Family Farm

by Palmer, Fiona

  Claire reappeared in her jeans and T-shirt, her hair back up in its ponytail.

  ‘Well, now we’ve done that, who wants to go cut up on the bikes?’ Claire stood with her hands on her hips and a smile that could have melted ice.

  ‘I do,’ Izzy jumped in, always keen to do anything Claire would. Izzy thought she was just the best, and at thirteen, one of the perks of hanging around with her was that Will was there too. Oh, how that had changed!

  Izzy watched Dave head back to his truck and yelled out, ‘But you’re welcome to buy me a beer the next time we catch up under the tree if you like.’

  Dave swung around and smiled. ‘You betcha, Izzy. Thanks again.’

  As she headed back to her ute she began dreaming of that cold beer again.

  6

  THREE small black flies buzzed around outside the kitchen window, trying to find a place out of the heat. Izzy was tempted to take the fly swat and finish them off, but she knew there’d only be plenty more to take their place. Hunched over on a stool, sipping tea from a large mug, Izzy contemplated eating another slice of carrot cake. Jean sat erect beside Izzy, her square shoulders pinned back as she delicately drank from her own cup. She was a vision that wouldn’t look out of place in a flash city-style apartment, with a young man catering to her every whim.

  Chatting quietly at the breakfast bar, they found themselves, yet again, talking about Bill. Izzy often shared her problems with her mum, hoping that she would get the hint and offer her some support.

  ‘I could do so much on the farm, Mum. Help make ends meet. I have my truck licence now and I could be running in some small loads when Dave can’t get back in time.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Izzy, but your father wants more for you than the farm, and I think it scares him too much.’

  ‘Come on, Mum. Everyone knows what happened with Claire was an accident. Even WorkSafe came to the same conclusion. How long is Dad going to hold her death over me? Surely he knows how much this place means to me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.’ Izzy bent her head and played with her watch, trying to remain calm.

  The day Claire died Izzy had been at high school and, in a way, she’d never forgiven herself for not being there for her. She knew that was stupid because there was nothing she could have done. But it was just one of those situations where ‘what if’ played constantly on her mind. Izzy had been nearly seventeen and Claire only just twenty. Dad had left Claire fumigating one of the silos while he went to get some more poison. It was very high, older-style silo with a simple metal ladder up the side to the peak at the top. She’d been leaning over the hole at the top when a strong willy-willy had gone through, causing her to lose her balance and fall. Bill found her below, on the concrete slab, soon after it happened. But it was too late. She’d already died from massive internal injuries.

  Izzy’s whole world had fallen apart that day. It had started as just another uninteresting day at school. She wished her dad had let her go to the ag school just out of town. It would have been so much better to drive farm machinery, put in crops and do other interesting stuff outside. Instead she had to sit inside all day writing, and she just found it all so boring! Relieved that another day was over, she’d leisurely strolled back to the hostel where the country kids boarded. Schoolbags swung at their hips, filled with black lever arch files, and thick biology and history books. Their white uniform shirts sat half untucked over their grey skirts and shorts. She remembered catching sight of her parents standing in the car park off to the right, which sat behind the enclosed pool. They’d looked anxious as they watched the kids returning from school, trying to spot Izzy in the sea of grey and white.

  At first, surprised by their visit, she’d run to them with delight. But the unexpected vision of their miserable faces soon left her with a wave of goose bumps.

  ‘Hi, Mum, Dad,’ she’d greeted them. ‘What are you doing here? Is something wrong?’

  Her mum’s face had never seemed so old. Rings surrounded her red swollen eyes, and her normally perfect postured body was slumped against Bill. She’d never seen her dad so solemn, so ghostly in appearance. Something was seriously wrong. She passed her bag to her friends. Her parents took her hands and walked her away from the flow of rowdy teenagers towards the large green recreation shed.

  ‘Izzy, something so horrible has happened,’ her mother whispered quietly, as tears started to fill her eyes.

  Izzy couldn’t begin to imagine what was making her parents so distraught. ‘Mum, you’re scaring me.’ Nervously, she’d begun to chew at her fingernails. ‘Where’s Claire, anyway? Why isn’t she here?’

