by Fiona Palmer
‘Was… was Uncle Pete my real dad?’ he asked softly. It had been on Lindsay’s mind a lot lately. Being back on the farm, he couldn’t escape it.
Des jerked his head up from the magazines. ‘How did you know? Did you talk to your mum?’ He wasn’t mad, just surprised.
‘No, I haven’t spoken to Mum at all. It’s just I look like you, Uncle Doug and Uncle Pete in all the old photos, so I have to be a Taylor, right?’
Des’s eyes creased as he smiled.
‘And Uncle Doug was far too young.’
‘You’re right. Pete is your real father.’
More silence as they both swallowed the weight of this longkept secret.
‘Is that why you never talked about him?’
Des took in a shaky breath and nodded. ‘Years ago, I met your mum at a church function. Straightaway, I fell in love with her. Before long I brought her back to the farm to meet the family. She stayed with us for the weekends and at first I thought she was just humoured by Pete’s quick wit and his charm. All the girls were. He was a daredevil, and was always showing off. He would take her for rides on the motorbike when I had to help with the sheep work. I soon realised I wasn’t the reason she kept visiting.’
‘Oh.’ Lindsay felt like he should apologise to his dad. The poor guy.
‘I wished she would look at me the way she did him. She tried to deny it but they had this energy. She was a different person with him, so carefree and happy. I was insanely jealous of the time they got to spend together while I was busy learning the running of the farm. I was the oldest; I had to learn, as the farm would be mine eventually. I never had the gall to nick off for rides like Pete. Dad would always notice if I went missing. But then Pete died.’ Des’s face crumbled as his voice broke on the last words.
‘The motorbike accident. Doug told me about it,’ Lindsay whispered.
‘Yes. I loved him, even after all that had happened. He was a pain in the arse sometimes, but everyone loved Pete,’ Des said as a stray tear rolled down his dusty face.
Lindsay now understood why Pete’s name had never been mentioned. It was simply too hard and painful.
‘You know, he was the kind of guy who could turn a boring meeting into a party. He had this way about him that just made you wish you could be him.’ Des took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, your mother was devastated. She’d come out to the farm and sit alone in the shed where his bike was kept. No one knew how much she loved him. I went to her one day and she broke down in my arms, telling me she was pregnant with Pete’s child. You,’ Des said, glancing at Lindsay with a gentle smile. ‘For a while I tried to hate Pete, wanted to, but I couldn’t be angry at him after his death. So I did the only thing I thought was right. I asked Jill to marry me. I still loved her; I couldn’t hate her for loving Pete, because we all did. And she did like me first before she’d met Pete.’
Lindsay’s eyes glistened with tears. He reached out and put his hand on Des’s arm.
‘Back then your mum couldn’t be an unmarried woman with a baby, especially as her family were such strong Catholics and her father put such importance on their standing in the community. She was so afraid she’d be sent off or disowned. She didn’t want to give you up, so she agreed to marry me. I think she did like me then, and I know she loves me now. She grew to love me. Don’t get me wrong. We’ve had a happy marriage, and got two wonderful sons.’
They both sniffed back their tears and composed themselves. It was a big day for both of them and Lindsay had never seen his dad so emotional. How long had he kept these feelings bottled up?
‘Who else knows?’ Lindsay wondered.
‘No one. It’s a secret your mum and I have kept. I hope you understand how much of a relief it is that you know. And I hope you don’t hate me for it.’
Lindsay felt the raw hurt rise in his throat. ‘Knowing this doesn’t really change much, but I wish you’d told me earlier. I always felt so different, that we were so different. But you’re still my dad. You’re the one who raised me.’
They stood up and hugged, and tears ran onto his dad’s cotton shirt. He felt the big man’s shoulders shaking.
‘I love you, son.’ Des pulled back so he could see Lindsay’s eyes. ‘I know I haven’t always been easy on you. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that seeing parts of Pete in you didn’t make me jealous. You’re so like him, it hurts sometimes.’
‘But I’m also like you, Dad. There are things you’ve taught me too.’
