Dear Banjo

by Sasha Wasley

  ‘Good morning,’ he said against her hair. ‘Last night was real, then.’

  ‘Definitely real.’

  Cathy appeared, blinking in a startled manner to see Willow in her son’s arms. Willow froze.

  ‘Uh, Mum —’ Tom began, but Cathy simply cleared her throat and moved towards the kitchen.

  ‘Morning, Willow, love. Cuppa?’

  They exchanged glances behind her, and Willow breathed a sigh of gratitude that Cathy wasn’t about to make a fuss. ‘Yes, please.’

  Willow shared morning tea with Tom and Cathy at the long kitchen bench, Bob joining them for homemade scones. Seeing Tom’s hand curled around Willow’s, he commented in his loud, cheery voice, ‘Well, this is new!’ He looked at his wife. ‘What do y’think about that, love?’

  ‘I think it’s just as it should be. Have some more cream, Willow.’

  Willow spent the drive home imagining how her own family would respond to her being with Tom. Would her father get a shock? Beth would be all knowing and superior. And Free – she shut her mind to the vision of Free’s reaction. She should get it over with fast: rip off the bandaid. After lunch, she called Beth from the privacy of her bedroom, bracing herself for an interrogation.

  ‘Hi, Willow.’

  ‘Hi, can you chat?’

  ‘For a second. I’ve got a patient waiting. Is Dad okay?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad’s good. That’s not why I’m calling.’ Willow fought the wobble in her voice. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something. To tell you something. I, uh, Tom and I, we’re uh —’

  She stopped, unsure how to say it.

  ‘You mean you’ve finally got it together?’ There was a smile in Beth’s voice. ‘That’s brilliant! Took you long enough. I’m coming over on Saturday, so you can tell me all about it then. Do you need anything from town?’

  Okay. That was easier than she’d expected. Next, to face her father and Free. When Willow made the announcement over dinner, mumbling almost incoherently and wishing she could slide under the table in embarrassment, Barry didn’t seem shocked at all. He was a little bemused and made a hmming noise, but her news wasn’t enough to interrupt his enjoyment of his steak. If only Free were as tactful. She stared at Willow, her eyes full of amazement.

  ‘But, Will, just a couple of months back, you said —’

  Willow gave a shrug, feeling stupid. ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘Holy crap. For real?’ Free’s green eyes examined every centimetre of Willow’s blushing face. ‘And are you just dating? Like, just testing the waters?’

  Willow shook her head, cringing inwardly. ‘No, we’re together. It’s serious.’

  Free squealed and bounced in the chair with delight. ‘Will, that’s wonderful! Oh, my God! I knew you’d be perfect together!’ She stopped, fixing her earnest gaze back on Willow. ‘Was it what I said after the awards night? Did I put the idea into your head?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  The look on Free’s face indicated she didn’t believe Willow, but a reprieve was granted when their father pointed out that Free’s new favourite reality show had started. Free scrambled up, taking her dinner to eat in front of the television in the lounge room. Barry gave Willow a smile.

  ‘I’m happy for you, sweetheart. You couldn’t have chosen a better bloke.’

  She reached across to squeeze his hand. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  He shook his head. ‘Robin was spot-on. She said you and Tom would end up together. Looks like your mum gets the last laugh, after all.’

  There was only a little teasing from the families and staff. It wasn’t enough to stop Willow from meeting Tom daily at her house or his, often after sundown when the work was finished. Sometimes they sat with their families but when they wanted time alone, they found privacy on the patio or in Tom’s bedroom. Every morning she got a message from him. Good morning – love you! Or Can’t wait to see your beautiful face again. She replied as best she could, with plenty of dittos. What came so naturally to him – expressing his love – was more difficult for her. Willow tried not to worry about it too much. Presumably she would one day open her mouth and the words I love you would fall out. She took heart in the fact that Tom didn’t seem to mind.

