Ash Road (7 page)

‘Julie's all right,' he yelled. He didn't mean to speak an untruth; Julie seemed to belong to another situation, of no present importance. ‘Pippa's there.'

‘What did he say?' the woman said.

Mr Buckingham, still annoyed, hadn't heard Stevie any better than his wife had. ‘Oh, she's with Pippa,' he grumbled, and tramped into the house to the telephone. He had forgotten about the water, of course. It squelched under his feet. ‘Confound it!' he shouted. ‘What a way to start a holiday! What a perfect beginning to a hard-earned rest.'

Stevie hobbled up the road towards the brow of the long hill. He couldn't run any more because he had a stitch in his side and it hurt. He hadn't had a stitch for ages, not since he had tried to run a quarter of a mile round the Prescott Oval at the school sports last year. The big boys had done it, so Stevie had thought he could do it, too.

As he passed the Fairhalls' gate—the Fairhalls' property was directly opposite his own but the gate wasn't—he wondered whether Peter knew about the fire. Maybe he ought to run in and tell Peter—though perhaps it would be best to go on to the top of the hill first and have a look just to make sure. This was the exciting sort of news that a fella ought to race with from house to house, banging on the door, yelling, ‘Hey, hey, hey. Have you heard about the fire?' But it was no use going down the hill and banging on the Georges' door because they knew already, and it was no use banging on the Hobsons' door because they were at the beach living in a caravan, and it was no use going all the way down to Pinkards' because they hardly ever drove up from town much before eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning, if they bothered to come at all.

Gee, they were unlucky, all those people, being away. They wouldn't see the fire. Even the Collinses were away, though they were different. You could hardly bang on the Collinses' door, because the Collinses were rich and you didn't bang on rich people's doors. Dad mightn't like it either, because he did the Collinses' books for them every month and Dad said you had to be polite with clients, but not familiar. If you got too friendly they might forget to pay you. Dad had been an accountant for years and years and he said that when people were short of money it was always their friends that they didn't pay. Perhaps, Stevie thought, he could bang on the Robertsons' door; but that was so far he'd be all worn out before he got there. Gee, running to the Robertsons', opposite the dam, was even farther than running round the oval.

Bill Robertson, the fuel and oil merchant, could hear the phone ringing and ringing. He fumbled for his watch under the pillow and peered at it darkly. It was only twenty to six. At least that was what it looked like. Or was it half-past eight? No one would ring him at twenty to six in the morning, so it must have been half-past eight. He'd slept in. He had a vague idea that he hadn't wanted to sleep in, but couldn't remember why.

He struggled up irritably and sat on the edge of the bed, aching. What a beastly night it had been. In and out of bed three times to the baby, because once his wife closed her eyes it needed a bomb to wake her up. He groped out into the hall and picked up the phone.

‘Is that you, Bill?' the voice said.

‘Yeh, yeh. Who's that?'

‘Don Buckingham.'

‘Who?'

‘Buckingham. Buckingham. Don Buckingham.'

‘Oh yeh.' What in blazes was Buckingham ringing him for? He hardly knew the man. ‘Yeh,' Bill groaned, ‘what's on your mind?'

‘There's a fire warning, Bill. We can't spot it from here. Is it over your way?'

‘Fire warning? I didn't hear any siren.'

‘You wouldn't from there, the way the wind's blowing.'

Bill tried to pull himself together. ‘When was this?'

‘Half-past five. A few minutes ago.'

‘
Half-past five!
'

‘Sorry about this, Bill. It's the wife. You know what women are when there's a bit of smoke about.'

‘Yeh, yeh, I know. No fire round here, though.'

‘You're sure, I suppose? You've been outside?'

‘Yeh, yeh. No fire round here. See you some time.' Bill hung up and leant against the wall. He wasn't surly by nature. It was just that he was exhausted from a stifling and almost sleepless night. Half-past five! The nerve of the fellow, ringing a stranger at that hour. Well, perhaps not a stranger. Buckingham came round once a year at income-tax time to audit the books, but what excuse was that to blow in a man's ear in the middle of the night?

