Family Farm

by Palmer, Fiona

  Tugging at her hair, Izzy pulled out the clips and let it slowly begin to unravel as it fell to her shoulders. She would seriously have to avoid getting drunk around Will again. She didn’t want to do anything stupid.

  18

  IZZY was still sound asleep the following morning when Will knocked gently on her door before letting himself in. His feet were silent on the grey carpet as he moved up to the side of her bed, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast. A stack of hairclips and pins lay on the wooden bedside table, next to a couple of blue dangly earrings Izzy had been wearing the previous night. He liked the way she looked in her sleep, so angelic, especially with her brown wavy hair fanned out across the white pillow.

  ‘Izzy? Izzy?’ he said softly.

  Slowly opening her eyes, she screwed up her face at the morning light that peeked through a gap in the curtains. ‘Morning,’ she groaned, before shutting her eyes for a moment. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s eight and I was lonely. Come on, sleepyhead. I brought you some breakfast,’ urged Will, amused. It was strange but nice to see this unprepared and disorganised side of her.

  Izzy’s eyes opened more quickly again as she realised where she was and what Will was saying.

  ‘Oh, cool,’ she said, yawning and sitting up. Her hair bounced across her shoulders as the white sheet slid down over her soft, olive skin. Embarrassed, she clutched at the sheet with her hand, remembering she only had on a PJ singlet that sometimes didn’t hold much in. The sheet stopped just short of the nipple of one of her wayward breasts, like a ewe darting away from the rest of the mob. She tried to remain calm.

  Will, trying hard to move his eyes away from her, cleared his throat and transferred a cup to her bedside table.

  ‘Mmm, something smells good.’ Izzy watched the muscles in his arms as he unloaded the tray he was carrying. She realised that he was only wearing a pair of black silk boxers. Bugger. If only her eyes weren’t all blurry from make-up and sleep. ‘Have you just got up too? You slack arse, making me feel like you’ve been up for hours.’

  Will laughed. ‘Now, I’m not sure how your head is this morning, but I brought you some Panadol just in case, as well as some toast and a cuppa.’ He held the empty tray in front of him, trying to hide what the silky material of his boxers would not.

  Izzy took a quick moment to think. ‘You know, I don’t feel too bad. I should be okay after something to eat and a shower.’ She reached for a piece of toast. ‘You’re a star, you know that,’ Izzy said, before shoving the Vegemite toast into her mouth.

  Will laughed. ‘I’ve put a blue towel in the bathroom for you. Just help yourself.’ He left her to her breakfast, and padded quietly out of her room and back to the kitchen.

  ‘A girl could get used to this,’ she called after him.

  When Izzy walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, she found Will sitting at the table wearing jeans and a singlet and sipping his tea while reading the daily paper. His hair was sticking up at funny angles, and his suntanned back rippled with smooth muscles as he hunched over the West Australian. Izzy shivered slightly.

  ‘Where did you get the paper?’ she said as she sat down at the table. She had on her denim shorts and a T-shirt and felt fresh after her shower.

  ‘From the deli down the road. I ducked out while you were in the shower.’ Will looked across at Izzy, her hair tied neatly into a plait and her face free from make-up. He liked her like this. Natural. He lifted the white mug up to his lips before draining the contents. ‘Well, kiddo, what shall we do today?’

  Izzy shrugged. ‘I s’pose I should visit Dad again at some stage. Why? What else did you have in mind?’ She cocked her head and waited.

  Will shrugged. ‘Feel like catching a movie before we head home? There’s a few I wouldn’t mind seeing.’ He flicked through the paper to the movie section.

  Izzy nodded her head. ‘Yeah, that would be cool.’ She leaned over his arm to look at the paper. ‘What’s on?’

  Will looked at her sideways. ‘Just a warning – I’m not watching any crappy chick flick!’ he said sternly. ‘Let’s see what’s on at the Carousel at around eleven. See, there’s a few good ones.’ He pushed the paper over to her. ‘Here, you have a look. I’m gonna have a shower and get ready.’

