When she was twenty-six, and doing the late-afternoon shift bar work in Charleville to provide an income for herself and the baby, Jodie had realised that to support them better she needed a qualification, something she hadn’t thought that important straight out of school. (She wished she’d listened to her parents on that one.) But three years’ study on a tiny student pension and whatever cash work she could scramble together in the holidays, while a family day-care woman got to watch Milly take her first steps, put paid to that hurdle. She’d become a qualified nurse. A profession chosen purely because it was reasonably paid and meant she could be at home with her daughter at least some days of the week.
‘Mum! I’ve done it! I’ve got my prayer!’
Jodie looked down at Alex’s message once more, before folding and shoving it into her pocket. She’d deal with that later. Milly came first. ‘Hit me with it, Milly Molly Dooks,’ she called as she walked back into the kitchen. This was going to be good. She could see it in the way her daughter was wriggling in the chair as though she’d laid an egg. Jodie’s father, Robert, had been the same when he’d solved problems for his secondary students.
‘Dear God …’
Yep, thought Jodie, it was a good start because dear God, what was going to come next?
‘I pray for all my grandparents in Heaven …’
Rhys was now in the States on the rodeo circuit. He’d married a woman out there and had kids with her. Neither Jodie nor Milly had ever met his folks so there was only one grandparent in heaven that Jodie knew of, but that was beside the point …
‘I feel sorry for them …’
So did Jodie. Except anything was better than the pain her father had endured in the last few months of his life. It had taken its toll on all of them, but at least Alex had been there for her. Well, when he wasn’t running his property, his investment portfolio properties, his directorships, his Rotary commitments and so on and so forth.
‘I loved you very much, Grandpa Rob …’
Jodie loved and missed her father terribly too, and tomorrow was going to be really hard. She should probably grab Alex’s invitation with both hands. Milly would love to spend a few hours with Mue.
‘I hope you are getting some great games of chess up there …’
Robert had loved chess, especially his games with friends like Alex and Mue. She was so grateful to Alex when he suggested that Muriel, his housekeeper (and Mue to everyone else), could sit with her father three times a week while Jodie worked. She wouldn’t have been able to survive moneywise without the part-time nursing shifts. There it was, Alex again, taking charge. Trying to make life easier for her.
‘It was sad we had to sell your house, but it’s good we aren’t poor …’
Yet. The solicitor would tell all tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow, though, didn’t it? Of all the shit days …
‘I like being here on McCauley’s Hill. Maybe you can look out for a dog called Boots, and an old man called Joe, living up there in heaven?
‘And I hope you had a good time when you were on land. Amen.’
What more could she say, but … ‘Amen.’
Her daughter beamed up at her from the kitchen table.
At least one of them was happy.
Chapter 8
‘Where am I gunna go now?’ asked Wally, as they drove back towards the staff dongas. ‘Who’ll want an old bloke like me? Especially at this time of the year?’
‘You got money?’ asked Nate.
‘A bit. Not enough to get me through without a roof over me head though.’
‘How about family?’
The old man peered out the window towards the east. ‘A sister in Brisbane.’ He squinted his eyes, then looked towards the ute floor with studied interest. ‘She lives in a flat.’
Nate felt his guts clench. A flat? Wally Price could never live in a flat. It wasn’t about the space inside the building either. The dongas they lived in out here were little more than a bedroom. It was what was outside the flat that was the problem. Urban sprawl – houses, concrete and people. A man like Wally needed space, open air and some solitude. And then there was his horse …
‘We’ll pick up your stuff and you can come with me.’
‘Yeah. She lives in the middle of Brisbane too, not on the outski– … What? What did you just say?’
‘You can come with me.’ Nate pulled up at the staff quarters, bailed out of the ute and called back to a still stunned Wal: ‘C’mon, I want off this place before morning smoko.’
‘What’s your dad gunna say?’
Nate glanced in the rear-view mirror at the old Singer pedal sewing machine balancing precariously on his tray-back. ‘He’ll think I’ve turned into a fairy.’
