Edge of Dreams

By Kim Langford

In Edge of Dreams you will be drawn into a world where things are rarely what they seem to be.
When Kate arrives in Flanagan, a small community in New South Wales Australia, she hopes that the simplicities of rural life will bring her long awaited peace and renewal. Through a startling confrontation with the elusive Fidelé Scott, Kate finds herself in a friendship that defies convention and immerses her in the tragic story of the man himself and his beloved homeland Burkina Faso. And Fidelé soon realises that his new companion is emotionally fragile and might demand more of him than he can ever give. His stark solitude is now crowded with Kate’s troubled relationships and her insatiable curiosity. Their connection holds both promise and risk as they find themselves caught in the struggle for love, meaning and fulfilment.
Despite the hope of new beginnings, the horrors of Fidelé’s past are never far away, and his decision to trust Kate inadvertently opens the way for that past to close in as a new and terrifying reality. A storm hits Flanagan and unleashes with it the full force of everything Fidelé fears most and thought he had left behind in Burkina Faso. At the same time, Kate is gripped by a sense of approaching danger and in seeking to help Fidelé lands in the midst of that very danger. Kate and Fidelé must each find a way to salvage all they can from their fleeting and tumultuous friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Langford
• Release date: Mar 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780646918167

Book preview

Prologue: Fidelé’s Place

If we could fly out of that window, hand in

hand, hover over this great city, gently remove

the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which

are going on, the strange coincidences, the

plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful

chain of events, working through generations,

and leading to the most outre results, it would

make all fiction with its conventionalities and

foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.

Arthur Conan Doyle A Case of Identity

Spinifex and dust chase each other around the small clearing, driven mercilessly by a dry, vacant wind. A woman stands there, shielding her eyes and bracing her feet. The spiral tightens and lifts until suddenly the wind pulls back and the frenzy of movement ceases. She waits a minute and then slowly, experimentally lowers her hands and looks around. The dust covers her body and coats her tongue. Later, long after she has gone, it will settle on the walls of the barn and the spinifex will amble on beyond the wasteland now known as Fidelé’s place.

Fidelé is the town’s claim to fame, though probably not its celebrity of choice. The townsfolk still cling to the little they have heard from reliable sources. He was born in one of those obscure African nations which have taken on impossible names and which teem with problems of every description. And he was some sort of intellectual who was kicked out of his homeland for not toeing the line. Not your typical refugee though, not if he can pay cash for a property like that and do nothing with it but run some dogs and a horse around for fun. He didn’t need the land. For that matter, he didn’t seem to need anything or anyone else much at all.

Until Fidelé brought a brief sort of fame to the town, they preferred him to remain out of sight and out of community. It was clear he didn’t want them so they didn’t want him. With the way things turned out, there is a collective sigh of relief that he is nothing more than an object of curiosity, and a vacuous curiosity at that.

But occasionally that curiosity gathers form and gives the town a fretful air. For months, folk waited for a morsel of fact or gossip to help things along, but somehow the grape vine snapped and has since become barren. Those privileged few who know a bit more than others crouch behind an assortment of confidentiality and security screens. More frustratingly, two women who know more than anyone have chosen to say nothing. In fact, they have hoarded a precious cargo of detail. It is theft, and the town resents these two women who stole the town’s right to the intellectual property of an otherwise useless citizen.

One woman fears the jagged edges of Fidelé’s past, and loses herself in the urban wilderness where the man is an irrelevancy. The other comes and goes with no warning, as though she might one day find him somewhere out there, catching him in the act of still being alive. But his life is buried where no one will find it, in a dream, in many dreams scattered in time and place.

One

A car skidded to a gravel-grinding halt. Kate stopped abruptly and turned around. It was a patrol car. Two police officers were removing sunglasses and approaching her slowly. If Kate had been walking in a dream, it was now over. Reality gained the upper hand as Grace woke enough to start crying and kicking in the stroller.

