by Maya Linnell
‘I heard all about it at the post office. Apparently, Timmy got a good deal. Should help your old man outta a rough spot, with his being a cripple now …’
Penny shook her head in disbelief, gobsmacked. He must be joking … ? Tim wouldn’t have … couldn’t have … surely he hasn’t been to visit Angus overnight and cooked up a deal without us knowing?
Penny felt sick to her stomach, suddenly dizzy with the need to get to the hospital.
Thirty-eight
Penny stalked down the corridor, her stride agitated and her glare furious as she went straight past the nurse’s station.
‘And where do you think you’re going with a face like thunder? Not planning on disturbing Mr McIntyre, I hope?’
Penny swore under her breath as she stopped and turned towards the no-nonsense nurse, Brenda.
‘He’s had enough on his plate with your cranky sister storming in here earlier.’
‘Lara was here?’
‘Yes, but I sent her packing as soon as I overheard the tone of their conversation. She may have worked here once upon a time, but it doesn’t mean she can upset my patients like this. I won’t stand for it. My stockings nearly fell down when I heard the alarm going off on his monitors.’
Penny summoned up all of her professional poise to talk the stern nurse into allowing a two-minute visit, but her plan was thwarted before she’d even taken a step towards the room, by the twins screaming their way up the hospital corridor. A harried Diana and Angie arrived at the nurse’s station in time to hear Brenda’s final words on the subject.
‘No, no, no, no, no. I’ve had just about enough of this circus. We’ll call you if Mr McIntyre needs anything more today. Otherwise, you can clear off until you’ve all calmed down.’
Beep, beep, beep. The Mercedes’ over-speed alert chimed at her and Penny looked down at the speedo, easing back from a silky 130 kilometres per hour.
The northernmost tip of the Grampians stretched before her as she whipped down the country highway, white posts and dead kangaroos blipping past as she drove towards Bridgefield. Diana and Angie were just visible in her rear-view mirror.
Penny thumped the steering wheel with her fist as she recalled the dejected look on their faces at the hospital an hour ago, the frustration that had driven her fingernails into the palms of her clenched hands.
All three of them had tried to call Lara but to no avail. Likewise, Tim’s mobile was either switched off or out of range. She felt like throwing her phone to the ground and crushing it with her pointy-toed boot. Penny knew precisely where she planned on shoving that very same boot if William’s slurred words held an ounce of truth.
There was nothing to do but head for home.
Penny swiped at the radio dial, hoping music would calm her bubbling fury. She toggled through the stations, one eye on the road, one on the digital display, until she stumbled across a heavy rock program. AC/DC was a stretch even for her eclectic music taste, but somehow the thumping drums and screaming electric guitars seemed like perfect company for her mutinous thoughts.
A silver ute loomed on the horizon. With a spotlight on the roof, mud flaps that almost reached the ground and enough rust spots to be considered terminal, the vehicle was a slow-moving billboard for farm machinery and local Bachelor and Spinster balls.
Penny rolled her eyes as the stickers for the Colac Titpullers B&S, the Eel Skinners and Duck Pluckers B&S and the Poochera Pissants Ball loomed into view. Her foot jabbed the accelerator as she thought of Tim. Backstabbing bastard, just when I thought I could trust him.
She eyed the driver as she flew past the car. Instead of the teenage boy she had expected, she was face-to-face with a man about her own age. One arm rested on the windowsill and lazily gripped the wheel, the other around the shoulder of a small child. The little girl waved joyfully, pigtails bouncing as she jiggled in her booster seat.
Penny’s anger abated briefly and she waved grimly before pulling back into the left lane, memories of perching proudly in the front seat of her father’s ute—the one that now sat lifeless in a machinery shed—overshadowing her anger. As a child, she hadn’t seen the rust or the dents, only the pure joy of talking about sheep and wool as they ran errands in town. No hurry. No fuss. Just father and daughter time in a dusty old ute, a relic from Angus’s past he couldn’t fathom parting with.
A beeping noise drew Penny back to the present, and she looked in her rear-view mirror to see Diana’s four-wheel drive indicating to turn off the highway. The old silver ute was just a dot in the distance when Penny braked and cursed. Have I honestly been away so long that I’ve just missed the turn-off for home?
