With her charge now sleeping soundly, Jacqueline concentrated her attention on Ethel and Damien, who were both tending the kangaroo, still sprawled out on the floor. Ethel spread a thick layer of blankets and together they eased the limp, heavy body onto its bedding.
‘How is he?’ Jacqueline asked quietly.
‘He seems less stressed. His heartbeat’s calmer and some of the redness has eased,’ Damien replied, without taking his eyes from the animal.
Ethel carefully draped a clean, white sheet over the creature, cooing, ‘There, there, little one, you’ll be all right.’ Dark, innocent black pebble eyes blinked and peered through long curling lashes at her and Jacqueline thought her heart would melt into a big puddle on the floor. Carefully Ethel stepped around the kangaroo and went out to the hallway.
Jacqueline watched her as she put a strange sack thing over the back of a kitchen chair, and gave up the joey when Ethel reached for it. She laughed in delight as it did a somersault into the furry bag Ethel held open for it.
‘Just like their mother’s pouch,’ Ethel explained.
‘Wow,’ Jacqueline gasped.
Ethel placed a bowl of water and a dish of pellets of some sort onto the floor and pulled at Damien’s sleeve, whispering that they should give the animals some peace. ‘Go and wash up and I’ll find us something to eat,’ Ethel said, now at the sink. She turned on the tap and picked up the bar of soap from the sink. Reluctantly Damien untangled his long legs, got up from the floor, and trudged slowly across the kitchen.
‘Sorry people,’ Ethel said quietly, unloading an armful of plastic bags and tubs from the fridge onto the dining-room table. ‘Has to be cold meat and salad. Don’t want to fuss about in the kitchen and disturb our patients any more than necessary.’
‘No worries,’ Damien replied, beginning to unwrap a package.
‘You two must be starving,’ Ethel said, coming back into the room with plates and a loaf of bread. ‘Make yourselves at home. And for goodness sake, tuck in,’ she urged them.
‘I could eat a horse,’ Damien said, as he scrunched a slice of ham and shoved it into his mouth.
Jacqueline suddenly remembered how hungry she was and as if on cue stomach acid began biting, searching for something to work on. ‘Thank you so much, Ethel,’ she said, opening two slices of bread on her plate and piling ingredients upon one. ‘For everything,’ she added.
‘Always happy to help,’ Ethel said, beaming.
Soon all three were silently engrossed in satisfying their hunger with the thick, roughly made sandwiches.
‘So how did you know what to do with the kangaroos?’ Jacqueline asked between mouthfuls.
‘Intuition,’ Ethel shrugged, keeping her gaze on the dainty lavender print plate in front of her.
‘She’s being far too modest,’ Damien said. ‘She’s been doing it for years – has a permit and everything.’
‘Did and had,’ Ethel corrected. ‘So don’t tell anyone they’re here,’ she said, tapping her nose and winking conspiringly.
‘What do you mean, “permit”?’ Jacqueline asked, before stuffing the last corner of her sandwich into her mouth.
‘You can’t keep protected species without a Parks and Wildlife permit, otherwise you can get fined.’
‘Surely not if you’re trying to help them?’ Jacqueline said, frowning.
‘No exceptions. But they’re not that hard to get. You just have to prove your motives and have the right facilities in which to keep them. That’s why the department wouldn’t renew mine when I moved into town.
‘It’s fair enough; too may people think it fun to own native animals as pets. Until they become unmanageable, which they do. But it’s too late for the animals then. Though, things have got a lot better since the seventies when almost everyone around here had their own Skippy.
‘If they’re injured it’s slightly different, but once they’re strong you should always attempt to release them. Sometimes they can never be released and that’s when they have to live out their lives in captivity. But even then, they still need their own habitat.’
‘You should have seen Auntie Ethel’s set-up,’ Damien said proudly, looking directly at Jacqueline.
‘Nothing flash,’ Ethel said, before taking another bite.
‘Aw, you’re far too modest,’ Damien said, waggling a finger at her. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, addressing Jacqueline, ‘you want things rustic, not flash, to replicate nature. She had acres of runs with lots of native trees and shrubs and half the time you couldn’t find the animals unless you searched. Just the way they need it. Had a good record of release she did too, even got a service award a few years back.’