‘I know, but I’m trying to say I’m sorry. Hanging on to this was hard but now it’s time for a change. I’m not going to be like my father and make the mistakes he did. I want you to be happy, no matter what you do. I won’t give you the farm if you don’t want it. I won’t pressure you any more. I had enough of that from my own father. You’d think I’d have learnt.’ Des cracked half a smile.
They sat back down and gathered their thoughts.
‘You know, Lindsay, I’ve been thinking. You know your sheep, and I was hoping you might pick out some rams for us to start improving our quality. With your knowledge, I reckon we could improve our flock. What do you say? Feel like taking it on? I don’t want to pressure you. I know you’re still working through… stuff,’ Des said, nodding at Lindsay’s arm.
Lindsay couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to make his dad happy and proud. ‘Yeah, I can do that. Sounds like a great idea.’ Lindsay didn’t know if he’d like it, but at this moment he’d do anything to please his dad. How funny that he felt the closest to his dad he’d ever felt, after finding out he wasn’t his real dad.
‘So are you going to do that judging thing Robbo rang up about the other day?’ asked Des.
‘Yeah, I think I might, if that’s okay with you?’
‘Sure is. It’ll do you good to get back among your buddies.’
Lindsay had been wary of the offer to judge a shearing competition at first, to be back among shearers – even though he wouldn’t be shearing. But he decided that it might be good to face his fear. Just because he couldn’t shear didn’t mean he had to banish it from his life. He’d discussed it with Margaret too, so he felt strong enough to go. Besides, shearing comps were heaps of fun.
Lindsay also knew he couldn’t do anything shearing-related without thinking about CJ. He still dreamed about her nearly every night, her smile and cheekiness. He loved the vividness of his dreams and the way he could taste and smell and touch her just like he used to. He ached for her during the day and well into the dark hours of the night. But he couldn’t go back yet. He still had his bad days and, realistically, what would there be for him if he went back? A desk job? He could help Burt on his farm, but Burt had Joe and probably couldn’t afford to put another bloke on full-time. He may as well stay and work on the family farm; at least some of it belonged to him. Maybe one day CJ could join him here.
‘Come on. It’s afternoon-tea time. Let’s go get cleaned up.’
Des headed down the stairs and Lindsay followed. As they walked up to the front door of the house, Lindsay heard his mum laugh and a girl giggle. He cringed, knowing what was in store.
Sure enough, as soon as he walked in, his mum made the introductions.
‘Angela, I’d like you to meet my eldest son, Lindsay. Lindsay, this is Angela. She’s just moved here from the city, one of the new teachers starting next year.’
Angela stood tall and her long brown locks fell towards her narrow waist. Lindsay held out his hand but it was covered in dirt and he saw Angela hesitate.
‘Sorry. I’ll just go wash up first. Nice to meet you.’
He took his time to wash his hands, then sat down with them. Des was staring into space – he clearly didn’t want to be there either. Des was holding his cup on his saucer as he couldn’t get a finger through the small handle. Lindsay did the same. In today’s heat he really wanted a nice, cold beer. He just sat back and let his mum and Angela do the talking, nodding where applicable. He wished he could trade places with James, who was in town g
etting a new tyre for the truck.
37
CJ pulled up outside Burt’s house and climbed out, taking a jacket and an esky with her.
‘Are you really sure all this is necessary?’ asked Chris, who was also holding a jacket and beanie.
‘Yep. Believe me, it may be hot during the day but at night it can get cold, especially if the Albany doctor blows in early.’
‘You know, I really wonder what I’ve got myself in for.’ He laughed as they walked towards the shed.
‘Hey, you kids. We’re nearly ready. Joe’s just rounding up some port to warm our blood up later.’ Burt headed with them towards a huge pile of dead trees that had been dumped there. Some looked like they’d been dragged with the loader.
CJ put her jacket over a fold-out chair Burt had positioned around the pile of debris and sat down, grabbing each of them a beer from the esky. ‘Pull up a pew,’ she said to Chris.
He glanced at Burt, who was claiming his own chair, and followed suit.