  It was a good couple of months before the leg brace came off and Tom was able to walk, albeit with a cane at first. But he was soon back on the quad bike and driving again. The new helicopter was ordered and, although Willow dreaded the thought of him going up, she consoled herself that the wet season was almost upon them, so there would be less need for the helicopter. Tom didn’t share her fears and looked forward to flying.

  ‘The longer I wait to get back behind the controls, the harder it’ll be,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I know I can survive a helicopter crash now. I’m practically invincible.’

  The first real rain was forecast for a Tuesday and, although the workday was just as busy as usual, an air of excitement came over the station as blue-grey clouds filled the sky. Beth sent a message to say she was coming around to storm-watch with them later. Tom had also promised to come, and he turned up at midday while Willow was moving Tuffie and Peanut into the stable to keep them out of the storm. Perfect. She and Tom would have hours together before Beth – or the storm – arrived. Her stablehand was busy penning up all the other horses and the station hands were battening down the hatches around Patersons. Tom helped Willow to fill the horses’ hay nets.

  ‘I just finished doing all this at our place. It had better be a proper storm tonight.’

  ‘Climate change,’ she reminded him. ‘We’ll probably get a warm drizzle and then thirty more days of sunshine. I was reading an article on the latest figures last night.’

  ‘Yeah? Send it to me?’

  ‘It’s in a print journal, in my room. I’ve finished it, so you can take it if you like.’

  His phone rang and he took the call. From what she could gather, there had been a fuel spill near the Quintilla feed shed door. Tom gave a detailed description of how to manage it, but whoever it was didn’t get it. Willow admired him as he talked. Pretending to fuss with Tuffie, she listened to Tom’s patient explanations and sneaked looks at his strong, tall frame as he leaned against the stable wall with the phone pressed to his ear. She could hardly believe her good fortune. This smart, kind, hot guy was hers.

  Finally, Tom gave up. ‘Look, it’s okay, I’m coming home,’ he said into the phone. He turned to Willow, his expression regretful. ‘Duty calls, but I’ll come back later to watch the storm with you, okay?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Late in the day, Willow headed back towards the house. When she passed the station kitchen, she could hear the staff cosied up, nattering over end-of-work beers. The clouds hung so low and heavy in the sky it looked like they might burst open and drop a torrent upon Paterson Downs at any moment. Willow joined her father on the patio.

  ‘Should be a good pour,’ he said, eyes gleaming.

  ‘Looks that way.’ Willow grabbed her phone to check where Tom was and discovered a message from him. She used a dusty finger to swipe it open.

  You need to get out to the hollow boab before the rain hits. I’ve left you something and it’s not waterproof.

  ‘Beth’s here,’ Free called through the kitchen window. ‘Wine, Willow?’

  ‘Yeah, but just give me a few minutes. I need to check a fence line.’

  ‘A fence line?’ Barry stared. ‘Sweetheart, it’s going to chuck it down any second.’

  Heading out there now! she wrote to Tom.

  ‘I’ll be super quick,’ she told her father.

  She ran for Rusty. If she was fast, she might just escape the rain. Lightning flickered on the horizon as she rode, thinking of that suggestion Tom had made weeks earlier – a swag under the stars. Maybe they should try it. She had to admit it sounded kind of fun. The hollow boab came into view. When she reached it, the sky still miraculously holding in its downpour, she slipped from the quad saddle and climbed the eastern gate. What had he lef
t for her this time? Not waterproof – had he run out of ziplock bags? She was partway over the gate when she saw it: a giant line scratched in the red dirt. Multiple lines – words spelled out in ten-metre letters. She stood on the gate’s middle rung to get enough height to read it.

  MARRY ME BANJO?

  Willow caught her breath. For a few moments all she could do was stand on the gate and blink at Tom’s message. A grumble of distant thunder snapped her out of it and she clambered down the other side, crossing to the boab tree on shaky legs. Inside the hollow were two boab pods. Willow pulled one out and read the word scratched onto the side: YES. A message beeped through on her phone and she checked it with trembling fingers – a photo message. She waited for it to load, gazing at the words Tom had scratched into the pindan, her heart giving great thumps of nervous joy. The photo appeared slowly: a hat and then Tom’s face. He’d sent a selfie. She couldn’t repress a laugh at the happiness in his gorgeous eyes. Dammit, he was just wonderful.