One of the officers removed his cap and cleared his throat. Ms Ballinger?

Kate nodded. It seemed irrelevant to ask them how they knew her name.

Your husband’s been a bit worried and asked us to keep an eye out for you. Said something about you missing an important interview and signing Grace here out of daycare half an hour after signing her in. Can you tell us where you and Grace are heading?

Wishful thinking provided an answer. Just away from everything, really. She looked over his shoulder at the long road and wondered if she had not almost succeeded after all.

Look, I’m not sure what that’s all about, but for now let’s get you both in the car, okay?

Surprisingly, they folded the stroller without needing to be told about the trick lever, but Kate was worried about the lack of child restraints in the backseat of the vehicle. She kept her peace when they boosted Grace with a pile of old toweling from the boot and watched as the younger officer removed the stroller harness and did something clever with the anchor point. As they drove back to Canberra, it seemed to take only minutes to reach the point that inspired Kate to leave her car and start walking. With shadows stretching far and deep, the whole place looked like it knew nothing of inspiration and was simply shrouding a guilty secret.

During the long drive back into the city, there was some quiet talk on the two-way radio. Kate watched the darkness, and listened in a detached way to what was being said about her. Amidst the obscure police code, she heard them describe her as disoriented and exhausted but very cooperative. Grace ‘the child reported as missing’, was safe, responsive and suffering from mild sunburn on her face and legs. As the car nestled into the slow flow of peak hour traffic, the officer in the passenger seat turned and asked, Happy to go straight home? Your husband will be there waiting, unless you’d prefer to meet him at the police station first.

I guess so – But Kate suddenly remembered leaving the car back at the point of now dubious inspiration. "Hey, stop! I just remembered my car – did you notice it back on the side of the road? Jack will be furious if it’s stolen!"

Take it easy, Ms. Ballinger. He already has your car. One of our blokes found it and gave him a call. It’ll be in your driveway or garage or whatever.

Okay. Take me home then, please.

The word home reverberated harshly in Kate’s ears, and at that moment a new reality hit her hard. Now, approaching the house where Jack was waiting, she understood exactly what she had attempted and what the final, feeble outcome was.

One-two-five, two-seven… Is this the right place, Ms. Ballinger? We’ll take you up the driveway, see you in safely.

Jack was at the door. He held his arms out and virtually snatched Grace from Kate’s arms. He buried his face into her hair and murmured with quiet drama, "Gracie, Gracie. Daddy was so worried."

While the police officers pulled the stroller from the boot and reattached the harness, Jack stepped close to Kate and hissed, That was a despicable thing to do! Then as the stroller was presented fully intact, he answered a few questions, thanked them for their assistance and smiled thinly at the departing vehicle. Perhaps he worried that one of the officers was checking him out in the rear vision mirror.

"Well, you’re both back safely – that’s the main thing. Forget that I was just that close to being tagged an abusive husband, since I couldn’t explain what made you take off without warning. I can’t believe you could be so ridiculous! Jack took her arm, and when Kate resisted, he pushed her inside. Come on, we’re not going to stand out here all bloody night entertaining the neighbourhood."

He nudged the door closed with his foot and Kate watched and then heard as it slammed hard. After switching off the porch light and clicking the deadlock in place, Jack set Grace down onto the carpet as if she was a porcelain doll. Refreshed by the late nap and novelty, their daughter scampered down the hall. Now that there was no child between them to hold or hide behind, Kate felt exposed to the smoldering anger in Jack’s eyes and jaw.

I can’t think of anything to say. Her throat was parched with both anxiety and dehydration. Just let me get past. Please, I need a drink of water.

"No, what you need is your head checked! Go on, get your drink of water, and then we’ll be talking!"

Jack stepped aside then followed her. He waited while she drank deeply and slowly. When she put the empty glass down, he moved up close again and spoke with such force that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. "Don’t you ever do that again – do you hear me? What the hell got into you, Kate? All that stupid talk about a long road! How could anyone expect me to take you literally? I assumed the job interview was everything to you, but obviously that was all bunk. Do you know how many people I called? What a bloody fool you’ve made of me?’ Kate wondered at this mysterious collective that might know or care something about her movements.

