Jillaroo

by Rachael Treasure

  ‘Seeya Dad,’ Charlie said as he quickly bolted out the door. He scooped up his boots and headed for his ute. He had to get out of there.

  With his younger brother, Glen, home from school for good, things had changed a lot for Charlie. His mother now almost ignored him, fussing instead over Glen. It was obvious she was so glad to have one of her boys back in the house that she mostly overlooked Charlie’s decline.

  After Rebecca had left, Charlie had insisted that he live in the cottage, despite his mother’s protests. It gave him time to be alone with his grief, anger and confusion. It also gave him more freedom to come and go. He’d work hard all week for his father, then on weekends wipe himself out at the pub, or the golf club, or a party in the town hall. The next day, still drunk, he’d drive home recklessly, weaving along the single lane of bitumen highway, knocking guideposts sideways and fishtailing on gravel. His party animal persona now emerged every weekend, not just every now and then as it had done in the past.

  He spent his Sundays lying on the couch in the cottage beneath the ceiling fan, feeling trashed.

  Most weekends he’d pick up a pen and write long letters to Rebecca, but as the months passed Charlie felt a cloud settle over him. A damp, dark cloud that shut out the vision of Rebecca. Eventually the words were too painful to write. Writing her name hurt. The thought of her hurt. Time distanced her from him, so that soon all he clung to were the weekly binges on the grog. Drunken nights with glimpses of euphoria as he sung with his mates and danced on tables. Sometimes his mates called in with more beers and the house came to resemble the roughest of jackeroo quarters, his mother no longer able to bear facing the mess. Occasionally his father said a few things as he walked into the stifling, stale-smelling cottage on Monday mornings when Charlie was too sick to work. His father looking disapprovingly at the empty stubbys and his pale-faced son.

  With Glen home, the pressure for Charlie to be the model son had eased. Glen was their golden boy. He didn’t like drinking much, he was obsessed with machinery and cropping so had no desire to be anywhere else in this world, and what’s more, he was going out with one of the churchgoing daughters of Mr and Mrs Lewis’s friends. The relationship had blossomed last year after the church fete when Glen and Kathlene had been asked to stack the chairs and fold the trestle tables. He had taken her out for Chinese at the RSL and since then the relationship had slipped easily into the routine lives of both families.

  With Glen taking on much of his workload, Charlie felt his passion for the farm slipping away, and with Rebecca gone he simply went through the motions of it all as he tried to convince himself he was happy. Driving tractors, drinking, playing footy, partying hard with his mates, loads of freedom. An ideal life, he told himself.

  As he drove along the road towards town he sent the grey galahs flying up to the limbs of thirsty-looking gum trees. They sat with their dusty pink bellies, squawking after the ute that had just revved by.

  Charlie drove towards the sixty kilometre speed sign, not bothering to slow down. He knew Arnie, the potbellied policeman, was helping out with the Kanga cricket clinic in the next town. He was about to pull up outside the pub when he remembered their Eftpos machine was broken. He hazily recalled immersing it in a jug full of beer last week. Rog had stood behind the bar with an angry look on his face, while Charlie threw his bank card at him and said sheepishly, ‘I’ll pay for it’; then he’d remembered that he needed the machine to get the money out. This fact sent him into convulsions of laughter that doubled him over so that he found himself on the floor of the pub, clutching his stomach. He was sure when Rog came to haul him up off the floor that there was a small hint of a smile in the corner of Rog’s mouth. Charlie was, after all, his best customer and, in Rog’s words, ‘a funny bastard’. Now, a week later, the new Eftpos machine was yet to arrive.

  Charlie drove past the pub and pulled up outside the general store. He leapt out of the vehicle and clattered through the screen door, sending the string of bells tinkling. Janine was there behind the counter, reading a magazine.

  ‘Morning, Basil,’ she said flirtily, while straightening up, pulling in her stomach and pushing out her breasts.

  ‘Going to the pub today?’ she asked, knowing full well he was. She rolled her eyes. ‘We don’t shut until seven tonight, so I’ll be late.’

  ‘Bummer,’ said Charlie, quite relieved she wouldn’t be shadowing him at the pub today.

