Read My Other Shorts & Formal Tales Page 7

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  COMING HOME

  He was home. Permanently. Back in the country of his birth after twenty years away of overseas experience, or O.E. as new-speak shortened it. Overseas it certainly was. Experience? Yes, professionally, some of the best that he could ever get. Socially and psychologically? Both bitter and beautiful memories and experiences recalled. Bitter experiences were why he had left home in the first place. Now the same reasons prompted his return.

  Whether he was financially better off now than when he left was really a toss of the coin. Either way he was still not rich. He had been, twice during his O.E. Twice circumstances conspired to take away what he had accumulated. The stock market crash took his first small fortune but left him with minimal debt as his borrowings were small. The second was through a relationship with a sociopath. He was soon stripped of his savings and left with a credit card debt greater than his annual income. The emptied accounts were just money, but the debt was a millstone around his neck. Worse, was being the ongoing victim of a sociopath’s lies attempting to isolate him from clients, friends and family, then the realization that he had been set up with months of careful scheming. Only the support of a few remaining loyal friends who knew him better, and knowledgeable professional help, prevented a complete melt-down.

  That was history and he was moving on. Now, sitting in this small hotel budget accommodation room, he really had only completed a skewed circle. He was not quite back home, as the big city accommodation was too expensive; but it was only an hour away, or two hours if the traffic was slow. Home, for now, at least for the short tem, was a rural township that had grown out of servicing the farming community, not as a result of urban sprawl. Not one set of traffic light to be seen, and the one round-a-bout all ready causing traffic problems. Still, it was only minutes to the beach.

  He had seen enough of the multi-million population style city life, and the big business that went with it. There, too many smiling faces did not reflect true feelings; too many words said one thing, but meant another. Well gone was the age when a man’s word was his bond. Now, back-stabbing, not skill, took a man to the higher paid positions.

  School and the university life both still held some good memories. As an architectural graduate, the OE was supposed to stand him in good stead. In the large overseas firms, office politics reigned over skill, originality, ideas or practicality; while in his later stint in private practice, clients wanted champagne ideas on beer budgets. It was flat beer at that.

  In the short term after his return, he had enough finances to get a cheap car, find office premises and stay in budget accommodation for a few months if required. But in just two weeks he could see himself falling into bad habits. Good breakfasts and dinners were available at the hotel, but not at quite such budget prices. His room provided a refrigerator and simple cooking facilities; he just simply hated washing dishes. So it was easy to accept restaurant cooking, at their price.

  The next bad habit was having a couple of beers late in the afternoon with some of the regulars in the public bar. This was easy to justify in his mind. It was all public relations and self advertising. Any PR was better than none at all. Mostly farmers and grey collar men who worked with their hands; men of the earth. Initially he was the interloper and the talk was polite, but restrained, even though he stood back and just listened mostly. After a few days he was accepted as one of the regulars and was eventually included in groups who reverted to the regular subjects.

  The fact they all called him Rod rather than Rodney was relaxing. In the high pressure business world, when first names were used, it had always been Rodney. His parents and siblings had always used Rod. Perhaps he had found a new family here.

  Truck and bus drivers, farmers, road workers, mechanics, all those providing the spine on which any community existed were here. All existing to follow their horses, rugby team and reminisce about what had been or nearly was.

  One, Tim, was a mechanic at a local garage; and in fact owned the service station, garage and the building in which it operated. Rod had walked past the building a few times, looking as he frequently did, with his professional eye. Situated on the corner of the main road and a side street, it had seen several additions to the original structure over the years. The forecourt of petrol pumps was wide and across the corner by the round-a-bout. On the main road, the left side of the building, had the wide doors for the two grease and oil change service bays, hoists and pits. Around the corner on the side street was the main entry, a small office and the garage repair area. Again it was two vehicles wide but three deep.

  Topping the garage section, above the ground floor, were rooms or offices, seemingly empty. To the right of the building on the side street was a large two-metre high mesh fenced area, about the same area as the garage. Barbed wire on the fence top gave a big disincentive to scale it. A padlock secured the entry gate. The area was filled with car bodies piled three high in some areas. In many cases the hoods were crushed, and the top cars of each stack did not seem very stable or secure. The chains holding the upper cars to those below were probably more for appearances.

  Two days later, on his next walk-a-bout, the yard was empty. The concrete had been swept of debris but was stained from oil and other leaking residue from the car bodies.

  A week later he walked by the garage again. This time he stopped by the wire fence. Already there were two cars there, both badly smashed.

  “G’day mate.”

  Rod looked round to see Tim approaching, grey coveralls on and wiping his hands on a grey oil-stained towel. Tim was about the same height as he, but slimmer, with long shaggy-cut straight brown hair.

  “Hi Tim, I see you’ve already got a couple of new wrecks in the yard. What happened to the last lot?”

  “Every three or four months or so, the scrap dealers pick them up after I tell them the yard’s getting full,” replied Tim.

  “What’s the story? How come they get here?”

  “Earns me an extra few dollars for what would be an empty space. These cars are the result of road smashes along the coast here, even some abandoned relics. The ‘towies’ drop ‘em off here as a convenient bulk collection point for later on. Boy we’ve seen some real smashed up stuff over the years. A lot of ‘fatals’ as you can presume from the condition of the cars.”

  “None look good enough for me to drive,” said Rod with a grin.

  “Yeah, I been thinking about that,” replied Tim with a serious face. “I know you’ve been looking for wheels as you said.”

  Rod nodded. “You got something?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I was gonna mention it if I saw you later today. Actually it’s here now. You wanna come and have a look?”

  “Sure.”

  Tim turned and walked back into the repair shop. Rod followed.

  “Up on the hoist there,” Tim pointed. “Bloody good little Honda Civic. Nine years old.”

  “What’s wrong, how much and all that?”

  “Silly young bugger got it from his granny three months ago, after she died. She’d bought it new. Bugger all mileage on the clock. Less than twenty thousand k’s.”

  “Why’s it here?”

  “His mates and another lot in a 4-wheel drive did a cross- country run over the hilly back area of a farm without the farmer’s permission. Left gates and everything open. Cattle and sheep got out everywhere, caused havoc on the main road. But his Honda’s no 4-wheel drive. Hit a rock, busted the sump, split the fuel tank and he abandoned it on the farm.”

  “Doesn’t sound too promising to me,” said Rod.

  “Didn’t look too promising then either. A bit of rain, a bit of a mud slide, and the car was over its axles in mud on the side of a hill. The insurance assessors looked at it where it was and wrote it off, paid the kid out, and offered the car to the farmer in compensation for the cattle escaping. When he got the offer he went up to the back hills to look at the car before deciding what to do. There’d been more rain, the mud had was
hed away and the car was sitting high and dry on good pasture 50 metres further down the hill, looking like it had just been washed. He thought he could just drive it away so he accepted the insurance offer.”

  “All that glitters eh?”

  “Shitters more like it. When he discovered the arse had been torn out of its bottom he phoned me to see if I wanted it for spare parts, conditional on me towing it off the farm.”

  “What’d you pay for it?”

  “Nothin. Towed it back here, stuck it on the hoist, steam cleaned the bottom and checked it out. Needed a replacement sump and fuel tank to be good as new; well as good as when granny had it anyway.”

  “What’d that cost you?”

  “Same day I towed it in, the ‘towies’ dropped in an accident vehicle. A write off. Hood crushed by logs off one of those big loggers. Poor buggers didn’t know what hit ‘em. Same year and model as the Honda from the farm. Apart from the hood, bonnet and boot, which were crushed, everything ran like a Swiss watch.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. Took the sump, drive shaft, fuel tank, and put them onto the farm Honda a couple of months ago. Been using it as the garage run-a-bout since then. But it was only meant to be an interim measure until we replaced the old ute we had with the big tray. You can’t fit a spare engine into the back of a five door sedan. We needed something that could. Now we’ve got the new ute, the car is surplus.”

  “What’s it on the hoist for?”

  “Up for Certificate of Fitness check, so we’ve just put new brake pads on. Its still got six months rego on it too.”

  “How much?”

  “Well, here’s the second part of the deal if you want it.”

  Rod nodded.

  “You’re after space to set up an office and maybe accommodation, right?”

  Rod nodded again.

  “All that space above the garage and workshop are empty rooms. Even lived there myself for a few years after I got married. But after our second kiddy was born, and the older one was looking for a yard to play in, it was too risky that he might start climin’ round on those car bodies; so we bought a house with a back yard, and closer to the beach. Then an old semi-retired accountant leased it for three years for his practice and lived there before he fully retired and shifted to the beach. Left most of his stuff there, including desks and lots of furniture. Said it wouldn’t fit into his little house.”

  “Sounds promising,” said Rod.

  “There’s a separate front door for your office. Put your shingle over that. Customer parking in the front of the car wreck fence. Verandah along the back of the building with an excellent vista over the wrecked cars.” Tim laughed at his intended joke. “Even a staircase from your kitchen down to the wreck-yard for a guided tour among the wrecks. But don’t.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Insurance. Sometimes at night some silly buggers climb the fence to see what they can steal; stuff from the cars like radios, speakers and stuff. Even though they’re trespassing I could still be liable if one of the cars falls on top of them.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No I’m not. The wreck area is deemed unsecured, but if there is someone living in the premises above then I’m okay.”

  “Does it mean I’m bound to be there twenty-four hours?”

  “No, it only has to be leased to a tenant who also lives on the premises. You can come and go as you please.”

  “And if there is a trespasser?”

  “Shoot the bastard,” Tim laughed again. “Nah, do nothing, call the police if you want. They’ll rush here like lightening in two or three days, or a month or so if they don’t have to do any work.”

  This time Rod grinned.

  “Whenever there’s been someone living there, there’s never been a theft from the yard. The fact they may be spotted is a deterrent. It’s such a small community here, everyone knows everyone else; too easy to be identified. Hell, the yard lights up like a Christmas tree when it senses movement.”

  “So will that wake me up too?”

  “Nah, not for small things like cats and dogs. Matter of fact a small cattle dog has taken up residence in the yard in the last few days. Soon after the yard was cleared. Must’ve got through a small hole in the mesh. It disappears every now and again for a day or two, then comes back. Seems to be a good little watch-dog though, so I haven’t had the heart to throw it out. You can if you want, otherwise; it’s okay with me.”

  “Okay with me, that’s if I accept your offer.” said Rod.

  “I toss it a bit of meat each morning and keep the bowl by the gate filled with water. It doesn’t growl at any of us any more, even wags its tail when we talk to it.”

  Tim walked out of the garage. “Wanna see the offices now?’

  “Sure, why not.”

  Tim went into the service station office and grabbed a set of keys off the wall.

  “Don’t worry if it’s a bit dusty, we’ll have it all cleaned out for the weekend if you want it. Basically it’s fully furnished. Fridge, microwave and good stove in the kitchen. Even a dishwasher eh? Anyway, you’ll see.”

  “Got a buzzer down here with a two way inter-com. Needs a new battery though. Just press the button on your end and it unlatches the door and the client can come up.”

