Billabong Bend

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘Although I’ve a feeling I’ll regret saying that.’

  Nina got up and stood behind his chair. ‘You won’t regret anything. I promise.’ Then she leaned over and kissed him until her toes curled. Sophie giggled and Jinx got jealous, trying to push in between them. When she came up for air, Ric looked like she felt – dazed with happiness.

  CHAPTER 43

  Two weeks on, and the flood was abating, slipping slowly off Donnalee’s ruined fields. The place should be alive and bustling with the harvest by now. Instead an eerie peace ruled, disturbed only by the swans’ haunting cries, and the night-time chorus of contented frogs.

  Ric was replacing flood-flattened fencing along the river, enjoying the sunshine, all the while keeping an ear out for the sound of a motor. The bridge was still out, so Professor Mark Hill from Bush Heritage was coming by boat. It was lunchtime when he finally arrived, a middle-aged man with unruly grey hair poking out from under his hat, carrying a briefcase. He moored expertly at the makeshift jetty halfway up the laneway. It would be weeks before the river ran within its banks again.

  Ric shook hands with his visitor and escorted him up to the house. Through the mud and smell and decay, past the denuded paddocks, the silted-up channels, the utter absence of anything green. Donnalee looked strange and alien, even to him.

  Ric brewed a coffee and waited for him to begin. ‘I can’t tell you how thrilled we were to get your call,’ said Mark. ‘When Eva Langley died, I was frightened we’d missed our chance.’ Ric just smiled. He was happy for Mark to do all the talking. ‘We’d already assessed the ecological data with regard to rare and endangered species and ecosystems.’ Mark’s bushy white monobrow jumped up and down as he spoke. He stopped to clean his glasses, and a single tear glistened in the corner of his eye. ‘The richness and diversity of taxa and biogeographical processes at the Billabong site is really outstanding.’

  ‘That good, eh?’ Ric poured him a coffee.

  ‘Much, much better than good.’ Mark leant forward. ‘Billabong is a perfect example of an inland river delta. In its own way, it’s as unique as the Coorong, and protects some endangered communities almost unknown in other reserves.’ He took a phone from his pocket and scrolled through it. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I took that photo in the wetlands two months ago.’

  Mark showed him a picture of a medium-sized wader with a distinctive bill.

  Ric recognised it immediately – Nina’s special bird. ‘A painted snipe,’ he said.

  Mark looked impressed. ‘It’s nice dealing with someone who knows what they’re talking about.’ He lowered his voice as if somebody was listening. ‘You’d be amazed how ignorant some people are around here.’ Ric nodded sagely. This was going to be a lot of fun. Mark put his briefcase on the table. ‘I’ve drawn up the contract as discussed. Here’s an irony you might appreciate. Bush Heritage acquired the funds to purchase Billabong Bend, thanks to a generous bequest from Eva Langley herself. We’d finished the assessments before she died and were keen to buy, but she didn’t want to sell and we didn’t have the cash then anyway.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Can you imagine what we thought when the place went to auction, and was knocked down to a cotton grower? We thought Billabong was a goner. All those river flats. Then we got the bequest money in the bank and your phone call on the same day.’ Mark reached over and shook his hand. ‘Thank you, Ric.’

  A warm surge of satisfaction passed through him. He’d been right; this was fun. And it was going to be even more fun telling Nina. He signed the contracts, confident he’d have the bank’s blessing. Dad’s pending life insurance payout had seen to that.

  They walked back down to the river. ‘You cotton blokes have had a bad trot with this rain,’ said Mark politely, looking at the devastated fields. That’s what the man said, but he was thinking that it was a crime to grow cotton here. Ric knew the drill. He’d heard it often enough from Nina.

  ‘I’m pulling out of cotton,’ said Ric. Mark’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m talking to the bank about a new direction, a new business plan. Reckon organic beef might be the go instead, and olives. Maybe almonds and pecans as well. What do you reckon?’

  ‘That’s a fabulous idea,’ said Mark. ‘Absolutely fabulous. Anything we can do to help, just ask. A working bee, for instance, to repair those riverbanks.’ Mark shook Ric’s hand again. ‘Hope you don’t mind if I head downstream for another look at Billabong,’ he said. ‘You’ve got no idea how excited I am.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Ric was almost fond of this strange man. The delight in Mark’s eyes whenever he talked about the wetlands was the same as in Nina’s. ‘There’s someone I must introduce you to, Professor,’ he said. ‘Someone who knows as much about Billabong as Eva did. And, by the way, I’m missing a pair of runabouts. Let me know if you see them.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Mark. ‘Better yet, why don’t you come with me?’

  Ric shook his head. ‘Nah, mate. Can’t do it.’ He’d had enough of the river for now. The boat slid off through the watery landscape of sunlight and shade, drawing Ric’s thoughts along with it. A few days ago he’d taken a journey in memoriam to the secret cod hole, and had found the missing tinny. It had been lurking, sunken, just a hundred metres upstream from where Guddhu died. Dad must have fallen in, maybe while fighting the fish on the line, maybe too drunk to keep his balance. If the flood hadn’t flushed out his body, he’d never have been found.

