Mountain Ash

by Margareta Osborn

  ‘Christ!’ Wal, a stickler for convention, physically shuddered. From what Nate had seen of him, the older man usually turned to a lump of cement when young, attractive females were around. Shyness rendered him speechless other than the odd grunt. ‘So where you going? Not back to them mountains?’

  Nate’s sky-blue eyes squinted towards the south. Silence stretched between the two men for so long most people would have been uncomfortable. But these blokes were different. It was the Territory way. What didn’t happen today might happen tomorrow or next week or next month.

  Wal pulled out a packet of Tally Hos and his baccy. He rolled a smoke, lit it up, peered to the south too. ‘So?’ he asked finally.

  Nate slowly moved from his place leaning up beside the white ute. ‘I dunno. Think I’ll head east a bit and then take a run down through western Queensland and New South Wales. There’s a horse there I’d like to see. A bloke’s bringing it to a campdraft somewhere near Dubbo. If I miss him there he’s then heading to the Snowy Mountains.’

  ‘You’re going home.’ A statement made around a wobbling cigarette.

  Nate sighed and pulled his battered Akubra down lower on his head. ‘Yes. I guess I am.’ He turned to Wal and gave a rueful grin. ‘Not sure how that’ll go. Ten years is a while to be gone.’

  ‘You’ve been back though?’

  ‘Yeah. A couple of times earlier on but that’s it.’

  ‘Why?’ Wal made it sound like a throwaway question, something said on the fly. But his old eyes belied the truth of it. He was actually really interested.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. The old man’s got his hands firmly on the reins. When I work with him I can’t make any decisions without him saying yay or nay. He’s an arrogant, autocratic old prick. I got sick of it. Better out on my own, doing my own thing without him telling me what to do.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘He rang me out of the blue. Got my mobile number off his housekeeper. Said he’s thinking of getting married. She’s a young chick. Probably some gold-digger. She’s only in her early thirties so I’d be getting a stepmother the same age as me.’

  ‘Half his bloody luck,’ muttered Wal, before covering the comment with a choke. The old bloke waved his hand around at Nate’s loaded look. ‘Sorry. Too much smoke.’

  Nate folded his arms in defence. ‘I reckon he’s been taken for a fool. He apparently wants to spend more time with her, so he asked me to come home.’

  ‘I’ll bet he does!’ Wal was coughing around the words.

  Nate watched the old bloke’s efforts for a minute and finally let out a half laugh. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah … It’s every man’s wet dream, I know, especially with blokes your age.’

  ‘How old’s your father?’

  ‘Fifty-eight.’

  ‘I’m only fifty-seven.’

  Nate tried not to look shocked. He would have sworn Wally was in his late sixties. It was all those crevices on his face. And no teeth. And the bald spots. Nate kicked at the tyre again and muttered, ‘You don’t say?’ He hoped Wal hadn’t seen his face. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I want to make sure this woman isn’t screwing him outside the bedroom as well.’

  ‘Well, as a man of learned age,’ and here Wally paused to let Nate know he knew exactly what the younger man had been thinking, ‘I reckon your dad would be mighty happy to have an extra set of hands around.’ He fixed Nate with a pointed stare. ‘But you need to keep your paws to yourself.’

  ‘Wallace Price! You don’t think I’d be bedding my father’s mistress. Geez, what do you think I am?’

  ‘A handsome young bloke, who’ll inherit that multi-million-dollar property one day,’ said Wally. He sighed and leaned down to scratch at Rupert’s ears. The dog had got sick of waiting on the back of the ute while the two men talked. The mutt scratched at his belly with his hind leg in ecstasy as Wally hit the right spot. ‘Just watch yourself is all I’m saying.’ Wally stood back leaving Rupert to whine at his feet. ‘You go waltzing back in there, and if she’s what you say she is, she’ll be after more than your father.’

  A screen door banged from somewhere behind them and they both turned to see Ferris Van Over stalking through a stand of trees towards them.

  ‘Oh shit, here comes trouble,’ muttered Nate. ‘I wanted to be out of here before I saw him.’

  ‘Too late now,’ said Wal, moving quickly to call Rupert back up onto the ute tray. He fastened the dog to his chain. ‘Get in the ute, then you might be able to get going quick.’

