by Maya Linnell
Diana gave Penny a wistful look as she left the kitchen. Penny worked on autopilot, stacking the remaining dirty dishes in the sink.
‘For God’s sake, can you keep the racket down? Some of us are trying to sleep,’ said Angus. He leaned heavily on the walking stick as he turned towards his bedroom.
Penny swiped at the tears that rolled down her face and fell into the sink, wishing she could go to sleep herself and wake up in a week’s time.
Fifty-one
‘I’ve liaised with all the journalists and they’ve promised to delete the old press release and media alert. None of them had taken it through to the print stage yet, thank God. I can’t believe I approved a marketing campaign that featured the wrong spokesperson,’ said Penny, holding her head in her hands. Her voice was low and she hoped the doors between the kitchen and the bedrooms would provide enough of a sound barrier. The last thing she needed was Angus hobbling into the kitchen to berate her during a work call, or for him to overhear her epic stuff-up.
‘It’s lucky Janet saw the funny side of your little slip-up. She quite liked being quoted as the head of Tyrrewong Logistics, even though she’s never worked in that field,’ said Georgie with a sniff. ‘Unfortunately, the actual Tyrrewong CEO didn’t find it quite so amusing. He’s been on the phone again this morning, demanding better service for his hard-earned investment.’
‘I read through the media releases and press alerts, honestly, Georgie. I even tweaked a few of the PR team’s sentences. I don’t know how a glaring error like that could have gone unnoticed by so many sets of eyes.’ Penny felt her eyes burning with mascara and sat up straighter to stop herself rubbing them. She fished a wrinkled sheet of paper from the pile in front of her, tracing her fingers over the place where she had inadvertently referred to Janet—the head of their former client, Whitfield Pharmaceuticals—as the spokesperson of a completely unrelated company. Her face was almost as red as the pen highlighting her glaring error.
‘The rest of the campaign will be seamless, I promise, Georgie.’
‘It’s not good enough, Penny. You’ve been impossible to get hold of. You haven’t been into the city once since you began working remotely. Not once. And Charlotte said she’s had to rework your reports and presentations so that they are up to par.’
Of course Charlotte would lump me in it. She’s taking every opportunity to dig the knife in. Penny looked around the kitchen, the surfaces now shining as a result of channelling her anger into something productive. And anything that wasn’t already spotless would be sparkling clean directly after the phone call.
‘I’ll fix it, Georgie. We’ll be finished shearing this week, so that’s a huge weight off my shoulders. Let me meet with the Tyrrewong CEO when I come to town next Saturday, smooth it all over.’
Georgie cleared her throat; the pause was longer than Penny would have liked.
‘I think you need to choose. Your duel focus is coming at a very high price.’
Penny slapped the light switch, hoping the bright light would help banish her mood. I’ve worked my guts out for Boutique Media, only to be dropped like a hot coal at the first sign of weakness. Where’s the bloody loyalty? Have they forgotten my twelve years of devoted and unblemished service?
She snatched at the dishcloth on the bench and polished the surface to a sheen. A high price? Don’t talk to me about a high price. A rumble of thunder broke through her cleaning frenzy, and she looked at the window as dark clouds thrust the farmhouse into darkness.
Penny threw down the cloth and rushed to the back door, scrolling through the forecast on her phone as she went. Steely clouds reproached her through the laundry window, despite the distinct absence of rainfall on the weather loop. Forecast or not, those clouds aren’t lying, she conceded, shoving her boots on.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, followed by a roll of thunder as Penny hurried outside. Black-bellied clouds clustered from the farmhouse to the far mountains, each one darker than the next. She ran for the shearing shed, the storm masking the sound of Tim’s ute until it was alongside her.
‘Jump in, Mac. Let’s get the rest of the sheep in the shed.’
Penny ran to the passenger side and had barely sat down before the ute surged forward.
Tim swore as he flicked the windscreen wipers on to clear the speckles of rain, the drops getting heavier as they gained on the shearing shed. Sheep shifted restlessly in the yards, huddling against one another for shelter.
