by Hannah Ellis
“So how long have you been working here?” I asked Johan again.
“Four weeks,” he told me and then slipped into a whisper. “You chose the absolute worst farm to work on.”
“Really?”
“The work’s all the same, I guess, but from what I hear, the conditions here are the worst around.”
“Why are you still here then?” I asked. Four weeks certainly seemed a very long time to me, and it occurred to me that perhaps Stan was right; I could never hack three months of farm work.
“I don’t have a work permit,” he confided. “And Len doesn’t care about that sort of thing.”
Johan stopped talking abruptly and cast his eyes down, concentrating on his lunch. The stern voice behind me took me by surprise. “You need a lift back to town?”
I turned to find Len glaring at me. Confusion wrinkled my face.
“Seems like you weren’t managing too well out in the field,” he said.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Good to recharge,” I added, waving my sandwich weakly.
“You’re slow. You expect me to pay you when you’re so slow? If you’re not up to the job, you’re no use to me.”
A glance showed me that my co-workers were suddenly taking great interest in their plates. I was on my own. “I’ll go faster,” I told him. “I was just getting the hang of things.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Work faster. Talk less. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said.
“Back to work,” he shouted. Everyone moved at once.
Len’s eyes bored into me as we moved back to the minibus. In fact, I felt his unseen eyes on me all afternoon. I worked faster and only swapped the odd word with Johan when we had a break at the end of the rows. It was hell, and Stan was right – I wasn’t built for farm work.
By the end of the day, I was broken. My spirit was broken, and my body was broken. There was no way I’d make it back the next day. That I’d survived one day seemed like a massive achievement, and I still wasn’t sure whether I might collapse and die before the day was done. I’d never been so excited to get to bed and sleep in all my life.
“At least I won’t have to pay you,” Len grumbled when we finally finished for the day.
“What?” I asked, as Johan slinked away from me.
“I pay cash on Fridays. But you won’t be here then, will you?”
I wanted to cry. I’d just done the hardest day’s work of my life and I wouldn’t get paid for it. The thought of struggling through a whole week of this torture was too much to bear, but his smug look enraged me. With no energy to argue, I got into the minibus and rested my head on the filthy window the whole way back to town.
Everything ached when I stood under the shower. I thought I might fall asleep standing naked under the soothing water. My limbs had decided to ignore my brain’s instructions for them to move. Finally, I switched the water off and forced myself into clean clothes. Every movement was painful.
“Fun day?” Stan asked, his amusement obvious.
All I could manage was a groan as I walked past him and into my room, where I collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep.
Chapter 3
EVELYN – May 1994
When I woke, it was with a raging hunger that forced me, painfully, from my bed. The first movements were the worst, and every muscle ached with a heaviness I’d never known. My body felt like it was made of lead as I trudged into the kitchen. The bacon and egg sandwich was the most delicious and satisfying food I’d ever eaten. It wasn’t light out yet and everything was quiet. I was surprised when the kitchen door swung open.
“Well, I have to say, I’m amazed,” Stan said. “You’ve surprised me.”
I grunted my confusion.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand up today, never mind go back to the farm. Good on ya, girl!”
“A lot of people underestimate me,” I told him, rinsing my plate and putting it away. “Guess you’ll owe me a beer this evening.”
“I’ll have it ready for you,” he promised.
Oh good God, what are you doing, Evelyn? I sauntered past Stan, ignoring the pain that shot through my body. Admit defeat. Another day might actually kill you. It’s not worth it.
I should have listened to that sensible inner voice instead of deciding I had something to prove. The group at the collection point looked surprised to see me, as did the driver, who happily told me so.
“Bloody hell,” Len said when we reached the farm. “What are you doing back?”
“I’m here to work,” I said.
He seemed to mull things over for a moment. “If you can’t keep up today, you’re out of here.”
I nodded and the day began just as the one before. My body was being pushed to the limit, and with every pumpkin I threw, I thought of quitting. As there was no talking, I developed an inner monologue which mainly consisted of me arguing with myself about whether or not I could manage a week. I tried to focus my mind on other things. I thought of my parents and my friends back home. Thoughts of my best friend, Mel, distracted me for a minute or two, before the blister on my hand burst with the action of the secateurs. My left hand didn’t have the strength to cut, and after a few attempts while forcing the handle into an open wound, I asked for a plaster. I was surprised to be given one without fuss and got back to work. The pain was searing, even with the protection of the plaster.
Dizziness set in just before lunch, and every time I stood my body threatened to give out. I was on the verge of collapse but still refused to give up. Lunch was a welcome sight and gave me a small boost.
“You should just give up,” Johan whispered. “Len’s had his eye on you the whole time. He doesn’t like you. I don’t think he’s going to pay you no matter what.”
“If I make it to Friday, he’ll have to pay me.” It was only Tuesday, and Friday seemed like a far-off destination.
“He’ll fire you on Thursday . . .”
“He wouldn’t,” I said.
“Girl.” Len’s grainy voice drifted over my shoulder. “Are ya trying to make a fool of me or what?”
“No,” I said, turning to look at him.
“But you think it’s okay to come onto my farm and slack off?”