‘Okay, I have the port,’ said Joe as he approached. ‘And a surprise.’ He put down a box of bullets along with the cask of port and passed a gun over to Chris. Chris took it carefully. ‘Thought Chris might like to have a go at hitting a few clay targets, seeing as it’s still light. What d’ya reckon?’
‘Wow,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve never held a gun before.’
‘That’s a Winchester 101 twelve-gauge over-and-under shotgun. You like?’ asked Burt.
Chris admired the metal near where the bullets were slotted in. ‘Yep, I love the engraving on it. It’s heavier than I thought a gun would be.’
‘It’s a good gun to use for clay-target shooting. You’d probably like that better than chasing Skippy, am I right?’ CJ asked.
‘Yeah. Don’t think I could do that to our national icon. Not when they’re so cute and furry. I understand why it’s done, just as long as it’s not me doing it,’ said Chris.
‘Come on. I’ve set it up by the paddock,’ said Joe.
The four of them walked a hundred metres to the nearby paddock and climbed over the wire fence. On the other side sat a box of bright-orange clay targets and a contraption on an old tyre.
‘That’s what you put the targets on, see?’ said Joe as he demonstrated how the firing arm worked. ‘It’s spring-loaded.’ He placed a clay target on it and pulled the rope. Instantly the arm swung free, flinging the orange target up into the sky.
‘May I?’ CJ took the gun off Chris, loaded up both barrels and turned off the safety switch. ‘Two please, Joe,’ she said, walking a few metres away from them. She spread her legs, getting her balance and steadying the gun. ‘Pull!’ she yelled.
Joe let another two targets go and she fired, blasting the first orange circle into pieces.
‘Great shot!’ bellowed Burt.
CJ trained the gun barrel towards the second target and fired again. The second target wasn’t a direct hit but it broke into a few pieces nonetheless. She saw Chris jump and hold his ears.
‘I forgot to warn you it’s very loud.’
Joe fished some ear plugs from his pocket and handed him a pair.
‘Scared the crap out of me!’ shouted Chris, laughing. ‘But damn, you got them both. That’s awesome.’
‘I’ve had plenty of practice out here with these two ratbags,’ she said, pointing to Burt and Joe. ‘It’s a lot of fun.’
‘See how she was ready, Chris?’ said Burt. ‘What you gotta do is find the target in your sights and follow its path. The moment you pass it, or lose sight of it, pull the trigger.’
Chris screwed up his face. ‘Sounds hard.’
CJ handed him the gun. ‘You’ll be right.’
She showed him how to load it. ‘Keep it hard against your shoulder or it will bite.’
‘Okay.’
‘Yell “pull” when you’re ready,’ said Joe, the rope held tight in his hand.
‘Pull!’ yelled Chris.
The orange target flew through the air. Chris fired off both shots but it landed on the ground intact, and Joe ran off to collect it.
‘Shit, that hurt,’ said Chris, rubbing his shoulder. But he had a smile from ear to ear.
‘You weren’t ready for its kick, boy. Next time you’ll be ready for it.’ Burt handed him two more bullets.
Joe loaded up a few more targets for Chris and let him keep practising and giving him pointers, just like he’d done when CJ first learnt how to shoot.
Suddenly Burt groaned and took a step back against the fence post. His face pulled tight.
‘What’s up? Are you okay?’ CJ put her hand on his shoulder worriedly. He looked like he was in pain.
Burt took some deep breaths. ‘I’m okay, CJ. Don’t you worry about me.’ Burt flashed her a smile and CJ could see the pain was dissipating.
‘Are you sure? Do you want a drink or something?’
‘If you’re offering the port.’
CJ laughed. ‘You old bugger. Now I really know you’re all right.’
Chris kept going until he managed to hit a target. They all cheered and his face lit up like a Skyworks display.
Joe took the gun next. Chris stood smiling next to CJ, bumping his shoulder against hers. ‘This is so much fun.’
CJ grinned back at him. It was hard not to feel happy around Chris. His infectious smile and bubbly energy helped her through the tough days. She still had them. Days where Lindsay crept to the forefront of her mind and refused to leave. His smile, those arms and the eyes that seemed to have silver flecks when he laughed.
