Magpie's Bend

by Maya Linnell

  Lara, Penny, Diana and Angie McIntyre were gathered around the kitchen table with matching smiles. The photo was candid, with the window behind them backlighting the scene as they pressed, coiled and tied sausages. Angus was visible in the far left of the shot, his smile proud and genuine. It wasn’t the type of picture to win awards, but he knew it would be something special for the family.

  Print it? He studied the photo. Be a nice way to say thanks for the hospitality …

  In a few short moments, Toby had opened his laptop and uploaded the picture to an online printing site. He added a timber frame to the cart and checked out. His eye caught on the order history. Holly shared the same account and he flicked through her last order, placed a few days ago. Photos of her pregnant Aunty Belinda, pictures with her school friends horsing around in their expensive uniforms, then her more serious shots: a series of panoramas of the fog rising from Ballarat’s lake on a frosty morning, ice dripping off a tap in their backyard and moody rain clouds. Toby’s phone pinged with a message and he shut down the internet window, feeling a bit guilty for snooping through Holly’s photos.

  A fire?

  Toby jumped up, rereading the message.

  McCluskey’s?

  His chair clattered to the floor. He grabbed his camera bag, shrugged on a jacket and took the front steps as fast as he could.

  The baby magpie kept its beady gaze on Lara as she reached in and wrapped a gentle hand around its body. As it did every morning, the bird squawked and tried to peck her hand with its thin black beak, before conceding defeat. She wrapped a tea towel around his feathers to keep him still as she fed him.

  ‘All right, Vegemite, meds time,’ said Lara, reaching for the syringe.

  The chick swivelled its head left and right, its performance reminding her of the children who came through the centre, adamant they wouldn’t open their mouth for any of Nurse Lara’s medicine. Instead of the jelly beans she kept in her nurse’s uniform, Lara reached for a tiny worm she’d dug up that morning and dangled it in front of the bird’s beak.

  ‘Open sesame,’ she said, slipping the syringe inside the bird’s mouth as the worm curled itself around her fingertips.

  The magpie’s gentle pecks tickled her hands, and she smiled triumphantly as it plucked the worm from her grasp. The bird shook his beak. The worm went flying across the table and the syringe clattered to the floor.

  Basil watched the ritual with half-hearted interest. For a dog who had once chased anything that moved and rounded up sneaky chickens when they breached the henhouse confines, he was a shadow of his former self.

  At least he’s still here, Lara reminded herself as she placed the bird on the dining table. Basil barely raised a hairy eyebrow as the chick fluffed up its soft downy feathers, tucked its good wing back into place and pecked at another worm.

  He stayed there while Lara sorted through the pile of newspapers on the bench and replaced the soiled paper at the bottom of the cage.

  ‘Here, back in you go, Vegemite.’

  The grandfather clock in the living room chimed. Time to get my bum into gear.

  She returned him to his perch, carried the birdcage into the laundry and added a fresh bowl of water. The magpie cocked its head to the side and studied her with a chocolate eye. Lara marvelled again at the fine, long black eyelashes. A little grey feather floated through the cage bars as the bird stretched again. The left wing touched the side of the cage but the other stayed at an awkward angle, as if the bird were doing a feathered version of ‘I’m a Little Teapot’. Its thin eyelid flickered upward to close.

  ‘See you tonight,’ said Lara, closing the laundry door.

  She shoved her phone into her pocket and paused as Basil’s tail thumped against the floorboards. Take him or leave him? Therapy dogs visited the centre once a month, their calm temperaments perfect for the visitors who came to their healthy-legs clinic, but Basil had always been too boisterous and active to even consider bringing into work.

  ‘Will you sit there quietly, and let the clients pat you?’ she asked.

  Basil cocked his head, just like the magpie had. The side of his lip where he’d been bitten by the snake didn’t move, giving him a wonky charm. Lara thought of Toby’s lopsided smile. She crouched down and clipped a lead onto Basil’s collar. An orange glow at the end of her driveway and the billowing smoke caught her attention the second they stepped outside.

  Fire!

