The Last Mile Home (9 page)

Barney rode behind Betsy as Abby headed for the cottage. He knew his dinner would be waiting in the formal dining room at Amba, but once he entered the warm, noisy and happy kitchen at the McBrides', he readily accepted their invitation to stay for stew and dumplings. Gwen put an extra chair between Colleen and Shirley; Bob opened a bottle of beer; and suddenly everybody was talking and laughing at once, telling highly embellished stories about their day.

Bob McBride rapped a knife on his plate. ‘All right, settle down everyone. Abby, it's your turn to say grace.'

Silence fell around the table as heads were bowed. ‘We thank thee Lord for all thy gifts, for our family, for our good friends, and our home, and for the food we are about to share. Dear Lord, we are truly grateful.'

Abby found she was stammering over words that usually fell so easily from her lips. She glanced across the table at Barney, who gave her a quick warm smile, their eyes connecting.

‘Amen,' chorused the family, followed immediately by Kevin at the top of his voice: ‘Two, four, six, eight, bog in, don't wait.'

The languid pallor of a small town Saturday afternoon hung over the sleepy town. There really is something special about Saturday afternoons in the country, thought Abby as she thrust shin pads inside her socks, then looked around the hockey field. The visiting team was already warming up, the sound of sticks thwacking against balls signalling the change of pace and mood. The morning shopping over, sport loomed as a popular communal way to relax until the town returned to work on Monday.

Abby studied the few small groups of spectators dotted around the field, but there was no sign of Barney. She was left with a hollow feeling which would have taken hold of her spirit had it not been for a rallying call from Cheryl that had the team trotting on to the field, passing the ball with practised ease as they took up positions for the start of the game.

Abby, on the right wing, was looking forward to the action. She felt a slight tensing and a tingle of excitement as she leaned forward on her stick, poised for a lightning reaction to the play. Within minutes she was totally immersed in the cut and thrust of the game; the fast-changing tactics, the aggression, the defence and every so often the breakaway on the wing that could give her the chance to put her team on the way to a goal. It
wasn't until half-time when they stopped for a drink and sliced oranges that she suddenly saw Barney. Her heart leapt. He was standing beside Gwen and Bob who had spread a blanket in the shade of a tree.

Her delight suddenly turned to nervousness and she looked quickly around. This was madness on his part, thought Abby wildly. Joining her family to watch the game and cheer her on was making a very firm announcement of his interest in her. However, overwhelming her initial shock was a sensation of delight. Their eyes met and he gave Abby a big grin as she made her way over to him.

‘So you did come then. Nice to know a man who keeps his promise to a girl.'

Barney continued her mock seriousness. ‘Wouldn't have missed your first match for the world. Besides, I'm famous throughout New England for keeping promises — ask any girl.' They both laughed.

‘Seen much of the game?' asked Abby, finishing her orange and accepting his handkerchief to wipe her hands.

‘Missed the start, but I think I've seen the best of the action so far. You can run like a rabbit when you have to,' said Barney with genuine enthusiasm.

‘Not to much effect so far,' said Abby lightly.
‘We're down one-nil.' There was a sharp blast on the referee's whistle and Abby turned and looked at the teams running back on to the field. ‘That's the call to battle.' She turned back to Barney briefly. ‘Staying to the bitter end?'

‘Wouldn't miss it for quids.'

The second half was hard fought and Abby found that the brief training had not prepared her adequately for the long tiring grind. More running around the paddocks in the evening is needed, she told herself midway through the half as she leaned on her stick, panting heavily.

Suddenly her front row was moving forward again; the ball was flicked out to her and, as she got into a rhythmic stride, she heard a shout from the sideline, ‘Go, Rabbit, go!'

Abby would have grinned had it not been for a clash with a defender that required some deft stick and footwork. Quickly she was safely past the defence and snatching looks in-field at her supporting players as the opposition goal came within striking distance.

She heard a distant shout. ‘Centre it, Rabbit!' And she did, right to where Cheryl was waiting in anticipation and then it was one goal all. As Cheryl and Abby ran back, arms around each other's shoulders, Abby caught sight of Barney, his hands clasped over his head in a victory salute,
her mother clapping, Bob giving the thumbs-up and the youngsters jumping up and down. She waved her stick in acknowledgement.

