Country Roads

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  ***

  Bec was still smarting from Sally and Tash’s behaviour. They had managed to make an awkward situation even worse. Well, at least that’s how she felt. She was up at the crack of dawn. The only way to get over any embarrassment was to bury herself in a pile of work. Luck was on her side, as there was always a never-ending ‘to do’ list around Bluestone Ridge.

  ‘I ran into Mick Turner the other day,’ her father said as she walked into the kitchen.

  ‘What do you mean by ran into?’

  ‘When your mum and I were in Bendigo. You know, I had to go for a check-up and a couple of useless tests,’ Jack said.

  Bec could hear from the tone of Jack’s last sentence that he had truly given up. There was an undercurrent to his words, a mix of despair, the injustice of his situation, and anger. In the beginning, Bec had tried to be sympathetic and even upbeat when her father talked about his accident. But she quickly realised that this approach would elicit a sharp and generally curt response. Other times she’d tried to agree with him – yes, his accident had changed their lives and everything about it was unfair and sucked. But this too would be met with a snappy reply or an hour of jagged silence. Knowing that whatever she said would be the wrong thing, Bec eventually chose to move on. ‘Oh yeah, and what did Mick have to say?’

  ‘Not that much, but we had a coffee and a chinwag while your mum went off and shopped.’

  Bec held her breath for a second. What the hell was Mick Turner up to? Whatever it was, she would bet he had an ulterior motive. As far as she was concerned, Turner and his waste of space son could both take a long walk off a very short pier.

  Jack didn’t seem to notice the silence that hung between them. ‘Well, I haven’t had a catch-up with Mick in quite a while. Now, I know that you and young Zane parted ways a long time ago, but I was being polite. I couldn’t refuse a coffee when it looked as if Mick needed to talk.’

  ‘Personally, I wouldn’t be interested in anything that man had to say.’ Bec walked over to the fridge, yanked open the door and pulled out a bottle of orange juice.

  ‘Funny, that’s what your mum said. I don’t know why you girls can’t just let the past go.’

  Bec grabbed a glass and plonked it on the counter. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Dad – maybe because Zane Turner is a self-absorbed lying cheat and his father is no better.’

  ‘Oh, come on, love, just because you broke up with Zane doesn’t mean I can’t talk to Mick. I mean, that does sound a bit childish.’

  Bec poured the juice and managed to get most of it in the glass. ‘You do what you think is best.’ She bit out the words.

  ‘Alright, I will. Anyway, he said that they are looking to expand Cara Downs.’

  Bec looked at her dad. ‘They want to expand? I thought the drought hit everyone in the district – how come the Turners are in a position to buy more land? Besides, don’t they have to replace the shed that burnt down?’

  ‘I suppose so, but Mick did say that the insurance payout would cover everything and maybe even a wee bit more.’

  Knowing the Turners as she did, Bec had her opinions about the fire, and couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her voice. ‘That’s lucky.’

  ‘Now, you don’t have to take that tone. Fires happen and they were damn lucky that they were covered.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘I don’t know why they think it’s the right time to expand; maybe Mick’s doing better than everyone else? Anyway, he reckons it’s a bit of a gamble but they are hoping it will pay off. Apparently they did alright last year, so Mick’s hoping to increase his acreage and the number of his sheep.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that peachy.’

  ‘No need to get snippy, Bec. I’m just telling you what he said.’

  Bec reached for her glass but stopped. ‘Wait a minute. Are you saying he’s trying to buy Bluestone Ridge?’

  ‘No, of course not . . . although . . .’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell – I hope you told him where to go and what to do when he gets there. Seriously, that man is a scumbag. The cheek of him, trying to get you to sell.’ Bec picked up the glass and took a gulp of juice.

  ‘Now, Bec, there’s nothing wrong in asking. I can’t fault the man for that. Let’s face it, our place is the original and the best. Generations of Dupreys had come and gone before old man Turner brought Cara Downs.’

  ‘That still doesn’t excuse him.’ She pinned her father with her stare. ‘You’re not considering the offer, are you?’ It was meant to be a definitive statement but it came out sounding more like a desperate plea. Damn it, she hated it when she gave herself away like that – it made her seem all weak and pathetic.

  Jack shook his head. ‘Nah, of course I wouldn’t sell the run. Besides, he was just talking about buying the north paddock, not the whole spread. I wouldn’t let it worry you, it was just Mick talking big – he’s been that way ever since we were at school.’

  ‘Hmmm, maybe.’

  ‘Anyway, I told him no. As if I’d sell even one inch of Bluestone Ridge after what happened to your grandad. There would have to be extraordinary circumstances for me to even consider it. Although as soon as I said that, he started reminiscing about what a shame it was that you and Zane broke up.’

  ‘Please tell me that you weren’t discussing me with him.’

  ‘No, what do you take me for?’

  Bec let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Well, at least her dad had told Mick to push off and made it clear there was no way he was getting Bluestone Ridge. ‘I don’t know why he’s so fixated on getting our place anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean, fixated?’

