She flicked open one of his magazines to see a girl pouting, lips parted in a suggestive ‘O’. Emily looked at the girl’s pert, round and surgically enhanced breasts. Her blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders. She imagined Clancy wanking over her. It made Emily shudder. As she flicked through a few more pages a piece of paper suddenly fluttered out like a butterfly, landing on the floor. Emily picked it up. It was a receipt, from a truck stop near Brisbane. As Emily read through the items it became clear that dinner wasn’t the only thing dished up for truckies on the long haul. Prostitutes were also for sale.
Emily’s cheeks reddened as she read the bill Clancy had clocked up. Room hire and a Cherie sweetheart special with doubles, plus extras. Extras? Emily’s heart began to race, her skin prickled and she felt like she would throw up. She stared at her image in the mirror and gritted her teeth, stifling her cry of pain so the girls wouldn’t hear. Bastard!
She had suspected Clancy. She’d seen the magazines of big rigs with their dodgy ads at the back, and part of her had known. The sensuality she and Clancy once shared in their marriage was all but gone. She felt the fury course through her, fury at herself as much as anything. She had given herself over to Clancy in marriage, given him her body, given him two beautiful children and given up her cattleman’s life – and for what?
Even in the first wave of shock and anger, Emily could admit that, immersed in motherhood, she had also withdrawn from Clancy. She saw that she had been black with depression. In the past year, to keep herself cheery and a little sane, she had loaded the kids in the stroller and trawled the big ugly shopping centres hunting down amusing underwear for herself. It was also a kind of test for Clancy, to see how much or how little he noticed her.
In the mornings she’d pull on pink, frilly, ruffled undies with cloth cherries hanging from them or slip on a purple and black pair that read, Enquiries Welcome But Knock Before Entering. Not once did he say anything. Not once did he notice. The months wore on. Her silly underpants collection grew and so too did her conviction that their marriage was dying. No wonder Clancy didn’t notice her knickers, she thought as she clutched the receipt in her fist. His mind was on other women, freer than her.
She stripped off to her bra and Kmart ‘Hot Stuff’ undies, and stood looking furiously at her ridiculous self. Her once work-fit body had softened from motherhood and inactivity. Six years she had been here! It shocked her that time had closed in on her so fast. In the ever-expanding town of Brigalow she was immersed in a world of washing and daytime TV, with only an occasional trip to a bigger town twenty minutes away, where she felt stupefied in shopping centres and suburban ugliness, while her husband was off with truckstop whores. For years she’d been living like this, or rather, dying like it.
Her brilliant stockhorse, Snowgum, was squashed into a weedy one-acre block amidst Clancy’s truck-trailers. Her highly trained working dog, Rousie, was confined to a kennel in a backyard, listless with no view. These days both creatures rarely got a glimpse of work on her father’s cattle farm. Since the birth of her second child, Meg, Emily had found it too hard to pack them all up – kids, dog and horses – and cart them out to Grandpa’s farm. There, behind the high weatherboard fence and beneath the Hills hoist that seemed to span one side of the yard to the other, Emily felt stifled. Trapped. Like her soul had come unstuck.
Looking in the mirror at her soft white belly and pudgy arms, Emily was amazed at what she had become. It didn’t make sense. In the Flanaghan family, women held the same status as the men. Sometimes the Flanaghan women held even more clout in the family than the men. They may have provided domestically, but they also rode alongside the men, camped out in the mountains, mustered and salted the cattle and worked the dogs. They were raised that way. The kids were the workforce, whether you were a boy or a girl. There was no room to be sexist up in that wild mountain world. Everyone had to be capable, everyone respected as equal. But in Clancy’s world, women were objects for men or domestic servants.
Within their marriage, Clancy had never hit Emily with his fists. Instead he punched her mercilessly with his words and negative energy. He pummelled Emily with his put-downs. Stupid woman. Fat hag. Surly bitch. Nag. When he talked to his mates he called her ‘The Missus’ or ‘The Boss’. And he talked about her in front of her as if she wasn’t there. His words as sharp as arrows stuck, barbed, in her skin.
