He was greeted like the mate who’d been missing, presumed dead. No drink at the pub is better than this, Damien thought, grinning. He drove extra slow so as not to upset the warm little body pushing against his thigh. He’d never felt so needed, not even when his dad had been crook. His mum had always seemed to have everything under control. He remembered how they’d been given some help with the farm back then, but knew there’d have been no way she would have asked for it.
Damien’s mum turned up just as he was finishing his ham and cheese toasted sandwich. She dropped in most days on her way to and from town to check he hadn’t impaled himself on a star dropper while out fencing or fallen into a grain silo. Damien often thought she just visited to give him a hard time about the untidiness of his house and all the stuff that wasn’t done.
His mum had taken one look at Squish and turned up her nose in distaste. She’d never liked the idea of pets. Squish hadn’t taken to her either, growling every time she got too close to either him or Damien. A few minutes later he watched her from the kitchen window as she roared off, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. Damien picked the little dog up and told him not to take it personally. It was just the way she was.
Damien wasn’t sure why having Squish around got him thinking about how much more like his dad he was. Before he got sick and his personality changed, that was. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d realised it, but thought maybe it was the first time he hadn’t been beaten over the head with a guilt stick for doing so. His mother was really all he had left, so he felt the need to be grateful and everything. Not than he wasn’t genuinely grateful – damn right he was.
Dean McAllister had been the sort of bloke who couldn’t learn enough. He’d always looked up stuff in books or asked people for tips and ideas. Damien’s mother, Tina, on the other hand, would rather die than have to acknowledge a shortcoming by asking for advice. That wasn’t to say his father hadn’t had his stubborn side. There were heaps of people around who could, these days good-naturedly, recount animated debates with his father.
‘Look what you’re doing to me, Squish. Making me think too much. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Damien was heading up to retrieve the boom sprayer from the shed out near the back of the property when he got a call on his mobile. It was John Stening. He was helping Bert McDonald get organised for his clearing sale, which they’d decided to hold Saturday week, and was looking for more bodies. Wow, Bert wasn’t wasting any time. Damien agreed to go over a few days beforehand and lend his assistance.
The clearing sale was another local institution. The farm’s buyer usually got first dibs on the major plant, which was the case with McDonald’s, so the clearing sale was just that, a sale to clear the place. It was usually just piles of fencing gear, water pipe and fittings, small, often homemade, machinery and some household effects.
Damien thought the funniest thing about these sales was that you often saw almost new prices paid for stuff that had already started rusting. People paying fifty bucks for a pile of scrap metal they could probably have got for nothing if they’d only asked the bloke six months ago. That was what the thrill of an auction did to people.
Damien’s dad had loved a clearing sale. In addition to the excitement of hunting a bargain, the attraction for him was the socialising. A man could stand around chewing the fat for hours with blokes from all over the district he might only ever see at clearing and stock sales.
His dad rarely went to the pub, so the clearing sale was one of his few opportunities to socialise. The trouble was he always went with a trailer, just in case he found a bargain. Rarely did he leave without there being at least a thin layer of stuff covering the bottom.
But Damien knew he wasn’t much better. For his father it was the lure of a pile of old floorboards and assorted timber, for him it was scrap metal of any description. At the time of the auction, and Damien was sure his dad was the same, he could always think of why he needed the item. But when he got home he always found at least three piles of the same stuff growing in or behind a shed.
Being a tidy freak, his mother hated everything clearing sales represented. To her thinking, it was never really cleared, just scattered further around the district. She was right, of course, but there had been heaps of times she’d been pleased enough to accept old flower pots or plants for her garden.
Damien admired his dad’s craftiness in that way; even after he became someone else he still had the skill to stay sweet with his mum. He’d pull up by the house and drop his gifts for her by the back door where she couldn’t miss them on her way in after work. Then he’d go and distribute the rest of his trophies to the appropriate pile, always careful to have the trailer back in the shed, be showered and clean and in his recliner by her arrival time of just before five-thirty. Damien often thought if his mother still worked she’d bother him less and his life would be easier.
Damien hoped one day he’d get around to using some of his dad’s slabs of jarrah and blue gum, and finally claim back some of the shed space. But he could never burn it like his mum was forever suggesting.
Damien settled himself on the verandah with a beer. The day had turned out to be another hot one and he didn’t feel like sitting in the stuffy house. He leant against the house and watched the three dogs frolicking together. Cara and Bob were ganging up on Squish and treating him like the ring-in that he was. Nothing nasty seemed to be going on and Damien was impressed with how well the little bugger was managing to hold his own against the big dogs towering over him. Well almost. Despite being continuously chased down and rolled, he would jump up, give a cheeky little growl, and go back for more.