  ‘Ahh, can I get a bucket of chips, two dim sims, a potato cake and … um … that’ll do me.’

  ‘Haven’t had breakfast yet?’ She moved to the counter, clicking her tongs together as she tossed chips into a paper cup. As she put the dim sims and potato cakes into brown paper bags Charlie shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered over to the magazine and newspaper stand. Most of the magazines curled over, dog-eared, dusty and out of date. The newest arrivals sat at the front of the stand next to the weekend papers. A glossy magazine caught his eye.

  He began to flip through it. There were stories on ‘beaut utes’, bull catching and an organic pig farm.

  ‘There you go,’ said Janine, as she sat his bags of greasy food on the counter.

  ‘Can I grab a milkshake too?’ asked Charlie.

  A vehicle pulled up outside and Charlie looked up at the sound to see a ute with kelpies chained to the back. His heart skipped a beat. They were well-bred, glossy-coated dogs. A red and tan with a broad nose, and two black and tans with finer features. Being a cropping area, only a few people bothered carting dogs about with them, and most of the working dogs were of the Heinz variety – a mix of this and that, accidentally bred, and only half willing to work. It was rare to see such fine creatures in the town. Dogs like Rebecca’s.

  The tall man got out of the ute, walked into the store and waited for Janine to turn off the noisy machine which frothed Charlie’s milkshake. He handed over some notes as he asked for some tobacco and papers. Then he turned, nodded at Charlie and walked out of the shop.

  Charlie watched, the magazine still in his hand, as the man drove off down the street, the dogs wagging their tails and turning their noses to the wind. He wondered if the dogs were related to Bec’s.

  Charlie sighed sadly and turned back to look at the magazine. There on the page was Rebecca. Smiling, sitting up on her horse, her golden hair falling out from under her hat. Charlie’s mouth fell open and a shiver ran right through him.

  ‘Is that all?’ Janine asked with her head cocked to the side.

  Her voice snapped Charlie out of his reverie.

  ‘I’ll take this, and a paper and two hundred bucks cash out.’ He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter as she swiped the card.

  ‘I’ve been running out of cash since you buggered the pub’s Eftpos. I can only give you fifty bucks.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Charlie. When she had handed him his card and cash back, he tucked the magazine and the newspaper under his arm and, juggling his milkshake and bags, bustled out of the store, barely able to contain his anticipation at reading the article on Rebecca.

  He stopped the ute under a peppertree and got out, dumping his food and magazine onto the paint-chipped picnic table. Beside the roadside park the irrigation channel swirled past a rusty crooked sign which said, ‘No swimming’. He sat, opened the magazine and drank her in. Reading every word, rereading the article again and again. Staring at her eyes, her smile, her hands. Running his finger over the shape of her. He looked sadly at the photo of Dags. He even missed her dogs.

  He scrunched his eyes, ashamed to feel tears coming to them. He shut the magazine. By the time he ate his chips, they were cold. He chewed them slowly as he read the rural newspaper, trying to resist the temptation of again opening the magazine to look at her. When he reached the employment section in the paper his eyes scanned over the ads for jobs. Then he saw it. He read it again. Goosebumps shivered his flesh. He leapt up and ran for his ute.

  Mrs Lewis was stunned to see Charlie driving back from town jus
t two hours after he had left. He didn’t go to the cottage like normal. Instead he crashed into the kitchen with an excited look in his eye.

  ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘I need to use the computer.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ asked Mrs Lewis, frowning, wiping her hands on a tea towel and following him down the hallway into the farm office.

  CHAPTER 49

  From the window of Sally’s office Rebecca watched the traffic rush by on the street below. Her friend tried again.

  ‘Come on, Bec.’

  She turned towards Sally with her blue eyes wide and said again, ‘No, no, no. No!’

  ‘Yes!’ said Sally through gritted teeth.

  ‘You said I had to come to town to sign an export contract, not to interview potential employees! You lied to me.’

  Sally sighed and spread her hands on her desk. ‘Bec, it’s for your own good and it’s for the good of the business. You can’t keep going on like this. If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t have agreed to do it. If you weren’t such a workaholic, you would’ve given yourself time to read the papers. You would’ve seen the job advertised. It pays to be informed in business, you know.’