‘Have you tried her mobile, Jack?’ You know I got that suggestion every time? And no, I didn’t try your friggin’ mobile because it’s here on the kitchen bench! What fun it will be to call them all back and tell them that you’re safe, that you just wanted to have a go at walking off into the bloody sunset!"

You don’t have to do anything. I’ll make the calls.

Of course she had done something wrong and she needed to somehow make up for it. Every day she did something badly or falsely or shabbily. Her attempt at escape was the worst mistake to date, it seemed. "I’m sorry, really sorry. Everything is fine now. The police understand that these things happen. She saw the hardness in his eyes and blurted out angrily, Look, nothing could have happened to Grace. I didn’t leave her alone for a second!"

"No, Kate, this isn’t good enough. I can’t put up with this Jekyll and Hyde crap much longer. You know, anyone can turn on the fireworks the way you did last night when I came home, but to then behave like a zombie and say everything’s fine? Not when it involves any child of mine!"

At that point the child under discussion toddled up to her parents and whined, Me wet, me nappy.

Kate ruffled Grace’s fine hair and looked at Jack with spiteful satisfaction. "Go on, you change her – she’s your child, isn’t she?"

For the rest of the evening Kate wandered around the house, trying to ignore the stiffness in her legs and the vise around her head. Jack seemed determined to prove his virtue as a parent, and spent nearly two hours trying to coax Grace to sleep before admitting defeat and calling out for help. Kneeling with her hand gently patting the soft thigh of her daughter, Kate was struck with a desperate desire to wind the clock back and start her life over again. But it was so futile wishing Jack out of existence! He was out there right now, kept at bay for only as long as she huddled in the quiet room pretending Grace was not yet asleep.

When it seemed impossible to stay any longer, Kate withdrew her hand and left her haven. Jack was now free to stalk her mercilessly, restrained only by his abhorrence of certain expletives and the need to keep his voice down when Kate paused near Grace’s room. He no longer demanded explanations; he simply hammered her with his opinions. She was bloody stupid, irresponsible, thoughtless and crazy. He berated himself for marrying a woman who so easily betrayed a sacred trust.

I work with women every day, he insisted. I see what it’s like for them to have babies and get used to everything. I’ve had a few adjustments to make myself, in case you’ve forgotten! You can argue until you’re blue in the face, yet Kate had said very little, "but no-one else seems to choose your particular method of coping with a bad day!"

Kate’s refusal to retaliate soon sucked the momentum out of Jack’s attack. Suddenly he stopped yelling, and said wearily, Go to bed, will you? I’m staying out here on the couch so I can think this through by myself.

Jack might order her to bed that night, but nothing could coax her out the next morning. Serious sunburn and muscular aches had caused her to squirm all through the night, but on waking she was immediately aware of an altogether different sort of pain. It seemed that some malevolent agent had siphoned life from her very soul. With her husband, Kate was sullen and monosyllabic; when Grace wandered in and asked to play under the sheets, she snapped, "I don’t want to play! and burst into tears. Jack hustled Grace out of the room as though there was a risk of infection, and returned to say, Something’s really wrong here, Kate. I’m taking you to the doctor right now."

Kate was only too convinced of an aberrant something, so nodded her compliance. Maybe there was someone clever enough to give this bleakness a name.

What followed was a blur of consultation – appointments with the local GP, referrals to a women’s health clinic and psychiatrist, and a brief conversation with a volunteer from a Post-natal Depression Support Service. At first, Kate questioned the way everyone wanted ‘child’ and ‘depression’ to equal post-natal depression. All the natal stages – pre, ante and post – seemed so distant, and it was hard to believe that her current malaise could be attributed to any of them. But apparently it was possible, even with a delay of twelve months or more. The PND volunteer suggested that some women showed the classic symptoms fifteen years after giving birth.

