Magpie's Bend

by Maya Linnell

  ‘Terrible joke,’ said Pete, groaning. ‘Can I shout you a bacon-and-egg sanga?’

  Pete ran him through the day’s cattle prices on the way to the saleyards canteen before moving on to the McIntyre clan. Toby listened with half an ear, his mind wandering to the McIntyre sister who had taken his heart.

  Has Lara opened my letter, or did she turf it?

  It was easier to fill the Lara-shaped void in his life during the day, when his head was full of newspaper stuff, but she snuck into his mind every time he headed out for a run or heard a carolling magpie. Hell, if it wasn’t the radio station having a Tina Turner-a-thon, it was the television pumping out Friends re-runs like they were going out of fashion. She was everywhere he turned. And next week, when the newspaper closed its doors for good, he would have even more time to dwell on what could have been.

  ‘Lara’s looking as miserable as you, mate. Not that I’d dare tell her that,’ said Pete with a chipper smile. A glob of yolk dribbled down the front of the stock agent’s red shirt. ‘She’d bite my head off and then some.’

  It wasn’t much consolation. Toby hated knowing he’d inadvertently drawn them both under this cloud of unhappiness.

  They left the canteen and headed back to the saleyards. Pete looked over to the bidding area, where stockies and auctioneers called from the overhead platform.

  ‘It’s my turn in a minute,’ he said. ‘Don’t stress too much, mate, I know Cam and Evie have cooled down and Diana reckons Lara’ll simmer down in her own time. Never was one for being rushed, that girl.’

  Toby wiped his hands with a napkin and lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘Really?’

  His wry tone made Pete chuckle. Toby made his farewell and ambled through the crowd with a slightly lighter step than he’d walked in with.

  Lara threw herself into tasks that could be done on autopilot, and was restocking the shop fridge when a customer swept in.

  ‘These are glorious.’

  A voice came from the middle of the store, and she looked up to see a customer admiring a big bouquet of flowers. Any logical person would like the posies, studded with proteas and sprays of grevilleas and gum blossoms, but Lara could barely look at the brimming buckets, even the ones from Diana’s ever-expanding patch.

  Brody put down the mail he was sorting and helped the woman choose a bunch.

  ‘They’re from local farms too, grown on the outskirts of Hamilton and right here in Bridgefield,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘We’ve only just started stocking them.’

  Nanna Pearl had raised the idea at the last committee meeting, and Lara had been as impressed as the rest of them until she learned it had been Toby’s suggestion. Every bunch she sold reminded her of what they’d almost had.

  Your choice, remember?

  Lara wrapped the flowers in old newspapers, flaring the edges like Diana had shown her. She looped ribbon around them, and ran it along the blade of her scissors, but the ribbon refused to curl.

  She forced a smile as she handed over the bouquet and farewelled the customer.

  ‘They’re popular,’ said Brody. ‘Diana said we should make a sign saying “Grown, not flown”, to increase the feel-good factor. What do you think?’

  Lara tried another smile. ‘Knock yourself out.’

  Brody’s enthusiasm knew no bounds. She was glad to see him thriving in his new environment, but she felt exhausted just watching him.

  The shop door flung open and a young couple ambled up to the counter, arms wrapped around one another.

  Lara had to look away; the way they moved in unison was too much. Young holiday makers in Bridgefield? The wildflower season was ramping up in the Grampians, but most of those tourists were normally Angus’s age, not twenty-somethings.

  ‘We hoped we’d find you here!’ The woman beamed and waved a hand in Lara’s direction, as if she were auditioning for Sale of the Century.

  Weird.

  ‘Are you here for the pies? We’ve got steak and rosemary today,’ Lara offered doubtfully.

  The customer’s face fell.

  Vegan perhaps?

  ‘Or salad rolls if you’d rather?’

  The bloke gave a chuckle. He leaned in so he was cheek-to-cheek with his girlfriend.

  ‘You don’t remember us! We were at the fundraising weekend. Adam and Sasha. I was the idiot who almost had a heart attack on the 5K finish line. Sasha here breezed in with first place in the 10K.’

  Lara laughed for the first time all week.