It wasn't night, really. It was broad daylight and wind was slapping against the sun-blinds at the front of the house and banging the loose sheet of iron on the roof of the shed. He opened the front door and squinted into the dazzling light of the morning. It was cruel. Fire? No sign of fire. Buckingham had a bee in his bonnet.

He groaned and headed back for bed. He remembered now why he hadn't wanted to sleep in. There was a drum of diesel oil to be delivered to the Georges, without fail, first thing, because old man George said he'd forgotten to reorder and wouldn't have enough to last out the day. Old liar. He hadn't reordered because he was too mean to spend his money a minute before he had to. Old man George was always the same. Hand to mouth. Not even enough oil up his sleeve to keep his pump working until Monday. But eight o'clock would be early enough for old man George, not half-past five.

Back in bed, Bill Robertson started thinking. Perhaps he should have had a better look. Fire was something not to be taken too lightly, and after all, Buckingham wasn't a complete idiot. He'd lived on Ash Road for years, longer than Bill himself, and if anyone's property was inflammable when fire was around it was Bill's. Buckingham had probably meant well.

He got out of bed again and put on his slippers and dressing-gown. Then he realized that he was being watched. ‘What are you doing up?' his wife said.

He grimaced and went to the door.

Stevie came to the top of the long hill opposite the thirty acres of fallow ground next to Grandpa Tanner's, not far from the crossroad that headed out into the bush in one direction and back into Prescott in the other. This hill was the highest ground, by a narrow margin, for miles around. In a way it was part of the chain of mountains that swept across his vision through the north and the west; perhaps it was the last real foothill in that section of the Prescott district, for behind Stevie the land slid down little by little into the main valley between the ranges and the next mountain chain about twenty miles away.

From the top of the long hill Stevie saw the smoke. It was in the north, and was like a wide and boiling storm cloud coming up over the mountains, a big brown cloud torn about at the edges by the wind; way past the top end of Ash Road where the Collinses and the Robertsons lived, way past the highway and the dam, way past places he knew were there but couldn't see, right across on the other side of the ranges.

‘Aw gee,' he said, ‘what's the good of that? It's too far away. Now Dad won't take me to see it.'

He picked up a stone and threw it at the trunk of a tree. It missed. He was trudging back downhill, dispirited, when he remembered that this was the day for the beach. Mum had said the night before that everyone would have to lend a hand with the packing if they were to get away by ten-thirty and reach the guest house at Deer Sands in good time for lunch. They went to Deer Sands for their holidays every year. Deer Sands was beaut. The thought cheered Stevie no end. His stitch had gone, and he started skipping down the hill.

When he passed the Fairhalls' gate Peter called from the front veranda: ‘Is that you, Stevie?'

‘Yes,' said Stevie, and ran over to the gate.

‘Where have you been?'

‘Up the hill to have a look at the fire.' Stevie didn't notice that Peter looked miserable and was dressed in his best clothes.

‘What's it like?' Peter asked.

Stevie pulled a long face. ‘Not much. Way over the mountains. Can't see anything 'cept a bit of smoke.'

‘There's no danger then?' said Peter.

‘Danger?' squealed Stevie. That was a word for women. ‘It's only a bit of a fire,' he said. ‘The fellas'll put it out.'

‘Putting out fires isn't easy on a day like this.'

‘You ever seen a fire?' said Stevie, with a faint touch of superiority.

‘No.'

‘Well, I have. They put them out real easy. It's fun.'

‘That's not what Gran says,' said Peter. ‘I've got to go home, back to town.'

‘We're going to the beach,' said Stevie.

‘Are you
still
going?'

Stevie looked surprised. ‘Course we are. Why not?'

‘Well, the fire and everything. Isn't your dad afraid something'll happen?'

Stevie was disgusted. ‘Only scaredy-cats are afraid of fire.'

‘I'm not afraid,' said Peter.

‘Then what are you going home for?'

‘Gran says I've got to.'

‘Go home 'cos of a
fire?
Gee whiz. Do they think you're a girl or somethin'?'

