Bottlebrush Creek

by Maya Linnell

  Angie looked up at the man she loved. The strain of the past two weeks was written all over his face, from the purplish circles under his eyes to the week-old beard barely camouflaging a new scattering of spots on his chin.

  ‘But maybe a night or two apart is exactly what we need …’ Rob said.

  She heard the catch in his voice and rolled towards him. He slid down to lie beside her and she snuggled into his chest, pressing her face against his crumpled T-shirt with its holes and paint stains.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, her heart hurting as she admitted to herself that a small break might be the only thing to interrupt their downward spiral.

  The next morning, Angie tossed her bags into the car and belted up. ‘Are you sure you’ve got all you need, Rob? Don’t hesitate to call if Claudia’s missing me, or you need me home,’ said Angie, craning her neck through the car window.

  ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, Claudia?’ Rob’s voice was curt as he stepped away from the hatchback.

  Angie took another look at the cottage before she put the car into gear. The new Colorbond roof was a rich burgundy against the blue, cloudless sky, and the new garden beds had thrived in the autumn rain, making the cottage look lived in.

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘You too.’

  Angie mulled over the chasm that had opened up in their relationship as she skirted the backstreets of Port Fairview and peeled east towards the Princes Highway. They weren’t having the yelling, screaming, hammer-throwing spats from reality TV property shows, but they weren’t the united, excited couple that had signed the contract to buy the cottage either.

  Angie may have skipped her morning run with Bobbi, but she quickly realised an afternoon chasing wayward lambs around McIntyre Park was as good a workout as any.

  ‘You’re fading away to nothing, love,’ said Angus, passing her the laundry handtowel.

  Angie laughed. ‘You need to get your eyes checked, Dad. Bobbi reckons I can still strip a few centimetres if I stick to her eating program and running schedule.’

  Angus fixed her with a worried stare. ‘Doesn’t Rob like something to cuddle in the middle of the night? Look at your sisters, they look better with a bit of meat on their bones.’

  They both turned and looked at Penny, who was pulling dessert from the fridge while Diana carved the roast lamb. Diana’s body had softened with each child, and although Penny was carrying an extra fifteen or so kilograms of pregnancy fluid and baby weight, Angie had to admit she looked even more beautiful with a slight roundness to her face. Lara strode into the kitchen, her lean running physique testament to her daily miles.

  ‘They’ve got your genes, Dad. I was lumped with Mum’s curves. I know I’ll never be Lara-slim, but I could at least get somewhere in the ballpark. It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.’

  Angus looked at her in disbelief and made a point of cutting her an extra-large slice of lemon tart for dessert.

  ‘Ten out of ten as always, Diana. Thank you,’ Angie said, gathering up the empty dessert bowls. She stopped at Penny’s chair and pointed to the barely touched tart. ‘You hardly ate anything tonight, Pen. You should’ve been enjoying your last meal without a baby in your arms. Nervous?’

  Penny rubbed her bulging belly. ‘A bit. I’m glad you’ll all be there,’ she said, standing up and rocking her hips. Angie smiled. She’d made the right decision to come.

  ‘Penny’s baby. Little baby,’ came an excited voice from the far end of the table. The McIntyres turned to watch Tim’s brother Eddie press his ear against Penny’s belly. Angie knew he would be the proudest uncle in Bridgefield when the new baby arrived.

  Tim paused to nod emphatically. ‘I think I’m more nervous, and I don’t even have to do any pushing. What time’s the induction again?’ He made light work of Penny’s uneaten dessert.

  Lara downed the last of her wine and grabbed a tea towel. ‘They’ll do it first thing, then hopefully we’ll have some action tomorrow afternoon. Might be a long wait though. I hope you’ve packed your sleeping masks and pillows, girls?’

  Angus stretched out at the head of the table. ‘Can’t say I’ll be sad to stay here and wait for the good news. We’ll hold the fort for a few days while the ladies stake out the hospital, hey, Eddie?’ Eddie gave Angus a thumbs up.

  Diana’s husband Pete scratched his beard and raised his beer. ‘I’ll drink to that. I’d rather watch our four boys alone for a month than step inside a labour ward again.’

