Sam had been waiting every day for Drew to drop round and casually sling his arm around Charlie, for him to rekindle their relationship. But so far it hadn’t happened. Her sister seemed equally uninterested. But then Charlie wasn’t well, and would still be angry with Drew, surely, for his betrayal. Sam might just be seeing what she wanted to see. She hadn’t found the nerve so far to ask Charlie outright.
Sam was in over her head. Confused, unsure, living in a torment of duty versus desire. She couldn’t go on like this. It was time to confront Charlie with her feelings, and try to gauge just how much Drew still meant to her sister.
Sam had told Charlie that she’d deferred her Commerce course. Her sister had been touchingly pleased by the news. So had Mary. Even Sam’s father hadn’t seemed to mind. ‘It’s your decision, Sammy,’ he’d said. ‘That university isn’t going anywhere.’ She resisted the possibility that he just didn’t care. Wasn’t he sending her money? It was partly guilt money, she knew that. Dad had flown straight back to Dubai from France, but then away was his default setting. She was used to it, and the allowance was helping keep Brumby’s Run afloat. That, and the payments going into Charlie’s bank account from her mystery benefactor.
Her mother hadn’t been so easy to convince. Faith had stayed on in Europe after the initial month that she’d originally planned to be away. She’d taken Mamie and her arthritis to the Mediterranean for the duration of the northern winter. When Sam had broken the news about her gap year, Faith had cried and argued and threatened. ‘I’m coming straight home to talk some sense into you.’
‘You can’t change my mind,’ Sam had said, gritting her teeth. ‘Don’t bother coming unless you bring Pharaoh too.’ Her mind was made up. There would be no leaving Brumby’s Run, no leaving Charlie – no leaving Drew. He’d risked a lot the night he hijacked Whirlwind. It was crazy and dangerous, and he’d done it just the same. It was an act of love, she knew that, and Sam loved him in return.
Sam’s mobile rang. It was Mary. ‘Sweetie, how are you? How’s Charlie?’
‘Fine,’ said Sam cautiously. ‘We’re both fine.’ She never quite knew what to expect from Mary’s phone calls.
‘Can you put Charlie on?’
Charlie was off, riding alone in the mountains, but she couldn’t tell Mary that. ‘She’s outside somewhere. I’ll get her to ring you, shall I?’
‘Outside? She’s not overdoing it, is she? The professor said she should take it easy.’ Tell her yourself, Sam wanted to say. I’m not your daughter’s keeper. But instead she just asked, ‘When are you coming home?’
Mary launched into a list of what sounded suspiciously like excuses. ‘… So it won’t be til Carlos gets the car fixed. Will that be all right?’ asked Mary. ‘Can you girls manage a while longer?’ Sam toyed with the idea of saying no, they couldn’t. Would it make any difference?
Sam was beginning to see that Charlie was right about Mary. She’d been a devoted mother during the crisis, no doubt about that, but had lost focus pretty quickly once Charlie was on the mend. ‘Mum was on her best behaviour at the hospital,’ Charlie had said. ‘Trying to impress you. She can never keep up the Mother Mary act for long. Once there’s a man involved, I come second. Always have. Maybe it’s an abandonment complex cause my dad ran out on her. She always hangs on to blokes too tight.’
‘We can manage, Mary,’ said Sam. ‘We can manage just fine. Talk soon.’ Psychoanalysing her birth mother was all very interesting, but there was a dinner to cook. With Mary acting so flaky, it was probably just as well if she stayed away. Mothers were such problem creatures.
Sam gave Condor a piece of cheese, chased him out the back door, and put on one of Charlie’s Sara Storer CDs. She’d become a fan of Storer’s sweet country sound, with a subtle steel in the lyrics. Sam looked in the fridge. She’d make something simple and tasty, like warm chicken salad, with wild blackberries and ice-cream for afters. And maybe garlic bread to help fatten Charlie up. Her culinary skills had advanced a long way from boiled eggs and toast. They’d been her staple back home in Melbourne, on the rare occasion she prepared a meal for herself. Faith had a chef, but she dared not tell Charlie – she’d never hear the end of it.
