Trevor gestured her into his office with a smile and opened a file sitting before him on the desk. ‘Been getting reacquainted with your little farming operation.’ Was that good? Bad? ‘Quite impressive.’ He beamed over his glasses and she slumped a little with relief. ‘You’re turning a pretty profit when lots of floodplain farmers are falling over in this drought.’
Nina opened her mouth and shut it just as quickly. So far she wasn’t losing here. Better just let him go until he asked a question.
‘Can I see the signed contract of sale?’ He ran through a few figures – her profit and loss statement, her tax returns, the rough business plan that she’d drafted to show how Billabong Bend would contribute to her bottom line. At last he said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘All approved. I’ll organise a cheque for the deposit, and make the balance available at settlement in April.’
‘Really? That’s it?’
‘I could make it more complicated if you want?’ He chuckled at his own joke. ‘I only wish there were more good-luck stories out your way. More clever farmers, moving with the times, adapting.’ He extracted a sheaf of papers from a manila folder, and thrust a loan document before her. ‘Take some time to read through it.’
The words were a blur, but she forced herself to focus on each one. When she looked up, Trevor offered her a pen. ‘Sign wherever there’s a cross. Here . . . and here . . . and here.’ Nina did as he asked, making a conscious effort to steady her hand. There, it was done.
Nina stood out on the street in a daze. Pedestrians and cars passed by as if nothing had changed. The sun shone as before. How could everything look the same, but the world be so different? She phoned Lockie. ‘I did it,’ she said. ‘You’re speaking to the proud new owner of Billabong Bend.’
‘Good job.’
Was that it? Just good job? ‘Can’t you be a bit more enthusiastic?’
‘I’m happy for you, I am.’ She could hear the but coming. ‘But that place needs a lot of work and I won’t have much time to help. The boss has bought Kilcunda Downs next door, you know that. I’ll be flat out here for ages.’
Nina’s elation was wilting. ‘I never asked you to help.’
‘No,’ admitted Lockie. ‘No, you didn’t. But if you’re tied up at Billabong, when will I ever see you?’
‘So if I was to ask for help, you’d complain you’re too busy, and if I don’t ask for help, you complain I’m too busy? I can’t win.’ There was nothing wrong with her logic and Lockie knew it. He had enough sense to shut up. ‘I don’t suppose you could drive down tonight?’ she said.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But you’re coming up tomorrow, right? We’ll celebrate then.’
‘Okay. I’ll go round to Mum and Dad’s for a beer or something.’ She disguised the disappointment in her voice. ‘You are happy about me buying Billabong, right?’
‘It’s great news,’ he said. ‘So . . . see you tomorrow arvo at my place?’
‘Better make it Saturday morning,’ she said. ‘I’m checking the boundaries tomorrow. That’ll take all day.’
‘Righto,’ he said. ‘Gotta go. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ Nina’s thoughts ranged about, trying to recapture her earlier euphoria, but it was no use. Without someone to share it with, her marvellous news had lost its shine.
CHAPTER 18
‘I won’t wear it.’ Sophie stood at the door, face like thunder. She was dressed in her new Drover’s Flat Central school uniform: green-checked cotton shift with a white collar, black lace-up school shoes, and a misshapen, floppy green hat. ‘I look like crap.’
‘No . . . you don’t.’ Ric studied her as objectively as possible. Not that he was an expert in these matters, but he thought that Sophie might actually have a point. Something didn’t look right. Her hair, for starters. Dark shocks of it stood out on either side of the hat. ‘Turn around,’ he said. The girl glared at him, and then spun slowly. The back view was worse, her hair a mass of tangles. He beckoned with his finger. ‘Come closer.’ The school dress they’d bought on Monday was too big. He knew he should have made her try things on. It hung like a sack on her skinny frame. And the crown of her new hat had somehow creased into a stiff peak. He felt a smile sneak round his lips. The overall effect was of a wild young witchling.
Sophie’s eyes widened in horror. ‘You think I look like crap too.’ She turned to run.
‘Hang on.’ He caught her by the arm. ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’
Sophie collapsed in a sullen heap on the couch and hugged a cushion tight. Ric sat down beside her, and received a swift kick. ‘Cut that out.’ She kicked him again, harder this time. He grabbed the cushion from her to protect his shins. ‘Your hair needs brushing.’