Jacqueline noticed Ethel’s cheeks flush slightly, but she kept her eyes down at her plate.
‘Enough of me,’ Ethel said suddenly, looking up. ‘What are you going to do Damien, love?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got a few ideas, but I think I’m just going to let things sink in and go with the flow for a week or so. I’ve got the sheep to see to and there’ll be quite a few fence posts to be replaced. That’ll keep me out of trouble for a bit while I think things through.’
‘Now you know you can stay as long as you want, don’t you?’ Ethel asked.
‘Yeah, thanks. I’ll stay tonight and probably tomorrow as well, if that’s okay?’
‘Stay as long as you need. I’ve still got a heap of Uncle Gordon’s clothes that I’m sure will fit you.’
‘I hadn’t even thought about clothes. I suppose people will kick up a fuss it I stay in these much longer.’
Jacqueline smiled at his humour.
The trio’s constant lapsing into silence was a sign of the day’s pressure. Jacqueline began to yearn for the solitude of her home across the road.
‘I’m going to get going,’ she said, after wiping her hands and mouth with a paper napkin. ‘Thanks so much for tea, Ethel.’
‘Don’t feel you have to rush off. It’s only early,’ Ethel said.
‘Poor Damien’s probably dying for a hot shower. I’ll leave you in peace,’ she said, carefully rising and pushing her chair back from the table.
‘Don’t forget, Damien, if you need to talk, just pop in anytime. See you Squish,’ she said to the sleeping puppy lying on the floor near Damien’s chair.
At the front door she said, ‘Thanks again,’ to Ethel and gave her a hug. She wanted to bury her head in Ethel’s soft shoulder and be held in her grandmotherly embrace forever. But she knew Damien needed Ethel more, so reluctantly she prised herself away and headed down the drive.
Pausing at Damien’s ute, she gave the dogs a pat. Overjoyed to have the attention, they wagged their tails appreciatively and licked her hand. She was pleased to see they had been given soft bedding, a bucket of water and, by the looks of the few bony remains in an old saucepan, meat.
Back in her lounge room, Jacqueline slumped into the welcoming softness of the closer of the two sofas and reached for the television remote. It was only seven o’clock and while she felt exhausted, she didn’t want to go to bed so early. Anyway, the hum and flicker of the television was more comforting than the dark silence of her bedroom.
Jacqueline nodded off and dreamt of flames creeping up to the house, slowly and gently licking at the rosebushes; nothing like the ravaging, hungry devastation she’d witnessed just hours before. It was only when the knocking in her head refused to be identified or go away that she was finally roused from her dozing. After rubbing her eyes furiously and dragging herself off the sofa, she glanced at the DVD’s digital clock. It was after eleven-thirty.
Her heart raced as she went quickly to the door, wondering what bad news awaited her. Beads of perspiration prickled on her forehead as she cautiously pulled the door ajar.
‘Mum, Dad!’ she cried, throwing the door aside, opening her arms wide and embracing them both. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, pushing back the tears and lump in her throat.
‘We didn’t want you going through t
his all alone out here,’ her father said.
‘So we packed a few things and here we are,’ her mother added. ‘Can we come in?’ she enquired.
‘Oh yes, sorry,’ Jacqueline said, recovering her composure and standing aside to let them in. ‘This is a wonderful surprise, thank you. But it was only a car.’
‘Nonetheless, you’ve had quite a shock. We know the car is only a small part of it. Actually,’ Philip said with a sheepish grin, ‘as soon as we got off the phone from you we rang Ethel, for the real story. So you don’t have to be brave for us.’
Jacqueline closed the door as the tears spilled freely from her eyes. ‘I’m just being silly,’ she sniffed, as she was guided back to the sofa.
Chapter Twenty-one
Monday morning the young buck was up and about when Damien stumbled into the kitchen after a sleepless night. He thought the kangaroo seemed a bit better, but knew not to get his hopes up.
