Macbeth and Son

by Jackie French

  ‘What do you think about?’ asked Megan suddenly.

  Luke shrugged. ‘Not sure. Things.’ It sounded so lame he felt himself flushing.

  But Megan didn’t seem to notice how lame it was. She wasn’t even looking at him, but at the farms below.

  ‘This is going to be my place, after Dad dies,’ she said.

  ‘You mean, really yours? He’s leaving it to you?’

  ‘Just this bit, the forty hectares up the mountain. The rest goes to Patrick.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’ It’d be like a sword thrust into him if Mum left the farm to anyone else, Luke realised.

  ‘Not really. Makes sense. Pat’s always wanted to be a farmer. I don’t. But I want to live here.’

  ‘What do you want to do, then?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘Study law.’

  ‘You mean, to fight developers like the resort people?’

  Megan laughed. ‘That too, maybe. No, wills, contracts for houses. The day-to-day stuff that people round here need help with. It’d mean I could still live here and make a living without having to prune trees when it’s freezing, or get covered in peach fuzz every summer, or stare at cows’ bums.’

  ‘I don’t mind cows’ bums,’ said Luke. He was surprised to find how much he meant it. Farming—what else would he ever want to do?

  Did they even have an Ag course down at St Ilf’s?

  ‘Okay, a few cows to look decorative,’ said Megan. ‘Even some fruit trees, maybe. But I want to do something else as well.’

  ‘You can still build your house here, even if the resort goes ahead,’ said Luke.

  ‘Not if Dad has to sell the farm.’

  Luke stared. ‘He can’t! I mean, I thought he’d just have to do something else. But you’d still live here.’

  ‘What job could he do around here? I don’t think we could afford to keep the place.’ Megan shrugged. ‘Dad and Mum haven’t said anything. But I know that’s what they’re thinking.’

  ‘I…I can’t imagine this place without you and Pat.’

  Megan’s face seemed to crumple for a moment, then she was back in control. ‘The farm’s important. It’s…it’s not just that it’s how Dad makes a living. It was his pa who planted the first peaches. His greatsomething grandmother—I can’t remember how many back—was the first white kid born around here.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘People talk about how Aboriginal people are close to their land,’ said Megan vehemently. ‘And they are. But we’ve been here for a hundred and seventy years. It’d kill Dad to have to stop farming here. Pat too. I don’t mean they’d actually die—they just wouldn’t be, well, who they really are.’ Suddenly she looked over at Luke. ‘Things like this are too precious to be lost. Someone has to fight for them.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Suddenly Luke’s memory thrust up Mum saying, ‘Sometimes you have to fight.’

  But that hadn’t been Mum, Luke remembered. It had been Lulach’s mother, Gruoch, Lady Macbeth. And she hadn’t been talking about saving the land, but about Alba, ancient Scotland.

  Is there anything I’d fight for? he wondered. Really fight? He had never thought of it before. Maybe you only found out how much things meant to you when they were threatened…Sam had to help the Fishers, he thought.

  ‘And that’s what you want to say? On TV?’

  Megan nodded. ‘Some things are important,’ she said. ‘But people don’t realise they are till you tell them.’

  Suddenly Luke thought of Thora in his dream. She’d had guts too. But he couldn’t see Megan running from the flames, a seal in her arms. She’d have been in the middle of everything, sword whirling in her hand…

  Megan would be good on TV, thought Luke. She’d convince people. If only he had her courage. Or Thora’s.

  ‘I’ll…I’ll ask Sam again,’ he said. And he would, he thought. No matter what Sam said, this time he wasn’t going to chicken out.

  Even if it wouldn’t be any use.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Megan simply. She was crying, Luke realised. There were tears in her eyes. But she didn’t wipe them away, or make any kind of sound.

  He wished he could hug her, or comfort her in some way. Then suddenly it didn’t matter. She had burrowed her head into his shoulder and was crying properly. He put his arm around her and felt her warmth again, the softness of her hair.

  Suddenly she pulled away and sniffed. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Luke gently. He knew he should say something comforting. But he couldn’t think what to say.

