by Di Morrissey
‘I’ll see you later. Thanks for the invite anyway,’ said Barney to the McBrides.
The younger McBrides spent little time over lunch. They were soon dragging Abby off to sample every ride and game they could afford. Abby lavished some of her earnings on the children, including buying pink fairy floss all round. The promise of such ecstasy was the only bribe that could get Brian off the merry-go-round where he had clung to the pole of his horse demanding loudly, ‘One more . . . one more . . .’ By the time they all flopped down sleepily at the picnic site, the cricket match was well under way, and the crowd was enjoying the light-hearted match enormously.
Gwen nudged Abby as she settled down beside her. ‘Barney is in fielding. There he is with his back to us. Cheryl is bowling. And would you believe, Father O’Leary has hit three fours. He’s quite the hero of the moment.’
Cheryl gave an excellent delivery of good length straight down the pitch to Father O’Leary, but he had its measure. Not for nothing had he been captain of the cricket team during his final years at the seminary. He got right under the ball with a bold sweeping stroke that sent it high and hard towards the boundary. The crowd cheered and then went silent as they watched Barney take off under the ball, looking over his shoulder as he raced towards the boundary. Still running, he half turned and reached up with both hands to intercept the ball and hold it. But the final reach made him lose his balance and he fell backwards into a picnic party on the boundary. Their shrieks and shouts were drowned by the huge cheer that was raised right around the ground.
Barney was a little winded by the fall and saw a star or two, but was soon more conscious of two big and beautiful startled blue eyes looking down at him. He had come to rest in Abby’s lap.
‘Hello again,’ he said with a silly grin. ‘Sorry to drop in on you like this.’
She smiled then gave him a shove. ‘Play on. Play on and play the game,’ she recited with mock heroics.
The game was eventually declared a draw and, for most, its end signalled that it was time to head home. The McBrides were loading up Betsy when Barney arrived looking quite dishevelled, coat and tie over his shoulder.
‘I was wondering if I could cadge a ride home with you. I kind of stopped off here on the spur of the moment.’
‘Be a bit of a squeeze but if you don’t mind, we’re happy to have you along,’ said Bob.
‘Great. Thanks a lot.’
‘There’s a catch to travelling with our mob,’ said Abby. ‘Dad sings.’
‘That’s all right. The Irish usually have good voices.’
‘Ah, yes, but you have to sing too,’ said Abby grinning. ‘And if you don’t put enough into it, you might get dumped halfway along the track.’
‘Oh dear. Maybe I’d better start walking now.’
Gwen sat in the front, Brian on her lap, with Kevin between her and Bob. The twins, Abby and Barney were in the back. There was much jollity as everyone shared their experiences of the day and admired the toy panda and kewpie doll that Bob and Kevin had won for the girls.
‘This has been better than the Easter Show in Sydney,’ said Barney. ‘Everyone certainly went to a lot of trouble.’
‘This is a nice town. With nice people,’ said Gwen, patting Brian’s sleepy head.
Once they were out of town heading homewards in the late afternoon light, Bob began, ‘When the red red robin comes bob bob bobbin’ along . . .’
Abby nudged Barney. ‘See, I wasn’t joking,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t hear you lot in the back,’ called Bob over his shoulder, and Barney made a feeble attempt to join in.
Abby sang loudly and well and he gave her a grateful wink. He wondered what they would say if he admitted he’d never sung in his family’s car in his life. In fact, he’d never been with a family quite like the McBrides before. His parents wouldn’t approve of their behaviour at all. Running in a three-legged race — Bob had fallen over and he and Kevin had rolled about in fits of laughter as they tangled together and had ended up crawling over the finishing line last — telling silly stories and singing in the car would all be considered very déclassé. But Barney was having a wonderful time. Especially feeling the softness of Abby pressed against his side and smelling the sweet tang of her skin and hair.
Barney threw upbringing and inhibition to the wind and joined in, ‘Wake up, wake up, you sleepy head, get up, get up get outta bed, cheer up, cheer up the sun is reddddd . . .’
ABBY SWUNG THROUGH THE GATE TO THE PEM bertons’ back garden, balancing the cake tin so as not to disturb the passionfruit cream sponge nestling on greaseproof paper inside. She tapped at the kitchen door and poked her head around the flyscreen door.