He watched Penny wrench the ute door open before he’d come to a complete stop, just as the skies opened. Tim pulled the handbrake on and rain pounded at his bare arms, drenching his shirt within seconds of getting out of the car. He knew they’d missed their opportunity and Mac’s desperate attempts to get the sheep undercover wouldn’t make much difference now they were already wet.
‘We’re too late, Mac. Leave it.’ He kicked the wet earth, frustrated he had trusted the forecast instead of keeping a closer eye on the sky. Rookie mistake, Patterson, and one that’ll push us into lambing. He’d overheard enough of Penny’s conversation with Vince to know she had city commitments the following weekend and berated himself for not penning up more sheep before the storm hit.
Penny ignored him and opened the gate on the side of the shearing shed. Hair was plastered across her determined face as she skirted back around the mob to try to push the confused sheep up the ramp and into the shelter. But the pregnant ewes jammed in the race, swirling like a turbulent ocean. He climbed the rails, gaining on Penny as she let out a frustrated cry.
‘Get in, you buggers. C’mon.’ She clapped her hands. The wet slapping noise was drowned out by another flash of lightning and burst of thunder. ‘C’mon. Get up.’
The smell of wet wool surrounded her, the staccato of water hitting the tin underlining the futility of her efforts.
‘They’re too wet already.’ He yelled to be heard above the rain.
She glared at him as if listening for a hint of mocking or triumph. Tim reached out an arm as her face fell, her mask of control gushing away like the water overflowing the gutters. She jerked away, kicking the nearest fence post in anger. Her expression seesawed between helplessness and frustration, tiredness and pain.
He let his hand fall to his side. Mac doesn’t need you, Patterson, she doesn’t want your pity or sympathy.
He walked away as she slammed the gate shut. A sudden wail of pain replaced her swearing. Tim turned and ran to her, his protective instincts growing as she cradled her hand against her body.
‘You okay?’
Penny lifted her hand, looking away as she offered it for his inspection. Tim gently unfurled her clenched fist
‘Your fingernail’s going black already. But at least there’s no blood and no bones sticking out.’ He felt the heat of her quivering body, despite their wet clothes, and drew her into an awkward hug. Her cupped hand rested gingerly against his waist and he huddled his body around hers to shelter her from the rain.
Penny allowed Tim to embrace her, screwing up her face against his firm chest.
‘You’re like a bull at a gate. What are we going to do with you, Mac?’
The familiar stirrings of desire washed away the pain as Tim mumbled sympathetically into her hair. She smelled the washing detergent in his sodden clothes. Her brain danced into dangerous territory, inappropriate answers to his question bursting into her mind as his chin brushed against her forehead. She angled her head a fraction, until she could feel his warm breath on her skin.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’
Penny closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, thinking about the relationship she’d allowed to keep limping along in her absence, the way her body responded to Tim’s proximity. Was this what she wanted? Scruffy Tim Patterson, with his odd socks, more family baggage than a cruise ship and an embrace that made her feel secure and protected. The rain continued to pour down. Her body screamed ‘yes.’ Her mind cried ‘hell no’.
‘I mean, f
arming’s worlds away from your city life. It’s crazy running yourself into the ground for something you don’t want.’
Penny stiffened, realising he had meant the farm, not him. She used her right hand to lever herself away from him, as angry at her own traitorous body as his words.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tim. I thought you were being sympathetic and then you shoot me down?’
‘Mac … I’m just trying to help.’
She blew out a loud breath, pushed past him and swung open the ute door.
Angus’s voice crackled over the UHF radio.
‘On channel, Tim? On channel?’
‘Dad, it’s me.’
‘Tell me you got all those sheep in before the downpour? You won’t be able to scratch yourself if shearing runs into lambing.’
She flopped into the seat, her body and mind limp.
‘Nope. We’re just going to have to suck it up.’ Penny shoved the UHF handset back into the holder.
Can this week get any worse?
