by Jane Carter
‘I can’t see that happening in a hundred years.’
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ said Diana. ‘We’ll ring. Blow the cost. Every week.’ She draped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
‘I think you should stay longer.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, we can’t.’
Diana went outside and sat on the back steps. It was certainly colder than the coast had been. She pulled her jumper tighter and wondered where the children had gone, they’d been here just a minute ago. Hearing voices, she followed the sounds and discovered them all behind one of the sheds, where Tommo was giving Milo a lesson on the bike. Looking like a miniature superhero character, the helmeted figure of her son was both terrifying and ludicrous. Two adoring fans sat on the ground a safe distance away. It looked as though Sienna had accepted that she wasn’t going to learn solo just yet. Tom stood with his arms folded.
‘Where’s the accelerator? Brake? Okay. What do you do first?’ The bike lurched off and stopped, Milo nearly going over the top of the handlebars. Diana didn’t know whether to cry, laugh or leave them to it. Relax. She remembered her first lessons on the motorbike and that she’d ended up in the fence more than once. And she’d learnt on an adult bike, none of these mini bikes for her. He’d be all right. Backing off around the corner, she wandered off in the direction of the dogs.
Patrick had rung her from Singapore on the pretext that he was inviting them all to come over next weekend. Sean, Marnie and the boys would be there. And then he’d said he was missing her.
This wary dance they were executing was uncharted territory for her. She’d never been courted before, not really. Charlie asked her one night to marry him and she’d said yes. He’d been sitting at the bar in his usual place while she was working, his pint in front of him and his chin in his hands. It was worth it just to see the look on his face. He’d jumped up and shouted to everyone that she’d said yes. Charlie had wanted to get married immediately and they had, as soon as conceivably possible. He didn’t tell his parents, and she didn’t tell hers either. They had a civil ceremony at the local council chambers, conducted by a dapper little man with a moustache dressed in a pin-striped suit. At four-thirty in the afternoon. He was better dressed than either of them. Charlie had worn his sports coat and an open-necked shirt and she wore a yellow shirt she’d found in an op shop, over her good jeans. His best friend Simon and her friend Emma, a fellow barmaid, had been witnesses. Charlie had bought her a bunch of yellow roses. They’d gone back to the pub after and had an uproarious night with lots of free rounds supplied by her boss and some of the regulars. Then Charlie had moved in with her.
It had been her idea to exclude both their families from the wedding. Charlie’s parents had been furious and so had hers. But Diana had still been so cross with her own family. She’d hung grimly on to the hurt. For so many years.
Her reasoning was they should be ecstatic that they’d married at all. None of their friends were tying the knot.
Diana looked around her now. Drought was all powerful. They wanted rain so badly, it hurt to see how stressed the country was, count the trees that were dying, or dead. Along with the chilly wind, grey clouds were gathering on the horizon. A storm, maybe, that would bring the follow-up rain everyone was waiting for so anxiously. Time would tell. The weather forecaster apparently couldn’t but her father had said it would rain. He really was the eternal optimist. Little willy-willies twirled dust around the bare paddocks. This must have been the paddock her dad had ploughed and sown down to oats. She looked at the straight even lines following the contours of the hill. It sat waiting for rain. She wished her life was as ordered as this, with lovely straight furrows running in the one direction. But her life was a mess. Maybe she needed the rain too, before she could grow again.
Shaking her head against the ridiculous vision of her life as an oat crop, she realised she had walked quite a way. It was time to get back before it did, hopefully, rain. Head down against the wind, Diana retraced her steps.
Where was her core strength? It seemed to have disappeared, her ability to plough on, no matter what, and this had never happened to her before.
The potting shed door was closed. It had been locked the last time she’d been in, when she’d first come home but it opened when she pushed. She slowly walked over and pulled the old wool bale cover away.
She sank down onto the narrow wooden seat and placed her feet on the treadle. Pushed gently, placed her hands around the imaginary lump of clay. Felt her body fold into its familiar position with her elbows braced against her knees and watched the plate start to spin. Maybe she could.