  ‘And where do you suggest we house a new manager? Especially one with a family?’

  ‘Look, that’s just minor details. Your dad suggested we build another cabin, or there’s plenty of room in –’

  ‘You spoke to my dad about this!’

  ‘Of course I did. He helped me word the ad. Of course he agrees. He can’t keep up with you. You and your dad need a crop and irrigation manager.’

  Rebecca sighed and slumped into a chair. ‘Fine … You’re always right, Sally Carter.’

  ‘Bloody headstrong woman,’ Sally muttered back.

  Rebecca sat in a stormy silence, glowering at the string of contenders who, one by one, entered the room for the job of irrigation and cropping manager. Sometimes she asked impossible questions and at other times she refused to participate and instead stood staring out the window. The same scenario ran through her head. She pictured herself clashing with the new manager. He’d resent being bossed by a young woman, he’d take away her privacy, he’d have a wife and noisy kids. He’d be cruel to animals. He’d be a sleaze or a peeping Tom. She felt as though her world would be invaded. Yet part of Rebecca knew Sally was right. She needed someone not only with brains but with brawn. Already she had hidden the fact that her shoulder permanently ached and her back gave her trouble at night. Physically, emotionally and mentally, the past couple of years at Waters Meeting had been so very hard. Even though her family were supporting her, and Sally was so devoted, she still felt the responsibility weighing down upon her. She missed being carefree and casual. Nights out at parties, dancing till the sun came up at B&Ss. She knew Sally was right, but she was determined to resist the invasion of anyone who wasn’t perfect.

  After the fourth applicant hitched up his pants over his massive gut and exited the room, Rebecca growled at Sally, ‘And if we hired him, where do you plan to put him? With me in the house?’

  ‘I told you, there are options. I’ve investigated kit homes. They’re within budget.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got it all sussed – you and your bloody budget! I don’t believe you’re doing this to me.’

  ‘Put up and shut up! Now are you going out to get the next applicant or am I?’

  Sally looked at Rebecca’s stormy face and threw her hands in the air. ‘Alright! I’ll go. Here, take a look at his CV – he’s got great qualifications; in fact, I think you’ll find he’s exactly what you’ve been looking for.’

  She tossed the black folder on Rebecca’s lap. Instead of reading it, Bec busied herself with cleaning out her nails with a paperclip. She didn’t even look up when the next applicant came in.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Rebecca heard Sally’s smooth, smiling voice say. Sally stalked around the room on her long elegant legs and took her position behind the desk.

  ‘I’m glad you had a good trip down. Now, we’ve looked over your CV and your qualifications are wonderful, but can you tell us why you really want a job with this sour-faced grumpy old biddy in the corner there?’

  Rebecca look up from her nail cleaning.

  ‘Well,’ began the applicant, ‘because I love her.’

  A tingle ran through Rebecca’s whole body when she saw Charlie sitting in the chair. He flashed her a broad smile and said, ‘Hello, Bec.’

  ‘Charlie!’ He looked better than in her dreams. His hair was freshly cut, he was wearing a suit. She’d never seen him in a suit and he looked gorgeous. His skin so brown against the white of his shirt. The greens in his tie highlighting his eyes. The jacket falling over his broad shoulders. Hands, big tanned hands, clasped in front of him. Rebecca felt the blush run to her cheeks as she took in the delicious sight of him.

  Then they were both suddenly standing, walking towards one another. She put her arms up around his neck and pulled him to her. His smell, the feel of him swamping her as love flooded back into her soul. She lifted her head up towards his face, looked deep into his eyes and they kissed.

  She broke away from him for a moment as the situation sunk in. She turned and stared at Sally.

  ‘You knew! You knew! And you put me through all those other interviews! You’ve known for a week or more!’

  Sally just grinned and shrugged. ‘You deserved it.’

  She turned back to Charlie and felt the tears and the laughter come at once. ‘You utter bastards!’

  Then she kissed him passionately again, drinking in all of him. Never wanting to let him go ever again. And he drank in her. The warmth of her, the strength of her, that soft golden hair and her strong sensual hands. Rebecca and Charlie kissing again, feeling the river washing over them.

