by Karly Lane
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dad’s not going to be able to come home for a while. You’re going to have to sit down with him and sort out what needs to happen to keep the business running.’
‘He’s not in any condition to have that discussion,’ Ollie said, shaking his head adamantly. ‘Besides, he’s going to want to approve everything from his hospital bed.’
‘He won’t be able to, will he. He’s hardly going to be able to direct the harvesting or pay for fuel and feed from here. It’s just not possible.’
‘He won’t want to hand it all over to me, though.’
‘Well, he’s going to have to deal with it. Mum’ll see reason; we’ll talk to her about it tonight. But you’ll have to do it sooner rather than later. The property’s a business and it can’t stop because Dad’s suddenly not at the helm.’
‘I’ll keep it running,’ Ollie said a little stiffly.
‘I’m not talking about the farming side of things, Ollie. Of course you’ll have all that under control. I mean all the other stuff. Dad has all the banking passwords and the authority on accounts, all the tax stuff, invoices.’ She saw Ollie’s shoulders droop slightly. She knew he’d already been considering everything that he’d need to do farming-wise, but she suspected he hadn’t had time to wrap his head around the business details their parents normally handled. The weight of responsibility finally seemed to be dawning on him. It was too much for one person to take on alone. They stopped at the car.
‘It’ll be okay,’ she said gently.
‘Yeah,’ he sighed as he sat behind the steering wheel and stared through the window. ‘I’ll manage.’
Griff kicked his boots off outside the back door of his house and hung his hat on the coat hook on the wall inside. It’d been a long, frustrating day. He’d been chasing up parts for the harvester in a mad hurry to have all the maintenance done before harvesting got underway. It didn’t matter how prepared you were, something inevitably went wrong; but it was better for things to go wrong unexpectedly than for something to go wrong that could have been avoided in the first place.
He grabbed a cold beer out of the fridge and sank down on his lounge, pulling out his phone as it began to ring.
‘Hey.’ Ollie sounded tired.
‘How’re things going, mate?’ Griff asked.
‘Slow. They’ve managed to stabilise the fractures to his spine, but the pelvis fractures were pretty bad. I’m not sure when I’ll be getting back home.’
‘Don’t stress about anything this end, Ol. I’ve just come back from your place and everything’s okay. If you think of anything you need doing, just let me know.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ Ollie said, and Griff heard him clear his throat.
‘No worries. You just concentrate on what you need to do down there.’
‘That’s the thing, there’s bugger all I can do. It’s frustrating as hell.’
Griff could only imagine. There was nothing worse than sitting around waiting.
‘To be honest, I need to get out of here so I can do something useful, like run the damn property. Dad doesn’t need me sitting beside his bed holdin’ his hand.’
‘Yeah, well, I hear ya. I’d probably be feelin’ the same way, but your mum and sister need you right now and I can take care of this end for as long as you need me to, so don’t worry about getting back in a hurry.’
‘Yeah. I know. Thanks, Griff. For everything. We left in such a hurry, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.’
‘Any time, bro.’
They hung up and Griff sat in the quiet room for a long while afterwards. He would have thought he’d have shaken this stupid mood by now, but sometimes, when he was least expecting it, a heavy kind of dread settled on his chest and he was thrown back into those first few dark days after he and Linc had had the fight. Maybe it was all the talk about hospitals that had done it this time.
Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
Four
Olivia looked out the window as they drove down the main street of Rankins Springs. It hadn’t changed much—who was she kidding, it never changed. She’d love to see some of the shops open again. In other parts of the state there was a push to revamp small country towns and she hoped that one day this momentum would reach her home town.
It hadn’t been that long since she’d been back home—only a few months—but it felt a lot longer after the trauma of the past couple of weeks.
Ollie had decided to go home to get started on harvesting. There was nothing he could do in Sydney and, unfortunately, the season didn’t allow for family emergencies, it just rolled on relentlessly. If they missed the window for harvesting the canola and wheat, it would be a waste of a whole season’s work, not to mention the money they’d lose.
Her grandfather had bought the property after the Second World War and named it Moorbrook after the village he had left behind in England. It had been a sheep property for most of its life, growing wool, but after years of drought Bill Dawson, along with most property owners in the district, had replaced the wool with crops.
Although there was never a good time for something like this to happen, their father’s accident couldn’t have come at a worse one. Ollie had tried to downplay the situation, but it was clear that Moorbrook would struggle if they couldn’t get the crop in.
‘I’m going to take a few weeks off and go home with you,’ Olivia had announced a few days earlier.
Ollie had looked at her doubtfully, and instantly Olivia had straightened her shoulders. ‘What? I spent my fair share of time in a tractor. I’m pretty sure I can remember how to do it.’
‘You can’t take off time from your job, love,’ her mum had said.
