by Jane Carter
‘I’ve been using muscles I didn’t remember I had,’ said Diana. ‘Tomorrow is going to be awful.’ She smiled up at her mother. ‘How have you lot been getting on?’
‘We’re off this afternoon to see Granny. Will you last the distance, do you think?’ Her mother was smiling too.
‘Mmm, I hope so. I can’t imagine how Milo is still keeping going. Why don’t you all come and help me put the sheep in the race after we’ve had something to eat? Not having a dog is a nightmare. Stan’s dog won’t even look at me, and our old dog is hopeless—a few barks and she sits down and won’t move.’
‘I knew we’d be conned into helping if we came over,’ said Stella, but she was laughing.
‘Milo.’ A voice came from where the shearers were sitting having their steak. Milo disappeared and returned a minute later with three giant, iced cupcakes covered with hundreds and thousands.
‘Look what Mike gave us!’ He proudly handed one each to his sisters. They were impressed. They weren’t sure what to think of the large men dressed in blue singlets and soft reinforced jeans and funny shoes, but the cakes looked good.
‘What do you think of the wool?’ Stella asked Tom.
‘Not bad, considering the season. They’re cutting well. Although I’d say that dust storm we had last week is going to affect the yield. Better than I thought anyway.’
‘That’s high praise—we must be going to have a bonanza of a wool clip.’ Stella sounded more than a little surprised with the unusual rave review.
‘We would if the price was any good. Bloody hopeless. We’re getting the same price for the wool as we were getting ten years ago.’
Stella rolled her eyes at Diana as though to say ‘Well now, that’s more like it.’
* * *
Stella and the girls had helped for a while and then gone into town. Things had changed in the sheep industry since Diana had gone away. Sheep breeding and wool growing was now an exact science. Even the language was totally different—all microns and newtons and yield. When Tom had taught her about wool it was all about colour and brightness and length of staple. He’d shown her how to open the wool horizontally down the sheep’s side and flick the staple for tenderness, check for softness.
Diana was just finishing the last of them before the final count out for the day, when her phone rang. Looking behind her down the race she could see she was at least three quarters of the way through.
She thankfully shrugged the backpack, containing the chemical, on to the ground and leant against the railing. ‘Patrick. Where are you?’
‘Singapore and it’s raining.’
‘It’s not raining here.’ She looked over the backs of the sheep to the low scrub-covered hills in the distance. Could anything be more different?
‘We’re all quite comfortable. I’m at the Race Club.’
‘Good for you. I will have just finished backlining four hundred and fifteen sheep and twenty rams by the end of today.’
‘I’m impressed. Are you managing?’
‘Well, I have to admit I’m not as fit as I should be.’
‘What about getting Mal over tomorrow?’
‘No, I don’t need Mal to help. I’m just so pleased I haven’t forgotten how to do it. A dog is what I need. Dad will help with the last run, anyway. Enjoy your lunch.’
Diana rested against one of the posts in the yards. There were butterflies in her tummy. She hadn’t told Patrick she was leaving. Shouldering the backpack again, she finished the last few.
Diana balanced the backpack on top of a post so it wouldn’t get stamped on in the rush, and then opened the gate to let the sheep out. She zipped up her jacket and made her way stiffly over to the bike.
* * *
Mal was at the back door the next morning, leading a dog on a piece of baler twine. A rather strange looking dog, it was mostly black with half its face white. A bit of border collie in there somewhere, Diana decided.
‘I was talking to Alan Summers last night and he was mentioning that his dad’s dog needed some work, and I thought maybe you could do with some help this week.’
Diana looked at the dog. It looked straight at her with sad eyes and a hopeful expression. ‘How could I resist that?’ She laughed, squatting down to pat his head. ‘Will he work for me? I am having little success with the dogs round here,’ she said doubtfully. ‘This has nothing to do with Patrick, has it?’ She straightened and looked at Mal.
‘No, well, he mentioned something about a dog and I thought of the Summers. They usually have quite a few dogs round there, and sure enough Alan said we’d be doing them a favour. He’s missing Pete, they think.’