  Old-timers loved to tell tall tales – tales of monster cod grabbing swimmers by a kicking foot and dragging them under. His mind went back to the day Guddhu died, to the memory of something heavy and soft floating in the water. His skin crawled to think of it.

  He wasn’t a superstitious man, but on that last trip the secluded backwater had seemed alive with ghosts. Shadows shifted at the edges of his sight, and when he looked they were gone. Fear had slithered up his spine, playing tricks, hurrying him on with his task. Ric chose a shady spot and opened the esky. Gently does it. He lifted out the thick plastic bag, gassed with oxygen to keep the Murray codlings healthy. Then he lowered the bag into the water and let it float there for a few minutes. The baby fish gleamed like leaves of burnished bronze, but seemed sluggish. Were they okay? He removed the rubber band and let some river water into the bag. The fingerlings came to life, darting about their prison. Five minutes later he released them. A flashing blur of gold and they were gone. Ric wished them well.

  Next he’d tried to retrieve the tinny, but a wide patch of dark water had taken on the dappled shape of a fish. Shaken, Ric had left the submerged boat where it lay. His disquiet had not lifted until he was safely home.

  Ric wandered back to the house, thinking about what he’d said to Mark. About getting out of cotton and going organic. Why not? It would make Nina happy, but more than that, it would make him happy too. And suddenly he was looking forward to a Bush Heritage working bee down by the Bunyip. He wanted Sophie to be proud of the river at Donnalee.

  The phone was ringing when he got back to the house and he sprinted for it. Things were getting back to normal, a better kind of normal. It was Hilary Harper, Rachael’s social worker.

  ‘Rachael’s making progress,’ she said. ‘I’d like to organise a time for her to ring her daughter.’

  ‘Sophie will be stoked,’ Ric said. ‘How about tonight? The only thing is, we’re a bit flooded out here, and staying with neighbours.’ He gave her Nina’s number.

  ‘How are things going?’ asked Hilary.

  ‘No problems at all.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear that . . .’ He could feel a but coming. ‘I’ve received some information from Rachael. I don’t know if she even remembers telling me. She was pretty out of it at the time. Still, you need to know.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ric . . . I’m afraid Sophie isn’t your biological daughter.’

  Ah, he was wondering when this would come up. ‘I know.’

  ‘It seems . . . Wait, you know?’
<
br />   ‘I sat down and did the maths a few weeks ago. Sophie was born twelve months after I last saw Rachael. It was so many years back, it took me a while to work it out.’

  ‘But if you knew?’

  ‘What difference does it make?’ he said. ‘Sophie needs somebody, and I love her. And she loves me, though you’d have a hard time getting her to admit it. She got to meet my dad. They adored each other. It was a miracle. She called him Poppi.’ Ric smiled at the memory. ‘Why would I want to change anything?’

  It was a long time before Hilary spoke. ‘You’re a remarkable man, Ric Bonelli,’ she said at last. ‘It would be wonderful if she could stay on until Rachael’s more stable.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ Ric ended the call and poured himself another coffee. It was good to hear about Rachael. Sophie would get a real kick from that call. He went to the dresser and flipped open the red velvet jewellery case. Two promise rings nestled in the satin folds, Nina’s original ring and a replacement band for him. Perfect. He flipped though his phone till he found Tony’s number. ‘Tony? Yeah, yeah, it’s Ric. I need a favour, mate.’

  ‘Ready?’ asked Nina. Sophie nodded and climbed into the back seat.

  Ric checked her helmet. ‘Sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Dad, I’m not a scaredy-cat like you.’

  Nina stifled a laugh. The geese pecked at the grass around the ultra-light, unfazed by the whir of the little engine. Daily flights behind the quad bike had desensitised them to the noise of motors. The morning was sunny and clear, without a whisper of wind. Perfect for flying. Nina crossed her fingers. She’d be as devastated as Sophie if this didn’t work.

  Nina had fallen in love with the little aircraft, not much more than a motorised hang-glider, on her first practice flight. She’d christened it Sparrowhawk, after discovering that its unimaginative owner had failed to name it at all. In discovering this ultra-light, she’d found a new passion. She loved everything about it – the elegant, tailored wings with their upswept tips, the stylish tail, the cute little wheels. It was beautiful to look at, and beautiful to fly – the closest thing to being a bird. Ric’s cousin Tony had given her the thumbs-up after one afternoon of practice. ‘That girl flies better than me,’ he’d told Ric. ‘She’s got the knack, like she’s got wings herself.’