  Izzy watched him put his cup back in the sink, then head off to his room. She was glad everything was back to normal. She was also relieved she hadn’t acted on impulse last night. He had been so damn irresistible, but she’d done the right thing. Their friendship depended on it.

  They stopped off at a newsagent later that morning on the way to visit Bill and picked up a few magazines. They didn’t stay with him long because he was about to have his dressings changed. Izzy’s mum was there too, so she got to say goodbye to them both.

  ‘Did you have a good time last night?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Yeah. It was great,’ Izzy grinned and then hugged Jean. ‘Now, remember you were going to have some time to yourself too. You really need it, Mum.’

  ‘Okay, I promise I’ll try but don’t worry about me. You just stay out of trouble at home and call me if you have any problems or you just want to talk. I miss the little chats we’d been having during harvest.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Jean looked at them both. ‘So what are you two up to now?’

  ‘We’re gonna go catch a movie before we head home. Some soppy chick flick that Will’s picked out,’ Izzy told them before they left.

  When they’d gone, Jean turned to Bill and said, ‘I’m so happy to see them getting on. It’s almost like watching Claire and Will together when they were younger.’ Bill had a twinkle in his eyes and nodded his head in agreement. Jean knew he was just happy to see them being civil to each other again, but Jean had the feeling there was something more between them, something perhaps that Izzy and Will didn’t even recognise yet.

  Izzy and Will managed to pick a film they both enjoyed, The Dukes of Hazzard, and they scoffed a large box of popcorn between them.

  ‘That was bloody funny. I’ve got sore cheeks from laughing so hard,’ said Izzy as they walked out of the cinema.

  ‘Shit, yeah. The car chase was awesome. Hey, how about some lunch, Izzy? Does HJ’s sound okay? Don’t know about you, but I’m starvin’ like marvin.’ Will rubbed his belly and licked his lips energetically.

  Izzy just rolled her eyes. ‘You’re real mature for a twenty-five-year-old,’ she teased.

  ‘Nearly twenty-six,’ Will corrected.

  Izzy laughed. ‘Even worse.’

  Hours later they found themselves approaching the familiar sights of Pingaring. Hungry Jack’s wrappers lay scrunched up on the floor of Will’s ute, among empty water bottles. A bag of jelly babies lay on the seat between them, opened and half empty with a handful of jellies strewn alongside, as if they were making a last-minute run for it.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re home already. Time’s just flown. I can’t wait to see Tom,’ said Izzy.

  Will pulled up next to Izzy’s house just as the sun was starting to make its slow descent to the horizon. The hum of the motor and the excited barks from Tom seemed muffled from inside the ute. Slowly, Izzy pushed open her car door and stretched out her cramped legs. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the fresh air that blew into the ute. ‘There’s nothing like home,’ she said, turning towards Will. ‘I don’t mind the city for a day or two, but it’s good to be back in the clean and wide open spaces.’

  Izzy didn’t need to tell him; her huge smile and the sparkle in her eyes easily expressed how much she belonged in this place. ‘I know. I feel exactly the same,’ he said, shifting slightly in his seat. His legs were getting numb from sitting too long.

  ‘Hey, thanks for the ride and all … you know … it was good,’ she fumbled.

  ‘Any time, kiddo.’ I had a great time too, he thought, as he watched her climb out of the ute. It had been hard at times, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and experience the thrill of kissing
her again, but he wasn’t ready to rock their new friendship. He had ruined too many when he was younger by rushing in without thinking, and he wasn’t going to risk this one. He was sure that, in time, his physical reaction to her would pass. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

  He watched her playing energetically with Tom before he backed up the ute and headed home.

  19

  ‘SO, we’re nearly done, eh? Just about six hundred head to go,’ said the burly head shearer. Brad may have looked a little rough around the edges, but Izzy knew he was a softie. He had been working her dad’s shed for a bloody long time. His greying hair was scruffy and his hard face unshaven. His bulky arms, emblazoned with tattoos from his youth, stood out against his black shearing singlet bearing the name ‘Jackson’s Shearing Team’ in white.

