by Paula Weston
Waylon gets between them before they reach the stairs. ‘You want to make it any easier for him to shift blame to you?’ he mutters. Angie’s head pounds in time with the conga drums and she can’t look at Waylon because she knows he’s right.
Xavier’s primed this crowd for civil unrest and now the world knows she’s up to her neck in it with him.
40
Ryan sprints down the road, easily beats Tommy for the mark. He turns and boots it back to Macka, hitting him on the chest with a satisfying thump. It’s late in the afternoon but there’s enough light left to see the ball.
‘That’s it, I’m going up the other end,’ Tommy says and shoves Ryan in the shoulder before he leaves.
Ryan glances at the front verandah where his mum and Jules are sipping beer from frosted glasses. He can’t hear them talking because the galahs are screeching in the trees but they seem to have plenty to say to each other.
Macka boots it long again and Ryan runs backwards, takes the grab. He returns the kick, putting the ball high so Tommy can take a hanger over Macka. His brother marks it and then wrestles with Macka, laughing.
Ryan can almost let himself believe that if he came home it would be like this, like it used to be. Coming in from the paddock tired and satisfied; leading the team out onto the field, his mum and dad cheering from the back of the ute; Michelle and Jamie Walsh being the first couple everyone looked for at the footy club on Saturday night.
But those days are gone.
Still, it was good to be out there today. He and Tommy brought the flock down from the top paddock and Spud Laidlaw turned up with the ram and a truckload of hay. Jules helped transfer it to their shed and then rode out in the back of the ute and helped bust up bales and spread the feed. She worked hard, breaking a sweat and stretching her shoulders every time she cramped.
Ryan kept a close watch. At first it was to make sure she wasn’t on the verge of setting the dry feed alight; then because he liked the way she was putting her back into it, as if it mattered to her too.
She helped with the fences too, and Tommy took her to the house when she needed a break mid-morning. Ryan stopped tensioning the wire to watch her climb onto the Yamaha. She held on to Tommy when he opened the throttle and it took Ryan a second to identify the tightness in his chest: he’d never envied his brother before.
Jules has barely spoken to him since the bathroom incident but the chill between them is thawing. There’s nothing like a big day in the paddock to unravel tension—unless it involves his old man. He won’t make eye contact or acknowledge Ryan but at least he’s sober and functioning. His dad’s finished the seeding, fixed the pump to the sheep trough and chopped a stack of wood, even though it’s nowhere near cold enough for a fire. Anyone would think his old man was trying to make a point. All Ryan cares about is the work’s getting done and Tommy or his mum won’t have to do it.
It’s five o’clock and they’re killing time before they go into town to set up for the party. Ryan needs to get his head right so he can deal with Rabbit and Keith McKenzie and anyone else who wants to give him shit tonight.
‘All right boys, off the road,’ his mum calls out. ‘Someone’s coming.’
Ryan checks over his shoulder and sees churning dust against the darkening sky.
‘Yeah, I need to get going.’ Macka snatches up his cap from the side of the road and jams it on his head. ‘What time’s soundcheck?’
Tommy knocks the peak into his eyes. ‘Set up at six, run through at six-fifteen.’
‘Pissed at seven-thirty.’
They bump fists.
‘The party doesn’t start until eight, gentlemen,’ Ryan’s mum says. ‘So don’t let me catch either of you anywhere near that keg until then.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Ryan, you’re responsible for keeping an eye on your brother.’
Ryan ambles through the front gate. ‘You’re the one letting a seventeen-year-old have a keg for his birthday.’
His mum looks over at Jules. ‘What else do you give the kid that has everything?’ Her lips twist before they can form a smile. The two women share a moment and Ryan’s struck by how Jules gets it, this bind they’re in.
A late-model ute hurtles past, spitting up stones. A maintenance crew from the inland pipeline. Ryan and Tommy watch it flash by, another reminder of what they can’t have as long as their old man keeps saying no to Pax Fed. The new desal water supply is out of their reach without a bank loan for the connection fee.
