Dear Banjo

by Sasha Wasley

  Willow found Tom in the Quintilla office, the computer monitor illuminating his intent face. He beckoned her in and she checked the screen. Spreadsheets.

  ‘Having fun?’

  ‘You know it.’

  ‘I know you get it done, no matter how much you hate it.’

  ‘The stock records and financials were the bits Dad couldn’t wait to hand over to me.’ He turned the monitor so she could see it. ‘You might know this. How do I set up a formula so I can add these three columns and take off this one, and then reduce it by twenty per cent?’

  Willow quickly set up the formula for him while he sat back in his office chair, impressed.

  ‘My bookkeeper comes in once a week but I really should do an online accounting course.’

  ‘You don’t have to be able to do everything, Tom.’

  ‘No, but I like to. And then when I’ve mastered it, I feel more comfortable delegating.’

  Willow burst out laughing. ‘And they say I’m a control freak. Kira, our stablehand, she’s much quicker than me at mucking out stalls but I’m quite happy for her to keep that crown.’

  ‘I tell you what. You do my accounts and I’ll muck out your stables,’ he offered.

  ‘I’ve got an even better plan. How about you hire someone to do your books and Kira mucks out my stables?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘Well, if you’re happy to be a bourgeois landowner, Banjo, strutting around, cracking the whip, then that’s fine. But here at Quintilla we’re a bit more egalitarian.’

  ‘I need coffee before we argue politics.’

  ‘I’ll ring for the maid.’

  She slapped his arm and he jumped up to make her a coffee, chuckling. Willow followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, guess what?’ he said, pulling a bottle of milk out of the fridge. ‘Quintilla’s a finalist for the Innovation award at the local Chamber of Commerce.’

  ‘I heard! That’s so cool. Congrats.’

  ‘It’s in a couple of weeks, a big night-of-nights, red-carpet affair, Mount Clair style.’

  ‘So everyone will be breaking out the fancy thongs?’

  ‘City snob,’ he said. ‘Anyway, me and Mum and Dad are going, and I thought you might like to come, too? You could meet the local bigwigs and gnash your teeth in envy when we win.’

  ‘Thanks, but Beth’s beaten you to it. I’m her plus-one. I can’t even be on Team Quintilla because I’m on Team Mount Clair Medical for the night.’

  He passed her a cappuccino and starting making himself one. ‘Her business wouldn’t be in the Innovation category, would it?’

  ‘No. “Best Professional Practice” or something like that.’

  ‘Oh, good. I wouldn’t have known who to barrack for.’ He leaned against the bench to sip his coffee, observing Willow. ‘So you’re already going?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You want to catch a lift with us?’

  ‘That’d be good! I’d rather come home afterwards than stay at Beth’s. Thanks.’

  ‘While we’re talking social events, it’s my birthday this week.’ He made a wry face. ‘My last one before hitting thirty.’

  She ran through the dates in her head. ‘Thursday, right?’

  ‘Yeah. I wasn’t going to do anything but then I thought, bugger it, I might as well use it as an excuse for another get-together, maybe on Saturday arvo. It’s been a good while since your dad’s party. I don’t think I’ll worry about inviting Gundergin to this one . . .’

  ‘You don’t share a fenceline so you’re off the hook.’

  ‘Exactly. So if you guys aren’t busy, do you want to round up your mob and come over for a barbecue? No spit roast, but the butcher’s here Friday and I’ll get him to make up some of his famous snags. I might even peel you a carrot, Banjo.’

  She ignored that. ‘Nothing on for us this Saturday, as far as I know. That sounds good. I’ll spread the word at home. Want me to let Beth know?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tom gazed at her, a smile pushing up one corner of his mouth. Suddenly he stepped close, staring at her lips. Startled, her pulse hammering, Willow froze as he reached up and touched her upper lip with a gentle finger. What the hell was he doing? He held up his finger to show her.

  ‘You had a cappuccino moustache.’

  She laughed but it sounded as jittery as she felt.

  He wiped the froth off his finger onto a tea towel while she tried to slow her breathing. For a scary second she’d flashed back to Tom’s kiss, panicking that he was making a move.

  Was she panicking? Her body felt warm, buzzed up. That was – disturbing.

