Jillaroo

by Rachael Treasure

  ‘Are you looking at what I’m looking at?’ Bec said to Sal, Emma and Gabs who sat beside her on a hay bale.

  ‘Mmmm. I just lerve Wrangler butt,’ said Gabs.

  Sally followed their gaze. ‘Well I have to say the chaps do set the butt-cheeks off rather well. But girls, I’m sorry to say, I’m evolving.’

  ‘Evolving?’ asked Gabs and Bec at once.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I have to admit, I’ve been falling for men in suits lately.’

  ‘Look out corporate world!’ cried Bec.

  The three of them looked up as Tom weaved towards them in the crowd of hungover and still drunk B&S revellers. The sunlight caught in his hair and he beamed a friendly smile at the girls as he held up the cluster of drinks he was carrying. Sally’s eyes glanced over his rumpled shirt, the opening at the top revealing a bare brown chest. Then the other girls’ eyes followed. Emma and Gabs, when they first saw Tom, had crooned to Rebecca that her brother was ‘soooo cute!’ While the girls thought Tom was gorgeous, Rebecca couldn’t help but notice the slight circles that had formed beneath his eyes since she last saw him and the fact that the end of his plaited leather belt was looped around itself like a snake above his loose-fitting jeans. He had lost weight.

  ‘What was that about suits?’ asked Tom as he handed around the plastic cups of rum before sitting down with Bec.

  ‘Oh nothing, bro. Just girl talk.’ Bec looked at him almost sadly and put a sisterly arm around his shoulders. ‘Here’s to pissed idiots, B&Ss and rodeo recoveries.’

  Poor Tom, thought Bec. It had taken him many hours of nail biting and many glasses of rum last night at the B&S to work up the courage to ask Sally to dance. When he did, she led him by the hand to the dance floor and proceeded to dance dorky chicken dances and the good old waggle-your-knees-and-move-your-hands-back-and-forth dance. After she started walking like an Egyptian Tom gave up and came back over to where Bec was standing with a group of first years.

  ‘Tom-arse,’ Bec’d yelled at him above the music, ‘I don’t think she’s picked up on the vibes you’ve been sending her.’ They watched Sally dance off into the crowd in her sequined dress which looked so elegant and sophisticated next to all the ag college girls in their ‘battle dresses’.

  ‘Have you said anything to her?’ Tom had asked.

  ‘No. Do you want me to?’

  ‘No. No thanks, sis.’

  Rebecca had found him later in the night in her ute, which was parked in the college student carpark. He’d unrolled his swag and was curled up inside it. Drunkenly she looked down at him. He was sleeping with a frown on his face beneath a chilly moon at four a.m. She tried to drag him inside.

  ‘You can sleep in my dorm room, you dork, it’s just inside.’ In her drunken state she raised her index finger and said enthusiastically, ‘Don’t worry, bro, I’ll carry you there.’ Grabbing the swag she tried to pull it over the tailgate of the ute. Losing her grip she fell backwards onto the ground.

  ‘Wait. Wait. I’ll drive you to the doorway.’ She fumbled with the door of her ute.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Bec,’ he muttered. ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get in with you then,’ she said, trying to lift her leg over the side of the ute.

  ‘Don’t be a knucklehead, Bec. The boys will stir the crap out of you in the morning if they find you in the back of the ute after a B&S with your brother. They’ll call you an inbred mountain woman.’

  As Bec considered this, they heard voices and the sound of footsteps coming up the road from the B&S site. Across the gleam of cars in the moonlight they saw Paddy, Brendon and Nick in their white shirts and black dinner-suit trousers. Nick’s sleeves were ripped off so his pale upper arms shone in the blue-white light. Paddy jumped on to the bonnet of Helen Thompson’s blue Corona sedan and pulled down his trousers. Frowning and peering at him Bec called out, ‘Oi! Paddy, what on earth are you doing?’ At the sound of her voice Nick sauntered forward with his finger to his lips.

  ‘Shhhhhhh! We’re leaving a mystery poo!’

  ‘Tom,’ she had said, and slapped a hand on his shoulder, ‘the dorm room is smelling pretty good right now.’