‘Yoo-hoo, Mrs Pemberton . . . It’s me, Abby . . .’
‘Hello . . . Come in,’ came the reply.
Abby stepped inside and put the cake tin on the kitchen table as a young woman came through the dining room doors. The smile on Abby’s face faded as she stared at her. She was her own age, with light honey-coloured hair and deep brown eyes. She wore lipstick and white daisy earrings, and her hair was set in neat waves turning under at her ears. Abby was struck by the white pedal-pusher pants, elastic top blouse and multicoloured heeled sandals. To Abby she looked the height of casual elegance as seen in the women’s magazines she glanced at swiftly in the newsagents.
‘Oh. I was looking for Mrs Pemberton. I’m Abby, I’ve brought up a cake.’
The girl looked at Abby, who felt uncomfortable at being scrutinised so openly. ‘Cake? I adore cakes. Has it got lots of cream?’ She inched off the lid of the cake tin and Abby noticed the bright red fingernail polish. ‘Ooh, this looks scrumptious. Passionfruit. Oh, I’m Shannon by the way. Mum is on the telephone. I think I’ll have a piece of this.’
‘My mother made it for Mrs Pemberton, she said it was for a special occasion,’ said Abby, feeling self-conscious in her faded slacks with turned-up cuffs, sandshoes and one of her father’s old blue work shirts hanging out. Her hair was in its usual ponytail. She studied Shannon Pemberton more closely as she took the cake and placed it carefully on a cut-glass cake stand she took from a cupboard. Abby saw she was wearing powder and a mauve shade of eyeshadow, as well as the lipstick.
Sarah Pemberton bustled into the kitchen. ‘Shannon! Don’t you get into that cake, it’s for your tea party! Did you meet Abby?’
‘Of course, Mother. Can’t I at least sample my cake?’
Sarah Pemberton laughed. ‘Shannon is hopeless around cake and sweets. Well, girls, let’s have a cup of tea at least.’
Shannon sat on one of the four chairs at the small Laminex kitchen table. ‘So, you’re one of our new residents. I hear you have brothers and sisters. I only have a ghastly little brother. He’s at boarding school.’
‘I have two little brothers. And twin sisters. I’m the oldest.’
‘Shannon has been travelling and living in Sydney since she finished at Pymble Ladies College. She came home rather unexpectedly,’ explained Sarah Pemberton.
Shannon shrugged. ‘That’s me. Up and off. Suddenly decided it was all too boring. I’d done everything and my flatmate decided she wanted to go to England and the girl who was going to move in got engaged instead. So I wasn’t going to hang around any more. Time to come home. Especially now Barney is home too.’
Shannon’s mother set out the tea cups. ‘So, Abby, your mother tells me you are looking for a job.’
‘Yes. I’m not too choosy but I’d like something that is interesting and where I could meet people.’
‘I was thinking I might work if the right thing came along,’ said Shannon nonchalantly.
Sarah Pemberton turned to Shannon with a teasing,’ Your father thinks after that expensive education you had, you should be running the country at the very least!’
‘How boring. That’s the men’s job. We women get to plan the parties, be hostesses, spend money, and look beautiful,’ said Shannon cheerfully, and Abby couldn’t tell if she was joking or
not.
Abby finished her tea and rose to leave. ‘It’s been nice to meet you, Shannon.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.’
‘Maybe you girls could go for a ride or something,’ suggested Sarah.
‘I haven’t got a horse, I’m afraid, though I’ve ridden a bit, working mainly.’
‘Well, I suppose we can scrape up an extra horse sometime,’ said Shannon unenthusiastically.
Gwen’s heart lurched as she heard Abby describe Shannon and she wished Sarah and Keith’s daughter had been more friendly.
‘I mean, she’s so pretty, and smart, and up to date and everything. A bit snobby, I suppose because she went to a posh school and has money and stuff. I feel such a dag next to her.’
‘Now listen, Abby, it breaks my heart that your dad and I can’t give you those sort of advantages. But you listen to me, my girl, she’s no better than you because of it. You are a truly special girl. I mean this, not because I’m your mother, but because I’m a woman and I know there are some girls God gives special qualities to . . . maybe to compensate for other things.