  Rod followed Tim up the stairs and into a large lounge-cum office area with desk, cabinets, book-shelves, even comfortable lounge chairs, side tables, and table-lamps. The other rooms were equally well furnished. Queen sized bed in the main bedroom and singles in the others.

  “Marvellous, Tim. How much?”

  “Lets check out the car first, but you can take this without having to buy the car.”

  By the time they returned, the white Honda Civic was off the ramp and parked at the doorway.

  “The keys are in the ignition, take it for a whirl,” said Tim.

  Rod got in, made a slight adjustment to the seat and the rear view mirror, connected the seat belt, put the gearbox in neutral, and started the car. It was an automatic gearbox; he was pleased about that.

  He put it in drive, let off the hand-brake, and slowly accelerated onto the side-road. There was no traffic to his front, so he pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor. The rear wheels did a bit of a spin and the car accelerated away.

  Twenty minutes later Rod was back at the garage.

  “Fantastic little car Tim, how much? Remember I’m not a millionaire.”

  “Do you know what the discounters’ list price is?”

  “No idea.”

  “Around $14,000.”

  “Hell, sorry mate, I can’t afford that.”

  “Not asking you to. If you sign up for a two year lease on the offices upstairs, pay your own power and phone and pay me $180 a week rent, you can have the car officially for $4,000 plus give my wife a cash payment of $1,000.”

  Rod quickly became aware he must have looked gob-smacked and consciously closed his mouth.

  “Leasing the premises long term saves me a few thousand in insurance. Not many people want to sign up for 24 months.”

  “Tim, you’re being too generous, especially on the car.”

  “I’m still making a good profit. The car cost me nothin’ to buy and nothin’ in parts, only labour.”

  Rod thrust out his hand. “You’ve got a deal on both counts.”

  Tim shook Rod’s hand. “Welcome to our little town. You’ve signed a deal to stay at least two years.”

  “Suits me. Now I only have to find some work.”

  “Remind me to introduce you to Bill and Ben next time I see you for a drink. And remember, you’ll need to send the Change of Ownership papers in and get a licence to drive in this country.”

  ----------

  The following weekend Rod shifted his belongings to his new digs above the service station and garage. As promised, the place had been cleaned thoroughly. The smell of anti-septic still hung in the air of the bathroom and toilet; other air fresheners had been libe
rally used in other areas.

  The front door and its immediate surrounds had received a coat of bright white paint. Most surprisingly, where he parked his ‘new’ car, Tim had jerry-rigged a carport with a clear aluminium roof. He was sure council approval had not been sought for that. From above he could see his car through the clear Perspex roof, and another motion detector light had been set nearby.

  Even more thoughtfully, a range of used but very clean crockery, cutlery, pots and pans were placed on the kitchen table with a welcoming note from Tim’s wife Shirley. Rod had not yet met her, but he was sure he would. He would write a ‘thank-you’ note and send it with a half dozen bottles of wine later.

  Next was a trip to the local supermarket where he bought up big, ready for a siege he thought. He liked to be ready for most things and always liked too much rather than too little. As well as a good supply of tinned dog-food he got a couple of mutton leg bones with a bit of meat on for the dog. He would boil them both as soon as he returned home. The dog would find it impossible to bury them in the concreted yard. He purchased three large feeding bowls for the dog, white for milk, green for water, and blue for food. He felt the dog too should benefit from his saving in not having to buy crockery.

  The wide back verandah ran the full length outside the upstairs rooms on the inside of the capital L-shaped structure. Sixteen wooden steps led down to the wrecked car section.

  There were now three cars in the yard. Rod placed two filled bowls on the step fourth from the bottom and the mutton leg bone on the sixth step. The Australian Shepherd watched him silently from its residence in the first arrived car on the block. Returning to the top, Rod sat; feet planted on the step below, and waited and watched to see if the dog would react to the aroma of the tinned meat and fresh water.

  The dog eventually dropped lightly out of the wreck, jogged to the corner of the yard furthest from its home, squatted briefly to relieve its bladder, then ambled toward the steps.

  “Ah. You’re a bitch, not a dog,” mumbled Rod.

  Most of the dog’s long haired coat was black, with a large white bib under its mouth running down the chest onto its front legs. The small area of white that showed between the ears ran back to a wide white sash that ran fully around its body. Small areas of white also showed on the back legs, and small rounds of tan showed under the ears.

  It ambled closer, looking at him, sniffed the food and water; then up the two extra steps to sniff the bone. The previously small tail-wag became an exaggerated swing as the dog quickly scoffed the tinned food.

  “That’s too quick little one. If I ate that quickly I’d get indigestion, or heart burn.”

  The dog’s eyes barely strayed from his as it now took a long drink of the water.

  “I hope it was still cool for you.”

  The dog moved back up to the sixth step and began to sniff the bone.

  “I hope I cooked it the way you like it.”

  Rod was surprised. The dog did not mouth the bone and take it away. It made itself comfortable on the sixth step and looked around the yard, then back to him occasionally.

  Rod kept a quiet, but regular tone in his voice as he spoke to the dog about where he had been for the past few years, and how he had now come to be living above the garage. The dog kept glancing at him as he spoke, sitting with tail wagging, mutton bone still un-chewed, close to its front, and within reach of its mouth. Then Rod went silent. He looked around the yard, occasionally looking at the dog. At least five minutes passed before he started again.

  “So, hello there. My name’s Rod. Do you have a name? Have you got a collar? I’ll have a look sometime if you let me. Maybe you’ve been micro-chipped. Perhaps I’ll take you to the vet one day to find out. Get you a health check while we’re there.”

  The dog gave a soft high whine as if responding.

  “First though we’d have to give you a clean up. Your lovely long coat looks a bit matted. You know; good shampoo and brush. Make you look pretty. Certainly make you smell sweeter.”

  Another couple of soft high whines.

  “Well, if you remember your name, pop upstairs and tell me sometime. I’m in most days. Most evenings too. Actually I’ll be in every bloody evening. So if you want a social chat, drop by. Maybe we can have a nice bottle of milk together.”

  More soft short whines followed.

  “Please excuse me. I have a few jobs to do. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Rod stood slowly, and the dog watched as he made his way along the balcony and through the back door.

  Looking out the kitchen window, Rod saw the dog had picked up its bone and, tail wagging happily, was slowly making its way back to the car from which it came.

  Arrangements for the telephone re-connection were made for the next day. The electricity was already on.

  ----------

  Rod was already at the bar, with a sizeable group around two tables with high bar stools, when Tim arrived. He was followed by two men in their mid to late 40’s, wearing just bush-singlets, shorts, despite the cooler air, and low-cut gumboots. They were obviously brothers.

  “This is Bill and Ben I was tellin’ you about,” said Tim.

  Rod suppressed the desire to make a ‘flower pot men’ comment, but could not suppress his smile.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said as handshakes were made.

  Bill was marginally taller, marginally slimmer and probably marginally older as well.

  “Yeah, pleased to meet you too,” both replied in unison.

  “I understand you’ve got some work I can do for you.”

  “Yep,” replied Bill. “Need some drafting for some houses we wanna put up on the farm. We got some rough drawings we made ourselves, but we’ve gotta formalise it, you know, red tape stuff. All to get building consent.”

  “Sounds good,” replied Rod.

  “Yeah, we’ve both been livin’ in the old homestead since both the old wrinklies died.” Ben had taken up the conversation. “Always lived there in fact. Now that we’re both gonna get married, have our own families and all that stuff, we thought we better get our own houses.”

  “Built close enough together but not too close if you know what I mean,” Bill said.

  “I don’t want him borrowin’ me cup of sugar every day do I?” chuckled Ben.

  Rod grinned, but doubted Ben recognized the obvious innuendo he had just made.

  “He can buy his own. He never buys the groceries,” Ben went on. “But your woman, she’ll straighten you out boyo.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for every night,” added Bill. Both of them laughed heartily.

  “Local girls?” asked Rod.

  “Nah,” answered Ben. “We found a couple of gorgeous sisters, hard workin’ family too. They’re from the Philippines.”

  Rod closed his eyes unconsciously and lowered his head. ‘There goes the farm,’ he thought. Then looking up his mouth replied, “Oh really? Which part?”

  “They were working in Manila in a big department store,” said Bill. “Big responsibilities too, working on the cash registers.”

  Rod felt mixed emotions surging within him.

  “You been there?” asked Ben.

  “Too many times,” answered Rod, hoping the disappointment did not show in his voice. “But I want to know about these houses.”

  The brothers both reached for their back pockets and withdrew folded A4 sheets of paper, giving them to Rod. Both were slightly soiled from frequent handling.

  Tim grabbed a hand towel from the barmaid and wiped an area of the table dry.

  Opening each carefully, Rod laid the basic floor plans on the now dry table.

  The plans showed outside and inside walls drawn, wall lengths, and toilet, kitchen and bathroom locations. Certainly something he could work from. His emotional gut-wrenching had already started to decline.

  “Not bad drawings fellas,” he commented.

  Both brothers shifted self-consciously, embarrassed, but obviousl
y thankful for the compliment in front of their peers.

  “What’s the land like?” asked Rod.

  “Dead flat at both sites and three hundred metres apart,” answered Bill.

  One house was a level and a half, the other a full two level.

  “You know with a few adjustments you could save lots on your plumbing,” offered Rod.

  The brothers looked at each other, and then nodded back at him. “You’re the expert.”

  “What did you want me to do?” asked Rod.

  “Not the full architectural thing, just the drafting stuff.”

  “Okay, I can’t give you and estimate of my fee at the moment, but it’ll take a couple of weeks to get it all down pat for a builder to follow. I’d like to visit the farm first to check on north/south directions and so on. When can I do that?”

  “Come up tomorrow if you like, no the next day. We’ll tidy up a bit and you can stay the night.”

  “Couldn’t tomorrow anyway. In the morning my shipment from overseas arrives. You know drafting board and all that stuff. But thanks, we’ll see how things go after I arrive on the farm.”

  Telephone numbers were swapped, addresses and directions given, and then with the many others around the bar, they began a serious early evening of drinking. Rod left early in readiness for the delivery of his shipping boxes tomorrow.

  The walk from the hotel to his new ‘digs’ was barely 100 metres. As he neared his door a short bark at the mesh fence reminded him of his new canine friend. The movement sensor picked him up, lighting up the car and his surroundings.

  Rod detoured to the fence, crouched down and instinctively and unthinking wiggled his fingers through the mesh at the tail wagging dog. The dog cautiously leaned forward and sniffed his fingers.

  He suddenly realised how stupid he had been. The dog could have had a couple of his fingers off in a second.

  “You been waiting for me?”

  The dog sat and responded with a couple of subdued high pitched whoops.

  “Sorry, can’t chat all night. Some phone calls to make. Visitors early tomorrow, so I’ll try and get you an early brekky.”

  A couple of short whimpers and the dog turned and loped back to her car, tail wagging.

  ----------

  Next morning Rod had showered and dressed by 7:30 am. The carriers were not due until 9:30 am. He made a coffee, and opened a can of dog food. He looked out the back window. The dog was seated in the yard looking up at him. When the dog realised he had been seen, the tail started wagging.