Wally swung around just in time to watch his prized machine bounce a few more inches towards the back of the tray. The horse float hitched behind the ute was in danger of wearing the antique as decoration. ‘Hey! Take it easy on those cattle grids, ay?’
‘You want a roof over your head?’
‘Well, yes, but I love that machine.’
‘My father will think you’re the fairy then.’
‘It was me mother’s. Does good leather work, as you well know.’
Nate did know. He resisted the urge to look down at his ringer’s belt, handmade and tooled by the bloke sitting beside him. He concentrated instead on keeping the ute and float steady in the gravel.
‘Maybe you should just drop me in Longreach,’ said Wally. His voice had a quiver to it and Nate could hear the other man try to swallow, make his voice firm and even. It didn’t work.
Nate couldn’t believe Van Over had done this. Sure, get rid of him but not Wally. What had the man ever done except protect a mate and sometimes see the bottom of too many bottles? ‘We’ll find you something to do. Might not be much money in it, but you’ll get a roof over your head and three meals a day. Mue’s a great cook.’
At the mention of food, Wal’s interest shifted. ‘Who’s Mue?’
‘She’s Dad’s housekeeper.’ Nate’s expression suddenly turned pensive. ‘Well, she was. That’s if the new bird hasn’t got rid of her.’
‘She’s hardly likely to do that if it means getting her hands dirty, is she? That’s if she’s like what you’re saying?’
Nate’s face hardened. ‘Of course she’s like what I’m saying. A bloody gold-digger. Why else would a young chick go out with an old man like my father?’
It wasn’t until they were driving into Longreach and pulling up to a service station to refuel that Wal spoke of his situation again. ‘You could still drop me here?’
‘Yeah right. Where are you going to put that?’ said Nate, nodding to the Singer. ‘On the street?’ Although that wasn’t a bad idea. With all the other stuff jammed in the back, the pokey iron bits were making Rupert’s life a misery. Nate got out of the ute, patted his dog and then grabbed hold of the nozzle of the fuel bowser. He could see Wal sitting with his chin in the air, trying to be dignified.
‘I’m sure I could sort out somethin’,’ said the older man through his open window.
‘And the float with your horse in it?’
‘We’d be right.’
Nate sighed. He needed to deal with this a little better. A man had his pride. He clipped the nozzle so it would keep fuelling up the ute without him and leaned back in the open window. ‘What do you want, Wal?’
‘Huh?’
‘What do you really want in life?’
Wal pushed at his hat, scratched his head. ‘That’s a bit deep coming from you, isn’t it?’
At the younger man’s exasperated look the older man sat back in the seat and thought. Finally, ‘I want to belong to a place, that’s all.’ He turned to face Nate. ‘Security, I guess. It’s all right for people like you. You’ve got a property you can call home, even if your old man’s a prick. People like me haven’t got nuthin’. We don’t have roots.’
‘Does a roof over your head, a meal in your belly and stock
work with some of the best views in the world help with that?’
‘Well, yes. I guess so.’
‘Goodo then. We’ll turn you into a mountain man yet. It might even help you mount a woman for a change. Now, hand me my wallet.’
They made it to Emerald that night. A wayside stop just out of town. Nate was all for turning south at Barcaldine and heading for Charleville, but Wally had other ideas.
‘Know a bloke on a station south of Emerald. He might have a decent horse for ya.’
‘What makes you think I want one of those?’
Wally turned and levelled a withering look at Nate. ‘You said so. Plus, you’re a stockman and you’re going home. Of course you wanna good mount,’ he raised a hand. ‘And I don’t mean of the female variety either.’
Nate laughed. ‘You saying I can’t have a mare?’
‘Nope. A filly, mare, doesn’t mean nuthin’ to me but remember, my lad, you need to find,’ Wally put his pointer and middle fingers in the air and crunched them downwards, ‘the one.’