The verdict presented to Kate was that almost everything she had experienced had contributed to this crisis. Misfortunes that once seemed her lot to bear were now coaxed out of her, documented and then filed. The simultaneous death of her parents when she was young, the exhaustion of caring for an uncle suffering from Parkinson’s Disease, failing her first university course, death of her only close friend and an unplanned pregnancy (Kate glanced at Grace playing near the fish tank and blushed at this crude label) – all these were recalled in weary detail. There seemed no opportunity to explain anything and, worst of all, Kate’s attempts to say how deeply she loved Grace sounded unconvincing, if not pathetic, to her own ears. For now, the negative discourse was privileged. Somehow Jack was given the status of resident expert on his wife’s habits and beliefs about herself.

So, it seemed that PND had been there all the time, a gun ready for discharge the moment Kate hit the trigger. She was amazed that a mental health professional would use such an inappropriate metaphor and wondered whether she was suspected of hitting the trigger in innocent panic or by pathological design. In a distant part of her mind she formed protest, but had no energy to form them into whispers, let alone careful assertions. If the professionals accepted Jack’s conclusions (or concoctions), she felt powerless to contradict them. Maybe it was only fair that her husband had called her a zombie, because she knew that was how she felt and looked, slumped back in her chair staring at the fish tank. She let the waves of explanation and advice wash over her until she felt dry and shriveled. You should try working in a low-stress job, you could go along to a support group, this may require medication, why not go on a holiday, do you know that most women find a hobby beneficial?

Jack was satisfied, even fascinated as he leaned forward in his chair, absorbing it all and asking for more detail. Kate knew that it suited him to have some labels- he was now able to pack all of her strange behaviours and attitudes into a box that came with firm lid. Only later did she understand how perfectly the diagnosis liberated him – nothing was wrong with him, or even them. Blame or no blame, it all rested with her now. The hushed magic of PND told him so.

After all the consultation fees had been settled, there was another great price to pay for her long walk to nowhere. Kate detected Jack’s subtle lack of forgiveness and small acts of vengeance. The Wentworth Tribune receptionist telephoned a few days to re-schedule a job interview for the following day. Jack might have given the generic excuse of illness, but no.

She definitely can’t do anything at this stage. Sorry, next week won’t be any better. Okay, look, Kate is being treated for mental health problems. There’s not much point scheduling another interview in the near future. Yes, it was pretty sudden and I’m sure she had no clue of this when she applied in the first place. Thanks, yes thanks for the kind wishes. I’ll pass them on. Kate had not met any Wentworth Tribune staff, but still felt deeply humiliated by this explanation. Jack had a field day with his candour. He could very well have placed an advertisement in the Wentworth Tribune, letting it be known that he had taken compassionate leave to ‘care for his sick wife and young daughter’.

PND, it is, he would say to solicitous inquirers, as though it was a sentence handed out for some heinous crime. It seemed that he punished her further by performing all household tasks to render her days utterly empty and boring. Kate watched and listened, and wondered whether she would soon forget how to feel alive.

After a month, Jack returned to work for three days a week. After two months, it was four days with Wednesday as a hiatus. Then one day, the old normal shape of the week came to play with a strange and ambient novelty. A small flame of motivation stirred in Kate as she resumed some of the tasks that once irked her. However, if she hoped that her modest displays of efficiency would be noticed and approved by Jack, she was mistaken. When he was at home, his distrust tracked her in a million gestures and glances. Once, when he was leaving for work and saw Kate shouldering a backpack, he dropped all innuendo and snapped, If you do ever decide to walk off the edge of the planet, leave Grace behind, won’t you? I shouldn’t have to worry sick about her while I’m trying to teach. If Kate had had that one bad day, Jack now seemed to have plenty. During this time when there was no love expressed with voice, eyes or body, she sensed that she was close to reaching her expiry date both as partner and mother.