  She couldn’t understand it. If this was so important, why wasn’t her sister here? It hadn’t even crossed her mind that Claire might have been involved. Not until she’d heard her parents’ sharp intake of breath, and seen the hollow look in their eyes.

  Dad’d had to support her mum, who by now had started to shake. As the tears broke free, and rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks, she reached out to Izzy for comfort. Clinging to her tightly as she sobbed, it had finally dawned on Izzy.

  ‘Mum, please. What’s happened?’ She remembered feeling faint and ill. ‘Is Claire hurt?’ She had to know. What had happened?

  The answer had come from the deep but unrecognisably feeble voice of her father. ‘I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. She’s … she’s gone,’ he’d choked out.

  Everything had been a blur after that – going home to the quiet, empty house and the funeral plans. The truth was almost too painful to bear. She had buried that memory deep within her, squeezed it into a tiny ball that was locked up tight so the pain couldn’t keep resurfacing. It had been the hardest time in her life.

  She thought back to the funeral. They’d buried Claire in the local cemetery so she’d be close by. It had been an overcast day and as usual a gale was blowing. She remembered seeing Will standing next to her dad, the bottom of his black suit jacket flapping in the wind and his fringe flicking about his face. It had made her seethe, seeing him so close to her dad. How dare he? she’d thought. He’d ruined the last few months of Claire’s life, causing her pain – such incredible pain. Izzy would never forget the way Claire had cried. Will wasn’t a part of their family, yet there he was, standing alongside them. Was she the only one who’d thought that was wrong? He’d worn sunglasses to hide his eyes and his head hung as low as hers felt. He’d been holding a small box in his hands. She’d watched him carefully, finding it too hard to look at Claire’s coffin and cursing the lump that was lodged in her throat. They’d put a large photo of Claire by her grave. It had been taken the previous Christmas and she’d been laughing at a joke. She looked so vibrant, the twinkle in her blue eyes alive with laughter, but Izzy couldn’t bear to look at that either. Watching Will, she’d seen his shoulders trembling and her dad’s unsteady hand grab Will near his neck. He’d gripped so tightly that Will’s suit scrunched up beneath it. She’d wanted to scream, ‘Hug me!’ She needed her dad’s embrace. He should have been holding her, not Will. Izzy had put so much energy into her jealousy that she couldn’t remember a word the minister had said. She hadn’t noticed the tenderness of her mother’s hand on her back or the amount of tears that had streamed down her face.

  As Claire was lowered into the ground, Izzy had gone over and dropped in the red rose she’d been holding. She would’ve gazed into that hole for ages had her mum not pulled her back. Moving away, she’d seen Will kneeling beside the grave and heard the sobs coming from his shaking body as they’d mixed with her own. He’d brought the small box to his lips and kissed it gently, leaving a smear of tears on the white lid before dropping it into the deep opening. She’d never given his pain a thought until now. He really had been torn, like half of him was heading down into the earth. It was just how Izzy had felt. Why hadn’t she noticed it until that day? And how could he have hurt Claire so much, if he’d obviously cared so deeply? Had he only just realised he did love her? Something didn’t sit well in her mind.r />
  In the months that followed she’d almost failed Year Twelve, but the thought of having to repeat had kept her slugging on. Claire would have hated her to wallow in self-pity. She had been a lover of life. And she’d always wanted the best for Izzy. Just for Claire, Izzy was going to try bloody hard to be happy and strive for what she wanted. But that had proven to be easier said than done.

  An annoying fly brought Izzy’s thoughts back to the quiet kitchen. ‘I miss Claire too, Mum, but I have a life to live my way. Why can’t Dad see that?’

  Jean reached across and held her daughter’s hand. ‘Why didn’t I see before how much being on the farm meant to you?’

  ‘Maybe because you wanted me to go to uni and become a teacher?’

  Jean looked to the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I know you wanted more for my life but I never would have been happy. Anyway, who gets to say one job is better than another? I think if you’re doing what you love, then it’s no one else’s business.’

  ‘You’re right, love. I guess I just wanted a better life for you than I had. It’s not easy living out here, you know that.’