  Anyway, they were wasting time. Willow wanted his opinion on a blocked bore.

  Willow sent Tom birthday wishes via email on Thursday morning and then drove in to Mount Clair to see the accountant. Afterwards she called Beth.

  ‘I’m in town. Are you working?’

  ‘No, I pulled a late one at the hospital last night so the locum’s covering me this afternoon. I was going to nap but I can’t bloody sleep. Come around.’

  Willow drove to Beth’s neat little house, close to the centre of Mount Clair, and smiled at the familiar sight of her sister’s vehicle. The Beast barely cleared the carport posts. She knocked at the front door, inspecting Beth’s collection of potted plants on the porch while she waited.

  ‘Come here.’ Beth pulled Willow inside. Without stopping to offer her a drink, Beth headed straight for the spotless bedroom. ‘Let’s pick out your dress for the awards.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘I don’t want you to change your mind about coming.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  Beth was already digging in her wardrobe. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve got the perfect dress for you.’ She yanked out a long red dress, very slinky, with a slit up one leg.

  Willow shook her head. ‘Not a snowflake’s chance in hell of me wearing that.’

  ‘C’mon, Willow,’ Beth begged. ‘You’ll look so hot.’

  ‘Am I there to look hot or to be my doctor-sister’s plus-one? And if I’m networking, how is anyone going to take me seriously as a pastoralist if I’m wearing that?’

  ‘You’ll be surprised how seriously the Chamber prez will take you if you wear that. He’ll be hanging on your every word.’

  ‘Maybe. But I doubt he’ll be listening.’

  ‘God, you’re so practical.’

  ‘When did you ever wear that dress, Beth?’ Willow asked, hanging it back up in the wardrobe.

  ‘The Medical Association ball in Perth five years ago. Damn,I got a lot of attention that night.’

  ‘Not the kind of attention I want,’ Willow said with a laugh.

  Beth tried again, this time fishing out a short black number.

  ‘Better. Still not quite me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s the lace across the tummy. Too revealing.’

  Beth groaned. ‘There’s nothing worse than a gorgeous woman who won’t let the world see how gorgeous she is.’

  Beth returned the black dress and pulled out a long blue satin one. There was a slit but only up to the knee. Spaghetti straps and not too low-cut – in fact, it was cut straight across the neckline. The dress wasn’t what Willow would have chosen for herself but Beth looked so hopeful that she folded.

  ‘It’s perfect. Thanks, Bethie.’

  ‘Take it now,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to need it in the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘It’s not exactly work or jogging attire.’

  Beth chuckled. ‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’

  ‘No, I have to cook for Dad. I’m just going to the post office and then heading home. Thanks anyway.’

  She took the dress and dropped in to collect Patersons’ mail. While she was there she saw some kids’ activity kits for sale, including one with an astronomy theme. It had a low-powered telescope, a star chart and glow-in-the-dark stickers for the bedroom ceiling. She smiled to herself, thi
nking of the meteor shower at the eastern gate. Then she remembered Tom’s birthday. She grabbed the kit. He’d get a kick out of that.

  On Saturday afternoon, the whole crowd from Patersons loaded into several vehicles and drove in convoy to Quintilla for Tom’s birthday barbecue. The Quintilla crew had just arrived back from muster to find the homestead buzzing with people. Samantha Burrows was holding court on the patio, surrounded by the Forrests’ stockmen. Hegney, Jean and some of the Patersons stockmen called out their general greetings and then joined Samantha’s group.

  There was a small bunch of people Willow didn’t know, presumably Tom’s friends from town, sitting in a group. Willow went to say hello to the Forrests. Tom, already cleaning the barbecue, offered her a drink.

  ‘I’ve brought wine,’ she told him. ‘I just need a glass.’

  ‘Red?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Come with me. I’ve got something special for you to drink tonight.’

  She followed him into the house and he took her into the spare room. He bent down to open what looked like a dark cabinet in the corner and she heard the clink of bottles.

  ‘What’s that? A bar fridge?’

  ‘A wine fridge. I love reds but you can’t keep them properly in this climate. My wine fridge stores wine at the right temperature.’

  He straightened and showed her what was in her hand. She gasped.

