by Paula Weston
‘Are we in a hurry?’ Julianne’s voice sounds thin.
Ryan checks the speedo. Sixty. He’s driven this road hundreds of times, in wet and in dry, knows what speed to hit each bend to avoid spinning out or meeting a strainer post.
‘This is how I drive around here.’ His mood’s lifting, he can’t help it. A quick glance at Julianne. ‘You okay?’
She nods.
‘Hang on.’
They hit the dip at fifty and they’re airborne for a split second. The hybrid bottoms out on the other side and Ryan grins. The Major’s mate would shit himself if he could see his car now.
Julianne is hanging on to the doorhandle and the dash, feet apart on the floor. ‘You’re a lunatic,’ she says. Her eyes are wide but she’s not scared. It’s the same look Tommy got the first time Ryan did donuts in the paddock in the old man’s ute.
‘Wait till I bring you back up here on the bike.’
He rounds the last bend and remembers the car he’s in, so his usual handbrake slide is out of the question. He slams on the footbrake and they come to an abrupt and untidy finish in the clearing. Ryan waits until the dust cloud overtakes them before getting out. He stretches his shoulders and rolls his neck.
‘Where are we?’
Julianne is out of the car, wrapping her hoodie around her as she takes in the towering ghost gum and dry creek bed, hemmed in by scrub and sky.
‘This is our place—mine and Tommy’s.’
Ryan kicks off his boots and hobbles across loose stones to the creek. He’s gone soft after a year of wearing boots all day. He skirts last winter’s fire pit and picks his way over the smooth rocks until he reaches the middle of the creek bed. Even bone dry, there’s something steadying about standing barefoot in this place. He puts his back to Julianne so she can’t see him close his eyes and breathe in the tang of the bush. He lets the quiet settle on him.
This is home.
When he turns around she’s running her fingers over the wide trunk of the gum and the markings he and Tommy have carved into its skin over the years. Words they were never allowed to use at home. Drawings of giant penises. Initials of girls they’d wanted to bring here. Ryan can feel Julianne’s disapproval and instinctively knows it’s not about the dick pics.
‘That gum was here before I was born and it’ll be here long after I’m gone,’ he says, treading carefully to avoid three-corner jacks on his way back to his boots.
‘So it’s okay to deface it?’
Typical tree-hugger. It’s survived drought and bushfires, been eaten by grubs and shat on by a thousand galahs. A few scratches are the least of its worries. Ryan laces up his steel caps and reaches for the rope wound around a knot on the trunk. It drops out to hang out over the deepest part of the creek. A stagnant puddle is the only clue it’s seen water at all this year.
‘There used to be enough rain to fill that waterhole every winter, but we haven’t used the rope for years.’
‘What do you do up here aside from vandalise trees?’
He shrugs. ‘Talk shit. Hang out.’
Ryan got drunk here for the first time when he was fifteen. He and Rabbit stole a bottle of rum from the footy club and drank it with flat coke until they threw up. The bottle was only half-full, which was probably why they didn’t end up with alcohol poisoning. He got laid for the first time under this same tree a year later, in the passenger seat of Missy’s hatchback. She was three years older and they were both drunk. She’d taken the lead, made him wait. It was awkward in that cramped space, but she was on a mission and made a big deal about how long he’d lasted. In hindsight it wasn’t that impressive, but at the time he’d been full of himself. They’d done it a few more times before Missy officially hooked up with Nunnie—she was strictly a one-man woman—and the two of them stayed friends. Something he’d got worse at as he got older. There’d been other girls and other cars, but that first time was seared into his memory.
Ryan sneaks a look at Julianne. He imagines her half-undressed in his car—not the hybrid, his old man’s Monaro—face flushed, wanting him, her hands on him—
He turns away, well aware of where his blood’s rushing right now.
Julianne wanders down to the creek and sits on a flat rock, cross-legged, and tips her head to a cloudless sky. Ryan dusts off his hands and is on his way to the car for a bottle of water when he hears the trail bike lower on the track.
Julianne jumps up, looking to him for direction.
‘It’s okay, it’s Tommy.’ He frowns as he says it. His brother should be at school.
