‘You be careful in there,’ Mum said, as I waded into the pool.
‘If I stay up this end, it’s fine,’ I said.
I glanced downstream toward the area she was talking about. There was a warning sign on the bank that read: Beware of strong currents. Do not swim downstream from this point. Beware of flash flooding.
‘I do love this place. It’s serene, don’t you think?’ Mum said, setting herself up on a rocky shelf that hung over the water, her small easel facing the gorge. ‘But, I can feel the tragedy. It has a certain melancholy. I suppose it must be the presence of all those poor souls.’
I was downstream from her, up to my waist, acclimatising to the ridiculously bracing temperature. The water came from high in the ranges and was cold all year round. ‘Oh, come on, Mum.’
‘Can’t you feel the energy?’ Mum unrolled the leather pouch that contained her brushes.
‘That’s just a story. And, no, I can’t.’
‘Really?’ She frowned down at me as I swam in goldfish circles, being careful to stay close to the edge where the current was weak. ‘Well, I can.’
‘You’re talking about ghosts,’ I said.
‘I suppose.’ Mum was already preoccupied by her drawing, sketching something with her pencil.
‘Mum, I can’t believe you sometimes.’
‘Well, I guess I’m just more sensitive to these things. You’ve always been pragmatic.’
‘I think it’s called being a realist.’
She rested her pencil on her leg. ‘I like to think that when people die, there’s something left behind.’
‘Oh, Mum, please.’ I sank under the cold water and swam out from the edge, opening my eyes wide to keep watch on the grey giants beneath me.
Actually, the paintings Mum had done of the waterhole that day were pretty good for an amateur. I realised they had been among the things missing from Mum’s bedroom. As I watched Kevin drive and smoke I wondered what he’d done with them. We passed our own turn-off from Kelly’s Crossing Road and were now about a kilometre or so away from the gorge car park.
It was obvious that Kevin wasn’t going to volunteer anything about what Shelley had said and I was still consumed by curiosity, so I asked, ‘Was Dylan’s dad on this camping trip?’
Kevin’s arms remained rigid on the steering wheel, two pistons of flesh, cigarette propped. ‘Yep.’
‘And you, apparently.’
‘It was only for one night. Dylan asked me to go along. His dad was home from the mines and he wanted to go pig hunting. Gary’s asked me a few times before, but I always said no.’
‘You went with them?’ I asked. ‘Pig shooting?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wow. You’re really getting into this farmer thing.’
‘I did it for Dylan.’ Kevin frowned. ‘He was a good kid.’
‘Don’t you mean, “is a good kid”?’
‘Yeah. Is.’ He dragged on the cigarette.
‘He should’ve been at school though,’ I mused.
‘Yeah, I guess his dad’s not home much, so …’
‘What happened?’
The ute hit a pothole in the road and the whole vehicle shook.
‘Dylan went off with Gary, chasing a sow they’d seen. It was getting dark so I went back to set up camp. All I know is Gary came back about an hour or so later without Dylan.’
As we drove further up toward the gorge, the forest arched over the winding road, joining hands to create a dark, shady canopy.
‘But, what did Gary say when he got back? He must have said something.’
Kevin jammed the Toyota into a lower gear as we came to the bottom of a slope.
‘He said,’ Kevin paused, ‘that they shot a sow and missed and Dylan took off.’
‘So, you were the second-last person to see Dylan and you didn’t think to mention this to me at all, to let me know why everyone might be staring at you?’
Kevin didn’t take his eyes off the road. ‘They weren’t staring.’
‘They were, and Dylan’s mum seemed mad with you.’
‘She’s worried about her son.’
‘But—’
‘That’s enough, Sunny!’ His eyes were narrow and sharp. ‘He got lost, alright? We’re gonna find him.’
I turned to face the windscreen, blinking with indignation. Kevin yanked the vehicle into the turn-off and I lurched sideways.
‘You shouldn’t drive so fast,’ I said. ‘Accidents happen, you know.’
It was a low blow. But I was angry. Why hadn’t he told me about the hunting trip? Those people in the hall had been staring at us like we were freaks. But Kevin seemed oblivious to it all. It was like he had no feelings about anything, not even Mum. I wondered if he felt any guilt for what he had done to her. He should have felt terrible, knowing Mum hated to drive alone, knowing she wasn’t that good a driver at the best of times, knowing he should have been with her.
I glared across at him, the muscles on my face tight, but Kevin focused on finding a park, determined not to look my way.
At one end of the bitumen car park ten or more four-wheel drives had gathered. Kevin pulled up near the toilet block. As we got out of the ute, a curious tourist popped his head out of a nearby campervan.
‘What’s happening?’ he said with an American accent.
‘Nothing,’ said Kevin, slamming his door.
The tourist frowned and retreated into his van.
‘Come on.’ Kevin barely glanced my way.
He walked to a police truck where Shelley was spreading a map across the bonnet. Jim, who’d greeted Kevin at the hall, leant against the vehicle chatting to Leanne. Other groups gathered in the car park as SES officers laid out their routes. There must have been at least forty searchers. Dylan sure knew how to get people’s attention. I pulled on my hat and followed Kevin.
‘Oh, Sunny, you look so much like your mum in that hat,’ Leanne said, as I walked up to her.
What was she on about? I didn’t look like my mother.