Fifty-two
Magpies called from tree to tree, and the smell of fresh earth lingered as Penny walked to the shearing shed. The red and orange sunrise cast a rosy pink glow over the corrugated iron, and raw bluestone gravel crunched underfoot, naked without its usual red-dirt coating.
Dry ground either side of the path showed no evidence of last night’s sudden downpour. Penny knew the wool would be too wet to shear or press, but a stubborn sense of determination propelled her towards the yards. She climbed in and whistled to Rusty. The kelpie jumped to do her bidding, nudging a handful of ewes into the race. Penny leaned over the metal fences to inspect the wool on the first sheep. The soggy brown wool parted to reveal fine, creamy crimped fibres. Damp fibres.
She moved to the second sheep, her black thumbnail contrasting with the wool, and then the third. They were all damp. Penny released the ewes from the race, their swollen teats jiggling as they walked back to their mob.
‘Mac.’
Penny shielded her eyes from the sun’s first rays to see Tim at the top of the shearing shed ramp.
‘If we put them back into the paddock and the wind picks up, we might still finish by Friday,’ she said. Her voice was hopeful, trumping the anger and embarrassment from last night. She scanned his face, trying to pre-empt his reply, but his expression was guarded, as it had been when he’d dropped her back to the farmhouse. As if he’d known she had mistaken his question about what she wanted.
‘Worth a shot, but the weather doesn’t give two hoots about your deadlines, Mac. That’s what I meant. Your colour-coded priority lists and rigid timeframes don’t mean much in farming. All the uncertainty would drive you crazy, I reckon.’
Penny flicked her head, trying not to flinch as her stiff muscles caught and pulled.
‘Pfft, usually I thrive under pressure. It’s just all this juggling. You have no idea how many balls I’ve got up in the air.’ She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself as a shield against the uncertainty clouding her mind.
‘Try me,’ said Tim, his voice patient.
Penny laughed dryly as the stream of questions jostled for pole position. Will we finish shearing in time for lambing? If not, how will we manage the increased workload? Can we ace the on-farm sale? Will I still make this client meeting and snatch my promotion back from Charlotte’s claws? Is there anything left of my relationship with Vince? Will Angie, Diana, Lara and I ever heal the rift between us? Will Dad snap out of his awful funk? Will we sell the farm? And why am I the only one that cares? Can I really see myself running it? She pinched the bridge of her nose.
‘No wonder you’re losing sleep.’
Penny’s eyes flew open and she clamped her hands over her mouth.
‘Tell me I didn’t just say that out loud?’
Tim shrugged. ‘I don’t think the sheep will tell anyone. I’m pretty good at keeping things to myself.’
Penny groaned, her cheeks flushing as pink as the sunrise-tinted tin. What on Earth made me vent like that? To Tim, of all people? She busied herself with unlatching the gate, mentally cursing Jade and Angie for their absence when she so desperately needed a sounding board. She threw an apologetic grimace over her shoulder.
‘Sorry about that. I’d better take this lot back to the paddock.’
One small consolation soothed Penny’s embarrassment as she whistled to the dogs. At least she had stopped before she got to the confusion in her mind about Tim Patterson, and the way he had crept into her mind as she tossed and turned last night.
‘You’ve missed a call from Charlotte. She seems like a lovely lady. Very friendly,’ said Angus, folding up his newspaper. He placed it down on the pile of magazines and crossword books resting on the wheelchair and grabbed his walking stick.
Penny laughed dryly.
‘She can be friendly all right—too friendly. As long as you’ve got a Y chromosome,’ she said, suppressing an offer of assistance that was likely to be peevishly rebutted or rudely ignored, depending on his current mood.
Angus drew himself into a standing position. She winced as his face clouded with pain, wishing she could offer him some comfort or at least convince him to continue the stretching exercises recommended by the hospital physiotherapist. But if the last week was any indication, offering her two cents was as useless as flogging a dead horse.
Penny set about making morning tea as Angus hobbled across the lounge room, pausing at the arm of the sofa before continuing into the kitchen.
‘And Vince called too. I don’t know what you see in him, Penny. He sure doesn’t float my boat. What’s this about a trip to Melbourne next weekend? Did you forget about my appointment with the quack in Horsham? If it’s too much trouble, I’ll ask someone else,’ he snapped.