‘Right-oh.’ Ryan’s mum stands up. ‘I’ll go see where your father is. See you in an hour, Macka. That gives you plenty of time for a shave.’
Macka comes into the yard and glances at the blackened bottlebrush—twice—and lopes towards the driveway. Tommy handballs the footy to Ryan as he follows, leaving him and Jules alone on the verandah.
Ryan absently spins the footy in the palm of his hand. ‘Big day today, you must be knackered.’
Jules brushes wheat dust from her arms for about the tenth time and he can tell she’s itching for a shower. ‘It’s helped with the current. Maybe that’s the trick: wearing myself out.’
‘You never played sport?’
She gives him a flat look. ‘Think about it.’
Ryan bounces the footy with one hand and guides it back onto his palm. She gestures at the ball. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘A bit.’
Like he would miss breathing. He couldn’t even watch footy for the first few months after the injury. But he loved the game too much to stay away and by the start of round one last year he was in front of the communal TV in the Q18 barracks, doing rehab exercises while the Crows flogged Fremantle.
‘Is your knee strong enough to play now?’
‘At AFL level? Maybe. But the army wants its pound of flesh for another four years so there’s no point worrying about it.’ Being good enough and not being able to play is the thing that crawls across his chest at night and steals his breath.
Jules lifts her glass and changes her mind, reties her hair instead. A few loose strands settle on her collarbone, dark against sun-pink skin. Ryan absently wonders if she tans or peels.
‘Have you heard from the Major today?’ she asks.
‘Not a word.’
Macka’s quad bike starts up in the driveway, scattering the birds from the trees. Ryan should think about getting cleaned up himself.
‘Julianne,’ his mum calls out from inside the house. ‘You need to see this.’
Ryan and Jules exchange a look and hurry to the kitchen where the flat screen is showing news footage of the protest camp at Port Augusta.
Angela De Marchi, former leader of the Agitators and a suspect in last week’s attack on Paxton Federation Tower, received a hero’s welcome at the Anti-Nuclear Assembly this afternoon.
Angie steps onto the stage and falters, clearly stunned by the crowd’s frenzied reaction to her.
Jules gapes at her mother. ‘What is she doing?’
Ryan searches the screen for signs of Waylo. ‘She must have a plan.’
‘Planning is not in my mother’s skill set.’
The footage shifts from the crowd to the stage. Xavier’s front and centre.
The man now identified as James Xavier arrived with De Marchi and urged the crowd to escalate its resistance efforts. While his intentions remain unclear, local police and security at the Port Augusta Nuclear Plant and Spencer Gulf Safe Energy Storage Facility are now on high alert in the wake of De Marchi’s appearance.
‘Can you phone Waylon and find out what’s going on?’ Jules asks. Her voice is thin.
‘I’m not authorised.’
‘What about the Major?’
Yeah, right. ‘That’s not really the way it works.’ He moves closer. ‘Do you need air?’
Jules drags her eyes from the TV, understands what he’s asking. ‘I’m okay.’ His mum is watching them, curious. The story changes to an update on the injured hamstring of the Crows ruckman. Jules exha
les. ‘I left my glass outside. I’ll go get it.’
Ryan’s mum nods in Jules’ direction after she’s left. ‘What is it between you two?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve never seen you like this with a girl. Considerate. Caring.’
He gives a short, humourless laugh. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re different with her. You’re not doing that infuriating aloof thing you do around girls you like. You’re more…yourself.’
He wonders what his mum would think if she knew how they met. ‘She’s had a rough go of it lately.’
The screen door closes and Jules is coming back up the hallway. Ryan’s mum leans across the kitchen bench and touches his arm. ‘Then make sure you’re part of the solution and not the problem.’ Ryan nods. Wonders how he’s supposed to tell the difference.
41
Xavier: Relax.
Caller: You and I have a vastly different understanding of the term ‘low key’.
Xavier: You wanted her to be all over this. What’s the problem?
Caller: You needed to wait until afterwards to redirect attention.
Xavier: None of it changes the outcome.
