The vehicle hiccuped to a halt and three doors opened.
‘Irene!’ cried Tiffany when she realised who it was. ‘I was coming to see you!’
As the three women climbed out of the car, everyone stared.
‘Fuck me,’ said Stirling under his breath.
‘No way,’ Jaime breathed. She wanted to run back inside the homestead, close the unfortunately unshutable back door and keep everyone out.
Marty’s jaw seemed stuck open, like he’d swallowed a whole packet of Redskins and forgotten to chew.
Sharyn with a ‘y’ not an ‘o’ was wearing a bright orange tutu with a tight cerise leotard. Irene was dressed in a man’s scruffy suit, with her eyebrows pencilled in to appear even thicker than usual. And Susan was a regular Martha Stewart in a 1950s-style frilled apron and high heels, her hair done up in a beehive, with a set of oven mitts, a lolly-pink bowl and wooden spoon to complete the outfit.
Irene was trying to juggle a briefcase in one hand and a clipboard in the other, making it impossible for her to hug her niece properly. She gave Tiffany a quick ‘welcome home’ dip and bob before getting on with the job at hand.
‘We’re here about New Year’s Eve,’ she stated in an imposing voice.
‘Fuck me,’ said Stirling again. ‘I knew it.’
‘Knew what?’ asked Jaime. ‘What did you know?’
But Stirling was still muttering under his breath. ‘Geez, Valerie, you’ve really done it this time.’
Done what? What was going on?
‘For those of you new to the Gap,’ said Irene, ‘we hold a New Year’s Eve concert every year in the hall.’
Honestly, these people sure liked their celebrations!
‘And every household is expected to perform at least one act.’
Jaime was starting to understand Stirling’s concern.
‘I’ll represent you, Aunty Irene,’ squealed Tiffany. ‘I’ll sing a song.’
‘Terrific!’ said Irene. ‘That means I don’t have to do my Mr Bean impersonation again.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ said Sharyn. ‘How will my dancing act beat your Mr Bean act if you’re not even there?’
Whoa. A bit of competition from the minions.
‘I’ll still be at the concert, Sharyn,’ Irene said in a soothing voice. ‘And I’m sure Tiffany won’t mind if you compete against her instead.’
‘Oh,’ said Sharyn. ‘Alright. But she’d better get ready to be beaten. I’ve been watching Lulu dancing on Bananas in Pyjamas every day. I’m very good.’
Go, sista! She hadn’t thought Sharyn had it in her.
‘I’m sure you are,’ said Irene. ‘Now, any other takers? Stirling, you’ll need to come up with something this year since Valerie and Simon aren’t here.’
Stirling went completely still.
‘What happens if he doesn’t?’ Jaime asked, seeing the expression of sheer horror on his face.
‘Polly’s Plains will be shamed for not contributing to our fundraiser.’
‘But Stirling provided all those Christmas trees and the sponges and hosted the Christmas lunch!’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Irene. ‘This fundraiser is for the local bush hospital. It’s different from the others.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Jaime. ‘A fundraiser’s a fundraiser!’
‘Polly’s Plains won’t be taking part,’ Stirling said.
The three women in fancy dress drew back with a gasp.
‘That is so not an option,’ said Irene, when she could finally speak.
‘I could sing a song for Polly’s Plains too?’ said Tiffany, with eager excitement.
That was so not an option either.
‘I’ll do it,’ Jaime said.
‘What?’ said Tiffany and Irene together.
‘You will?’ said Stirling.
‘Yes. I’ll sing too.’
‘Seriously?’ said Marty. ‘Remember the first time we met each other at the RSL and you sang the karaoke …?’
Did she ever. It was the night her mother introduced her to Dave and where, over dinner, they’d told her they were getting married. She’d done the karaoke to get away from the table.
‘… Mate, I thought all the foxes in the neighbourhood were going to come running, thinking there was a half-dead bunny in the offing.’
‘Shut up, Marty.’
‘So that’s Jaime singing for Polly’s Plains,’ said Irene, clicking her fingers. ‘Sharyn? Pen!’
