Bella's Run

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘Yes, I still miss Hugh. Especially on nights like this. Hughie used to love the Stockmen’s Muster. He used to say, there was nowhere else you could find such a mix of generations – grandparents, parents, teenagers and kids – having so much fun. There’s something here for everyone.’ She frowned. ‘This was one of the few places he could come and really enjoy himself with his mates, after he came back from that damned war. These mountains were his saviour, you know.’ Maggie sounded wistful rather than angry. She looked over at old Wes as a roar of laughter came from the other side of the fire. ‘Wes misses Catherine too.’

  They both stopped and looked across at the diminutive man, standing with his back to them, his body reflected in the fire’s light. Will could just make out the red baling twine trailing from the belt loops holding up Wes’s ‘best’ work trousers, a stained and torn pair of khaki drill pants that had seen better days.

  When Wesley’s wife Catherine had been alive the Ogilvies had lived on their big station at Ben Bullen Hills, two hours by sealed road from Tindarra via Burrindal. Then Catherine had been diagnosed with breast cancer. It had been too far from help on that Ben Bullen mountaintop for an old woman battling for her life, so the couple had moved down to Tindarra, buying a disused school block with its small miner’s cottage in dire need of a spruce-up. Across the rough mountain bush tracks, it only took Wes about an hour to travel to Ben Bullen Hills from the Tindarra Valley, every second day.

  ‘Yeah, his place looks so sad and rundown now, since Catherine died,’ said Will quietly. ‘Remember how happy she was when you painted the old verandah yellow? I didn’t know they made paint that bright.’

  Maggie chuckled and Will could see her eyes twinkling with the memory of her old and dearest friend. ‘Yes, I remember. I got the bloke in Narree to mix it specially. She wanted the same colour as the daffodils you and Wes planted under the old crab-apple trees. Said it would brighten her days whether it was summer, winter or when she was just plain sick and tired.’ Maggie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘I’m glad they came to us at Tindarra, Will. It was a good compromise. They would have been so alone up at Ben Bullen Hills, and Tindarra was closer to the doctor.’

  ‘Yeah. I have to say I really enjoy having another bloke in the valley too, someone to yarn with and crack a beer. I’ve learned a lot from old Wes, he’s a real man of the bush.’

  Maggie nodded and shrugged her chequered shirt in closer to her body, swiping at her eyes surreptitiously with the rough edge. Will pretended he didn’t see, choosing to look towards the fire instead.

  ‘Well, William, I’ll be going. I was just taking myself off to bed. Needed to use the loos but they’re closed. I had to squat next to a log instead. Far too much information for a young bloke like you, I know.’ Maggie was grinning again now. ‘I heard Wes as I was on the way back to camp. Just wanted to come over and check he was okay.’

  Will had once wondered if Aunty Maggie and old Wes would ever get their shit together and marry each other. They spent so much time arguing over this and that during their daily cuppa ritual, they were practically hitched already. Perhaps they still felt married to their late partners.

  Maggie was talking, but Will only caught the end of it.

  ‘. . . I have to look after my neighbours, you know,’ she finished.

  ‘What about me? I’m your neighbour too.’

  ‘I reckon you’re capable of doing that yourself. And if you aren’t, I’m sure a certain niece of mine might be able to help you out.’ It was Maggie’s turn for a stir.

  Will could feel heat suffusing his face.

  Maggie went on, oblivious. ‘That’s if she’s here, of course. I forgot to ask Frank and Francine if Bella was home yet. She’s with Patty, isn’t she?’ She stopped. ‘Why, William, I do believe you’re blushing.’ Maggie smiled, a smug look patterned on her sweetheart face, her grey bun of hair flopping sideways as she leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Goodnight, William. You take care.’ She waggled her fingers and strode off, a cuddly bear decked out in a lady’s chequered bush coat.

  Will shook his head. What had he told her when he came home from up north that gave that one away? How much did Maggie know? No, he corrected himself. How much had Maggie guessed?

  Will took a look at his watch. It was a good hour since Macca had gone to find the beer tent and get some more rum. Suddenly a bloke he didn’t know appeared at his side.