Caller: If she’s filmed elsewhere when you breach the fence, she’ll have an alibi.
Xavier: Trust me, when it happens, she’ll be there.
Caller: Stop saying that.
Xavier: ‘Trust me’?
Caller: I don’t like it when you go off-script.
Xavier: That’s when things get interesting. (A chair scrapes.)
Caller: (Pause) Are we on speaker?
The call goes dead.
‘You know who that is, don’t you?’ Khan asks, grim. The federal agent is beside the Major, earpiece in. She overheard Frenchie saying she’d picked up something from the mic in Xavier’s shoe and insisted on listening in on the feed. The Major really wishes she hadn’t, because of course he recognises the caller’s voice as well as she does.
And it complicates his life no end.
42
‘You’re with Ryno?’
The guy leans in to shout the question, empty glass in one hand, the other gripping the bar as he waits to be served. Jules nods, trying to avoid inhaling his bourbon breath.
Tommy’s party is in full swing. It’s between sets for the band and the filler music is just as loud. The footy club is packed—the whole town must be here—and almost everyone’s at the bar shouting at each other. Jules is queuing too, waiting for Ryan to get back from the toilet. The lights went down two hours ago, so there’s even less chance of her being recognised.
‘He’s always had killer taste in women.’ The guy grins, all dimples and crinkling eyes. He’s tall, blond and buff, wearing a T-shirt that shows off his chest and shoulders. Everyone at the bar makes room for him. He’s that guy.
‘I’m Dan O’Hare.’ He hands off his glass so he can shake her hand. His palm is cool and lightly callused. Another farmer’s son.
He gives her the sort of once-over that’s meant to be flattering but never is. Jules wishes she hadn’t worn the fitted black dress and ankle boots. She’d wanted to wear jeans but Ryan’s mum insisted: she said Jules’ legs would distract people from trying to work out why her face was so familiar.
‘What can I get you?’
Dan crowds in every time he speaks and Jules resists the urge to lean away. She can’t stand strangers in her personal space, dimpled or not.
‘A beer for Ryan.’
Jules needs to keep her wits about her. She’s already numb from a glass of shiraz. She’s fairly sure getting drunk at a party is not part of the Major’s or Khan’s strategy to keep her safe, although in any other circumstance Angie might approve. Jules stops that train of thought: she can’t allow herself to think about Angie tonight. She’s tense enough as it is and the hot, fuzzy energy of the room isn’t helping.
‘What about for you?’ Dan presses.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘That you are.’ His smile widens before he elbows his way to lean over the bar. ‘Keithie!’ The bony-faced barman has bags under his eyes and cigarette-stained teeth. Macka’s dad. He sees Dan and nods.
Jules scans the bar for Ryan and Tommy. They said they were coming back before the next set but that doesn’t mean much. Not with so much alcohol in the place and not when everyone wants a piece of them. Tommy’s loving the attention. Ryan, not so much. He’s been on edge all night. Even his drumming’s different for this crowd: faster, angrier. Tommy, Macka and Gemma have had to play furiously to match his intensity.
Jules has only been clubbing twice—both times with Vee—and it was nothing like the vibe in the footy club. This feels like a throwback to last century. The guys are at the bar and the girls are grouped on the dance floor, squeezed into little black dresses and breakneck heels like Jules’. The older crowd is spread across tables at the back of the room. Ryan’s dad is pouring a round of beer; two empty jugs clutter the space between him and Spud Laidlaw. Spud’s eyes are bright, his curly hair tied back and his beard trimmed. He spots Jules and tips his glass, recognising her from the farm even without Ryan at her side. Jamie Walsh, on the other hand, has barely spoken to Jules except to grunt what she assumes was a greeting at breakfast this morning. Tonight, though, he’s loud and animated and well on the way to drunk.
Michelle Walsh is on the next table over, deep in conversation with a woman wearing a shiny gold dress and showing a startling amount of glittery cleavage. Ryan’s mum is nodding and smiling but she’s distracted. Her eyes keep flitting to her husband and then around the room in search of her boys.