Sharyn ran back to the car, her little tutu flapping up and down as she went. She grabbed something from the back seat, ran back and dutifully handed over a bright yellow pen with a dyed cerise peacock feather hanging off the end.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Stirling told Jaime. ‘We can wear the shame!’
He was probably thinking shame was a whole lot better than embarrassment. Well, screw him.
‘I’m doing it,’ she said.
Tiffany turned to Stirling and whispered something in his ear.
Oh, please, Jaime thought. Get a room.
On second thoughts, don’t.
She set her teeth. Okay, maybe her voice wasn’t up to it. But she’d find an instrument to play if it was the last thing she did.
Chapter 24
It was New Year’s Eve, the night of the concert. Blanche was beside herself with excitement. ‘I’ve always wanted to attend one of these country hoedowns!’ she’d said at lunchtime.
Jaime didn’t think they called a barbecue and talent quest a ‘hoedown’ in the Australian bush, but then again, what the hell did she know? She’d never been to one either. Unless you counted the Christmas Tree, which she didn’t because she didn’t want to think about how gorgeous Stirling McEvoy had looked that night, how lovely he’d been to her despite her behaviour. She hadn’t seen him for two days and it was killing her. Where was he? With Tiffany? Not with Tiffany? What was going on? She so wished they hadn’t argued again, but the damage was done now.
It all started when she hadn’t shut a gate properly. Stirling had come roaring up to the house on Monday morning on his motorbike, jumped off and flew down the path like a vengeful demon to confront Marty who was exiting the back door.
‘I’ve just been down to the holding paddock and the steers due to be trucked out in the morning are gone,’ roared Stirling. ‘Someone left the bloody gate unfastened.’
Jaime’s heart had sunk to her feet. The big cattleman had looked like he was about to throttle Marty with his bare hands. Marty, by contrast, leant against the doorjamb like an insolent teenager and said, ‘So?’
Jaime only just made it to the two men in time to prevent a full fistfight. ‘It was me. I did it.’
And she had, that morning when she’d gone for a walk to get away from everyone crowding her space just by being in the homestead.
‘You’re only protecting him,’ said Stirling, pointing to Marty. ‘He was down there this morning. I saw him.’
That was true too. Blanche had sent Marty after Jaime, claiming she needed assistance with the two Busters who wouldn’t stop hassling Dodge. As if. Dodge could hold his own with anything. Jaime had guessed her mother wanted some time alone with Dave.
‘So was she,’ said Marty, nodding at Jaime as though they’d been there together. ‘I’ll leave you two to sort this one out,’ he added with a snigger and swaggered down the path and out into the garden.
‘You do that!’ Stirling muttered, his face set in grim lines.
Jaime jumped in to explain. ‘I went for a walk by myself and I mustn’t have secured the gate properly. I’m sorry.’
‘Of all the bloody stupid things to do! It’s going to take me all morning to get those cattle back in. They’ve gone everywhere.’
‘I didn’t mean –’
‘First rule of country life, Jaime. Make sure you shut the fucking gate!’
‘Don’t yell at me! If you had a normal gate there I would’ve. But instead there’s this wire thing –’
/> ‘It’s a Mallee gate.’
‘Whatever. It’s stupid. I couldn’t work out how to latch it all back together once I’d got it undone!’
‘It’s simple if you think about it,’ he said dismissively and turned to leave.
‘Think about it? I stood there for ten minutes thinking about it!’ hollered Jaime. ‘And what’s more, you don’t exactly take any prizes for being the cleverest bloke around these parts!’
Stirling half-turned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re the one who put his old girlfriend first straight after sleeping with me!’
‘So we’re back to that again, are we?’
‘We sure are!’
‘And I came back to find you with another man.’ Flat voice. No emotion.
‘There’s nothing going on between me and Marty!’
‘That’s not the message he’s sending,’ said Stirling. ‘Now I’ve got to go and round up the cattle someone let out.’ He stormed off down the path.
Jaime was incensed. She wanted to fight this out. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything else?’ she yelled.
‘Nope.’