There was simply no way she could turn down that dog. Something about him went straight to her heart. Getting up this morning had been hard enough with each muscle screaming in agony. She’d be a fool to turn down some help, if he would work for her.
‘Thanks Mal, it was very good of you to think of it.’
Mal looked a little embarrassed. ‘I wish I could help myself but there’s so much going on at the minute. We’re sending another load of cattle up north on agistment, today. Oh, his name’s Jelly.’
‘Jelly? What sort of a name is that?’
Mal grinned. ‘Apparently when he was a pup he ate a whole bowl of jelly that Shelley put out to cool, and then you know Jelly and Shelly, they rhyme, and Pete was always saying it meant he didn’t have to remember an extra name, they were so similar.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, give him a go. I can always take him back tonight if he doesn’t suit.’
‘Thanks so much, Mal. Are you sure Shelley is happy to let him go?’
‘Um, apparently she can’t look at him, and he keeps on going to the place they found Pete. Just sits there. I think everyone would be pleased if you could find a use for him this week.’
‘Okay, come on, Jelly.’ Diana took the end of the baler twine from Mal and tied him to the verandah post. ‘Just you wait there and I’ll get you a drink. Oh, and say thank you to Patrick for me,’ she added dryly.
Mal mumbled something and was out of the door and down the steps.
Diana turned around. Sienna was behind her, still in her pink pyjamas. Milo and Tom had already gone over to the shed. ‘Hello, darling. Look what we’ve got. His name’s Jelly’.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘Where did he come from?’ Stella looked in amazement at Sienna, who was trying to coax a strange dog inside the kitchen door. The dog, in true working-dog form, was not coming inside.
‘Mal brought him over. His name’s Jelly.’
‘Sienna, he won’t come in. He’s not used to it.’
‘But I want him to come in and have his breakfast.’
‘He doesn’t have breakfast. He gets fed tonight like all the other dogs.’ Stella noticed the bowl of Weet-Bix on the floor. Her advice was a mite too late. ‘Here, take it outside.’ She shook her head and handed the bowl to Sienna. ‘And close the door. It’s freezing in here.’ The temperature had dropped and the stiff breeze outside was contributing considerably to the chill factor. She went to look at the Aga—damn, it had gone out, no wonder it was so cold. When she’d come as a new bride it had been fuelled by coke but they’d had it converted to gas some time ago, much cleaner. She’d have to check the gas bottle. Surely they hadn’t run out of gas? In the middle of shearing, it was just what she didn’t need. Outside, she groaned. Sure enough, the gas bottle had an echoing ring right down to the bottom. She would have to take the ute and go and get one later.
* * *
Diana helped her lift the empty gas bottle and roll it into the ute.
‘Don’t take too much weight,’ Stella said.
‘I’m stronger than you.’
‘Those two have certainly palled up.’ Stella watched Sienna and Jelly as they slowly made their way over to the shearing shed, stopping every few feet for a pat or a scratch behind the ear.
‘I know. Doesn’t make for a wonderful, sharp working mind though, does
it? Oh well, it’s got to be better than yesterday. I’d better get going and try to get rid of these kinks before I get there. Thanks for taking Saskia. Bye, Mum.’
Diana followed Sienna and the new dog over to the shearing shed, then Stella picked up the keys and called Saskia.
‘Come on, poppet, we’re off.’
Saskia had her head down over some drawing and was reluctant to stop what she was doing.
‘If we don’t go now we won’t be back in time to get lunch ready. Quick! Coat on.’ She fed in her arms and zipped her up, kissed her on the nose and bundled her into the ute.
To think so much had changed in these last few weeks. The house was full again. Alive with noise and people. She couldn’t bear the thought of them leaving. Next week, Diana had said. She’d actually booked their flight.