Damien reckoned he didn’t think his size was such a huge issue. If he grabbed onto a big tail the owner could only yelp and spin around until he let go. The little bloke had guts, but he was yet to realise not everything was a game and that being rescued from Bob’s clutches just added to the aggro.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday morning Jacqueline felt a strange sense of loss at being back to having breakfast alone again. She’d occupied herself the evening before by washing the sheets and towels and moving back into her bedroom. She’d fallen into bed exhausted and slept well. She’d really enjoyed her parents’ visit, but as she slowly made her way through her bowl of muesli she couldn’t help thinking it was all too perfect and that there had been more to their trip than visiting their daughter’s new home.
There were the occasional glances between them she had noticed but couldn’t read, and her father had barely mentioned his work, which was very unusual. And whenever she re-entered a room everything was silent, like they’d suddenly stopped speaking, whereas at home they read each other bits from the paper and chatted easily.
She silently scolded herself for being paranoid and trying to make something out of nothing. They had had a lovely weekend, end of story.
Jacqueline finished getting ready for work and headed off early, pleased that her growing client list would keep her occupied for the whole day.
After a full day, Jacqueline threw herself exhausted onto the sofa. But after a few minutes she found the same thoughts she’d been having that morning about her parents plaguing her again.
She was very happy to be rescued from her moping by Ethel knocking on the door bearing a plate of cheese and crackers. Ethel accepted the offer of a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers with the comment that she certainly needed one after an afternoon spent at the hospital watching a cousin with lung cancer gasping for breath. She told Jacqueline how tense it was being surrounded by a group of people who were known to constantly bicker but were desperately trying to remain civil in front of the dying man.
As she poured the wine, Jacqueline felt a sudden pang deep in her stomach. Perhaps one of her parents was ill and they’d come up to break the news but hadn’t got the chance.
She told herself she was being ridiculous. There had been plenty of opportunities over the weekend for them to
discuss serious news. She helped herself to another slice of Ethel’s delicious blue vein cheese and focused her attention on the tales of family gossip and minor scandal.
Stocking up on groceries during Wednesday’s lunch hour, Jacqueline was surprised to find Damien doing the same. She smiled and nodded at his trolley, which held nothing but tins of dog food.
‘That stuff’ll kill you,’ she laughed. ‘So you haven’t found the little fellow a home yet?’
‘I decided to keep him,’ Damien said.
‘That’s great,’ she said, smiling broadly.
‘The other dogs are having a fit, but they’ll get over it. And he’s keeping me entertained. Like first thing this morning I’m changing the oil in the ute and I’ve just put the tin of old sump oil outside the door and what does Squish do – that’s what I called him. Well anyway, don’t know how he did it but I heard this crash and a yelp and find he’s managed to fall right into the oil.
‘So, of course, I had to down tools and give him a bath before he licked it off and got sick. Normally I would have been pissed off about being interrupted and everything, but he’s just so cute you can’t get grumpy with him.’
‘I’m so glad it’s working out. Dad said he thought you’d keep him,’ Jacqueline added.
‘How are they, anyway? I really enjoyed meeting them. Sorry about barging in like that, but I …’
‘No worries. They enjoyed meeting you as well.’
‘You’re lucky to have both your parents, you know,’ Damien said thoughtfully.
‘I know,’ Jacqueline said, unsure if he was going to continue or not.
‘I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately, you know, like you suggested.’
Jacqueline looked about her, concerned about who might be listening. The last thing either one of them needed was an audience, especially if Damien was about to get deep and meaningful.
‘Would you rather talk about this in my office?’ she asked, looking up at the large clock above the exit door at the end of the store. ‘I’ve got a bit of free time. I just have to finish getting a few things here and then I’m heading back to my office,’ she added.
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve got Squish in the ute,’ Damien said.
‘Bring him in with you,’ Jacqueline offered quickly, sensing Damien’s interest waning.
‘Okay then. If you’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. Just give me ten minutes.’
Jacqueline had only just got settled behind her desk when there was a knock on her door.
‘Come in,’ she called, and Damien entered.
‘This looks good,’ he said, gazing around the freshly painted office.
‘Thanks,’ Jacqueline said. She was really pleased with the colour she and Ethel had chosen and the good job the painter had done. She thought even the carpet and curtains looked a bit better, despite having nothing done to them.
‘I like the colour,’ he said.
‘Thanks, your Auntie Ethel helped me choose it.’
‘It’s just blue enough to not look too girly, I reckon,’ Damien said, and then blushed. ‘Not that I would know,’ he added shyly.
‘You know what you like, that’s really all that matters,’ she said, smiling warmly. She grinned at the rugged-looking Damien being so careful with the mound of towels. Squish’s white and tan head protruded regally from the folds. After being placed on the floor in the corner, the puppy looked about briefly before wriggling into a more comfortable position and falling asleep. Damien sat in the chair on the other side of Jacqueline’s desk.
‘Oh, he’s so cute,’ Jacqueline cooed.
‘Yeah, he’s the best,’ Damien replied.
‘He’s very lucky you found him the other day.’
‘Nah, lucky for me, I reckon,’ Damien said, smiling warmly at the mound on the carpet.
‘Well, must have been fate, that’s all I can say,’ Jacqueline offered. ‘So, tell me about your father.’
