Dinner at Rose's

by Danielle Hawkins

  ‘Jo?’ Matt croaked.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is everything . . . okay?’

  ‘The farm, you mean?’

  ‘Mm.’

  I smiled. ‘Yeah.’ If it’s affection in public you’re after, Matthew King is never going to be your ideal man. ‘No major dramas. Three new calves this morning, and milking went fine.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Where’d you put . . . cows?’

  ‘The milkers are in paddock forty.’ We’d had to leave the cows standing in the race after milking this morning until it was light enough to find them a paddock with sufficient grass in it. They had been most indignant about this treatment and returned in a body to the shed to complain.

  ‘Shit,’ said Matt, which was discouraging.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Spread . . . effluent . . . there,’ said Matt.

  ‘But we had about a hundred mil of rain last night,’ I said. ‘It’ll all have washed off, don’t worry.’

  Cilla raised her head and looked at me with scorn across Matt’s bed. ‘Grass that’s been spread with effluent is very high in potassium,’ she explained. ‘And potassium inhibits the uptake of magnesium, so the cows are more likely to go down. Especially in bad weather.’ You dumb townie. She didn’t actually say that last bit, but I could hear her thinking it.

  Cheers, Farmer Barbie, I thought back. ‘Well, we did drench them with causmag. Andy’s putting them in that long narrow paddock with the poplars tonight – is that okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Matt. His eyelids drifted shut, the effort of keeping them open being more than he could manage. ‘Thanks.’ Then, ‘You’ll have to do a . . . hot wash . . . tomorrow.’

  ‘Matthew, darling,’ his mother said tenderly. ‘Don’t think about the farm. You just need to rest and get better.’

  He paid her not the slightest attention. ‘Remember how, Jose?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But it’s written down on the back of the milk room door, isn’t it? And Andy’ll help me figure it out. Where do you want the cows tomorrow?’

  ‘Josie,’ said Hazel quietly.

  ‘Sorry, but I need to ask.’

  ‘It’s hardly important right now, is it?’ she said. ‘Matthew’s very weak – he’s lucky to be a-alive . . .’ She pulled a hanky from the sleeve of her cardigan and pressed it to her eyes.

  ‘Milkers in seventeen,’ said Matt. He moved his head restlessly. ‘Springers have two more breaks, but give them both and don’t worry about feeding out. And . . . call Kevin Goulding about . . . relief milking.’

  ‘We did. He’s busy this weekend, but he’ll come on Monday.’

  ‘Good girl.’ He opened one eye just the merest sliver and smiled at me crookedly.

  ‘JOSIE,’ SAID KIM, ‘you muppet.’

  ‘Be nice to me,’ I said defensively. ‘Or I’ll cry. It’ll be the next level down.’

  We located the car eventually, five minutes after I announced it must have been stolen. It was two levels up from where we had started, behind a pillar that I was privately certain wasn’t there when I parked it.

  ‘Give me the keys,’ Kim ordered.

  I fished for them in my bag. ‘No.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Because I’m older and uglier than you. And I had at least some sleep last night, which is more than you can say.’ I unlocked the car, and we climbed in.

  ‘I reckon I got at least half an hour on a chair in the waiting room.’ She sighed and leant her head back against the seat. ‘The surgeon told us he’s lucky to be alive. They couldn’t get the rescue helicopter in through the storm, and he could easily have bled to death during the ambulance ride.’

  I gulped, started the car and backed smartly into the pillar. There was a short, shocked pause.

  ‘Shall I drive?’ Kim suggested.

  I swallowed. ‘Okay.’

  Chapter 40

  ‘GET OUT OF it,’ I said, gently because after all they were orphans now.

  Nobody paid the slightest attention.

  ‘Get out of it!’ Kim roared, and dogs and pig fell back, abashed. ‘You’ve got to say it like you mean it, Josie.’

  I passed her the takeaways and patted Percy. He leant his full weight against my leg and squinted up at me lovingly. ‘Traitor,’ I told him, scratching him behind his left ear.