I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t slacking off.”
“And you’re going to sit and argue with me while you eat my food? You’re really taking the piss now!”
Sometimes you have to know when to give up. I gave up. Standing, I took a final bite of my sandwich. “Here,” I said, “have it if you want.” I threw the remainder of the sandwich, and it bounced from his broad chest to the ground. Disbelieving intakes of breath were the only sounds to be heard. I hoped he stuck to psychological abuse and didn’t delve into physical punishment. I had the distinct feeling I was about to be launched across the fields. “I think I’ll leave now.”
I dodged around him and set off down the driveway away from the house. It was a relief to know I wasn’t going back to the pumpkin fields. I didn’t care if I didn’t get the money owed to me; I just wanted to get out of there. I expected Len to shout abuse after me, but all I heard was him yelling at everyone else to get back to work.
I was free, and I was proud of myself as I marched off Len Jenkins’ property with my head held high. Adrenalin buzzed through my system, and I laughed out loud as I recalled the look on his face when I’d thrown the sandwich at him. When I reached the road, I marched purposefully in the direction of Kununurra.
My plans for a visa extension were fading fast. It definitely wasn’t worth enduring that torture. Maybe I could brave a different farm, but the thought of just staying for one year suddenly seemed okay. A year in Australia had been my original plan, and there was nothing wrong with sticking to it.
After ten minutes, my glee at throwing sandwiches and walking off the job was replaced by a raging thirst and my brain attempting to calculate how far it was back to Kununurra. It hadn’t taken that long to drive out, had it?
Half an hour maybe? But that would take a long time to walk, and I was already struggling. I turned and looked back; the road stretched out in both directions, shrubs dotted either side of the dusty road to create a stunning landscape of rich greens and rusty reds. I could just make out the fence post at the farm. Turning back seemed defeatist, but continuing on seemed like the road to my slow demise.
I could actually die out here, it occurred to me.
Chapter 4
LIBBY – July 2017
On the first anniversary of Mum’s death, I lay in bed listening to the bustle of my aunt and uncle’s lively house. Spoons clattered in cereal bowls and feet pounded up and down the stairs. Cupboard doors and drawers banged into place. Four familiar voices drifted up with varying volume – a constant hum interlaced with the odd shout. Every morning was the same, like a song stuck on repeat. Bickering kicked in like a familiar chorus.
I waited for Aunt Mel’s voice to be directed my way. Every morning she’d shout that I needed to get up. Apparently, she still thought I was ten years old and unable to get myself out of bed in the morning. There was no prompt for me this morning, though; Aunt Mel was quiet.
Dragging myself out of the comfort of my bed, I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, the crushing in my throat. I inhaled deeply and waited for it to pass. I just needed to get through the day.
A shelf full of Lego creations caught my attention, and I righted the Lego man who’d been lying on his side. I’d been staying in eight-year-old Alfie’s room for almost two months. It was a wonder he didn’t complain about the situation more than he did. What was more amazing was that he’d been moved in with his older brother, Josh, who’d never said a word about it. Not in my earshot, anyway. I’m sure no seventeen-year-old would be happy about sharing with their little brother.
I should find somewhere else to live.
“Morning!” I said when I ventured into the kitchen, showered and dressed for work. Working as a chambermaid in a local hotel wasn’t really my life’s ambition, but it was okay as a stopgap. I just needed to figure out what was at the other side of the gap. The hotel job was at least comforting as I’d worked there every summer since I was sixteen. It was familiar and mostly stress-free.
“Morning, love,” Aunt Mel said softly as the rest of the family descended into silence. “How are you doing today?”
“Fine, thanks.” I reached for the cereal box. Josh mumbled something about getting dressed, and I dropped into his vacated seat. Alfie’s eyes ping-ponged between his mum and dad, who were no doubt exchanging meaningful glances.
I felt Uncle Rob’s eyes land on me. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should stay home today,” he suggested, failing miserably in his attempt to sound casual.
“I’m fine,” I told him cheerfully. My focus shifted back to my breakfast. The silence was deafening.
“Why’s everyone acting weird today?” Alfie asked.
Mel shuffled behind me. “No one’s acting weird,” she said, her voice too high and too insistent. “It’s my day off, Libby. Why don’t you ring in sick and we can have a girlie day?”
Alfie’s eyes widened hopefully. “If Libby’s staying home, does that mean I don’t have to go to school today?”
“You’re going to school,” Rob replied. “Run upstairs and brush your teeth.”
“How come Libby doesn’t have to go to work today?”
Because my mother died and everyone thinks I’m going to fall apart, that’s why. I caught Alfie’s eye. “Don’t worry, I’m going to work.”
“Good,” Alfie said. “Because it’s not fair if you stay home and I’m at school.”
Rob nudged him. “Go and brush your teeth.”
“You really don’t need to go to work today,” Mel said as Alfie’s footsteps receded up the stairs.
“I’m fine.” My chair scraped when I stood. “It’s just another day. Same as all the rest.”
