Standing Strong

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Actually, would you mind if we put an audio book on?’ Eileen said, pulling a box out of her handbag. ‘Perfect for long drives, we’ve found.’

  ‘Oh. Okay, what is it?’

  ‘A Phryne Fisher mystery by Kerry Greenwood. We’re loving the series on the ABC.’

  ‘Sounds good. Just slide the disc in there,’ Jacqueline said, pointing. She tried to ignore the narrator’s voice and focus on running through the main points of her upcoming talk while Eileen and Philip were silent, but before long she was listening intently and engrossed in the story.

  *

  Jacqueline was surprised to see the big green sign to Charity Flat up ahead. It seemed like only minutes had passed, and her nerves had been kept at bay for all that time. She had never listened to an audio book before, but what a great idea for whiling away hours travelling. She’d have to get some. She slowed down to make the left turn at the T-junction, as directed by the sign and Paul’s instructions. She wondered where this one local attraction he’d mentioned was. Oh, well, she’d just keep driving straight ahead. Paul would have told her if she needed to turn anywhere else to find it.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ Eileen said, pointing ahead and slightly to their right.

  ‘Lordy, is that a big kangaroo?’ Philip said.

  ‘That must be the local attraction. Paul said we couldn’t miss it,’ Jacqueline said, checking her mirrors before turning in.

  ‘He was right about that,’ Philip said.

  ‘Is it meant to be funny?’ Eileen said.

  ‘I’m really not sure.’ Jacqueline frowned. She smiled at remembering Paul’s wink and cheeky grin. ‘Apparently it’s made it onto Sunrise,’ she offered, parking the car and pulling on the handbrake.

  ‘I hope that’s because someone was taking the piss.’ Philip said.

  ‘Philip!’

  ‘Sorry, but there was no other way to put it. I’m finding this quite perplexing.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the point,’ Eileen suggested.

  They got out and walked around the huge concrete structure, which Jacqueline estimated to be about two stories high. It was clearly depicting a kangaroo, but the proportions didn’t quite seem right.

  ‘Right, well, according to this,’ Philip said, standing in front of an information plaque, ‘it was a giant kangaroo, but a big wind took the top section off a few years ago and it got shortened during repairs. Now it’s a big wallaby.’

  ‘I think I would have been inclined to tear the thing down and start again,’ Eileen said. ‘Let’s see what the shop has to offer.’

  They stepped inside and the screen door shut with a loud metallic slap behind them. ‘Oh dear,’ Jacqueline heard her mother mutter. She followed Eileen’s gaze to the sign announcing the best hot dogs in Australia – kangaroo hot dogs, no less. She exchanged wide-eyed expressions with her parents before moving through to where they could see tables of souvenirs – stubby holders, magnets, key rings – and a stand of postcards. Jacqueline was trying very hard not to laugh. She was now avoiding looking at Eileen and Philip, who were picking things up to show each other, clearly on the verge of laughter themselves. It was lucky Jacqueline couldn’t quite hear their whispered, earnest commentary, she’d crack up for sure.

  ‘I’m getting this as an olive leaf for Ethel,’ Eileen said when they’d made their way right round the small room. She held up and shook a small plastic dome. ‘See, it’s the monument. And it’s got brown dust instead of snow or glitter floating around.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Philip said, sounding less than impressed. ‘And I think you mean olive branch, dear.’

  ‘Yes, quite right, silly me,’ Eileen said, chuckling, as she headed back to the counter. The place was eerily silent. It wouldn’t surprise Jacqueline if the shop operated on an honour system. Though someone had to be there, if only to put together a hot dog made from the meat of the animal they were celebrating out front. She just couldn’t shake how wrong that seemed. An image came to mind of Damien’s cute little joey, and she shuddered. Though she supposed it was no different to eating lamb and seeing lambs frolicking in paddocks in spring.

  They had a good drive around the town, marvelling at some of the lovely old homes, and then easily found the RSL hall and its car park. Jacqueline cursed the return of her nerves as she parked the car and got out. Nothing you haven’t done before, she told herself.