  Brad’s shearing team had been going hard for five days and this was their last day. That was if the rain that was predicted didn’t turn up. Izzy watched Brad amble back to his stand, pick up his handpiece and continue attaching a new sharpened cutter. Once on, he clicked it back on the down tube, placed it on the floor, and poured oil over the blades, ready for action.

  The remaining three shearers got their gear organised, while the rouseabouts organised their music for the day. As AC/DC’s ‘Dirty Deeds’ blared out on the CD player, Izzy took off her checked shirt and threw it into the corner of the old shearing shed. In her black singlet and dark-blue shearing pants, Izzy stood next to the skirting table ready to do her job as wool classer. She was close to the green hydraulic press, which she would use later to bale up the last of the wool. Leaning against the skirting table, which was black and grimy due to the build-up of dirt and oils from the wool, she surveyed the shed through new eyes. She was the boss of this shed, and everyone was coming to her with queries or problems. Hell, she was loving every minute of it.

  Sheep were crammed into the catching pens behind the shearers, heavily laden with thick wool, while many more waited in the outside pens. Izzy had penned them up early in the morning before everyone else had arrived. She looked across at the three dividers up against the back wall. They contained different grades of fleeces, and she would have to bale some up when she had time.

  Brad threw a glance at the clock, as the shearers each headed off and dragged back their chosen ewes. Holding the sheep between their legs, they picked up their handpieces ready to commence. Spot on seven o’clock a loud mechanical hum filled the shed and reverberated off the corrugated iron, as the shearers took the thick wool off the top of the ewes’ heads.

  Before long, the first fleece had been gathered up by one of the rouseabouts and thrown across the skirting table. It descended like a dirty white quilt cover. Izzy and another rousie, Todd, whose belly almost sat on the table but who did well for a fifty-year-old, skirted the edges of the fleece, and then rolled it up to the edge of the table before the next fleece landed. Izzy pulled a staple of wool from the fleece and checked its strength to assess its grade, then put the fleece in the relevant section ready for baling.

  It didn’t take long for the fleeces to build up and soon it was time to press another bale. She grabbed an armful of fleeces, her face buried in the oily wool. She bundled it into the empty bale bag in the wool press, compacting the wool down repeatedly so she could fit more fleeces in, until it met the required weight of the bale. Releasing the bale from the press, Izzy grabbed a fat marker pen and stencilled on the side of the bale the wool grade and farm name, Gumlea.

  ‘Todd, can you give us a hand, please?’ she called out to the nearest rousie.

  The wooden floorboards groaned and creaked under the weight of the bale as they rolled it towards the mounting collection. Sweat ran down her back as she rejoined the other rouseabouts back at the skirting table. Not much talking went on. The thought of how close they were to finishing had them heads down, bums up and hard at it. Before too long, it was time to fill up the catching pens and the yards out back. Meanwhile the rest of the team had their lunch, which was supplied by the team cook.

  Glad to escape the confined smell of wool and sheep poo for some fresh air, Izzy left Todd to press out some bales while she headed down the wooden ramp outside. She could see big, dark clouds brewing in the east and the smell of rain was strong in the breeze. Izzy made her way to the yards with Tom excitedly at her heels. She didn’t have to whistle for him – he knew what came next and was ready and eager to do his bit.

  Climbing over the wooden fence into the sheep yard, she headed to one of the grey weathered gates, parting the mob of sheep as she went. Tom, in the meantime, was racing around behind her, rounding them up. Opening the gate, she stepped back out of the way so Tom could push them past her through the narrow opening and into the empty pen beyond. The sheep kicked up the dusty soil as they went by and Izzy lifted a hand up to her face, wiping the dirt out of her eyes. She knew she would look a sight. The dust stuck to her sweaty face and exposed arms, which were already greasy from the lanolin in the wool.