The game finished with the score unchanged. Abby dragged herself off the field exhausted, and joined Barney and her family. Colleen and Shirley dashed on to the field to hug Abby.

Kevin handed her a peeled orange. ‘It was a pretty good match . . . for a girls' game,' he conceded.

‘Well done, lass,' said her father admiringly. ‘Still got the touch.'

‘Here, have a towel,' fussed Gwen. ‘You're wringing wet.'

Abby wiped her face slowly and emerged from behind the towel to once again catch Barney's eye. She grinned. ‘Thanks for the encouragement, but I'm not sure that I want to be known as Rabbit.'

‘Let's talk about it over afternoon tea. I've cleared it with your mum and dad, you're excused from the delights of afternoon tea with Mrs Doherty.'

Abby once again felt her stomach somersaulting and her knees wobbling, not from physical tiredness but the anticipation of being with Barney.

‘Well, in that case, I won't take long.' She ran off still feeling shaky with excitement.

The rest of the girls were meeting friends at the Athena Cafe and she certainly didn't want to go there. There'd be enough speculation over Barney joining her family to watch the match. While Shannon hadn't been there Abby had no doubt she'd hear quickly enough.

Barney drove to the river through the Saturday afternoon empty town. The puntman was sitting in the sun with his feet up on a wooden pylon, slowly reeling in a fishing line. He and Barney were friends and they exchanged light-hearted greetings.

‘The dinghy is over there . . . help yourself.' He eyed Abby then winked at Barney. ‘Don't do anything to rock the boat, Barney.'

Barney let the remark go without a response. He took a large paper bag and Thermos flask from the car and helped Abby into the dinghy. She sat gingerly on the seat at the stern. Barney pushed off from the bank, set the oars, and began rowing downstream.

‘What a great idea, where are we going?' she asked happily.

‘Anywhere . . . Keep a lookout for somewhere nice to go ashore for our picnic'

‘Aye, aye, captain. Say, I know what my dad would be singing now,' grinned Abby.

‘I know, I know.
Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,
' sang Barney as Abby joined in. ‘
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.
'

‘Very good, Barney. We'll make an honorary McBride of you yet.'

Abby spotted the delicate mauve clusters of a jacaranda near an open stretch of bank and Barney steered in, leapt ashore and tied up the little boat.

They sat down and tucked into Mrs Anderson's cheese and cucumber sandwiches, Thermos of tea and fruitcake. They laughed and talked about Anglesea and Amba, the other places they'd lived.

Listening to Barney talk, Abby thought how clever and thoughtful he was. Many of the young men she'd met about town and talked to briefly, seemed empty in comparison. They were interested in beer, sport, having a few laughs at each other's expense, and making a decent quid out of the land. Honest, cheerful, down to earth, unromantic, Abby secretly thought of some of them as being a bit like the cattle they cared for — practical, useful and dull. How different Barney was. He made her laugh at nothing and feel warm and happy. He was caring and sweet, yet she detected a sadness in him, a sadness she couldn't explain. To anyone else he would seem to be a young man who had it all, but Abby suspected there
was something missing in his life, some sense of loss that maybe he didn't understand either. Perhaps it came from being an only child. When she was little, when the McBride household, with its noise and clutter, seemed to leave no silent space just for her, Abby had sometimes wished she was an only child. Most of the time, however, she adored the love and support of her close-knit family.

Abby stretched out on the grass and looked at the sky through the trembling frail leaves of the delicate jacaranda. She wished she could paint and capture the pattern and shape of the leaves glazed with sunlight, silhouetted against the blue sky and drift of cloud.

Barney's shadow fell across her. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. Their lips met in a warm soft kiss and Barney kissed the tip of her nose as they looked into each other's eyes. ‘I like being with you,' he said softly.

It was a light remark that barely cloaked the deep and disturbing feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He took refuge in Australian understatement.

Abby recognised this and being a little unnerved by her own feelings and recognising they stood at the edge of some sort of precipice, she answered simply, ‘Me too.'