  ‘Here you are,’ Paul said, suddenly materialising beside her.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, startled, when he pecked her on the cheek.

  ‘Hello again, Mr and Mrs Havelock.’

  ‘Oh, Philip and Eileen, please,’ Philip said, waving a hand.

  ‘We’ve got a great turnout,’ he said, looking pleased.

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks,’ Jacqueline said.

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll do great,’ Paul said, beaming at her, clearly picking up on her nerves.

  God, I wish you were here, Ethel, she thought, as he led her up the steps with her parents trailing along behind.

  ‘So, you found us okay?’

  ‘Yes, no problems, thanks. You give good directions.’

  ‘And the big question of the evening is, did you find the big wallaby-slash-kangaroo?’ he said, grinning.

  ‘We did indeed,’ Philip said. ‘Please tell me that’s some sort of joke,’ he added quietly, leaning in close to Paul.

  ‘I think so, dreadful thing. But it’s got the town divided: half love it and are very proud of it, the other half thinks it’s the most hideous thing ever and should be torn down. There’s even a family that’s been split, thanks to their strong opposing opinions.’

  ‘No, surely not,’ Jacqueline said. ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Yep. Better believe it.’

  ‘Right. Got it. Don’t mention the monument,’ Philip said, grinning and tapping his head with his finger.

  Like always, Jacqueline’s nerves subsided after she’d got her first few sentences out. As she usually did, she started by introducing herself, explaining the role of a psychologist, how talking to someone could help with all sorts of things, and that a conversation with her would remain confidential. She expressed her sympathy for those who’d been affected by the recent devastating fire and then relief that no lives had been lost, which took her nicely into suggesting people take the fire as a bit of a wakeup call to get their affairs in order.

  ‘It would be wise, as part of your fire management plan, if you haven’t already done so, to put together a folder of documents that, if lost, would make life very difficult. People often think of packing clothes, photos and a few treasured items when preparing to flee. But what happens if you’re not there or it all happens so fast you can’t pack anything? You’d be standing there with just the clothes on your back and maybe your car keys and wallet – or handbag. You no longer have your filing cabinet with your documents for identification, your insurance policy details – who do you call? What about your bank details? It’ll be a lot easier, and quicker, to start sorting through things and piecing your life back together if you’ve at least got the basic information. If you’re computer literate, scan everything and save it to a cloud-based system so you can get to it anywhere on any computer. Backup your digital photos, scan your old ones. Perhaps the tech savvy can help those who aren’t – maybe make it a community project. Perhaps the school computer science class could help,’ she said a little excitedly, as the idea that had come to her gained momentum.

  She shot a questioning glance across to Paul. He was nodding, a thoughtful expression on his face. A lot of other people were nodding too, and whispering animatedly to each other. Good, she was making sense, helping. But it was just common sense, not really anything to do with her role as psychologist. She was just hoping they’d take something away from tonight, even if they thought psychology was a load of bunkum, or word had got around about her predicament and they didn’t trust her.

  ‘Other than the obvious benefits, being prepared will help you feel more empowered
if the worst happens,’ she added. ‘Taking charge of something – no matter how small it is – can sometimes be the difference between coping and not. When bad things happen, it’s really easy to fall into a pattern of negative thinking and a feeling of helplessness, which can then easily turn into depression. But having something to focus on that will help you claw your way back really does help. And being aware of and acknowledging how you feel and addressing any negative feelings is really important. Don’t let things fester. I know you country folk tend to not want help, and you like to keep things to yourselves. It’s good to be strong and independent, but don’t avoid seeking help because that’s the norm. If you’ve been through a fire, for example, that’s not normal, so throw any misconceptions or rules out the window. Having someone listen to you can really help. So don’t bottle it up and deal with it alone.