  Angie finished collecting the dishes from the table and shooed Penny out of the kitchen. ‘Go get a good night’s rest, Pen. It’s going to be a big day tomorrow.’

  And when Angie climbed into her old childhood bed, the cast-iron frame creaking as she slipped between the Holly Hobbie sheets, she fell asleep almost immediately, and dreamed of the new niece or nephew she’d soon be welcoming into the world.

  Rob woke to a pounding on the caravan door. Claudia started crying, and by the time he’d pulled his jeans on, Rosa was leaning over Claud’s bed with an apologetic look on her face.

  ‘Sorry for the early wake-up, but you’d better brace yourself, Rob. You’ve had a few visitors overnight. One of your crops is stuffed.’

  Rob tugged a T-shirt on and barely broke stride as he crossed the shed, pulled on his boots and jogged to the edge of the closest paddock. Even in the soft pre-dawn light, he could see it was one godawful mess.

  Heavy blockout curtains hid the moonlight as Angie rolled over and checked her phone.

  The bright display dazzled her eyes and she squinted at the list of notifications lined up on her screen. It was 6.07 a.m. and there were missed calls from Rob, Rosa and a number she didn’t recognise.

  She jabbed at the voicemail icon frantically. Please don’t let it be Claudia, she thought.

  Rob’s voice came over the phone, his short sentences amplifying her worries. ‘Been a bit of a problem, Ange. Claudia’s fine but … call when you get up,’ he said.

  Next message. Rosa. ‘Angie, I’m sure Rob will call anyway but you don’t need to worry about the rest of the paddocks. I’ve been around and checked the calves and all the cows. They’re all fine. Oops, I think Rob’s trying to call me now. Hang on …’ Angie heard the sound of Rosa muttering as she tried to juggle the two calls, then a dial tone.

  Angie frowned. What did Rob mean about a problem? Had the calves breached the fences and gotten onto the road? Had something bad happened to the pregnant cows?

  Angie perched on the windowsill to get reception as she called Rob. He answered on the first ring.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Feral pigs. They came through and ripped up the best crop. Mum disturbed a mob of them when she got the cows in this morning. It’s ruined,’ he said, his voice thick with frustration.

  Angie sank back against the curtains, the chill from the window seeping into her skin. ‘Ruined?’

  ‘The small crops are okay, but every bloody wisp of wheat in the main crop is upended, just as good as if I’d run the plough through it myself.’

  Rob hung up the phone and reached for the coffee Rosa had made him. The scalding on his tongue was nothing compared to the anger building inside him.

  ‘Stuff this, I’m going to go and find the little bastards,’ he said, pushing away from the table.

  ‘Sit down, Rob. Those pigs will have scattered through the forest by now,’ said Rosa. He jogged to the work ute anyway.

  He called over his shoulder as he reversed out the driveway. ‘Imagine the money I’ll lose if they do it to all the paddocks. This year has been bad enough without having to forfeit more crops, rehabilitate more paddocks and buy in feed. I’ll grab my old gun.’

  He stopped at his parents’ house, going straight to the gun safe. The firearms were still kept under lock and key in the laundry, though Rob wasn’t surprised to find the old combination code still worked.

  He lifted his rifle from the cabinet, noting the gleaming stock and the polished barrels, a
nd fossicked behind the spare boxes of laundry powder for the key to the ammunition. The smell of gun oil and the rattle of rifle shells accompanied him on his drive into the scrub. Rob crunched the gears and ignored the branches scraping against the ute’s paintwork as he followed the narrow track through the bush.

  Where there were pigs, there’d be hunters. And where there were hunters, there’d be blood-hungry dogs, ready to latch onto a calf if they didn’t catch a pig. He thought of their calves, his niche investment plan, being jeopardised, just like their best crop.

  Angie had been right. He thumped the steering wheel with his fist.

  Why does everything I touch turn to dust? If he’d gone out and hunted the pigs when Angie had first raised the issue, or spent thousands on exclusion fencing, would that have deterred them?

  A wattle sapling whipped at the front windscreen as he took a corner too sharply. He inched his foot off the accelerator. Losing a crop was bad enough. Smashing into a roo wouldn’t bring it back.