Penny slammed her car door and had covered several metres before Diana had even rolled to a stop beside her. Car doors slammed behind her, but Penny marched towards the pen of sheep and the three figures silhouetted against the tin shed. Brown grass crunched under her boots, dust swirling with every jerky step. Penny’s grip on her emotions was as tenuous as the lacklustre start to winter.
I’ll throttle her. And him, she thought, as Tim’s, Eddie’s and Lara’s laughter carried over the sound of barking dogs and jostling sheep. It was beyond belief. Lara barely smiled these days and she’d only heard Tim’s deep laugh twice since she’d been home. Once with her father and then in the hall kitchen, just minutes before her lips were millimetres from his.
Penny slowed fractionally as she heard panting behind her.
‘Wait, Pen. Calm down before you bust an artery. Diana’s putting the kettle on.’
Angie’s shorter legs struggled to keep up the pace and she jogged a few steps as the smell of sheep wafted towards them. Penny spotted Eddie and Lara at the far end of the yards. The sheep yard gate screeched as Bones and Rusty pushed a mob through the race. Tim released the sheep he was drenching, lifting his drench gun in greeting as they arrived.
Penny shoved her hands into her jeans pockets, face steely as she turned to Angie.
‘We’ll need more than a cup of tea to smooth this over.’
Thirty-nine
Raised voices danced off the corrugated iron. Spooked sheep skittered in the holding pens, bunching up against corners, the smaller ones scrambling to save themselves from being crushed. A wind whipped up out of nowhere, coating them all with dust.
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, Tim Patterson. And you too, Lara. You should be ashamed of yourself, upsetting a sick man who can barely tell what day of the week it is. There are laws against this. You can’t convince him to sell the farm when he’s not in his right mind.’
Tim set the drenching gun down, his large hands swiping at the dust that had settled on his face.
‘It’s not like that, Mac.’ His voice was quiet and steady, but the quick glance he gave Lara was all the confirmation Penny needed.
‘Have you been in cahoots with Lara all along, intending to be the first bidder if and when the property came up for sale? Don’t you have a scrap of dignity? Either of you?’
Penny’s voice shook with anger and she squinted against a gust of dirty wind, the fine particles of topsoil finding their way into her mouth. She spat viciously and ran her tongue along her gritty teeth.
Lara glared at her. ‘Dad’s not going to run it himself anymore, is he? I’m just being practical,’ she said, swinging her legs over the railing to stand beside Tim.
Eddie followed, his movements less fluid, and he straddled the top rail unsteadily. Penny’s anger faltered a little as she watched Tim assist him, gently coaxing his brother all the way over.
‘What’s with all the secret squirrel stuff though, Lara? Penny and I should be part of these discussions. Diana too.’ Angie’s chest had stopped heaving, her measured tone contrasting her sisters’ harsh words.
Lara looked from Penny to Angie, and then over to Eddie. She shrugged.
‘Penny shot the topic down. No use banging my head against a brick wall there. Figured I’d ask Tim and then go direct to Dad,’ said Lara.
Even th
ough Angie had asked the question, Lara directed her answer at Penny, as if she knew the flippant tone would further incense her.
‘Settle down, Mac. You’re going off half-cocked,’ said Tim.
Penny felt the blood pulsing through her temples, a thin red haze settling in front of her vision.
‘We’re talking about a farm, not some petty debate about rissoles versus sausages for dinner,’ said Penny. She stabbed a finger in Tim’s direction. ‘A family farm. And I think this should be a family-only discussion. Without any tyre kickers around.’
There was a groan from Angie. A smirk from Lara. Penny wasn’t sure whether it was another gust of wind or her words that caused Tim’s expression to harden, but she felt the civility between them evaporate with a jolt.
Tim put an arm around Eddie, shaking his head as he guided his brother towards the ute. Confusion crossed Eddie’s face.
‘Penny, Penny, Penny?’ He turned and headed in her direction, distressed.