  Tom had slept on Bec’s swag on the floor. From her narrow college bed, just before Rebecca faded off to sleep, she’d mumbled, ‘Look on the bright side, bro, you can do some more spade work on Sally Farter in the morning at the rodeo.’ Tom hadn’t answered and had pulled the doona up over his head.

  This morning they had awoken to screams and laughter in the corridors as someone yelled out, ‘Mystery poo! Mystery poo! Someone’s done a mystery poo in Natalie Ashcroft’s riding boot!’

  By the time they’d drunk their breakfast beers and got dressed for the rodeo, it was clear Tom was forcing a good mood. He was trying to join in with the conversation now as he sat amidst the group of girls beside the rodeo ring.

  Sally was chattering and full of rum, bubbling with the excitement of the day. She was completely oblivious to Tom’s dark aura, solemn stares and sad eyes.

  Bec shook her head gently as her best friend blabbed on to Gabs and Emma about her conquests at her city university.

  ‘He was a law student,’ groaned Sal, ‘the sleaziest breed – and once he told me he used his vibrating mobile phone for unsavoury purposes, that was it. I mean that was it. Finito.’

  ‘Sal. The drink is lubricating your lips fairly well,’ said Bec, hoping she’d take a hint.

  ‘He’d rather caress a leather BMW seat than my inner thighs, so pooey to him.’

  ‘Sal. You’re dribbling now,’ cautioned Rebecca.

  ‘Scabs,’ Sal said, turning to Gabrielle, ‘tell Miss-High-and-Mighty-High-Country to go get a root. She needs to loosen up.’

  Gabs turned to Bec. ‘Bucket. Farter here told you to get a root.’ Gabs then squinted at Sal. ‘Is that better, Farter?’

  ‘Yip,’ said Sal, nodding an already noddy head. She sculled her drink down in one gulp.

  Deciding to ignore her friends, Rebecca watched the college boys canter around the arena on their horses. They were ushering a bareback bronc out of the ring. The mare carried her tail and her head high, propping at the rails and skimming up sand with high-stepping hooves. Rebecca wished she was out there on Ink Jet. With her system soaked in alcohol, Rebecca felt a longing settle inside her. Every time she spotted a Wrangler butt she was reminded of Charlie Lewis.

  Gabs elbowed Bec in the ribs. ‘Hey, dreamer.’ Gabs turned to Sally. ‘She’s probably dreaming about The Brick. That’s the one and only fling she’s had since she came to this fine academy.’

  ‘Do tell!’ said Sally.

  Leaning forward Emma continued the story for Gabs who was swearing and wiping rum from her shirt.

  ‘He was a rugby clone through and through. Lots of brawn and no brains. A complete brick wall in the forward line, so hence, The Brick.’

  Gabs went on. ‘It was one night after a fancy-dress party and she went to the bar as a rollerblader in a crop-top and pigtails. She virtually rolled into his arms and then into his college bed. Apparently they couldn’t get the rollerblades off.’

  The girls dissolved into snickers and spluttery giggles and Tom sipped slowly on his rum.

  Gabs and Sally leaned their heads together and Gabs said in a whisper which wafted of rum, ‘He’s sitting in front of us … that’s him there.’ She pointed to a large lad who was watching and whooping at the bareback rider with clenched, brick-like fists. His broad square neck held up a blocky head. He had cropped fair hair.

  Bec looked at him. She pictured biting him on the neck and running her hands across his impossibly broad shoulders.

  ‘She was mightily disappointed,’ Gabs said shaking her head, ‘when she found out her one and only one-night sleaze turned out to have a tiny excuse for a wanger. Reckoned the condom looked like a wind sock. Flap, flap, flap!’ Gabs waved her hand about in the air to highlight her point.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Gabs as Rebecca punched her in the
arm.

  ‘But the size of his fingers don’t reflect that,’ said Sally, puzzled.

  ‘Blows that theory out of the water, doesn’t it?’ said Gabs, nodding and rubbing her upper arm.

  ‘For godsake you two, shut up!’ said Rebecca.

  The next round of rums topped Bec right up. She rested her chin in her hands. The second consecutive day of drinking was halfway over and Bec had hit the wall of sadness. She always hit it when she got this drunk. Longing for love. Longing for her home. Longing to see Charlie Lewis again. Tom sat silently beside her and she felt comforted by his nearness but chilled by his sadness, which seemed so complete.