  ‘Where’s your can, mate? Your drinking hand’s empty.’

  ‘A mate’s gone to get me one, but I don’t know where he’s bloody well disappeared to.’

  ‘Here, have this one on me.’ The bloke raised a matching black can in salute. ‘Here’s cheers, mate, the next round’s on you.’ He wandered off to the other side of the fire before Will could thank him.

  Will could hear snatches of conversation about some girlie drinking match going on in a tent somewhere. Patty would have enjoyed that, he thought with a rueful grin. He wondered again when she and her mate were due home from Queensland. He’d really hoped they’d be here but he hadn’t seen Patty’s ute around. It stood out like a neon light – bright fire-engine red with the ‘Pat Me Tuffet’ bug deflector sitting in pride of place on the bonnet; the bullbar, back window and tailgate plastered with stickers from every B&S around.

  Thinking of Patty brought that other girl to mind. Isabella Francine Vermaelon, Auntie Maggie’s niece from the verdant irrigated, dairy country in the valleys of Narree. She was the reason he slammed down the bonnet on the old girl with her buggered water pump and climbed into Macca’s ute, the reason why he hadn’t been able to think straight since coming home from up north.

  Yep, if those girls were here, Will was sure he’d know about it. He wouldn’t have been able to stay away from Bella even if he tried.

  Chapter 13

  Bella and Patty slammed a high five, as a nasal and slightly high-pitched voice came from the centre of the watching crowd. ‘Let’s throw a bit of water around and get some mud happening here. Always love seeing anything with good tits have a wrestle. Roll on, girls, let it rip. Where’s the water, guys?’ Eddie Murray was panting with desire.

  He’d seen the write-up on the Nunkeri Muster in a city newspaper during the week. Ever since, his nights had been filled with wet dreams straight from Penthouse; mobs of curvaceous country girls spilling creamy bosoms, romping with him in piles of hay. And by God he was getting his money’s worth. No hay but plenty of bosoms.

  A merchant banker by day and connoisseur of anything sinful at night, Eddie was on the hunt for sex. During the week he’d visited R.M. Williams and kitted himself out in what the sales lady assured him was the right gear. Preening himself in front of the dressing-room mirror, he’d reckoned he cut a fine figure in his bush clobber. His black Italian Fiorelli suit lay scrunched on the dressing-room floor and the soft leather moccasins, which had minutes before been wrapped around his knobbly feet, had been kicked into a corner while their country cousins took centre stage. He admired the way the two-inch Cuban heels on the tooled cowboy boots made his stocky legs look much longer.

  The five-hour drive up from Melbourne to this arse end of the world had been worth it. The show was even better than he’d imagined. He so wanted to bury his head in those heaving knockers being thrown around on the ground. The redhead wasn’t bad, but the blonde was hot.

  He jumped up to try to see over the broad set of shoulders, emblazoned with the word ‘Wrangler’, moving across in front of his eyes.

  Still on the ground, Bella could feel the sudden hostility rolling through the air. The crowd parted like Moses cleaving the Red Sea and the man who’d spoken now stood on his own, grinning, trying to catch the eye of one of the blokes he called ‘guys’ – blokes who thought a ‘guy’ was a pansy, a poofter, someone who batted for the other side.

  Bella rolled off Patty and moved to her feet in one fluid movement, then stuck out a hand to haul her mate up beside her. She didn’t recognise the bloke wh
o’d spoken, clearly visible now that Macca had moved out of the way. In his brand-new moleskins that still wore the creases of their packaging, he stood apart from the well-worn, rumpled-looking people around him. She took in the new R.M.’s and the pristine hat that needed a good dousing of sweat, dirt, blood and grease. He stood out like a cheap neon sign blinking, ‘Can I be a country boy too?’

  And man, was he short! He must’ve had the moleskins custom made, or they were three-quarter pants faking it long.

  Eddie Murray had always prided himself on his quick mind and innate ability to read a situation before an actual event occurred. It was what had made him a very wealthy man, a mover and shaker in the finance industry. When he noticed the hum of conversation from the crowd had gone silent he looked around and realised he was standing alone. With belated clarity Eddie knew he’d read this situation wrong. What he’d been watching was in fact country fun, not erotic bawdiness.