  Rod exited the back door carrying a pitcher of water, his coffee, and the tin of dog food with a spoon stuck in the top. Putting his coffee on the top step he walked down and picked up the two containers. He re-ascended to the tenth step before putting them down and filling each. The dog stood at the bottom of the staircase, watching.

  Then returning to the top step, he sat down, with his feet on the third to top step. He picked up his coffee. The dog had remained seated at the bottom.

  “C’mon, breakfast is served.”

  The dog leapt up the first six steps, slowed, then, took the next four steps cautiously, never taking his eyes off Rod.

  Rod said nothing as he sipped his coffee. The air was still a bit cool as he was in shadow away from the rising eastern sun. The dog had finished the food, slurped some of the water then sat on the ninth step, only three steps away from Rod’s feet.

  After about ten minutes of this silence, the dog gave a couple of little whoops.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  Three more little whoops followed.

  “You’re welcome. Remember I’m gonna be busy this morning when the shippers drop off my gear.”

  “Whoop, whoop.”

  “Looks like it might be a warm day today. I’ll try and give you cool fresh water a few times.”

  The dog’s eyes just looked at him. It lay on its stomach, chin resting on its front paws, eyes moving to and fro over the yard and occasionally up at Rod.

  Another ten minutes silence followed. The first rays of the sun had reached the furthest part of the yard of wrecked cars.

  Rod made sure he was slow in his movement in standing up. He did not want to startle the dog with sudden movements. The dog slowly lifted itself up to being seated on its haunches. Rod was satisfied. It seemed that the trust was growing rapidly.

  ----------

  Morning and the delivery passed quickly. Rod almost felt sorry for the two men running the boxes up the stairs as he ticked off the box numbers and directed them where to put the boxes. After their departure he opened selected boxes, set up the equipment he needed, and stored away what he did not.

  It was well after sunset when he heard a couple of subdued barks at his back door. In his concentration on the work he was doing, he had totally forgotten the dog. He stopped mounting the paintings on the walls, and filled a large jar with milk. While the milk was getting a one minute heating in the micro-wave, he grabbed a handful of dog biscuits, slipping them into his pocket.

  He interrupted the micro-wave at 59 seconds and removed the warm jar. The dog scampered away from the back door when he opened it, but only ran down eight steps. The security lighting flicked on, bathing them in light. Rod picked up the white milk dish, filled it with the warm milk and placed it on the third step. Slowly he sat on the verandah, his feet on second step, and waited. The dog cautiously climbed back to the fourth step and sniffed the bowl of milk on the third step, always watching Rod. After a couple of quick licks, the dog relaxed, climbed the extra step, and concentrated on the milk. After it was finished, the dog lay on its stomach, chin on its paws, only inches from Rod’s feet. The security lights had switched off through lack of movement.

  The cloudless night sky was barely lit by a quarter-moon to the east, just below the horizon, so the stars shone clearly. It was a little cool, but not unbearable. The milky-way looked so thick it was almost like a thin misty cloud stretching in a wide band from one horizon to the other.

  After ten minutes, Rod slowly reached into his pocket. The dog did not move, but watched his every move. Extracting one biscuit he held it between two fingers and slowly extended his hand toward the dog. The dog sat up on its haunches and leaned forward to sniff at the biscuit. Carefully grasping the biscuit between its front teeth it pulled it from Rod’s hand. Several pieces fell onto the step as the dog bit into it. After chewing the biggest piece taken on the first bite it quickly located the smaller pieces and gobbled them up; then looked up at Rod.

  The next biscuit Rod broke into three equal size pieces, putting them on his open palm before he extended it toward the dog. Initially, acting cautiously, the dog carefully lifted a piece out of Rod’s hand and quickly consumed that before taking the second and third pieces. Rod left his empty hand extended. The dog pushed its nose into Rod’s hand, and climbing an extra step kept pushing Rod’s hand in the direction of his pocket.

  Rod grinned, reached into his pocket, grabbed a couple of extra biscuits, broke them into pieces and put them on the wooden balcony at the level he sat. Without hesitation the dog climbed to the step below him and began picking them up and chewing them one at a time. Slowly and softly Rod began to stroke the dog behind the head. The dog did not resist. When the last biscuit disappeared, the dog mounted the top step and sniffed at Rod’s pocket. Rod took out the last biscuit and broke that likewise and held it in his palm again. While the dog was taking the biscuit pieces Rod stroked the back of its head with his other hand.

  After finishing the last biscuit, the dog looked at him. Its long nose and mouth, from its Collie ancestry, moving slightly as its eyes switched looking from one eye to the other of Rod.

  “It doesn’t feel like you have a collar under that long hair of yours,” said Rod softly. “So we can’t get your name there.”

  The dog gave a soft bark in response.

  “Maybe you’ll let me call you Watcha. That’s W.A.T.C.H.A. What do you think?”

  A couple
of soft barks were the reaction to the question.

  “We agree then. Well, I can’t just sit around yapping all night. Some of us have got to prepare for my first job here.”

  Rod slowly got to his feet, and equally slowly bent down to pat Watcha behind the head. She did not move away in fear.

  “Goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Rod turned around to enter the back door, and Watcha gave a couple of low barks.

  “I said tomorrow, now go and do your job.” To his surprise, Watcha turned around and ran down the stairs into the yard. Rod closed the door behind him.

  “Good progress,” he said to himself.

  ----------

  Next morning he grabbed Watcha’s bowls and washed them. Watcha stood at his back door wondering what was going on. Rod emerged onto the balcony. “Sorry, can’t hang around for a chat. Work to do.” He lowered the filled bowls gently. He wanted to get to Bill and Ben’s farm before midday. The directions had been a bit sketchy. The only certainties were the number of bridges he had to cross when travelling the country road, with numerous re-crossings of the same river. He had been told it was about an hour’s drive, but the local area map showed it would be a twisty journey well into the ranges.

  Once he found the turn-off for the road a couple of kilometers south, he headed into the hills. The bitumen soon gave way to metal. The road frequently narrowed to a single car width in some areas. His little Honda handled it beautifully. This was his first long drive in it, and the sound system proved to be excellent.

  He began wishing Watcha had come with him, but realized she would not be ready for it yet. Besides, many farmers did not want ‘townie’ dogs on their properties.

  Some of the bridges were small, covering some of the many streams which fed into the main river. He was told to count all the bridges, double and single lane. After crossing one larger bridge, he stopped in a small off-road area, and walked back onto the bridge. There was no traffic around here. Wearing his Polaroid sunglasses, he looked into the water and noticed numerous trout. A clearly defined path ran from the bridge to the river-side. This site solved one of his recreational hobbies; fly-fishing.

  The importance of counting bridges, in the otherwise sketchy directions, turned out to make the instructions surprisingly precise. He easily found the farm; the current house set back about two hundred metres, and centrally located on a broad plateau was probably the only piece of flat land in the district. Turning into the shingle driveway, the climb was deceptively steep. He parked on the wide concourse next to a couple of farm quad bikes with trays on the back. The brothers, still in bush-singlets, shorts, and well-worn sox on their feet, were standing, waiting for him on the wide verandah of the beautifully maintained house. After handshakes, Ben pointed behind Rod.

  “What do ya think of that.”

  Rod turned and saw the 90 degree vista of the area down to the coast with the sea stretching away in the distance. He had not realised he had climbed above the foothills. Some people would pay millions for a view like this, even with the isolation.

  As though almost reading his thoughts, Bill said, “The landing strip is about 200 metres behind the house. Runs the length of the plateau.”

  Rod shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing. Best view I’ve ever seen from a country property.” He turned around to look beyond the plateau behind the houses. The ranges rose high in the distance. That view too was almost as spectacular.

  Rod’s uneasiness, at the thought of their losing this property in a matrimonial settlement, returned. He wondered if he should relate his and other friends’ experiences with some foreign women. The mixed emotions, which he thought he was well over, would not entirely dissipate.

  “We don’t own this,” said Bill with a grin on his face.

  “Not even the stock,” Ben followed on in their double act.

  “Just ours while we’re alive, then it goes to the nieces and nephews, the kids of our two sisters,” Bill picked up.

  “We’ve only got a small house each in the town for when we retire,” Ben went on, confirming the double act. “Even got small mortgages on those.”

  “They’re rented out for enough to cover the costs,” Bill added.

  “Mum died eight years ago, it gutted our Dad. He went downhill quickly after that.” said Ben.

  “After we started dating these Filipina women, we realised we wanted to protect the assets and property for Mum and Dad’s family. You know what I mean.” Bill laughed as he spoke. “So we changed Dad’s will before he died two years ago.”

  “You know there are a lot of silly buggers out there who’ve had their arses burned after marrying mail order brides. They’ll act at loving you more than you can ever believe, and pleasing you like you’re a lord. They get into the country and get their residency, maybe have a kid or two, stay with the husband long enough to qualify under the Matrimonial Property Act, then bugger off with half the assets.” Ben now laughed, immediately followed by Bill. “Apparently they can be good wives the second time around with someone else that they choose.”

  “With us they’ll get half of sweet bugger all,” they said in unison.

  Rod found himself laughing loudest. He wished he had met them several years ago to warn him. It confirmed that wisdom did not mean educational qualification.

  They were inside soon after, enjoying cold mutton slices, and plenty of well prepared salads. Rod marveled at their culinary skills; then it was down to business. They examined his sketches of various aspects of the house constructions, and commented on his adjustments to their drawings and his suggestions. The afternoon passed quickly before they led him to the proposed sites. He asked about the sub-soils and base rock and they showed him the results of test diggings they had organized. He admired them for their nous. It was only their outward façade that seemed to show them as country ‘yokels’. It would be too easy to underestimate these guys. They were smart. Rod even pondered if they played on other people underestimating them.

  He apologised for not wanting to stay the night, but under the pretext of wanting to start their plans while they were still fresh in his mind, and wanting to get over the country back-roads before dark, he took his leave. After they learned he had a 210 cubic centimeter deep freeze, they stockpiled his car with the freshly bagged cuts of a whole sheep and various cuts of beef from their farm kills.

  On his drive home he frequently burst into laughter. He who underestimated these guys would be a fool.

  ----------

  It was after sunset when he got home. Watcha barked her greeting, wagging her tail wildly at his return. He opened one of the plastic bags of fresh meat, and pushed a large thawed raw beef steak through the mesh.

  It took nearly half-an-hour to cart all the bagged meat upstairs. It had been carefully labeled and dated. It was a very thoughtful and complete gift to fill his deep freeze.

  He briefly went outside to fill Watcha’s green water container which he now put at his back door. She had no hesitation in drinking from it immediately he put it down, and remained non-reactive to his stroking her head. Then it was back inside to set the dish-washer and begin drafting on the freshly set up drafting table.

  The hours passed quickly in his concentration on the task. On a necessary toilet break he noticed it had passed midnight. Time for bed. He had soon readied himself, and had a thought. He opened the window.

  “Good night Watcha,” he called out.

  The dog responded with a once only bark.

  He shut the window against the cold and fell asleep within seconds of crawling under the blankets.