The Emily Flanaghan who had smiled readily, laughed loudly, galloped horses, cut out cattle and chainsawed fence-posts had gone. But, looking into her eyes in the mirror, Emily vowed that this weekend, at the Mountain Cattlemen’s Cup, she would find that girl again. She tossed the receipt in the rubbish.
‘Stuff you, Clancy,’ she said. ‘You won’t beat me.’ She rummaged in the bedside drawer, pulled out the scissors. Crying silently, Emily began to hack away her long, dark hair.
Seven
Luke Bradshaw checked his watch. He was early. He combed his long, curly hair behind his ears and inspected his face in the rear-view mirror. He’d wanted to cut his hair before the job interview, but Cassy had told him no.
‘Keep your locks. It’s a government position. The more indigenous you look, the better,’ she had said as she lay naked on their bed, watching him dress.
Luke looked up now to the tall, sleek building with the striking green logo that someone had no doubt been paid a squillion to design. He got out to feed coins to the parking meter and, as he did, watched the government staff slot their cars into their allocated spaces and bustle into work. They all looked like fairly down-to-earth types, and their cars were middle of the range. Nothing too flash. Still, Luke wondered whether he’d fit in here, raised by his farming father who was far from approving of the bureaucrats – what farmer was? But if this job was his ticket of leave out of Melbourne, he’d be happy. Besides, he’d love to see his father’s face if he did get a government job. Giving his dad the shits would be icing on the cake. Pissing his father off was one of the reasons he’d done the environmental degree in the first place. But what did the old prick expect, Luke thought bitterly, selling off the farm like that without any kind of consultation?
A brand-new white diesel Land Cruiser chugging into the car park caught Luke’s eye. It was really flash. It had a snorkel for river crossings, electric winch, automatic diff-locks and, judging from the aerials, three different styles of radio and satellite communication wired into it. The driver had obviously just driven it through the car wash and the bright-green logo on the door was slick and shiny.
Luke watched the skinny, ginger-haired man at the wheel steer the cruiser to a spot nearest the building. He reached into the back seat to grab his briefcase, then hit the auto-lock button on the key ring. The cruiser made a little peeyou-peeyou noise, like a bird, and flashed its indicators twice. That man clearly loved his new government four-wheel drive, Luke thought. Luke found it funny that the man had parked in the head sherang’s spot in the middle of a dirty great city, yet was dressed in khaki shirt and shorts and lace-up boots as if he was going bushwalking with Bindi the Jungle Girl.
Luke checked his watch again and decided to go in. He caught a glimpse of himself in the automatic sliding doors as he followed the man into the government office building. His long hair, combed back Antonio-Banderas style, looked slightly at odds with the grey suit and red tie he’d dragged out of the cupboard, worn once for his grandmother’s funeral. All he had to wear with the suit were his Blundstone boots. He felt like a dork. At least his boots were polished to shining, he thought.
In the airconditioned cool of the foyer, Luke offered up a smile to the girl behind the desk, but she was busy with the man who’d walked in moments earlier. Luke stood politely to one side, pretending to browse the brochures on the desk advertising how well the government was doing in all areas.
‘Good morning, Kelvin,’ she said brightly. ‘I believe you’re walking a different track today.’ She gathered up a bundle of mail and newspapers and passed it to him. ‘Down the c
orridor. First door on the right, I believe,’ she said with a wink.
‘Yes, Kylie, a new track. A new track. Thank you.’
‘Congratulations,’ she said.