Clay was amazing. So many uses, things you could make, from jewellery and plates and bowls, to the beautiful terracotta chimney pots she loved so much that dotted the skyline in Gospel Oak. Even now she was still fascinated by it. Perhaps she could order some clay. She felt a little drizzle of adrenaline trickle through her veins.
What if they did stay? Cancel the tickets. They could give it a year. If it came to a vote, it would be two against two. Saskia would have no problem with staying and being spoilt by Stella.
Idle speculation, Diana, and it’s not going to do you any good. It’s too late to change your mind now.
I know. Milo won’t change his mind and Sienna would be miserable.
Restlessly, she got up and covered the wheel and walked back to the house. She paused on the wooden steps leading to the back door, listening to the conversation inside.
‘Who was your favourite, Stella, when they were growing up, Mummy or Rosie?’
That was Saskia.
‘Don’t forget Cody. Or did you like Cody best?’ Sienna piped up.
‘Stella’s not allowed to like any one best.’
Thank you, Milo, Diana smiled.
Perhaps she’d better break this up. They say eavesdroppers never heard good of themselves. She opened the door and took her boots off.
‘Hi, everyone.’
‘Well, everyone likes Saskia best, so I suppose you liked Cody,’ Sienna said.
Her mother flushed, suddenly realising Diana was in the room. ‘We all loved Cody.’
‘And she stayed six and wasn’t ever a horrible teenager or someone who needed to be shunted off to England.’
‘Diana.’ Her mother was horrified.
‘Why did you say that, Sienna, that everyone likes Saskia best?’ Diana sat on a kitchen chair and pulled Sienna onto her lap. ‘It’s not true.’
‘Yes it is, but I don’t mind.’ Sienna settled comfortably into her arms. ‘It means I get to do what I want.’
‘Escaping under the radar, you mean.’ Diana laughed. ‘Rosie did that often enough. Being invisible does have its upside. You know, you’re so lucky there are three of you. If there were only two, I’d have much better control. Have you doing exactly as I wish, just as my mother did.’ She hugged Sienna hard, and she couldn’t help the look she threw at her mother being a little combative.
‘Yes, you are lucky there are three,’ Stella answered lightly, folding the last towel. But it felt like a slap in the face. ‘Could you take these to the linen cupboard, Saskia? Sienna, these are yours, and Milo, these go to the linen cupboard too. Diana, these go into my room.’
Effectively dismissed, Diana took the pile of clothes from her mother and walked down to her parents’ bedroom and placed them on the bed. New curtains, she fingered the silk. Pretty. Her mother usually had the last say. And she had asked for it. She wandered over to the dressing table. It was cruel to have mentioned having three children. Why had she said it? A sudden, sharp jealousy rose, along with the overwhelming knowledge that her mother had never loved her like she had the other two. Diana picked up the little white doily with ‘Mum’ embroidered in blue. Cody had made it for Mother’s Day when she was in kindergarten. It wasn’t some competition they were having. How could anyone understand it when she couldn’t work it out herself? Suddenly she scrunched it in her fingers. Just two weeks l
eft.
Cody, Charlie. Oh, it hurt so bad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Diana yawned as she heard her father’s soft footfall go past. She eased herself out of the bed and pulled the covers over Saskia. Shearing started today. She grinned into the mirror as she brushed her hair. There was always this buzz of excitement when the shearers came. She pulled on the new jeans and blue wool jumper she’d bought in town on Friday. On consideration she’d felt her skinny London jeans weren’t appropriate for the week ahead and there’d been nothing of her old wardrobe left. Long gone, her mother had said. Dressed, her face splashed with cold water, she finally felt awake enough to face breakfast.
It was still dark outside. Her father had put the kettle on and bread in the toaster. They fell into the usual routine—Diana got the cereal out while her father made tea. Milo appeared at the door, his hair standing up on end and fisting his eyes. They both smiled at him.
‘Milo, go and wash your face, clean your teeth and brush your hair.’
‘Oh Mum.’ He heaved with exasperation and disappeared.
‘You’re a hard mother.’ Tom chuckled. ‘At least he was fully dressed and ready to go.’