  He’d buggered up big-time here, and some of the guys were fucking huge. Particularly the bloke who’d moved out to face him.

  He shrunk back into his new clothes, making his fivefoot-five frame look even smaller, and set his mind to self-preservation; namely, finding a fast-track way to the exit in one piece. Before he could even begin to formulate a plan, the silence erupted into jeers.

  Macca planted himself in front of the girls, shoulders hunched over in his cobalt-blue work shirt, farmer’s fists clenched. The veins in his hands stood out like knotted cords looking for something close by to throttle. With his feet planted firmly hip-width apart and his face a boiling red, Macca resembled a protective bull set to charge.

  Bella saw flickers of fear in Eddie’s eyes.

  ‘Listen, you pimple-dick little tosser. Piss off to your big-city bars and clubs. Leave good country girls like me cousin and Patty here alone.’

  ‘Onya, Macca.’

  ‘Yeah, piss off!’ Voices from the crowd joined in.

  With little steps, Eddie backed up. ‘Ah sorry, old fellow. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. Calm down a bit. I just thought . . .’ Eddie’s rush of words stopped abruptly as Macca raised a bushy eyebrow.

  ‘You thought what?’ Macca ground the words like a pestle.

  Eddie rushed on, words spilling from his mouth like vomit. ‘Ah well . . . never mind. I’ll . . . um . . . go, shall I?’ He started to wiggle his way backwards through the throng of people now crowding around him. Strangers pressured him from all sides, pushing him, forcing his retreat, silently daring him to stay.

  When he’d reversed himself clear of the main crowd, Eddie spun on his high heels and bolted for the tent doorway. Never being one for knowing when to keep his mouth shut, he turned for a last retort before he ran out of the tent to disappear into the night.

  ‘You’re all just a bunch of hick cowboys anyway!’

  Everyone erupted into loud, raucous laughter.

  ‘Never a truer word spoken, hey fellas, and we’re bloody proud of it too!’ roared Macca.

  The crowd moved back to the bar, where the rest of the girls were swaying on their knees in the shot-shooting competition. Ignoring the action still taking place, Macca spun to face an unkempt Bella and Patty. Both girls had plunked back down on the ground. ‘If you see or hear of that wanker again tonight, any time this weekend for that matter, you just find me or one of the boys here and we’ll deal with him. Right?’

  Bella could see his gaze was filled with the ferocious protectiveness that came with love. The remaining few men who’d stayed at Macca’s side, blokes who’d known the girls and their families all their lives, added their voices to Macca’s.

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’

  ‘Thanks, fellas.’ Bella could feel a blooming flush of heat on her face. The whole incident had sobered her as quickly as a dousing of ice-cold mountain water. She knew they’d almost caused a fight and she wasn’t proud of it. Visions of what they must have looked like rolling around, riding each other, flooded her mind and she shuddered as she thought about the trouble they might have caused. What would her parents say if they heard?

  ‘I just hope that toffy little shit gets in the fancy four-wheel drive he’s most likely driving and bales out of the valley pronto.’ Macca hunkered down beside the girls. Looking from one to the other and waving a warning finger in front of their noses he went on. ‘But I tell you what, you two. I don’t trust bastards like that one. No more flaunting yourselves, ya hear me?’

  Bella heard him and bit back a retort. Beneath his usual easygoing personality, Macca had an autocratic attitude that could piss her right off.

  But not this time.

  She knew they deserved what he dished out. And she was glad he’d been there to protect them, even though it irked the crap out of her they’d needed him. Instead, she shut her mouth and looked at Patty to check what she thought. Seeing the glint in her friend’s eye and the pout on her lips, Bella could tell that Patty was thinking the same.

  ‘Girls?’ Macca laced his voice with warning.

  As they reluctantly started to nod, Macca raised an eyebrow. Bella knew he’d guard them all night if they didn’t agree. Where was the fun in that? So she nodded energetically until it felt like her eyeballs were spinning.