  ‘But it’s also wise to be a little careful about where you seek help and who you open up to. Now, I’m not just drumming up business for myself,’ she said with a wry smile, and was pleased to hear tittering and a few chuckles make their way around the room. ‘But it’s a fine balancing act. Well-meaning friends and family can sometimes do more damage than good with their words. For example, saying to someone who has lost their home and worldly possessions that at least no lives were lost isn’t helpful to someone who’s feeling completely bereft, which is a very valid reaction. Instead of cheering the person up, it can make them feel guilty for being devastated about their loss and in turn, make them reluctant to talk about it and how they’re feeling, which is really important.

  ‘So, as a friend or family member, be really mindful of your words. Choose them carefully. Try to imagine how you would feel if the situation were reversed. And for those of you who are suffering, be kind to yourself. Choose to spend time with those you feel understand you, those who say what you need to hear at that time. Don’t feel pressured to be with people who make you feel worse, no matter who they are. What you feel is unique to you and your situation. No one has the right to judge how you feel. So, rather than have someone’s words drag you down more, it might be best to politely excuse yourself from the situation. Also, I would say, be wary of those who think they know what you need because they’ve known you for a long time. With something like a fire or any other traumatic or highly emotive situation, as I’ve said, I think it’s fair to say it’s often a new playing field. Treat it as such and draw up new rules if you need to – whatever it takes to get you safely through something tough as intact as possible.

  ‘And I think I’ll leave it there. Thank you for listening, and please know there is help available if you want to reach out.’

  Paul joined her on the stage. ‘Thank you so much, Jacqueline, you’ve given us a lot to think about. Extra big round of applause, everybody, for the lovely Jacqueline Havelock, especially for giving up her evening and driving all the way up here from Wattle Creek,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, accepting the cellophane-wrapped bottle of red wine he handed her.

  Hearty applause erupted. Jacqueline hoped they weren’t just being polite. She was pretty sure it was one of the worst talks she’d done – it had been disjointed and hadn’t flowed well enough. But it was too late now, she thought, as she stood beside Paul, smiling out at the crowd below the stage.

  ‘Oh, I forgot, are there any questions?’ he asked when the noise had died down. He scanned the crowd.

  No hands went up. Wow, that’s never happened before, Jacqueline thought. She hoped it was a good sign.

  ‘Well, clearly you’re all feeling shy. Fair enough. I’m sure Jacqueline will be only too happy to answer any questions over a cup of tea.’

  Jacqueline smiled and nodded in an effort to appear friendly and inviting, though she wouldn’t mind the opportunity to have something to eat and drink – she was suddenly very hungry.

  ‘Okay then, a lovely spread awaits us in the supper room, so feel free to head on through and tuck in, people.’

  Jacqueline enjoyed hearing another healthy round of applause start up as Paul ushered her off the stage, down the steps and through to the supper room.

  By the time the crowd started dispersing, Jacqueline had barely managed a sip of tea, thanks to, as usual, a constant stream of people coming up to her – mainly to tell their own stories and be friendly rather than asking actual questions. She was positively starving, and exhausted, when she and her parents finally made their way outside with Paul. She was very pleased to hand over her car keys to her dad when he said he’d drive.

  ‘The supper was lovely. Thank you for a great evening,’ Eileen said, getting in the car. Jacqueline’s mouth watered at hearing the word supper. It was an hour until they would be home in Wattle Creek. She’d even eat a kangaroo hot dog, if the souvenir shop was still open.

  ‘Your talk was fantastic. And thanks again so much for coming up,’ Paul said, hugging Jacqueline and pecking her on the cheek. ‘Maybe when everything is sorted out we can see if it would be worth you coming up once a month, or something.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’d have to ask Doctor Squire – he’s my boss.’

  ‘Just something to think about.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’d better let you go, you’ve got a bit of a drive ahead.’

  ‘Thanks for inviting me.’ God, what a thing to say! Clearly she was far too tired and it was starting to get far too awkward between them. She needed to get out of here.

  Thankfully, Paul stepped back with a wave. ‘Drive safely. I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Thanks. Yes, see you later.’

  ‘You did really well. We’re so proud of you. Aren’t we, Eileen?’ Philip said.