‘He’s not expecting me. Might be best you stay out of sight until I tell him what’s going on.’
She looks around. ‘Where?’
‘Behind the tree, only for a sec. He won’t hear a word I say otherwise.’
The bike’s closer now, revving hard as Tommy accelerates for the dip. Julianne disappears behind the gum. Ryan props himself on the back of the hybrid, hears Tommy change down coming into the bend. His heart’s a little bigger than it was a minute ago. It’s been a year since he’s seen Tommy and he hasn’t let himself miss his brother until now.
Tommy takes the corner tight, like he always does, handling the Yamaha beautifully—
It’s not Tommy.
No…wait. Shit, he’s grown.
Tommy grins as soon as he sees Ryan. He slides the bike to a stop a couple of metres away and drops it, engine still running.
‘What the fuck, Ryno!’ He leaves the bike in the dirt and grabs Ryan in a man-hug. A quick back slap and they’re apart again, but it’s enough to confirm Tommy’s grown in the year Ryan’s been gone. Two years younger, and he’s almost caught up to him.
‘What’s with the bum fluff?’ Ryan says.
‘It’s my beard, bro.’ He touches his chin, self-conscious, and is immediately Tommy again.
‘Needs work.’
They grin at each other.
‘You’re early. Party’s not until tomorrow night.’ He leans down to kill the engine and the stillness returns.
‘What are you doing home this hour of the day?’ Their mum’s always insisted Ryan and Tommy both finish Year 12. She didn’t care if they planned to spend the rest of their lives driving a tractor; she wanted them to know how to think. Ryan’s not sure she understands how school works.
‘We got a lot going on. Spud Laidlaw’s dropping off the ram tomorrow arvo so the ewes need bringing up today or tomorrow and we haven’t got the seed in yet. I was sowing the house paddock when I saw the dust up here. I figured I’d better come and see who’s poking around.’
‘What’s the old man doing through all this?’
Tommy’s grin fades and it brings a stab of unease.
‘Having a bad day.’ Tommy rubs at his soft whiskers. His hair’s finer than Ryan’s, fairer. It’s shorter too, and sticking up in all directions after being on the bike.
‘What’s that mean?’
His gaze slides away. A white cockatoo shatters the silence with a shriek further along the creek. ‘He drinks himself stupid and sleeps out in the shed sometimes. He’s pretty useless the next day. But it’s only every now and then.’
Anger curls up like smoke. ‘How’s Mum with that?’
‘She used to crack the shits and they’d fight for a few days. Now she lets him go. Waits for him to come good.’
‘Bloody hell, mate, why didn’t you say something?’ Ryan knew his dad was drinking more but not that it was keeping him from working.
‘What’s the point? It’s not like you can come home whenever you want.’
‘What sets him off?’ But Ryan knows the answer as soon as he asks.
‘Seeing Maxie Barclay in his shiny new tractor, running into a pipeline maintenance crew at the pub, watching the Paxtons on the news…take your pick.’ A nervous glance to read Ryan’s mood. ‘Mostly it’s the days your money goes in the bank.’
Ryan leans against the car, all the air going out of him. He wishes Julianne hadn’t
heard that.
‘How’s the seeding going?’
‘Don’t do that. Don’t change the subject every time I try to talk about it. Your money’s the only thing keeping food in the fridge some weeks. That’s what guts Dad so badly, but without it we’d be—’
‘Tommy, I’ve got someone with me.’
His brother falters, looks around. ‘Where?’
‘Julianne,’ Ryan says over his shoulder and she emerges from behind the tree. She doesn’t say a word or raise a hand, simply waits for the reaction.
‘Ryno, you brought a girl home?’ Tommy’s instantly alight again. It’s like a switch, this ability of his to flip from big kid to grown-up and back again in a heartbeat. He moves past Ryan, offering his hand. ‘I’m Tommy, this dopey bastard’s brother.’
Julianne hesitates—the greeting’s not what she was expecting—but she takes his hand. ‘Julianne De Marchi.’