  ‘No way. Henschke Hill of Grace?’

  Tom waved the bottle in front of her face, his eyes alight with anticipation. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘You shouldn’t open this tonight. Wait till your thirtieth.’

  ‘I’ve got something even more special for my thirtieth.’ He opened the fridge and pulled out another bottle.

  ‘What the hell?’ She stared at him. ‘Grange? Just how well are you guys doing here?’

  ‘It’s only one bottle. We don’t have a cellar full. I bought it a couple of years ago and decided to save it for my thirtieth.’

  ‘And the Hill of Grace for your twenty-ninth?’

  He shrugged. ‘That was more of an impulse decision. But you like red, I like red. Hardly anyone in Mount Clair does. So . . .’

  The corner of his mouth was tugged up in an expectant half-smile. She couldn’t help a little answering enthusiasm. ‘Let’s do it!’ He had the corkscrew in his hand before she’d even finished speaking. ‘Cork,’ she breathed.

  ‘No screw tops for us!’

  ‘Where are the glasses?’

  He nodded towards a cabinet against the wall and she opened the glass slider to pull out two big, dusty wineglasses. Spotting a pillow on the spare bed, Willow whipped off the pillow case and used it to polish the glasses.

  Tom guffawed. ‘Classy.’

  ‘Resourceful,’ she returned.

  He popped the cork and sniffed gingerly. ‘Oh, God. Yes.’

  Willow almost bounced on the spot with excitement. ‘Is it good?’

  ‘Beyond good.’ He poured and handed her one. ‘Check us out, hiding in the spare room to drink the good stuff.’

  ‘Ours. Ours alone,’ she intoned and he doubled over laughing.

  They clinked glasses carefully and sipped, watching each other’s faces. Tom waited for her judgement, although she could see he liked it just from his expression. The wine was beautiful and she sighed with pleasure.

  ‘Tom. It’s the nectar of the gods.’

  ‘It’s the aged nectar of the gods,’ he said. He gestured towards his wine fridge. ‘Wait till my thirtieth. It’s just a shame I offered half to another living human,’ he added, narrowing his eyes at her in classic villain style.

  ‘You’ll be lucky to get half the bottle, sharing with me,’ she said.

  He laughed, but those blue eyes were on hers and they seemed a little intense. She sipped again, her body heating up uncomfortably.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, grateful for a diversion. ‘I got you something for your birthday.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Uh, I don’t know, maybe because that’s how birthdays work?’ Willow turned and headed for the kitchen where she had left her handbag, expecting him to follow, but he didn’t. Maybe he was fetching more wineglasses? When he didn’t appear she took her handbag back to the spare room. He was still where he’d been, waiting for her.

  She dug out the gift, suddenly feeling ridiculous. She shoved the unwrapped box with its price sticker still in place into his hand. Tom inspected it, his face lighting up.

  ‘The Junior Astronomer Kit?’ he said, chuckling. ‘You cheeky bugger.’

  She relaxed. ‘Well, you’re not officially old yet, so I figured you still qualify.’

  He ripped open the box and pulled out the telescope, peering through the eyehole at her. ‘Best present ever.’

  ‘You must have had some seriously crap presents, if that’s the case.’

  Bit by bit, he tried out every item in the astronomy kit. Finally, she took the box out of his hands and packed it all up.

  ‘Tom. You need to get back to your guests.’

  ‘Shit. Yes. I have a barbecue to cook.’

  He had something like regret in his eyes. She would have quite liked to keep messing around with the astronomy kit with Tom, too, but she pushed him. ‘Go. Go sear some innocent animal flesh for your guests.’

  ‘Militant,’ he commented.

  ‘That’s mild,’ she shot back. ‘You haven’t seen militant.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ was his reply. ‘I’ll introduce you to my mates from town shortly. Briggsy’s working tonight but some of the others came.’

  ‘I remember Briggsy! Pity he couldn’t be here.’

  Samantha Burrows called out to her as she stepped out onto the patio. ‘Willow! Come and sit with us.’

  She obliged, joining the raucous group. She nursed her beautiful red wine, stored at just the right temperature, while the conversation dribbled on around her. Occasionally she glanced up at Tom where he stood at the barbecue. A pity he’d been left to do all the cooking at his own birthday celebration.

