Billabong Bend

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘And you never bothered to ask me?’

  ‘Nah.’ He looked out the window. ‘I was an idiot. Couldn’t face you. Couldn’t bear to think of you with him.’ Ric was rushing now, words pouring out like it was a relief. ‘Believe me, Nina, if I’d known it was bullshit, I wouldn’t have left. I would’ve stayed, no matter what Mum wanted.’ He got to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘When I came back to Australia, Dylan told me it wasn’t true, what Lockie had said.’ His eyes flew up to hers. ‘But by then it was too late. Years too late,’ said Ric. ‘We’d missed our chance.’

  Nina’s head was spinning. Was this true? Had some boastful, long-ago lie ripped apart their friendship? More than a friendship, a fledgling love affair, although they’d been only kids. But then Lockie had been a kid too, a shy sixteen-year-old boy, with a crush on the boss’s daughter. A boy who must have watched her sneak off, day after day, down to the river to meet Ric. She knew Lockie so well now. Quiet. Agreeable. A man who didn’t court trouble. But still waters run deep, and Lockie was also a man who took things to heart. Her clandestine friendship with Ric would have eaten away at him. She could forgive him for a foolish brag in the schoolyard, but she wouldn’t forget what it had cost her.

  ‘Maybe there’s still a chance.’ The phrase caught her unawares, as though it had slipped from her lips all by itself, summoned by the power of their shared wanting.

  ‘What about Lockie?’

  ‘It’s over,’ she said.

  Ric wet his lips. ‘Let’s go down to the river.’ Just six words, spoken with the tempo of a slow song. A vibration passed through her, like a giant tuning fork pressed against her body. A yearning for something unknown, and yet as familiar as breathing. Ric held out his hand. ‘Will you come?’

  Nina took a candle. She shut Jinx in her room, fetched a blanket and led Ric outside. Hand in hand they walked down to the river. They didn’t stop at the pumps or the windmill. They didn’t stop until they reached their long-ago meeting place. Memories grew large, transporting her to an earlier, innocent time. Back then it had stopped at a kiss. What about tonight?

  Light was fading fast. A shadowy haze descended on the water, lending it a dreamlike quality, blotting out the ugliness of the opposite bank. Nina lit the candle. Ric shook out the blanket, laid it on the ground and took something from his pocket. A kingfisher feather. It shone turquoise in the gloom. ‘For you.’

  He pushed the feather behind her ear. Nina moved into his arms, while shadows wavered on the trunks of trees. They slow-danced for a while to the music of the river – its low murmur, its choir of crickets and frogs. This was what she needed, to be swept up in a flood of feeling. To embrace this love, lost and now found. To be rendered thoughtless by Ric’s kiss. They fell on the blanket, sharing one breath. The dome of light cast by the flickering candle was like a living thing, and they were its centre, its beating heart.

  Each undressed the other. Her fingers explored his skin, warm and smooth beneath her touch. Honey-coloured skin, so different from Lockie’s. Lockie’s chest was square and white, with a thatch of dark springy hairs over his heart. Ric’s heart was bare. She marvelled at his taut stomach, his contoured physique, his rigid erection. This grown Ric had the body of an athlete, an Olympian – a god. Nina arched her back, showing off a woman’s body to this man who’d known her only as a girl. Some primal power had hold of her. In its grip there was no Eva, no Billabong, no tomorrow. There was only their shared need for each other.

  The stars had appeared and the candle burned away long before they were satisfied. She lay at peace, head resting on Ric’s arm. The night was fragrant with wild mint. Two moons, one in the sky and its dimpled twin in the river, cast a soft glow over the bush. Nina studied Ric’s face. Wide brows, flared nose, square jaw. Full lips, expert lips. She adored all of him, from the smooth brown feet pressed against her leg to the dark peak of hair at the nape of his neck. How had she lived without him, all of these years? And she knew their love lay at the heart of her existence – fundamental and undeniable.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sunday morning, still early. Nina took her time waking up. The events of the previous day, both terrible and wonderful, milled about her mind, and her fingers were drawn to the unfamiliar feel of the ring on her finger. Ric’s promise ring from long ago, kept for all these years. She’d slipped it on before falling asleep.