  ‘How could I forget? You’re looking very …’ Sickeningly happy? Smugly smitten? Lara felt like a shrivelled-up old prune compared to this loved-up pair.

  ‘And we’re engaged!’

  Lara’s laughter scudded to a halt, and she felt her mouth form a perfect ‘o’ shape. Young, loved-up and stupid. What a heady combination.

  Brody jumped in with his congratulations, thankfully making enough fuss for the both of them while Lara gathered her wits.

  ‘Wonderful news,’ she said, swallowing down the urge to caution them about heartbreak.

  Sasha held out her hand again and Lara realised she was supposed to admire the chunky diamond ring. She made the appropriate noises as the pair outlined their plans to exchange vows at the top of Windmill Track next year.

  Sasha and Adam buzzed with excitement as they headed off, their arms wrapped firmly around one another again.

  The door jangled shut. Lara let out a sigh.

  ‘They’re happy now, but I bet you fifty bucks there won’t be a wedding at Windmill Track in twelve months’ time,’ she said.

  Brody hesitated. ‘What, you mean they wouldn’t get a permit to get married there? Isn’t it Crown land?’

  ‘No, I just mean that people change, infatuations wear off and half of those frilly white wedding dresses in the op shops never even made it down the altar.’

  Her words hung in the air. Lara caught Brody’s eye and cursed her pessimism. Just because she was miserable, she didn’t have to bring everyone down with her.

  ‘Rant over,’ she said, shaking her head with a sheepish look. ‘Maybe they’ll be happily married for fifty years. Plenty of people seem to manage it.’

  Brody’s sparkle seemed to wane a little, seeing straight through her false bluster, and she felt even worse when he shook his head and agreed with her.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. It didn’t happen for my parents. Or for you and Evie’s dad. Maybe you’re just a realist,’ he said with a sigh that sounded too weary for his seventeen years.

  Lara walked through to the kitchen and made them both a cup of tea. The first mouthful scalded her lips, and she took another as penance. She stared into the strong brew, searching for a way forward and finding nothing but a rogue tea leaf.

  She trudged up her front steps later that night, ignoring the unruly lawn that tickled her ankles and the self-seeded poppy blossoms that had burst into bloom beside the chook house, their origin as mysterious as the irises and tulips.

  Lara flicked through the TV channels, scowling at the limited options. Too trashy. Too whiney. Too cheerful. Too boring.

  She was reaching for the Friends DVD when Basil scratched at the door. Lara let him in.

  ‘What would Evie say, Baz? Stop moping and go for a run?’ Inspiration struck as she patted the dog. ‘That’s it! We need a slice of Evie-sunshine, Baz. Shall we see if we can jail-break her out of boarding school?’

  The more she thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Lara dialled Evie’s number.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’

  Suddenly, Lara couldn’t wait a moment longer to see her daughter.

  ‘Put the kettle on, Evie girl, I’m coming your way.’

  She jumped off the couch, shoving things into an overnight bag as she outlined her idea. It was the most invigorated she’d felt in weeks. ‘I’ll be there in a few hours, we can get Thai for dinner, head out for ice cream. You can wag school tomorrow and we can do some shopping, grab the midday movie and—’
/>   ‘Mum? Mum!’ Evie’s voice cut over hers. Lara paused, but continued loading clothes into the bag. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? It would be the perfect pick-me up.

  ‘You’re worried about getting into trouble, aren’t you? I’ll …’ Lara cast her gaze around her bedroom, spotting the bottle of St John’s wort tablets Angie had described as happiness in a bottle. ‘I’ll make up some bogus doctor’s appointment.’

  ‘Mum, that’s not it. I’m going to the ballet at Her Majesty’s Theatre with Edwina tonight,’ she said softly. ‘I told you, remember?’

  As quickly as Lara’s excitement had risen, it went again in a whoosh. She braced herself against the bed frame and sank to the mattress. Of course Evie had plans, but why oh why did they have to be with the Kingsleys?

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t know you were planning to visit.’ Lara heard the worry in her daughter’s voice and felt even worse. ‘She arranged the tickets ages ago. Dinner too. I can cancel? Or you can come with us?’