  ‘Can’t someone take on barbecue duties for Tom?’ she asked. ‘His dad, maybe?’

  Samantha snorted. ‘Bob gave up barbecuing a long time ago. Tom won’t let anyone else near the barbie.’

  Willow was puzzled. ‘Why not?’

  ‘He says everyone burns the food.’

  Willow got that. It seemed to be the Australian way to char the meat before serving. She sipped her wine, thanking the heavens she was vegetarian. Would it look odd if she joined Tom at the barbecue? She did need to put her mushrooms on.

  ‘Those sausages smell bloody beautiful,’ said Jean.

  ‘Yep. Jinglin pork sausies,’ said Samantha. ‘Is there anything vego for you to eat, Willow? Cathy took care of the catering for tonight so I don’t know what’s on the menu.’

  ‘I think the Forrests probably have some non-meat options on the hotplate but I brought some field mushrooms, too. I should get them out to cook, actually.’

  ‘Pity you’re a vego.’ Samantha’s eyes twinkled. ‘I can totally recommend Tom Forrest’s hot sausage.’

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then the staff all burst into laughter.

  ‘You’re dreadful, Sam!’ Jean was giggling.

  ‘Whaddya mean?’ Samantha put on an innocent voice.

  ‘And do you get served it pretty often?’ Hegney asked her, chuckling.

  ‘Sure do, but I never seem to get sick of it.’

  Willow stood up, disgusted and fuming. Clutching her wineglass and hiding her burning cheeks from the group, she rummaged with one hand in the cooler bag she’d brought. Then she marched over to the barbecue and put her container of mushrooms on the side, rather more forcefully than she needed to.

  ‘What’s in there?’ asked Tom.

  How could he? With her?

  ‘Mushrooms,’ she said shortly.

  ‘I’ll cook them up.’

  ‘I’ll wait ’til you’ve finished so I don’t get the mea
t juices.’

  Tom indicated the far side of the barbecue. ‘We’ve got a dedicated non-meat grill over here.’ He looked at her, his expression cautious but inquisitive. ‘You okay, Banjo?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He checked over her shoulder to where she’d been sitting. ‘Hegney getting up your nose?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Just feel like talking in sentences of one syllable, huh?’ He tried a smile. ‘Must be the anaemia. Well, let me cook up some mushrooms for my favourite girl. When you’ve got a bit of protein into you, you’ll feel much better.’

  Favourite girl? Willow remembered the moment when he’d touched the cappuccino froth off her lip. Damn flirt. She felt ripped in two different directions. Who the hell was she to be angry about Tom’s relationships now? It was his business. It was like she knew she had no right to be pissed off but couldn’t help it – she was pissed off, anyway. More than pissed off. Disappointed. And weirdly humiliated.

  ‘I’ll cook my own mushrooms, thanks. Maybe you’d better focus on cooking up sausages for your other favourite girl.’

  He gave her a quizzical look and she glanced at Samantha, who chose that moment to bark another raucous laugh. Willow returned her gaze to his face, watching him pointedly. He stared back, apparently mystified.

  Oh, God. What was she doing? It hit her in a rush that she was behaving like a jealous girlfriend. Tom could date or do whatever else he wanted with whoever he pleased. What was it to her? She started blushing – a horrible, hot blush that worked its way right to the roots of her hair. And Tom continued to stare, his barbecue forgotten as he examined her with apparent fascination. She snatched up her plastic container.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll wait ’til you’re finished.’

  She made her escape, seeking out her sisters who were chatting with Cathy. Free was describing Italian art galleries again so Willow pulled up a chair and pretended to listen.

  Oh, why had she acted like that? Stupid. So stupid. Did she think she could reject Tom’s advances, wholly and completely, and then expect him to remain chaste in her memory for over ten years? Even though she had no intention of having any kind of relationship with him other than a friendship? What the hell was wrong with her?

  She was being immature and petulant. She was yearning for some long-gone time of innocence before adulthood got in the way, thinking she could simply be Banjo, Tom Forrest’s best friend, holding secret night-time quad-bike races and living in a bubble, safe from the complexities of the real world.