Sam pulled chicken strips out to defrost and set about chopping fresh greens and slicing the French loaf. Time ticked by. Still no Charlie. Sam made garlic butter, all the while glancing to the door. Strands of anxiety wadded to a ball in her stomach. Where on earth was her sister?
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was after seven before the back door slammed, and Charlie limped in. ‘Whatever happened to you?’ asked Sam. ‘Did you have a fall?’ Charlie shook her head. She looked worn out, covered in mud, with grazed elbows and a sunburned face. Sam fetched disinfectant and tissues, and began dabbing at the broken skin on Charlie’s skinny arm.
‘Ow,’ she said, pulling away.
Sam persisted, taking Charlie’s elbow in her right hand, and cleaning it with her left. ‘You have to be careful about infection,’ she said, ‘or you’ll end up right back in that Melbourne hospital.’ Might not be such a bad thing, thought Sam uncharitably.
‘I was up in the wetlands, below the Snake Creek watershed.’ Charlie pulled an exercise book from her backpack. ‘Some fuckwit has let cattle into the park. Some sort of stupid trial. They’ve destroyed Corroboree Bog, and probably all the others besides.’ Her voice quivered with exhaustion or emotion, or both.
Charlie opened the notebook and began to read. ‘“Damage ranges from flattened vegetation, numerous cow pats, large patches of bare ground, trampled and dislodged plants.”’ Charlie looked up. ‘A lot of the sphagnum moss was shrivelled and dead,’ she said, then went on reading. ‘“Cattle have caused serious erosion, making tracks that connect and drain ponds. Half of the bog is completely dry. At other sites, such incised channels are known to act as conduits for water-borne spores of Chytrid fungus.” That’s the fungus killing off frogs worldwide.
‘And do you know the worst thing?’ asked Charlie. Sam shook her head, feeling sick. ‘I only found two frogs up there – one dead and the other injured. It’ll probably die too. There should have been dozens.’ Charlie’s voice raised a frantic notch. ‘These are spotted tree frogs I’m talking about. Protected frogs, critically endangered!’
‘Whose notes are those?’ asked Sam.
‘They’re mine,’ said Charlie.
‘They sound very technical,’ said Sam.
‘Do they?’ asked Charlie. Her downcast face brightened with pride. ‘When the mobile library was in Currajong, I always used to read the Department of Environment field observations; I tried to copy their recording style, their terminology. I’ve got oodles of notes, starting from when I was eight. A ten-year ecological history of Balleroo National Park.’
Sam was stunned. She hadn’t imagined that her sister had a scholarly side. Charlie had been hiding her light under a bushel.
Charlie’s voice grew tremulous again. ‘I rode Tambo up there, and then this bull charged me, and then this ranger shot it, and then …’ She started to sob. ‘Then I discovered the ruined bog.’ Charlie slumped into a kitchen chair, and her sobs turned to all-out wails that racked her frail frame.
‘A bull? What on earth …?’ Sam pulled up a chair and wrapped her arms around Charlie’s shuddering shoulders. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured, over and over again, until her sister seemed spent.
‘Do you know a bloke called Karl Richter?’ asked Charlie. The sudden change in tack left Sam momentarily confused. She shook her head.
‘His voice sounds a bit German or something,’ said Charlie. Still nothing. ‘You didn’t have your clothes on.’ Sam felt her jaw drop. The day in the mountains when they caught the brumbies. The snake in the pool. How did Charlie know about that?
‘You mean that park ranger?’ she said.
Charlie nodded. ‘That’s it. Karl. He’s the one who shot the bull. He thought I was you, and said that at least I had my clothes on this time.’ She
looked like she was expecting an explanation. Sam didn’t know quite where to start, but told the story as best she could, leaving out the bit where Karl said she looked fetching in her underwear. ‘I can see how that happened,’ said Charlie when she’d finished. ‘I wondered if people might get us mixed up. Did it happen much?’
This was it, the perfect segue. This was the time to explain how everybody in Currajong thought she was Charlie. Sam got up, poured her sister an orange juice, took a deep breath and began. This time she left nothing out of the story. She took hold of Charlie’s hands, and told her about how it had started with an innocent mistake, of how shy and embarrassed she’d been in the beginning, of how awkward and difficult it was to challenge people’s assumptions. Sam dropped Charlie’s hands and walked to the window, as if out there she might find more courage. When she turned back around, her sister’s eyes were wide. Sam averted her gaze, hung her head and told Charlie about how she’d got used to playing the part. Of how wonderful it was to feel part of the tight-knit Currajong community, of how she’d relished the solid sense of belonging. Of how she felt she’d come home.