  Lara settled Basil in the boot and jumped into the driver’s seat, gravel flicking under her wheels as she raced towards the shearing shed. The CFA truck was already there, but even their best efforts were too late for the old building. Flames licked the air and the stone walls gave a great huff, as if exhaling hundreds of years of history, and crumbled to the ground.

  Clyde McCluskey stood on the boundary between their two properties, the glow of the fire shining off his bald patch. Ash and soot had settled on his jumper. Lara took in his scorched eyebrows and the hand he cradled to his chest.

  ‘You right?’

  ‘Such a frigging waste,’ he said. She didn’t disagree. The best shearing shed in the district devoured by flames would make local news, if not state news. She wasn’t surprised to see Toby rock up a few minutes later.

  ‘Your hand, though, Clyde? Does it need seeing to?’ Lara reached for his hand and turned it gently. Even in the dim dawn light, with an orange glow from the fire, the blisters looked painful.

  ‘I’ll need to dress it at the centre.’

  McCluskey looked down at his hand, as if seeing it for the first time. She coerced her neighbour into the car and pulled onto the road. She slowed and rolled down the window when she got to Toby.

  ‘If anyone needs Clyde, he’ll be back in half an hour.’

  ‘Are the donkeys okay?’ Toby asked.

  The donkeys! She’d forgotten all about them.

  Lara turned to McCluskey, who nodded gravely. ‘By a whisker,’ he said.

  The smoke felt like it was following them into town, and by the time Lara had opened up the Bush Nursing Centre, dressed McCluskey’s burns, locked up behind her again and driven her neighbour back home, she needed another shower and a fresh set of clothes.

  The receptionist greeted her with an enviable perkiness when Lara finally walked Basil in to the nursing centre.

  ‘There’s the brave snake-wrangling kelpie. And you’ve been out toasting marshmallows, I hear.’

  ‘Hardly. The CFA blokes had the fire sorted by the time I arrived,’ said Lara. She looked down at Basil. ‘I’m getting soft in my old age, but I’m sure he won’t be any trouble.’

  The receptionist wandered out from behind the counter and stroked Basil’s ears. ‘It’s like he’s sedated. If anyone asks we’ll pretend he’s our new therapy dog,’ she said with a wink.

  Lara gave a grateful smile and set Basil’s basket up in the corner of the multipurpose room. He watched but didn’t move a paw out of place as she prepped for the Move It or Lose It class.

  Women began to stream into the room, yoga mats under their arms, briefly greeting Lara before returning to their discussions.

  ‘If it was anyone else, I’d say it was arson for an insurance job.’

  Lara looked up from the round yoga balls she was trying to corral.

  Gossip’s still faster than broadband internet around here …

  ‘Such a shame. All that history gone up in smoke,’ said Olive.

  Karen lowered her voice. ‘Clyde probably didn’t even have it insured. Moths would fly out of his wallet if he ever opened it.’

  ‘Serves him right, the old curmudgeon. I heard he wants young Toby to reroute his fun run so the runners don’t upset his cattle and those darn mules.’ Olive patted her silver perm.

  What?

  This was news to Lara.

  ‘They’re donkeys, not mules,’ Karen corrected.

  ‘Same thing. Edna McCluskey would be beside herself. She loved that little shearing shed almost as much as her donkeys
,’ Olive said, unrolling her yoga mat. The discussion was interrupted when another group of women walked into the room, followed by a couple, their matching lime-green tracksuits aquiver with excitement.

  The pair hurried over to Lara. ‘We’ve got a surprise for you, Lara dear. Our grandson Paul heard about the general store fundraiser, and he wants to make a sizeable donation,’ said the woman. She looked around to be sure she had everyone else’s attention, then raised her voice a little. ‘You know, he’s the one on the Gold Coast, with the big start-up. Graeme and Letty’s boy. Early forties like you, I believe.’

  Lara scratched her chin. Paul had been the biggest nerd in high school, and no matter how well he’d done for himself, she still couldn’t reconcile her shy Bridgefield High classmate with the multinational entrepreneur he’d become.

  ‘He wants to donate fifty thousand dollars.’

  Lara’s heart lifted.

  The proud grandmother leaned in a little closer.