He got on the bike, keyed the motor and blasted out the gate. Presumably to go find his cattle. Jaime was left staring at his dust. She kicked in temper at the iron boot-remover near the back door. Then spent the next two minutes jumping up and down clutching her toes.
That had been fifty-two hours ago – not that she was counting – and in the meantime she’d had plenty of other things to worry about. Like Marty still hanging around like a devoted puppy; making another ambrosia salad for the pot-luck tea at the hall tonight – plus a cheesecake for dessert, which she’d left to Blanche; and mastering the instrument she’d chosen to play for the concert.
Things were not going well there. The spoons didn’t want to cooperate.
‘I’m sure your father used to hold them like this,’ said Blanche, trying to hold the two spoons back to back in one hand.
‘No, no, no,’ said Dave. ‘My grandfather did it like this.’ And he held them in another tricky position. Until Marty swiped one of them to eat a bowl of cereal.
‘Hey!’ cried Jaime. ‘They’re my spoons!’
‘Well, this one’s mine now,’ said Marty with a goofy grin.
‘You pig.’
‘You’re just cranky because you’re scared,’ he teased.
‘Shut up, Marty.’
And Jaime left the kitchen for the living room. Sat in a lounge chair staring at the piano wishing like hell she could play it. She felt sick with nerves about tonight and the possibility of making a fool of herself in front of the whole community, including Tiffany. She only hoped her performance wouldn’t shame Polly’s Plains more than not showing up at all.
By six o’clock, Jaime was dressed and ready. It had taken a while to choose her outfit: a sparkly silver top with a plunging neckline displaying enough flesh to give Tiffany the Tosser a run for her money, her mini-skirt teamed with Stirling’s Christmas gift – the chunky leather belt that showed her waist off to perfection, and her second-best, blood-red Jimmy Choos, although this time she had her Colorados in a spare bag just in case. Dangly ruby earrings and a long silver and red clutch completed the ensemble. Jaime was rather pleased with the way it had all turned out. She just hoped Dodge didn’t have too much fun with the huge pile of clothes now strewn across her bed.
Unfortunately Marty seemed to think her preparations were for his benefit. But Jaime only had two things on her mind: (1) getting through her recital; and (2) simply surviving the night.
Last time she’d attended a Burdekin’s Gap function, she’d arrived spreadeagled on Stirling’s V-Max. This time she was travelling to the ‘hoedown’ with Dave and Blanche in the Merc, sitting primly in the rear seat like a schoolgirl. The irony of that didn’t escape her. Neither did the fact that Stirling hadn’t asked her to ride with him.
‘Jaime can come in my ute,’ Marty had said just before they left. He’d spent part of the afternoon brushing dog hair off the seats, and now the engine was rumbling an unnatural tune and the spotlights were blazing.
Like hell, thought Jaime, and she’d slunk down further in the back seat of the Merc.
‘How about you come with us, lad?’ Dave called over the noise of the ute. ‘That way you can have a can or two.’
‘Okay,’ said Marty.
Damn, damn, damn! Where was her fairy godmother when she needed her? Jaime had been relieved Marty was driving himself. That way, she wouldn’t have to put up with him trying to grope her in the back seat. She could smell the overwhelming stink of Marty’s musky aftershave as he climbed in next to her. Obviously no one had ever told him less is more.
As Dave was about to pull out of the driveway onto the road, Stirling’s V-Max roared past, its owner clad all in black … Then he was gone in a cloud of dust.
‘Are you sure you’re right to do this, honey?’ asked Blanche once they were on their way.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Jaime, knowing she was anything but. It would be the first time she’d seen Stirling since their argument. And no doubt Tiffany, Irene, Susan, Sharyn, Jean and Bluey, Ryan and every other man, woman and child in this part of the mountains would be there to witness her humiliation.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do my belly dancing number?’ said Blanche, breaking into Jaime’s thoughts again. ‘I’ve been taking lessons at the community house.’
‘I’m sure.’
The idea of her mother semi-naked in front of the whole hall … oh my freakin’ God.
‘But I’m rather good at it, aren’t I, Dave?’