Shearing was so busy. A tense time for everyone. Stella guessed it was the strict timetable. It wasn’t as though they worked harder at this time than others, it was still dawn to dark most days. Why was this so different? There were people on the place. Having family in the house was the same. It was busy but she had to say she was enjoying the rush. Milo had almost fallen asleep at the dinner table last night, poor little chap. He was exhausted, but it was amazing watching his face when he described shearing the sheep to them all. Not that he’d actually shorn any sheep. Tom had been so proud of him. Milo had been up early this morning to go with Tom again.
Stella just couldn’t bear the thought of them going.
She pulled in to the service station that supplied them with their gas bottles. ‘Hi, Joe, can I exchange this bottle for a full one?’
‘How’re you going, Stella? No worries. Run out of gas at shearing. Not good.’ Joe shook his head sympathetically as he rolled the bottle out of the back of the ute and stood it up.
She wasn’t surprised it was common knowledge that they were shearing.
‘Saskia, do you want to buy some chips or lollies? Come and choose.’ Stella had learnt her lesson. Little treats were important to these kids. No matter, she loved buying them things.
‘Get something for the others too. Can we book it up, Joe?’
‘Sure can do, Stella. How’s the fuel out at the farm? Do you want me to run out with some more fuel soon?’
‘No, we should be right for a few more weeks, thanks Joe.’
Rosie’s little white Honda pulled in beside her. Smiling, she put her window down.
‘Feel like a coffee? We could go round to Granny’s?’ Rosie asked.
‘Sorry, got to get the bottle back before lunch. It’s bedlam there this week.’
‘Okay, but I’m missing our coffees.’ Rosie looked a little sad.
Stella felt terrible; she hadn’t had time to see Rosie for weeks now. ‘Next week, okay? They’re going, Monday week.’
‘I suppose they’ve got to get back. We’ll miss them, though.’
Stella pulled out of the service station and turned for home. No, she did not feel guilty for not visiting Peg. And she had a good excuse—no time. Besides, Peg had plenty of visitors at the minute. Will Talbot was so good to drop in on her, working out ways she could stay in the house. Where were all the people working out ways she could stay in hers? Mal and Rosie were breathing down their necks. Talk about empty-nesters, they were the ones being pushed out, and if she wasn’t careful the landing would be quite traumatic. Guiltily, she remembered Frank had died when he was sixty and they’d all moved out to the farm when the girls were little. Peg had moved into town. It had been so easy.
Peg was an amazing person. Never stopped working, it was exhausting being in the same room with her. She’d run the farm in the war years, thought nothing of cooking enormous meals for lots of people or hand-sewing all her baby clothes, loved riding out with Frank and mustering or anything else that needed doing on the farm. And moving into town hadn’t stopped her bottling jars of tomatoes and preserving thousands of apples. Stella couldn’t help feeling as if she hadn’t measured up in some way. At least in the beginning. Tom had brought her home for dinner to meet his parents. Peg had looked her up and down and said, ‘Not much of her, is there?’
So she’d had to prove herself, and she had.
Peg had taken Diana away from her. She’d watched her tall, awkward, prickly daughter working through the agonies of adolescence, pouring her heart out to Peg. Her daughter, who so wanted to be a son. Until she’d discovered her artistic bent. Now that had to have come from Stella’s side of the family. It had missed her completely but with two uncles who were artists, surely she’d given that to Diana.
Stella looked over at Saskia, belted in beside her, her face almost buried in the packet of chips. No, she wasn’t going to give up on this and stand aside, let them go back to England. Not without a fight.
After picking up the mail and the papers from the mailbox at the ramp, Saskia got out eagerly again to open the gate, but Stella had had to help her eventually or they’d never have lunch ready. She wished Tom would fix that gate. Inside the house, she put the mail down on the table and put her energies into getting the gas bottle back in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It had rained in the night. Twenty-three millimetres, and that was nearly an inch. There were smiles all round. Shearing finished and a little bit of rain. Extraordinary the effect it had on everyone. Her mother was humming and her father was almost happy.
Tom looked up from reading last week’s local paper. ‘Ninety points is enough to get the oats going. As long as we get some follow up, and the sheep don’t all die because they’re just off shears.’
‘Honestly, Dad, you’re very hard to please.’