  ‘There are a few minor conditions, of course,’ she said, with a tinkling laugh. ‘He’ll get his lawyers to draft them up, but how do you feel about renaming it the ZingleDangle General Store? Or the ZC Store for short? He’ll arrange new signage of course, and a full paint job so it matches with the green company branding.’

  Lara couldn’t look away from the matching tracksuits with their lurid tone. A lime-green general store sounded as bad as a Tarquin-owned general store with smashed avocado and karaoke nights.

  The woman’s husband pointed to the logo on his hoody, some type of abominable snowman.

  ‘This is the company mascot. He’d send a bunch of these tracksuits over for giveaways at the grand re-opening. He might even fly his chopper over for the launch.’

  Lara’s heart sank. She would not allow the general store to be turned into a marketing exercise.

  ‘Such a generous offer, we’ll keep it in mind.’ She tapped her watch and waved to the stragglers chatting by the door. ‘We’re starting, come on in,’ she said, pressing play on the stereo.

  Lara pulled the fundraiser flyers off the photocopier and wedged them under her arm before slinging her handbag over her shoulder. Penny had whipped up the colourful designs to promote all three fundraising events, plus a tear-off slip through which people could or buy a share.

  Stuff the flyers in letter boxes, quick meeting, feed the animals, then bed, Lara promised herself as one yawn turned into two. If she didn’t move quickly, she’d fall asleep on one of the centre’s examination tables. She tidied up her nursing paperwork, pulled a jacket over her cardigan and walked into the foyer.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, heading to the glass sliding door. ‘Forgetting someone?’ The receptionist lifted the red dog lead. Basil’s tail thumped quietly against the carpet in the corner. Lara cringed. ‘Never thought I’d see the day he was so quiet I’d forget he was around,’ she said, giving a short whistle. ‘C’mon boy, home time.’

  She walked across Bridgefield’s main street, slower than normal to accommodate Basil’s snail-pace, and let herself into the general store’s back door.

  Basil flopped down quietly beside the mail bag. The effort of walking across the street had obviously tuckered him out. Lara knelt down and scratched his ears.

  ‘I know how you feel, buddy.’

  Basil gave her a baleful look.

  Setting the stack of flyers on the counter, Lara automatically checked the pie-warmer. It was still warm to touch, but the power light was off. Something about McCluskey’s fire had set her on edge.

  She slipped the flyers into the letterboxes, her mind wandering to the meeting she was hosting tonight. It shouldn’t take long, a quick update on the shares sold, donations tally and everyone’s fundraising ideas. Lara tugged her hair-tie out, gave her hair a quick finger comb before retying it, then straightened the collar of her uniform. Nothing to do with the fact Toby will be at the meeting, she told herself, checking that the front door of the shop was locked.

  The streetlights had flickered on, illuminating gusts of rain drenching the footpath.

  Lara called out to Basil as she grabbed her handbag: ‘Brace yourself for a wet walk back to the car—’ but she jerked to a stop as she walked into the storeroom.

  McCluskey was framed by the doorway. Basil’s tail wagged.

  ‘Clyde, what are you doing here?’

  Her neighbour shuffled in a little further, keeping a stern eye on the kelpie. ‘Light’s not normally on after hours, checking it’s all kosher,’ he said, taking a step backwards. ‘Can’t have thieves ransacking the shop while Winnie’s unwell.’

  So, he does have a heart after all.

  Basil sniffed at the bandage on McCluskey’s hand, which was already grotty.

  McCluskey’s oilskin jacket swirled out behind him as he turned to leave.

  ‘Any word on the shearing shed?’ Lara asked. ‘Do they know what happened?’

  He paused on the back step.

  ‘Poxy old radio I keep on for the donkeys must’ve been on the fritz. Can’t do much about it now, ’cept be thankful it wasn’t worse.’

  ‘That’s one way to look at it,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome to use my shearing shed and yards. I won’t be needing them anytime soon.’ Lara reached into her handbag and pulled out a flyer. ‘And I know you’re not a fan of the fundraiser, but we’re making a last-ditch effort to get the funds together,’ she added.