  But they weren’t quick enough. Van Over, seeing the flurry of action, quickened his stride. Nate had only just got around to the driver’s side of the ute when Ferris halted a metre away.

  ‘Wally?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me.’

  ‘You can go too.’

  ‘What –?’

  ‘I don’t like people who lie. Get your stuff and be out of here by three.’

  Wally keeled sideways like he’d been shot.

  ‘What the fu–?’ Shocked, Nate untangled himself from getting into the vehicle and strode around the bonnet to his friend, who was still reeling. ‘What has Wal ever done to you?’ He directed this to Van Over, while at the same time grabbing hold of his mate. Stood him up straight, willing him to take whatever had got Van Over’s goat on the chin. Something told Nate it’d be important to the old bloke later. If there was a later, now knowing how ruthless the Mount Elizabeth station owner was.

  ‘You lied to me about Trumby Laws. He wasn’t in town getting fencing materials. There’s a truckload of the stuff in the sheds. He was skylarking about with his wife.’

  Nate gave a half laugh. ‘Hardly. She’d just left the poor bastard. He was trying to get her back.’

  ‘So you, Mr McGregor, agree that Mr Price here lied to me?’

  Having spent most of his life dealing with his father, Nate wasn’t going to be backed into that corner. No bloody way. ‘I never said that, Van Over. For all we knew he was getting fencing gear. He’s our boss. He doesn’t need to explain himself to us.’

  ‘I was your boss, McGregor.’

  ‘I work for Trumby.’ This came from a half-bent-over Wal.

  ‘I pay your wages, board and keep.’

  ‘Yeah. But that’s no reason to fire me out of hand. I was just delivering the message I was told!’

  Nate finally felt Wally stand up straight beside him. He risked a glance sideways and could see tears in the old bloke’s eyes. For fuck’s sake. He started to say something but Wally got in first.

  ‘I’ll have you for this. I’ll report you to the Office of … something –’

  Van Over talked right over the top of Wal, drowning him out. ‘What’re you doing here anyway, McGregor? You were supposed to be gone by eight. My niece is still in hysterics over at the main house with Marion. I should have you charged with statutory rape.’

  ‘She’s legal, you ponce! And she came on to him,’ said Wal, clearly giving his future at Mount Elizabeth up as a bad bet. ‘After she drove him home from that creek bed where he was camped, she was outta that car and suckered to his dick like a leech.’

  Van Over started to puff and blow. He turned as red as a beet and pulled up an arm like he was going to –

  ‘That’s enough!’ Nate’s voice held the authority that should have, by rights, belonged to Van Over. It was enough to make Ferris pause and Wally, who was fronting up to the punch, turn towards the younger bloke. ‘Get in my ute, Wally.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just get in the ute.’

  Wally Price shuffled a bit then turned and slowly opened the passenger door.

  Nate walked around to the driver’s side but as he went to get in he glanced over at Ferris. ‘We’ll be going, but if we ever meet again on even ground, Van Over, I’ll bring you down. You mightn’t think me worthy of the dust beneath your feet, but one day I will be bigger and better than you’ll ever be.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘No, that’s a
promise I mean to keep.’

  ‘You’ll never amount to anything, McGregor.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Nate got in the ute, keyed the motor, muttering again, ‘We’ll see about that.’ But he wasn’t sure whether he was talking to his former boss or his estranged father.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Hi, Milly!’

  Jodie knew it paid to be upbeat with her daughter, especially if the day was looking like it had been bad. Better to have one up and one down than the two of them down together.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Her daughter’s voice was little more than a mumble. ‘Did Alex offer you a lift up the hill?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And …?’

  ‘I wanted to pedal myself.’

  ‘Right,’ Jodie handed over a tall glass of icy lemon cordial. ‘Tough day, huh?’

  ‘Well, you could say that.’

  ‘Why?’ Jodie settled herself against the bench, a drink in hand. She’d decided 4.30 pm was close enough to beer o’clock, especially when beer was a Vodka Cruiser.

  ‘I need to write a prayer.’

  She’d sent her child to St Catherine’s as it was the best of the two schools in town. She’d forgotten about their preference for prayers.