  ‘It’s just that everything is going wrong!’ choked Megan. ‘The farm threatened, and you going off to Sydney…’ Her voice trailed off, as though she had just noticed what she’d said.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Mum’ll wonder where I am. Will you be at the meeting tonight?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Luke. ‘Meg…’

  ‘Mmm?’ Megan was blowing her nose.

  ‘Would you like to—I mean—how about going to the movies or something this Saturday?’

  Megan looked at him, surprised. ‘You mean without Patrick? Just you and me?’

  Luke nodded.

  Suddenly a new look slid over Megan’s face. It was happiness, thought Luke, astounded. She really looked happy! But all she said was, ‘Okay.’

  She slid off the rock and began to run back down the hill.

  Chapter 23

  Luke

  Is this a dagger, which I see before me,

  The handle toward my hand?

  (Macbeth, Act II, Scene 1, lines 33–34)

  It was impossible to walk straight home. Not after all that. Luke wandered back to the top paddock and leaned over the gate, watching the cows. Cows were good to watch when your brain was in turmoil, he decided. Cows were restful things most of the time, just standing there eating.

  Did Megan really like him? More than she liked Jingo?

  How could he make Sam see how important the Fishers were? People like them shouldn’t be forced from the place they loved just because tourists wanted golf courses and spas.

  It was hard to know what to think about, or what to feel…but finally he noticed how the shadows were lengthening behind the cows. He jogged down the rest of the hill, avoiding the cowpats from long practice.

  Mum was back from the bottom paddock when he reached home. He could hear her in the kitchen as he came through the front door, out of tune again.

  ‘Country ho…me, Take me—oh, blast! I dropped it—hooo…ooooome…Luke, is that you? I’ve been wondering when you’d get home. Where have you been?’

  ‘Went for a walk,’ said Luke.

  There was a cake on the table. One of Mum’s, thought Luke. Which meant it was edible. He grabbed a knife and cut into it. Chocolate. The icing was still soft, but it was good.

  ‘I hope you didn’t forget about the meeting tonight,’ said Mum. She was wearing a dress with a soft draped front, a new one she must have bought down in Sydney last weekend. ‘You’d better get changed. We’ve just got time to get down there. We can have dinner later.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Luke. ‘You’ve still got your boots on,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘Have I?’ Mum looked down. ‘Damn. So I have.’ She vanished out the door to the new wing. ‘Don’t eat all the cake!’ her voice floated back to him. ‘I want to take it down to the meeting in case people want a cuppa later.’

  It was strange driving down the shadowed road to town with Mum. Almost like old times, when they’d drive down every night in the old truck, after a quick dinner, to see Dad at the hospital, in those last weeks when he could no longer be looked after at home.

  The time before Sam.

  He’d finally tried to call Sam before they left. But there was just Sam’s voice on the machine in his apartment. ‘Hi, this is Sam Mackenzie. I’m not here at the moment, but leave a message after the beep…’

  He’d called Sam’s mobile too, but it was turned off. What c
ould Sam be doing? Luke wondered in frustration. His mobile was always off when he was filming, but surely filming was over for the day.

  He tried to think what he’d say to Sam. ‘You owe me,’ he’d tell him. ‘You made me a cheat.’

  Except he didn’t, Luke admitted to himself. I made myself a cheat. I could’ve put my hand up at any time and said, ‘Hey, I’ve seen this paper before.’ And then I wouldn’t be going to St Ilf’s next year…

  In spite of everything, a smile slid over his face. Was Megan really upset about him going to St Ilf’s? She’d seemed happy he’d got the scholarship. Maybe she was happy for him, and sad for herself.

  His smile grew bigger as they drew up outside the hall, at the thought of seeing her again.

  The Breakfast Creek Town Hall had been built in the 1930s when the town was just a handful of houses, a couple of churches, a pub and a school for the children from the farms around. As the land along the coast filled up with holiday homes and retirees, and the town grew larger, a new hall had been built. Now this one was kept for anyone who wanted to hire it for a day or an evening. The local scouts and the quilters used it and the school held its annual play there.