  Make your choice, was the caption.

  Ah, now she got it. The boab pod. He wanted her to leave her answer, her yes or no, in the hollow. She reached in to retrieve the other pod and burst into laughter again when she saw what was scratched on its side.

  YES.

  Tom’s idea of a choice – both pods said yes. She dug in her pocket and used a key to scratch an addition onto one of the pods, popping it back in the hollow. Then she replied.

  Choice made.

  I’m coming out there.

  She climbed up to sit on the eastern gate and waited. Still no rain. A few minutes later he came into view on Tonka, dust billowing as he rode like a hurricane towards her. She chuckled. Tom pulled in and slipped off the quad, but halted several feet away and indicated the giant words behind him. She was touched by how uncertain he looked.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘Check the hollow boab.’

  He brightened. ‘You put one of my options in there?’

  ‘Yes, one of your two options. But I had to make an amendment.’

  Worry jumped back into his expression and he crossed to the hollow boab. He paused halfway through reaching in, his eyes trained on her face.

  ‘It’s not going to be Possibly yes, is it?’ he said. ‘Or Yes, but not yet?’

  She sighed. ‘Look at it, Tom.’

  He pulled the pod out. When he looked back at her, he was grinning. ‘Hell, yes?’

  ‘Hell, yes, Tom. I’ll marry you.’

  He whooped, throwing the pod into the air and catching it. Willow jumped down off the gate and went to meet him, slipping her arms around his neck.

  ‘Best carving you ever did,’ he said, squeezing her tight. ‘Even better than that amazing five-legged pony.’

  ‘It was a tail, not a fifth leg. And yeah, I got better with age.’

  ‘You sure did.’

  ‘Thank you for not giving up on me.’

  ‘I’m going to make you pay, you know, when we do get married.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Big dress. Huge cake. Those little pastel candy almonds. Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany’s tiara. That same lipstick you wore to the awards night. Oh, my God, I couldn’t stop looking at your lips that night. Pink bridesmaids. White doves. I’m going to be a groom-zilla.’

  She waved a hand. ‘Let me know when it’s all organised. I’ll turn up on time. That’ll be my part done.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Then babies. As soon as possible. Lots of babies.’

  ‘One or two,’ she corrected. ‘In a few years. But lots of fun making them.’

  His eyes widened again. ‘It’s true then – you’re not scared any more.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m really going to marry you. And soon.’ He seemed too stunned to answer so she pushed him. ‘I mean it, Tom. You having second thoughts?’

  He choked out a laugh. ‘Cheeky devil.’

  She locked her gaze on his and summoned all her courage. ‘Tom, I love you.’

  He was kissing her almost before the words were fully out. She stopped him mid-kiss to check his face. ‘Tom, are you crying?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said gruffly. ‘Must be raindrops. A tough Mount Clair bloke like me doesn’t cry.’

  She smiled and stroked his hair away from his forehead, wiping his tears at the same time. They stayed, sitting on the gate to watch the stormy sunset filled with lightning strikes. Tom turned the boab pod over in his hands, looking at the words HELL YES every couple of minutes as though to reassure himself her answer was real.

  ‘You can get rid of the old ones now,’ she said. ‘The deformed pony and the cubist emu. Just keep this one.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he mused. ‘I kind of like those old boab pods, although this is definitely your best work.’

  ‘I was always rubbish at leaving you good stuff in return for the cool things you left me. You’re definitely the letter writer in this relationship.’

  He shot her a funny look. ‘You’re not so bad at writing letters.’

  ‘When did I ever write you anything worth reading?’

  He hesitated. ‘Well, here’s the thing. When I left you in the stable earlier today, I stopped by your house to get that journal on climate change from your room. I couldn’t see it so I checked your bedside table, and in the drawer, there were some letters addressed to me . . .’