  McCluskey stared at the flyer suspiciously. ‘Why would we want all these people poking around our town?’ he said. ‘They could bring all sorts of trouble.’

  ‘Even more reason to support the shop fundraiser, Clyde. What would you prefer: one weekend with visitors in town, bringing in outside dollars to help save the general store, or having to buy your bread, milk and newspapers off people who don’t have any connection with this place? You should see the schmucks who’ve made offers already.’ Lara tapped the flyer he was holding. ‘I promise you, this is the better option.’ ‘I still don’t want people trampling over my land,’ he said, shoving the flyer into his pocket before leaving.

  It’ll probably end up in the bin.

  Lara pulled the door shut behind them, checking the lock before huddling under an umbrella for the short walk to the town hall.

  Most of the committee members were there, and she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when Diana announced Toby was an apology. She drove home carefully after the meeting, her windscreen wipers working overtime.

  She slowed even more as she approached Toby’s driveway. His windows glowed brightly, well-lit from the inside. What had kept him from the meeting? Was he ill? Snowed under with deadlines?

  If she braked now, she could drive down his sorry excuse for a driveway. The more she thought about it, the more appealing it became. Judging by the smoke coming out his chimney, Toby’s place would be toasty warm. Maybe he’d have dinner cooking—she knew from Evie he was a gun at stir-fry and pasta, and he’d said he made a mean pizza. They could brainstorm the fun run with a glass of wine in hand, work out whether their neighbour would sabotage the fundraising campaign. Maybe retire to the couch for dessert …

  Basil shifted in his basket. A strong smell wafted up from the back of the car and just like that, Lara crashed back to reality.

  ‘Eww, gross, Basil,’ said Lara, rolling down her window. Fresh air rushed in, along with sideways rain, fanning her flushed cheeks.

  Lara pressed the accelerator and headed home. Her headlights picked up the burned shearing shed, or what was left of it.

  For God’s sake, get a grip, woman. You’ve got animals to feed, your own fire needs lighting, and a fridge fully stocked with food.

  Hadn’t she fought long and hard for independence? Why would she want to throw it all away now?

  Sixteen

  Sleep came easily that night, but the vivid dreams took on a life of their own. Lara murmured, half asleep, and rolled onto her back.

  Toby’s face swam back into her mind. She could a
lmost feel the weight of his body shifting against hers.

  Slowly.

  Quietly.

  Deliciously.

  Toby’s mouth burned a trail of kisses from her collarbone to the bottom of her ear-lobe. She arched her neck as he pulled away, his navy eyes darkening with desire at her moan. A smile tipped his lips.

  How had she forgotten how good it could be? She pulled him back down to her. She wanted him closer. Needed him closer.

  Why had she waited so long to rediscover this kind of delight? Lara pressed herself against him, her hand falling over the side of the bed as a wave of pleasure started to pulse through her.

  The sharp pain came out of the blue, and all of a sudden Sam’s face loomed in front of hers. Lara froze as passion turned to fear. Within seconds she was thrashing, her arms swinging wildly as she fought back. It never ended well, but damned if she was going to let him …

  Confusion whirled as her flailing hands connected with soft fur, followed by a whimper. Lara’s heart thudded as she sat bolt upright and looked around. Basil sat beside the timber bedside table, watching her every move.

  Just a dream.

  Relief and embarrassment jostled for pole position as Lara tugged the sheet up around her chest and scanned the room. If Vegemite hadn’t chosen that exact moment to ruffle his feathers, she mightn’t have spotted him sitting on her pile of books. Basil eased himself back onto the carpet.

  ‘Make yourself at home there, guys.’

  From now on she would shut the bedroom door and triple-check the latch on the budgie cage before she went to bed. It was disconcerting to see a captivated audience when she woke up from that type of dream.

  The alarm on her mobile floated through the bedroom. Lara reached for the phone, receiving a sharp peck from the magpie. She assessed her hand. Two red dots puckered her pale skin.

  ‘You! It was you who hijacked my dream, wasn’t it,’ she said crossly. It was the third consecutive night Toby had crept into her dreams, each saucier than the last, but the first time in a long time that Sam had made a nasty cameo.