  Lara let out a shriek of laughter. Dinner and ballet with her ex-mother-in-law? But before she knew it, great big sobs came from somewhere deep inside. Warm tears welled, making her vision swim. It felt like her Jenga-tower of a life had well and truly tumbled.

  I’ve ruined everything. I’ve lost Toby. I’m losing Evie. She thought of her bitter response to the happy couple earlier that day. I’ve got nothing. Something warm nudged her hand, and through her tears she saw Basil by her side. Nothing but a snake-chasing kelpie and a chip on my shoulder. Lara’s shoulders shuddered as she tried to rein in the tears.

  ‘Mum?’ Evie’s voice was kind, and more than a little concerned. ‘I know you don’t like Edwina and Karl, but they’re never going to replace you. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,’ she paused, making sure Lara was listening. ‘Or anyone.’

  Lara took a shaky breath. She didn’t know what to say. She caught sight of herself in the wardrobe’s mirrored doors and felt ashamed of her jealousy and her bitterness. How had it come to the point where her teenage daughter was consoling her?

  Pushing herself up off the bed, Lara didn’t stop moving until she was outside. The wind whipped away her tears and she filled her lungs with the clean, country air she loved. Lara pressed the phone to her ear again, relieved Evie was still on the line.

  ‘I’m sorry, Evie. I’ve been so scared of losing you.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  Evie listened quietly, as Lara shared her fears and the resentment that arose every time the Kingsley name dropped into Evie’s updates.

  ‘You don’t need to worry,’ Evie said eventually. ‘You’ve been here for my whole life, encouraging and helping me every step of the way. These guys aren’t going to come and steal your thunder in just a few short months,’ she said, a smile in her voice.

  Lara swallowed hard, taking in the maturity and perceptiveness that belied Evie’s fifteen years. ‘They’re not bad people, Mum,’ said Evie softly.

  Closing her eyes, Lara nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘And they can’t cook to save themselves, so you’ll always know the way to my heart.’

  Lara laughed, feeling the late afternoon sun warming her skin. Was she right? Was there enough love within Evie to go round? She let her daughter change the mood with a few jokes at her teachers’ expense, before enquiring after Cameron and the rest of her cousins.

  They settled on a get-together the following weekend, and Lara felt a little better by the time she’d hung up. She walked around the overgrown garden, pulling out the odd thistle and throwing it into the chook pen.

  The ruffled poppies swayed gently in the breeze. Lara noticed a ladybird trapped in a spiderweb that dangled between two flowers. She plucked it free and watched it climb up and down her fingers before fluttering away.

  This is not about me, it’s about Evie. She’s got a heart the size of Uluru—who am I to regulate who she shares it with? It wasn’t until Lara had crossed the garden that she spotted a black-and-red dot crawling up her arm. The same ladybird or a totally different one? The little insect lifted her spirits. Instead of pushing the resentment aside, as she normally did, Lara sat on her deck until she’d reached a decision. I can’t let the Kingsleys keep living rent-free in my brain. There was enough love within Evie to light up the moon, of that she was sure, and while she didn’t want to sit down for jam and scones with Edwina and Karl, she let herself accept that Evie wasn’t comparing them, or ditching her for her grandparents.

  Toby woke the next morning refreshed. Three a.m. had passed without its usual wake-up-and-dwell-on-things specialty, and he treated himself to a long leisurely run. Two shooting stars, what sounded like an amorous pair of koalas and one kookaburra chorus later, he was looping back past Lara’s driveway. The windows were dark, as if she’d taken a rare sleep-in. Toby found himself calling out a greeting to the cows that followed him along the roadside until Lara’s property boundary ended.

  He would miss this.

  His phone buzzed as he passed the remains of McCluskey’s shearing shed, and for a second he let himself imagine it was Lara calling to say she was done stewing and ready to talk.

  But as he tugged the phone out of his shorts pocket, Holly’s name flashed up on the screen. He stopped on a dime, his flow disappearing in an instant.

  ‘What’s wrong, Lollypop?’