‘It’s not much really,’ Damien shrugged. ‘Just that I reckon I’m more like him than I ever thought.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Well, it pisses me off a bit.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I reckon I’ve … I don’t know … wasted years being … this sounds ridiculous, but … not being … not being me, if that makes any sense.’
‘Yes. In what way?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know why I said it.’
‘Okay, so if you’re not being yourself, who do you think you’re being?
‘Maybe what Mum wants.’
‘Instead of being more like your dad?’
‘I don’t know. I just wonder if I would have been different.’
‘You mean if you hadn’t lost your dad? It’s never too late to change, but I don’t think it’s healthy to have regrets.’
‘Yeah, I suppose. Pretty selfish, huh?’
‘It sounds to me like you’re beginning to understand yourself better. How was your dad different?’ Jacqueline prompted.
‘Well … Mum says never to ask for help or advice, but Dad was always asking other people stuff, and wasn’t afraid of someone thinking he was an idiot for not knowing something.’
Jacqueline thought given her experience with Tina McAllister that it was lucky Damien was here speaking to her at all. It showed tremendous bravery that he was prepared to go against the wishes of someone who was so clearly a major influence in his life. She picked up her pen and noted her thoughts on the pad beside her.
‘And what do you think?’ she asked, taking extra care to keep her tone low and even.
‘I’m beginning to think Mum might have it wrong.’ Jacqueline looked up at him and smiled sympathetically. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, Damien.’
‘But I feel so guilty even thinking that.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I feel like everything would have been so different, better, if Dad hadn’t died.’ Damien shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with having the words out in the open.
Jacqueline watched as Damien nibbled at his lip, as if mulling over what he’d said. She wanted to tell him it was nothing for him to feel guilty about, because there wasn’t. But her professional training ensured she held back. He had to come to that conclusion on his own. You couldn’t tell anyone else how to feel. She waited for him to continue, but was forced to speak when the silence went on too long and threatened to become tense.
‘Different in what way, Damien?’ she urged in barely more than a whisper.
‘Um, well,’ Damien said. He shifted in his chair and frowned before looking up and locking his eyes on Jacqueline. ‘I think writing in the journal has really helped, but I’m not sure thinking about Dad so much is such a good idea,’ he blurted.
Jacqueline thought she detected a croak in his voice. Were there tears forming in his eyes? Her heart lurched. He was so different to any patient she’d ever seen before. He seemed so innocent, so vulnerable, like he was half the age he was. She thought there was enormous strength inside of him too, having lost his father at that age but he just hadn’t realised it. He might, she thought, if he stopped being so hard on himself. She held her tongue and silently prayed that he wouldn’t be frightened by his own thoughts and get up and leave.
Damien frowned, looked down at his hands and began rubbing them together. He swallowed hard. Squish stirred in the corner, and as if picking up on the tension in the room, got up and went to Damien’s chair.
Damien picked him up. ‘It’s okay, little mate,’ he said, stroking the dog tenderly.
Jacqueline watched the touching moment and stole a covert look at her desk clock. She really hoped he’d open up soon, because she had an appointment in just over an hour. She didn’t want to interrupt him at a crucial moment. She shifted in her own chair, and Damien seemed to take the cue.
‘I don’t know how else to say this, but I feel like my life’s been a waste of time.’
Jacqueline had to concentrate on keeping her mouth shut and not staring at him. She was momentarily stunned and unsure how to reply. Lucky for her Damien had found his voice again.
‘There, how ridiculous does that sound?’ he said, rubbing the dog’s ears. He seemed a lot more relaxed.
‘Not at all, actually,’ Jacqueline said. ‘We all need to feel we’re doing something worthwhile with our lives.’
Damien suddenly appeared a whole lot more relaxed. Jacqueline wasn’t sure if it was getting the words out that had caused it or having Squish in his lap. Regardless, she felt comfortable with stepping things up a notch.
‘So let’s go back a bit,’ she said. ‘When you were young, what did you want to be when you grew up?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Take your time. It might help to also think about what sort of things you enjoyed doing.’
Damien took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘Well, as a kid I was always building things, out of steel with Grandpa and wood with Dad. I always wanted to be just like them. They were both farmers, so I guess I was always going to be a farmer,’ he concluded exasperated.
‘So tell me about your grandfather. Is that the one on your father’s side?’ Jacqueline asked.
Damien closed his eyes and began to recount memories of his grandpa McAllister, beginning with a visit to the farm back when life seemed so much simpler.
They had been sitting under a pine tree by the sheep yards, enjoying warm drinks from the individual thermoses his grandmother had packed them and eating soggy ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches wrapped in waxy paper. Damien thought it must have been a weekend because his grandfather had a job in town during the week with one of the small engineering firms. During the war he’d helped build aircraft in a factory in Adelaide, but that’s all he knew because Grandpa never talked about the war apart from occasionally grumbling that he didn’t get to do his real duty.
Wattle Creek Page 17