Charlie listened in silence. When Sam ran out of words, she hesitantly lifted her eyes to Charlie’s. Her sister’s face had sort of crumpled, fallen in on itself, blurred. It was horrible. Sam rushed to kneel before her sister, and held her hands again. Charlie gulped, like she might choke. ‘Didn’t anybody notice it wasn’t me?’ she said, her voice wavering.
‘Oh, yes.’ Sam tried to reassure her. ‘Of course.’
‘Who?’
Sam thought of lying, then thought better of it. ‘Spike,’ she said. ‘And Drew, of course.’ But he hadn’t – not at first, anyway.
‘Who else?’ Sam didn’t speak. ‘Who else?’ said Charlie, her voice angry now, demanding. Sam cringed. Her sister’s pain was palpable. ‘I grew up in Currajong,’ said Charlie. ‘You? You’ve been to France, America, England – all around the world. But do you know what?’ Sam shook her head. ‘Before I got sick, before I went to Melbourne, I’d never been farther than Wodonga in my entire life. Not bloody once.’ She rested her scrunched-up face in her hands for a moment. ‘How do you think it feels, to realise that after a lifetime lived in this shithole of a town, nobody even knows who I am? To realise that I’m completely interchangeable with the first fucking stranger who waltzes into Currajong and looks a bit like me?’
Sam felt like she’d been struck. She rose from her knees and sank into the chair beside Charlie. There was a rap at the door and Drew walked in, followed by Bess, wagging her tail. Charlie hit him with both barrels. ‘No one in this fucking town knows who I am, do they, Drew? That’s right, isn’t it? I could have died and nobody would have even noticed.’
Bess whimpered and backed out the door. Drew gave Sam a look of thorough approval. ‘You finally fessed up then.’
‘Yes, she did,’ said Charlie, her voice full of venom. ‘My dear, loving sister finally fessed up. It wasn’t enough that she hit the jackpot the day she was born and went off to live with a mega-rich family. It wasn’t enough that I had cancer and she didn’t. No, she had to come here, scavenge through what was left of my life and pick the eyes out of that as well.’
‘You asked me to come …’ began Sam.
Charlie turned on her. ‘I didn’t ask you play some fucking masquerade. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t show my face in town. I’ll be completely humiliated.’
‘Hang on, Charlie,’ said Drew. ‘Don’t be so hard on your sister. You two are dead ringers. Even I was fooled at first, and nobody knows you better than me.’
Charlie stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Sam. ‘You said that he knew you weren’t me.’
‘He did,’ Sam said, silently cursing Drew for his candour. ‘After a few minutes, he did.’
Charlie collapsed back in her chair. She looked completely defeated. Sam didn’t imagine this was the sort of incident-free recovery Professor Sung had in mind for her sister. Sam moved to hug her, to try to comfort her, but Charlie’s harsh words and accusing eyes stopped her in her tracks. Sam hugged Bess instead, glad of the unconditional affection shining in the big dog’s eyes. It was the ‘fucking stranger’ comment that had hurt the most. Was that how Charlie thought of her? It was true enough, though. They barely knew each other. In Charlie’s shoes, she’d be just as wild. If only Sam hadn’t let the charade drag on for so long. Well, it was over now, and the whole town would soon discover what a fraud she was. There was no way around it.
Sam felt faint. She hurried down the hall to the bathroom, and dragged a wet washer over her face. Red, sore-looking eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She perched on the edge of the ancient claw-footed bath, head in her hands. What would Charlie say if she knew Sam was still in love with Drew? Sam bit her lip. She could just hear Charlie shouting that Sam had stolen her boyfriend, along with everything else. And the awful thing was, it was true. However she cared to spin it to herself, no matter how innocently it had all begun – the facts were the facts.