  Rob drew the ute to a stop, waiting in the car until he’d cooled down a little. He eased open the door, crouched quietly, and listened for snapping branches or rustling bushes. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He spun around, looking behind him. A rabbit hopped out from behind a fallen eucalyptus limb. Rob let out a frustrated breath.

  He scanned the forest floor for pig tracks and scat, finding only a sleepy koala climbing down a manna gum, wallabies congregating by the dozen, and more rabbits than he could poke a stick at. The dry creek bed offered no answers either, only a few crushed beer cans and an old campfire. Hunters?

  Rob walked until the sun was high overhead and flies followed in his wake. The rifle felt familiar in his hands, but he didn’t like being out in the scrub. It was too much of a reminder of the adventures he’d had with Max—the wood-cutting days and fox-hunting nights before things had turned sour.

  He spotted a patch of flattened grass. He crept ahead, his breath catching in his throat as he glimpsed a sow lying beyond the clearing, a dozen or so piglets suckling from her swollen undercarriage. Bingo. He crouched and aimed, releasing the safety catch.

  Almost.

  Steady on.

  He shifted his weight to brace for the recoil, snapping a twig under his heel.

  The sow hit the ground running, her piglets disappearing into the heath before he could even fire off a shot.

  He kicked at the dirt. He’d always been the better hunter, the one who brought down the deer and collected the most fox tails.

  Not anymore.

  He reinstalled the safety catch. Defeat followed him back to the ute.

  At least I can tell Ange I tried.

  Thirty-three

  The sky above the Grampians was blue and cloudless as Angie whisked eggs for breakfast at McIntyre Park, but neither the postcard-perfect vista or the sunshiney forecast did much to lift her mood. Lara breezed through the back door of the family farmhouse, her steps light and expression perky. She probably managed a ten-kilometre run before sunrise.

  ‘Hope you’ve had your coffee, girls. All ready to head to hospital, Pen?’

  Penny raised her coffee cup. ‘Already on my second one. Tim’ll be in from the paddock in a minute, then we’ll be right to head to Horsham. The hospital’s all ready for me.’

  Angie yawned.

  ‘Rough night?’ said Lara.

  ‘I was right about the feral pigs. They ripped up the biggest crop Rob had planted.’

  ‘Ouch! Bet he was thrilled about that.’

  ‘Sounds like it. I won’t know more till later.’ Angie busied herself drying the mugs on the sink, hating herself for feeling the teensiest bit triumphant about having been right.

  Rob thought about the pigs as he worked on the cottage that afternoon. He recalled a photo of him, Max and John taken when he was in late primary school, maybe early high school. It was one of the few snaps he remembered where his dad looked proud of him. John was properly smiling in the picture, with a hand on each son’s shoulder, a row of dead foxes strung along a barbed-wire fence. He’d shot the most, more than double the number Max had hit, taking great pride in lining the mangy predators up so everyone on Enderby Lane would see. Their red pelts had swayed in the breeze for months before perishing in the sun.

  A knock at the door brought him back to the present.

  Rosa poked her head around the cottage door, her frame dwarfed by an armful of Tupperware containers. ‘I’ve brought some more tucker. Thought you’d be hungry with Angie away. Where’s my poppet?’

  Rosa’s baking was exactly what he needed.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re a mind-reader. She’s asleep in the pram. Crazy to think she’ll sleep through me on the power tools but wake at the drop of a hat overnight.’

  ‘Plastering looks all right.’

  ‘Bit of a dog’s breakfast. You’d think it would be easy to hang a sheet of plaster, but look at it.’ He took the piece of orange cake Rosa held out, closing his eyes at her sympathetic grimace and focusing on the sweet orange flavour filling his mouth.

  ‘You’ll get better as you go.’

  Rob laughed, reaching for another piece of cake. ‘Couldn’t get much worse.’

  Rosa set two mugs of steaming coffee on a sawhorse. ‘I sent Angie another message—Penny’s almost about to start pushing.’

  Rob held up a hand. He’d seen enough in the labour ward when Claudia arrived—he didn’t need details.