They walked a little way, holding hands, looking at the sun reflected on the river where an occasional perch sent a bubble to the surface. It was comfortable being together, neither felt the need to make conversation; instead they just enjoyed the shared companionship. Abby felt as if she had known him all her life, there just seemed an inevitability, a special closeness between them, which she couldn't imagine experiencing with anyone else.

They rowed back to the punt where the puntman nodded to them, concentrating on the slight curve at the tip of his rod.

Barney and Abby drove back to town, and then wandered past the closed shops, the movie cinema where the final moments of the weekly serial's cliffhanger could be heard through the open doors, and past the blacksmith's forge, which was closed and silent. Leaving the Saturday afternoon stillness of the main street, they made their way along the rows of neat houses where hydrangeas flourished, sweet peas climbed over front fences, and short cement paths led to welcoming front doors. Occasionally they passed a man who raised his hat or a woman who smiled and nodded with obvious interest in the pair.

Barney and Abby waited by the park, holding hands as Betsy, laden with the McBrides, rolled to a stop before them.

‘Had a good afternoon?' called Bob.

‘Yes, we did,' Abby smiled shyly up at Barney and he kissed her lightly on the lips, then opened the rear door for Abby.

‘Move over, kids. Thanks for a lovely time, Barney.'

‘It's been a great day. See you soon.' He gave a wave as they pulled away.

Bob and Gwen exchanged a glance but Gwen gave Bob a look that stopped him making any comment about the tender scene they'd just observed.

Bob glanced at Abby's flushed and happy face in the rearview mirror and started to sing, ‘
If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy . . .
'

B
OB
M
C
B
RIDE LOVED THE END OF THE DAY BEST
of all. With the day's hard work behind him, he could relax, replete after one of Gwen's hearty meals, his family around him.

The twin girls, smelling of Johnson's baby powder, wrapped in their dressing gowns, came into the little lounge room to kiss him goodnight.

‘Who won the Monopoly game?'

‘Kevin of course.'

‘I think he cheats.'

‘I never did!' Kevin grinned at his father and flopped on to the sofa beside his mother.

‘Watcha knitting, Mum?'

‘A vest for Brian. Goodness, he's turning into a beanpole. Have you finished your homework?'

‘Not quite. The girls wanted a game. They know I always win and they always whinge.'

Abby looked up from the
Daily Telegraph
she brought home every night. ‘How come you always win?'

‘They're too scared to spend their money. I buy up everything I can.'

‘I hope you won't be so free and easy with real money,' said Gwen.

‘You don't need money, you buy on the HP nowadays,' replied Kevin cockily.

‘Not this family,' retorted his father. ‘If you haven't got the money in your pocket, you can't buy it.'

Abby didn't mention the dress she had put away on layby at McKenzies.

‘Off you go to that homework, young man. Then you can listen to “The Amateur Hour”,' said Bob, and Kevin headed back to the kitchen table, the workplace for all family projects.

Bob turned on the wireless and the family went quiet. Silence always reigned during the evening ABC news, just as it did at one o'clock each afternoon for Gwen's favourite serial, ‘Blue Hills'.

Abby folded up the newspaper and stretched.
‘Why do those announcers sound so plummy? Why can't they talk like the rest of us?' she wondered aloud.

‘They're radio announcers,' whispered Gwen. ‘They learn from the BBC.'

‘Hush up, girls, I want to find out how the Redex Reliability Trial is going.'

Gwen and Abby exchanged smiles. ‘Can you just see Betsy racing round Australia?' whispered Gwen again.

The news over, Abby went to make the last pot of tea while Bob and Gwen chewed over the events on the news.

‘So they're still talking about bringing in this television. I reckon it'll be a bad thing,' said Bob, lighting up one of Gwen's ready-made cigarettes.

‘Would be nice to see something like the coronation though,' said Gwen.

‘Fancy sitting in your lounge room watching some goggle box. It'll kill reading, and the wireless and going to the pictures, you mark my words,' prophesied Bob.

‘Talking of the pictures,' said Abby, coming in with a tray with the cups on it, ‘I'm going out on Saturday night. Going to see
Rear Window.
'

‘Who with?' asked Bob.

‘Grace Kelly.'

They all burst out laughing.

‘I'm going with Barney,' said Abby, setting out the cups.

Gwen and Bob exchanged a swift look.