  And now they were ready. ‘Good luck,’ said Ric, climbing onto the quad bike. He’d be riding at their wingtip for reinforcement. Nina took a deep breath and started down the runway, the geese running after, and Ric beside, while Sophie called encouragement. And then she was airborne, praying that the geese would join her, not knowing what was happening behind. Sophie thumped her on the shoulder. Was that good or bad? And then geese filled the skies all around, falling into diagonal formation around her right wing. She tried a slow climb and they climbed too, flanking the Sparrowhawk with perfect precision. The leader, Odette, got a free ride on her slipstream, settling in with wings outstretched. Nina screamed with joy, marvelling at the bird’s beauty and shining grace. They were in their element and so was she.

  Nina banked and turned, and the geese didn’t miss a beat. She passed back over the runway, a hundred metres above the ground, with the sun turning everything to gold. And there was Ric below her, shouting and waving like a madman. He leaped back on the bike and took off after them. She laughed out loud and a great feeling of joy, of love swept over her. Love for Sophie and the geese. Love for the riverlands below, and love for the magnificent man, keeping perfect pace down on the ground, as she soared the wild skies, free as a bird.

  Acknowledgements

  With special thanks to Belinda Byrne, whose input helped make Billabong Bend a better story. Thanks also to Ben Ball and Sarah Fairhall, who looked after me when I needed it. Thanks to Ali Arnold, editor extraordinaire. Thanks to Caro Cooper, Arwen Summers, Clementine Edwards, and to all the team at Penguin who have worked so hard on the book.

  Thanks to my lovely agent, Fran Moore of Curtis Brown. Also to my talented writing friends, the Little Lonsdale Group, for their friendship and enthusiastic support. Thanks to the Varuna Darklings, and to Peter Bishop and Clare Allan-Kamil for always believing in me. Special thanks to my fellow New Romantics: Kate Belle, Kathryn Ledson and Margareta Osborn. Kathryn, I scored my first acknowledgement mention in your hilarious new book, Monkey Business. I’m thrilled to be able to return the favour! Thanks to Dinky-Di Houseboat Holidays and the Proud Mary crew for some great times on the Murray.

  Finally I’d like to thank my patient family. Thank you to Heather, Tyson and Daniel. Thanks to my eagle-eyed daughter-in-law Samantha Roberts for proofreading help. And thanks to my brother Rod and son Matthew for their interest and willingness to brainstorm ideas. Love all you guys!

  Also by

  JENNIFER SCOULLAR

  Brisbane lawyer Clare Mitchell has a structured, orderly life. That is, until she finds herself the unlikely guardian of a small, troubled boy. In desperation, Clare takes Jack to stay at Currawong Creek, her grandfather’s horse stud in the foothills of the beautiful Bunya Mountains.

  Here life moves at a different pace, and for Clare it feels like coming home. Her grandad adores having them there. Jack loves the animals. And Clare finds herself falling hard for the handsome local vet.

  But trouble is coming. The Pyramid Mining Company threatens to destroy the land Clare loves – and with it, her newfound happiness.

  ‘An excellent read.’

  NEWCASTLE HERALD

  ‘Delightful, thoughtful and heartwarming.’

  BOOK’D OUT

  ‘Ms Scoullar’s love of the land truly shines through . . . Told with warmth and humour, this is a story about family, the risks and rewards of selfless devotion and the powerful bonds we form with animals and the land.’

  BOOK MUSTER DOWN UNDER

  A blissful carefree summer beckons for Samantha Carmichael. But her world is turned on its head when she learns she’s adopted – and that she has a twin sister, Charlie, who is critically ill.

  While Charlie recovers in hospital, Sam offers to look after Brumby’s Run, her sister’s home high in the Victorian Alps. Within days city girl Sam finds herself breaking brumbies and running cattle with the help of handsome neighbour Drew Chandler, her sister’s erstwhile boyfriend.

  A daunting challenge soon becomes a wholehearted tree change as Sam begins to fall in love with Brumby’s Run – and with Drew. But what will happen when Charlie comes back to claim what is rightfully hers?

  Set among the hauntingly beautiful ghost gums and wild horses of the high country, Brumby’s Run is a heartfelt, romantic novel about families and secrets, love and envy and, most especially, the bonds of sisterhood.

  ‘Jennifer Scoullar’s passion for the land shines through in this wonderful romance set high in the Victorian Alps. Highly recommended.’

  SUNSHINE COAST DAILY

  ‘A strong storyline with appealing characters set within in a magnificent landscape. If you devoured The Silver Brumby series as a child or had a crush on Tom Burlinson, you are sure to love Brumby’s Run.’

  BOOK’D OUT

  MICHAEL JOSEPH

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014

  Text copyright © Jennifer Scoullar 2014

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Cover design by Debra Billson © Penguin Group (Australia)

  Text design by Samantha Jayaweera © Penguin Group (Australia)

  Cover photographs: sunset shot – Photo Art by Mandy/Getty Images;

  sunset – worananphoto/Shutterstock; woman – mangostock/Shutterstock

  penguin.com.au

  ISBN: 978-1-74348-335-0

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