  ----------

  Next morning, after his shower and dressing, he took two plastic outdoor chairs, stored in a spare room, to the kitchen. Watcha had barked a couple of times at the back door to let him know she was there. Immediately he opened the door, Watcha scrambled away, but only to the top step. She watched Rod place a small table, left by the previous tenant, on the verandah next to his back d
oor and a plastic chair each side. He folded a cheap throw rug and put it on the chair nearest the stairs.

  Again he heated some milk and finished making his coffee before going outside again. Putting his coffee on the table, he filled the white milk bowl with warm milk and pushed it partly under the table. Sitting down on the rug-less chair he started sipping his coffee and watching Watcha’s reactions. She stayed sitting at the top of the stairs.

  “Well come on then.”

  Watcha trotted slowly to the bowl, looking at him while she smelled the milk before starting to drink. When she had finished, he leaned across and patted the chair several times, each time saying “Up.” Eventually she jumped on the chair and, still standing, sniffed the rug. Then, turning circles several times as though wondering how to sit down, eventually she sat, resting her chin on her front legs and watched him with her big brown eyes.

  Later that day Rod told Tim about the progress he had made with Watcha.

  “Good choice for a name. Gives a job description too.”

  “She’s not a dog Tim, she’s a bitch.

  “Oh. I never examined it.”

  “Dogs lift a leg Tim, bitches squat.”

  “I never thought about it, but I still call them all dogs.”

  Rod asked Tim if he could arrange for a flap to cut in the door allowing Watcha access to the upstairs rooms, and designed so the flap could be locked down when necessary.

  “Mate, if you think you can get her to go inside, you’re welcome. Safer I guess than having a car body falling on her. You know what; you’ve really gotta get a woman in your life.”

  “Take it on Tim as a mission in your life.”

  He laughed briefly. “Shirley and I just might do that.”

  Over the next few days he worked on Bill and Ben’s project and paid cash to another of the drinking school, a carpenter, who put a two-way swinging flap on the door, with a bolt that could lock the swinging door in the up or down position. He put Watcha’s chair next to his on the verandah, then was able to pat her, or put his arm over her while having his coffee. She just watched him carefully during these changes. She showed no objection when he put the collar on her. Maybe she did not notice it over her thick wiry fur. Her new collar included a small plate with her new name and his address.

  The next day, bolting the flap up, he put the food and drink bowls inside the door. She nosed through the gap, before starting to eat inside, then, sitting on another throw rug he had put inside a dog basket he purchased, and placed near the door. Rod dropped the flap down but did not lock it. Watcha panicked and charged at the flap which easily gave way. After easily passing through it, and waiting outside for a few minutes she re-entered, exited again, and re-entered, settling on her rug. She realized she could come and go as she pleased. After that he left it down, swinging and unlocked. She could pop out and do her rounds of the car-yard to see all was right and proper.

  Now, each morning when he got up and went to the kitchen she was either standing by the bench waiting for breakfast, or tucked in her dog basket under the small kitchen table. He did not care how ridiculous it might seem to outsiders if they heard him talking to the dog. It made Watcha relax. She frequently followed him from room to room, even sitting on his slippered feet as he worked at the drafting table, or sitting next to him on the lounge as he watched T.V. She allowed him to pick her up and carry her from the lounge to her own basket when he went to bed.

  Over the next two weeks, six more car-bodies had been delivered. Watcha had only disappeared twice. Once was overnight, the other for several hours. Rod knew a big test with Watcha was yet to come. He had purchased two plastic 40 litre storage containers to wash her in the vet recommended shampoo, and then rinse her.

  His drafting for Bill and Ben was complete He still had to receive answers about the availability of some materials for his report, which included a suppliers list and cutting sizes. This enabled everything to be pre-cut before delivery.

  His intention to give Watcha a bath that day received a big setback through an entirely unrelated incident. He put a lead on her, and she happily trotted down the front steps on the lead. Rod was going to take her for a walk. She showed no objection until she levelled with the car-yard. Realising she was on the wrong side of the fence, and separated from her precious car-yard, she panicked, jerked the lead out of his hands, and sped around the side of the fence trailing the lead, before squirming under a small hollow. Once inside she ran to her car and leapt inside.

  “Okay, you win. You’ve gotta do your job too.”

  When he returned later, Watcha stayed away from him, even sleeping outside that night.

  Next morning, after he filled her now indoor eating and drink-bowls, she came inside trailing the lead as though nothing had happened.

  Rod finished off the last of the detail for Bill and Ben’s report, phoned them to visit him, and prepared his bill.

  In the mid afternoon under the warm sun, Rod placed the two now lidless storage boxes on the verandah alongside a plastic jug and two old towels for drying. He half-filled each with warm water; one had a generous amount of dog shampoo.

  Speaking quietly and gently, he lowered her into the shampoo mix. She squirmed to get free and jump out. Rod kept a tight grip. She soon stopped struggling, but her body went rigid. Rod forced her hind quarters into the water and started to rub the shampoo into her hair.

  Her eyes began to close for a few seconds at a time as though in a state of bliss. She did not move as he used the jug to pour more water over her shoulders and back, careful not to wet her head. The water quickly dirtied after he had rubbed the shampoo deeply into the coat. In her soaked condition she looked only half the size; vulnerable, almost frail

  Picking her up, Rod transferred her into the other tub and washed out the soap. Grabbing the towels and lifting her out of the second tub he vigorously rubbed her as dry as the thick coat would allow.

  Immediately he released her, she shook her whole body vigorously, trying to rid herself of the moisture still deep within her coat. Then, running down the steps, began rolling over, rubbing onto the concrete in the yard.

  “Bugger you dog,” yelled Rod. “I’ve just cleaned you.”

  A laugh came from outside the fence. Tim and one of his apprentices were watching.

  “Are you opening a hair salon next?” asked Tim.

  “Yeah,” responded Rod. “And you’re haircut will be next baldy.”

  Tim reacted by rubbing his hands through his old fashioned razor-cut style.

  “The sooner we get a ‘chicky babe’ for you the better I’ma thinkin.”

  Tim and the apprentice chuckled and walked away.

  Rod sat for a few minutes in frustration watching Watcha’s concrete rolling reaction before he returned inside, cursing under his breath.

  ----------

  Watcha stayed out all that night and had not returned by late morning when Rod walked out to purchase some stationery. As he entered the stationers, his thoughts were on the list of items he wanted to buy.

  He was annoyed. He had left the list was on the table. His sub-conscious registered a dark-haired petite woman, wearing a fashionable French-style beret, examining postcards in a rack by the doorway. He courteously nodded as she looked at him and he stepped around her. It reminded him that he too should send post cards, and added those to his now mental list.

  As he remembered the required items, he piled them on the counter to the bemused and pleased grin of the shop owner. With the heavy reams of A4 paper and the bulk of suspension-folders and storage boxes, he knew he should have brought his car. He would pay for the items and pick them up later.

  He had the items he had come for. The woman was now examining a second rack of postcards. Rod moved to the first card-rack. From a couple of metres distance he looked more at the woman rather than the postcards. She was profile on. He was immediately struck with her beauty. Nose straight and a perfect angle, hints of high cheekbones, chin-size perfect for t
he face. The front of the long black hair hidden under the beret swept back to a flowing pony tail. Everything as if directly from the sculptors brain with perfection in mind.

  She turned to look at him. The frontal view was just as stunning. Her deep brown eyes looked into his. No; they looked past his and into his soul. Rod suddenly felt stupidly like an inexperienced teenager. She grinned.

  Rod opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He had only ever once before felt stupidly weak at the knees like this. That was when he was at High School.

  His brain screamed, ‘shit, shit. Think of something to say.’

  Thankfully she spoke first.

  “Sending to anyone special?” she asked. She spoke with a strong Irish accent. God, he loved the Irish accent coming from a woman, probably only second to a French accent also coming from a woman. No; he suddenly preferred the Irish accent.

  “No,” he felt him stammer out with a stupid nervousness. “No,” he repeated, “just some friends I promised to write to.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear from you.”

  “I hope so.”

  That accent was music to his ears. He wanted to say something intelligent or profound, a fresh new line to impress her.

  “Do you come here often?” ‘Oh my God,’ he thought, ‘how moronically stupid and inane.’

  She looked at him again with a grin. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

  ‘God, she was laughing at him. Attractive women always made him feel uncomfortable.’

  “I love your accent,” Rod said. That felt better. It was always easier when he spoke his true feelings. He noticed her now squirm a little in self-consciousness.

  “I thank you, if you mean it.”

  Rod was going to mention his liking to for the French accent, then thought better of it.

  “Are you living here?” he asked.

  “Sort of.”

  Rod felt his heart surge in happiness.

  “Just until I have to move on,” she said.

  Strange answer thought Rod. Then he suddenly wondered if she was married. He glanced at her left hand to check out the ring finger. No jewelry. He felt relieved. Then he began thinking maybe she was in a relationship. ‘Go for it,’

  “Are you married?” he asked.

  “You are straight to the point.”

  “Well?”

  “Not any more.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “I mean, I hope I see you again.”

  “You probably will.”

  He was finding her difficult to read. Perhaps she was just playing with him. He hoped not.

  “Sir, sir,” the female shop attendant called to him from inside the shop. “Everything’s on the register. Is that all?”

  “I’m coming,” he called in response.

  “I’m going,” said the angel with the Irish accent.

  “No, no, please not yet,” he said. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Nor I, yours.”

  “My name’s Rod.” he said.

  “And mine is Claire,” she replied.

  “Can you wait just a few seconds? I’ll pay for my stuff.”

  Big brown eyes smiled back at him. The mouth smiled with the eyes. He felt she had agreed to wait. He turned, walked to the counter and offered his credit card. When he heard the total he whistled out a breath between his pursed lips.

  The female attendant just smiled and said, “We thank you for the business sir.”

  He added nothing as he keyed his PIN into the EFTPOS machine.

  “Can I leave it all here for the moment? I’ll need the car to take it home.”

  “Certainly. I’ll put the smaller items into boxes.”

  Rod moved to return to Claire. She was no longer inside. The smell of her perfume was still in the air where she had stood. Her took a deep breath to get the full benefit, then stepped outside looking up and down the street and across the road. She was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she had gone into another shop. He stood and waited for a while, then remembered the imminent arrival of Bill and Ben at his office.

  Walking back to his office quickly, he glanced into each shop he passed, in hope.

  Just as he arrived at his door, a large dark-green 4-wheel drive vehicle with deeply tinted windows pulled in next to his car. He could not clearly see the occupants. Brief thoughts of a Mafia hit-team knocking him off for talking to a Mafia chick named Claire, crossed his mind. No. She was Irish not Italian. A tinted window dropped down.

  “We’re back,” called Ben from the driver’s side.

  “Good to see you again,” responded Rod.

  Pleasantries and handshakes completed, and dressed in their cleanest bush-singlets, they went up to his office, where he showed them around, unmade bed and all.

  “You need a Filipina wife to tidy up for you,” said Ben

  “No bloody way,” replied Rod.

  All three of them laughed.

  He left them browsing over his drafted plans and the report while he percolated some coffee, set up sugar, milk, and cups on the table, and emptied a packet of mixed biscuits onto a plate. They were reading the information in the report as he looked out of the back window and thought about Claire. His eyes swept the backyard. There was no sign of Watcha either.