‘That you are, darling, yes, siree,’ said her husband from the driver’s seat. ‘I still remember the time you did that little number for me after the RSL ball.’ He blushed crimson, which made his bullneck look like it was on fire.
Jaime did not want to know anything about that memory!
‘I can play the mouth organ,’ said Marty. He was dressed in a trendy checked shirt, Ralph Lauren if she wasn’t mistaken, with a brand-new hat as big as the Northern Territory on his head and swanky boots on his feet. ‘I tried the banjo once, but that didn’t work out so well,’ he added as an afterthought.
Jaime sighed. What would she give right now to be plastered to Stirling McEvoy’s back, to feel the wind whistling past her as the motorbike swooped down the mountain. To be breathing in the effervescent and dizzying sensation of freedom. She remembered last time on the bike, her body practically glued to Stirling’s, smelling him, feeling him …
‘So are we meeting Stirling at the hall?’ Blanche asked Dave.
‘Yep.’
‘Did you ask him if he wanted a ride rather than taking that bike?’
Jaime strained her ears to hear Dave’s response over the radio, which was blaring music.
‘Yep. He said he’d find his own way there, something about needing to meet –’
‘So what are you going to play?’ asked Marty, drowning out the rest of Dave’s reply.
Jaime tried to ignore him. Who was Stirling going to meet?
‘“Roar” by Katy Perry’s a good choice. Or something from the eighties?’ Marty persisted.
Jaime turned to him and snapped. ‘“Edelweiss”.’ Who was Stirling meeting?
‘No way!’ Marty said. ‘You’ll never win with that!’
She hoped it wasn’t Tiffany. Prayed it wasn’t Tiffany.
‘You’ll need to do a popular song to win.’
If it was Tiffany she’d just curl up and die.
‘One the crowd knows and wants to sing along to.’
Or maybe she could lay her out? Punch her in those pouty lips.
‘Then again, maybe an old tune would be better. Most of the dudes up here are ancient.’
She finally tuned in to what Marty was saying. What a jerk! Stirling wasn’t ancient! Neither was Ryan.
‘I don’t want to win,’ Jaime said, giving up on hearing what Dave was saying to her mot
her. ‘I just want to save Polly’s Plains,’ and therefore Stirling, ‘from being embarrassed in front of the whole community.’
‘What’s it to you?’ Marty said. ‘I mean, you’ve only been here a month. It’s not like the place means anything.’
But it did, Jaime realised. It meant a lot. She’d grown to love it here. Sure, there’d been a few tough times. Okay, more than a few. But she’d grown to like living out here in Hicksville. And more than that, she’d grown to like being around Stirling.
The Merc pulled into the car park at the same time as Jean and Bluey’s Nissan Patrol, which was crawling with kids. They erupted like ants from the doors, windows and back, seeking food or entertainment. Most had red crew cuts, although there were a few bearing girly curls.
‘My sister’s kids,’ explained Jean as Jaime helped her and Bluey carry large trays of salads into the hall. ‘She’s just gone into labour for the seventh time.’ At Jaime’s raised eyebrows, Jean added, ‘They haven’t got good TV reception where they are. It’s probably about time they got Foxtel though.’
Seven kids? Jaime couldn’t even imagine one. Although if they all had Stirling McEvoy’s blue eyes and dimpled chin …
‘Hello, Princess,’ said a voice close to her right ear.
Jaime turned slowly. Speak of the devil and he just walked on up.
‘Stirling!’ cried Blanche, claiming his attention. ‘I was just saying to Jaime yesterday that we haven’t seen you for a couple of days. Most unusual. But then Dave reminded me Polly’s Plains is a working farm.’
Why on earth was her mother jabbering on like that? Perhaps she was nervous about Jaime making fools of them all.
‘I’ve had a bit on,’ Stirling said to Blanche, before turning back to Jaime. ‘You don’t have to do this for our sake. The McEvoys can withstand the shame of a no-show in the talent quest for one year.’
As compared to the shame of her performing? Of all the rotten things to say, and after all her practice too!
Rose River Page 18
