We talked for about five extra hours today. Yum!
If I had a camera, I’d send you a picture of us together but I don’t so the picture will have to be in words . . .
We’re by the creek, in the shade of one of the big old rivergums. Our towels are side by side and Nathaniel’s wearing his football shorts and nothing else. I’m wearing your bikini top (I promise I’ll post it next time we’re in town) and my new boardies. He’s lying on his back with his hands behind his head. I’m on my side, my head on his chest and my hand over his belly button (man, talk about ticklish!). I’m grinning my head off. It’s another perfect bookmark day.
Love you,
Av
Scot Gardner lives in the mountains in eastern Victoria with his wife and growing family. A friend once described him as being ‘about as romantic as a bucket of pool chemicals’. This book is part of a lifelong quest to prove his friend wrong.