Even with such evidence that her relationship with Jack was deteriorating, Kate was totally unprepared for his next maneuver. There was no warning that a grand scheme was about to be revealed. It came one afternoon from the threshold of the living room door. I’m home early because I have something to tell you. I’ve changed my mind about that offer I had last term.

Oh? She decided that minimal interest, curiosity, anxiety – minimal everything – was the safest response. She watched him bristle with excitement and stack his folders on the coffee table with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Jack then crouched on the floor so he could look close into her face. I rang the Department today and told them to expect the paperwork for Flanagan Central School.

Kate felt a surge of confusion. "But you rejected that offer outright! You told them they were wasting their time asking you. Why the about-face? Why now?" She felt it was a fair enough question. Jack had treated all suggestions of a rural transfer with amused disdain. He had made it clear to Kate that he was acting in her best interests in rejecting the proposal, since she had already formed a plan to enter the tough world of political journalism. It seemed, however, that her ill-health modified everything, even her husband’s most basic preferences.

She breathed deeply and decided that, weak as she felt, she must reconstruct a boundary or two.

"Look, I’m sorry to react like this, but couldn’t you at least have discussed it with me? You always used to say that the worst thing about going up the ladder is that you find nothing but a desk at the top."

Jack waved her protest aside.

"Can’t you see that this is a chance to try this sort of position out before I commit to it permanently? Anyway, I discussed it with John, and he thinks it would be a good move for you."

"So you’re trying to sell this to me as medical advice? What you really mean is, you made your decision, then rang John just to check that it wouldn’t have adverse effects on me. Isn’t that what happened?" Her serrated-edged voice wielded years of old hurts and forced Jack back onto his feet. He frowned disapprovingly at her tone and dramatically cleared his throat.

"I’ll begin again, shall I? I discussed it with John, prior to committing myself to anything, and he liked the idea. He’ll write out a repeat script, and has a list of people he can refer you to. Or if you want to keep seeing him, he’s prepared to meet with us on a Saturday afternoon to save me having to take any more leave."

Kate felt further stirrings of outrage, but when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out.

Look, Jack resumed in a careful tone, "I was never totally against going bush for a term. It’s just that I wanted to give you a decent go with journalism. Well, since that seems to be on hold for now, I thought, ‘why not?’"

His plan was a fait a complet, her acquiescence a foregone conclusion. He had bolted home prepared to rush through all of her petty concerns and present her with his impeccable commonsense. Kate knew with trembling that he had access to other tactics if she resisted too long. Her guilt – over which he had guardianship – was always a last avenue of appeal if he really needed it. Somehow, as a result of medication and her husband’s close analysis, the exhausting walk down the straight road had taken on the dimensions of a grossly dangerous, almost criminal action. She considered arguing a little more, if only to make him work harder for her compliance, but the passion had abated and she was once more locked inside an alien, medicated personality. These flights of emotional energy were rare and short-lived. They exhausted and deceived her.

Jack noticed the sudden hush, and took the opportunity to clinch the deal. Everyone at school thinks it’s a good idea. They reckon I’m stuck in a bit of a rut with things here. So why not try to look at it as a change for me, and a holiday for you and Grace?

Kate was struck with an idea of her own. What about me staying back here with Grace and you coming home every few weekends? That way, we can keep our lease going. She was speaking too quickly, trying to race Jack as he shook his head to dismiss any alternatives before they took shape.

"I want you to come with me – both of you, okay? The agents are happy to put someone else in for a three-month lease and that takes up the term and the school holiday break perfectly. Apparently they have a line-up of tenants waiting for a short lease. Besides, I don’t think John would like it if you were left here for weeks by yourself and of course – apart from any of that – I’d miss you too much. He sighed and added quietly, But I see that the feeling’s not mutual."