‘Just the two of you?'

Abby straightened up and stared at her parents. ‘Yes. Why not?'

‘We've been through this before, luv. Go out and enjoy yourself, by all means. Just don't expect it to lead to anything. He's a decent enough bloke and you're a good girl, but don't you start getting big ideas here,' warned her father.

‘Why does everyone think I'm some sort of man trap and that Barney and I seeing each other is a real big deal?' demanded Abby angrily. ‘I'm just as good as he is, you know.'

‘Keep your hair on, Abby,' said Bob calmly. ‘And yes, you are just as a good a person as he is. But there's a bit of a difference in your backgrounds and you know it.'

‘And there's your faith, too, luv,' said Gwen gently. ‘The Catholic Church doesn't like its members marrying outsiders, you know that.'

‘The church should be understanding and forgiving, not punishing and cold-hearted,' said Abby. ‘It's time things changed, it's supposed to be the age of the modern girl. It's not unheard of for people to marry who they want. The war was supposed to change things; women did their bit
and now we're supposed to put on aprons and go back into the kitchen and do what our husbands and the church tell us!' declared Abby heatedly.

‘Steady on,' said Bob. ‘I'm first to say the ladies did a terrific job when the chaps were away at war, but now the men want to work and the women want to have families and enjoy peacetime niceties. And as for the church . . . well, you've broken the rules, Ab, and you're going to have to come to terms with that. We're not criticising, we just don't want to see you get hurt, luv.'

‘It's a bit late for that. Let me worry about my life. I just wish everyone would mind their own business.' Abby hurried from the room.

‘I'll fetch the teapot,' said Gwen. ‘Let her be. She's sensible.'

‘Sense sometimes flies out the window where the heart is concerned,' mumbled Bob, reaching for the paper.

Barney pushed the suitcase into the boot of the Ford, slammed it shut and turned to his mother and father, giving them a half smile.

‘Don't you worry about me, dear. Everything will turn out all right I'm sure,' said his mother as she gave him a big hug.

‘You take care, Mother. The specialist will
probably give you a big gold star,' said Barney warmly.

‘I hope so, dear. Please keep an eye on Diet and Tucker . . .'

‘Right, Enid, let's get on the road. It's a long drive to Sydney.'

Phillip shook his son's hand. ‘We'll be at the Australia Hotel. Be back as soon as we can.'

‘Take your time and don't worry. Take Mum to the Tivoli or something.' Barney leaned through the car window and kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘Try and have a bit of fun. Go shopping, take in a film at the Prince Edward, live it up,' he said brightly.

Enid gave him a look that said, ‘You know your father . . .'

Barney knew his parents would eat in the conservative hotel dining room, speaking little and retiring early. He wondered whether either of them ever longed to do things, see places, without the other. What had their life been like before they married? It occurred to him that he had never asked. Had their lives he'd observed in these recent years been how it always was?

As the shiny Ford V8 headed down the formal driveway, he wondered what Mrs Anderson could tell him about life at Amba when he was a baby. However, he had something better to think
about at the moment — seeing Abby on Saturday night. He had suggested the movies and was now wondering where he could take her afterwards.

The New England Highway south was free of traffic. The occasional car flicked past in the opposite direction. Enid crossed her legs and angled her body slightly towards the window, gazing at the wall of forest gums and ironbarks that screened the road. Phillip was deep in thought. They never talked much in the car. If she made a comment about the scenery or something that caught her eye, they were past it before he responded, and she had the feeling she was intruding on his thoughts and disturbing his concentration on the driving.

Enid wasn't looking forward to seeing the heart specialist. She dreaded the tests and her nervousness made her heart seem even more fluttery than usual. She hated people fussing over her; she felt such a bother to them and especially to Phillip. She wished no one knew she had a heart problem. It didn't cause her a great deal of pain; the breathlessness and her heart's irregular rhythm were bothersome, but it wasn't as if she was an invalid. Yet she did feel like such an old woman. Where had her life gone? One day she'd been a young woman, in love and dreaming dreams that never
became reality. When she thought about it she could still feel the pain of the day she'd been told of the death of her fiancé. If Ray had lived, would her life have been better, happier? Or was this all there was: raising a child, keeping an orderly house, standing in the shadow of a successful man? Now Barney was independent, her dogs and her garden gave her the most pleasure in life.

