The Fine Colour of Rust. P. O’Reilly A.
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off through the bush. We called them ‘shearing kangaroos’ and Jake thought that was a real kind of ’roo till Norm put him right. But now I can’t make sense of where that hut might be. The face of the forest is completely different. Ahead of us, a wide dusty dirt road leads in through the trees. I can’t see the picnic area. And that light through the trees is wrong.
I drive along the bitumen to where the dirt road enters the bushland.
‘I don’t want to go in there,’ Jake says.
More rubbish litters the side of the track – plastic bags and bottles, juice containers, old clothes, building materials – as if this piece of bushland has become the local tip. I peer along the track. It seems to lead into a big clearing that wasn’t there before. The bush used to stretch way back. I would never let the kids run too far in case they got lost. Now if they ran off they’d end up standing in a flat empty paddock the size of a footy field.
‘Footy field,’ I mutter. ‘Maybe they’re building a new footy field.’
That can’t be right, because even the old footy field is in trouble. The footy club has a sausage sizzle every Saturday morning outside the supermarket to raise money to buy in water. All the sports clubs around here are desperate for water. Some have had to close down because the ground is so hard it can crack the shins of anyone landing awkwardly on the surface.
‘Let’s go. I’m bored.’
‘Hey, Jake, open your mouth again and show me your teeth. I think it might be time for a trip to the dentist.’
That always shuts him up. We climb back into the Holden and reverse into the Bolton Road to continue the journey to our new windscreen.
4
‘Look at all these cars, Jake.’ We pull in with a mighty shriek of brakes at Merv Bull’s Motor and Machinery Maintenance and Repairs. ‘Why don’t you hop out and have a look around while I talk to the man. Look at that one – a Monaro from the seventies! You don’t see those much anymore. Especially in that dazzling aqua.’
Jake purses his lips and rolls his eyes and waggles his head all at once. He keeps doing this lately. I wonder if he’s seen a Bollywood film on the diet of daytime television that filled up chickenpox week.
‘Are you trying to get rid of me, Mum?’
‘Yes.’
He sighs and swings open the car door. He slouches his way to the shade at the side of the shed while I quickly pat down my hair in the rear-view mirror before I step out of the car. I can’t see any sign of Merv Bull. A panting blue heeler stares at me from the doorway of the shed as if I’m a piece of meat.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Mr Bull?’
The blue heeler slumps to the ground and lays its head on its front paws, still staring at me. The sign on the side of the shed says Nine to Five, Monday to Friday. I look at my watch. Ten fifteen, Tuesday morning.
Jake scuffs his way over to my side. ‘There’s no one here, Mum, let’s go. Let’s go to the milk bar. You promised that if I…you would…and then I…and then…’
As Jake goes on with his extended thesis on why I should buy him a Violet Crumble, I shout ‘Mr Bull!’ one last time. A man emerges from the darkness of the shed. The first thing I notice is that he’s hitching up his pants. He strides forwards to greet me and stretches out his hand, but I’m not shaking anything I can’t be sure was washed. When my hand fails to arrive he pulls back his arm and wipes both hands down the sides of his shirt. He’s standing between me and the sun. I can’t see his face let alone its expression.
Jake’s jaw has dropped and he’s staring at Merv Bull as if he’s seen a vision. He’s this way with any man who’s around the age of his father when he left.
‘Hi,’ Jake whispers.
‘Hello.’ Merv Bull leans down to shake Jake’s hand. ‘I’m Merv. Who are you, then?’
‘Jake.’
‘Pardon me?’
Jake’s awestruck voice has soared into a register that only the blue heeler and I can hear.
‘This is Jake,’ I step in, ‘and I’m Loretta. I think Norm Stevens told you I was coming?’
‘Ah, you’re the windscreen.’
‘That’s me.’
‘Can’t do it till this afternoon, sorry. But you could leave the car here and pick it up at five.’
‘Sure.’ I put on a bright fake smile. ‘Jake and I’ll walk the five kilometres back into town in this thirty-degree heat and have a pedicure while we wait.’
‘We could stay here and look at the cars,’ Jake whispers.
Merv Bull shades his eyes with his hand and looks down at me. I can see him better now. Norm was right, he’s handsome in a parched rural bloke kind of way. Blue eyes and dark eyelashes. Looks as if he squints a lot, but who doesn’t around here. He’s frowning at me like a schoolteacher frowns at the kid with the smart mouth.
‘I do have a loan car you can use while yours is in the shop. To get you to your pedicure, that is.’
‘Ha, sorry, only joking.’ I’m turning into a bitter old hag. I’m reminding myself of Brenda. Soon I’ll become strangely attracted to beige. ‘That would be great. Any old car will do. I mean, hey, we are used to the Rolls Royce here.’
‘Mum! That’s not a Rolls Royce. It’s a Holden!’ Jake beams proudly at Merv.
‘You certainly do know your cars, mate.’ Merv pats Jake on the shoulder.
Now I’ll never get Jake out of here. Merv, to be addressed hereafter as God, goes back into the shed to get the keys for the exchange car, and Jake and the blue heeler trot faithfully after him. I watch his long lanky walk. My husband never walked that way, even though he was about the same size as Merv Bull. My husband Tony – God love him wherever he may be and keep him there and never let him come back into my life – was a stomper. He stomped through the house as though he was trying to keep down unruly carpet; he stomped in and out of shops and pubs letting doors slam around him; he stomped to work at the delivery company and stomped home stinking of his own fug after eight hours in the truck; and one day he stomped out to the good car and drove off and never stomped back.
We’d been married ten years. I never dreamed he’d leave me. After the second year of marriage, when I fell pregnant with Melissa, I settled down and stopped fretting that I’d married the wrong man. It was too late, so I decided to try to enjoy my life and not spend all my time thinking about what could have been. I thought he had decided that too.
A month after he’d gone a postcard arrived. By that time I’d already finished making a fool of myself telling the police he must have run his car off the road somewhere and insisting they find him. The postcard said he was sorry, he needed to get away. I’ll be in touch. Cheque coming soon.
Still waiting for that cheque.
‘It’s the red Mazda with the sheepskin seat covers over by the fence.’ Merv Bull hands me a set of car keys on a key ring in the shape of a beer stubby. ‘She’s a bit stiff in the clutch, but otherwise she drives pretty easy.’
‘Been getting a lot of business?’ As I speak I take Jake’s hand in mine and edge him quietly towards the Mazda before he realizes that we’re about to leave his new hero.
‘It’s been good. They told me it’d take a while to get the ordinary car business going again, especially since no one’s worked here for a few years, but I guess I’ve been lucky. I’ll probably have to get an apprentice when the big machinery starts arriving.’
‘Big machinery?’
‘For the development. Whenever it starts. I thought it was supposed to be in Phase One already.