  “Bloody magnificent,” the voices from behind him almost came in unison.

  “I’m pleased you’re pleased.”

  “All this extra stuff at the back about sizes and measurements is great. We can pre-cut everything before it’s shipped and put it together like a kit-set,” said Bill.

  The discussions over the plans continued over the coffee and biscuits for another hour. Rod’s mind kept drifting to Claire.

  His mind rapidly came back to his immediate surrounding when Ben pulled a huge number of banknotes from his pocket, started counting out $50 dollar notes, and pushed them across the table in his direction for payment of his account.

  “Thanks fellas, I wasn’t expecting payment this quick,” he responded.

  “There’s an extra couple of hundred in there for a job well done,” said Bill.

  “Most unexpected and most appreciated,” said Rod.

  Small talk followed for a while. Rod mentioned his meeting Claire in the hope they knew something. They did not.

  They departed with the plans, asking him to join them later at the hotel. With a ‘maybe’ as his response he followed them downstairs to drive his car to the stationers. As he was waving them goodbye, Tim stuck his head out of the garage.

  “Good guys them,” he said

  “Very generous too,” replied Rod.

  Rod related his meeting of Claire to Tim. Tim could not recall anyone local meeting that description. Disappointed, Rod returned to his office, forgetting his intention of driving to the stationer. Watcha was lying in the basket under the kitchen table. As he approached, she ambled over to him, head down in submissive posture, tail wagging. Rod patted her head, poured her some milk and made himself another coffee before sitting on the lounge. When Watcha had finished the milk she joined him on the lounge. Rod told Watcha every detail of his meeting.

  The downstairs buzzer unexpectedly rang. Rod pressed the intercom button. The stationer had got a friend to drop off his order. He had forgotten about it after his talk with Tim.

  Daily, around the same time of day, for the next week, he went back to the stationer hoping to see Claire. Then he walked around the shops near the stationers. He questioned the shopkeepers he knew. Nobody recalled knowing who she was. Some vaguely recollected possibly seeing her before, but that may have been just friendly encouragement.

  In the meantime, Bill and Ben had been praising his abilities to everyone they spoke with. Rod had received phone calls, followed by visits from two people wanting extensions drawn up for their homes. Rod willingly accepted these commissions. While engrossed in the work it kept his mind off Claire.

  He was getting qui
te angry with himself for this stupid infatuation. They had conversed only briefly for a few minutes, yet his thoughts were dominated by his vision of her. He was angry too because he had not ascertained her family name. If he had he could have searched electoral roles, telephone books; anything instead of just waiting and hoping for another chance meeting.

  Watcha kept him company most times, day and night, listening without comment to his rantings, making only an occasional whoof or whine to his words. Watcha had taken to sleeping at the base of his bed, not on it.

  When clients appeared for meetings, Watcha ran off. Rod presumed she went to her own car among the growing number of wrecks. She would not return for hours after the guests had left.

  After one female client visited to discuss a new home for her and her husband, Watcha sniffed around the chair the client had sat on, then stayed out all night and most of the next day.

  “Dog’s bloody jealous,” said Tim when he was told about the behaviour. The other patrons at the drinking school agreed when he saw them at his now regular Thursday night drinks. Thursday was also when Bill and Ben did their once a week town visit. He discovered if he stayed late and came home a little bit tipsy, Watcha frequently stayed out all night.

  The memory of Claire had begun to fade when he walked to the stationers three weeks later.

  “Forgotten me already eh?” the feminine Irish voice came from behind him.

  Rod whirled in soaring hope. Yes it was.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Rod immediately regretted saying it.

  “Ooh” she said. “I didn’t take you for a hot tempered young man.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Rod lowering his head in shame at his outburst. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s just that I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Now why would that be?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s just that, well, like, I really wanted to see you again. I didn’t know where to look, anything.”

  “I knew nothing about you either, ‘cause you said nothing to me that day.”

  “I never even got your family name.”

  “Nor you to me.”

  Rod felt frustrated. Was she toying with him again?

  “Mackie,” he said. “Rod Sean Mackie’s my name.” I’m pleased to meet you. He held out his hand.

  “Shannon, Claire Mary Shannon,” she replied mimicking him. And seemingly putting out her hand to shake his, at the last second she slapped his offered hand.

  “Now then, why didn’t you do it properly the first time we met.”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She lowered her head. “Maybe I wasted too much time. You see I’ve watched you before when you’ve been walking around, but you missed seeing me. I didn’t want to be forward.”

  “You’re here now, that’s all that’s important isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” she responded.

  “I’d really love to ask you to dinner.”

  “What’s to stop you asking?”

  “My nerves, and fear of rejection.”

  “Rejection? Who in their right mind could reject you?”

  “Well, would you like to come to dinner with me?” Rod asked sheepishly.

  “That’s not really the question you mean to ask, is it?”

  “I thought it was. What was wrong with it?”

  “You wanted me to express my desires of going to dinner with you without revealing your desire to take me to dinner.”

  “Please stop playing with me. What should I have said?”

  “As it is you who wants to take me to dinner you should have said so.”

  “OK. I would like to take you to dinner. Will you come?”

  “No. But then I’m not in my right mind am I?”

  Rod dropped his head in disappointment.

  “Oh for Mother Mary’s sake,” she went on. “Why in the name of the Holy Father didn’t you ask the question properly the first time?”

  She looked at his confused expression, reached out with her hand and touched his cheek.

  Rod felt his body shoot with pleasure.

  “So. I am now in my right mind and I would like to accompany you.”

  Rod felt his face quickly transition to a broad smile.

  “I did not mean to hurt you,” she went on. “Maybe I want to protect us both.”

  “Let’s see what happens and let what will be, be.”

  “Agreed,” she replied.

  “Tonight?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Where can I pick you up?”

  “Oh no,” she said. “You could be one of those horrible stalkers. I have my own means of transport. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Not much choice of eating places around here though.”

  “It’s the company that’s important isn’t it?”

  “True. Indian okay for you?”

  “Fine. I don’t have to pick the spicy dishes,” she said.

  “The Indian restaurant, I can’t remember its name, is in the township on the left side of the road heading toward the beach. Just past the library and before the Post Office.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “I hope so. Eight o’clock?”

  “Eight o’clock. I’ll meet you inside.”

  Rod watched her turn and go. Maybe 5 feet two inches, and in his mind all beautiful.

  Just before she turned the corner she stopped, turned around, and looked back at him. He felt guilty that he had been watching her. She gave a little wave and then disappeared around the corner. He entered the stationers and realized he had forgotten what he had come for. He bought the daily newspaper, and left.

  The smell of her perfume once again hung in the air, lingering in his nose. As soon as he got back to the garage he happily told Tim about his date.

  “Hey, Shirl and I eat there lots of times when we have a baby-sitter. Good food.”

  “I hope so.”

  “While you were out much earlier today, they dropped off three more wrecks,” Tim went on. “Piled them on the top and one fell over. Watcha took off under the fence. Must’ve frightened hell out of the poor dog.”

  “She’ll be back.” Rod looked at his watch. “2:30 pm already Tim, I better start getting organized for tonight.”

  “You must be real ugly if it’s gonna take you five hours to get dressed.”

  They both laughed. Rod turned and left.

  ----------

  Rod rushed around inside, tidying up, changing the sheets on his bed just in case he got lucky. He sprayed the rooms with lavender air conditioner to cover any obnoxious smells which he might have grown accustomed to. He gave his black shoes the first polish they had received since his arrival, but he had not worn them much. He prepared Watcha’s evening snack and filled her water bowl, but she was still gone after the falling car scare.

  His mind had been racing through the hundreds of possible different scenarios for the evening. The unpleasant ones he generally successfully cast from his mind as quickly as they entered. He tried to calm himself and not behave like an adolescent, but he had not felt this alive since he was a teenager.

  By 6:30 pm he was satisfied with the presentation and tidiness of the house. He took a long shower and dried off thoroughly; he did not want any sweatiness as a residue. Deodorant was applied, followed by a good musk talcum powder to his other parts. He hoped his cologne application was subtle. He did want his cologne to suppress that perfume of hers.

  At 7:20 pm he was ready. He wanted a quick shot of whisky to calm his nerves, then, thought better of it. He did not want his breath to smell of alcohol when they first met. He realized he had not cleaned his teeth and rushed to the bathroom. No time left now to sit on the lounge and think. He readjusted the lounge cushions again, and started downstairs to the car.

  The security lights startled him as he exited. He glanced quickly through the fence but Watcha was still missing. Brief pan
ic set in when he could not fit the key into the car lock before he realised he was using the wrong key. Then the car alarm went off as he opened the door. ‘Settle down’, he thought as he pressed the remote car alarm button.

  “Please let that be the last cock-up for the night,” he said aloud before he realized he had vocalized his thoughts.

  By 7:45 pm he was seated at the small bar-waiting area inside the restaurant. He sat restlessly twirling the ice cubes in his glass of lemonade, breath still alcohol free. The next 15 minutes seemingly took an hour to pass as his wristwatch and the clock on the wall seemed to go in reverse or take 180 seconds to a minute.

  Eventually 8:00 pm arrived, and he stood from his bar stool to watch the door.

  ‘Hell, it’s now 8:01 and she’s still not here,’ he thought.

  8:02, I wonder if she changed her mind.’

  8:03 and the door opened. His nerves jumped. A couple in their 60’s entered, and were quickly met by the host and ushered to their table.

  8:06, the door opened again. It was her. He was frozen to the spot. Her long black hair was out of the pony tail and flowing freely to her shoulders. The host had rushed to the door before he could move. Courteously assisting her remove her three-quarter length coat it revealed the perfect fitting black knee length dress, unexaggerated V-neck front and delicate straps over toned shoulders.

  Necessity unfroze his legs and he moved toward her. Immediately he moved, she saw him and walked toward him beaming a smile. When they met midway he put an arm on each side of her shoulder. It seemed so natural for her to lean forward and he kissed her on the forehead, the smell of her perfume already dizzying him.

  “Drinks first or immediate table for two, sir?” said the host.

  Rod looked at Claire. She simply raised her eyebrows. “Yes please,” he replied, “to a table if you have one with a bit of privacy. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  The host looked around. “If you can wait about 15 to 20 minutes, the perfect table for you will be available.”

  “Thanks, we’ll wait at the bar.”

  Rod made sure Claire was comfortable on the bar-stool.

  “I had to be fashionably late,” she said; her Irish accent playing with his ears.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said.

  “Thank you. Flattery will get you everywhere, but just maybe not on the first night,” she smiled.

  “I was dreading that you might not turn up.”

  “What? And miss my first decent meal since the Irish potato famine?”

  “Drink?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Lemonade so far. I didn’t want to be half drunk when you arrived.

  “A good Irish whisky and water, if they have that in an Indian restaurant.”

  Turning to the waiting barman Rod ordered two Irish whiskies and water.