Tommy blinks. ‘I thought you looked familiar.’ He studies her for a second. ‘You look different from the photo they’re showing on TV. What are you doing hanging out with Ryno? Better question: what are you doing in Mitchellstone? There’s gotta be a million better places to hide out.’
‘What makes you think she’s hiding out?’ Ryan asks.
‘Why else would she be here?’ To Julianne: ‘The news is saying you and your mum blew up Pax Fed Tower. That true?’
She shakes her head, her eyes never leaving him. ‘I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and my mum was sitting at home watching it all on TV.’
‘I’ve got no beef with someone hitting Pax Fed or knocking those Agitators on their arses—no offence—but people getting killed…’
‘I know.’
‘So-o. Why are you with Ryno?’
She raises her eyebrows at Ryan to answer. Fair enough, it’s his family.
‘Julianne’s helping out with a cross-agency investigation,’ he says, trying to say it the way the Major did. ‘She needs to drop out of sight for a bit. The Major thought I should bring her home for a few days.’
‘Yeah,’ Tommy says. ‘Nobody would come looking for her in this shithole.’
‘That’s the plan.’
Ryan takes a closer look at Tommy’s sweat-stained T-shirt, tanned neck and callused hands. His brother’s been doing the heavy lifting for more than a day here and there.
Tommy claps his hands together. ‘Gemma’s coming over for a jam tonight. Can you sing? Play?’
Julianne frowns but Tommy jumps right back in.
‘That’s cool. We’ll find something for you to do.’ Tommy picks up the bike and straddles it. ‘You coming home now?’
‘I saw the ute in town.’
‘Mum’s getting aspirin for Dad. She won’t be far away.’
Ryan does a lap around the Yamaha as if he’s checking whether or not Tommy’s been taking care of it. But he’s not seeing the bike. He’s seeing the homestead and his old man, and he’s still not ready.
‘Ryno, you can’t stay up here. Not in that.’ He gestures to the hybrid. ‘Please tell me that’s not yours.’
‘Don’t insult me. It’s a loaner.’
‘You following me back down, then?’
Ryan wishes his insides didn’t squirm every time he thinks about turning into the long driveway and seeing his dad for the first time since the fight. The need to patch things up doesn’t seem so urgent without a rifle muzzle pressed to the back of his head.
And now he’s bringing Julianne De Marchi into this mess. Taking a lit match into a woodshed.
Tommy kickstarts the bike, waits for a response.
Ryan exhales and gestures to the track.
‘After you.’
32
Ryan’s tension comes at her in waves, setting off her pulse. It’s like being trapped inside a thunderstorm. He’s rigid in his seat and strangling the steering wheel, eyes fixed on Tommy fishtailing ahead of them, showing off.
In any other situation she’d let Ryan work through his own drama—rule number one of living with Angie De Marchi is to give her space when she’s stewing—but his mood is affecting hers. And if things are as dysfunctional as it sounds at the Walsh farm, she needs to be in control when they arrive.
‘Is there any chance you could chill a little?’
They’re back on the wide gravel road, clear of the creek and the trees. ‘If you wanted chilled, you should’ve gone with Tommy.’
Maybe she should have. He’s a damn sight easier to read than his brother. Physically, Tommy is a younger version of Ryan, but there’s a lightness to him, despite the obvious issues at home.
‘Sometimes the current reacts to other people’s energy and yours is not ideal right now,’ she says.
He glances sideways. ‘You can feel my energy?’
‘It happens when someone’s worked up enough. I can’t always deflect it.’
He grinds his jaw. ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Vee says the best way to get tension out of your body is talk it out. Or yell at the sky.’ Actually, Vee says good sex is the best form of stress relief but Jules keeps that tip to herself.
‘What do you do—talk or yell?’
‘Neither. I offload mine into the ground.’
Jules appreciates the irony of passing on Vee’s advice: she’s never taken it herself. Releasing the charge is one thing: the thought of letting go in any other way feels like surrendering too much of herself.
The hybrid feels like it’s floating as they speed past vast bare paddocks. Jules can’t see Tommy for the dust his bike is stirring up. She can taste it through the vents, though, coating the back of her throat.