As Kelvin made his way along the corridor, Kylie lifted her gaze from behind neat light-framed glasses to Luke.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’
After signing in, Luke looked at the slip of paper handed to him that had the same flashy logo as the building itself. The fine print asked him to observe all safety signage and occupational health and safety requirements, and told him to follow the instructions of the fire wardens or management in the event of fire or emergency. He smiled to himself. The wording was so ‘government’. If he got the job, he knew there was an entire language within these walls he’d need to learn. He clipped his security pass to his jacket and waited to be ushered along the hall by Kylie, who, once walking and talking, didn’t stop to draw breath. She clearly relished her job.
‘This is the first time Kelvin, er, Mr Grimsley, has been in his brand-new office with his brand-new title of acting region manager for the VPP within the DLSC&EL,’ she said, looking at Luke expectantly, as if waiting for him to be as excited as she was.
‘He’s taken over from Ted Deagan, who’s away on long service. Kelvin might seem a little distracted this morning as he hasn’t had time to unpack. Human Resources stuffed up the advertising dates and have got you in a week too soon, but you and he will be fine. Normally we have a panel, so you’re getting off lightly.’
Luke nodded at Kylie’s monologue as she guided him along corridors and past offices that were as yet empty but would soon slowly fill up with the less-punctual staff.
‘It’s great to see Kelvin step up a notch. He’s been dedicated to his job forever. I think he’s had over thirty years in the department. No wonder they gave him a new work vehicle, even if it’s just for a short time while Ted’s away.’
‘Will he ever get to drive it on dirt?’ Luke asked quickly.
‘Sorry?’
‘Will he get out with it much?’
‘Oh, no. Ted spends ninety per cent of his time in the office, but every region manager is entitled to a vehicle, aren’t they? Now that Kelvin’s acting region manager for the Victorian People’s Parklands as part of the Department of Land Sustainment, Conservation and Environmental Longevity, he automatically gets a vehicle and a mobile phone.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Luke, not seeing at all.
When they arrived at Kelvin’s new office Luke was ushered in front of the man he’d seen get out of the Land Cruiser in the car park.
‘Our job applicant,’ Kylie announced brightly, offering Luke a chair in front of Kelvin’s desk.
Kelvin Grimsley eyed the strikingly handsome young man before him as he shuffled through his application forms.
‘I’ve noted you’ve ticked yes when asked if the applicant is of Aboriginal or Torres Strait descent. Where are your people from?’
‘Well, it’s just a dash of indigenous blood,’ Luke said, blushing, ‘on my grandmother’s side. She was originally from the East Gippsland region, but I don’t have any contacts there.’
Kelvin nodded, sliding his glasses onto the end of his nose.
‘That’s good. We need people with a connection to the land.’
‘Yes, it’s something I’ve lost since Dad sold the farm.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean a farming connection. I mean a spiritual one.’
‘I see,’ Luke said, a little perplexed by Kelvin’s implication.
‘Yes, I read in your application that your father grew wheat and sheep. But the farm is now sold. A sensible move, given that our arid land is not suited to these pursuits.’
Luke nodded, wondering if he should mention that most of the land had gone into government-supported pine production and blue gums that would rob the soil more than their farming ever had. He decided not to.
‘I think my very practical upbringing will stand me in good stead for a job as a remote ranger,’ he said instead.
‘Yes, but agriculture is so simple when compared to the job we do. Your father was only managing a small area. Our department manages a vast expanse and we use science as our backing, not like farming.’
Luke was about to point out that they used science extensively in their farming practice but Kelvin continued on. ‘I remember being like you. Coming in to apply for a job as a ranger. I thought it was so simple. I was a wide-eyed Melbourne lad, seeking boy’s-own adventures in the bush!’ He laughed at the memory, then leaned forward and laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his desk. While his blue eyes looked directly at Luke, his attention seemed to drift far away.
‘Of course I had many hours of practical experience in the bush. I bushwalked, backpacked, camped in huts and skied all my life – well, at least in school holidays. And when I was a young uni student, I had a bit of daredevil in me. I had a stint riding motocross bikes in the bush until I broke my leg coming off on a sharp bend in the Licola mountains. Oh, crazy times! In fact,’ he said, snorting laughter, ‘I sat my biological diversity exams with my plastered leg propped up on a chair. The examination supervisors had to check that none of the signatures on it held cryptic answers to the paper.’ Kelvin was chuckling now. Luke wondered if the cheery man was socially inept or just a complete nerd.
