The Lost Man(73)

‘It’s not, though, is it? Not if you’re unhappy.’

No response.

‘Xand –’

Xander made a frustrated noise. ‘What do you want me to say? I’m trying to read.’

‘I want to –’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. Fix things.’

Xander turned another page. ‘Don’t worry about it. There’s no point arguing with you. Mum was right. You’re always like this.’

‘Like what?’

Xander shook his head. ‘Forget it.’

‘Mate, you can tell me –’

‘No.’ Xander’s face was hidden behind the book. ‘Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.’

Nathan waited. Long minutes ticked by. Finally, Xander turned another page and Nathan got up and left the room.

Ilse’s four-wheel drive was covered in the requisite layer of dust. It was the only vehicle parked in the small garage, and someone had dumped a load of empty crates in front of it. They looked like they’d been there for some time. How long had the car been out of action? Nathan wondered as he fished the keys out of the footwell.

He had to adjust the driver’s seat as he climbed in and was again reminded of doing the same in Cameron’s abandoned car. No clearer what to make of that, he pushed the thought to one side and tried the engine. It stuttered a little from lack of use, but turned over and came to life. Nathan listened to the hum. It was clear and steady.

He switched on a lamp so he could see better in the evening gloom, and opened the bonnet. He leaned inside and began checking it over, starting with the typical trouble spots and moving through to the less obvious problem areas. An hour later he was on his back under the chassis, a torch in his hand and none the wiser.

As he worked, his mind drifted to Xander. Specifically to a faded memory from years earlier, when his son had been about eight. They’d been camping out during one of his first solo visits, and Nathan had woken up in the back of his Land Cruiser to find Xander’s sleeping bag empty beside him. He had lain there, listening for the sound of urine hitting the hard ground outside or the rustle of a cereal packet. When he hadn’t heard either of those things, or anything in fact, he’d called out. There had been no answer.

Nathan had sat up, the air already stifling and his clothes sticking to him with sweat. He’d called again, this time hearing the alarm in his own voice. No reply.

The fear had been immediate and absolute. Nathan had clambered to his feet and stood by his car, his pulse pounding as he scanned the surroundings, almost blinded by terror. It would be over forty degrees by noon. A child Xander’s size might last half a day, depending on water and luck. How long had he been gone? Nathan didn’t know. Kids far younger than Xander, toddlers even, had been known to walk for kilometres. Some had been found miles from their home. Some were lucky, for some it was too late.

Nathan had felt the sun beating down. When he was sure there was no sign of his son in any direction, he’d had to fight the overwhelming urge to pick one at random and start running. Instead, he had made himself get into the car and drive in increasing circles.

He had found Xander within fifteen minutes, over a slight rise, and looking bewildered after following a cow and her calf too far. He was fine, if bemused by his dad’s flush-faced panic. But it had been the worst fifteen minutes of Nathan’s life. He had hugged Xander hard and then, shaking with relief, yelled at him in a way he never had before or since.

Nathan lay staring at the underside of Ilse’s four-wheel drive now. He frowned, then clicked off his torch. He’d started to slide out when he heard the soft tread of footsteps outside the garage. He sat up and looked at the door, blinking into the night. Harry appeared.

‘Here you are. Your mum was looking for you.’ He looked past Nathan at the dusty vehicle. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Ilse said the car was playing up.’

‘Again?’

‘Apparently.’ Nathan stood up and wiped the grease off his hands.

Harry stepped into the light. A wire hook swung from his hand, its point threaded through two bloodied dingo scalps. He peered beneath the open bonnet for so long Nathan began to get irritated. It was late and he was getting tired.

‘What did Mum want?’ he said.

‘Wanted to make sure you were okay.’ Harry was standing at an awkward angle, almost blocking the way. ‘You’re feeling all right about tomorrow?’

‘I suppose.’ Outside, the fresh grave was well hidden from sight. ‘Who dug the hole for Cam?’

‘Me and Bub mainly. Xander and Simon helped as well.’

The thought of the backpacker taking Nathan’s place on a job like that riled him. ‘I should have been here to help.’

‘Yeah. You should have.’ The thin streaks of blood on the scalps looked black in the dim light. ‘He was still your brother, whatever problems you two had.’

It was the note of judgement that made Nathan turn.

‘Me? What about you? I hear you were arguing with Cam not long before he died.’

Harry looked at him sharply. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Simon heard you. One night when you were turning the generator off.’

Harry’s features creased more deeply into a frown. ‘I wouldn’t call it an argument.’ His thumb ran over the end of the wire hook. ‘Cam and I exchanged words from time to time. Same as you two did. You know that.’