Tim reached for Eddie’s arm and steered him the opposite way. His voice was tight as he spoke, and Penny saw his self-control wavering each time he unclenched his jaw.
‘Not now, Eddie. It’s time for us to go home.’
Penny squeezed her fingers into a fist, wishing she could retract her last sentence. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving a line of dirt in its place, and looked to Angie for backup.
‘Angie? Come on. Am I the only one who cares about the heritage of this place? Or Mum’s memorial rock up there on Wildflower Ridge? What are we going to do if we sell? Roll the great big boulder down the mountain and pop it in the front yard of some tiny townhouse?’
‘I think we all need to calm down, Penny,’ said Angie.
Penny threw her hands in the air. ‘Seriously?’
Lara laughed dryly, thriving on the conflict. She leaned forward, close enough that Penny could smell the mixture of sweat and lanolin on her skin.
‘You haven’t even been up to Wildflower Ridge in years. If you’re so nostalgic, Penny, why don’t you have a crack at running the bloody place? Put your money where your mouth is? Now that would be hilarious.’
Penny clenched her jaw indignantly and took a step back, her boot striking an empty drench drum beside her. The thump set off another round of barking from the dogs and added to her already rapid heart rate. Her ego stung as Lara continued to laugh, and anger took hold of her once again.
‘I’d manage just fine, but I’ve got better things to do. Laugh all you want, Lara. At least I’m not trying to sell Dad’s farm out from under him.’
She turned and yelled at Tim and Eddie’s retreating figures, the words flying from her lips before she could stop them.
‘You can stick your offer up your bum, Tim. Unless Dad says otherwise, McIntyre Park is not for sale.’
Tim didn’t acknowledge Penny’s parting shot, unwilling to expose the hurt and anger written across his face. It was no secret he’d been working hard and ploughing his savings into a farm deposit. And it was only a matter of time before his and Lara’s casual conversation was pumped into the Bridgefield gossip mill and churned out as a full-blown, signed, sealed and delivered sale offer. But Penny’s reaction had cut to the core.
Never, not bloody once, did I consider swindling Angus.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he swung himself into the ute. Without waiting for the click of Eddie’s seatbelt, he twisted the key in the ignition and let the red dirt fly behind him.
‘Penny, Penny, Penny …’
Eddie’s voice came out as a whimper.
Tim eased off the accelerator. ‘Don’t worry about her, mate. We should’ve learned from the past and given her a wide berth from the get-go.’
The implicit comparison Penny had made between him and his duplicitous father brought bile to his throat. I’m nothing like him, he told himself, swallowing the acrid taste. Tim felt like punching something, the way he had fought through the pain all those years ago. His fists unclenched a little as he looked at Eddie, who was still mumbling out the window. They both hated fighting and if history was any judge, it certainly didn’t impress women either. Teenage Mac had taken one look at his grazed knuckles and detention slip and fled in the opposite direction, no second chance. He swore under his breath.
You might not be a fraud, a fighter or a thief, but you’re just as much of a fool as him if you thought McIntyre Park would ever be yours, Patterson. You should have fobbed Lara off the second she asked if you wanted to put in an offer.
Tim shook his head, mentally cataloguing the spirits cabinet. It would take more than beer to deliver sleep tonight.
Forty
Penny shoved the general store’s glass door. The doorbell trilled and the smell of warm pies and newspaper ink immediately engulfed her. She stormed past shelves of overpriced toilet paper and bags of flour. She wasn’t here for shopping, she was here to deliver a piece of her mind.
Penny rang the bell next to the cash register twice, craning her neck to look into the staffroom at the back of the store. Mrs Beggs, the long-standing postmistress and general store operator, jumped out of her chair, looking Penny up and down as she approached the counter. Penny opened the conversation, but the postmistress overrode her words.
‘Mrs Beggs, I—’
‘By goodness, Penny, you’re all grown up. No wonder those postcards keep coming, with a figure like that.’ Mrs Beggs whistled as she reached across the lolly jars on the counter and squeezed Penny’s shoulder. Her warm touch and even warmer reception caught Penny off guard, her scathing serve about circulating gossip and reading other people’s mail frozen on her tongue as Mrs Beggs chattered away.