  Jinx nosed into the room and rested his silky head beside her pillow. She stroked his soft ears. ‘Hello, Jinxy.’ He jumped onto the bed and laid his warm body against her. The phone rang. Ric? She fumbled to answer it.

  ‘Nina, darling, have you heard about Eva?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Margie just told me. It came as quite a shock down at Pemberley. Everyone expected a stroke to carry her off, but in the end it was her heart. It should have lasted, apparently. Eva saw a specialist last week and he said her heart was in good shape.’ Mum sighed. ‘Just goes to show, you never know when your time’s up.’

  Mum’s words rang in her ears. It should have lasted. Had losing Billabong broken Eva’s heart? Or had it merely given her permission to slip away? What sort of life was it anyway, shut up in Pemberley like that, without hope? Except that up until recently she’d had hope, hadn’t she – however forlorn.

  ‘Nina?’ Her mother’s voice sounded anxious. ‘Nina, can you still hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Your father had a word to Trevor at the bank and it looks like the sale’s off. Have you heard?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Such a terrible business. How are you holding up?’ Nina didn’t know how to answer that question, but thankfully a response didn’t seem to be required. ‘Dad’s got Kevin in to run the shop. We’re coming to see you.’

  Nina opened her mouth to say, ‘There’s no need. I’m fine.’ But that would be a lie. She wasn’t fine. She was hollow with grief.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good-o.’ Mum sounded pleased, and rather relieved, that their impromptu visit was going to be welcome. ‘And don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We’ll bring tea.’

  Another call. Ric? No, Lockie. Nina switched off her phone.

  ‘But I wanted to surprise Poppi with breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Well, you should have got up earlier.’ Ric placed the bowl of cereal in front of Sophie. She ate a spoonful and then heaped on more sugar. ‘Want more rice bubbles on your sugar?’ She made a face. He poured a bowl for himself.

  ‘Can we make Poppi dinner instead then?’

  Ric nodded but his mind was elsewhere, down at the evening river with Nina. For years he’d lived with the fantasy of her naked in his arms, ready and willing beside him. He’d dreamed of her earthy scent, the taste of her mouth, the smooth-as-silk feel of her hair. The fantasy had ended more than one relationship. Last night that dream was made flesh. Everything had seemed so perfect, but in the light of day he wasn’t so certain. Where did things stand between them? What about Lockie? He tried to call Nina, but her phone was switched off.

  ‘Can we give him a party?’ Sophie began searching through the pantry. ‘Can we make Poppi a cake?’

  ‘I suppose,’ he said. ‘Maybe Nina knows a good recipe. I’ll ask her, okay?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘What will we give him for presents?’

  ‘I’ve got some cigars put away.’

  Sophie screwed up her nose. ‘Smoking’s bad for you. We shouldn’t encourage him. What am I going to give him?’

  ‘Socks.’

  ‘I’m not giving him socks. That’s boring.’

  ‘Well, that’s all I’ve got.’ Ric hadn’t realised that Sophie would take Max’s birthday quite so seriously.

  ‘We have to have more presents.’

  Ric grasped for an idea. What did they do for cheap homemade presents when he was a kid? Mum had been great at that. ‘We’ll make him a placemat with his name on it.’

  Sophie considered the suggestion with a poker face. ‘What e
lse?’

  ‘Ah . . . you could decorate a plate as well.’

  ‘I guess . . . what else?’

  ‘A card? You could make him a crazy card. And we’ve got plenty of eggs. Paint some hard-boiled eggs, and we’ll give them to him in a little basket. You could make one out of paper.’

  ‘Dad, that’s Easter.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘What are you going to give him? Grown-ups don’t make their own birthday presents. They buy them from the shop.’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’ He was squirming a little under his daughter’s interrogation.

  ‘There’s a bottle of whisky in your room,’ she said. ‘You could give him that. Do we have any wrapping paper?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ How did Sophie know about that? He supposed he could sacrifice it to keep her happy.

  ‘You’re not very good at birthdays, are you?’ she said. ‘It’s lucky you’ve got me. I’ll colour in some newspaper with my school textas. We’ll use that.’ Boots sounded on the verandah. ‘Shh, it’s Poppi. Don’t let him hear.’

  Max came in, smiling broadly. ‘Mickey’s done a hell of a job on that cotton. I’ve checked everything west of the main channel. The whole crop’s turning yellow.’