  It was very nearly dark, and the cloud had lifted just a little to sit on the shoulders rather than the knees of the ranges. It looked like it hadn’t rained for at least half an hour, which made a pleasant change, and smoke curled up lazily from the kitchen chimney. Kim went in while I fed the dogs and gave Percy three apples from the shelf in the woodshed. Then I went slowly up the path and let myself in at the kitchen door.

  The kitchen, bleak enough when I left it to depress even the most determined optimist, now radiated warmth and comfort. Kim was unwrapping fish and chips at the table while across the room Andy crouched in front of the roaring stove, critically adjusting the damper. His hair, lacking its normal half-kilogram of wax, stuck up at the back like duck fluff and he had missed that tricky spot just below the elbow while scrubbing, so that he had a green stripe on the back of each forearm.

  ‘How did the afternoon go?’ I asked, opening the fridge to hunt for the tomato sauce.

  ‘Fine,’ said Andy. He closed the door of the stove and stood up. ‘A bloke from the bike shop came out with an old quad bike to use until Matt’s is fixed. Or written off.’

  The bike had actually started when Chris went to retrieve it that morning, only to stop halfway up to the shed as the last of its oil drained out of the crack in the tank. And retrieving a hundred and fifty cows from a two-hectare paddock on foot – in the rain, mind, and with only the light of a torch – made Dallas Taipa’s socks look pretty good.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to walking all the way to the back of the farm to get the cows in the morning.’

  ‘I thought you liked that sort of thing,’ mocked Kim. ‘You’re always heading off up some random hill to feel the wind on your face.’

  ‘I like it less at half past four in the morning in the rain,’ I said.

  Kim served our fish and chips off Aunty Rose’s favourite silver platter with the wart-like grapes. She had set out the good crockery and the silver salt and pepper shakers in silent tribute to her aunt, and filled a little lattice-work china bowl with lemon wedges. Aunty Rose was fond of quoting the late Isabella Beeton at meal times, and used to inform us that a well-laid table was one of the refining influences that home should bring to bear upon the young mind. And this from a woman who died at the ripe old age of twenty-eight – I bet she was the life and soul of every party. Of course, Mrs Beeton wouldn’t have approved of me either. I have spent years perfecting the art of simultaneously straightening my hair, moisturising my legs and

  ‘How’s Matt?’ Andy asked.

  ‘Three broken ribs,’ said Kim. ‘Internal bleeding, a hole in his liver, a catheter because he can’t get up to pee – is that all, Josie?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘He’s a sort of pale grey colour and they’ve got him on so much morphine he can hardly keep his eyes open.’

  ‘Bloody hell. He’s not going to be farming for a while, is he?’

  ‘According to him,’ said Kim, ‘he’ll be fine by Monday.’ She ate a chip in a pensive sort of way. ‘Idiot. He’s awful when he’s sick.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said. ‘We’ll tie him to the chaise longue by the ankle, or something. Andy, did you get a look at the roof before it got dark?’

  Andy nodded. ‘The builder came over to the shed on his way home. He said he’s just tacked it down and covered it with a tarpaulin, but he thinks it’ll keep out more water than it has for years. He didn’t want to do anything more serious, since the whole place is bug—’ Realising a little too late that this was hardly a tactful remark when the house’s owner was not yet cold in her grave, he stopped abruptly and took a large bit
e of fish burger instead.

  ‘Poor old house,’ said Kim softly. ‘Dad always said the only thing keeping it together was the borers holding hands. But Aunty Rose didn’t care.’

  AFTER DINNER I left the two of them washing dishes and withdrew to the swamp at the end of the hall to continue the happy job of sopping up water with a towel, wringing the towel out over a bucket and every now and then getting up to empty the bucket into the bath. Half an hour later I was cold and wet and getting fairly sour about the whole thing, but the swamp had not noticeably diminished. I wasn’t sure why I was bothering anyway – the sensible thing to do would be to remove the books and crockery and about a tenth of the furniture from the house and bulldoze the rest flat. A smidgeon callous, perhaps, but it was that or plant rice along the hall, because at the current rate of progress I’d be here till sometime next year.