  Izzy put her hand on her mum’s shoulder. ‘I know, Mum, but that’s what makes it special. They breed us tough out here.’

  Jean got up and took her empty cup to the sink. ‘And don’t I know it! So when are you heading over to Betty’s?’

  ‘About fourish.’

  In fact, she headed over at three o’clock to visit Uncle Jim, who was driving a header. When Aunt Betty brought up afternoon tea to them, Izzy took over driving and let Uncle Jim have his cuppa on the back of the ute. They looked a sight, Aunt B in a light cotton dress with plenty of bright pinks and yellows, and Uncle Jim with his knobbly legs sticking out from his blue work shorts and his wide-brimmed hat that flopped over his ears. Eventually, after a short break, Uncle Jim called her up on the two-way and ask her to bring his header back. When she stopped after the next lap, she gave him a hug. ‘Cheers for that, but I could have kept going. I don’t mind.’

  Jim laughed. ‘Yes, but I do. Betty had chewed my ear off after ten minutes. This is the only time I get some peace and quiet to myself. Anyway, you’d better head off. If I know Betty, she’s cooked you up a feast of cakes and God knows what else for your afternoon tea. You could use some more meat on ya.’

  ‘Uncle Jim!’

  Izzy left him to it, ran back to her ute and headed to their place. It was an old house with a high tin roof sticking out from behind the large trees and shrubs that had been planted around it many years ago. She parked out the front next to an old red Ford Falcon, and warned Tom not to chase the numerous cats she knew would be wandering around. Izzy pushed through an old metal gate, which squeaked at the hinges, and followed a little concrete path up to the door. Big bougainvilleas and bottlebrushes hung over the path and large lilac trees covered everything in shade. The lilacs had always been her favourite as a kid. They were so easy to climb, and their little white and purple flowers would cover the ground with colour in spring.

  Izzy stepped onto the concrete verandah and tapped on the flywire back door. ‘Hel-loo. It’s me.’

  Aunt B’s voice floated to the door. ‘Come in, Izzy. I’m just taking some scones out of the oven.’

  She slipped off her boots and walked into the house. The ceilings were high, which helped keep the house cool during summer, except the kitchen. Aunt B was usually cooking so the temperature was always ten degrees hotter there. Following her nose, Izzy headed to the kitchen where Aunt B stood with a tray in her gloved hand, transferring scones to a plate. She just about disappeared in the busy-looking kitchen with all its pots hanging from the wall and little ornaments everywhere. Decorative chooks, roosters and cats sat on benchtops, the fridge and the windowsill, and frilly lace curtains hung above the sink. A round dining table in the open kitchen was loaded with cakes and little pots of jam and cream. It was so full that at first Izzy missed seeing Jess sitting at the end of the table. Jess had just taken a bite of sponge cake, had cream on the end of her nose, and was quickly trying to swallow her mouthful so she could say hello.

  Jessica Painter had not changed at all. She was still tiny, her thin frame barely visible over the towering cakes. But her hair was different – it used to be long and curly but now she wore it straight and tucked back into a clip. The blonde highlights in her brown hair brought out the light flecks in her hazel eyes. Her face was long and elegant and she looked so delicate that you’d be afraid to play-wrestle her in case you broke her.

  ‘Hey, Jess. Long time no see.’

  ‘You too, Iz,’ Jess replied.

  Aunt B handed Izzy a plate and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, love, and grab something to eat. I’ll make the cuppas.’

  ‘Thanks, Aunt B. You’re a legend.’ Izzy pulled out a chair and sat down. Reaching across, she helped herself to the warm scones and jam and cream.

  ‘So I take it you sold your little Datsun?’ Izzy asked Jess.

  Jess went to laugh and just about choked on her cake. ‘I wish. I rolled it a year back. The shire had just re-sheeted the gravel road and it was slippery as anything.’

  ‘Oh, no! What a bugger. The old Dato had seen some good times, hey? You remember when we drove it down to Bremer Bay for the New Year’s Eve piss-up?’

  Jess slapped her hand on the table. ‘Hell, yeah! We’d spent all our money on grog and had to sleep the night in the car. Those were the days, hey, Iz? So, what’s your score? Are you really back home to stay?’