  ‘That’s good then,’ said Ric.

  Sophie kicked him under the table. ‘Wish him a happy birthday,’ she whispered.

  He didn’t know why, but he was embarrassed to say it. His daughter’s critical glare was motivation enough, though. ‘Happy birthday, Dad.’

  ‘Thank you, my boy, thank you,’ said Max, with an expansive smile.

  Sophie piped in with her own ‘happy birthday’, and Max planted a kiss on her glowing cheek. ‘With you and your dad here like this? I can’t remember a happier birthday.’

  ‘I’m making you a cake,’ she said.

  He held her at arm’s length and opened his eyes wide, feigning disbelief. ‘You want to spoil your Poppi, eh? Is that it? Well, I’ll try not to be too late home then.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ She sounded a little deflated. ‘Can I come?’

  Max looked at Ric, eyes alight with pride. ‘Always with the questions, this little one. She’s bright like a star.’ He turned his attention back to Sophie. ‘My friends, they’re shouting me lunch at the hotel in town. Just a few old men, drinking and swapping stories. No fun for a little princess. And after that, maybe I’ll go fishing.’

  Sophie looked like she was about to argue, and then apparently thought better of it. ‘It is your birthday, Poppi. You should do whatever you want.’

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ he said. ‘As nice and sweet as can be.’

  Sophie beamed. ‘Will you do my plaits before you go, Poppi?’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll just go tell Odette about the cake.’

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Ric, shooting his father an amused smile as Sophie left. As sweet as can be? Was Dad talking about the same Sophie who’d kicked a classmate in the shins last Friday? But her behaviour had generally improved, and the phone calls from the school were becoming less frequent.

  ‘Ricardo, today I’m truly a happy man. And Sophie? She’ll soon be truly happy as well.’

  ‘Why?’ Ric handed him his coffee. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That little horse she wants so much? It may not be too far away.’ Max tapped the side of his head. ‘I’ve got a plan to win us some money.’

  ‘Gambling’s not a plan,’ said Ric. ‘It’s wishful thinking.’

  ‘No, no. Not gambling. If this plan doesn’t work out, I lose nothing but my time.’

  ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’

  ‘A man must have his secrets, yes?’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Ric smiled. ‘Good luck to you, then.’

  Max sipped his coffee. ‘Do something for me, Ricardo.’

  ‘It’s your birthday. What choice do I have?’

  ‘Go check the eastern fields after breakfast. Look for green patches Mickey might have missed, will you? And mark them on this map.’ He handed Ric a rough-drawn plan of Donnalee. ‘I’ll help Sophie make that cake before heading into town. That way, maybe I’ll be able to eat it.’

  Ric grinned. ‘Righto.’

  Max clapped him on the back, before settling into a chair. ‘A nice pan di spagna, with maybe a little cream and cherry liqueur.’ He took a gulp of coffee. ‘Haven’t had a birthday cake in years. It’ll be kind of nice.’

  Max looked so happy, so content. A childhood memory came knocking, of another birthday. A memory locked away until now, of when their family was solid and strong, and Max had been his hero. Of him and his sisters, gathered round this same table, while Dad lit sparklers on a cake. Mum bringing plates into the kitchen, and Max claiming a triumphant birthday kiss while her hands were full. Her half-hearted protest and blush of pleasure. He’d adored his father back then, and something of that feeling was on him now. ‘I want to say thanks, Dad . . . You’ve been great with Sophie, a big help.’

  Max waved away his comment. ‘You don’t need my help, Ricardo. You’re a fine father, much better than I was.’

  Ric felt a rush of love for the old man. Freedom sometimes meant that you simply had nothing left to lose. Here at Donnalee, with Max and Sophie . . . and yes, with Nina. Here, he was a willing captive.

  CHAPTER 22

  Nina lay a long time in bed, lost in thought, staring past the curtains to the sunny morning. She had to get up, get dressed, clean up a bit before her parents came. But her bone-weary body didn’t want to move.