  ‘Josie!’ Kim called.

  I dropped my sodden towel into the bucket and went back into the kitchen to see Andy and Scott nodding to one another and exchanging gruff and manly greetings, about an octave below their normal voices.

  ‘Mate.’

  ‘Mate.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Beauty.’

  These formalities having been observed, Scotty put down his motorbike helmet and turned to Kim. ‘I’m sorry about your aunt,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Kim.

  He unzipped his leather jacket and shrugged it off. ‘She was a top lady.’

  Kim nodded. ‘Y-yes,’ she whispered. Andy tore a paper towel off the roll on the windowsill and wordlessly passed it over, and she wiped her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ She rested her cheek against his shoulder, and he put his arms around her.

  The tenderness in this little display made my throat ache, but Scotty was affected quite differently. He tightened his mouth into a disapproving line, hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and did his best to look scary. His best wasn’t bad, just quietly.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Andy, wasn’t it? You’re in a band, I hear.’

  Andy looked somewhat taken aback. ‘Uh, no,’ he said.

  ‘That was the last one,’ I explained. ‘We quite like this one.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Scotty.

  ‘Scott,’ Kim said wearily, ‘don’t be a dick.’

  ‘Don’t you get fresh with me, young lady. I remember the day you laid an enormous turd and painted a window with it.’

  ‘Scotty!’

  ‘That was mean,’ I observed.

  ‘I wasn’t even a year old!’

  ‘Man, it was disgusting,’ Scotty continued reminiscently. ‘Were you there, Jo?’

  ‘No,’ I said. And as punishment for that exceptionally low blow I added, ‘I wasn’t there when you got caught short on that bus in Jordan, either.’ Matt had, however, described the incident in vivid detail over the phone.

  ‘I was sick,’ he protested. ‘And the bastard driver wouldn’t stop. It could have happened to anyone.’

  ‘I heard he stopped, alright. And you had to get changed on the side of the road, and you tried to scrape your clothes clean with a stick, and then he made you leave them behind anyway.’

  Scott grinned, unembarrassed. ‘Pissed me right off,’ he said. ‘And it was my Rip Curl boardies. They cost me a fortune, and I had to leave them in that miserable desert.’

  Andy smiled and picked up his keys, looking somewhat relieved that he wasn’t, after all, going to be beaten up by a rat-tailed thug. ‘What time are we starting in the morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Cups on at five?’ I suggested. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘See you at the shed at four-thirty, then,’ he said gallantly.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Make it five. I’ll get the cows.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yep. Thank you so much for all of this, Andy.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, ducking his head in embarrassment.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Kim said softly. She reached up and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Ahem!’ said Scotty pointedly.

  ‘Shut up, Scotty.’

  ‘I’ll take you home to get a change of clothes and then drop you back here,’ Andy offered. ‘Okay, Jo?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But why don’t you just return her in the morning?’

  Scotty’s eyes fairly bulged with horror.

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Kim, and they retreated back into their sockets.

  ‘Good girl,’ he told her approvingly.

  Andy looked somewhat downcast.

  ‘I’m not leaving you here by yourself,’ Kim told me.

  ‘I have Spud,’ I pointed out.

  Kim looked across the kitchen at Spud, who was stretched flat on his side in front of the stove, snoring gently. ‘Yeah, but he’s about a hundred years old. And he doesn’t have any teeth.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Hey, Scotty?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Want to stay the night and look after Josie?’

  ‘What, while you traipse off with this seedy-looking bugger? No offence, mate.’

  ‘None taken,’ said Andy cordially.

  ‘Good man.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, alright, then. Piss off.’

  ‘Cup of tea?’ I offered as Andy’s car vanished down the drive at high speed – in case the chaperones changed their minds, presumably.

  ‘Why not?’ said Scotty idly, leaning back against the kitchen bench. ‘What happened to your car?’