‘How’s Angus doing? I’ve been thinking of you poor girls. First your mum dying so young, now your dad so terribly injured. And with that big farm to run too, mmmm. Terrible, terrible,’ said Mrs Beggs. She hummed as she bustled around behind the counter, pulling a wad of envelopes from a pigeonhole and scooping up a thick stack of newspapers, a handwritten ‘McIntyre’ printed on the top of each page.
Penny shook her head. The cloud of anger that had delivered her direct from the sheep yards to the post office was just waiting to erupt.
‘Mrs Beggs, I need a word. You can’t—’
‘Ah, lovie, you don’t have to say anything. I know you’ve been through a lot recently. What, with your illness and all your boyfriend troubles.’
‘That’s what I’m here to talk about. I don’t appreci—’ Penny was interrupted once again, this time by the jingling doorbell.
The shopkeeper looked over Penny’s shoulder at the next customer. The rest of Penny’s sentence faltered as she turned to a man standing behind her, trickles of blood covering his chin.
‘Bandaids, Mrs Beggs? Where do you keep the damn things? I’m all out, and this scratch is bleeding like a stuck pig,’ came the gruff voice from beneath a bloodied handkerchief.
Penny backed away from the bleeding man. Looks like more than a scratch to me. Penny’s stomach weakened as the image of blood-smeared grass and Angus’s gory ankle beamed into her mind. Her gut clenched and she felt like throwing up the remains of Bess Harvey’s zucchini soup.
‘Over on the back shelf, John. Behind the birthday cards. I’d love to chat more, Penny, but I can’t stand here gabbing all day.’
Mrs Beggs pushed the bundle of mail and papers towards Penny, then reached under the counter and retrieved a wicker picnic basket.
Penny tried to calm her heaving stomach and steer the conversation back to its original direction.
‘Mrs Beggs, please.’
But the woman soldiered on, talking over the top of Penny as if she hadn’t heard her speak.
‘Lookey here, I almost forgot. This basket is for you.’
Penny hesitated, unsure if she should accept a gift from someone who had caused her so much trouble, however well intentioned.
‘Go on, take it. The ladies and I had a bake-up on the weekend ’specially for you and
Angus.’ Mrs Beggs pushed the basket towards her. A carton of eggs and a bag of biscuits sat on the top of a towering pile of plastic containers, fresh lemons and individually wrapped trays of cake.
‘We’re planning another bake-up next weekend too—that is, if you like what you see there. And Gilbert, my hubby, will come to help with the farm work each evening after he closes the servo.’
Penny looked at the older woman, her body rounded from years of readily available pastries and an undeniable talent for cooking. Mrs Beggs scanned Penny’s tired face, her tongue still for the first time, as if she knew Penny’s unspoken anger was impotent in the face of such generosity.
‘Go on, there’s a girl.’ She reached over and gave Penny’s arm another squeeze.
Penny swallowed a sigh as she accepted the heavy basket.
‘Thank you, Mrs Beggs. That’s very … generous. Please pass on my thanks to your friends. And Mr Beggs too.’
Mrs Beggs nodded, then shuffled between Penny and a shelf of second-hand books, calling to her customer as she weaved through her store.
‘Hold on, John. Bandaids are over this way. It’ll be easier if I just get them.’
‘Arghhh. Town water,’ said Angus, grimacing as he swallowed a mouthful. He set the cup down onto the wheelie table, next to a messy half-finished crossword and a notepad full of illegible bullet points.
‘If I don’t choke to death on these horse tablets, then this sad excuse for water will surely finish me off. The dogs wouldn’t even drink this fluoridated, chlorinated muck. Bring us a jug of rainwater when you’re in next, eh, love?’
The return of his humour was as welcome as the steady rain that had fallen over the last week. Penny studied her father’s face, his eyes glinting against the fading yellow and light-purple bruises, the jagged wound along his cheek that would be another daily reminder of his accident. Not that he’ll need reminding. She looked at the plaster casts on the left side of his body, the firm sling around his right shoulder. Just getting around and learning to rely on his left hand will be enough of a challenge.
