‘Yes, Mum.’ Jonathan threw Zac a look that said I’ll get you later before returning to his breakfast.
‘Thanks for the help yesterday, sweetheart,’ Jonny’s dad said to her, setting down his cutlery and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his work shirt.
‘Any time, Dad. She’s good as new.’ The loader had been easy to fix, and something she knew her dad could have done if he’d wanted to. Jonny liked to think it was his way of getting her back on the farm so he could spend the day with her.
‘I hear the new bank manager’s in town,’ said Sandra. ‘Jean’s been calling everyone. Easy on the eyes, I hear,’ she added with a pointed look at Jonny.
‘God, Mum. As if I’d ever look at a wanker banker. I don’t want a stuck-up city snob,’ she said through her mouthful of sausage, before mumbling an apology in response to her mother’s disapproving look.
‘It’s not nice to judge, Jonelle. Greg was a good guy.’ Her mum was always trying to make her see the other side.
Her dad cleared his throat. ‘Poor Greg. No one could blame him for leaving after all these years. Bloody hard to be the one to ask your friends for payments all the time. The bloody drought, it hurts everyone. Even working at the bank would have been difficult, so I don’t blame him for moving on and wanting a better life. Greg didn’t have the ties to the land and Bundara like we do. He wasn’t the bad guy and neither is this new bloke.’
‘Yeah, well, if he’s from the city, I already don’t like him. I’m just saying,’ Jonny said, licking the sauce from her fork.
‘Nah,’ Zac said. ‘I’ve already met him. Actually spent a bit of time with him over the weekend. We got on all right. I don’t mind him to be honest.’
‘You could befriend anyone, Zaccy. You’d be best mates with the devil if he’d shout you a beer,’ JB sniggered.
‘How long till you fly out again?’ teased Zac. They all knew when he was flying – tomorrow.
‘Don’t remind me, Zac,’ Sandra said. ‘I can hardly bear it every time Jonathan flies off to that bloody mine.’ She bit her lip and Jonathan rose from his chair to put his large hands on his mum’s shoulders. At thirty he was a catch and Jonny often wondered why he hadn’t snagged a girl from the mines yet. But then again, maybe he had and was keeping her to himself. That would be just like JB. He was quiet and private, not like the rest of them. He was just like Grandpa Baxter.
JB bent down and kissed Sandra’s cheek. ‘It won’t be for long, Mum, and I’ll be back. I can’t stay away from your cooking. Thanks for brekky. I’d better go pack.’
They all watched JB head to his room, his steps heavy on the timber-look lino. None of them ever liked him leaving, but he’d taken a job on the mines over a year ago because the farm simply couldn’t continue to support them all, and seeing as JB was the truck driver in the family, he knew he’d get a job easier than anyone else. Ted couldn’t leave his family, and Zac was in charge of the sheep stud, so it left JB with no choice but to leave. He just did what he had to do for the family, and he never failed to spend most of his wage on repayments for the farm machinery. Most of his other mates used their generous salaries on things like jet skis, boats and other expensive toys. But JB never complained. ‘It won’t be for much longer,’ he always said. They all knew a good year was due . . . it had to be. None of them could keep this battle going forever.
When Jonny pulled up outside her workshop, Renae was already there waiting for her, and so was Carlo’s Ford Territory. She parked her white Land Cruiser ute beside the shed. Once upon a time it had been Coot’s ute but he’d given it to Jonny when she’d bought the workshop. ‘Scarcely worth a brass razoo,’ he’d said. It was old but the Landies were strong. The bashed-about tray was never empty, carrying around Jonny’s second set of tools, a compressor, a battery and all sorts of spare parts in the metal cabinet she’d purposely built for the tray. She didn’t need a sign advertising her business on the side of the ute – everyone in town knew who it belonged to. Jonny couldn’t part with the ute any more than she could part with the workshop.