Kate dropped her head as he delivered his mild rebuke. He was right in suggesting that she would not survive here by herself. Even if it was difficult to feel love for Jack, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she simply was used to his presence, his voice, his warmth in bed at night. And lately, he had taken on the role of interpreting her to the world, a dependency that she resented but could not yet relinquish. Apart from that, Grace would feel his absence strongly. Listening to endless repetitions of, When’s Daddy coming back? would probably drive her to the edge of insanity.

"Okay, have your way. It probably is best if we all go. And this might be a good time to talk to Dr Manning about getting off my medication."

The idea seemed to give Jack a moment of consternation. Well, you shouldn’t rush that sort of thing. How about I ring him and see whether he thinks you’re ready?

"No, Jack! It’s my body, my head and my life. Kate was gripped by another surge of energy and was surprised by the platitude that burst from her. I’ll ring him in the morning. Okay?"

Maybe Jack was satisfied with success on the one front, or trusted that the doctor would see things as he did anyway. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Fine, then. Just let me know what he recommends before you change anything. Well, I’ll drop my stuff into the study and take Grace for a walk.

He waited for Kate to nod her agreement. She felt his warm lips touch her forehead, and managed to fix her own lips into a wan smile.

And as the weeks went by, Kate paused in front of a mirror and looked to see if her old, real self was still hiding somewhere or whether it had just kept on walking, walking, walking.

*******

Now, in Flanagan, Kate knew there was a long, straight road close by, vast and liberating and dangerous, not far beyond where pristine humanscape opened out into the ragged edges of the town. For two whole weeks she had fought the urge to go there, and started today with the same intentions to walk only where she was sure to find tidy corners and reassuring bends. In the long, empty days she had flogged the surface of each street and made an almost permanent track along the curving river bank. But after all the effort to be sensible, a different sort of trouble joined her – a stray dog. "Get away! Go home!"

Kate resorted to ferocity after all other tactics had failed. She had ignored, rebuked, stamped her feet and clapped her hands at the animal for at least a kilometre. But Grace undermined all her effort by leaning out of the stroller and waving to the scruffy dog as it trotted along.

For the first blocks, Kate had waited for some disgruntled owner to bellow a command for the dog to come back. Then, passing the next huddle of cottages and a block of vacant land, she could only hope that the short-legged creature might simply give up to exhaustion. But there was no sign of giving up. Kate knew that her child and the dog were in secret play, and she was the piggy-in-the-middle providing enough resistance for a good contest.

As Kate approached an intersection, she spun around and lunged at the dog in mock attack.

"I said get away now!"

The sound and movement were so ugly that she expected the dog not only to retreat but to flee away in fear of its life. Instead, it merely drew back on its haunches and cocked its head. If anything, she had charmed it with her display of feral behaviour.

Don’t be mean Mummy! I like the doggy! Grace scolded, and began pulling at the buckle of her stroller harness.

Kate placed a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder until the wriggling subsided. Then she gripped the stroller and resumed her brisk march. The dog hung back with a confused whine and faint scuffle of paws on the gravel. Perhaps if she disappeared quickly it would turn back or find someone else to annoy.

She checked in four directions for traffic before steering the stroller sharply around the corner, hardly thinking about which direction she was heading in. One step, two steps and Kate almost stumbled at the sight before her. In the blur of heat rising from the surface, she was momentarily overwhelmed by the pull of some enigmatic gravity. How had she ended up here, staring at the flat stretch of bitumen that seemed to beckon her way, way out of the town?

Kate moved forward, and stopped. She murmured to herself, Can you be trusted? Then she giggled nervously. Surely the old compulsion was dead. Of course she could just walk a little way, have a look around and turn back to the township and Jack and the funny little house they were renting.

Grace craned her neck upwards in expectation. Come on, Mummy. Let’s go!

Kate experimented with a few more steps. The terrier had crept up from behind them, and Grace responded by pulling the harness, kicking against the foot rest and squealing.

The mild resentment, which never was too far away, started throbbing at Kate’s temples. She nudged the dog away with her foot and straightened Grace in her seat once more with a sharp, Stop it now. Sit down!