‘Don’t have a brush,’ said Sophie.
‘What happened to it?’
‘Dunno.’
He lifted a knotted lock of her hair. ‘Why didn’t you say when we were in town?’
‘Dunno.’
‘You can’t go to school next week looking like this.’ He fetched a comb and spent the next ten minutes trying to untangle his daughter’s hair to a chorus of loud ouches and that hurts. ‘It’s no use,’ he said at last. ‘I think we’ll have to cut it off.’
‘No!’ She darted out the door.
Max came in. ‘What’s all this screaming about?’
‘I bought the wrong size school dress,’ said Ric. ‘Then I’m trying to comb her hair and I make a stupid joke. Now she’s nicked off.’ He sighed. ‘I sure suck at this dad stuff.’
Max scratched his head. ‘That little one, she needs her mother, I think.’
‘Not much chance of that any time soon.’
Max took a wallet from his trousers and pulled out some cash. ‘Take this. Buy her another dress.’
‘I don’t need your money.’
‘Who says it’s for you? Can’t I do something nice for my granddaughter?’ Max pressed fifty dollars into his hand.
Ric gripped the money as if it might bite. Staying on at Donnalee and working for his father could come with unwelcome strings attached. Like Max thinking he could call the shots.
‘Since it’s for Sophie . . . thanks. But no more handouts, okay? I’ve got enough put aside to last till harvest. I won’t claim what I haven’t worked for.’
‘Always the proud one,’ said Max. ‘Too proud for your own good.’ He put away his wallet, but not before pulling out a fat wad of notes for show. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from,’ he said grandly. ‘And when we sell that bumper crop, we’ll be rolling in it. You, me and Sophia, eh?’
‘Here we go . . .’ said Ric. This was the old Max talking. Full of boasts and smug optimism. Better not mention Nina’s purchase of Billabong just yet. The sale was bound to put his father’s nose out of joint. If Ric was perfectly honest, he was a bit disappointed himself. Thrilled for Nina, of course. Absolutely thrilled that her dream had come true. But a small, wishful part of him had rather liked the idea of running Billabong Bend, of carving out some sort of a future there. He’d forgotten how satisfying it was to work on the land, forgotten the meaning cotton still held for him – and he had a daughter to provide for now.
‘What will I do about Sophie?’ Ric hated asking his father for advice, but Max did have a way with the girl. ‘I’ve let her go feral.’
‘No, no,’ said Max. ‘Sophia, she’s a good girl. Let me try.’
An hour later Ric stood drinking coffee and looking out the window, barely able to believe his eyes. Sophie sat quietly on a kitchen chair on the verandah. The goslings sat around her, contentedly preening their down, and playing little bill-clacking games among themselves. Odette took pride of place on Sophie’s lap.
Max stood behind the chair, gently combing conditioner into the girl’s tangled hair with a little plastic comb. He stopped occasionally to painstakingly pull a knot apart with his fingers. There were no screams, no breaks for freedom – no complaints at all. Sophie was stroking Odette
and chattering away as if nothing was wrong.
Max caught sight of him through the glass. ‘Can you get me something, Ricardo? In my room, at the back of the wardrobe – a tin with a paddle steamer on the lid.’
‘Righto.’ He went down the hall and cautiously opened the door, not sure what he’d find. The last time he’d been in his father’s bedroom, it had been his mother’s room too. He gazed around. A lot hadn’t changed. The heavy damask bedspread, the matching jade curtains, the intricately carved teak dresser that trapped the dust no matter how often it was polished. But more had changed than hadn’t. No jars of make-up or jewellery on the dressing table. No colourful scarfs draped about to brighten the room, whose drapes remained drawn over the dingy window. And something much more vital was missing as well. The bedroom walls had once held the fragrance of lavender, the scent of sandalwood, the subtle smell of homemade potpourri. Mum’s perfume bottles were gone and, with them, the essence of her. Despite Dad’s protestations that he didn’t smoke in the house, Ric could smell cigars. He couldn’t remember, couldn’t even imagine his mother in this room any more.