  ‘Ooooh-kaaay. And the problem with that is?’

  ‘I don’t know what to write about,’ said Milly, dejectedly. ‘I wanted to be the first to put a prayer in the new prayer box but Fiona Wright beat me to it.’

  Jodie took a swig of her drink. Fiona Wright? Why did that name ring a bell?

  ‘And Fiona prayed for all the poor people. She said her prayer was for people like us. Are we poor, Mummy? Is that why we had to sell Grandpa’s house?’

  Her mother took another swig of the vodka. Fiona Wright. The local real-estate agent’s daughter, at a guess. The little shit. It sounded like the arrogant Gavan Wright had sold more down river than just her father’s house. What a bloody question. Were they poor? Actually she wouldn’t be sure about that until she spoke with the solicitor tomorrow. Possibly. Probably. Poor enough. She hoped Fiona Wright was wrong. ‘No way, Milly Molly Dooks. We’re fine. What on earth gave you that idea?’

  Milly looked, considering. She seemed to come to some decision. ‘I heard Mr McGregor –’

  ‘Alex,’ broke in Jodie.

  Milly wriggled in her chair. ‘Alex, then. He said he wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. And I figured … well … if we had enough money you and I could just buy whatever we wanted. Mr McGre–, I mean Alex wouldn’t have to give it to us then, would he?’

  Jodie’s belly tilted uneasily. She put her drink on the bench and sat down at the table beside her daughter. ‘When did Alex say this, Milly?’

  Milly tilted her head to one side, thinking. Another gesture she’d inherited from Jodie. ‘A while ago, at Grandpa’s house, before we moved. He said it to you.’

  Jodie had been so surprised by the turn of the conversation with Alex that night after she’d told him Robert’s house had sold, she’d obviously missed that bit. ‘You were supposed to be in bed asleep!’

  ‘I was! I was in bed! Just not asleep.’ The child hung her head. ‘I came to ask you for a drink and heard him, and, well, I didn’t need a drink so much any more, so I went back to bed.’

  Jodie sighed and thought about what to say. This was one of the many drawbacks of single parenthood: namely, not having the backup of another party. Two heads were definitely better than one, especially when it came to dealing with the simple logic of kids. But then, if she had a partner they wouldn’t be having this conversation either.

  ‘No chickadee. We’re not poor. We’re not rich either, mind you, not like Alex, but we’re comfortable.’ Well, as comfortable as a rented house on someone else’s farm filled with someone else’s furniture could make them. Hopefully the solicitor would tell her tomorrow that after paying all her father’s medical bills she had enough of a nest egg from the sale of the house to start over. All her own savings had gone on supporting her and Milly while she’d been working part-time so she could look after her father.

  ‘And so this prayer?’ Milly’s mind was back onto her problem.

  ‘Yes, the prayer …’ Jodie had no answers when it came to Alex, so the prayer was the lesser of two evils.

  ‘I thought I might write about the people in heaven, like Grandpa.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I could write about Grandma Joy, but she doesn’t count – even though she says she lives in heaven, it’s not really heaven, is it? Like “in the clouds” heaven?’

  Bribie Island wasn’t heaven. Not by a long shot.

  ‘No, Grandma doesn’t count.’ Since when had Grandma ever really counted? Jodie could list on one hand the number of times her mother had visited or helped out since Milly had been born. After Rhys Lucas had left Jodie literally holding the baby out near Augathella, her mother’s attitude had been ‘you’ve made your bed now lie in it’ and ‘I’ve done my time with babies’. Hardly ‘babies’. Jodie had been an only child and Joy hadn’t even helped with her granddaughter when Jodie did her nursing training. Joy was all about joy for Joy. Nothing else counted.

  ‘So that leaves Grandpa. And the calendar says it’s his day tomorrow.’

  Jodie was now flummoxed. His day? ‘You wrote it on the calendar,’ prompted Milly. ‘It says Dad’s Day.’

  ‘Since when do you read the calendar?’

  ‘Since I could read,’ said Milly, rolling her eyes. The little girl flung her plaits over her shoulder with pride. ‘You didn’t know I could do that, did you? Keep track of stuff?’