Without looking back, she lurched forward and set her feet moving in power-walk mode. She would tackle this road, dog or no dog.

Kate kept one eye on the horizon and the other on the stroller wheels as her brisk pace gobbling up the bitumen. Grace soon relaxed and began murmuring to herself, lulled by the erratic bump of stroller wheelers over loose stones and twigs. She was sure to drop off to sleep soon.

Ah, but there was still the rasping, trotting presence of the dog! Its pace was irregular and Kate wondered if it was footsore, thirsty or plain exhausted enough to give up and go home. She could see its shadow bouncing when she glanced to the corner of her eye. There was no way that she wanted to look properly at the little scruff ball again; pity might compel her to hoist it up onto the hood of the stroller for a ride, and have it licking and pawing her for the next half-hour.

It was not quite the vast wilderness she expected and perhaps had hoped for. The beginning of a bright green stretch of property ahead was obviously the golf course, and coming up on her left was Flanagan District Cemetery with its rows of gravestones patterned with bouquets and wreaths and recent litter. Kate slowed down a little as she caught sight of what seemed to be an additional cemetery with a small painted flag of red, black and yellow and a prohibitory height of wired mesh. She would have to remember to mention it to Jack that evening, over dinner. Perhaps they could walk out and have a closer look on the weekend, hopefully without picking up a dog on the way.

Suddenly the Maltese terrier let loose with hysterical yelping and collided with her ankle before veering off to the far side of the road. Kate jerked to a stop and saw what had sent the little dog into its panic. Her stomach lurched with fear.

Two massive, brawny creatures emerged from the roadside scrub. They were almost camouflaged and might have been standing there all the time, watching her approach with deadly patience. Kate froze, waiting for a bark that would break the menacing silence and weaken their ominous stealth. If she was simply an intruder they should yap their ferocious heads off and let her scurry off their territory! Instead, it seemed they were sizing her up as prey. Worst of all, the terrier was putting on a pathetic sideshow of cringing and whimpering. Why didn’t it just take off into the bush and hide? She wanted to scream at it, shut up so I can think clearly!

Kate dropped her eyes for a moment, wondering whether to bolt or slink away. She plunged her hand into her trouser pocket and put 000 into her mobile, hardly knowing which service to request but convinced this was indeed an emergency. No signal! She heard a slight scuffle and glanced up to see the predators moving off in the direction of the terrier, loping across the bitumen then sliding along the gravel shoulder of the road. It occurred to Kate then, with a rush of guilty relief, that she and Grace were not the primary targets.

She levered the stroller around in a smooth one-hundred-and-eighty degree motion then walked slowly so as not to scatter the gravel. Not daring to look over her shoulder, she instead listened for any sign of pursuit. What she heard terrified her more, and soon she was intent on not listening.

Only when it was too late to do anything, did Kate allow herself to interpret the sounds that she had left behind. There had been little noise from the aggressive ones which she now realized were German Shepherds, and it was no surprise that such an attack would be executed with minimum fuss. All the yelping and screeching had come from their hapless victim.

In what seemed only minutes, Kate was at the front of her house. It no longer looked like an ugly, badly maintained hovel; it now was a welcoming refuge. She scanned the street in all directions. Of course, there could be no dogs following her now – no small dog, no big dogs.

*******

Later, sharing a bath with Grace, Kate leaned back and thought of the little white dog that had, she decided, displayed an odd type of gallantry. She fancied that in distancing itself at the moment when it must have been desperate for protection, the terrier had saved hers and Grace’s lives.

She could get a little comfort from such homespun animal psychology, but the water grew tepid and then almost chill before she gave up the search for a firm perspective. Carrying Grace from the bathroom, she had to work hard at closing her mind’s eye against the dog’s fate. There just were not enough distractions.

