Not much better, but at least his son listened.
‘I forgot you had Xander with you,’ Bub said.
‘Yeah.’ Nathan waited until the car door clicked shut. He could see Xander’s outline through the windshield; at sixteen, more man than boy these days. He turned back to his brother. The one standing in front of him, at least. Their third sibling, middle-born Cameron Bright, lay at their feet at the base of the headstone. He had been covered, thank God, by a faded tarp.
Nathan tried again. ‘How long have you been here?’
Bub thought for a moment, the way he often did, before answering. His eyes were slightly hooded under the brim of his hat, and his words fell a fraction of a beat slower than average speaking pace. ‘Since last night, just before dark.’
‘Uncle Harry’s not coming?’
Another beat, then a shake of the head.
‘Where is he? Back home with Mum?’
‘And Ilse and the girls,’ Bub said. ‘He offered, but I said you were on your way.’
‘Probably better someone’s with Mum. You have any trouble?’ Nathan finally looked at the bundle at his feet. Something like that would draw out the scavengers.
‘You mean dingoes?’
‘Yeah, mate.’ Of course. What else? There wasn’t a huge amount of choice out there.
‘Had to take a couple of shots.’ Bub scratched his collarbone and Nathan could see the edge of the western star of his Southern Cross tattoo. ‘But it was okay.’
‘Good. All right.’ Nathan recognised the familiar frustration that came with talking to Bub. He wished Cameron were there to smooth the waters and felt a sudden sharp jab of realisation under his ribs. He made himself take a deep breath, the air hot in his throat and lungs. This was difficult for everyone.
Bub’s eyes were red and his face unshaven and heavy with shock, as was Nathan’s own, he imagined. They looked a bit, but not a lot, alike. The sibling relationship was clearer with Cameron in the middle, bridging the gap in more ways than one. Bub looked tired and, as always these days, older than Nathan remembered. With twelve years between them, Nathan still found himself faintly surprised to see his brother edging into his thirties rather than still in nappies.
Nathan crouched beside the tarp. It was weather-bleached and had been tucked tight in places, like a bedsheet.
‘Have you looked?’
‘No. I was told not to touch anything.’
Nathan instantly disbelieved him. It was his tone, or perhaps the way the sheet lay at the top end. Sure enough, as he reached out, Bub made a noise in his throat.
‘Don’t, Nate. It’s not good.’
Bub had never been good at lying. Nathan withdrew his hand and stood. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know. Just what was said on the radio.’
‘Yeah, I missed a lot of it.’ Nathan didn’t quite meet Bub’s eye.
Bub shifted. ‘Thought you promised Mum you’d keep it on, mate.’
Nathan didn’t reply and Bub didn’t push it. Nathan looked back across the fence to his own land. He could see Xander, restless, in the passenger seat. They’d spent the past week moving along the southern boundary, working by day, camping by night. They had been on the brink of downing tools the previous evening when the air around had vibrated as a helicopter swooped overhead. A black bird against the indigo death throes of the day.
‘Why is he flying so late?’ Xander had said, squinting upwards. Nathan hadn’t answered. Night flying. A dangerous choice and an ominous sign. Something was wrong. They’d turned on the radio, but by then it was already too late.
Nathan looked now at Bub. ‘Look, I heard enough. Doesn’t mean I understand it.’
Bub’s unshaven jaw twitched.Join the club.‘I don’t know what happened, mate,’ he said again.
‘That’s okay, tell me what you do know.’
Nathan tried to tone down his impatience. He’d spoken to Bub on the radio briefly the previous evening, as dark fell, to say he would drive over at first light. He’d had a hundred more questions, but hadn’t asked any of them. Not on an open frequency where anyone who wanted to listen could tune in.