‘You and your dad don’t talk at all?’
Another sideways glance. An impatient sigh. ‘No.’
‘How come?’
‘We had a fight.’
It’s like pulling teeth. Jules takes a slow, calming breath.
‘I made a choice he didn’t like,’ Ryan says finally.
‘You joined the army?’
He hesitates. ‘Yeah.’
Jules can see it was more than that but she wants to get to the heart of the issue before he shuts down again.
‘And now you send money home.’
He doesn’t answer but he doesn’t have to. They both know she heard what Tommy said.
‘How can you afford that?’
A stiff one-shouldered shrug. ‘The army feeds me and gives me a bed and I’m not much of a drinker. As long as I’ve got enough cash to catch a band occasionally I’m happy.’
‘Why’s your dad angry if you’re helping out?’
‘Because I’m doing what he can’t.’
Ahead of them, buildings start to take shape. Steel sheds of various sizes, old stone barns with thatched roofs, a tall silo. Two rows of rigid pine trees form a line between the gate and the homestead.
They slow. Ryan follows Tommy over a livestock grid and into the driveway—Jules’ bones judder as Ryan takes it too fast—and then they’re speeding between the pines. Jules catches flashes of a stationary tractor in the paddock on the right. Hooked to it is an alien-looking piece of machinery, a long row of claws resting on dry soil. The homestead is all bullnose iron and weathered stone, red brickwork framing windows and two fat chimneys punctuating the roofline. It’s tired and faded, but the house stands proud. It wasn’t always a struggle here.
Tommy stops at a gate near the back of the house. Ryan keeps driving. He passes chook yards and an empty stable, and weaves around a large gum tree peppered with white blossoms. Ahead is a corrugated iron shed and empty stockyards, a shearing shed maybe. Before they get there, Ryan veers into a carport and parks beside a low, wide car covered with a tarp. He pulls on the handbrake and sits for a long moment. The engine ticks as it cools and the quiet closes in.
‘Can you do this?’ Jules doesn’t mean to whisper.
‘Yeah. Can you?’
‘Yeah.’ It’s a lie, but adding to his stress right now won’t
help either of them. Maybe it’ll be better when they’re not in a confined space. They leave the hybrid and walk to the house. Ryan’s eyes flick to a shed with a glass sliding door and vertical blinds. Jules can hear muted music: heavy metal.
‘My room,’ Ryan says. ‘That’s where the old man’s passed out.’
‘You want coffee?’ Tommy asks. He’s sitting sideways on his bike in the shade of a pine tree, one knee on the fuel tank. He watches them approach, looking for an excuse to smile.
‘Yeah,’ Ryan says. ‘And then I’ll give you a hand in the paddock.’
Tommy tilts his head and squints one eye, like he’s trying to figure something out. ‘Are you two together?’
‘No,’ Jules says quickly, not looking at Ryan. She pushes up the sleeves of her hoodie and pulls them down again past her knuckles, feels heat flare in her cheeks.
Tommy shakes his head. ‘You’ve lost your game, Ryno.’
‘Shut up and put the kettle on.’ Ryan punches him lightly on the arm and both brothers turn to the road at the sound of a car.
‘Twenty bucks says the first thing Mum does is burst into tears when she sees you.’
‘You’re on,’ Ryan says. ‘She’ll go crook first.’
Jules feels a flutter of nerves and notices Ryan run his tongue over his teeth and check his shirt. If he hasn’t been home for a year, does that mean he hasn’t seen his mum in that time either? The thought of not seeing Angie for that long entices and terrifies her in equal measure.
The ute barrels over the grid and heads for the house in a puff of dust. Jules sidles further into the shade of the pines. All she can make out of the driver is an Akubra hat and sunglasses. Ryan’s mum skids to a stop behind Tommy’s bike and is out of the car as soon as she cuts the engine, leaving the drivers door open.
‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ She’s striding to Ryan, barely notices Jules. Two kelpies—one rusty brown, the other a patchwork of black and white—are out of the ute and scuffling around Ryan’s feet, whining. He bends down to pat them, not taking his eyes from his mum.