  She thought he’d be buoyant after Sally agreed enthusiastically to help them with the business plan for Waters Meeting, but instead she felt him withdraw into his own world. Every time she asked him about Harry, Tom fell silent. He wouldn’t be drawn on what future their father might have laid out for them and the farm. Rebecca couldn’t help feel Tom’s depression was linked to her departure from Waters Meeting. She urged him to enrol in ag college for the following semester, but Tom kicked at the ground with his scuffed riding boots and shook his head.

  ‘I’ve thought about it Bec, and if I’m going to leave the farm for any course, I’d leave to do fine arts … not agricultural business.’

  Rebecca blurted out, ‘What’s stopping you?’

  Tom threw back his drink, shook his head and clenched his mouth shut. Then he slung his arm about his sister and rested his head on her shoulder. It must’ve been the grog opening Tom up, Bec thought. He rarely mentioned his love for art. Bec knew he’d sometimes sketch things and then hide them from the family – from Harry mostly, she suspected.

  She remembered the day she found a bundle of pages – beautiful pencil drawings, mostly, of her dogs and of horses and cattle. She’d found them in Tom’s cupboard. When she mentioned them to him and told him how brilliant they were, Tom had flown into a rage and torn them up in front of her, then stormed out of the house. Stunned by his sudden anger, she had sat on the floor crying, trying to piece the pages back together. The very thought of Tom’s dark side scared her so much sometimes. She sat in the rodeo stand with her troubled brother sitting right there by her side, and the world swam on around her. She stared ahead and shut her mind down. It was all too hard to understand.

  After the rodeo buckles were presented to the winners, Bec, Sal, Gabs, Emma and Tom clambered into one of the taxis which lined the college road. The drivers had waited for the students, in bright afternoon sunlight, to drive them to town and into the darkness of the pub. Fares were hard to get at this time of the afternoon on a Sunday.

  At the pub the bar staff were battening down the hatches, preparing for the onslaught of over a hundred and fifty drunken agricultural students.

  In the smoky bar Bec felt a lariat fall over her shoulders and pull tight. On the end of the rope was Paddy. He towed her around in the crush of drunken noisy people. Together they clambered on the table and Paddy began to auction her.

  She was bought by a third-year student and spent the rest of the night hiding from him under the pool table. By three a.m. she was in the twenty-four-hour Coles carpark in a shopping trolley being pushed by Gabs. By four a.m. she found herself sitting in the gutter, vomiting an interesting mix of Country Mints and hot dogs. After that, Tom bundled them all in a taxi.

  Bricked in her tiny college room Rebecca held the vision, just before passing out on her bed, of Tom lying fully clothed next to a very comatose Sally. His eyes were wide. Huge silent tears fell from them as he tenderly stroked Sally’s hair and face.

  CHAPTER 21

  The sausage roll was still cold in the middle, but Rebecca didn’t care as she shoved the last of it into her mouth. The woman from the college canteen folded her arms across her sagging bosom and said kindly, ‘Bit crook, love?’

  ‘Hangover from hell,’ mumbled Bec with pastry crumbs falling over her T-shirt. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was worse than the hangover she’d had a few months ago after the rodeo. She’d thrown up all day after that weekend and missed a string of lecutures.

  ‘Can I have a chockie milk too, please? That should make me feel better. Oh, and a packet of barbecue chips.’ She fished around in the pockets of her shorts for some money.

  Hamish Faulkner-Jones sauntered up behind Bec and poked her in the ribs. ‘Bit seedy, ol girl?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Well, lucky you. My last exam isn’t until this afternoon. You guys were so noisy last night, if I bomb out it’s your fault for causing me sleep deprivation.’

  ‘You won’t fail, you nerdy swat,’ said Bec to his boots as she leaned her head on the orange laminex counter.

  ‘I’ll just be glad when it’s all over and we can head out to the pub.’

  ‘Does that mean I have to do a repeat performance again tonight?’ groaned Bec.

  ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you drink too much?’

  ‘Mmm. Me and the rest of the college population. You included.’

  ‘You’re a special case, Bucket-mouth. You’ve got issues.’ He bought a cup of coffee and sesame seed health bar and wandered back towards the library, leaving Bec standing there wondering, What issues?, even though she knew she had plenty.