Coot had known he was getting sick, had kept it from her even when he asked if she’d be interested in buying his workshop. She could remember the moment like it was yesterday. They’d been sitting out the front on some tyres, Coot with a rollie hanging out his mouth, his blue work overalls on and a greasy rag hanging out his pocket. ‘So, interested in buying the workshop from me, Jonny?’ he’d asked. Just like that, as if he’d just asked her about the weather. She’d been speechless, of course. Then minutes later she rattled out all these questions. ‘How come? Why do you wanna sell it? What are you gonna do? Are you okay?’ The last question had come out because she knew how much this workshop meant to Coot and she figured he mustn’t be all right if he was thinking of selling it. Little did she know how right she was.
Coot had looked across to the bush beside his workshop as he weighed his words. ‘You know how I’ve always dreamed of travelling through the outback, on them bush tracks and what not? Well, I’ve been thinking . . . I ain’t gettin’ any younger and you don’t need me in here any more,’ he’d gestured to the workshop. ‘Don’t give me that look, girlie. I know half the time I’m just gettin’ in ya way.’ Coot had never got in her way. Sure, she was always a bit faster but Coot was oldschool, he liked to take his time and stop for a fag break.
Coot had reached over and taken her hand. ‘Will you take on me shop, Jonny? I know you would look after her and I’d shut her down before I let anyone else run her. I wouldn’t be asking for much, just enough to buy a decent ute and see me on my way.’ He’d squeezed her hand, his ancient tobacco-stained fingers warm and strong. ‘What do ya say?’
Jonny had gazed up at his eighty-year-old face, his prickly whiskers covering the age spots and dirt-encrusted wrinkles. She loved this man fiercely and loyally. She’d seen the hopefulness in his rusty golden eyes and knew she’d never knock back any request from him. Coot never asked for anything for himself, not once since she’d known him. For him to want to sell his workshop to her and follow his dreams just showed how passionate he was, and how hard he’d thought this through. ‘You know I’d love to take on your workshop, Coot,’ she said. ‘It would be an honour and a privilege. She means as much to me as she does to you,’ she added.
Coot had glanced away then, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed hard. He’d never been one to get all emotional. That was women’s business, he’d always said. ‘I’d much rather be here with you, but if you are finally doing something for you, then I won’t hold you back.’
Coot had sniffed, cleared his throat and stood up. ‘I’ll get the paperwork sorted out then.’
When he finally turned to face her, Jonny had thrown herself into his arms, burying her head into his dirty work overalls scented with smoke and grease.
For a long time after he’d left Bundara, she used to open one of his old tobacco pouches and just smell it; sometimes she’d even light up a rollie and leave it burning out the front in a pot like incense. À la Coot.
So Coot had left, he’d taken the money from the sale and spent the next thirteen months travelling the outback, following old bush tracks and having a whale of a time until his sickness caught up with him.
News of his death came by way of a letter from a nurse called Libby at a hospital in Alice Springs. She wrote that Coot had talked about Jonny a lot, how she felt Jonny deserved to hear the truth about Coot’s last days on earth and just how much the silly old bugger had won her heart over with his country charm.
This letter was how Jonny had learned about his cancer, how he had travelled until he was too sick, not bothering with treatments and the like. That was Coot, didn’t want to be jabbed and poked by the people in white coats. Tears had streamed down her face as she’d read through the thick letter, pages and pages of neat printing. Libby had relayed everything Coot had mentioned while in hospital, some of his travels and most importantly the stories of Jonny. She explained about his
stomach cancer and how it had taken him quickly in the end. ‘He fought it until he was ready and not until he’d seen all he could.’ The only regret he had, she explained, was that he couldn’t see Jonny and her great big smile one last time before he went. And to tell her how much he loved her and to hold her in his arms once again. Oh, how she had cursed the old bugger, screaming it to the sky, for hiding the truth from her, but he wasn’t one for a spectacle. And in the end Coot went out on his terms and in his own way.
Jonny still had all of his postcards on her fridge out the back. Some only said, Missing you, Tiger or Had a beer here. But to get words out of Coot that weren’t written on an invoice was something special. He was more the yarn-telling kind, and in a way she was jealous of Libby and all the stories she got to hear.
Jonny swallowed the lump that always rose when she thought of Coot. She missed that silly old bugger, even though it had been nearly two years since she’d scattered his ashes. Libby had seen to it that Coot was cremated, as he had requested. He had wanted to be cremated in Alice Springs, so as not to bother anyone, and then Libby was to send the ashes to Jonny because she’d know what to do with him. His ashes had arrived a week after the letter.
