Dear Banjo

by Sasha Wasley

  Tom loved this story. He laughed so hard that she was worried he might run off the road. ‘Only you, Banjo,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘Only you would have that particular college glory days story.’

  As they drew nearer to Patersons, Tom started glancing at her frequently as if he had something to say. Finally, when they had turned into the driveway and were driving the final hundred metres to the house, he came out with it.

  ‘So when can we go out again?’

  ‘Aren’t we going out in the heli this weekend?’

  ‘No – I mean, on a date.’

  She laughed, assuming he was joking, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t laughing. He was looking at her uncertainly. She stopped laughing and gave him a hard stare. What the hell? Had he seriously just asked her out on a date? She went from relaxed to annoyed in a heartbeat. What was he doing? Why would he mess things up between them again? Didn’t he remember what happened last time?

  ‘Tonight wasn’t a date,’ she said, keeping her voice steady.

  ‘Well, I picked you up, took you out, and bought you dinner. Last I heard, that’s a date.’

  ‘No, that’s friends hanging out. Next time, I buy you dinner.’ She tried to stay calm, all her stress firing up again as he pulled the car into the parking area outside the house. ‘Tom, I like what we’ve got now. Let’s not screw with it.’

  He had the cheek to look mad. ‘Seriously, Banjo? The pact again?’

  She reddened, her own anger rising. ‘I don’t want anything more than friendship. I never have and I never will.’

  This time she saw a flash of pain in his eyes and he turned his face away, staring at the lit-up dashboard. There was a long, horrible silence. ‘I can’t believe I let you do this to me again,’ he muttered.

  Willow wanted to cry for the second time that night. Couldn’t she rely on anyone in her life to just be steady, just be there for her? But the thought of losing his friendship for another ten years scared her. She considered what he’d asked of her for a moment. Could she date Tom? But dating would mean romance, commitment. In his letters he’d even mentioned marriage and babies. Maybe it was just a date he wanted now, but still it was more, far more, than she could give. She waited, unsure what to say.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said, bitterness in his voice.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ She gathered her stuff and opened the car door. She climbed out and hesitated before closing the door. ‘Tom —’

  ‘It’s late,’ he said, still not meeting her eyes. ‘I’d better get home.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ She paused for another moment before shutting the car door. He immediately flicked his vehicle into reverse and turned to leave, roaring off up the driveway, leaving her staring after him in the warm night air. The front door opened behind her.

  ‘How was your date?’ Free called. ‘Tom didn’t want to come in for coffee?’

  Another sleepless night. Willow was churned up inside, worrying about her father’s lack of trust and Tom’s stupid proposition. And his pain. She hated the memory of the pain in his face when he’d berated himself for letting her do that to him again. At two a.m. she got up in frustration, stalked down to the office, and stabbed at the start button on her computer. She went from irritated to fuming as it booted up; she was hurt, pissed off at him, resentful that he’d chosen this moment in her chaotic life to throw this crap back into the mix.

  She didn’t want to get distracted by work so she avoided her email inbox and opened a chat window with Tom. She could say what she wanted to say and he’d see it when he logged on in the morning. She commenced her rant.

  Seriously, Tom, why did you have to do that? We’ve worked so hard to make things right between us and you went and said that. If it was a joke, it wasn’t funny. Things are bloody hard for me at the moment and I don’t need the extra stress.

  She held her fingers over the keys. It was a relief to pour it out. Send? No. She wasn’t done yet. She had more to say . . . and then some editing to do. Words poured from her fingers.

  I’m not sure you understand how hard things are for me. Hegney wants me out, the staff are laughing at me, Dad’s doubting me. Free expects me to play mum and cook all the meals. I’ve had to put some of my plans on the backburner because of Hegney’s screw-up with payroll. It’s HARD. The only person supporting me is you. WAS you. When you said that tonight —

  She stopped. Maybe she should start over. This sounded far too emotional. She hit enter to start a new line and the message disappeared – and reappeared in the sent chats.