The enormity of the thought suddenly appalled Stevie, and it struck at Peter like a slap in the face. In a moment Stevie realized that he was peering over the top of the gate at an empty veranda. The slamming door left Peter's departure in no doubt. ‘How do you like that?' said Stevie. He thought it over, but couldn't make sense of it; so he skipped on homewards until he broke into a run.

‘Do you know what?' he said, bursting in on his parents, ‘Peter's got to go home 'cos of the fire. That old Gran of his says he's got to go home.'

‘Now wait a minute, wait a minute...' said his father. He was squatting on his haunches, mopping up water with a towel and wringing it out into a bucket. Stevie's mother was still in her dressing-gown, still strained-looking. Though Stevie didn't realize it, his mother and father had been having
words.

‘What's all this about?' Mr Buckingham said. ‘The fire's so far away that no one can see it...Isn't it?' he asked, looking sharply at Stevie.

‘Miles,' said Stevie. ‘Miles and miles. Way on the other side of the mountains. Fancy makin' him go home!'

‘Obviously,' said Mrs Buckingham, ‘the Fairhalls know more about the fire than we do.'

‘How could they?' barked her husband. ‘We've got the phone on; they haven't. You've heard what the boy said. And you know what Bill Robertson said.'

‘I still want to know why the sirens went. If there's no danger, why sound the warning?'

‘For heaven's sake, woman, I've told you. If there's a fire you put every available man on to it to get it out. If there's a brigade doing nothing in an area where there's no danger, you pull that brigade in, too. It's common sense. Our boys have gone to give them a hand, because they're not needed here.'

‘That's what you say, but I haven't heard it from anyone else. It comes too easy for my liking. With this wind blowing, it would be reckless to consider going away until we know that the fire is well and truly out. Now, the Fairhalls—'

‘Since when have we set a course by the Fairhalls? You know what they're like with that boy. They'll ruin him...Look, if it'll make you feel any better, we'll both get in the car and drive up to the top of the hill and see for ourselves. That's what we should have done in the first place.'

Her shoulders drooped. She didn't like arguing in front of Stevie, and she didn't want him to see that she was frightened.

It was Pippa who turned their thoughts in another direction. Her face, flushed and panting, appeared suddenly pressed against the screen door to the kitchen. ‘Dad,' she cried. ‘I can't find Julie.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake!' Mr Buckingham threw the towel to the floor and straightened up with a hand pressed to the small of his back. ‘Has anyone ever been able to find Julie when she's in trouble? What's
that
to get excited about?'

Pippa opened the door and immediately knew she had walked in on an argument. How could people argue at a time like this? She was so breathless and so upset that the sob that welled up inside her couldn't be stopped. ‘Don't you understand?' she cried. ‘I can't find her. I can't find her, and there's a fire. She's lost, and there's a fire.'

Mr Buckingham ran his fingers like claws through his hair. His patience had run its course. ‘Am I to be plagued all day by a bunch of hysterical females?' he shouted. ‘What's wrong with everybody? Now listen; the fire's not burning at the boundary fence; it's not burning at the end of the road; it's burning, if it's not already out, so many miles away that as far as we're concerned there may as well not be a fire. Now will everybody get a grip on themselves? Will you pull yourselves together? I dread to think what this house would be like in a real emergency. Julie's probably gone up to Grandpa Tanner's for a bit of sympathy. Did you think of that, Pippa? No, of course you didn't. So get yourself up there and bring her home. And you'—he turned on Stevie—‘I thought you said that Pippa had found her? What do you mean by telling a lie like that?'

‘Eh?' Stevie was astonished. He had believed with smug satisfaction that his father had been counting him as a man.

‘I didn't say that. Did I, Mum? I didn't.'

Mrs Buckingham was very pale and very much on her dignity. ‘I don't know what you said, and I'm sure your father doesn't know either. Pippa, Peter's going home. On your way back from Grandpa Tanner's will you call in and tell the Fairhalls that if Peter's ready by ten-thirty he can drive with us to the station. Come hail, come storm, come conflagration, your father is determined to go, so go we shall. I only hope, for his sake, that the house is still here when we get back.'

4

State of Emergency