  ‘Yep. There’s nothing like home. I’d like to help run Gumlea but Dad’s not to keen on the idea. What about you? You still living around here?’

  ‘Yeah, but I travel to Lake Grace every day for work. I’m working at the Shire now, doing secretarial stuff. I wanted to move into town but there’s nothing to rent. It’s too expensive. This way I pay Mum and Dad rent and I get my meals cooked and washing done. It’s heaps easier.’

  Jess picked up some papers stapled together from a pile of magazines on the table. ‘Here – have you read the latest Gumtree Gazette? I typed this one up.’

  Izzy took the local paper from Jess and read through the three pages of local news and events. ‘Wow, Goose is engaged. Who’d he find to marry?’

  ‘Some pommie chick who was working on the bin last harvest. She stayed on and hasn’t left. Think they’re getting married next September.’

  Izzy scanned the birthdays. There were only five names listed. ‘It’s Jodie’s birthday next week. You see much of her?’

  Jess shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘Here and there. I’ve been invited to her birthday do, but I don’t really want to go. She’s turning twenty-six but she’s having a big party like it’s her thirtieth. Has daddy’s money, will spend it. She hasn’t changed a bit. Except that she’s given up chasing Will.’

  ‘You’re kidding. We thought they’d be perfect. Two rich people, perfectly suited.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’ Jess paused. ‘Since Claire’s death Will hasn’t been the same guy. We never see him out and about, and if he does come to a party, he’s pretty quiet. No more drinking games or yahooing. And girls – my God, we think he’s gone off them. Seriously, I don’t think he’s had a girlfriend in the last few years. If he has, he’s kept it to himself.’

  ‘Wow, that’s not like Will.’

  ‘He has dinner with us every now and then,’ Aunt Betty added.

  Izzy screwed her face up and swung around to face her. ‘True? Really?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’s been trying to make up for the time he crashed through the front paddock and took out the fence. Jim spent all morning getting the sheep back off the road.’

  ‘But that was ages ago. I was even around then.’

  ‘I know, but he’s really matured up. He’s a sweet lad.’

  Izzy turned to Jess and rolled her eyes. Time for a change of subject, she thought. ‘So, Jess, you got a fella?’

  Jess’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘Oh, do tel
l. Who is he? Do I know him?’

  ‘It’s Travis.’

  ‘Trav with the dreadies? Sweet. How long you been going out?’

  ‘About a year now. He wants me to move in with him on the farm. But I know he just wants a live-in cook and cleaner.’

  Izzy laughed and helped herself to some sponge cake. Aunt B caught her eye and smiled. Izzy was really enjoying catching up with Jess. It was as if they’d never been apart. They had so much to talk about and Izzy soon realised how much town gossip she’d missed. Who’d sold up and who’d bought what, who’d left town and who’d shacked up with whom. They went on well after all the cake and scones had filled their bellies so they looked like over-pregnant ewes. Aunt B had even packed them doggie bags to take home. Izzy promised to call Jess soon. They were both pleased to have picked up their friendship where it had left off.

  As Izzy watched Jess drive off in her Ford, she couldn’t help feeling less alone in the world of men. It wasn’t something she thought about often, but it could get kind of lonely sometimes out here, and it was good to know that she still had some female friends to talk to and have a laugh with. She was so glad Aunt B had invited Jess along.

  7

  A WEEK later Izzy was still no closer to getting on the header. Sure, she’d sneak off to Uncle Jim’s and kick him off his for a while, but it wasn’t the same as being on her own. She wanted to be doing the work, not taking rides like a little kid. She found herself inside again, away from the heat and flies, with her mum, having another cuppa. Being a farmer’s wife would drive her mad. She didn’t understand how her mother handled it. Stuck inside, doing housework, waiting by the two-way in case you were needed to bring out smoko.

  ‘Mum, I’m so bored.’

  ‘There’s some washing to hang out if you like?’

  ‘Muuum.’ Izzy slumped her shoulders.

  ‘I know, love. It’ll be better when your father’s not so stressed. You know how his blood pressure skyrockets during harvest. We’ll work on him when he’s not so touchy.’