Life with Phillip was placid. He had long ago given up making sexual demands on her, and now they slept in separate beds. She had regarded sex as her duty but never understood why it was such a passionate force in other people's lives. She had only ever experienced sex with Phillip but she could recall the ardent kisses of her youth and she regretted letting her love go off to war, their union unfulfilled. ‘Wait till I come home. We'll have our whole lives ahead of us.' But they didn't and she felt cheated. Ray remained strong and straight and youthful in her memory, while she was aging, no longer pretty or desirable.

Enid knew Phillip had regarded himself as second best in a competition he had lost without the chance to fight. But he had offered her security, a safe haven, and she had welcomed that. They had a pact and she had adhered to her part of it out of loyalty and, she realised now, gratitude. But with years stretching ahead with more of this
sameness, a sadness crept into her soul. There would be no adventurous trips up the Amazon, no passionate love affairs, no large and boisterous family to occupy and interest her, and as she stepped into the unknown, she would leave no footprint on the world she left behind. Had there been a point in her life where things could have changed, been different? Was there a signpost she'd missed, some subtle gesture or indication from Phillip that she'd ignored? Enid closed her eyes against these unpleasant thoughts and tried to make her mind a blank. It was becoming a practised habit.

Phillip was aware she'd slipped into that nether region she inhabited so much of the time. He was more concerned than he showed about her ‘condition', as he called it. He dreaded the idea that she could become an invalid, or suddenly leave him alone. Enid was a stoic if pliant buffer between him and his son, and the rest of the world. He didn't have to cope with socialising while he had the excuse of a reclusive wife in frail health. Those that knew him would be astounded at the idea that the formidable and often imperious Phillip Holten was, in fact, terrified of coping with normal social intercourse and the idea that strangers might breach his personal barriers.

Phillip had met Enid through mutual friends
at the Royal Easter Show when he had been showing his father's prize rams. She was fascinated by the huge merinos and, after a long conversation, he had invited her to morning tea. After that they met regularly, Phillip visiting Sydney as often as he could. He found her attractive, well bred and very intriguing. Beneath her bright and cheerful demeanour, there was a vulnerability that drew him to her.

It wasn't until he was courting her seriously that she told him of the loss of her fiancé in the War. Phillip thought he had understood but was convinced that his living love for Enid would win out over her love for a dead man; he had been wrong. Even after he had won her, he still felt second best. Still, Enid had been a good wife to him for a while. She wasn't the country woman that he'd been expected to marry, but she settled happily into the quiet rural life. All had been peaceful with them until the long-awaited arrival of a child.

He had expected a child but did not expect it to ruffle the smooth running of his existence. Which the child had not. What he hadn't anticipated was the withdrawal of his wife, a loss he blamed on his son. He had tried to bring Enid back to his world, but he could not fight the pull of maternal instinct and so he adjusted his life accordingly.

The car swung onto a long straight stretch of road and Phillip looked across at his wife. He was shocked at the sadness in her face. It sent a strange feeling through him, a feeling that stabbed uncomfortably at his stomach. ‘You all right, dear?' he asked with genuine concern and warmth.

Enid was a little startled by his voice and turned from the window towards Phillip. She looked at him for a moment then said quietly, ‘Yes, Phillip. I'm fine. Just thinking a bit.'

‘About the past?' he asked softly.

‘Yes.' Phillip nodded and after a pause Enid went o n . ‘I was just thinking about a few things and the trip we're making . . . another journey and we don't know just what it's going to lead to. I know it leads to Sydney, but what else? We really can't be sure of anything, can we? It's all a mystery. That's life, isn't it? A journey full of surprises. I read once that someone said it is better to journey than to arrive. Have you heard that, Phillip?'

Phillip was surprised. He couldn't remember when his wife had last talked like this and he was lost for an immediate response. Instead he simply nodded an acknowledgement.

Enid went on as if she had never asked him a question, or at least never expected a reply. ‘ M y
father used to say that the first step of any journey is the hardest. I'm not so sure of that now. I rather think that arriving at the end might be the hardest step of all.'