  ‘We certainly are. You gave everyone a lot to think about, including us,’ she added thoughtfully.

  Jacqueline wondered if they were referring to Ethel, Damien, or both – well, they were connected, after all.

  ‘Now, what would you like first, a sausage roll or a sandwich? I can recommend both,’ Eileen said from the back seat. Jacqueline turned and saw that there was a foil-wrapped plate on her mother’s lap.

  ‘Oh, wow, and just when I’m starving. Mum, you’re an absolute lifesaver!’

  ‘As much as I’d like to take the credit, it’s all Ethel and Paul. Apparently she texted him with strict instructions to do you up a plate.’

  ‘Sausage roll, thanks.’ Oh, bless you, Ethel, Jacqueline thought, almost weeping with relief and gratitude.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Damien stared at his coffee, dazed. He was dog tired from wrestling with his conflicting feelings towards his mother and worrying about the future. He thought he heard a vehicle pull up quite close outside, but ignored it, used to people coming and going over at the building site, which he’d all but lost interest in. It was his mother’s place and by the sounds of it, she would be reclaiming it very soon – either to sell or to live in herself. The slam of a car door and then footsteps made him tilt his head. Damn it, the last thing he felt like was company. It wasn’t Auntie Ethel, the footsteps were too light, and the series of gentle taps on the thin aluminium of his door confirmed it – Auntie Ethel always gave one hard rap before entering with a cheery, ‘Hello, anyone home?’

  He got up wearily, struggling to ease himself onto his feet. Squish was on the floor, tail wagging, ready to be the doorman. Damien opened the door slowly. A small, slim girl with red eyes and a tear-stained face stood before him. She’d obviously been crying, for hours by the looks of her. Damien felt his heart lurch slightly. He thought there was something familiar about her, but perhaps it was just the fact her wan expression was one he’d seen in the mirror before and would again, if he cared to look. She twisted her hands in empty belt loops.

  ‘Hello. Can I help you?’ Damien asked.

  ‘Um. You said you take all sorts of animals and don’t kill them?’

  It was more a question than a statement. Damien experienced a brief moment of clarity: the girl from the supermarket. She w
as familiar, though he didn’t know for the life of him which local family she belonged to.

  ‘We sure do, and we certainly don’t,’ Damien said, fighting to sound professional. ‘Do you have an animal you want to surrender?’

  ‘No. Yes. Well …’

  Damien stood watching and feeling very awkward as tears ran down her face. She looked about twelve, but couldn’t be. There was no one with her. He glanced over her shoulder to double-check if someone was waiting in the ute with horse float attached. She was alone. Should he put his arm around her? No. He was meant to be standing there as a business person, providing a professional service. Anyway, he had enough problems of his own, enough sadness of his own. He didn’t need anyone else dragging him down. And if anyone wrapped their arms around him he might never let go. He was seriously running the risk of dissolving himself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally snuffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. ‘I need to go. Where shall I put them?’

  ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Two horses. And an, um, emu.’

  Damien felt a shiver creep down his spine. He hated emus – had ever since being pecked at Auntie Ethel’s farm as a kid. Shit. He tried to pull himself together. The emu was not his only worry. Two horses? He hadn’t had a thing to do with horses for years. Didn’t want to admit it, but their size bothered him. Businesslike, Damo, get a grip. He couldn’t leave this poor girl standing there sobbing. He had to at least say something.

  ‘Would you like to come in? Talk about it?’

  ‘I don’t want to do it, but I have to. But they’re my best friends,’ the girl wailed.

  ‘Come inside,’ he said, holding the door open and stepping aside. He glanced back at the silent horse float as he closed the door. Hopefully the animals inside were okay to stay put for a bit.

  He turned to get the girl a glass of water and when he turned back she was seated, patting Squish, who had his head in her lap. Damien felt a surge of gratitude to the dog for being his lifesaver.

  ‘Thanks,’ the girl said, accepting the glass and the box of tissues he’d taken from the bench.