  Rebecca pulled back, putting her hands up to touch his face, laughing through tears, then kissing him deeply again and again.

  At last Sally cleared her throat. ‘Err … does this mean he’s got the job?’

  CHAPTER 50

  Droplets from the Rebecca River landed on Hank’s chestnut shoulders as the gelding plunged into the water. Charlie, wearing only a faded pair of jeans and a large battered Akubra hat, sat upon him and laughed and leaned forward. With a huge hand he scooped the water into a shimmering series of splashes towards Rebecca.

  Ink Jet tossed her head beneath the falling drops and Bec laughed as she felt the cool river water land on her tanned legs. She was wearing denim shorts and a singlet, and riding Ink Jet bareback. She laughed and screamed a little as the horses spun in the water and threw their heads. She was laughing so hard she thought she might slip from Inky’s back. Charlie grabbed her arm and threatened to pull her from the horse into the water. She threw him a flirtatious look and urged her horse to a canter out of the water and up the riverbank. Charlie followed on Hank, watching Rebecca’s hair fly.

  Across the lucerne paddock she cantered, letting out mock screams, looking back over her shoulder until she pulled Inky to an abrupt halt under the giant boom of the pivot irrigator. Rebecca jumped from the mare and Inky dropped her head and began to tear at the sweet soft leaves and purple flowers of the lucerne. Charlie arrived, laughing, a moment later, cantering up on Hank.

  ‘I was just coming to check on your pivot, Miss Boss Lady,’ he said in a Texan accent. ‘I’d say the crop’s lookin’ mighty fine to me, ma’am.’

  ‘Why yes, I do believe it is,’ she said genteelly, ‘Perhaps though, it could do with a little more waterin’.’

  Charlie slid from the horse with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Allow me, ma’am.’

  He strode over to the box which contained the irrigator’s computer. He pressed a series of buttons so that soon water sped along the pipes and a fine spray shot out of its nozzles. He wrapped his arms around Rebecca and dragged her into the spray.

  In the gentle afternoon sunlight Rebecca and Charlie let the water wash over them as they kissed. She pressed her breasts to his naked torso and looked up into his eyes, smiling
. Then Rebecca pulled Charlie down into a soft forest of sweet smelling lucerne that grew at the foot of the mountains. Waters Meeting. Their place.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book wouldn’t be here without the love and support of my husband, John. In 1999 he took me to outback Queensland for a year so I had some space to begin this book. He convinced me we could survive on love alone – plus lots of station beef. Thanks also to Dougall, my dearest (canine) friend, who was by my side for eight years, but tragically died from snakebite before the last word was typed and before the last sheep was shorn. Thanks to my other dogs, Gippy, Diamond, Alfred, Taxi and Stubby who spent far too long on their chains while I was shut inside the house writing.

  Joe Bugden from the Tasmanian Writers’ Centre and my writing mentor, Robyn Friend, provided the next step in the novel’s development and without their wonderful direction, the first draft may never have been completed.

  On the home front, a big ‘cheers’ to cousin Jamie and Michelle for providing a farm cottage on rental rates that matched my writer’s income. And to cousin Doug and Louise for making me realise I wasn’t the only person in the valley with vague and strange creative behaviour!

  Credit to my friend Margareta for brainstorming outrageous plots as we bombed around Queensland in the Falcon, and to my mates Steph, Sarah, Wooks, Debbie Lee, Mev and the Woodsdale Footy Club girls who have shown me just how far a girl will go to have fun.

  Thanks to mum, Jenny, for crying and laughing (in the right places) while reading the first draft and to dad, Val, for help with the serious business bits. To my brother, Miles, who always made time for me and his wife, Dr Kristy – thanks for your medical know-how.

  To my in-laws, thank you Doug and Mary for your great response after reading the first draft and for your ongoing encouragement with my writing career despite the fact John and I should’ve been in Victoria fencing or marking calves for you. Thanks also to Sharon and Rob for your love and support. To sister Anna and Pete, brother Ben and Fiona, Paul and Kate … you simply rock!