  Oh, shit. She’d sent it.

  And worse – infinitely worse – Tom’s green online dot ignited. He was there, awake, reading her irrational words right at this very moment. Oh, dear God. What a hysterical freaking dumbarse to have sent it before she perfected it. She waited, holding her breath until the green dot started blinking, indicating he was replying.

  Go on. When I said that tonight . . .?

  This was real now. She had to finish what she’d started.

  When you said that tonight, it pulled the rug out from under my feet.

  She waited breathlessly while he replied.

  I thought something was changing, he wrote. The awards night. The dance. The way we were looking at one another.

  Willow had to stand up for a moment, she was so incensed. She contemplated switching off the computer but this argument wasn’t over. She sank back down, head pounding.

  You forced me to dance with you. It didn’t mean anything.

  And your jealousy over Sam.

  Willow caught her breath. Jealousy? For God’s sake.

  I wasn’t jealous! I was disgusted with the choices I thought you’d made. But you proved to me you hadn’t made those choices and I apologised for thinking that of you. It’s over. Sorted.

  He didn’t reply so she continued.

  Stop reading into what I do and say.

  Then stop confusing me.

  She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. How dare he?

  You’re the one confusing yourself.

  Are you sure?

  Willow was furious but forced herself to search her own heart. She thought about the things he’d challenged her on. Samantha. The disgusting words Samantha said about Tom had hit hard after those wonderful few minutes of togetherness, sharing aged wine and playing with a kids’ telescope. Those words had ruined her image of Tom until she gave him the chance to explain. The dance. The dance, when he looked at her the way he had ten years before, stirring up all that old hurt. No, she reiterated to herself. He was the one who had this arse-about, not her.

  Stop imposing feelings on me, she wrote, tears burning her eyes.

  I’m tired of apologising, Banjo.

  She rubbed savagely at her leaking eyes, almost unable to see the screen.

  And I’m tired of being the bad guy.

  His green dot blinked for a long time – so long she wondered if he’d gotten up and walked away. At last his message appeared.

  Is that how I make you feel? Like the bad guy?

  Who wouldn’t feel that way in my situation? she wrote bitterly. You’re such a good person and I CAN’T feel like you want me to feel. Everyone expects it, even you. And I can’t.

  Willow clenched her fists and pushed them to her eyes, weeping in desperate torment. She hadn’t longed for her mother as hard as she did in that moment – not for years. Her mother would have helped, would have known what she should do. When her vision cleared, Tom’s words were on the screen.

  You know I’m here, your friend forever, don’t you? Yeah, this hurts and it’s kind of humiliating AND I stuffed up (again) AND you’re mad (again) but it doesn’t change that I’m Tom and you’re Banjo. And we’re best friends, right? You do know that?

  I didn’t, she wrote through her tears. I thought there might be conditions.

  No conditions. Ever.

  I’m the bad guy again, aren’t I?

  No, Banjo, you are not the bad guy. We are just both a bit —<
br />
  The green dot blinked.

  A bit . . . ? she wrote.

  A bit stuck.

  ‘Will?’

  It was Free’s voice. Willow went hot and cold with panic, shutting down the chat screen abruptly and rubbing her face on her sleeve.

  ‘Hey, Free,’ she said, not turning around. ‘Can’t sleep. Thought I’d do some work.’ She sounded nasal from all that crying.

  Free appeared beside her. Her big wondering eyes explored Willow’s face. ‘Are you crying?’

  ‘I’m a bit stressed out, that’s all.’

  Free’s face folded with concern and she lunged for Willow, hugging her tightly. Willow held herself together with a mammoth effort, longing to cry on her sister’s shoulder, literally, but frightened of what might come out if she really let go. Free continued her long, tight hug, rocking Willow back and forth and rubbing her back the way their mother used to when they were upset.

  ‘Thanks, Free,’ she mumbled into her sister’s pyjamas.