  This evening the fibro walls had a Save Our Water! poster stickytaped by the door. There were only two other cars in the car park.

  Mum looked at her watch. ‘It’s still early,’ she said hopefully. ‘The meeting’s not supposed to start till six.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Luke got out of the car and went inside.

  The lights were on. The Fishers were up the front by the stage, with Mrs Robinson and her son, who lived further up the valley. They’d already put out about fifty chairs. Somehow the hall looked even emptier with the empty chairs.

  ‘Hi!’ Mum greeted them, a bit too brightly. She put the sliced chocolate cake down by the tea urn, which was bubbling on a table at the back. There was already a plate of pikelets there, spread with butter and plum jam, and an orange cake.

  Luke wandered down and sat next to Patrick and Megan. ‘Hi,’ he said. He was glad Pat was there too. He felt a bit embarrassed meeting Megan after this afternoon. Had she told Pat she’d seen him? Or that he’d asked her out?

  ‘Hi,’ said Patrick. There didn’t seem to be any more they could say. They sat in silence for a while. Mum and the Fishers and Mrs Robinson were chatting about sending more letters to the paper.

  A car pulled up outside. Luke turned as Mr Donnelly from the local paper stuck his head in, camera in hand, then saw the empty hall. ‘Might come back later!’ he called as he went back out again.

  They waited a bit longer. Luke looked at his watch. Six-fifteen.

  Megan’s face was white. ‘No one’s coming, are they?’ she whispered. ‘They just don’t care!’

  Mum had overheard. ‘It was late notice,’ she said. ‘We only put the posters up two days ago. Maybe we should have advertised a speaker…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Sometimes people need to be told what to care about,’ said Megan softly. ‘They just don’t realise what’s at stake till it’s too late.’

  Sam should have been here, thought Luke. People would have come if they’d thought Sam was going to speak.

  The unspoken words hovered in the silent hall.

  The drive home was quiet. There were just too many words they couldn’t say.

  Luke wanted to rage at Mum. Yell at her. Why don’t you get Sam to do something?

  But Mum had been through too much. Sam made her happy. Sam looked after her. Sam the TV host and Mum the scruffy farmer’s widow. No, whatever happened between Mum and Sam, Luke knew there was a big sign saying ‘Keep Out!’ There had just been too many years when he’d longed to be able to do something that would make Mum really happy…

  ‘Hey, Sam’s home!’ said Luke in surprise as they drove up the driveway. The courtyard lights were on and Sam’s four-wheel drive was parked outside the big new double garage. The garage doors were shut, though they’d been open when he and Mum left.

  He didn’t know whether to be sorry or relieved. It would be easier to ask Sam about the Fishers again in person. But he hadn’t expected to have to do it so soon.

  ‘Open the garage door, will you, Luke?’ asked Mum. They were the first words she’d spoken since they left the Fishers at the hall.

  Luke opened the ute door as Sam came out of the house. ‘Hi, mate!’ he said cheerily, as though the argument before he left had never happened. ‘Got a surprise for you!’

  ‘For me?’ asked Luke warily. Sam kissed Mum through the ute window. ‘Sure,’ he said, giving the wide, practised smile that viewers saw six days a week. ‘I came up this afternoon,’ he added to Mum. ‘Picked it up on my way home.’

  ‘What is it?’ Isn’t he going to ask where we’ve been? thought Luke, as Mum got out of the ute. But maybe she told him about the meeting this afternoon on the phone.

  He could have been there, thought Luke. He hasn’t even asked us how it went…

  ‘How did the meeting go?’ asked Sam.

  ‘It didn’t,’ said Luke shortly. ‘No one turned up.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Sam—giving his concerned look, thought Luke. Sam smiled, and pressed the control for the garage doors.

  They opened.

  Luke stared.

  In the middle of the garage was a four-wheeled motorbike, shiny red, with big balloon tyres.

  ‘…so they don’t cut into the grass,’ Sam was saying. He grinned at Luke, the confident grin familiar to TV watchers all over Australia. But his eyes were strangely anxious. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Of course he likes it!’ said Mum quickly.