“Oh, Libby.” Mel’s voice caught in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears quicker than should be humanly possible. She turned away from me as the tears overflowed. The sob that erupted from her made my chest tighten again. Ignoring the lump in my throat, I gently rubbed her arm before making a quick exit out of the kitchen. I couldn’t deal with her emotions. Rob would have her enveloped in a bear hug before I reached the stairs.
“You all right?” Josh asked, looming over me at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t you start,” I snapped, manoeuvring past him to get to my room. Alfie’s room.
“If you don’t want to go to work, we could always spend the day in the pub . . .”
“That’s a generous offer. You’re so selfless. I can’t believe you’d sacrifice a day of school to look after me. In the pub!”
“Anything for you, sis!”
“I’m not your s—” I stopped. He only called me sis to wind me up. The more I remind him that we’re not in any way related, the more he calls me sis. Mel and Rob aren’t my real aunt and uncle; I’d just grown up calling them that. My mum and Mel had been best friends since they met on their first day of school. So many of my childhood memories were from Rob and Mel’s house. The garden of Mum’s house had backed on to Rob and Mel’s garden, and they’d always joked there was a Libby-shaped gap in the hedge that had grown as I did.
Their house was my second home, which had been amazing for so many years. But it turns out that second homes are only really amazing if you’ve actually got a first home. With Mum gone, along with the house I grew up in, I wasn’t sure where to call home any more.
But that was exactly the sort of thinking that would ruin my day.
“What?” I muttered, letting go of my necklace that I’d been fingering absent-mindedly.
Josh looked quizzical. He’d asked me a question but I’d missed it. “Can you drive me to college?”
“If Mel doesn’t need the car,” I said. There were three drivers in the house and two cars, so I didn’t drive as much as I’d like. Getting a car was second on my list of things to do – right behind finding somewhere else to live.
“She’ll let you have the car,” he told me confidently. “You can get whatever you want today.”
He pulled the door closed as he walked away, and I sat at the desk, which doubled as my dressing table. My make-up was scattered between Alfie’s Playmobil figures. Apparently, there’d been a battle between the pirates and the emergency services, and it was unclear who’d won. Certainly not my make-up, I decided as I reached for my foundation, which was lying on its side, having been pushed off the battlefield.
Mel tried her best to give me some space and privacy in the house, but there just wasn’t enough room. Until two months ago, I’d been at university and living in halls of residence. Completing my degree after Mum died seemed to shock everyone. Repeatedly, I’d been told I could take some time off and finish uni the following year. It was difficult for me to figure out what they expected me to do though – sit around and cry, I guess. Since that wasn’t an appealing option, I threw myself into my studies and got my degree. If that made me cold-hearted and unfeeling, so be it. It was certainly easier than thinking about the fact I’d never see my mum again and that I had no family other than my elderly grandmother.
After university, Mel and Rob assumed I would move in with them. For lack of any other plan, I went along with it, but I was adamant it was only temporary. Growing up, money had always been a struggle, but after the house had been sold there was a bit of money for me. I could use that to get my own place. The idea played on my mind constantly, but for some reason, I was avoiding actually doing anything about it.
“Don’t spend forever trying to make yourself look pretty,” Josh shouted through the door. “There’s not enough make-up in the world! Hurry up.”
I smiled at my reflection as I heard Mel chastising him for teasing me. He’d have been briefed about being nice to me today. Poor fragile little Libby: that’s what they thought of me. I hated it.
With a min
imal amount of make-up applied to my freckly face, I gave my hair some attention, brushing the frizzy blonde mess back and twisting it before securing it to the back of my head with a sturdy clip. I ignored the wisps that fell down around my face.
Glaring at myself in the mirror, I took another deep breath and steeled myself for the day ahead.
Chapter 5
LIBBY – July 2017
My best friend, Heidi, was waiting in the staff room when I arrived at work. The room was otherwise deserted, and I was glad I didn’t have to make polite conversation with anyone. Heidi was lying on the couch in the centre of the room and looked about twelve with her ridiculous pink hair in pigtails. Her hair was a different colour every few weeks, depending on her mood. Her fluffy purple jumper was partially covered by the awful grey tabard that was standard issue for hotel staff of a certain level. We had the glamorous title of chambermaids. I was sure they would soon have to update that description to something more modern and less ludicrous. I’d probably feel much better if I were referred to as a room technician or a bedroom attendant. Perhaps not the latter.
“I’m going to come straight out and ask,” Heidi said, pausing from filing her nails. “Do you want a hug? We could just sit here and cry for the morning if you want? I’d deal with anyone who tried to interrupt.”
I chuckled lightly as I started the process of extracting my outer layer of clothing and readying myself for a morning of making beds and cleaning up after a bunch of strangers. “No, thanks!”
“We can find a minibar to raid if you want?”
“I don’t think so.”
“A regular-sized bar then, if you insist!”
“Did Mel message you?” I asked, pulling on the ugly grey tabard and switching my shoes for a pair of well-worn Crocs.
“Only like a thousand times,” Heidi said, swivelling to sit upright on the couch. “She told me to look out for you today. As if I don’t look out for you every day! She’s actually driving me a bit crazy. You know she had the cheek to invite me over for dinner tonight?”