The farm dogs had installed themselves on the old blankets Ethel had fished out and placed on the front porch. Damien sat with them for a short while. They looked up momentarily from the large bones they feasted on. Damien thought it was like Squish knew what was going on, because he refused to let his master out of his sight for two seconds, not that Damien minded the puppy’s attention.
His auntie Ethel never ceased to amaze him. Here she was, at seventy-something, putting the finishing touches on a bacon and egg breakfast for him after spending most of the night looking after the orphaned wildlife and feeding them again in the early hours of the morning.
He knew he was lucky to have her.
After breakfast they let the buck out onto the back lawn. He looked stiff and sore but enjoyed a bit of a graze, which Damien took to be a very good sign. He thought it amazing the animal could even move given the pain he must be in.
He found himself wondering how Jacqueline was. His auntie Ethel had told him her parents were going to drive over a day early to be with her. He was pleased she’d have them to lean on, but couldn’t help thinking he’d have liked the job himself. He knew she’d want him to go and talk to her about the fire and everything, like, professionally. Later, he decided.
Damien wondered when it would all hit him and he’d get all depressed again and really need Jacqueline. He found it weird that Jacqueline, who was supposed to really understand how he felt because she was qualified and had helped him so much, looked like she was the one waiting for him to flip out. And it was Auntie Ethel who looked at him like it was all just part of life’s plan and he’d be fine. And he was. Well, so far anyway.
He supposed it was like how he’d heard it said people were only dealt what the higher power thought they could cope with.
Damien had always loved his auntie Ethel for what he called her kind of lived-in style, but his mum called ‘rough as guts’. It always pissed him off when his mum would put her down as if she was the poor end of the family.
When he was a kid there had been some chairs kids weren’t allowed to sit on and heaps of ornaments and things they weren’t meant to touch. But at his auntie Ethel’s, nothing was off limits and the kids always had a ball.
Although, Damien could only remember staying overnight the once. Mum must have been desperate for a sitter, he thought, and recalled that he and Lucy had been sick most of next day from all the cake mixture and lollies they’d eaten. His mum was furious. Dad had smirked and said something like ‘half your luck’, but a steely look from Mum soon shut him up. At the time Damien couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong and why it was so long before they were even allowed to visit again.
Jeez, Damien thought with a sigh, it’s bloody weird not to have a home. He had planned to pull the thrashers and screens out of the header today – a prick of a job that he was definitely not going to miss. ‘Good riddance to the rusty old bucket of bolts,’ he said, giving the snuffling Squish a squeeze.
Damien thought he might go and have a poke through the ashes a bit later. He wanted to look for the remains of his dad’s antique guns.
He went back inside the house to find his auntie Ethel had laid out a selection of clothes on the spare bed. They were all pretty awful, but he made his choices and got dressed. Uncle Gordon had always worn his trousers loose and held up with suspenders. Damien now had to do the same, and he felt a right geek. Thank God it was cooler today and he could hide them with a light jumper.
He’d always thought his uncle had been on the short side but now realised it must have been because he got around a bit stooped, probably from lugging too many sacks of wheat and fertiliser in the old days. Damien was glad farmers didn’t have to do that any more. Even with the braces hidden he still reckoned he looked like a freak. The extra height he had on Gordon meant his uncle’s multicoloured socks stood out for all to see. They were Auntie Ethel’s creations: long, thick woollen numbers that must have been part of some private joke because even though his uncle Gordon was considered one of the district’s true characters, he still couldn’t imagine him willing to be seen wearing bright socks in public.
Gordon had been one of those blokes who always appeared to be deep in thought, taking everything on board and analysing it. Damien only heard of him getting really fired up twice. Once when he caught some kids at the showground tormenting a baby galah with sticks and the other when some older kids were trying to get their blue heeler to pull them around in their billycart. A great friend to all animals was Uncle Gordon.
He’d died from a heart attack a few years back doing what he loved best: grooming his Clydesdales for the show. Bang. Just like that. No suffering, just standing in the sun with his beloved Sailor.
Word was Sailor was more distressed than Auntie Ethel. She was more thankful he’d enjoyed his life and hadn’t suffered in the end. His auntie Ethel always said that when your number was up, your number was up.