  She’d barely slept, one moment overwhelmed by her reconnection with Ric, the next moment hijacked by grief. But as the star-shot sky had faded to dawn, her sorrow had waned along with the moonlight. Eva’s own words had returned to comfort her. All of us have souls, she’d said. Animals and plants . . . rocks and rivers. Even wind and shadows. These spirits exist before we’re born, and remain after we die. They’re eternal. If that was true, then Eva’s death wasn’t the end. It wasn’t something to mourn. A lingering life of suffering and loneliness, on the other hand? That surely must be dreaded, no matter what kind of spiritual belief a person might hold.

  Nina yawned and sat up, hands clasped around her knees. A breeze down by the river rustled the red gums. Its whispered promise was not of death, but of life, of hope. Of life yet to be lived.

  Her parents arrived mid-morning. Dad ferried in groceries, while Mum took over the kitchen, tut-tutting over the unwashed dishes and empty fridge. ‘Just as I thought,’ she said. ‘It’s a wonder you don’t starve to death out here by yourself. Sit down and I’ll make us a cuppa.’ Nina didn’t argue. It was nice to be looked after.

  A cup of tea appeared before her, complete with a saucer from who knew where, along with a gigantic plate of bacon and eggs. ‘You’ll need to do something with these.’ Mum turned over the two overripe bananas in a bowl on the bench. ‘Muffins, maybe. Shame to waste them with the price of fruit the way it is.’

  At first, the smell of breakfast cooking had made Nina nauseous, and she’d been sure she wouldn’t be able to eat. But when she took a bite of hot, buttery toast, hunger claimed her and she wolfed it down. Her sadness wouldn’t bring Eva back, and it wouldn’t save Billabong either. There were things to do and plans to make.

  After eating she wandered outside. The purple-flowering buddleia overhanging the verandah swarmed with swallowtails. Its fragrance hung heavy in the dry air. The sky was a sea of endless blue. Another hot day on the way. Would this drought never break?

  Nina went to the bathroom and stripped off. She needed cold water to pound her neck, her shoulders; shock away the tension with its chill. Instead it emerged from the low-flow water-saving showerhead in unsatisfying dribs and drabs. The sand in the little hourglass ran out, indicating her three minutes were up. Nina stepped out and tugged a brush through her tangled hair. By the time she’d slipped into underwear, she was hot all over again.

  The hum of an approaching car engine broke the still morning air. Ric. She hurried
to her room and pulled on her newest top. Then a pair of old jeans that she’d cut off into shorts last week, because the knees had worn out. Nina glanced in the mirror. Good. They made her legs look longer.

  Would she tell her parents about Ric? Part of her wanted to keep her private life private. Mum was well-intentioned, but held strong opinions when it came to her daughter and affairs of the heart – and she was far too fond of Lockie. So much easier to keep this new relationship to herself. Or was it more than that, a hangover from childhood maybe? From a time when Ric was her secret love, and the word forever lay pressed into her finger. From a time when the Bonellis were persona non grata, and Dad would rather have invited a tiger snake into his home than Max or one of his children.

  But that time had passed. When Ric arrived, she’d introduce him, maybe ask him round for dinner, him and Sophie. Mum was a sucker for kids and a child would help to break the ice. She hurried down the hall and onto the porch, eager to head off Ric before he ran into Dad. But it wasn’t Ric coming after all. It was Lockie. He pulled up in a cloud of dust and emerged from the car, wearing a worried expression.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘I meant what I said yesterday.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Lockie. ‘And I said I’d come as soon as I could.’ He plucked a grass stem, and propped himself against the verandah post with an easy grace. His hair was longer than usual, his customary buzz cut softening into coppery curls. The look suited him. He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head so his lips only brushed her cheek. ‘I really am sorry about Eva,’ he said.

  ‘And Billabong? Are you sorry about Billabong?’

  ‘Course I am.’

  ‘I thought you’d be happy the sale fell through. More time for me to play house with you at Macquarie.’

  Lockie shuffled uneasily. ‘Don’t be like that, Nine.’ He caught sight of the ring on her finger. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘None of your business.’ His face grew dark.

  ‘Come on in out of the heat,’ called Mum. She was buttering bread in the kitchen and had spotted him through the window. Nina groaned as they went inside. Mum was Lockie’s greatest fan. She thrust a cold glass of lemonade into his hand. ‘Can you stay for lunch? There’s a nice bit of cold pork here. It’ll be a treat in sandwiches.’