Wally’s mate couldn’t come up with anything either bloke liked in the way of a good horse, mare or otherwise. His taste in grog, though, was impeccable. They had a big night on beer followed by spirits, rolling out of their swags the next morning with sore heads. Over greasy bacon and eggs, cooked by Nate (who was the most with it), Wal’s mate told them he could get them some fencing work down near Thargomindah. A friend of a friend was looking for some extra hands. Nate was nodding before the man paused to slurp from his ‘hair of the dog’ can of beer. Anything to put off the inevitable of Glenevelyn and Alex McGregor.
They were on the road again the next morning after another night on the turps, the horse float trailing forlornly behind the ute, Rupert and the sewing machine vying for space on the tray. Nate felt all right. He hadn’t drunk nearly as much as the night before, preferring to give his liver (and his head) a rest. Wally was asleep in the passenger seat and the radio was set to a local station, where a bloke called Gazza was encouraging everyone to have a good day. Nate leaned forwards and glanced up at the incredible blue sky, then around at the scrubby country flying past his window. Yep. Central Queensland at its most magnificent. You really couldn’t fail to have a good day when faced with all that sunshine.
He slunk back into his seat and resettled his bum, took a look at Wally. The old man was leaning sideways in his seat-belt, snoring like a fog horn. Any louder and Nate wouldn’t be able to hear the radio. He gave the older man a gentle shove. Wally tilted the other way, landing softly against the window, cheek smooched up with the glass, muttering and grumbling. He didn’t even open his eyes but at least the snoring stopped. Nate contemplated the man for a few moments. Asleep and vulnerable to the world, Wally Price looked … well … old. Those remarkable crevices in his face were all collapsing in on each other, and the apples on his cheeks were tracked by broken red capillary lines. Would his own father look like this now? Old? Alex’s appearance had always been urbane, almost regal, regardless of what he’d been doing with his day. Nate could never imagine his father looking like Wal. Alex McGregor knew where he was headed, what he was doing next. He’d always had his eye on the prize. He would never be found sleeping off a hangover, wandering in a ute like a hobo down the back roads of Queensland. Not like Wally Price. Not like his son, Nathaniel McGregor.
Nate idly thrummed the steering wheel with his tanned fingers. He’d asked Wally the other day in Longreach what he wanted in life. But what did he, Nathaniel McGregor, want?
A chance to run the family property.
Yeah, right. As if that was going to happen. But then again, his father had rung him. Wanted him to come home, help out. And since when had Alex McGregor ever wanted that? To hand over the reins, or at least a halter rope, to the property? It sounded like the old bloke was serious about this bird, for whatever reason, even if it was just to satisfy his dick.
Suddenly Nate could hear Elizabeth, his mother, in his head. Now, Nathaniel Alexander McGregor! She was always on at him to be polite and not ruffle his father’s feathers. While his mother’s counsel had influenced him often enough, it was a shame it hadn’t held sway with the old man. Nate could never do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.
And then there was the day it had all come to a head.
They’d been shifting a mob of steers to the Scrubby Flat: Nate, two blokes who’d been working for his father for only a few weeks, and Rupert. Nate and one bloke were on horseback. The other fella was in the ute. They’d heard a wild dog howling over on the other side of the river. Nate, with Rupert, had gone to investigate, taking a rifle from the vehicle with him, leaving the two newcomers with the cattle.
Nate had thought they’d be all right, that nothing could possibly go wrong as the mob was nearly to the gate into the Scrubby Flat paddock.
How wrong could he have been?
At the rifle shot (Nate firing at the fleeing feral dog) the mob had stampeded, causing the bloke on horseback, who was opening the gate, to be thrown from his horse and get crushed by 400-kilogram bodies, one after the other. When they finally dug him out of the ground into which he’d been pounded, a broken pelvis had been the least of his worries. Internal injuries were the most pressing and the emergency helicopter had only just got the man to the hospital in the nick of time.
According to the public Alex McGregor, who was fielding Worksafe inspectors, ‘it was an accident’, ‘no one’s fault specifically’, but behind closed doors he’d let his wrath fall on his son.