‘Abby, you don’t know how beautiful you are . . . Yes, you’re pretty, but inside, you are a precious gem. You’re caring and giving, funny and sensitive and have great depth of understanding. If only you knew how I pray that someone truly deserving of you will come along . . .’ Gwen suddenly faltered with the passion of her words and Abby rushed to her and hugged her tightly.
‘Oh, Mum. How good you make me feel. If I can be half the mother you are, I will feel I’ve achieved so much . . .’ They clung together, the mother wanting so much for the daughter, the other asking for so little.
Barney hooked off his boots on the iron boot-rest by the back door, padded along the verandah in his socks, and went to his bathroom to clean up. As he changed clothes he peered from his bedroom window at a strange car in the main drive. He wondered whom his mother had invited around. People didn’t drop in at Amba unexpectedly.
He met Mrs Anderson coming from the sitting room with the tea tray. She beamed at him. ‘Your mother has a guest. Someone you’ll want to see. I set an extra cup for you.’
She said no more and so Barney quietly opened the door. For a moment he didn’t recognise the back of the blonde head seated next to his mother on the lounge. But as she swung around he exclaimed, ‘Shannon! You’re back. How nice to see you.’
‘Do sit down, Barney. I’ll pour,’ said his mother as Barney gave Shannon a big grin. She gave him a knowing smile, preening at his attention.
‘So, what’s new? Glad to be back? Are you staying?’ he asked Shannon.
‘I’m home to stay, Barney. No more shillyshallying around, as my father says. I had thought about going overseas, but Dad says it’s time I settled down.’
Enid handed Barney a cup of tea. ‘Shannon has travelled though. She was telling me what an interesting place New Zealand is,’ said his mother, passing the plate of biscuits to Shannon.
Shannon bit into the shortbread, gazing at the boy she’d known all her life. He’d always been a friend; they’d been thrown together for social occasions since they were young and it had always been in the back of her mind that if she didn’t get a marriage proposal from some fabulously wealthy, exciting foreigner or movie star, there was always Barney and Amba in the wings. She’d never thought of Barney as wildly dashing. He wasn’t like her romantic teenage idols — he was a solid, sweet, but sophisticated, Australian country boy. She studied him through lowered lashes as he stirred his tea and she had to admit that in the year she’d been away she’d forgotten how handsome and charming he was. Or was she now better able to compare having met other men in other places?
Barney too was assessing Shannon. She’d certainly acquired a veneer of glamour and worldliness with her fashionable clothes and new hairstyle. He didn’t care for her heavy make-up, and Abby’s natural beauty came to mind in comparison. Images of her sweeping the woolshed with her hair in a ponytail, coy and damp after her plunge in the swimming hole, laughingly chasing the chooks and playing with her brothers and sisters, contrasted with the immaculate and artificial look of Shannon. He realised a lot of it had to do with personality too. Abby was unaffected, down to earth, and obviously sweet-natured. He knew only too well Shannon’s temper and spoiled affectations.
Barney was aware Shannon was staring at him. He gave her a swift smile. ‘So, what are you going to do with yourself, Shannon?’
‘I’m going to take up showjumping. Daddy has bought me a really super horse.’
‘That sounds interesting, Shannon,’ said Enid with feigned interest as she fondled the two dogs curled beside her. ‘More tea?’
‘No thank you. It was lovely. I should be getting back.’ She rose and picked up her shoulder bag. ‘Thank you so much for the tea, Mrs Holten. Do give my best to Mr Holten.’
‘I’ll walk you out to your car,’ said Barney, following her outside.
He opened the door of the new Holden and Shannon sat behind the wheel scooping in the folds of her full skirt. Barney shut the door and leaned through the window.
‘Life is going to seem a bit dull back here, isn’t it?’ he asked.
‘You settled back down all right,’ she retorted with a smile. ‘Are you glad I’m back? You hardly looked me up at all in Sydney like you promised. Twice, at most.’
‘I didn’t want to cramp your style,’ grinned Barney.