  She gasped. ‘Tom! You weren’t supposed to read them!’

  He defended himself. ‘They had my name on them. For all I knew, you wanted me to find them.’

  ‘They were all wrong. That’s why I didn’t send them.’

  ‘Wrong?’ He pulled her closer. ‘They were bloody beautiful. Everything you’ve been struggling to say to me, everything I could see in your face but you didn’t know how to put into words. They inspired my red-dirt artwork here.’

  How could she argue with that? ‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘I guess it’s all right . . . although you could have waited. I’d almost got the courage to say all that stuff to your face.’

  ‘Ahem. Haven’t I waited long enough?’

  She chose not to answer. Thunder boomed, much closer this time, and Willow jumped over onto the Patersons side of the gate. ‘We’d better get home. I’ve got some news to break to Dad and my sisters.’

  His face glowed. ‘And I’ve got some news to break to my parents.’

  A couple of big drops fell and Willow eyed him thoughtfully across the gate. ‘Not saying it’s a race, but whoever makes it home first gets to announce our engagement on Facebook.’

  Tom’s mouth fell open. They dashed for the quads.

  ‘Ow. Pointy elbows, Banjo.’

  ‘Sorry. You’re the one who insisted this was possible, not me.’

  ‘It is possible. Look, we’re doing it. Just wriggle down a bit so your head’s on my shoulder.’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘Much.’

  She looked up. ‘I’ve gotta hand it to you. You were right. We do both fit in one swag.’

  ‘Told you. Snug as a bug in a rug.’

  ‘And sweaty as a stockman’s armpit.’

  He laughed and Willow scanned the sky through the mosquito net.

  ‘Do you think we’ll see any falling stars tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘No meteor showers predicted but as long as it doesn’t rain, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘There’s something poking into my hip, Tom.’

  ‘Sorry about that. I’m just happy to see you.’

  This time she laughed. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s not that. There must be a rock under the swag, dammit. I thought I cleared them all.’

  ‘Do you want a camp cup of wine?’

  ‘That’s pushing it. Considering we barely fit in here, I’m pretty sure we won’t get the cups in here, or at least we won’t be able to get them to our mouths.’

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  ‘That doesn’t fit in here, either.’

  He chuckled. ‘Okay, I want to ask you something. Will you make
a pact with me?’

  ‘A pact?’

  ‘Yeah. I solemnly swear —’ He stopped. ‘Come on. You have to repeat after me. I solemnly swear . . .’

  ‘Can I hear what I’m promising first?’

  ‘No. You didn’t let me hear what I was promising first all those years ago.’

  She sighed. ‘I solemnly swear.’

  ‘For the sake of our future . . .’

  ‘For the sake of our future.’

  ‘Never to screw up . . .’

  ‘Never to screw up.’

  ‘The friendship-slash-marriage we have.’

  She finished the pledge obediently. ‘To the best of my ability,’ she added.

  ‘Not good enough. It’s a pact.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m a fallible human.’

  ‘Okay, let me explain then, even though you never bothered to explain what your pact meant.’

  ‘That pact is now defunct.’

  ‘I know. My pact means we promise never to fall out of love.’

  ‘Ah!’ she said, enlightened. ‘Okay, that’s easy. Yes, I can promise that.’

  ‘I didn’t bring a needle.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘No, we need to seal the deal.’ He dug around in the blankets as she slipped a hand under his shirt.

  ‘I can think of the perfect way to seal the deal,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll try your way in a minute,’ he said. ‘First, my way. Move your bum, Banjo.’

  She shuffled back a little, bemused. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Got it. That thing you were lying on that you thought was a rock? It is a rock.’

  ‘Inside the swag?’

  ‘Yep.’ A hinge squeaked and she caught a glint of something bright in the moonlight. ‘A diamond.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  She did so and Tom managed to slide the ring onto her finger. He waited.

  ‘Do you like it?’