‘You fucking idiot! What were you thinking? Oh, that’s right, as usual you weren’t thinking, were you?!’ His father had paced the plush carpet of his office, his face screwed into a furious red ball. ‘The man could’ve died! Still might die, and then where will I be? I’ll be sued! I’ll have to pay him shitloads and he’d only just started here, for fuck’s sake! And the whole district will be talking about us! Laughing at us! Do I have to be by your side the whole time? Don’t you ever think about the consequences before you go and fuck up?’
Now, in retrospect, Nate agreed he could have thought it through a little better. But only to a point. He should have made sure the cattle were locked in the paddock before racing off into the bush. They were his first priority along with the men in his charge. But if he had done that, the wild dog would have been gone and seeing they’d had some cross-bred ewes with holes burrowed into their sides from rancid teeth seeking kidneys, he could still also see the urgency of shooting the feral mutt.
‘I was trying to shoot the bloody dog. The one you’ve been complaining about for weeks! The cattle were near the gate. I thought it’d be all right to leave.’
‘Leave? Leave! You never leave until the job is done.’
‘Well this time I’m done.’ Nate turned to go.
‘You come back here, you insolent bastard.’
But Nate kept walking out of the office, meeting his mother, who’d obviously been listening behind the closed door.
‘Nate?’ she said.
‘I’m leaving, Mum.’
‘No! Honey, wait!’ cried Elizabeth.
Alex came storming up behind them. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘As far away from you as I can get.’
‘Nathaniel!’ Elizabeth had a hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t talk to your father like that!’
‘I can and I will. It’s how he talks to me.’
Nate stormed down the passage. His mother followed. ‘But, Nathaniel …?’ she said before she stopped midway along the hall. Hesitated. Spun to look at her husband, who was hard on her heels. Nate turned at the doorway to the formal lounge and took in his parents standing there. His mother, torn and desperate; his father, angry and resentful. But together. Them against him.
‘I’ll pack my bag and be gone.’
Alex had pushed past Elizabeth and confronted his son again. The men were the same height, but Alex was the heavier. ‘You’re going nowhere, young man. If you can’t grow
up and learn how to run this place properly, then what good are you?’
‘In your eyes, I’ll never be as good as you, and you don’t want me to be either.’
When Alex let fly with a right hook, determined to put his son in his rightful place, Nate had worn the punch. He’d watched the fist come towards his face in slow motion. Felt flesh connect with flesh. The sudden burst of unbelievable pain, as his jaw moved with the momentum of the punch. The solid throb that followed as he checked his teeth with his tongue to make sure none were adrift. As he brought his head back around to face his parents he watched his mother sink down the hallway wall, fear on her face, something else flashing in her eyes. What was it? Resignation? Shame?
Alex McGregor had shown no remorse, though. He remained wild-eyed, frustrated and angry.
Nate, with a nod to his mother and one last withering look at Alex, had then left, returning home once for Elizabeth’s funeral, two years later, and the second time to see if the lay of the land had changed. It hadn’t and that was six years back. It was then he finally worked out that, when it came to men like Alex McGregor, they could never really love and give over what they considered important. Land. Money. Position. Power.
On Glenevelyn there was no place for his son.
Chapter 9
Jodie got out of the car, smoothed her good shirt, rubbed her Ariat high-tops against the back of her jeans to shine the toes, and made her way into the solicitor’s office. Milly skipped along behind her, cute in a similar outfit.
Jodie moved towards the reception desk where a middle-aged woman with perfectly coiffured hair sat on an office chair. Glasses perched on the end of her nose enabled the woman to look Jodie up and down with undisguised distaste. Glennys Muldeen was one of those local Catholic women with a bachelor son – and he was going to stay a bachelor, if Glennys had anything to do with it. That was unless he found a girl who went to church on Sunday wearing a dress, baked like her prospective mother-in-law, didn’t smoke, drink or swear, and definitely hadn’t had sex and wouldn’t before she was married.
Mountain Ash Page 6