  Finally, Free released her. ‘Better? Even a little bit?’

  Willow nodded. ‘Much.’

  Free examined her face again. ‘Please don’t worry so much. Dad is in awe of your brain, Will. He thinks so much of you. I don’t know exactly what’s going on but I know he thinks you’re amazing. He knows you are, just like the rest of us do.’

  Willow seriously doubted that everyone at Patersons thought she was amazing. Maybe an amazing screw-up, she reflected sadly. She managed a smile and Free gave her a final squeeze before telling her not to stay up working much longer.

  When she left, Willow checked the chat with Tom but he’d gone offline. She went back to bed and lay there thinking. Both a bit stuck, he’d said. What did that mean? Was he admitting he was stuck on those old feelings for her? She didn’t like the idea but it rang true – she remembered those long looks he’d given her from time to time that made her chest tighten with panic. But what did he mean she was stuck? She couldn’t think of anything she was stuck on, except perhaps that she didn’t welcome his advances any more than she had when they were teenagers. And that wasn’t a matter of being stuck. It was just that she knew what she wanted. Or didn’t want.

  Willow gave up. As far as she was concerned, she was not stuck on anything or anyone. All she wanted was to get on with things: to build her humane cattle station and enjoy her friendship with her like-minded neighbour and best friend Tom Forrest. Was that honestly so much to ask?

  Willow didn’t hear from Tom for a couple of days. Although she missed him, it was a relief. She needed time to get past what had happened. She just hoped he wasn’t angry. He’d said he was still her friend but Willow was fearful. Last time anything like this had happened, there had been a ten-year rift. Could they move past another bust up so easily?

  Soon that worry was pushed out of her head by another. Her father was suddenly everywhere she went, puffing along beside her as they did the rounds of the yards, listening in when she talked to the stockmen, hovering as she directed the station hands. He even appeared at her shoulder when she was working on the accounts in the office.

  ‘That’s a lot of fencing,’ he remarked as she skimmed past outgoings.

  Sighing inwardly, Willow launched into yet another explanation of the pasture strategy. A long conversation later, her father nodded slowly.

  ‘Right. Sounds interesting. And you say it’s working over at Quintilla?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. It’s working at Quintilla, just like it worked when I ran the experiment at the university farm, and like it’s working for several other stations in the region who are trying it on a smaller scale.’

  ‘All right. No need to get snippy.’

  She brought the chair around to face him. ‘It’s just – you called me home to run the station, then as soon as Hegney says anything about how I’m running things, you’re in like a shot checking everything I do.’

  ‘Some things have gone to shit since I stepped back, sweetheart. It’s my duty to make sure we get back on track.’

  She fought the rising frustration. ‘Nothing’s gone to shit. The only thing that’s gone seriously wrong since I took over is the discovery that Hegney’s been underpaying our staff – something that’s never happened in all our years of operation. And you know what?I was the one who discovered and fixed that. It could have meant six-figure fines from the tax office but we caught it, fixed it, and the only loss we faced was back-paying the staff that Hegney underpaid. So why do you trust him more than you trust me?’

  ‘Hegney’s got the station’s best interests at heart —’

  ‘Then why did he allow our staff to suffer? And tell me one thing I’ve done that has hurt the station since I came home?’ She heard her voice rising and took a breath to calm herself.

  He didn’t need to reply. He flicked a glance over her shoulder at the expenses page. Willow’s heart grew heavy. He just didn’t get it that there would be extra costs during this phase, and no matter how patiently she explained it all to him, he might never really understand. Forty years of running a cattle station a particular way didn’t lend itself to coping with the radical change she was bringing in.

  ‘I’m not taking over again,’ he said. ‘I’m just keeping an eye on things. I’m right as rain health-wise and I just want to keep my toe in the water of running the station.’

  ‘You’re seriously ill, Dad,’ she tried, ‘and without a full grasp of the business plan, you’ll see things that will worry you. It’s not good for you to get involved.’