  ‘Can’t think of anything worse than having all those people in the room when you’re trying to give birth. It’s not a spectator—’

  ‘Sport,’ said Rosa, nodding. ‘I grabbed your mail on the way in. I hope you get as many remittance statements as you get window-fronted envelopes?’

  She set the mail down on a box of screws. Rob felt a stab of guilt. He avoided his mother’s gaze and toyed with a set square.

  ‘Ange isn’t happy about me handling the budget. And I haven’t even told her about the latest round of reno invoices. Maybe she’ll be in a better mood when she gets back tomorrow.’ Keep telling yourself that, mate. You’re going to need more than a good mood to soften the blow. Just wait until she hears about the goats.

  ‘The roofing bill was higher than we expected, the windows went way over, and I’ve lost thousands on that crop. It feels like we’re haemorrhaging money.’

  Rosa hesitated, as if she was going to say something, but instead she restacked a pile of timber offcuts, lining them up so the cut edges were flush on one side. The silence stretched on.

  Even though it was his mum sitting beside him, not his dad, Rob felt the weight of his father’s expectations. You’ve got to finish what you start. Don’t get yourself too deep in the red. Do a job once, and do it well. If you want it done right, then do it yourself. Rob played with his safety glasses.

  Between Ange and Dad, I can barely put a foot right. The to-do list to make the house habitable dangled in his mind like a noose.

  Dozens of extra opportunities to stuff up.

  ‘Dad would probably love to see our budget, tell me all the ways I’m messing this up. It’s like he’s waiting for me to ask for help, or admit I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’

  Rosa reached for his hand. Her voice was soft.

  ‘He loves you, Rob. We both do. And he’s so proud of you, even if he can’t find the words to say it. And you and Angie are a great match. Tell her about the budget. Share the load a little.’

  ‘Yeah, it’d really cheese Dad off to have two sons who are failures, wouldn’t it?’

  Rosa flinched at the bitterness in his words. She draped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug.

  Rob felt another pang of guilt as his mum’s arm started to shake. Top work, Jones. Upsetting both the women in your life. All you need now is for Claudia to chuck a tantrum and it’ll be a trifecta.

  ‘I wish you’d put it all behind you, Rob. You’ve only got one brother, and one dad. I thought bringing you and Max home would be a c
hance for you all to mend fences.’

  She looked away, engrossed in the sliver of mulberry tree visible through the cottage window.

  ‘Never underestimate how much I love you boys, Rob. Most mothers will do whatever it takes to keep their kids safe and happy, even at their own expense. The least you can do is budge a little too. Has it served your father well, all the rigidity? All the stubbornness? He’s never been very good at showing his love, but it doesn’t mean he loves you any less,’ she paused, folding and unfolding the hem of her shirt. ‘You’re more alike than you realise.’

  Rosa’s words hit him hard. He was nothing like his father. Claudia knew she was loved, he told her how proud he was when she sang the alphabet and practised her numbers.

  She stood up and faced the window.

  ‘Come and see me when you’ve worked out what’s most important to you, Rob. But don’t leave it too late, or you might find you’ve put all your eggs in the wrong basket.’

  ‘Not long to go now, Pen,’ said Angie as another moan filled the labour ward. Lara walked back into the birthing suite, talking to the midwife and obstetrician as they swept in behind her.

  ‘The contractions are still infrequent, but they seem to be hitting hard. She says she doesn’t want any pain relief, but I’m hoping you can talk some sense into her,’ said Lara, in full nurse mode. ‘Otherwise it’s going to be another loooong night.’

  Angie blinked in disbelief. Night? The catnaps and quiet hours had all rolled into one after a while.

  Angie’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she gave Tim the wet flannel she’d been holding against Penny’s forehead. ‘I’ll leave you guys to it for a minute, okay?’ She fished her phone from her pocket and frowned as she realised how long Penny had been in labour.

  Angie looked back at the people clustered around her sister and quietly stepped outside. The hallway lights were painfully bright after the dimly lit labour ward. She scrolled through the messages and emails. Rosa had sent a photo of Claudia baking, Rob had forwarded an invoice to her instead of his latest client and there was a message from an unknown number.