Riverboat Point (4 page)

“And I'm happy to have your help. Mal's not as quick as he used to be.”

“You know I love engines.”

There was a pause before Blake spoke. “You should be getting a proper income from the place, not working-man's wages.”

“We've been over this before.” Ethan turned back. His brother's face looked haggard against the white pillowslip. “Anyway, a working man is what I am. Employed part-time as needed.” He nodded at the cast on Blake's arm. “Which is right about now. Mal said you'd have a list of jobs for me.”

“Damn it, Ethan.” Blake slapped his good arm on the bed. “He can tell you just as well as I can what needs doing.”

“I know, but you're his favourite method of communication when it comes to me.” Ethan drew up a chair. “Don't worry about it. I prefer it this way. Fewer arguments.”

A rattling sound was followed by movement at the door. A nurse entered. She towed a small machine with one hand and gripped a clipboard in the other.

Ethan moved out of the way while she poked and prodded at Blake and recorded her observations. She gave him tablets and watched while he swallowed them. Finally she straightened the sheet across her patient's bare chest and gathered up her things.

“You need some sleep,” she said to Blake then raised her serious eyes to Ethan. “It's a bit early for visitors but you're obviously his brother. Don't stay long.”

She turned on her heel and left, the wheels of the machine rattling after her.

“They say we look alike,” Blake said. “I can't see it.”

“Mal's height, Barb's colouring. That's about it.”

They fell silent. Blake's hand fidgeted with the sheet.

“The old man's mellowing a bit, you know,” he said.

“Not enough to accept a son who went to war.” Ethan could feel the tension across his shoulders. He reached back and dug his fingers into the muscles.

“Barb misses you.” Blake's dark look deepened. “I know what that feels like.”

“We're a weird bunch.” Ethan forced a smile to his lips. There was no point talking about all this stuff. It never changed anything.

Blake rubbed at his eyes. “That shit makes me light headed.”

Ethan took a notepad from his pocket and the stub of a pencil. “Give me your list and I'll get out of here so you can sleep.”

By the time Blake had finished his eyelids were drooping and Ethan had scribbled instructions across several pages.

“Get some rest.” He stood up. “I'll ring you if I need to.”

“I don't know where my mobile is,” Blake said. “They've put all my things somewhere.”

“You don't need it at the moment. I can always ring the hospital.” Ethan gripped Blake's good shoulder. “Take care, bud.”

Blake's eyelids fluttered shut then flew open again. He grabbed Ethan's arm.

“There could be someone at my place,” he said.

“By someone I assume you mean a woman?” Ethan shook his head. Since his divorce Blake had chased anything in a skirt.

“Jenny's not like that.” Blake's voice became a mumble. “She's a keeper.”

Ethan watched as his brother's eyes closed.

How many times had Blake said that about the various women in his life including the one he'd married who'd nearly cost him the family farm? At least that union had produced grandchildren for Barb and Mal. Ethan had been besotted by his niece and nephew as they grew from babies to toddlers but life in the army meant he hadn't seen them much and hardly at all since the divorce. He'd thought about having his own. Slight problem of not having a partner long enough to make it permanent.

Ethan looked at the list he'd scribbled. No fishing this week by the look of it. He glanced at his brother, his face now relaxed in sleep.

“Rest easy, bud,” he said.

Several hours later after a trip to swap his bike for Blake's ute, Ethan turned off the highway, the back of the ute loaded with spare hoses, oils and assorted machinery parts. He followed the dirt track up the hill to the homestead Blake inhabited. The property adjoined the original family land where Mal and Barb still lived, but their home was twenty kilometres away over the hills as the crow flies, further by road. The two properties were divided by the hills and a creek. East of the hills Mal managed the sheep country and on this western side, Blake's country was better for crops. They worked together but apart, which suited them both.

Ethan pulled in at the back of the house and rolled to a stop by the gate into the yard. The freestanding garage was open and empty except for assorted boxes and bags. There were no other vehicles about.

Ethan was relieved. He wasn't in the mood to make small talk with this Jenny.