  The next 15 to 20 minutes flew by for him as the conversation mixed between light hearted verbal jousting and serious talk about families and travel. His eyes had occasionally drifted to her finely shaped slightly suntanned shoulders. Her skin was of the beautiful Spanish, Irish mix after Sir Francis Drake and bad weather forced the Spanish galleons onto the rocks of Ireland. It seemed an intrusion when their table was pronounced ready. Rod feared the spell over them at the bar might be broken.

  He followed her to the table. Nice waist, properly proportioned backside for her small size, shapeliness to the legs, a combination that only fashion models have.

  Menus presented were carefully studied. The waiter stopped by the table just as they finalized selection.

  Thankfully, allaying Rod’s fears, the conversation picked up as though there had been no interruption. Entrees and main course were shared and eaten. Rod was pleased that Claire openly showed a hearty appetite, not pretending at fastidiously picking at the food.

  “Ahem,” Rod heard the sound next to the table and looked up. Tim’s grinning face was beaming down at him.

  “Gotcha,” he said. “I told Shirley we had to go out for dinner tonight.”

  “You scrub up well out of your overalls,” said Rod. “This is my date Claire.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Claire. This guy’s been moping around like a kid looking for a lost teddy bear since he met you and couldn’t find you again.” Tim turned and pulled a slightly dumpy fair-haired woman with a youthful round face to his side. “This is my better half,” he said.

  “You know he believes it too,” she smiled and shook hands with Rod and Claire.

  Claire immediately began chatting with Shirley and within seconds they were off in their own world of girl-speak.

  Tim feigned a wide-eyed surprised look, shrugged his shoulders, pushed Rod further along the bench seat and sat down. Claire made way for Shirley on her side.

  “Don’t worry,” said Tim, “we’re not gonna crash your party. I must confess I was nosey though, you know, like we country folk are. So we’ll go in a couple of minutes.”

  “That’s all right, you’re welcome,” said Rod.

  “Bloody liar,” grinned Tim.

  The men chatted briefly until surprisingly Tim interrupted the girls talking and said, “C’mon Shirl, our main course is probably ready. No sense in lettin’ it get cold.”

  With ‘see you soons’, and other farewells they left for their own table.

  Rod was thankful for Tim’s thoughtfulness. He greedily wanted every second of Claire’s time for himself.

  They had soon finished a mouth cooling dessert, and coffees were taken and drunk. Rod did not want an end to the evening but wondered how he could approach his next thoughts.

  Claire pre-empted his concerns.

  “Would you take me to the beach?” she asked.

  “Your wish is my command m’lady.”

  “Don’t make promises I might ask you to keep.”

  Rod smiled at the possibilities, signalled the waiter for the bill, paid, then waved to Tim and Shirley as they left.

  They sat in silence on the short drive to the beach. Claire had placed her hand on his shoulder as he drove; a seemingly natural act. There were few cars parked looking at the three-quarter moonlit ocean. Rod parked furthest from any others. The silence continued for a few more minutes, yet it was not an uncomfortable silence. More an inner reflection of the night already passed.

  Rod inwardly cursed the bucket seats of the modern cars and the high sitting hand brake and gearbox cover that separated them. The hand holding that started immediately they stopped seemed as natural as breathing. Her small hands were smooth, soft and warm. Occasionally she would dig a fingernail into to him and grin at his reaction.

  It was a bit cool to go for a stroll, but to his surprise after about five minutes of sea-watching she said, “Come on, let’s get some sand between our toes.”

  Rod removed his shoes and sox while she slipped off her high heels and put on her coat.

  The large pebbles of the parking area forced them to walk gingerly until they got to the sand high up on the beach. Claire looked around and finding a large dry sand area next to a thick log, sat down, her back against the log. Rod joined her.

  Claire pointed at the bright star in the north-east. “Venus,” she said. “It’s not just a star for love and lovers you know. It’s a star for sexual desires and lust.”

  The thought of making love with Claire, the whiskies, the cooler night air, or a combination of them all sent wanton excited shudders down his spine.

  “Oh you’re cold,” she said in reaction to his inhale of breath between closed teeth.

  Rod was feeling the chill a little, but did not correct her.

  Claire pulled her skirt high up her thighs and sat knees astride him, arms under his, and around his back.

  “I’ll try and keep you warm,” she said.

  Rod felt his desire start immediately, and put his arms around Claire.

  A couple of minutes passed in this intimate time.

  She stretched up and whispered in his ear, “Your hea
rtbeat and heavy breathing tells me you want me.”

  “Oh God yes,” responded Rod.

  “And I you,” she replied.

  “Your wish?” he stammered.

  “Oh yes, but no Rod, not yet. I’ve never done that on a first date. Then again I’ve never wanted to as much on a first date.” She leaned back and looked at him from sad brown eyes.

  “Oh Rod, dammit. I didn’t want or expect this to happen now. It can’t happen now you see.” She stood up. “Damn you,” she said. “Take me home.”

  Rod stood slowly, his hand adjusting the uncomfortable fold in his trousers. “You mean your home or your car?”

  “No!” she snapped. “Your home and your bed. And you make love to me and you cuddle me all night.”

  Rod hurried her back to his car hoping she would not change her mind on the return journey. They swept through the township and past the restaurant over the speed limit and a minute later they were outside the garage.

  Within two minutes they were naked under the clean sheets. Her skin was the smoothest thing he had ever touched. Wherever her hands touched him it seemed to find new nerve-endings that had never surfaced before. Her soft lips teased his neck, shoulders and chest. His mind became lost in the ecstasy that followed. When he exploded he felt his whole body seemed to eject.

  “That was for you,” she whispered in his ear. “The next is for me.”

  She lay on his shoulder and chest, her hand on his stomach. Measuring the right time to perfection she started again, this time making him love her as if there was no tomorrow, teasing and taunting him when he got close to orgasm, but reaching her own several times with deep moans. Finally she let him release and he realized he was calling out her name loudly.

  He relaxed back onto the pillow and she resumed her head on chest position. A few minutes of silence followed.

  “Mother of Mary you make a heck of a noise,” she said, and then giggled.

  “Your fault,” he replied. “My God I needed that.”

  “Me too.”

  The silence continued and the warmth flowed between their bodies. Rod didn’t care that his arm had gone numb. He could hear her deep even breathing. She had fallen asleep. Rod felt utter happiness and contentment for the first time in years.

  Within seconds he too was asleep.

  ----------

  When he woke next morning he kept his eyes closed. Her head was gone from his chest. Was it just a dream? He gently stretched his arm out feeling for her in his bed. Not there. He sat up quickly, listening in case she was in the shower or the toilet. Looking around the floor he saw all his clothes where they had been discarded. All of Claire’s were gone.

  Maybe it was just a dream; he always just threw his clothes on the floor. He picked up the pillow from her side of the bed and sniffed it. It was no dream; her scent was strong on the pillow.

  Wrapping a Balinese sarong around his waist, and putting on an old T-shirt and slippers, he double checked all the rooms. Then he saw a note under a clip on his drafting board. As he read it he smiled and felt his heart tighten.

  “Thank you for a night I have always dreamed for. Your genuine affection is shown from your eyes to your toes. Pity about the brain damage though, only joking. I hope you will let me see you in a few days. Love. Claire Mary Shannon.”

  He gently removed the note from under the clip and sniffed it. Her perfume was there too.

  He put it on the table and made himself coffee. Then picking up the note; sat on the lounge and read it again.

  His mind raced all over the place. Where has she gone? Why the mystery? No contact phone number. He ran his mind back over all the dozens of things they had talked about. No real clues there, except she had not referred to any events in the last two or three years. Then again, that did not mean much. Maybe little had happened that was worth mentioning. There were many long periods in his life when he had just felt he was only occupying space on an otherwise busy planet.

  Last night’s events meant that the next few days waiting for her return, to not hear the sound of her accent and, without the touch of her body, was going to be absolute torment. He did not want to shower; he could still smell her on him.

  ----------

  Needs dictates wants, so he showered and dressed, then walked to the Post Office to buy stamps. When he returned Tim was outside the garage wiping his hands on a grease-soiled rag.

  “She’s some gorgeous chickie babe man,” said Tim.

  “Nah. I get em looking like that every day of the week,” replied Rod.

  “You wish.”

  “I wish is right. She sure has something special.”

  “You know, Shirley reckons she’s seen her somewhere.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. She can’t remember at the moment. Thinks she’s a well known model or something. Knowing Shirley’s mind it’ll come to her eventually.”

  “Nah, she’s not a model mate, she’s too short. You know all them models are tall skinny racehorses, legs that go right up to you know where,” Rod replied.

  “S’pose you’re right. I’ll remind Shirl of that. Where’s Claire now?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What? God if ever there were two people who looked like they were going to do some rumpy dump, it was you two last night.”

  “No mate,” lied Rod. “Just a goodnight kiss when I dropped her off.”

  “Where does she live then?”

  “I don’t know. I just dropped her off at her car.”

  “Oh well, I’d better earn some money. Hungry kids and all that. See you later.”

  “Ciao,” replied Rod. He wished he had seen her car; he would have noted her number plate and tried to track her through that.

  Topping his stairs he saw Watcha, tail wagging, waiting inside the door.

  “You’re back. Did those horrible nasty people scare you?”

  She responded with a couple of barks.

  “I’ll get you some fresh food. The other’s been out for a day waiting for you. Well I guess you know that, otherwise you would’ve eaten it.”

  Rod emptied Watcha’s bowls, washed them, and replenished them with fresh food and water. Then after making himself another coffee, sat on the lounge. Watcha had scoffed her food quickly, taken a long drink, and joined him on the lounge.

  “So, now you want to hear all about my little episode eh?”

  Rod proceeded to relate everything to Watcha. Occasionally she would interrupt with a bark, a howl or a whoof.

  “But I couldn’t tell Tim what we did. He might think we were naughty.”

  “Whoof.”

  “So it’s just you and me for a few days.”

  “Whoof.”

  Tim went to his draft board and sat on the work stool to begin work. Then, standing, he walked to the table, picked up Claire’s note and replaced it under the clip where he found it, resumed his seat and started working.

  Work, and a second more co-operative and effective bath for Watcha kept him busy for the next three days. She had taken up a new sleeping position. He always left his days used clothes on the floor before putting them in the laundry basket when he got up. Watcha would doze on top of them. As usual, Watcha disappeared outside at the arrival of any clients, then returning through the swinging flap, tail wagging waiting for a pat or a cuddle. On the two occasions more car bodies were delivered, Watcha had hidden in his bedroom.

  Rod’s mind often drifted to Claire’s return. There was nothing he could do to speed it up. Work was some distraction, but only ever temporary.

  Tim had made the comment, “Gee you’ve been really bitten by the love bug.” Rod did not dispute it. He had been fascinated, seduced, enthralled, challenged and everything else in other relationships. This one he could not decipher. He had no feeling of jealousy after the possibility of her being married and with her husband, as was suggested by Bill. Ben suggested that from Tim’s description she was a film star making a film in New Zealand and could only
snatch a few days off now and again.

  Rod knew Bill’s suggestion was wrong; he would have felt something was wrong. As for Ben’s thoughts, well, Ben was the more romantic of the two, pleasant thought, but improbable.