  ‘Good morning to you too, Dad. Can’t a girl call her old man to say hi?’

  Toby started to walk the short stretch towards his driveway.

  ‘At six in the morning?’

  ‘I’m calling with good news,’ she said. He could hear her smile all the way down the phone line.

  ‘You got a job that pays all your school fees, so your poor, nearly unemployed Dad can keep you in the luxury to which you’re accustomed?’

  Holly laughed. ‘No silly, the Nikon awards. Your photo won! The email came through late last night after I’d gone to sleep. I knew you’d win it,’ she said.

  Toby carefully navigated his driveway. A recent downpour had washed away the top soil, making it even more rutted than usual.

  ‘Doesn’t make it right, Hol.’

  ‘But think of the great photos you’ll take with that new camera. You’re not going to turn it down, surely?’ Her voice was incredulous. ‘It’s the best Nikon on the market. You’ve lusted after it more than … than …’

  Holly struggled for an analogy, as if realising she didn’t want to picture her daggy old dad lusting after something. Or someone.

  ‘More than you lusting after Cameron McIntyre?’ he offered, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tried to coerce the gate into opening.

  ‘Daaa-ad. That’s gross.’

  ‘Tell me I’m wrong.’

  Holly’s groan was only half-hearted. ‘Well, Cam might be part of the reason I’m up early. He sent me a message this morning, first one since the fun run. He’s an early bird like you.’

  ‘How’s Cameron going to react when you tell him the photo won? That’s not going to score you any friends in the McIntyre clan. It means the picture will be used in the marketing for next year’s awards. Evie and Lara aren’t going to like that.’

  Holly’s enthusiasm wavered.

  ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  Toby kicked at a rock on the driveway. He knew Holly felt bad about the pickle she’d got them into, but it didn’t make Lara’s silence any easier to bear. An idea formed as the coffee brewed. He couldn’t change the outcome of the awards, but maybe he could find a way to do good with that expensive camera he’d won. By the time he’d finished the coffee and showered, Toby had come up with a plan.

  Twenty-eight

  Lara tore along the deserted track, legs pumping and arms swinging, focusing solely on the amount of speed she could cram into her twenty-minute run. Even the most gruelling leg-burning, chest-on-fire sessions did little to dull the hurt. The next best thing would be some torturous hill sprints up the side of Windmill Track, but she couldn’
t go back there. Not yet.

  Lara was almost at her front gate, the ambling heifers who had followed her along the driveway fence line no match for her furious pace, when her phone buzzed inside her exercise belt. Her watch screen lit up too. Personal best!

  She switched off the watch, barely acknowledging those two validating words that danced across the digital screen. Basil greeted her at the door, his tail wagging, and followed her down the hallway. Lara extracted her phone from the sweaty exercise belt and read the new message.

  Hi Lara, could I trouble you for a cup of milk to make my porridge? No hurry, just on your way to work would be fine. Let me know if you can’t make it and I’ll try Dallas xx Mrs Beggs

  Mrs Beggs’ medication needed to be taken with food, and there was no way Lara would leave it in the hands of the eternally unreliable Dallas. She arrived at the little cottage ten minutes later, bottle of milk in hand.

  ‘Thanks, darl. Come in,’ Mrs Beggs said, beckoning Lara through the door. ‘Won’t keep you long, I just wanted to show you this.’

  Lara followed Mrs Beggs into the cosy lounge room, wondering whether she was about to see a rash or an oozing wound, and was surprised to be handed a newspaper article.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Mrs Beggs stayed silent while Lara studied the photos.

  She felt her breath catch. It was from The Ballarat Daily. The first picture was of Holly, standing with a woman outside a modern-looking brick house. The second was the photo of her working on Mrs Beggs. It’s good, she admitted to herself. Really good.

  Lara’s feet stayed glued to the floorboards as she read the article.

  ‘Toby won the contest but then sold the prize?’

  ‘And donated the money to charity,’ said Mrs Beggs, sounding like a proud mother.

  Not just any charity, but a women’s refuge.

  ‘The refuge helps women who have escaped abusive relationships, it says. That sounds like a very good thing, doesn’t it, dear?’