The cat miaowed at him from the verandah. Blake wasn't into pets but he'd allowed a cat when his children were little. They'd called it Pookie. The wife and children were gone but the cat remained. At least a cat could look after itself for a while.

The cat called again.

Ethan went through the gate then stopped to take in his surroundings. The ramshackle garden had been tidied to the point where it actually looked like someone cared. Blake certainly never had. Ethan looked around as he slowly followed the path to the back verandah. The weeds were gone, roses had been pruned and lavender bushes trimmed. A row of annuals had been planted along both sides of the path.

A small cloud of flies buzzed around a red clump near the back door. He poked at it with his boot as the cat tried to rub against his leg.

“You've been catching rabbits, Pookie.” He kicked the remains of the baby rabbit into the garden.

The cat let out a long complaining miaow.

Ethan glanced towards the bowls of food and water. All empty. Not surprising but they were pristine clean. Blake fed Pookie as if he was a hen, scattering dry food everywhere. The build-up of old food that usually littered the concrete around the bowls was gone.

Someone had given the verandah a scrub. Not Barb, she had trouble enough with her own house and she wasn't a fussy housekeeper. Her garden was cared for but ramshackle, no rows or order. Perhaps it was the doing of this Jenny that Blake had mentioned.

Ethan stuck his head through the back door.

“Hello,” he called.

The only response was another wail from Pookie.

“Okay, cat.”

Ethan picked up the empty bowls and refilled them from the supplies in the laundry. Pookie crunched on the dry food. Ethan left her to it. He shut the door to the house. He had no desire to look any further into Blake's private business. Perhaps this woman was the right one. Ethan hoped so.

He retraced his steps along the path, once more taking in the neat appearance and noticing smaller plants he hadn't known existed there. He shut the yard gate and went back to the ute. He would be spending his days in the sheds going over machinery left idle since last harvest. He gave a brief thought to Jaxon's sister. He'd promised to keep an eye on her but she'd given him the impression she wouldn't take kindly to that. What was of more concern, there'd be no fishing for a while. He'd have to eat something else for dinner.

Savannah lugged the bag and box of groceries into Jaxon's shack. The musty smell of mice greeted her straight away. She pressed her lips together and tried not to breathe deeply. She needed something to eat before she tackled the mess in the pantry.

She turned on the tap and was rewarded as the stream of water turned hot.

“At last,” she whispered.

She washed down the bench beside the sink, gave a cup and a plate the same treatment and set about making herself some breakfast. Normally she started the day with freshly brewed tea but it was more like brunch time now. Coffee was what she needed.

Once the meal was ready, she crossed to the wall of glass facing the river and pulled up one of the thin venetian blinds that covered the sliding door. Light flooded the room. She pulled up a second then unlocked the door and slid it open. Fresh air flowed inside and she allowed herself to take a long deep breath.

She looked at the small dining table then back out at the verandah. The end closest to Ethan Daly's boundary was enclosed on two sides, with a small wooden table and two chairs tucked part way into the space. At least it was hidden from his house. Perched up on its stilts, Ethan's pole house reminded her of her little place in Adelaide with the block of flats so close to the side fence. She decided it would be better to eat her meal out on the verandah than inside. Broom in hand she swept off the setting, retrieved her coffee and salad roll and sat down to enjoy them.

After several mouthfuls she sat back and picked up her coffee. She took a sip and tilted her head back. Above her, thick wooden rafters supported the tin roof. She remembered from her first inspection, when Jaxon had been preparing to buy it, that the bones of this old place were good.

She looked down at the concrete under her feet. It met lawn that, in turn, stretched down towards the river. Between her and the four houseboats below were a couple of shaggy trees, perhaps peppertrees, providing some screening between the boats and the shack. Large gum trees scattered along Ethan's side of the boundary down to the bank. Framed between the two lots of trees was the river. Across the wide expanse of water, the low bank opposite was dotted with towering gums and scrawny saplings and beyond them the vegetation was thicker, forming a wall of varying shades of green. Birds swooped and glided but other than their occasional calls there was little other noise. Apart from Ethan's house she could see no other signs of habitation.