  It was the end of her first year at college. She spent more time hungover or drunk than studying. The exams had been tight. She wasn’t even sure she’d get through to next year.

  She sauntered over to the student-mail pigeonholes, dragging her heavy backpack of books behind her. In the S box there was a fat yellow envelope waiting for her. It was a scrawled note from Tom and a budle of photos.

  Hi Bucket

  Are you still drinking too much? I bet you’re hungover as you read this. Enclosed are photos of the farm for your assignment. You’ll notice what a brilliant photographer I am. I’ve included a special one for your desk (not that you’re at it much) and Mick volunteered to pose for a picture for Scabs.

  Hope you kick arse with the business plan assignment.

  Lots of love, Bro (Tom-arse)

  PS World War III continues at Waters Meeting to the point where either he goes or they go. Turdy’s father has offered Mick a job in his rural property division in the big smoke. He’ll probably end up taking it because I don’t think he can take being caught between Dad and Turdy any more!

  PPS Turdy is up the duff.

  Pregnant! Trudy was having a kid! In an instant Bec forgot that her head was pounding, and her nausea suddenly disappeared.

  Mick move to the city! she thought. No way! The scribbled words in Tom’s note had shocked her. Tom had been emailing her often with thoughts for the assignment on Waters Meeting and with budgeting ideas, but he’d been short on information about home.

  With the envelope in one hand, chocolate milk and chip packet in the other, and bag hanging heavily from the crook of her arm, she wandered out into the bright sunlight and sat on the cold brick steps which led up to the library.

  She shuffled through the photographs. Pictures of home. Snapshots of the river flats looking tired and reedy with daggy-bum sheep grazing on them. A band of healthy regal rivergums swept along the paddocks’ edge and dropped away to the unseen Rebecca River. The sight of the place took Rebecca’s breath away. She looked around at the red-brick campus. It was going to be a hot day here. There was nowhere to swim. Nowhere cool. She sighed and looked back at the photographs. There were shots of the outbuildings and of the homestead. Tears welled up in her eyes when she saw that, to the left of the house, her doglogs were gone. Trudy must’ve made Mick move them.

  Rebecca swiped away the tears and sharply told herself to get it together. It was then she flicked to the next photograph. It was a close-up headshot of Ink Jet. The afternoon sun brought out black and silver contours of the mare’s glossy midnight coat. Her ears were pricked forward and light fell on her black eyelashes which framed her deep brown eyes. Rebecca’s tears fell fast and hot now. Big f
at tears splashed on her legs.

  I’m always crying, she thought angrily, and put her hand across her face. She breathed in deeply, sobbed slightly and then flicked to the next photo. It was Mick. At least part of Mick. His white bum cheeks mooned the camera and his grin could be seen as he swivelled his head towards the lens.

  ‘Mmm. That’s one for the family album,’ came Gab’s voice from behind Bec’s shoulder. Rebecca quickly wiped the tears away and composed herself.

  ‘Actually it’s a snapshot for you. Tom sent it to you.’

  ‘Nice one!’ laughed Gabs. ‘Is that your older brother?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Cute arse. In a kind of exposed way.’

  ‘He’s married … and from this note, is about to be a dad.’

  ‘Errk.’

  Bec offered Gabs some chips. She took a handful and crunched as she talked. ‘I hope all the photos for the assignment don’t include your brother’s butt.’

  ‘No – thank God. They’re not bad actually. We’ll be heading for a good mark on this one.’

  ‘Well I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I’ve been banging on the door of your room for the past fifteen minutes. I thought you’d passed out in there. Drowned in your own vomit.’

  ‘No such luck. I did wake up with my rubbish tin next to my bed and an empty packet of barbecue shapes. My mouth was as dry as a nun’s nasty. It’s not been a good morning. Don’t know why I’m eating these whooers – I sure as hell don’t need any more salt.’ She swigged on the milk bottle.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you, you drink too much?’

  Bec turned to look at Gabs. ‘What? Milk?’ She held up the bottle and then sighed. ‘Don’t you start.’ Gabs looked at her friend’s eyes.

  ‘Hey! You’ve been crying. Are you okay?’ She put a skinny arm across Bec’s shoulders.

  ‘Just mooching over my horse and pictures of home.’ She held up the picture of Stinky.

  ‘Ink Jet?’

  Bec nodded.