Jonny had scattered Coot’s ashes over the thing he’d loved most after her, his workshop. She’d watched his ashes float through every crevice, every gap and crack in the tin or on the cement floor. It was if he had guided the grey haze of his remains as it bear-hugged the workshop. She liked to think parts of him still remained with her, always.
Shaking off her memories, Jonny slid open the large workshop door on her way to the front office area. Renae sat at the desk, her head in the latest Woman’s Day magazine. She knew where the key was kept and probably so did half the town. Renae, with her perfect nails and hair, looked so out of place among the walls filled with different-sized belts, fuel filters, tubes and batteries. The cement floor was thick with dust, and Coot’s collection of old signs overflowed into the office, taking up whatever space he’d been able to reach.
‘Hey, Nae. You’re here early.’
Renae lay the magazine down on the paper-covered desk, next to the computer, which was jammed into the corner. ‘So? How was your weekend? In particular, how was Friday night? I tried to call you a few times, you know.’ Renae was trying to look ticked off but she was no good at being angry.
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Was out at the farm helping Dad. You know how crap the signal is out there.’
Jonny grabbed her trusty blue overalls and busied herself with putting them on while Renae tried eyeballing her, searching for details.
‘Okay, okay. You’re killing me here.’
‘Nae, there’s nothing to tell. There never will be. We just don’t see each other like that. But we did have a great time, stayed up all night watching Star Wars.’ She shrugged and let out a sigh that would have blown the dust from the desk. ‘But he’s not all right, Nae. I’m worried. He was trying to pretend life was grand and he’s not letting me in like he used to.’
Renae’s smile dropped. ‘Oh, Jonny. Maybe he used to talk with Alana and now he doesn’t know what to do. He might take a while to open up with you again. I don’t know how men work. They’re a bloody mystery. All you can do is stay close and let him know you’re there.’
‘I guess. I just hate seeing him hurting. It’s just so sad, what he had to go through. Thank God they didn’t have kids.’
Nae tapped her fingers on the desk. ‘Guess there won’t be any romance for you any time soon. Shame.’
‘Nae,’ growled Jonny as she glanced around. ‘Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. I don’t need a man.’
‘Sure you don’t,’ whispered Nae.
‘Look, I’ve got tyres to fit. If you need me, I’ll be in the workshop.’
‘Okay, I’ve got an appointment with Mrs Dardanup’s hairy legs anyway, but after that we’re talking about how my weekend went.’
Jonny was expecting a blow-by-blow description of someone’s waxing or a new plant variety she’d found and wasn’t really looking forward to the talk. She clomped back out the front to reverse Carlo’s Territory into the workshop, with Renae following close behind.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll hear every detail,’ Renae said with an excited squeal.
Jonny waved her away, groaning. That’s what she was dreading.
Chapter 5
DANIEL had a late start as the bank didn’t open until nine, so he decided to get his now-flat spare tyre fixed. He drove around the streets twice looking for a tyre shop, and finally stopped alongside the oldest-looking shed in town. A little truck was parked out the front with a few boxes on the back, and the glass door to the office part was wide open. Carefully, so not to dirty his shirt, he got the flat tyre out of the boot and headed towards the office area.
Inside, among the chaos of old signs that lined the walls, he placed the tyre at his feet just as a man with a towelling hat limped his way. ‘Um, excuse me. I have a tyre that needs repairing.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said the guy, tucking a folder under his arm. ‘I’m just delivering a parcel. Jonny’s in the workshop, just through there.’ He pointed to a doorway beside the desk.
‘Oh, sorry. Thanks.’ The delivery guy nodded his head and walked off towards his little truck, leaving behind a trail of BO.