  The few days had turned into a week. Melancholy had descended even into his daily contact with people. Watcha was no longer the company she had been. Her frequent absences had become annoying, as often when he had wanted to verbalise his feelings, even if only to a dog, she was not there. Drafting work too had become a bothersome chore.

  Mid-morning on the ninth day after her disappearance, he opened his desk drawer for his new box of drafting pencils. Then remembering he had left them in the car he went downstairs. He leaned in to get the pencils out of the glove-box.

  “Will you take me to the beach and play around a bit on the sand.”

  The singing Irish accent of his angel was behind him. He pulled his head out of the car to swing around, bumping his head heavily against the door frame.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Claire’s beautiful smiling face Changed to a look of feigned shock at his swearing, and looked back at him. Rod rubbed his head vigorously.

  “Now there’s a fine greeting for a young friend who thought you’d be pleased to see her.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry.” Rod threw his arms around her.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  Rod stepped back and held her at arms length. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Still a hot tempered young man I see.”

  He pulled her back to him again and cuddled her tightly. “I just missed you so much.” The wonderful smell of her perfume filled his nose and his heart again.

  “That’s really better,” she said again. Then, lowering her tone, and with a warmth that made him shudder. “And I missed you too, dreadfully.”

  Rod looked up over Claire’s shoulder and saw Tim and two of his employees grinning at him. They immediately all gave a ‘thumbs up’ sign, turned and walked back inside the garage.

  “We’re attracting an audience,” said Rod.

  “Can we sell seats?”

  “Not for what I want to do with you.”

  “Steady now. I’m still a virgin, remember?”

  “Just like you, so am I,” he answered.

  He opened the door. Again they were quickly naked under the sheets. His long days of pent up emotions and frustrations went into his furious lovemaking before he exploded. His anger and energy spent, he lay on his back. She took up the position he had missed for past nine lonely nights, and they relaxed like that for several minutes.

  “Well it doesn’t seem like you’re half pleased to see me then,” she giggled.

  Rod could not help his laughter. When his laughter finished, he paused to let the silence run. He wanted to ask so many things, but which one first?

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t ask me anything at the moment. I promise you will know everything, just not yet.”

  He shut up. He had been pre-empted in his thoughts again.

  ----------

  Under clear blue skies they spent the early afternoon on the beach, though the sun’s warmth was a little diminished by an off-shore breeze. Again the time was passed with a mixture of general chat interspersed by equally enjoyable periods of silence; their bodies touching and eyes surveying the scene.

  Collective unspoken thought made them both stand at the same time. They headed back to the car. The sun had surrendered its warming battle with the cooling wind.

  On the return journey, Claire placed her hand casually on the inside of his thigh nearest her. It was a natural touch, not necessarily meant to excite him, but it did.

  On their return home she asked for a towel, stripped and began showering. After a few minutes, he too stripped, and joined her. Taking the soap out of her hands, he gently washed her back, front, and around her perfectly proportioned small breasts, and around all the private regions he wanted to explore later.

  She reciprocated, but her sensual touch made his reactions blatantly obvious.

  “We better get this seen to, hadn’t we?” she said gently washing his erection.

  They dried each other gently and once again fell between the sheets. This time the lovemaking was paced and even, each one exploring the other, seeking sensitive places with light fingers.

  Afterwards, he dozed off in a feeling of total relaxation.

  He did not know how long he dozed, but he woke suddenly. She was gone again. He ran out of the room and into the kitchen. She was there, wearing his sarong and one of his T-shirts many sizes too large. It all looked so much better on her than on him. She was surrounded by pots and bowls; stirring something in one of them.

  She looked him up and down with a school-mistress type of look. “Is this the way we dress for dinner around here, is it?”

  He realized he was still naked, laughed, relieved at her still being here, and returned to the bedroom.

  So it went for the next three nights and days interspersed with visits to the beach, his new fishing spot where he failed to catch anything, but she hooked and landed three brown trout; window shopping in the malls of nearby townships, where she tried on various items, but refused to buy any, nor allow him to, apart from a couple of casual items and personals, because she had brought no luggage.

  Watcha had not turned up in this period, which annoyed Rod considerably. He had wanted to show her to Claire. “Damn jealous dog,” explained Rod, though inwardly he worried, as there had been a couple of car slips in the yard.

  Tim had greeted them a few times as they came and went in the car. Rod always giving a surreptitious wink, or thumbs up, when he was sure Claire was not looking.

  ----------

  Rod was feeling the happiest he had ever been. They had discussed topics which seemed to cover almost every topic available, except one, their future together. Rod knew he had to broach this subject soon.

  On the fourth night, after another home-cooked dinner by Claire, they moved to the couch with their wine-glasses. Rod selected a DVD of an Eagles concert to put in the player and watch as they sat cuddled together.

  Claire, track pants on, turned and sat astride him as she had on their first night on the beach. She put a palm on each of Rod’s cheeks and gently kissed him on the lips. Then sitting back, palms still in place, locked her grip on his eyes.

  “You know I can’t stay, don’t you?”

  Rod felt his insides drop.

  “You know too that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. I just wished I’d met you two years ago.”

  Rod’s mind raced, but couldn’t fix on anything to say.

  Claire went on. “I want more than anything to be with you, and I will try everything that’s possible to be with you forever.”

  Rod tried squeezing his eyelids tight to prevent the tears, but failed.

  Claire licked the tears from his cheeks. “Salty, but a taste I will keep in my heart.”

  Rod finally managed to verbalize. “Why? Why now?”

  “Perhaps my journey through your little town and, the wanderings through your country over the past two years were just to meet you. But I have to go. In any way that is possible I want to be back again with you.”

  The lovemaking from Claire that night was feverish and frantic. She clawed his back and bit him as he writhed in pain. It was not pleasant as the previous nights had been, but when he exploded inside her it was as if his soul had followed. They fell asleep clinging tightly together.

  ----------

  He woke late and immediately knew Claire was missing. Gone. Despite knowing he would not find her he frantically searched through all the rooms.

  When had she left?’ he asked himself. Had he just missed her or had she only feigned sleep and gone much earlier.

  He went back to bed. His mind tried to examine everything for a clue as to where she had gone. She had once commented about her Irish passport now being handy
as a Euro passport enabling her to go anywhere she wanted in Europe. She had told him about the many castles and other ancient buildings she had visited throughout Europe. A companion, partner or husband was never mentioned. Though she did talk about her three sisters, her deceased parents and how she, as the eldest was brought up with the strictest Catholic discipline. Her younger siblings had been allowed much more latitude.

  Rising for his coffee and cereals he wondered if this was what a condemned man felt like before a hanging. He craved company, yet wanted to be alone. It was Claire’s company he wanted, that he knew.

  After pouring his second coffee he broke a couple of biscuits in his hand and went out onto the balcony, sitting his coffee on the banister. He looked down the balcony to where he had put Watcha’s bowls outside. As she had obviously sulked at the presence of Claire as Rod’s preferred company, she had disappeared for four days. Rod did not want her to starve, so he moved the bowls back outside. Normally the bowls were inside to be away from possums and feral cats. The bowls were empty.

  In hope, more than certainty, he started to call out Watcha’s name. On the fourth call he sensed rather than saw her. Maybe it was the flash of her white blaze. She finally emerged from a narrow gap between a narrow three-high car-pile. She sat on her haunches glowering back at him.

  “I’m sorry I neglected you,” Rod called out.

  Her response, like that of an offended child, she turned and walked away, back among the wrecks.

  Rod descended the stairs and sat on the second to bottom step and began to call her name regularly, until it became a chant. After a full five minutes of calling he saw her face and eyes peering at him from under a nearby car body.

  “C’mon girl. I need you.”

  Head down, body lowered, tail down but swinging slightly, she slowly made her way toward him. She stopped about a metre away, eyes seemingly expressing anger with him. He opened his palm showing the biscuits. Her eyes flashed between him and the biscuits. Eventually temptation won; she ran forward and gently took the biscuits from his hand.

  After she had eaten those, tail now wagging furiously, she nuzzled his hand for more. He stood and started back up the steps.

  “Well come on then.”

  She bounded up, two steps at a time and followed him inside. Rod treated her to warm milk, more biscuits, and soon after began brushing her now dusty coat with an old hairbrush, being gentle around the knots.

  After the brushing she jumped onto the lounge, sniffed all over it, growling and barking intermittently, then sat as if repossessing what was hers.

  Rod felt relieved. His despair lifted slightly. At least he had someone to talk to.

  He showered and dressed, Watcha watching all the while, not letting him out of her sight for a moment. Rod felt guilty about having to go out for such a trivial thing as a couple of small batteries for a wall clock and leaving Watcha so soon. He knew that Tim sold them in his garage so he would only be gone briefly.

  He told Tim about Claire’s going. Tim expressed genuine regrets at the event. Then as he paid Tim for the batteries Tim said, “By the way, there’ll be a fair bit of a din for an hour or so this arvo. Soon after noon I think. The procession of trucks and the crane will be emptying the yard again.”

  “I’d better lock Watcha in just in case she runs outside,” replied Rod.

  “She’s back then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Some sort of company for you then. I’d feel sad if she got hurt or worse.”

  “Me too.”

  Rod returned to see Watcha still sitting on her reclaimed couch. He bolted the swing door into the down position.

  Soon after midday, Rod heard voices and heavy engine sounds from the yard below. A crane was being readied at the gate entrance to lift the nearest car and latest arrival into the back of the high sided truck. Watcha, front legs on the back of the couch, looked out the window and growled. Rod kneeled on the couch beside her and watched.

  Six car bodies were quickly lifted into the first truck which then moved away, and another moved into its place.

  Watcha was becoming more and more agitated and barking more often as the work went on and workmen and the cranes moved further into her precious yard. Rod tried to soothe her by talking quietly to her and patting her. He tried to pick her up, but she quickly squirmed free and ran toward the swing door. She hit it at speed from an angle. The non-giving door twisted her head back and her rump hit the wall as she collapsed on the floor. Her immediate yelp of pain was followed with frantic rubbing of her paws over her nose as she stayed sitting on the floor. She stood slowly and gently shook herself, then, tested the bolted down swing-door with her paw. When it did not move she pushed at it with her head.

  As Rod intended, she could not get out.

  Watcha ran back to the couch, looking out the window, she mixed growling with her teeth bared, and barking. Then running to the door she tested it again. Back to the couch she pushed against the glass window barking as loudly as she could.

  The workmen were three-quarters of the way through their clean-out, with trucks pulling up immediately the previous laden one departed. It was a well drilled routine and explained the logic of the way they loaded the cars into the yard to begin with. First in dropped at the furthest part of the yard away from the gate entrance would be last out as the bottom of the pile.

  Watcha began running from the middle of the lounge, and using the sofa as a springboard began throwing herself at the glass window. Each crash against the window would stun her briefly; she would sit for a few seconds then try again. Rod ran in to grab her during one of the brief recovery periods. She snapped at him, taking a little bit of skin from his hand. Rod checked his hand, wiped the small trickle of blood with a hankie, and ran to the bedroom to grab his dressing gown to throw over Watcha and control her.