  ‘Oh, he always talked about how great it would be if Zane and I got married. Kept going on about the joining of the two properties – you know, that sort of thing. Even back then, I always thought Mick was more excited about our farms merging than me becoming his daughter-in-law.’

  Her dad mulled that over for a second. ‘Well, don’t worry. I told him to bugger off – in a friendly way, of course.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Bec said with a smile tugging at her lips. For a moment they almost seemed to connect with each other. Just for that split second it felt like the way things had been before Jack’s accident.

  ‘And he paid for the coffee,’ Jack said with a smirk. ‘So it was a win–win situation.’

  Bec’s smile got bigger. ‘Excellent.’

  A silence settled between them. Normally it would have been uncomfortable but this time it was – well, the only word that came into Bec’s mind was nice. So it was a pity that she ruined the moment with the next sentence out of her mouth.

  ‘Look, I was thinking about our tractor situation. I know a new one will be expensive but I reckon we’ve got enough to cover it. It might be a bit of a stretch but if we’re careful we should be okay until the next wool cheque comes in.’

  Jack’s expression turned stony. ‘We’ve been through this. We’re not buying a new tractor – the one we’ve got is just fine.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that it’s on its last legs and has been for the past two years.’

  ‘We weathered the drought, but we need to consolidate our expenses before we go off on a spending spree.’

  ‘Dad, I’m not asking for something frivolous. The old tractor has had it – it needs replacing. I’m not asking for a brand-new one, second-hand is fine.’

  ‘It still goes, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Barely – and it’s costing us more and more to repair it every time it breaks down. We have to get another one.’

  ‘Well, we’re not, and that’s final. You’ll just have to make do.’

  Bec tried to tamp down the frustration that was rising in her chest. ‘Dad, I’m sick of making do. I can’t run the farm without it.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage. Look, we just have to play it safe. Once the autumn rains come then maybe we can look at it again. We’ll know if the rainfall is good enough to carry us through nex
t summer. We’ll discuss buying a tractor then.’ Jack explained it as though he were trying to placate a child.

  ‘I understand, but it’s seriously affecting my workday. I can’t rely on it . . . and I need to.’

  Bec heard the exasperation creeping into her voice. Some days it was like talking to a brick wall.

  ‘The conversation is over. It’s not going to happen, so just deal with it, Bec.’

  ‘So what, I don’t get a say in how we run Bluestone Ridge? My opinion doesn’t matter?’

  ‘This is my place, and I’m the only one who runs it. When you inherit it, then you can buy as many tractors as you want or do whatever you damn well like. But until then, what I say goes.’

  Bec backed away. ‘Well, at least I know where I stand. Thanks for nothing, Dad.’

  ***

  Bec took all that she was feeling and bottled it back down. She walked out of the house and over to the paddock fence. Leaning against the rough wooden post, Bec stared out across Bluestone Ridge. Normally the landscape of the high ridge and the rolling paddocks would soothe her and give her a sense of belonging. But not today. Today she felt like a stranger looking in rather than an integral part of the farm. It wasn’t even that she wanted to run it, to be in charge of everything. She didn’t. It was just that she wanted to feel as if she mattered, that she had some say in how the farm was managed. Instead she knew that her hands were tied. Her dad – as much as she loved him – would never relinquish any of the responsibility of running this place.

  Hot tears pricked at her eyes. Damn it, I never cry, she thought as she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She took a long breath before blowing it out of her mouth. She needed to pull herself together. Crying wouldn’t help. Her father couldn’t run the farm without her but he would never acknowledge it. The problem was, of course, that no matter how badly she wanted to walk away from everything, something inside her would never let that happen. Bec knew she couldn’t abandon her parents and Bluestone Ridge. She loved them and it. This place was in her blood. But today she felt the full weight of helplessness rest heavily on her shoulders.

  Bec opened the gate and walked across the paddock. Work was forgotten as she climbed up the ridge and headed south to her favourite spot. Ahead, several large boulders jutted out of the ground. Bec clambered up them and sat on the top. When she’d been little, she used to pretend that she was a princess, the rocks were her castle and the land her very own kingdom. It had been a magical place where anything could happen. She would spend hours daydreaming and making up stories. Witches and dragons always threatened her land but she would always manage to save the day, sometimes with help from a village boy or a knight, but mainly by herself. But things change, magic fades, and Bec had grown up.

  She looked down on the land now, knowing that most of it belonged to her family and had done for more than a century. Below her she saw the paddocks and dams punctuated with gums. There was still a hint of enchantment about the landscape, something that still had the power to hold her. The dirt road ran off into the distance and from here she could see the boundary of the farm, as well as Matt Harvey’s cottage. When she’d been a kid, she’d always wondered where that road would take her – what adventures she’d find over the horizon. She guessed she’d never find out.

  The wind whipped through the eucalypts and brought with it the scent of distant rain. Bec sat there for a long time. She took in the magpies singing in the tree nearby, the wide openness of the sky and a horizon that appeared to be limitless, and realised that she’d never felt so trapped in all her life.