Gemma nudges Jules in the ribs. She’s still flushed from the last set—either from exertion or from the way Tommy’s been singing to her all night. She’s punk-rock hot in black leather pants and matching halter top, her pink-tipped hair tied up in short spiky pigtails and a new ring through her eyebrow.
‘You know that’s Rabbit, right?’ Gemma says in her ear.
Jules glances at Dan. He’s shouting at someone further down the bar, pointing and giving instructions. Dan O’Hare…Rabbit. Of course.
‘He’s the one paying for the keg,’ Jules says.
‘Yeah, and if Ryno sees him cracking on to you, it’ll be on for young and old.’
Gemma pulls her out of the crowd to a dry bar. ‘They used to be best mates but they fell out right before Ryno joined the army. It’s going to be bad enough when Ryno finds out Missy is with Rabbit. I thought Tommy was going to tell him but I’m guessing that hasn’t happened.’
Jules has no idea who Missy is, let alone if Tommy and Ryan have talked about her.
‘Ah, crap, here’s Ryno.’
Ryan is making his way around the edge of the room, eyes roaming the crowd until he finds Jules. He’s dressed for the gig rather than the party: jeans and faded grey T-shirt.
‘Here you go. You look like a white wine girl.’
Rabbit is carrying three beers and a glass of wine. He puts them down with expert ease, ignoring Gemma. Ryan has almost reached them, his expression darker now.
Jules pushes the wine away. She didn’t ask for it and there’s no way she’s drinking anything she hasn’t seen being poured. She feels Ryan behind her—thunderous, agitated—and makes room for him at the table.
‘Ryno.’ Rabbit says it loudly and nods at the glass on the table. ‘Drink up. My shout.’
Ryan’s fury slices through the buzz of the crowd and lifts the hair on her arms. It can’t be about Rabbit talking to her: they’re only pretending to be together. A tall brunette squeezes through the line at the bar to join them, holding a jug of beer above her head.
‘Ryno, hey!’
She offloads the beer and seems about to go to him before changing her mind. Rabbit loops an arm around her and his fingers settle on her hips. He locks eyes with Ryan and then leans in and kisses her neck. She doesn’t push him away and something new flickers across Ryan’s face. Hurt.
This must be Missy.<
br />
Jules doesn’t know what Missy was—or is—to Ryan, but he picks up the beer and downs it in four gulps. Gemma widens her eyes at Jules, urging her to say or do something. It’s a natural reaction; she’s meant to be Ryan’s girlfriend. Jules has zero practice in that role—with him or anyone else—and she has no clue what’s going on between these three. But she can feel Ryan’s energy compressing. So she does the only thing she can think of at short notice: she slides her hand into his back pocket and squeezes his backside.
Ryan looks at her, surprised. He puts down the empty glass. Jules leans in and his arm comes around her. She doesn’t mean to glance at Missy and is surprised by what she finds: gratitude. Whatever this is, Missy doesn’t want to rub Ryan’s nose in it.
Rabbit raises his glass. ‘Here’s to our women.’
Ryan stiffens—he’s about to lash out—and Jules instinctively slips between him and the dry bar. His gaze flicks away from her and back at Rabbit, his grip tightening as if to move her aside. Jules slips her hand under his shirt and runs a palm across his stomach. That’s got his attention. He searches her eyes and she makes a small circle with her thumb inside his jeans. It’s sexy and teasing and she knows he’s lost interest in Rabbit by the way his lips part. He understands this is for show but there’s expectation now, need. Her own response is a fast-spreading fire.
She leans in and he bends his head to hear.
‘Do you want to go outside?’
He nods. She leads him away from the table before Rabbit can get another hook into him. Ryan’s fingers thread between hers as they weave through the crowd, his skin warm. The charge stirs, a distant distraction.
They push through the glass doors and into the night. The cold air is a slap in the face but it’s too late for a jacket. Ryan takes over, heading away from the floodlit oval and around the side of the clubhouse. The doors close behind them, muffling the music.