A sudden, overwhelming sadness made him swallow hard, and fight back the sting of tears. Get a grip. Mum was happy with her new life abroad. A new husband too, and all her children close by. All except for him. He’d been too restless for Italy, and the pull of Australia’s broad acres had been too strong. He’d missed the wide skies and strong light. He’s missed driving for a thousand kilometres without hitting a border. And he’d missed being in love. It hadn’t happened again. Perhaps his wild river girl had ruined him for anyone else.
‘Have you found it?’ Max’s voice came down the hall, jolting Ric from his daydream. He opened the wardrobe door and pushed aside the few musty suit coats. There on the floor, in the gloom: an old tin. It looked familiar. His sisters’ ribbon box. Ric lifted the lid and memories tumbled out, along with the clips and bows and bobby pins. Those beaded, crocheted scrunchies that Mum used to make. That pink sparkly one Nadia loved so much and Julia’s butterfly ballet headband. He picked it up and ran the red velvet between his fingers. It would suit Sophie’s dark hair.
‘Hurry up,’ yelled Max. ‘And bring your mother’s brush and mirror. In the top drawer.’
Out on the verandah, half of Sophie’s hair was already combed and smoothed. Sophie turned to glare at him as he handed her the box. ‘Poppi, Dad said he was going to cut all my hair off.’
‘Your daddy, he’s a funny guy, eh?’
‘These are gorgeous.’ Sophie picked up the brush, fingering its plush backing of cream linen. It featured pink and red roses in petit-point embroidery. She showed Odette the mirror. The gosling nibbled at her reflection in the glass and Sophie squealed with delight. She ran the wooden comb through the soft bristles in the brush.
Max took the comb from her and tugged at a snarl hard enough to make her wince. ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ He pointed to the brush. ‘Those dark, tufty bristles? Boar’s hair. Very special. Makes your hair extra shiny.’
Sophie made a face. ‘What’s in the tin?’ She oohed and aahed over the ribbons while Max finished the rest of her hair. Before long, it fell around her shoulders in a sleek, dark curtain, like heavy silk.
Ric selected a ribbon. ‘I think this butterfly one would look nice.’ He offered the red velvet band to his father.
Max shook his head. ‘I think pigtails and the scrunchies, with tortoise-shell hair clips here . . . and here.’
‘Pigtails. They’re a bit outdated, aren’t they?’ said Ric. ‘And her hair looks lovely loose.’
‘That’s how it got in a mess in the first place,’ said Max. ‘It needs tying back.’
Ric picked out a green satin headband. ‘What about this?’ He took the comb, swept the front section into a high ponytail, and slipped it through a hair tie. ‘Then brush it back like this, and maybe a couple of bobby pins at the side.’
He and his father stepped back, tripping over a few indignant goslings, to look at Sophie. She picked up the mirror and stared at her reflection. ‘That looks stupid, Dad. Let me have a go.’
‘In a minute,’ said Max. ‘It’s my turn now.’ Sophie scowled but sat still. ‘Now if I can just remember.’ He gathered a section of hair from one side of the part and plaited it close to the scalp, working in more hair as he went. ‘I’ve got fingers like sausages.’ He ended the weave at the back of Sophie’s head and secured it with a clip. Repeating it on the other side, he joined the two ends together in a thick braid down her back, leaving some hair flowing free.
Sophie smiled into the mirror, which immediately made her look prettier.
‘There,’ Max said proudly, rubbing his hands together as if the delicate work had been too much for stiff digits. ‘Out of your eyes but still loose at the back like your papa wanted.’ He inspected the tin with great care, and chose a cream-coloured ribbon, trimmed with lace and embroidered hearts.
‘That’s too old-fashioned,’ said Ric.
‘Show me,’ said Sophie. Max dangled the ribbon in front of her. ‘I like it.’ She shot a triumphant glance at Ric. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘So,’ said Max, ‘Sophia likes beautiful ribbons?’
She gave an emphatic nod. ‘Sophia likes.’
Ric groaned. ‘You’re as bad as each other.’
Sophie giggled. He’d barely heard her giggle, barely heard her laugh at all. The sound warmed a place inside him he didn’t know about. Now he was laughing, and his dad too, the well-remembered belly laugh of his childhood.