‘I’m glad we’re friends and neighbours again. We have been most of our lives, haven’t we?’ said Shannon softly. ‘Maybe it’s time we got to know each other again, seriously.’ Barney didn’t answer.
‘Be seeing you then,’ he said as she started the motor.
‘Soon, I hope.’ She gave a wave and drove off faster than was necessary. Barney hoped his father was away from the house and didn’t see or hear the spray of gravel from the Holden’s whitewall tyres.
Shannon had been a part of his life by locale, family association and social standing since he was a boy. He felt some pleasure, but no great excitement at seeing her again. She was familiar and they understood each other. There were very few young women his mother would entertain. The Pembertons’ property adjoined Amba and that was a significant factor in tightening the links between the two families. Shannon would marry and move to her husband’s property, her brother would inherit Anglesea. However, it had not escaped comment in the district of the possible merging of the two families and land should Barney and Shannon marry. Not that Shannon was short of suitors. Like matchmaking royalty, the families of large holdings with eligible sons and daughters kept track of each other.
Abby gossiped with Colleen and Shirley, admired their paper dolls, listened to the story of Fred the border collie mustering the chooks, rounding them up like a mob of sheep, and heard how there was a concert coming up at school and how they would be in it. She stood on the bottom bunk to kiss Shirley in the top, smoothed Colleen’s hair and said goodnight, putting out their light.
Brian was fast asleep and Kevin was sitting up in bed reading a Phantom comic for the tenth time.
Abby sat at the foot of his bed. ‘So, kid, what’s new and exciting in your life?’
‘Dad’s teaching me to drive the ute. Just round the farm.’
‘That’s handy, mate. I know you won’t break the rules and get out on the highway. And once you can drive you’ll be out chasing after girls soon enough.’
Kevin looked down and fiddled with his sheet. ‘How do you learn about girls, Ab? The other boys are always teasing them — sometimes they’re really mean, putting their hair in the ink and stuff — but they just giggle and sort of like it even though they pretend to be mad.’
‘Learn what sort of things about girls?’ asked Abby carefully.
‘Some of the boys were talking about a film they’d seen, said it was dopey cause there was so much kissing and stuff that spoiled it. But I just sorta wondered . . . like, how do you know how to kiss, Ab?’
<
br /> Abby smiled gently at him. ‘You mean where to put your nose and what you do with your lips? I used to wonder about that. Not that I’m any expert, Kev,’ she cautioned him, ‘but you know, the funny thing is, it’s like a lot of things you worry about — when the time comes, you find it just comes naturally and there you are, doing it perfectly. When you find a girl you want to kiss, you’ll find it’s easy.’
Kevin accepted this explanation, relieved it hadn’t led to any embarrassing discussion, and sleepily pondered whether he should swap his marbles — his blood alleys and favourite connie agates — for Ted Johnston’s Superman and Prince Valiant comics.
After she had said goodnight to Kevin, Abby thought further about their conversation and fleetingly wondered what it would be like to kiss Barney’s smiling mouth. Abby’s kissing experience had been limited: swift and clumsy kisses snatched in the darkness of the picture theatre or in dark corners at a dance. There had been one boy she’d liked a lot back in Gilgandra, a jackaroo working his way around the country before settling down on his parents’ orchard in Victoria. He had been so shy, she had finally leaned close and lifted her face so he couldn’t escape the lure of her sweet mouth. It had been everything she’d read about in books — her knees trembled and her heart beat faster. But the next time they’d been together he’d kissed her ardently then drawn away protesting, ‘We shouldn’t do this.’
‘But we’re only kissing,’ she’d answered.
He’d dropped his arms. ‘It’s hard for blokes to . . . stop. You know . . .’ But she didn’t know. Instead she had been hurt, thinking he hadn’t really liked kissing her. Then suddenly he’d got a new contract and was gone without a goodbye. Being a farm girl she knew about sexual reproduction but she was not worldly. She had a vague knowledge of contraception from her St John Ambulance course and simple questions she’d asked her mother. The Wedding Night — girls whispered about it, giggled and groaned and said it was worse than having a baby. But like she’d told Kevin, Abby just hoped that when the time came it would all come naturally and be as her mother had promised — special and wonderful.