  No, she hadn’t known. But that was also a bane of a single mother’s life. So busy working, mothering and trying to just stay straight in your own head, you tended to miss the subtleties.

  ‘So what is Dad’s Day, exactly?’

  ‘Grandpa’s first anniversary.’

  ‘Of leaving his house?’

  Jodie glanced at her daughter and realised she was serious. ‘Well, yes. Kind of. His first anniversary of being in heaven.’

  ‘Good,’ said Milly.

  ‘Good?’ Jodie reached for her Vodka Cruiser. This conversation was getting weirder by the second.

  ‘Yes. I can write my prayer for tomorrow.’ Milly dragged her pencil case and homework book from her school bag and started scrawling out her prayer, pausing every now and then to tap the pencil against her teeth.

  Jodie took a swig of her drink, leaned her head back against a kitchen cabinet and watched her daughter. Goodness only knew what she was writing, the child had always been an original.

  Speaking of which, she suddenly remembered Alex had left a note somewhere near the front screen door. She should find it, she guessed. Leaving her daughter scrawling away at the kitchen table she moved into the little hall that led to the front door. There on the table beside the old black telephone was a piece of paper. Alex’s flamboyant script was embossed across the A4 page, taking up all the space with a short message.

  Dear Jodie,

  Sorry to have missed you. My sincere apologies for not helping you shift. I was in Melbourne at an extraordinary series of director meetings with the Water Minister and the Premier.

  In recompense I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow evening. Say 7 pm? I have booked a table at Narree House and arranged for Muriel Bailey to look after young Milly. Seeing tomorrow is your father’s anniversary, I thought it might be nice if we were able to be together.

  Yours,

  Alex.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been taken out for dinner, and at Narree House too. It was just like Alex to choose the best of the best. She idly studied his signature, all decisive cursive copperplate loops with a full stop after his name. It went with the world of directorships, meetings in Melbourne with ministers and premiers, a whole universe away from the world of a single mother sitting atop McCauley’s Hill. No wonder her feelings were all over the place. She couldn’t help but wo
nder why he was interested in her.

  ‘You are captivating, Jodie. So full of life and vigour,’ Alex’s voice echoed through her mind, ‘I am so delighted Robert brought you into my life.’

  All she’d ever wanted since Rhys was someone to take care of her, of them. (Mind you, Rhys had only ever taken care of himself, like her mother. Hindsight was indeed a wonderful thing.) So where were these doubts coming from? Alex was kind, generous, caring. He was trying to look after her in the only way he knew how. It was a bit arrogantly done, especially organising a babysitter without asking her, but that was Alex. He always knew what he wanted and that was a part of him that appealed to her. His solid confidence. Plus he’d been busy – that was why he hadn’t helped with the packing, the moving, the unravelling of a new life for her and Milly. Jodie took another swig of her drink. It was nothing to do with her not fitting in with what he wanted her to do. Namely move in with him. Now. Straightaway. It had nothing to do with the stigma of her being a single mother. He’d obviously got over that somehow without her even knowing it. Not like some people around Narree. When she’d arrived in town three years back, she could almost see the doting Catholic mothers of the bachelor boys drawing their precious sons back under their skirts. ‘Careful. She’s a single mother or, worse still, a loose woman.’ Geez. It was almost like she’d had a choice in her marital status. Which of course she hadn’t.

  Rhys had been all cowboy. Slim hips, square shoulders, a bum that made a pair of Wranglers look like they’d been made for him alone. He’d had crinkly hazel eyes that danced with mischief like Milly’s did when she was treading the fine line between spiritedness and flat-out cheek. His battered Akubra looked like it’d been glued to his head and when he tipped his face in Jodie’s direction, and smiled that sexy grin which made her insides turn upside down, well, it all spelled disaster for the heart. She couldn’t really blame the pretty blonde barrel-racer for driving away with Rhys in his battered F100 ute. She probably would have done the same at twenty-one. Whoops. That’s right. She had. That’s what had got her into all this mess. What an idiot. She, Jodie Ashton, had been a life-long sucker for a cowboy. But that was over now. Never again. At thirty-two years of age she had well and truly learned her lesson. Grand passion did not equate to a love that lasted.