  ‘What are you two doing here so soon anyway?’ Macca sat back on his haunches and settled in to roll a smoke. ‘I thought you were still up north enjoying station life for another month or so?’ He pulled out his baccy and paper from a top pocket. ‘Well, that’s what you said when we last saw you anyway.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Um . . .’

  Both girls stopped and looked at each other.

  ‘I sense a story here,’ mumbled Macca, a tobacco paper on his lip, a plug of baccy now in his hand. ‘What did you do, the pair of you? Light a fire under a couple of ringers so they didn’t know which way was up? Flash a brown eye at the grader-driver while the boss was driving past?’

  Conspicuous silence.

  Eyes alight with laughter, Macca allowed the girls to guiltily squirm while he deftly rolled his smoke. Cupping his hands and leaning forward, he lit the rollie, then sat back on his heels. ‘Come on. Give it up. What’d you pair of minxes do?’ With his free hand he ruffled Patty’s hair then slid his fingers along her freckled nose to tap at its pert end.

  Patty blushed. Watching closely, Bella was shocked to see that beyond the teasing humour in her larrikin cousin’s eyes there was possibly something else. And in return, Patty was staring up at Macca like he was God himself.

  ‘Now I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.’ Macca was set to do what he did so well. Tease. ‘Pat Me Tuffet, blushing? That’s a new one on me.’

  Patty reddened all the more.

  Watching fascinated, Bella took pity on her best mate and rushed to Patty’s rescue. ‘Thought we’d drop into the Muster on our way back. Didn’t think we’d be home this early either, but, well . . . a few things happened . . . and, well . . . here we are.’

  ‘Huh?’ said Macca, eyes still on the red-haired girl by his side.

  ‘You wanted to know why we were here.’

  Macca pulled his attention back to Bella. ‘Mmm, that definitely smells to me. You were enjoying yourselves so much; all those rodeos, race days and parties. What happened? Did that bitch, the station manager’s wife, finally find a reason to be rid of you?’

  Patty looked at Bella; Bella looked back at Patty. Both girls laughed.

  ‘Mmm, well you could say that.’ Bella didn’t want to recount the drunken escapade that had led to their expulsion from Ainsley Station. Not after what had just happened. ‘Anyway, we thought we’d hoon down the east coast for a bit of a look-see. Heard about the Muster on the radio near Tamworth, so we decided to come straight here. A last piss-up before arriving home early to surprise everyone.’ She didn’t add that they’d been hoping the boys would be there.

  Macca nodded, naïve to the female mind. ‘Must have been a bit of an eye-opener hitting the mou
ntains after that flat, scrubby country up north.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ The first sight of the massive, blue-grey Great Dividing Range after a year away had been breathtaking. And their first glimpse of the final road to home, that ribbon of black tar that ran up, into and then through the mountains, had moved Bella to tears.

  Patty finally found her voice. Touching Macca’s muscled arm to get his attention, she asked, ‘So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?’

  Bella saw her cousin soften as he looked down into Patty’s dark eyes.

  ‘Macca?’ said Patty.

  He sure was in trouble. Bella had never seen her cousin so lost for words. Macca stubbed out his cigarette butt and cleared his throat, then only managed a grunt before a commotion behind them saved him from answering.

  It was Caroline Handley, an old school mate of Bella and Patty’s, and a contestant in the forgotten shot-shooting competition. Toppling from her spot at the makeshift bar, she’d accidentally shoved Prudence Vincent-Prowse as she went down, which started a domino effect along the line of still-kneeling drunken girls.

  High-pitched squeals rang out.

  Tinkling and chinking of smashing shot glasses followed.

  The girls started to fall in a tumble of splayed limbs.

  Forward momentum from the weight of all the lurching girls pushed against the A-frame trestle holding the tabletop in place.

  The bar went down.

  Dozens of discarded shot glasses still sitting on the bar started to freefall to the ground. Any contestants left kneeling and using the table as a prop finally toppled like a row of skittles one on top of the other, as the copious shots of Cock-Sucking Cowboys hit home.