  By the time he returned from the bedroom with his dressing gown, the large glass window behind the sofa had two long cracks across the width from corner to corner and a series of smaller cracks in the middle. Rod realised if Watcha smashed her way through, the falling glass would kill her. If the glass did not kill her, her speed would take her beyond the balcony to fall the three metres or so to the ground. He had to stop her.

  He stood between the window and where she stood by the furthest wall making ready for her next charge. She growled angrily at him baring her teeth wider than he had ever seen. He recognized the descendent of the wolf. He tried talking to calm her down. There were no barked responses, only teeth-bared growls. She had shown no regret after the previous bite. If she had to, she would do it again.

  Rod held the dressing gown out in front of him like a bull-fighters cape. He would have to trap her underneath it, wrap her up, and somehow control her until the car-workers left. She feigned a start. Rod raised the gown higher, ready. Then she charged again. Rod dived onto her projected path, gown spread, but she adjusted her direction at the last second leaving Rod empty handed.

  As she hit the window Rod heard himself scream, “No.”

  The glass shattered. Rod looked around to see Watcha hanging on the far side of the glass held by one leg. He rushed to the window and reached through to grab her body and lift it up to relieve the pressure on the leg. As soon as the leg was free, Watcha kicked away. With her back right leg bleeding profusely; she ran along the balcony and down the steps. Rod quickly dragged his arms back through the window as the top began to move slowly, before crashing down.

  Rod breathed out heavily at their joint good luck at not getting killed by the glass, but he was worried by the amount of blood Watcha had already lost on the balcony.

  The last truck was already backed well into the yard and with one car-body already loaded there was only four more to go in the short load. The crane operator was first to see Watcha charging. He called out to warn Tim and the truck driver who were standing back by the gate. They turned just in time to see Watcha make an unsuccessful run-by snap at their legs. They both jum
ped at the unexpected aggression.

  Watcha made a couple of feeble attempts at jumping at the crane operator who was several metres above the ground and behind a closed door. Then she ran round the car-bodies and entered the bottom one which had been her first home.

  The claws of the crane were already securely gripped around the top car in the pile of three. The crane operator stopped and called out to Tim. Tim told him that the dog had crawled into the bottom car and to take the car he had secured. That was soon dropped into the truck. After the operator looked at Tim, Tim waved him to clamp the second last car and continue. Soon, that too was in the back of the truck

  Rod, still holding his dressing gown, had now joined Tim and the truck driver in the yard. The three of them looked at the last car, a little yellow Ford Lazer. Compared to many of the others removed, its condition did not look too bad.

  “We’ve gotta get her out of there,” said Tim. Tim jogged back to the garage and quickly returned with a couple of seat cover sheets normally used to prevent dirtying car seats while they worked on the inside of a car. The three of them were ready. Rod was hoping he would not have to drop his dressing gown onto the oily, greasy yard.

  Watcha growled and showed her teeth as they approached. When they got within two metres of the car she jumped out of the window, trailing her injured leg, and ran out the open gate to the front of the truck.

  “Jesus man,” said the truck driver. “What’s her gripe?”

  “You’re taking her home away,” said Tim nodding in the direction of the little car. Then Tim turned to Rod. “That leg looked bad. How’d she get out?”

  “Look at that,” said Rod turning to point at the broken window.

  The driver and Tim both said “shit” in perfect unison. Then Tim turned back and waved to the operator to continue. The crane’s teeth clamped around the last body, lifted it, swung around and dropped it in the truck. The driver, dismounted crane operator, Tim and Rod small-talked for a few minutes, then shook hands. The driver climbed up and drove his truck out of the yard and out of sight. The crane operator took a few minutes longer to drive the tracked vehicle out of the yard, then carefully up the two guide-rails of the heavy-machinery hauler. After winding the guide-rails in, the operator gave Tim the thumbs up and drove the hauler away.

  “Well,” said Tim. “There’s been a lot happened since that yard was last cleared.”

  “A lot,” agreed Rod.

  “I’ll get the window guys in this afternoon to fix that one. It’s all insurance stuff. No-ones gonna believe a dog did it so it musta been something flung out of the cars eh?”

  “You’re the boss,” replied Rod. “I hope Watcha gets back here quickly. I’ll get her to a vet. That leg didn’t look too good.”

  Rod went back inside his rooms, bolted the doggy swing door in the up position for Watcha to use, and from his bedroom window watched Tim’s staff hot-water blast the surface of the empty yard. It was a well rehearsed routine. They had barely finished when Rod’s intercom told him the glazers had arrived for the window repair.

  The activities meant he had been too pre-occupied to mope and think about Claire. He half filled Watcha’s bowls, in hope, then, thought about his own stomach. Pizza. He had not had one since his return and his taste buds began salivating; their demands needing to be met. He picked up the phone and after discussions about what was on the menu and on special, he ordered the special and extras. Even though he knew full well that by the time it arrived the price would be three times greater than the special.

  The next intercom buzz was the delivery of his pizza. Rod went to the bedroom to get his wallet. When he returned the deliverer was looking at his paintings. The deliverer saw Rod re-enter the room.

  “You’ve got some real cool paintings, man. Like I really like your cool taste,” said the pizza man.

  “Yes, well the paintings and I have just come out of the refrigerator, that’s why we’re cool,” Rod responded sarcastically.

  “Yeah man, some real cool stuff.”

  The pun had obviously gone way past the pizza man’s comprehension. It was obvious the pizza man wanted to talk more, but Rod did not, and so paid him a healthy tip and ushered him toward the top of the steps.

  “Man, that truckie that was here earlier today should look after his dog.”

  “What dog?” asked Rod.

  “Clever and cute little thing. Black with a bit of white here and there. Bit like a small Lassie type dog, you know?”

  “What happened?”

  “I was delivering a pizza down here a few hours ago. I had to stop behind the truck parked on the road. Givin’ way to the oncoming traffic. Saw you guys chattin’ in the yard. Then this little critter flew out from nowhere, onto the trucks bumper, somehow onto the bonnet and onto the cabin roof. Stopped there for a minute licking its back leg which seemed to have a lot of blood on the white portion. Then it leapt into the back with all the wrecks.

  “Why didn’t you say something to the driver?”

  “Hey, a man and his dog are often closer than the wife. Not me interfering, man.”

  “That’s the last you saw of them?”

  “Nah. Caught up with them on SH 1. The dog’s on the top of some little yellow car that’s a few inches above the sides. After I passed them I didn’t give it another thought.”

  The deliverer left. Rod glanced at his watch. About three, maybe four hours had passed since they started cleaning the yard. Watcha could be anywhere. Whatever had happened she had apparently made her choice.

  Rod sat on the lounge and started on the pizza. He quickly started to feel depressed. It seems he had lost two things he loved inside twelve hours and there was nothing he could do about either.

  His intercom buzzed again. This time it was Tim. “Hey, we’re finished down here; wanna come to the pub for a couple?”

  “I might have an early night,” replied Rod. “But thanks.” He was in no mood to be sociable.

  “Gawd, sorry” said Tim. “I’ve got an envelope to give you from Shirley. I forgot about it ‘til now.”

  Rod buzzed the door release and Tim clumped up the steps.

  “Here ya go mate. Don’t know what it is except, remember when I said Shirl thought she remembered Claire from somewhere? She finally remembered it was something in one of those girlie fashion mags. She keeps them for years she does. Said it was a photo she was remembering. I couldn’t remember Claire’s family name, but anyway it can’t be her any way ‘cause it was all before you arrived.

  Rod slowly opened the envelope and unfolded a newspaper clipping with a two column photo at the bottom of the two column article. Tim was looking over his shoulder.

  “My gawd, she does look like the woman in the photo,” said Tim. “Same first name and all.”

  Rod looked at the photo and felt his heart skip a beat. They started to read the article.

  “Regrettably one of Ireland’s most loved TV game show and current affairs hosts became a fatal casualty on our roads. Claire Mary Shannon, nearing the end of her two year in depth filming and holiday break, was soon to depart our shores. The car which she was driving, hit a patch of oil on the road and she lost control, hitting a tree and dying instantly. Her bright yellow Ford Lazer was a frequent visitor to many charity events.

  The article went on about her many achievements in TV features and the many awards and presentations she had won. When arriving in New Zealand she was asked why she had never married. She responded. “The right man hasn’t come along yet, maybe he’s just down the road here in New Zealand.”

  “This magazine expresses its condolences to Claire’s family and all her fans who will miss Claire’s wonderful Irish brogue.”

  “My God,” said Tim. That was her car. The first one in the yard this year. I remember it now. There was talk then about some actress or other.”

  Rod had frozen to the spot. When Tim looked at Rod the tears were running down each of Rod’s cheeks.

  “But it wasn?
??t her mate,” said Tim. “Your Claire was here, and alive.”

  Rod’s weakened barely audible voice said “No Tim.” Rod walked slowly to the drafting board, carefully took Claire’s earlier note, and showed it to Tim.

  Tim read it, then again and sat on the couch in stunned silence.

  “It’s signed Claire Mary Shannon.”

  “I know,” said Rod.

  “But what about the dog?” asked Tim.

  After a few minutes silence, Tim stood, put his hand on Rod’s shoulder, turned and walked slowly down the stairs in silence and left.

  Rod watched TV for a while, without really watching anything. Maybe once, just this once he would have a few good strong whiskies to help him deaden his pain. He knew it was not really the first time, but it had helped on rare occasions before. He suddenly felt sleep deprived and was sure a long sleep would solve his physical exhaustion. For now he would just sit on the couch for a while.

  ----------

  “Well you see those events happened like I told you,” said Tim to the two doctors standing by the couch. “Then, this is just how I found him, just sitting like this. I hadn’t seen Rod for two days. With all this stuff happening over his girlfriend or whoever it was, I didn’t want to interfere. But not even seeing a light in the place for two nights and his car still parked out the front, I thought I better check it out. So I let myself in with the spare key. I was worried that he might’ve done something silly, you know. That’s how I found him like you’ve seen. Alive. Just blank. Nothing there doctors. Sometimes the eyes blink or the head moves slightly, but nothing registers. The windows there but the house is empty. The bodies built but the brains on walkabout. What’s the matter with him?” Tim looked anxiously at the two doctors who had drawn up chairs to sit opposite Rod on the couch as they continued their examination.

  “Exactly what you said,” replied one. “His mind has gone to another plane. It’s rare, but it does happen. He seems to be in a cataleptic trance normally brought on by an immensely traumatic event. The events you have described might have been the cause. In the animal world some creatures mate for life. If one dies the other just pines away.”

  “You said he never mentioned family here or overseas? If we can’t trace family anywhere, he’ll have to remain in an asylum. Electric shock treatment might work, but could go either way.” He pointed to the damp patch under where Rod was sitting. “It also seems like nappies, a wheelchair and tube feeding until he either recovers, or something else,” said the psychologist.

  “But where did his mind go so suddenly like that? Asked Tim”

  “Unfortunately there is nothing normal medicine can do,” said the other doctor. “He will remain in this other world until something brings him back.”

  “Darn shame that. Seemed a nice fellow too. Prompt with the rent. Damned insurance will go up if I don’t have someone living there. Now I’ve gotta get a new tenant.”