Penny placed a cup of tea in front of him, adding a slice of his favourite chocolate cake.
‘Steady on, Dad. I’ve asked Diana to take you to Horsham. With my luck, we’ll still be shearing then, anyway.’
Angus rolled his eyes, looking more like his grandsons after a scolding than his sixty-four-year-old self.
She searched his face for a hint of the kind, gentle-natured man she knew so well, and sighed. Hopefully, Dr Sinclair has some suggestions because this grumpy, self-pitying act is starting to wear thin. This morning he tipped his cup of tea into the pot plant because it wasn’t strong enough and screamed at Rusty for being underfoot. The old Angus never raised his voice, especially to the working dogs, and would have commiserated over another shearing delay or at least asked about it when she’d arrived home last night, drenched and shaking. Penny gulped the last of her tea and reached for the phone. It was high time to make an appointment at the bush nursing centre.
‘Dad, the dial tone is still going. Didn’t you hang it up properly?’
Angus paused mid-bite, the cake crumbs around his mouth giving him a wolfish look.
‘Yep, I left it off the hook. Saves me dealing with idiots like Vince. And that reminds me, can you cook something better than brown rice and bean sprouts tonight? Nothing wrong with a good square meal of meat and three veg.’
Penny’s face fell. Ungrateful old bugger, she thought, punching the number into the phone.
Blustery conditions made for heavy going, but one look at Cameron—belted into the passenger seat with enough layers to rival the Michelin Man—and Penny knew her decision to buy the side-by-side was worthwhile. A wide grin was evident behind the visor of his full-face helmet, his head swivelling from one side of the paddock to the other as they checked the stock.
‘I reckon a ride on this Ranger will cheer Grandpa up.’
‘Maybe, Cameron. We just need to give him more time and space to recover,’ said Penny, calling against the wind. The chat with Dr Sinclair had helped ease her mind and she felt better knowing she had a few tools in her arsenal to handle Angus’s mood swings. ‘He’ll get better soon. I’ll make sure of it.’
The dogs ran alongside the UTV, eager to stretch
their legs after a quiet few days. The freshly shorn sheep grazed in the sparse paddocks, awaiting the hint of new growth still weeks away from providing enough sustenance for them.
Cameron opened the gate, reclipping his seatbelt as soon as he clambered back in. The paddock of pregnant ewes was one of the last mobs awaiting the shearers’ blades. They huddled against a shelterbelt on the far boundary, the low scrub protecting them from south-easterly wind gusts. Penny watched Rusty sprinting across the grass, his focus on a stand of majestic red gum trees. Cameron followed her gaze.
‘I think Rusty’s found something, Aunty Pen.’
‘You’re onto it, mate. Let’s check it out.’
She turned the UTV towards the superannuated trunks, a tingle running down her spine as she saw Rusty standing beside a prostrate ewe. Penny cut the engine, removed her helmet and motioned for Cameron to go slowly as they approached on foot. The ewe kicked her back legs, trying to get away. Her rounded belly shuddered, and Penny saw a small water bag and hooves protruding from under her tail.
‘It’s okay, girl,’ Penny murmured, crouching down for a closer look. ‘I think our first lamb is on its way, Cam, whether we’re ready for it or not. It’s been twenty-ish years since I’ve pulled a lamb, but we’ll have to give it a shot.’
The wind swirled around them as they waited for the ewe’s next contraction. Warm liquid flowed over Penny’s hands as she positioned them around the tiny hooves, ready to pull. After a moment, the sheep forgot about their presence and began pushing.
As the soggy wool heaved and the sheep snorted heavily, Penny eased the lamb closer towards her.
‘Cool, I can see the nose. And there’s the rest of the head.’ Cameron’s delight lit up his freckled face.
‘Come back in a fortnight, mate, and you can help me deliver a few more,’ said Penny, as the rest of the lamb slithered out. ‘What a big bugger he is. No wonder she had trouble.’
