Xander returned the papers to the glove box and fidgeted in his seat. Nathan could tell he’d had enough and was anxious to go. Nathan was pretty keen himself. He wondered if they should drive on ahead but felt strangely reluctant to leave Bub and Harry lingering beside the grave. Their heads were down as they spoke in voices Nathan couldn’t hear.
‘We’ll head back in a minute,’ he said, and Xander nodded.
Nathan had always been privately gratified that Xander had never really warmed to his grandfather. Jacqui had told Xander her version of the story as soon as he was old enough, so Nathan then hadn’t been able to refrain from telling his. Immediately, he’d wished he hadn’t bothered. His version hadn’t sounded much better. Either way, Keith was dead now. He’d succumbed to a second stroke four years after the first, which was hardly Nathan’s fault but did nothing to help lift the finger of blame. Keith’s widow had moved to Brisbane to be closer to Jacqui and Xander and now lived in a nursing home. Nathan had hoped for a while that Keith’s death might bring an end to his banishment, but if anything, it had seemed to make it worse. As though having suffered the crime, Keith was the only one with the authority to lift the punishment. Now he never could.
It would all blow over, Nathan had told himself daily at the start. Nearly ten years later, he was still waiting. He no longer thought that daily, or at all, in fact. Most days now were spent dwelling on the what ifs. For example, what if Keith had actually died out there on the road that day? If he’d had the bloody decency to fall down quietly with his arm clutched by his side and his mouth shut?
Through the windscreen, Nathan watched Harry kick the toe of his boot in the ground near the grave.
Without Keith around to point the finger, things would have worked out a lot differently for Nathan. Dead men didn’t talk, and no-one would have known what he had done. Nathan would have been free and clear.
Finally, Harry said something to Bub, who nodded. Together, they turned their backs on the grave and headed to their car. The engine fired up and Nathan started his own. He took a last look at the ground where Cameron had been found.
Dead men didn’t talk.
Nathan must have thought that a hundred times over the years, but as he drove past the grave, the idea slipped slightly, taking on a strange and unfamiliar form. It was uncomfortable as it lodged itself in the darkest corner of his mind.
The wheels juddered over a patch of rough ground as he pulled away. Nathan didn’t look back but instead kept his eyes forward. His gaze fell, almost involuntarily, on the car in front. Specifically on the shapes of the two men and on the rear-view mirror, in which Nathan could just make out a pair of eyes. Up ahead, Harry was watching him.
Chapter 12
Even at a distance, Nathan could see his mum react as he pulled up the driveway in Cameron’s car. Liz was sitting under the tree by her late husband’s grave and stiffened at the sound of the engine. She started to stand, then slumped back down as Nathan, not Cameron, emerged.
He’d parked next to Harry’s vehicle, although there was no sign of either him nor Bub. Nathan had fallen so far behind on the drive back that they had eventually pulled almost out of sight.
‘I’m going to have a word with your grandma,’ Nathan said to Xander as they climbed out.
‘No worries. I’ll be in my room.’ Xander headed off, like he had something on his mind. Nathan watched him go then walked over to see Liz. Duffy was sitting by her feet.
‘What did Glenn say?’ Liz looked up. She’d been crying again.
‘He’s going to give you a call. Sends his condolences.’
‘Did his condolences include any answers?’
‘No.’ He sat down on his mum’s right side; her hearing wasn’t so good on the left. Duffy moved to rest her head on his knee.
Liz stretched out a hand and Nathan took it. He could see an old scar on her arm, its angry mark now faded with age. He ignored it as usual, looking instead at a new one that bloomed below, red and recent. A skin cancer removal, he knew without asking. They all had it, to some degree. Every white adult in the area. Whenever the specialist flew in to town, there was always a queue of people waiting their turn to get the treacherous parts of their flesh cut out or burned off. Then cross their fingers until next time. Nathan had plenty of scars of his own.
‘This all clear?’ he said, pointing at the red weal.
‘I think so, for now.’ Liz turned her arm over so he couldn’t see it anymore. ‘But who ever knows?’
Somewhere close by, Nathan heard a dingo howl and they both turned towards the sound.
‘They’ve been hanging around for a while, those ones,’ Liz said. ‘They’re getting too brave.’
Nathan hesitated. ‘You want me to try and get them?’
‘Bub’ll do it. He likes it. The money,’ she added quickly. The council paid thirty dollars for every dingo scalp presented at the cop shop, where Glenn would count them and fill in the paperwork.
Liz sighed. ‘Is Bub all right, do you think?’
Nathan thought about his brother standing in the dark with his stream of urine hitting the ground.
‘I don’t know. Bub’s Bub.’
‘He doesn’t seem worse to you?’