‘Did you wake him?’
‘No, I did not, he woke himself up. He’s keen to come and see what it’s all about.’ Her father’s smile was wry as he buttered the toast.
‘Amazing what will get him out of bed at—what is the time?’ Diana yawned.
‘Six-thirty. Exciting time, shearing.’ Tom poured milk into his cereal and started eating.
Milo was back and joined them at the table. ‘What time do they come, Tommo?’ he asked as he stuffed his mouth full of Weet-Bix.
‘Sometime after seven, sport, start at seven-thirty on the dot.’
‘Stan is still the same Stan who used to come?’
‘Sure is. He’ll be pleased to see you again, Diana. He usually asks after you, wants to know how you’re doing. The team’s changed. There’s a couple of young ones, God knows, they’re as scarce as hen’s teeth these days.’ Tom ruffled his grandson’s hair as he walked past on his way to the sink. ‘I’ll see you over there.’
It was just light at seven. Diana shivered with the cold but you could tell it was going to be a beautiful day, with the sunlight sparkling over the dewy paddocks.
‘Diana, could you take these over with you?’ Her mother appeared and handed her two towels and a fresh bar of soap.
Two utes were parked haphazardly outside the wool shed. Together, she and Milo climbed up the steep steps. She looked around with some satisfaction. Yesterday, they’d tidied and cleaned the shed. Washed the floor with disinfectant, scrubbed the board clean of blood stains and muck, filled the little oil cans, and swept the outside loo free of spiders and cobwebs and installed new toilet paper rolls. Last thing, they’d shedded the sheep, penning them up under cover for the night, before making sure the swinging doors out onto the board were firmly closed. Diana could remember times sheep had escaped and created havoc in the pristine shed before they’d been found the next morning.
They found her father inspecting the old Lister engine that powered the old shearing machines. Her grandfather had installed it before the power was connected in the fifties and Tom had never bothered to replace it. He cranked it and it hummed into life.
‘There, old girl,’ he said with a satisfied little grunt. He wiped his hands with a rag and looked up. ‘Oh Diana, there you are. Come and say hello to Stan.’
Stan Hockey had been their shearing contractor for as long as she could remember. Short, big-bellied, with a shock of white hair. His smile was as wide as she remembered too.
‘You haven’t changed a bit, Stan.’ Diana’s hand was enveloped in a mighty handshake.
‘Can’t believe that, Diana. I’m an old man now, nearly as old as this fella.’ He jerked his head towards her father.
‘Both of you need your heads examined. You should have passed the reins over to the next generation by now and be living the life fantastic on a beach somewhere, with plenty of sun and plenty of rum.’ Diana was well aware Stan was fond of his rum, perhaps a little too much on occasion. ‘Stan, this is Milo. Say hello to Mr Hockey.’ Diana was pleased to see her son stick out his hand.
‘Well now, pleased to meet you, young fella. Had to stick around to meet you, didn’t I?’ He gave Milo’s hand a hefty shake and gave him a wink. ‘Reckon your grandpa and I can rest easy now you’re here. We might just put our feet up and let you take over here.’
‘I don’t think so. Milo has a lot to learn about a shed,’ Diana cut in. They were all laughing at the horrified expression on Milo’s face. ‘I can’t believe you’re letting him in the shed. You’re sure he won’t be in the way?’ she asked Stan.
‘No, he’ll be right. I know how important it is to the boss. Milo can pick up the locks and put them in the old press. Learn a bit about pressing the old-fashioned way.’
‘Don’t you dare let him anywhere near that old press. It’s far too dangerous.’
‘Mmm, I heard a little boy got pressed in a bale in one of my other sheds. They didn’t find him till they got to Italy and opened it up. Quite a shock for them.’
By now Milo’s eyes were out on sticks.
‘Don’t you believe everything Stan tells you, Milo. He used to tell me that story too. Just do everything Tommo tells you, and you’ll be okay.’ Diana looked at her son anxiously.
‘Come on, Milo. Come and meet the shearers.’ Her father propelled him away. She hoped he’d be okay. Girls weren’t all that welcome in the shearing shed when she was Milo’s age.