  ‘It’s not good for me, sitting watching all those shows with Free.’

  Willow forced a laugh. ‘Finally, something we agree on. Your cardio plan says you should be doing gentle exercise daily.’

  ‘Well, then, a walk around the station with you every morning while you manage the staff would be a good thing, don’t you reckon?’

  Willow suppressed her urge to suggest a walk in the evening to watch the sunset might have been more suitable. It looked like her father was set on getting involved again and, sure enough, he was at her elbow every step of the way for the next few days, questioning her decisions and frowning with incomprehension as she explained sustainable methodologies. He was slowing her down, injecting more self-doubt. Hegney was never far away, watching from a safe distance, his expression slightly superior. He kept up that irritating muttering with the staff, as well.

  Tom phoned her on Sunday morning. ‘You still coming out in the heli to check the billabongs?’

  She shoved down her shock and replied in the affirmative.

  ‘Cool. Bring your camera. Coffee machine’s on.’

  She drove around there, bemused by his carefree manner. Carefree was good, though. She could handle carefree. He greeted her with a mug of coffee and she checked his eyes surreptitiously. Perhaps he was a little less willing to meet her gaze than usual, but other than that he was perfectly composed and acting like his normal self. Cathy pushed her scones on Willow, asking about Barry’s health. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. Tom was one hell of a friend to be willing to go on as normal like this. No tantrums or fuss.

  Tantrums and fuss are my gig, she recalled, feeling ashamed.

  Up in the helicopter they charted the locations of the herds, and the state of the dams and bore tanks. They flew low to check water levels and landed when they needed to refill, disturbing the pink-and-grey galahs perched in rows on the bore pipes to wait for the flow. Tom took her to reconnoitre the newly fenced pastures and to check on the Brahman herd. Willow mapped and photographed while he flew. They headed back to the Quintilla homestead around noon. When he landed the helicopter Willow removed her headphones and climbed out but Tom remained in the cabin for a minute, fiddling with switches. She waited until he climbed out as well.

  ‘Before we head back to the house,’ he said, ‘can we have a chat?’

  Her pulse hiked. ‘Uh . . .’

  ‘It’s a staff thing.’

  They walked away from the home
stead, coming to a stop out the front of the open machinery shed where they could talk in the shade.

  ‘Naturally there’s been talk among the staff since the payroll screw-up,’ he started.

  ‘Among your staff?’ she asked, dismayed.

  ‘Of course. Most of our staff are related to yours.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s just idle conversation, mostly, but I heard something I thought you might want to look into.’

  Willow nodded, waiting.

  ‘They’re happy the pays have been brought up to the right levels. I know you’re worried they think it was you who messed up the pays, but it’s the opposite. They know it was you who found the mistake, Banjo. They’ve been saying things like It was better when Mr Paterson was running the station, before Hegney took over. They mentioned someone called Davy – something that happened to Davy a couple of years ago. I asked but they clammed up, didn’t want to say anything to me in case it got back to the bosses at Patersons, I guess. They can be a bit funny about what we hear, as employers. You probably know that.’

  Willow sank onto the tractor step, perplexed. ‘Davy?’

  ‘Could be one of the Yannapinga mob or someone else, not sure. It sounded a bit suss. I’d want to know what happened if it were my station.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Thanks. I’ll look into it.’

  Tom crouched down in front of her. ‘You okay? Is your dad still getting involved?’

  ‘Don’t ask. He’s been shadowing me for the last three days.’

  He shook his head and sat back on the hardstand, leaning against the tin wall of the shed. ‘That’s rough. I’m bloody lucky. Mum and Dad were always on board with the changes I suggested. They’re not stubborn like Barry, and they could see the endgame.’

  She stared at her hands. ‘It’s probably me. I’m not the best at communicating. Dad doesn’t understand and I don’t seem to be able to explain any of it properly.’