Chris pulled his long-sleeved shirt around him. ‘It’s already getting cool.’
CJ reigned in her thoughts. ‘Yeah, wait till it’s dark,’ she said. The sun was heading towards the horizon and they were left with the soft, yellow glow of sunset.
‘The light is too weak now,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll put these away and get some diesel for the bonfire.’
They headed back over the fence towards their chairs and sat down. CJ sat next to Burt, just wanting to keep an eye on him. He’d said he was all right but she’d never seen him so pale and clammy. She knew pain when she saw it and it had been all over Burt’s face. He seemed fine now but she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘Here, we brought two packets of marshmallows,’ said Chris, pulling them out of the esky. ‘I wasn’t sure how hungry CJ would be. I’ve seen her eat and I didn’t want to take any chances on missing out,’ Chris teased.
CJ turned around and pushed him, but his chair unbalanced as he’d been swinging on it and it went sailing backwards onto the dirt – Chris, marshmallows and all.
‘Shit, sorry!’ CJ said as she tried to haul him back up in between fits of laughter.
When he was upright Chris tucked both packets of marshmallows under his arms. ‘Well, now you’re not getting any!’
CJ pulled a big stick from the pile of wood just before Joe poured some fuel on it. He struck a match and instantly flames danced their way over the dead wood. The dry leaves went up fast with a crackle and a whoosh. Flames leapt into the air metres above them.
‘Cool,’ said Chris, standing up and taking a step back from the intensity of the blaze.
When the big flames died down, CJ began to clean up the stick she’d grabbed. ‘Now, you may have the marshmallows, but I have the roasting stick! Do you think we could come to some agreement?’ she said cheekily.
Chris looked around him, searching for his own stick, but there was only bare, sandy dirt. He sighed and threw her the marshmallows, which hit her in the chest. ‘Okay, but the first two are mine. And no burning them.’
CJ laughed as she opened the packet and threw two marshmallows back at him. ‘Is raw enough for ya?’
Chris jumped out of his chair. CJ leapt up and ran with her stick and marshmallows around the fire.
Chris caught her by the arm after a few metres and managed to take her possessions. ‘Now I’m lord of the stick and the marshmallows.’
They sat back down and Chris
began roasting a marshmallow, which turned into a flaming ball of goo. ‘Oh, whoops.’
Burt laughed. ‘You silly galah. You need to put them over the coals, not into the flames.’
Their laughter echoed out into the black and starry night sky – the perfect backdrop for the array of yellow and red flames.
CJ sat at the round table up to her elbows in paper, pencils and a trusty calculator. She wore a white singlet and tiny black shorts to keep cool. They had set up a fan in the corner of the kitchen and it was blowing their papers about. Chris sat with his pencil behind his ear and his finger tapping away at the numbers on the calculator. He was in a cotton T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts with thongs. He didn’t look so much like a stiff from the city and had even cracked open a beer with her. He was helping CJ draw up a budget, among other things.
‘You truly are a lifesaver, Chris. Figures never were my thing.’
Chris flashed his dazzling smile. ‘You know I don’t mind, CJ. Besides, I have to look after my very first client so you can keep spreading the word about how wonderful I am.’
‘Yep, you’re amazing with a calculator and wow, if everyone could see what you can do with a pencil!’
Chris tried to twirl his pencil in his fingers but sent it flying across the table, hitting CJ in the head.
They both cackled with laughter. Irene and Dot stopped talking and looked across at them.
‘Sounds like you’re going mad in there. Do you two need a break?’ asked Irene with an amused look on her face.
‘Nah, we’re fine, we are already mad anyway… Well, I know CJ is!’ teased Chris.
Irene shook her head and turned back to Dot. They had made themselves comfortable in the lounge room, by the tiny old aircon, and were doing some brainstorming of their own for CJ’s new business venture. The four of them were inside Burt’s old house – the one CJ would be using for the shearing school.
CJ had called a crisis meeting of sorts so they could discuss what the requirements would be for the students, and the associated costs.
‘We’ll need to put in toilets down by the shed. I don’t think Burt would mind, do you?’ Irene asked.