  ‘Luke?’ Sam had lost his smile.

  Luke looked at Sam, and then back at Mum. He looked at the bike. Then he looked at Sam again.

  He knew that Sam knew what he was thinking. Do you think that you can buy my silence? Make me like you—someone who lies for what he wants, pretends he’s concerned every day on TV but really does

  nothing, nothing…

  ‘Luke?’ Mum’s voice was uncertain now.

  Luke hesitated. But why say the words? Sam knew them. He was sure that Sam knew them.

  Luke forced a smile. ‘It’s wonderful. Thanks heaps!’ He hugged Mum briefly, looking at Sam over her shoulder. And suddenly he knew that there was something he could do for Mum.

  ‘Aren’t you going to try it out?’ asked Mum. ‘Sam thought, well, you’re always over at the Fishers’ and it’s a long way. On the bike you can be there and back in a jiffy. What’s that song…’

  ‘“The Motorbike Song”,’ said Luke. It was one of Mum’s favourites. ‘Sure, I’ll give it a buzz.’

  Two wheelies, he thought, and once down the track into the darkness. Then I can go to my room…

  …and not cry till I get there.

  He didn’t know why the tears were there. But he did know that he’d rather crash the bike than allow them to be seen.

  Chapter 24

  Luke

  I have no words;

  My voice is in my sword…

  (Macbeth, Act V, Scene 8, lines 6–7)

  ‘Luke?’

  Luke looked up from his homework.

  It was Mum. She slipped inside the door. She’d taken off the dress she’d worn to the meeting and put on her old jeans with the cow stains again.

  She sat down on his bed. ‘I just wanted to thank you,’ she said.

  Luke stared. ‘What for?’

  Mum smiled. It was a strange smile. An almost adult-to-adult smile. ‘You know. About the bike.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I know you couldn’t care less about it. But you pretended. You thanked him.’

  Luke shrugged. There was too much he wanted to say. Why didn’t you make him help the Fishers? How can you love a man like that after Dad?

  ‘I know it must be hard for you to accept Sam sometimes. But it’s…it’s not easy for Sam either, you know,’ said Mum finally.

  ‘What!�
� Luke stared. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Lots of reasons. His work. There’s always someone younger, tougher, wanting to take over. And Sam knows it. He knows that any day someone might axe the show. Or keep the show and get another presenter.’

  ‘He’d get another job, though, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe. But there aren’t all that many current affairs shows…’

  ‘What does that matter?’ muttered Luke.

  ‘It matters to Sam.’

  ‘Why? He’s rich enough now, isn’t he? He just likes everyone thinking he’s so great. But he’s not really the man they see on TV at all.’

  ‘You’re right in a way,’ said Mum. ‘The real Sam’s more complex than the public one. Sam seems confident. But he isn’t.’ Mum hesitated. ‘Sometimes I think he needs to see his face on the screen to know who he is. He’s a good man, Luke. Really. He does care about things. Even if you can’t see it sometimes.’

  ‘But you can?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘I can.’

  Suddenly Mum looked awkward. ‘It’s not easy for him here sometimes either,’ she added. ‘A…a stepson’s a big thing to take on. He does his best, Luke. Even if…even if you don’t think it’s a very good best sometimes. He really does care about you.’

  She hesitated again. ‘He told me once that we’re the rock he comes back to every weekend. Real life. You and me, this place. He needs us more than you realise.’

  Luke was silent for a moment. Sam needed them? It was all so different from what he’d imagined. Could Mum possibly be right? Would she still feel the same about Sam—or Luke—if she knew about the exam?

  ‘Mum…are you happy? With Sam, I mean.’

  Mum looked surprised. ‘Of course.’ Suddenly she gave that adult smile again. ‘I’ve got all I ever wanted, Luke. But Sam has to keep fighting for it. Every day.’

  I don’t need to know this, thought Luke.

  Or did he?

  He was still wondering when Mum left the room.

  Chapter 25

  Luke and Lulach

  Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

  Hover through the fog and filthy air.