She sighed, leant back in her chair and stretched out her legs. The ache in her left leg had gone. Her eyes drooped shut for a moment. The sound of an engine made her sit up, probably Ethan returning from wherever he went. Savannah turned her head to listen. The noise was coming from in front, not behind.

A small boat appeared from her left. There was one person huddled down at the back. She watched as the boat sped along then suddenly veered towards the houseboats. She jumped to her feet, grimacing as a sharp jab of pain caught her again. It looked like the guy was going to drive right into the moored boats then he disappeared behind them and continued on up the river.

“Maniac,” Savannah called as the sound of the motor faded, replaced by the slap and bang of a series of waves hitting the houseboats and rolling onto the bank.

She walked across the lawn and stood on the bank watching the waves spread up the sandy slope then slide back. Parts of the low cliff were eroded. No wonder. There must be boats going up and down the river regularly, other houseboats among them, and she'd seen ads for paddle-steamers. She stepped back a little. The edge could be quite unsafe. Why hadn't Jaxon made a proper landing?

She turned back to the shack. She had no understanding of rivers and houseboats and houses that didn't have proper hot water.

“You'd better get back here quick smart, Jaxon,” she muttered.

She gathered up her cup and plate and steeled herself to go back inside to deal with the mess in the pantry. The thought of those little four-legged vermin gave her the creeps. What if they ran up her arms or her legs?

Savannah went to her bedroom and opened her bag. She changed from jeans to trackpants, borrowed a pair of thick socks from Jaxon's drawer which she pulled on to encase the legs of her pants. Back in the kitchen she snapped on rubber gloves. Small broom in hand and rubbish bin close by, she stepped up to the pantry.

“Coming ready or not,” she said and flung open the door.

The light flicked on but nothing moved. She reached in with the handle of the broom and shifted a cereal box that had chew marks on one corner. It revealed a trail of white flour from the packet next to it and some black blobs she assumed were mouse droppings. Feeling braver, she poked a few more packets and shifted some containers. No sound and no movement other than her own.

“Right!”

Savannah dragged the bin into the space beside her. She reasoned anything in a jar, can or unopened packet without chew marks should be okay. It didn't take long to get everything out. The ruined items filled the bin and the rest were stacked on the sink to be disinfected. She swept and scrubbed. When she was satisfied the pantry was clean she searched every inch for a place where a mouse could get in. On her hands and knees she found small gaps where the pantry supports met the wooden floor. The linoleum had also been cut away. She pulled the steel wool apart in tufts and used it to plug the holes, then she set the traps.

With the pantry clean she washed and replaced the useful items, added her own stash of groceries and started on the kitchen. She couldn't stop there. She opened all the windows and went through the living area with broom and then mop. She scrubbed the toilet and the bathroom. She tackled Jaxon's bedroom and even changed his sheets. The set on the bed looked and smelled like he hadn't changed them for a long time. She dusted the family photo but left it facedown. Her bedroom appeared tidy but she decided a sweep and mop wouldn't hurt.

She pushed the door to and froze. Behind the door, jammed between the frame and a rickety chest of drawers, was a full-length mirror. She saw the deformed angular person looking back at her and turned away. A wave of heat swept over her.

There were several sheets in the old cupboard where Jaxon kept his linen. She took one out, retrieved the packet of drawing pins she'd found in his pantry and used the heel of her boot to tack the sheet over the mirror's wooden frame. There was no way she wanted to catch a glimpse of her crippled body whenever she got dressed.

By the time Savannah had finished the cleaning, her legs and arms ached and she was soaked in perspiration. She gave a thought to Jaxon's office, but there was barely any floor space in there and she was well and truly over cleaning and needed a shower. She tugged off Jaxon's socks and sat back to wriggle her toes. The cool air around them was a relief. She'd dusted the venetian blinds that covered the front glass and left them pulled up and the door wide open. Once more she looked at the river.