Scrublands(128)

He parks his rental with practised ease, its bumper mere centimetres from the gutter. He enters the bookstore; here there is change, if not what he’s anticipated. The books are still on their shelves, the armchairs and occasional tables await customers at the front of the store, the roof fan rotates slowly and water tinkles from slate to slate in the miniature fountain on the counter. But the Japanese screen has been removed and the curtains opened; the shop is filled with light.

Mandy emerges through the swing doors, Liam in a new backpack, fingers in her hair and mischief in his eyes.

‘Hello, mister.’ Not bothering to remove the backpack, she stretches up, clasps her hands behind Martin’s neck and kisses him with power and intent and longing. The kiss lasts forever, the kiss of Martin Scarsden’s life. ‘Welcome back.’

Martin is momentarily speechless.

‘Coffee?’ she asks.

‘Absolutely.’

She smiles again, eyes playful, dimples teasing. She floats past him, busies herself at the machine.

‘Still working then, the machine?’ he says, regaining his voice. ‘And what’s with the books? I thought you were shutting it down, packing up.’

‘Change of plan. I got a manager.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure. I own the place now. Remember? I own half of Riversend for that matter. No one’s going to buy it, no one’s going to rent it, so why not?’

‘Who’s the manager?’

‘Me.’ A head bobs up from behind a shelf: Codger Harris. He’s been lurking there the whole time.



Later the four of them sit together in the armchairs at the front of the store, Martin holding Liam on his lap, feeling the boy’s weight, sensing impending responsibility. Codger is reading his article in This Month. Mandy is smiling, alternately amused and indulgent, as if she likes what she sees. She tells Martin of her plans. She’ll keep the bookstore; Codger need pay no rent and can keep any profits. She’ll also keep Springfields, clearing out the dam and installing a cistern to feed water, clear and pure, into the town. Errol Ryding is helping to push approval through council; it will pay for the water and the profits will go to a certain orphanage in Kabul. While she talks, Codger continues reading, harrumphing as he goes. He looks transformed: clean and clean-shaven, clothed and bespectacled, his hair cut and remaining teeth polished. He finishes, nods slowly.

‘All right?’ asks Martin.

‘Very good, young fellow, as far as it goes.’

Martin smiles. ‘I know. There are things better left out.’

‘And there are things you don’t know.’

And that’s when he tells them, the story he hasn’t told anyone, not for thirty years, looking at Mandy as he recounts it, his voice reverential.

‘The day my family died, the day the truck went off the road in Bellington, was the day my life stopped. The truck killed my wife Jessica and it killed my boy Jonty. And it killed me inside. It still hurts; thirty years on it still hurts.’

‘Codger?’ says Mandy, her voice laden with concern.

‘I should have been with them, of course. But I wasn’t. I was with your mother, Mandy. I was with Katherine.’

‘With Mum?’ Mandy asks, confused.

He smiles then, fondly. ‘No, it wasn’t like that. I was in love with my wife, and your mother was in no condition to be romanced. I was the bank manager in Bellington. She’d come to me for money. She wanted to leave, to get away, but she had no money. He’d turned violent, started hitting her, treating her as his possession. She’d confided in Jess. My wife was her old schoolteacher. Katherine was already pregnant by then, pregnant with you, and she feared for her safety and for yours. She had nothing, of course. No savings, no collateral. Her father was totally unsympathetic, wanted his daughter married into the Snouch dynasty at any cost. Awful to say, but there it is. The rules at the bank were strict, but we were trying to work out how to help. And then my family was killed, and I was no use to anyone, not even to myself. I felt so guilty, being with her, trying to help someone I barely knew, when I should have been with them.’

‘But Codger, what could you have done?’ asks Mandy. ‘No one could have prevented what happened.’

‘I could have died with them.’

‘Oh, Codger.’

‘That’s what I thought for years. Drove me mad, put me in the funny farm. Drugs. Electric shock therapy. Suicide attempts. I don’t recommend it, I really don’t. But that’s a long time ago now; that’s in the past. I learnt to think of other things, not to dwell on it. Eventually I got back here, with my busted mind and my busted soul. And the first person to help me was Eric Snouch. A true gentleman; a heart of gold. He gave me the land out in the Scrublands, my own little piece of sanity, my own little piece of solitude. And in return, I hurt him. I told him the truth about his son: that Harley had indeed bashed Katherine, bashed her and raped her, that my wife and I both knew it, that Jessica had seen the bruises. Funny way to repay his kindness, wasn’t it? Telling him his son was a brute. Up until then he’d backed Harley, got the charges dismissed, hushed it all up. Given him the benefit of the doubt. But after I told him, he no longer deluded himself. He had it out with Harley, ended up disowning him, sending him into exile. Eric tried reaching out to Katherine, I know that, tried to apologise for not believing her previously. He offered to make amends. But she was proud, said she didn’t need help, not from a Snouch. So he helped her without her knowing.’