‘Yes, I can.’ In fact, she was pretty sure her boss would think it was an excellent idea to have some time away in order to get her head and priorities sorted. She’d taken some personal leave as soon as she’d heard about her dad’s accident and had popped back into the office to deal with some minor emergencies, but she didn’t have anything pressing to deal with so there was nothing stopping her from taking time off. She hadn’t given any more thought to the boardroom disaster of a few days earlier—almost losing her father had put life firmly in perspective—but maybe getting back to her roots would give her a chance to figure out what she wanted. ‘Look, Ollie needs help. He can’t manage the farm and the books. Dad’s just going to stress over it and that won’t do him any good. I’m an extra pair of hands we don’t have to pay and I can handle the bookwork side of things. It makes perfect sense.’
It had taken a day or so before she’d managed to convince them, then they’d organised for Sue’s sister to come down and stay in Olivia’s flat with her mother—if for no other reason than to offer some company—and Olivia had finished up a few last-minute work tasks before they’d left early for the drive back to Moorbrook.
Unlike their neighbours the Callahans, with their two sons, the Dawsons didn’t have as much manpower to rely on, so Olivia had often pitched in. In her younger days she’d loved it; during her teenage years, not so much. As the idea of returning home to help Ollie had begun to unfold, she’d started to think a lot about those early days. Maybe the shock of almost losing her dad had prompted these sudden wistful memories. When she was little she’d loved helping her father. Those days had been some of the happiest of her childhood. She wasn’t sure exactly when she’d lost interest in it all … but she had. Instead of racing Ollie outside and fighting over who got to sit beside Dad, she’d started to drag her feet and need to be coaxed into helping. Of course she did it—there was never any real choice: if you were needed, you helped. There were lots of times when the whole family put in extra hours to feed cattle or drive a truck when things got busy. But once she’d started high school, the days of helping around the farm simply because she wanted to had ended.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Ollie asked, dragging her back to the present as they drove through to
wn.
Olivia turned away from the window and raised an eyebrow at her brother. ‘It’s a bit late to ask me that now, don’t you think?’
‘I can get help. There’re always fellas looking to pick up extra cash around the place, and I know Griff would lend a hand. I’d manage.’
‘I know you would. But the Callahans are busy with their own place, and I don’t see why you should have to stress over all this when I’m capable of helping.’ She knew that at this time of the year help wouldn’t be easy to find, but he was clearly trying to play down the seriousness of the situation.
‘I feel like there’s more to it,’ he said after a moment of silence.
Olivia turned away. Her twin brother still knew her better than anyone else. She had watched the Callahan siblings growing up, and even though they were a close family, they didn’t have the same closeness she and Ollie had. They fought just like the Callahan kids, but at the end of the day they were always best friends. It was a special bond they shared. ‘I just wanted a break for a bit. Is that too much to ask?’
‘All right,’ he said, his tone indicating he was backing off. ‘I just think it’s strange, that’s all. But I’m glad you’re here.’
She reached across and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘It’ll be okay. You’ll get the harvesting done and Dad’s going to be fine.’
She saw him swallow hard then give a hasty nod. ‘Yeah. Of course.’
It had been hard on Ollie. Not only had he suddenly had the responsibility of running this place thrust on his shoulders, but he’d had his own distress to face, from dealing with the accident. She could only imagine the terror he must have felt upon discovering their father trapped under that tractor. But he’d remained calm, and his actions—giving first aid and calling for help—had saved their father’s life. Olivia thought there had been a cost, though: Ollie was in survival mode, his emotions shut down so he could cope. She didn’t know what would happen when those emotions forced their way to the surface to be dealt with.
‘Hey, how are the Callahans going?’ she asked, to change the topic and take Ollie’s mind off things.
‘They’re okay.’
‘I know Hadley was really worried about Griff and Linc there for a while.’
‘Yeah, that was some heavy stuff that went down.’
‘So how’s Griff dealing with it all now?’ She tried to keep the exasperation from her voice but, seriously, it was like pulling teeth trying to get information out of the men around here.
Ollie gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘He doesn’t really talk about it.’
‘Because it’s not like anything major happened … he just got into a fist fight with his brother at his sister’s wedding.’ If she hadn’t been talking to Hadley over the last few months, she’d probably believed it had been nothing, listening to her brother brush it off so calmly.
‘Linc and Griff have had stuff brewing for a long time. It was bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘Linc completely lost control, Ollie. It was a lot more than two guys blowing off steam. Griff could have been killed, and he was really badly hurt. Surely he must have talked about it?’
‘There wasn’t anything to talk about. Everyone knows Linc only did it because he was messed up from combat. Griff knows it wasn’t about him.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, how do you really know he’s okay with it? Did you ask him how was feeling?’
She heard her brother give a brief snort. ‘We’re guys. We don’t ask about how we’re feeling, Liv.’
‘He’s your best friend.’
‘Yeah. And he’s okay with things. It’s over and done with. There’s no point talking it to death.’ He took his eyes briefly from the road to shoot her a stern glance. ‘And don’t go getting any ideas about stirring things up either. It’s done and dusted and doesn’t need to be brought back up.’
‘As if I would,’ she said, giving an annoyed click of her tongue.