‘I’m the easiest fellow in the world to please, hey, Stell?’ he asked.
Stella shook her head and walked over to answer the phone. ‘Diana, it’s Patrick.’
Diana took the phone and resisted the urge to walk out to continue the conversation in private.
‘I was wondering if you might like to bring the kids to Sydney for a few days before you go,’ Patrick said. ‘You can all stay here. They haven’t seen Sydney yet, have they? There’s plenty of room. I’ll be in and out so you’ll have to look after yourselves. What do you think?’
Diana looked at her children eating breakfast. How did he know they were leaving? Mal must have told him. Or her mother. It would be a shame not to see a bit of Sydney before they left. Shearing was finished. Her parents might come too. Have a holiday.
‘Thank you, we’d love a couple of days in Sydney. Is there room for Mum and Dad, too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Fantastic, thank you. I’ll check with Mum. We’ll see you tomorrow night.’
Oh dear, maybe it wasn’t the most sensible decision she’d ever made, but when had she ever done the sensible thing?
* * *
Diana was the last to climb onto the train. Her father handed her the bags one by one, and before she knew it, he was just a small dot on the railway station.
Milo had the window seat beside Diana. They had been able to get the two seats that faced each other at the end of the carriage. Her mother was sitting opposite with Sienna on one side and Saskia curled up beside her, reading them a book.
Diana had asked both parents to come to Sydney. Her father had just said no, he couldn’t possibly, with the sheep just off shears and rain about. What rain, she had to ask herself. Twenty-three mils. Now it was all gone, there was no sign of any more rain. So she’d said to her mum, ‘You have to come and see us off and spend a few days in Sydney.’ Her mother had pinked with pleasure, and after demurring a few times and checking with her father at least six times if he didn’t mind and would he be all right, had finally said yes, and had been the first to have her bag packed. She was more excited than any of them.
It was altogether a very strange situation. Diana had said goodbye to her father at the railway station. He was distant and she was hurt, so they’d been cool with each other. He could have come if he’d wanted to. But no—the
sheep, the bloody farm and he hated Sydney.
The damn tears were starting up again.
‘Diana, it’s the way it is.’ Stella reached over and gave her a squeeze.
Diana raised her eyes and managed a sort of a smile. She didn’t have to say any more. By an unspoken mutual consent they didn’t talk about Diana leaving.
Saying goodbye to her grandmother was awful. She’d probably never see her again. Granny hadn’t realised it though. It was as though she was going away for a day and would be back tomorrow. What a bugger it all was. Peg had been such a strong woman, and to see her disintegrating like this was breaking Diana’s heart.
The train rocked gently and racketed along, the murmuring conversations of the other passengers only faintly discernible. Diana checked her watch. Four hours to go till they got to Sydney. Sienna was poring over a few brochures they’d picked up at the railway station before they left. Milo, self-appointed tour director, his nose pressed to the window, announced each tiny station as they hurtled through.
‘Will we see Alex and Sam?’ Milo turned to them both.
‘I don’t know. They’ll be at school, I guess.’
‘Where does Patrick live?’
‘Bronte. That’s all I know,’ Stella answered. ‘Now we must make a plan. We can’t afford to waste a minute. What do you want to do, Sienna? There’s a red double-decker bus that takes you round to lots of places so you can see Sydney.’
Milo looked around. ‘We have those in London.’
He didn’t sound very impressed. Diana hid a smile.
‘I remember you taking Rosie and me on that bus,’ said Diana. ‘Should we do that first? I really want to go on the ferry to Manly, and that,’ she frowned at Milo, ‘you don’t have in London. I also suggest we have Maccas as soon as we hit Sydney.’ She grinned at her mother. ‘I think these kids are all suffering from withdrawal symptoms, they haven’t had any junk food for two months. That has to be a record!’
‘Oh!’ said Saskia, breathlessly. ‘Can I have a toy?’
‘Yes.’ Diana laughed at her. ‘Happy Meals all round. What do you like to eat at McDonalds?’ she asked her mother.