Dan held his breath, grabbed the tyre and made a beeline to the workshop area. Inside were more old signs, ones for Valvoline, Shell, Mobil and even Bushells tea, as well as old black and white numberplates. Dan took a moment to look up at the signs. He was fascinated by them, the numberplates especially, and wondered what types of cars they came from. Uncle Mark, his mum’s brother, was responsible for his love of cars. Not that either of them knew anything about cars, but they both had a deep appreciation for the classics and Dan was a diehard V8 racing fan. Uncle Mark had always taken him to watch the V8s when the races toured Perth. It was their annual event, decked out in red, waving the Holden flags, but since he’d stopped seeing his mum, after he moved out with his dad at nearly sixteen, he’d lost contact with everyone on his mum’s side of the family, including Mark. It was such a shame. He’d spent more of his childhood with his uncle than with his own dad in those early years.
The sound of the rattle gun made him flinch. It was coming from behind the Ford Territory in the middle of the workshop. ‘Hello,’ he said, as the noisy gun drowning out his words.
Resting the tyre on the ground, he stepped around the car and saw the boots and blue overalls of the mechanic. ‘Excuse me?’ he said, a little louder this time.
The mechanic looked up. ‘You!’ Dan said, surprised. It was the girl he’d seen on the side of the road, only this time she was minus the cute dress. ‘Y-y-you work here?’
‘Daniel,’ she said, quickly standing and brushing her blonde hair back off her face. In the process she managed to smear a streak of grease across her forehead. He struggled to hide his smile. At least she looked as surprised as he felt.
He’d hoped he might bump into her again, but he thought the chances were slim to none. Yet here she was. Just as gorgeous as he remembered. A little dishevelled, but just as pretty.
She waved her gun thing around like a toy and rested her other hand on her hip.
‘Yep, this is my workshop. The Jonny’s Mechanical sign didn’t give it away?’
‘Oh, Jonelle, Jonny . . . Right. Sorry, I’m still a little . . .’ Dan stopped, collected his thoughts and tried again. It wasn’t often that he was caught off guard by a gorgeous girl in a pair of grimy old overalls. He took a deep breath. ‘Let me try that again. Sorry. I didn’t realise this was your place, but it sure makes sense considering how quickly you changed my tyre the other day.’ He couldn’t help but smile in awe of this fascinating girl. She still took his breath away – maybe it was the way she held the power tool.
‘At least you took my advice to get it fixed,’ she said, nodding at the flat.
Dan smiled, just a little. ‘A
dvice?’ He looked around her workshop. ‘I’m starting to think you were just drumming up business.’
She broke into smile. He no longer saw her dirty overalls, just her beaming heart-shaped face, which kept him captivated.
‘Well, I can certainly use all the work I can get at the moment.’ Resting the rattle gun on the ground, Jonny stepped across to his tyre and looked it over. ‘You’re going to need a new tyre. I can replace it but I’d have to order it in.’
Even in baggy men’s workwear, all her curves were still visible and his mind wandered to what she might be wearing underneath.
‘Are you in a hurry for the tyre?’ she asked, facing him. Her hair had a slight curl to it, even when swept up in a loose bun.
‘Uh, no. I’m hanging around in town for a while, just a few months. There’s no rush. So . . . maybe you’ll let me thank you properly for sorting out my flat? A beer at the pub some time?’ The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider them. So much for his rule about not mixing work with pleasure.
‘You’re hanging around in Bundara?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her words trailed off and her vibrant green eyes widened as they took in Dan’s attire. ‘Oh my God. Please don’t tell me that you’re the new bank manager.’
‘Yeah. How did you guess? Was the shirt a giveaway?’ Automatically he checked it was still tucked in. ‘Come on. Don’t be offended just because I don’t own a truckie singlet or boots,’ he said in jest. The smile she’d been so generous with had disappeared. Something else now flickered across her eyes, and it wasn’t just from his bad joke.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll get it to you by the end of the week.’ Jonelle bent down, picked up the air gun and began to tighten the last few nuts on the wheel, dismissing him in the process.
Dan took a step back, his polished black dress shoes sliding across the dusty floor. With her one free hand Jonny waved goodbye, her eyes never leaving the job. Dan turned to leave, confused by her frosty dismissal. Hoping for another glimpse of those playful green eyes and her great Hollywood smile he turned back to Jonny, hoping she’d glance his way. But she never took her eyes off the tyre. There was something entrancing in the way she worked.
The Sunburnt Country Page 4