His doubtful grunt told her he wasn’t entirely convinced, but he needn’t have worried—they had enough of their own problems without taking on their neighbours’ family drama on top of it all. It was, however, a stark reminder of that stoic she’ll-be-right attitude people lived by out here. It really needed to change. It was one thing to get on with the job at hand; it was another thing altogether to just ignore emotions like grief and loneliness and stress. Preaching about it to Ollie wasn’t going to change anything, though; he never took anything she said seriously. It drove her mad. It was a relief when they approached the familiar turn-off and the house appeared at the end of the driveway.
The Federation-style home had been built by the original owners, before her family had bought it, and it always reminded Olivia of a fairytale cottage from a storybook. The peaked roof, wraparound verandah and original fittings gave the house an olden-day charm. Her mother’s rose garden, tucked in behind a white picket fence, was the only lush growth for miles. Out the back, her parents had splurged on an in-ground pool and it was a stark contrast to the traditional look of the front of the house. It made life bearable, though, in the hot summers out here and featured in almost every happy family memory Olivia had.
It was weird not to see her parents coming out to greet them as they pulled up.
The two of them carried the luggage inside and Olivia walked down the long hallway, the timber floorboards gleaming under her feet, to drop her bags inside her old room. It was still painted candyfloss pink, a present her parents had given her for her fourteenth birthday—a whole bedroom makeover. She glanced down at her bags and decided to deal with them later. It had been a long drive and she really didn’t feel like unpacking just yet.
Ollie left straightaway to meet with the financial broker to sort out the insurance on the tractor their father had rolled, while Olivia busied herself getting the house back in order. She looked over at the dishes still in the sink, imagining her mother washing them up, then interrupted by the radio call from Ollie after finding their father. She quickly blinked back tears as she forced away the image and got to work.
She loved her mother’s kitchen. It brought back so many memories every time she walked into the room. The high ceilings made it feel spacious and airy, and large windows overlooking the pool area let in plenty of bright, natural light. A few years earlier her parents had decided to renovate, painting the tongue-and-groove timber walls a soft blue. Her mother had always had a great eye for colour, and the various shades of blue throughout the room, ranging from the palest robin’s egg to denim, teamed with white, gave the kitchen a fresh country feel.
Although there was a separate dining room, it was only used when they had guests or for Christmas dinners. The kitchen table was where the majority of their meals were eaten, and it was the heart of the house. Olivia lightly ran her fingers across the table and smiled. This was where she and Ollie had done their homework, while their mother prepared dinner each day. After-school snacks had been eaten here and school projects had come to life with glue and paper and paints scattered across its gleaming timber top.
She felt a quiver run through her as she thought back to the bright hospital lights and her father’s pale face. There was so much uncertainty hanging over them. Her dad was a proud man, self-reliant and used to hard work. Being stuck in a hospital bed, dependent on other people to help him with even the most basic things, wouldn’t be easy for him.
It felt so strange being in this house without her parents—as if the heart and soul of the place was missing. Olivia shook her head. This wasn’t helping anything. She had to stay strong for Ollie’s sake. If she fell apart, she’d be no good to him, and right now he needed her to be strong.
Squaring her shoulders, Olivia set about cooking meals to freeze in preparation for the long days and nights of harvesting ahead. The last thing she’d feel like doing after a long working day would be cooking dinner, and it helped take her mind of all their problems for a while.
Five
Olivia frowned as she tried to w
ork out what the insistent noise was as she was reluctantly dragged from her dream. She put her hand out and felt for her alarm clock, opening one eye when she failed to locate it. Then she remembered where she was. Home. In her old bedroom.
She took a moment to savour the familiar, comforting smell of home: a mixture of warm pyjamas, her mother’s favourite washing powder and burnt toast. She frowned. Burnt toast?
Olivia climbed out of bed and pulled on her jeans, digging out an old T-shirt from her chest of drawers, and headed out to the kitchen.
As she walked down the hallway she heard muttered cursing and watched with some amusement as her burly six-foot brother juggled hot, somewhat overdone toast onto a plate.
‘Morning,’ she said, walking across to put the jug on. She wished she’d thought to bring her coffee machine.
‘The stupid toaster’s broken. It keeps burning everything.’
Olivia leaned over and turned the knob back to three from its current position of five.
‘Since when has that been there?’ Ollie asked, sounding surprised.
‘Since forever. It’s seriously embarrassing that you can’t even cook toast for yourself.’
‘I can cook toast,’ he pouted. ‘Mum just does it better.’
Olivia gave a small snort. ‘No wonder she wants to marry you off so bad.’
‘She does not.’
‘Does too.’
‘Whatever.’
Olivia reached for a cup then rolled her eyes as she glanced over at her brother seated at the kitchen bench. ‘I suppose you haven’t had coffee yet?’
‘No, I haven’t. Thanks, that’d be great,’ he said sweetly.
‘Pathetic,’ Olivia sighed. She’d mentioned more than once to her mother that Ollie was spoilt rotten living at home and having everything done for him, but she always got a stern lecture. ‘He works hard,’ her mother would always say, ‘and while any child of mine is still living under my roof, they will always have a full stomach and clean clothes.’ Clearly her mother had missed the women’s liberation memo.