Jack had phoned after school to say he was joining in the customary Friday drinks night at the club, where his colleagues consumed several hours’ worth of beer, wine and finger food. He had noticed the tremor in her voice and assumed instantly that she was unwell. Kate assured him she was perfectly okay, just a bit tired after a long, busy and unseasonably warm day. She could hear the close-range hum of voices at the other end of the line, and knew it was not a good time to tell her husband that she had been face-to-face with killer dogs and had escaped within an inch of her life.

When Grace dropped off to sleep, Kate felt that she could finally give way to all the horrors of the afternoon, unleashing them all in a long, intense episode of sobbing. It could not change anything, but at least it had the effect of leading her in a deep slumber, far beyond the reach of self-incrimination.

Two

The next morning, Kate woke late to the sound of swinging and squealing near the window. In perverse contrast to these happy noises, details of the previous day and evening began flitting through her mind, and she pushed them back with something like disgust. After showering and dressing, she wandered into the kitchen and found evidence of a minimalist breakfast. Milk-laced bowls and plates were stacked neatly in the kitchen sink, and the newspapers were placed, crisp and unopened, on the sideboard. The coffee machine was out on the bench and plugged in, obviously with misplaced optimism since nothing was in it.

Kate ate a bowl of cereal and tidied the table to make space for the newspapers. In a moment she would call Jack inside and tell him to enjoy the rest of the morning in peace while she and Grace wandered down to the park and shopping centre. It seemed important to present a calm and unclouded face to Jack, to silence in advance a suspicion that her late waking had any intrinsic connection to her ‘illness.’

Grace struggled out of the swing as she noticed her mother at the kitchen window. Kate grinned and waved, noticing Jack’s relief as he turned and waved back. She was impressed to see that the child was already fully dressed, including shoes and sunhat. Jack scooped her up and walked in high steps across the wet grass, pausing to wipe his boots on the doormat before coming inside.

Ah, I can smell coffee! You can see I didn’t quite get to making it myself. Here, hop down, you little monkey. Go and play on your own for a while!

Instead Grace grabbed Kate around the knees, and attempted to pull her out through the backdoor. Let’s go and find puppy, Mummy!

Kate unlaced the child’s fingers and said firmly, There’s no need to yell, Grace. Just come over here and sit on my knee for a minute. She dropped heavily onto a chair and held her arms out. Jack ruffled her damp hair and kissed the crown of her head in an unexpected gesture of affection. Mm... You smell nice. He walked over to the window and touched the delicate leaves of the African violet, then watered it from a drinking cup.

Dogs, dogs, and more dogs is all she’s talked about since she opened her eyes! ‘Puppy’s my friend, Dad,’ or ‘Get me my doggy’. I’m thinking she must have had a dream or something.

Well, we always see lots of dogs around here, and some can be annoying. It’s hardly surprising she dreams about them. Kate shrugged dismissively over the child’s head.

Jack turned and looked at her thoughtfully. You still look pretty tired this morning. Did you have a bad evening with Grace? I mean, you were both sound asleep when I got in, but that was after twelve.

"I am tired, but fine otherwise. I was going to take Grace out for a while so you can have some peace. Hope the coffee’s strong enough. Come on, Grace, we’ll go around to the shops. And maybe we can have a swing on the way back home, eh?"

Hang on, hang on! Jack protested. "You don’t have to go making yourself scarce. I’ve hardly seen you in the last couple of days. Anyway, I feel like a walk, too, so we may as well go together. You’ve made enough coffee for two, so you have to have some or it’ll be wasted. Come on, let’s at least start the weekend together."

Kate sat down again, knowing his plea should have warmed her heart but feeling instead a flutter of anxiety. In fact she sometimes dreaded the prospect of sitting alone with Jack, because his idea of ‘conversation’ was to ask her how she’d been feeling during the week, whether there were any more withdrawal symptoms and if she was coping with Grace a bit better than before. The illness had carved a big hole in her relationship with him, and the chasm was stacked high with delicate subjects. Even in discussing commonplace things, they had to talk across the fragile space, often mishearing or misinterpreting each other. To be fair, Jack did not always ask her questions or