  ***

  Matt put his writing aside one morning to make a list of what needed to be done to the cottage. Some of the improvements would be simple fixes, like giving the rooms a lick of paint and replanting some of the garden. He’d been right about half the plants not making it through the summer and the drought. The willow in the front was still alive, as were the old tangled rosebushes in the courtyard, so it wasn’t all bad news. He wanted to put in a small orchard full of apple, pear, lemon, peach and cherry trees, as well as a decent herb garden out the back. One of the first things he needed to do was rebuild the fence that separated the back garden from the rest of the acreage. Matt thought that would be a good place to start.

  There would be some major outlay and Matt was prepared for it. The kitchen needed a redo; the oven, at least, had to be upgraded. At the moment there was an ancient hotplate and an equally antiquated microwave, and both were on borrowed time. But his main expenses would be the rainwater tank he wanted to add and the solar panels . . . and maybe a new shower.

  He knew that he couldn’t go crazy, but his slick, ubercool apartment in Melbourne had sold for a very tidy sum. And a run-down miner’s cottage in the middle of nowhere didn’t command the same sort of price tag.

  There was a bit to do, but it wasn’t as if it all had to be done at once. Matt was ninety per cent sure that this was going to be his forever home, so he had time. That ten per cent of doubt did bother him a bit, though. Since he’d moved into White Gum Creek, he’d been content, and even happy, to a point. But sometimes, especially late at night, when the cottage was silent, he felt a bit skittish. He put it down to having grown up in the city, where there was always noise, lights, traffic and something going on. If he was up late or couldn’t sleep, he could always go down the street and grab some food or a caffe macchiato. Here it was a different story. Even the pub closed at ten, or even earlier if it was slow. The only things that were out late at night were the wind and moon. Matt liked it, but there were times when he found the lack of noise unsettling. And the silence only accentuated any sounds he did hear – like the possum who kept making blood-curdling hissing sounds as it galloped across the sheet-iron roof. The first night it happened, Matt was convinced he was under attack – probably by a heard of hell beasts trying to eat his soul.

  Davey had laughed so hard he couldn’t form a whole sentence for a minute when Matt tried to give his best impression of the noise. Honestly, he wondered how he could be mates with a guy who obviously didn’t have his back when confronted by demons from the netherworld. Once Davey had pulled himself together he’d explained that it was just a possum and that there was nothing to worry about. Matt would get used to it, he said. After a few weeks he probably wouldn’t even notice it.

  Yeah, right – as if.

  Matt looked down at the list he’d been writing. Maybe a quick trip to Bendigo was what he needed. He could look around for a new stove and grab a couple of paint charts, at the very least. It was time he put his renovation plan into action. Even if he didn’t get it all done at once, at least he could make a start.

  He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. It felt good to breathe the fresh air and not be staring at his computer screen. He locked the cottage door and stood on the verandah for a second as he scanned his list one last time, just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He’d start with the most important thing first – hunting down a decent caffe macchiato.

  Chapter 5

  Matt stood back and admired his handiwork. A small fence and gate now separated the courtyard, clothes line and old shed from the rest of the five acres. It had taken him the better part of three days, largely because he’d had to re-hang the gate twice. Because his old job had been in the corporate world and his new one was writing, he hadn’t spent as much time outside as he’d have liked. It was good to be out in the sun and the wind, and Matt found that there was something surprisingly satisfying about the whole process of fence building – even if he now had a couple of blisters for his trouble.

  Matt had decided that he would break the property up into sections, and building the fence had been the first step. The first section encompassed the house, courtyard, clothes line and shed. Next would be his vegetable garden and hothouse, then after that a small orchard and finally the rest of the land would be for his chooks and a couple of goats.

  The goats were a recent addition to the plan.
Matt had got kind of carried away when he’d visited Gary on the goat farm. He’d been more than impressed with its operation, the quality of the goat’s cheese and the goats themselves. A small group of the hardy animals had come over to investigate what was going on when Gary was giving him a tour, and two in particular had bleated and demanded attention. One moment Matt had been eyeing them cautiously, and the next he was petting them. They’d followed him as he walked the length of the paddock, and by the time he and Gary had reached the main house he was unashamedly smitten. In a matter of minutes he’d gone from Yeah, I might get a couple of goats once I get the cottage organised to Here, take the money – can I take those two today? Matt had no idea where his self-control went but all of a sudden becoming a goat owner had seemed like the best idea in the world. Gary had laughed, given him a couple of books to read about keeping goats and promised that he’d drop them over next week. That way Matt could have some time to change his mind if he wanted. But even as Matt sat on his couch reading the books he knew that he wanted to go ahead. Besides, with five acres he needed help keeping the weeds down.

  The Saturday after that, the guys had turned up with building materials, food and beer. And with the help of Gary, Dean, Davey and a barbecue provided by Freddy, they’d quickly put together a goat shelter. There was a lot of laughter and hard work, and Matt had really felt as if he was accepted, even if he did manage to hit his thumb twice with the damn hammer.