‘You look like a human being again,’ said Ric. Odette peeped in agreement. ‘How about you and me drive into town? We’ll change that dress, and the silly hat as well. Post that letter to your mum. That’s if Poppi can spare us?’
‘Of course, go, go.’ He gave Sophie a kiss. She lifted Odette from her knee and led the goslings away. Max beamed after her as she went into the house, her ten little fluff-balls following in single file. ‘When she turns up on Monday,’ he said, ‘she’ll be the prettiest girl in school.’
CHAPTER 19
Nina couldn’t contain her excitement. The young magpie geese had come to Red Gums for their first swim in the river. Sunshine and shadows striped the Bunyip a dramatic black and gold as they approached the edge. The birds milled about, chattering to themselves, too tentative at first to dip a toe in the water.
‘Don’t be scared,’ said Sophie. As if on a dare, the biggest one stepped in, puddling her beak in the shallows and whistling encouragement to the others. One by one the goslings slipped into the river. Their legs paddled automatically. Soon they were swimming about, nibbling at reeds, exploring the sheltered corner with excited calls. Sophie settled herself cross-legged on the bank while Nina took photos. Amazing. Magpie geese had returned to the Bunyip.
‘Look.’ Sophie giggled. One gosling was upside down, with just his tail poking up. The others watched curiously. Then they were all doing it, diving and splashing and torpedoing beneath the surface in madcap play. After twenty minutes or so they all trooped out of the water and gathered around Sophie, drying their feathers and preening contentedly. The biggest one climbed onto Sophie’s lap and grumbled when Sophie stood up and dislodged her.
‘Thank you for bringing them to see me.’ Nina picked up two of the goslings and they peeped in loud protest.
‘That’s Amelia and Abigail,’ said Sophie. ‘They’re named after the geese in The Aristocats, and they’re very sooky.’ The girl took the birds from Nina and they went quiet, snuggling into her arms.
‘So they all have names now?’
‘Nearly all of them.’ Sophie squatted down. As many goslings as could fit scrambled onto her knee. The unlucky leftovers perched on her feet. ‘There’s Odette.’ She pointed to the biggest one. ‘You know her. This one’s Melody. Then there’s Ping, and Boris.’
‘Boris?’ asked Nina.
‘I named him after the goose in Balto. I absolutely love that movie.’
‘Of course.’
Nina glanced at Ric, who shrugged and grinned. ‘I should have guessed.’
‘And this is Donald and Daisy and Daffy.’ Sophie picked up each gosling in turn.
‘How do you know if they’re girls or boys?’ asked Nina.
Sophie looked a little embarrassed. ‘Poppi looked at their bottoms.’
‘What about this little one?’ Nina picked up a baby, smaller and weaker than the others. It flapped its tiny wings and cried desperately for Sophie. Nina examined it. ‘Look, it’s got a crooked neck.’
Sophie took the gosling protectively in her arms, soothing it with soft clicks of her tongue. ‘And a crooked leg. Poppi said he was in the egg too long. He doesn’t have a name yet. I haven’t thought of the right one.’
‘How about Quasimodo?’ said Ric.
‘Don’t be so mean.’ Sophie glared at him. ‘I’ve seen that cartoon, Dad. Quasimodo’s ugly. And he’s got a giant wart that covers one eye.’
‘How about Igor then?’ Ric pulled a face, bent over and started lumbering around the yard.
‘Stop it,’ yelled Sophie, covering the little gosling’s ears. ‘I’ve seen Frankenstein too. I told you, he’s not a monster. He’s beautiful. He’s just a bit crooked, that’s all.’
For some reason Ric was now leaping around, scratching and hooting like a monkey. ‘You’re being stupid, Dad.’ Sophie looked pleadingly at Nina. ‘Make him stop.’
Nina stifled a smile. ‘Come and see the ducklings,’ she said. ‘They’re freckled ducks, I’ve discovered. Very special. Almost as special as your babies.’
The goslings scurried after Sophie towards the duck pen, surprisingly fleet of foot with outstretched wings and wild, ringing cries. They must be a month old by now. Adult plumage was showing through their soft down. In another month they’d be flying. Historically, their parents would lead them on a flight northwest to the Queensland border or beyond, to seek out permanent water holes and see out the dry season. There was no hope of that now. It had died, along with their parents.
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