Impassioned voices sounded from the kitchen. A horrible thought hit her. What if Charlie didn’t want her to stay any more? The thought of leaving Brumby’s Run made Sam sick with grief. She wouldn’t do it. She flat out wouldn’t do it. This land was her heritage as much Charlie’s, and Sam didn’t intend to give up an inch of it without a fight.
The argument still raged in the kitchen. She could hear every word.
‘You’re an ungrateful bitch, Chaz,’ said Drew. ‘You always were.’ His harsh words were tempered by the tone of their delivery. Mockingly affectionate. ‘That’s all that saved those poor buggers from starving to death. Anyway, they’re back home now. Safe and sound and growing fat as butter.’
‘It’s too late,’ said Charlie. ‘The damage is done. It’ll take years for those wetlands to recover; that’s if they ever do.’
‘What about your precious brumbies?’ said Drew. ‘I don’t suppose they cause any damage, do they? I’m supposed to let your poor cattle starve, but it’s fine, apparently, for feral horses to trample all over the park.’ It was a fair point, but Charlie ignored it.
‘If those cattle were starving, it was because your fucking father had the run of our best paddocks,’ she said angrily. ‘I saw one of my cows today, with a scrubber bull above the bog. Stupid me, thought she must have escaped. I never thought you’d deliberately put cattle into Balleroo, Drew. How could you do that? It’s a park, not a fucking paddock!’ Her voice rose an octave. ‘And my sister? Did she know about this?’
Sam went cold, knowing only too well Drew and his damned tell-it-like-it-is style.
‘Absolutely,’ said Drew. Of course he did. ‘Sam helped me muster them in there. She did a fabulous job too,’ he added, ‘for a city girl.’
Shit. Why did Drew have to go and say that for? He was always so reckless with his words, so completely lacking in discretion. Sam heaved a big sigh. No, he was unfailingly honest, that was all. Pity some of that honesty hadn’t rubbed off on her. If she’d confessed to letting the cattle out in the first place, there’d have been no surprises for him to spring.
‘I should sue!’ Charlie was yelling now. ‘You had no lease any more. Why the fuck didn’t you just get your cattle off my land when I told you to?’
‘It was actually your sister who told me to,’ he reminded her, cool as a cucumber. ‘And I had them out within a week. But the state your cows were in? They didn’t have another week.’ Everything sounded so reasonable, the way he explained it. ‘Chaz.’ His tone had changed to coaxing and kind. ‘You should be thanking me, instead of going off your nut. Did you bother to read the original lease contract?’
‘No,’ said Charlie, still on the defensive but sounding less sure of herself.
‘Well, let me give you a little lesson in the law. Mary didn’t have to sign any renewal. Dad was entitled to keep his cattle on Brumby’s Run, keep on paying rent and still be a lawful tenant, because there’s a thing called a periodic tenancy
. It automatically renews itself each month, unless one of the parties gives notice.’
‘Sam gave notice,’ said Charlie.
‘She’s not a party to the agreement,’ said Drew, his own voice raised in anger. ‘She can’t give notice. Neither can you. If anybody can sue for breach of contract, it’s Dad.’
That choice piece of information provoked Charlie into a torrent of shouted insults. Drew returned fire with a few of his own. Bess whined and pushed her wet nose into the palm of Sam’s hand. ‘Well, girl,’ she whispered, fondling the dog’s big head. ‘Time to face the music.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Charlie lay down on a soft bed of everlastings, to better examine the bizarre fungus. With its seven scarlet arms, it certainly earned its name of common starfish fungus. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath. It may have been beautiful, but Aseroe rubra was a member of the stinkhorn family and smelled of rotten flesh. Flies crawled around its glistening red heart, unwittingly collecting spores. Charlie took a few photos and made some notes.
In the week since Sam’s stunning confession, Charlie had taken to going bush every day. Out here, it didn’t matter a jot what the townsfolk believed. It didn’t matter a jot what any human being on the face of the earth believed. This grand wilderness was indifferent to the petty concerns of humanity. She stood up and stroked Whirl-wind’s shoulder. ‘Time to go.’
The mare lifted her head for a moment from the sweet patch of snowgrass, then went on grazing. Charlie took hold of a handful of mane and swung onto her back. Whirlwind hardly seemed to notice. Charlie gently pressed her heels to her side. ‘I said, time to go.’
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