‘Oh Diana, I forgot.’ Tom turned back. ‘Stan asked me if you could get some tranquilliser from Tim Spelling when you’re in town.’
‘Some what?’ Diana was not sure she heard her father properly.
‘Tranquilliser. They’re going to shear the rams for me, maybe this afternoon, and they’ll want it by then.’
‘You’re not serious. They tranquillise rams now?’
‘Yes, it’s much easier on the rams apparently. Who am I to say? As long as I don’t have to shear them.’
‘I can go into town later and be back for smoke-oh. Anything else?’
‘Maybe get me five extra wool packs at Spellings.’
He turned away again. Diana stood watching them go, rather forlornly, before making her way back to the house as the sun broke over the horizon.
* * *
Diana had just finished backlining the race of shorn rams, and had let them out into the holding paddock beside the shed when she heard the cry ‘Smoke-oh’ and the sudden silence as the final shearing machine switched off. Stan appeared round the corner to count out the run of snowy-white, newly-shorn ewes. She wiped the sweat from her face.
Lunch. Good idea—she was hungry, she’d missed smoke-oh this morning as she hadn’t got back till ten and she’d been working fairly solidly since then, mustering the next mob ready for tomorrow’s shearing. Quite easy work, back lining. Just a pass down each sheep’s back with the spray gun, but getting them into the race was hard without a dog, and the old dog was not going to work for her. The pup was too mad. So she’d had to do without. Tranquillising might be good for the shearers but it made the rams awfully doughy moving around the yards.
Her father was doing the wool classing. She hoped he was still keeping a good eye on Milo. She went over to the tank and washed her face and hands before the guys came out. With great difficulty she’d stayed away from inside the shed. She knew there’d be no trouble now; heavens, they had girls working all round the shed these days. Milo was only ten but he was good at doing what he was told. She was dying to know how he’d gone on his own, without an overprotective mother in sight.
True to form, the shearers were about to partake of a magnificent feast. Stan had brought a grill and set it up outside on the loading ramp, and there was the delicious aroma of steak cooking. There was no doubt that hadn’t changed. Shearers always ate well.
/> Diana went to the basket she’d brought over from the house and took out their sandwiches. She set out the bottles of soft drink she’d bought in town and opened hers and took a long swallow.
She spied Milo walking towards her. ‘Hey, wait for the shearers first, then you go and wash up. Over there.’ She pointed. Milo was walking out with the same stride as the men. He looked as if he’d aged four years. In four hours. But he looked happy. Deliriously happy. Tom was grinning from ear to ear. She couldn’t help laughing at them. ‘Okay, I don’t think I need to ask.’ She handed them each a Coke.
Milo took a long appreciative swallow. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Diana was trying not to laugh. She was so proud of him. He sat down on the wool bale and started eating. With a mouth full of bread and vegemite, he said, ‘Mike’s going to show me how to shear a sheep after lunch.’
‘Really!’ Diana swallowed. Exactly how far should she let her son off the leash? He was only ten. She exchanged glances with her father who was just as thrilled with his progress as was her son. He couldn’t be serious.
‘He’s done well,’ he said proudly. ‘Filling a bale with locks, learnt how to stencil our mark and done an immense amount of sweeping.’
‘There’s Mike and Olly and Phil and young Stan,’ said Milo. ‘That’s four shearers beside Stan, but he’s only the contractor. Then there’s George, who’s the rouseabout. I really want to be a rouseabout, Mum, but I probably want to be a shearer better, but I have to be a rouseabout first.’ He helped himself to another vegemite sandwich.
‘Do you,’ Diana said faintly.
Three heads appeared at the top of the stairs. Stella with a girl in each hand.
‘Hi there. Thought we’d see how you’re all doing, and we’ve brought you some fresh tea.’
Sienna was holding the thermos but wasn’t moving from Stella’s side.
Diana held out the three mugs they’d used at smoke-oh. ‘Fantastic. Sienna, could you rinse these out under the tap? The tap under the tank. I simply cannot move.’
Reluctantly Sienna disengaged from her grandmother and took the cups.