Just a few months after Gordon died she’d moved into town and had once told Damien it was because she didn’t want the animals as a constant reminder she’d lost her best friend and the only man she’d ever loved. Sailor gradually got over his grief and went on to be one of the West End Brewery horses that pulled the huge cart of barrels at the Royal Show. Everyone said Gordon would have been so proud to see Sailor fulfilling one of his lifelong dreams. Damien thought it was a pity it had only happened after he’d died. Life seemed to be so cruel like that. The other seven horses, four donkeys and three pet emus went out to a distant relative’s sheep station to retire in peace.
As silly as Damien looked, he was thankful for his auntie Ethel’s tendency to hoard. The last thing he wanted was to be getting around in public in one of her dresses and crocheted shawls. He still felt a bit of a dickhead, but accepted beggars couldn’t be choosers. Which was exactly what he was right at that moment.
Jacqueline answered Damien’s knock and he could see she was trying very hard not to smirk as she took in his appearance. He helped her out by doing a pirouette and laughing.
‘As you can see, Uncle Gordon was a walking fashion statement. I’m just not sure what he was trying to say,’ he said.
Jacqueline laughed. ‘Come in,’ she said, ‘my parents are here.’
‘I know. Auntie Ethel said they were coming early, plus their car’s in the drive.’
‘So it is,’ Jacqueline said, and blushed slightly.
To Damien she looked as amazing as ever, dressed in a burgundy suit with her hair up.
‘I’ve got to rush off to work soon, but please stay and have a cuppa,’ she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she led the way to the kitchen.
Philip Havelock stood to greet Damien and took his outstretched hand in both of his large, soft ones.
‘So sorry to hear what happened – terrible business,’ he offered.
‘Yes, we’re both very sorry,’ Eileen added. ‘Please, have a seat. Don’t mind us, we’re still going on breakfast – a bit slow this morning.’
‘Thanks,’ Damien said, and sat in the nearest chair. He th
ought it strange how comfortable he felt with them – like he’d known them for years, not just met them twice.
Jacqueline paused in her rushing about to ask him how the patients were doing, then told her father about the rescued kangaroos.
Damien blushed slightly with the attention. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just the thrill of having Jacqueline’s approval.
‘I’d love to see them,’ Philip said. ‘I don’t get much wildlife in my practice.’
‘That would be great,’ Damien replied, and went on to explain it was only the young buck that was really serious but that even he was a lot better that morning. He didn’t tell Philip that was the reason he was there, because suddenly he wasn’t sure if it was. When he’d walked across the street it had been to ask him to look in on them, but now he realised it was just their company he was craving – and a look at Jacqueline.
‘Tea, coffee, or Milo?’ Jacqueline asked, turning from the sink.
‘Milo thanks. No sugar, lots of milk.’ Suddenly aware of his rudeness Damien’s ears burned, but no one else seemed to have noticed. It was like he was part of the family.
‘How about I put everything on the table and you can make it how you like?’ Jacqueline offered. There was no hint of annoyance in her voice, which Damien thought would have been quite understandable.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said, and leapt up from his chair.
‘No worries. Make yourself at home,’ she said.
Even his mum didn’t say that. She was always worried a mess was going to be made, which Damien thought a bit rich coming from someone who lived with a rusty old shearer who’d never been known for his clean and tidy workmanship.
Standing next to Jacqueline he could smell her perfume. The scent was kind of flowery, like a mixture of pine needles and roses. He wondered if it could be the same one his sister used to wear and wanted to ask Jacqueline the name of it, but didn’t want to sound like a sex-starved desperado. He looked at her. God she was beautiful. Yesterday before the fire had ruined everything he’d hoped they might have had the chance to take things further, maybe even kiss. But right now, feeling like he was a friend, a small but welcome part of her life was enough. And he really liked her parents and the relationship they were all forming. Damien realised with slight surprise that he’d wait for Jacqueline Havelock forever. Instead of being disappointed at the prospect, he felt a wave of warm comfort flow through him. Some day they would be together; he felt certain of that.
Wattle Creek Page 24