  ‘I ran into a pillar in the hospital car park.’ I hefted the kettle experimentally, found it was nearly full and switched it on.

  ‘Blinded by tears as you rushed to Matt’s bedside, were you?’

  ‘Shut up, Scotty.’

  ‘Well, there’s a nice thankyou for dropping all my Friday-night plans and rushing over to make sure you were alright.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said repentantly. ‘Did you have Friday-night plans?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ said Scott. ‘You know me. Booked up for months in advance – new woman on my arm every week . . .’

  ‘Waimanu’s most eligible bachelor,’ I agreed.

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

  ‘I wasn’t!’ I said. ‘Chocolate biscuit to go with your cup of tea?’

  ‘You can’t just buy my forgiveness with chocolate biscuits, you know.’

  ‘Not even Jaffa Thins?’

  ‘Nope.’ He looked pensive. ‘Mallowpuffs, perhaps.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘Thank you for coming over. How did you know Matt was in hospital?’

  ‘He rang just before,’ Scotty said.

  ‘How did he sound?’

  ‘Like a bloke who’s been run over by a truck.’

  I winced.

  ‘He’ll be alright,’ said Scott comfortingly. ‘Very hard man to kill. He asked me to come and check up on you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, slightly taken aback. ‘Thank you.’ It’s funny how when you become the girlfriend you are instantly transformed in the eyes of your partner from reasonably capable adult to delicate blossom. It’s sort of sweet, I suppose.

  ‘So, are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I assured him. ‘Although Aunty Rose’s house feels all wrong without Aunty Rose in it.’

  ‘I always liked coming up here,’ Scott said. ‘You always got put to work, but you didn’t mind. She was a very cool lady.’

  ‘She was,’ I agreed, hunting through the biscuit cupboard and finding that we had neither Thins nor Mallowpuffs. Very poor form from the grocery shopper – we would have to settle for Shrewsburys, and jam in a biscuit is a poor substitute for chocolate.

  ‘When’s the funeral?’ Scotty asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Wednesday, perhaps. But they might put it off if Matt’s still in hospital. Hey, Scotty, would you mind coming round the cows with me before you go?’ I would probably be able to find the calving cow by myself, but my chances of cutting her out and getting her to the shed without bringing everyone else too were slim to none.

&nbs
p; ‘I’m staying the night, aren’t I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ I said morosely. ‘Every bit of this house except the kitchen is freezing, and most of it’s underwater.’

  We had our cup of tea, went round the cows and decided that any more work on the swamp in the hall was above and beyond the call of duty. So we had a brief argument about whether or not I was fit to be left alone for the night, and then retired to bed.

  ‘Hey, Jo?’ Scotty called as I went down the hall from the bathroom.

  I looked around the kitchen door. He was stretched on the chaise longue with a blanket, and he lifted his head and said, ‘I know a bloke who’ll fix your car up for you. Panels, paint – the lot. Under the table.’

  ‘Does this bloke spend most of his time repainting stolen cars?’ I asked.

  He grinned. ‘That would be telling.’

  I grinned back. ‘’Night, Scotty. Thanks for staying.’ I didn’t really believe the man lurked on the fringes of the criminal underworld, but he liked us thinking he did.

  Chapter 41

  I WENT DOWN the corridor of ward twelve, turned expectantly into the end room – and found the far bed occupied by an elderly Indian man with his leg in traction.

  ‘King?’ repeated the nurse on reception. She shook her head. ‘Not in here. Perhaps he’s in a different ward.’

  ‘He was here this morning,’ I said. ‘I talked to him on the phone. I’ve come to take him home.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Then he’ll be waiting in reception.’

  It took me another fifteen minutes to locate him, during which I think I toured most of the hospital. But finally, more by accident than design, I stumbled into a reception area and found Matt reading The New Zealand Gardener, wrapped in a dark green velvet dressing-gown and with a lock of hair falling most artistically over his brow. ‘G’day,’ he said.

  ‘G’day. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better.’

  I bent and kissed him. ‘You look a bit like Hugh Hefner.’