  With both her and Tom working together, it didn’t take long before the last of the sheep were pushed up into the shed. She would have just enough time to get cleaned up and bolt down some lunch. Closing the gate, Izzy jumped when she heard an awful yelp. Panicking, she called out for Tom and then took off towards the agonised-sounding reply. She flew over the fence as fast as she could, her boots sending up a cloud of brown dust as she landed on the other side. Lying nearby was Tom, paralysed with pain.

  ‘Oh, Tom! What have you done, mate?’ Izzy’s voice trembled. She moved her hand carefully down his back towards his legs, feeling as gently as she could.

  He yelped out loudly and tried to snap at her hands to prevent her from touching what felt like broken bones in his spine. Looking around, she saw that he must have landed badly, twisting the lower half of his body on the timber and metal lying next to the yard. Tears welled up as she looked back at Tom, the pain evident in his eyes. Patting his head and rubbing his soft black ears, she tried to calm him down.

  ‘It’s okay, Tom. I know what to do. I’ll be back in a minute, mate. You just stay here,’ she added. He tried to follow her but his broken back caused him to howl in pain.

  Izzy knew there was no other choice, as vets were scarce out here. You never left an animal to suffer. It was a rule of the land. Flat out she ran, as fast as her long legs would allow, all the way to the workshop. Nearly slamming into the tall grey cabinet, she quickly unlocked it and grabbed out her father’s old .22 rifle and a couple of bullets to suit. Her feet thundered into the earth as hard as her blood beat through her veins. Her mind began to roam over memories of Tom – when she’d got him, the good times, his companionship – but she forced the thoughts away. She would need to concentrate.

  She wasted no time in getting back to Tom as quickly as she could. Kneeling down alongside him, she kissed his black nose and gave him an ear rub. Tom whimpered again at her touch.

  ‘Shh, it’s okay, boy.’ Izzy tried to soothe him. ‘I’m sorry to have to do this to you, Tom. You’ve been the best mate anyone could ever have. I will always treasure our time together.’ Her voice wavered as she fought to keep her emotions in control. She didn’t want to lose it in front of Tom – he could always sense her moods. ‘But I know this is the right thing to do. I can’t watch you suffering.’

  With one last hug, as gently as she could, she let him go for the last time and rose up to load the gun. ‘Goodbye, Tom. I’ll see you again one day and we can go round up some stray sheep.’ Tears welled in her eyes, as his sad brown ones watched her every move.

  Battling to keep her shaking under control, she eventually managed to load the gun, flicked off the safety catch and pointed it close to Tom’s head. If he knew his time was up, he was handling it well as he lay patiently waiting for Izzy to save him from his pain. Swiping at the sweat on her brow, she took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on getting a clean shot.

  She exhaled and the shot rang out, echoing over the vast land and off the corrug
ated shearing shed close by. Galahs rose from the nearby gum tree, squawking their protest at the sudden intrusive noise. Izzy stood there, the gun still in her hand, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was oblivious to the sound of the approaching vehicle or the fact that the activity in the shearing shed had stopped and the shearers were silently watching. No one came to help, but Izzy didn’t need it anyway. There was nothing anyone could do.

  It seemed like she had stood there for an eternity before she felt a hand caress her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know it was Will.

  ‘I was bringing back the pressure cleaner when I heard the gun shot.’ He reached out, took the gun from her, and placed it up against the fence before pulling her into his strong embrace. ‘I’m so sorry, Izzy. He was a good dog,’ Will whispered tenderly into her hair.

  After hearing this, making it seem so real, she couldn’t contain herself any longer and she cried into Will’s shirt. He just held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

  Before long, Izzy noticed the sounds in the shed as the shearers resumed work. She felt miserable. She’d just lost the best mate she’d had. He was like Claire – someone to talk to, someone to back her up, and someone to protect her. He was the only one who understood her. Hard to believe he was just a dog. For a moment, she smiled through her tears. Will was still holding her tight and rubbing her back gently and it made her feel safe.