‘As a young bloke I loved to escape the city and get back to nature, so it was no surprise that when I finished my science degree I joined the government VPP service.’
‘No surprise at all,’ chimed in Luke, almost feeling sorry for this man who had clearly never conducted a job interview before and hadn’t even had time to move into his new office. Still, he earned points for conviction in his own cause, Luke decided.
‘I’ve devoted all of my working life to the thousands of hectares of natural bushland managed by the DLSC&EL,’ Kelvin proclaimed proudly. ‘Although, the department wasn’t called that back when I started.’
‘Oh?’ said Luke.
‘Yes, back then it was the Land and Forestry Department and the land was measured in acres and the vehicles were pretty rough. You don’t mind roughing it, do you?’
‘Me?’ said Luke. ‘Not a bit. I love sleeping out.’
‘Well, you would, with your Aboriginal heritage. You know the place you’re going is pretty remote? We’ve advertised the job internally for weeks, but so far no one within the department has applied.’
‘Really?’ said Luke, amazed.
‘Oh, don’t let that put you off. I can see why people don’t want to move that far into the bush – especially family men. You’ll be working mostly alone. And Dargo can be a hostile township full of shooters, loggers and rather aggressive cattlemen. The social life is zero for young people and the small school would probably be inadequate by the standards of governmental employees with families. It’s good to have a young single man apply. You are single?’
Luke swallowed. ‘Yes.’
But Kelvin was already standing to look at the map on the wall, his mind on another path.
‘It’s a big, difficult and complex job.’ He pointed to the map with his pen, as if giving a geography lecture. ‘The Alpine Park territory is some 465,000 hectares.’ He ran his finger down the straight angular lines that divided Park from Government Forestry land and private land. Luke looked at where the township of Dargo lay and the massive expanse of mountain country that rose up from the town’s fringes. It was out in woop woop, but that made it all the more appealing to him. Luke was glad they had a hard time filling the position – he couldn’t care less if Dargo was a redneck town.
‘If you do get the job, Mr Bradshaw, I’m sure you’ll come to share my same principles and values of conservation of natural land. You’ll also need to learn how to cope with the sometimes dangerous job of a ranger. Basically you’re doing the job of a policeman, but without the uniform that speaks to the same level of authority. We also advise rangers not to become involved with the local community. Given the
inflamed debate raging over alpine grazing, it would be best to steer clear of the locals, especially the cattlemen.’
He pushed today’s newspaper forward on the desk and Luke read the fresh headline: Grazing Bans on Political Agenda. Within the text of the story was a breakout piece. Luke looked at it with interest. Bush Rider Still Critical. Kelvin stabbed his finger on the articles and shook his head.
‘The thing that irritates me the most in this world is these damn mountain cattlemen. I’ve spent my entire career trying to oust them from their grazing runs. They profess to be the true conservationists,’ Kelvin scoffed, ‘but that’s a ridiculous notion. All it’s about for them is making money. They don’t care for the high country. How could bushmen question what science has shown? That grazing and annual burning off are detrimental to the fragile, natural ecology of the Alpine region!’
Luke thought of the girl who’d been injured on her horse and shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but Kelvin failed to notice. He was clearly relishing his captive audience.
‘It’s only a matter of time before the government, based on the department’s recommendations, passes legislation that will not renew the grazing licences in all the Alpine regions. Perhaps this accident will spell an end to the ridiculous get-togethers they insist on having each year in remote mountain areas. Surely the OH&S and insurance would now make that event prohibitive for their organisers. Not to mention the environmental damage such events inflict upon the land.’
The Cattleman's Daughter Page 4