‘Alec,’ I said, mystified. ‘I’m fine – why wouldn’t I be? Is Wednesday still okay, or is this to say you can’t make it after all?’
‘Definitely not!’ He sounded startled. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Right then. Well, the loading will be ready. Look, I’m a bit pressed for time so if there’s nothing else I really have to go. See you next week. Bye.’ Fearing further interruptions, I grabbed my bag, sang out to Marty that I was leaving and hurried out to the vehicle.
The blank windows of Palmer’s house stared blindly out of its stern facade as I wheeled into the drive. The windows, I noticed, badly needed cleaning – one more job to be fitted in. Well, first things first, as Kevin would have said. Step one: empty the vehicle. I carted everything into the kitchen, mustered the remaining few cartons then lugged them upstairs to cupboards still waiting to be emptied. When everything was packed I would load it, then be free to start at the top of the house. It was a pity the power was off. A vacuum cleaner would have made a world of difference to the task. The heavy old carpet sweeper my mother had once used on the homesteads rugs would just have to suffice.
By the end of the day my arms and shoulders ached as much as they had back in Coober Pedy when I had first started work there as a cleaner in a motel. That was where I had met Kevin and Rose. He had returned unexpectedly to their room in search of a forgotten item and found me struggling to shift a heavy armchair away from the side of the unmade bed.
‘Here, let me get that for you.’ He had pulled it easily aside then frowned, ruddy face concerned below its thatch of greying hair. ‘Should you be lifting stuff in your condition, lass?’
It was the first time anyone had alluded sympathetically to my pregnancy. I wore no ring and had grown accustomed to the quick flick of eyes towards my hand followed by a lifted brow or knowing smirk. The kindness of his action brought tears to my eyes. For five long months I had carried the burden of knowledge and heartbreak, struggling to manage finances and morning sickness and the sheer terror of the position in which I found myself, so the unexpectedness of his concern had undone me.
‘Here now, here,’ he remonstrated, thrusting a handkerchief into my hand. Sticking his head out the door he had called, ‘Rose! Rose, are you there?’
‘What is it?’ she had asked, walking back in. She had taken one look then dropped the cane she used even then, and opened her arms. ‘Oh, come, my dear, come. It will be all right. Believe me, nothing’s ever so bad it can’t be fixed, or at least made tolerable.’
That was how we had become acquainted. They had taken me under their wing, helped me sort my life, loaned me money, kept in touch. Later when I had reached the island with my baby they had stood as godparents to Jamie. Their grief at his death had been genuine, second only to mine . . . I shook myself out of introspection. Remembering did no good – all that had gone, his baby gurgles and toothy smiles, and the sight of Rose’s wrinkled cheeks against his smooth toddler’s face. Only the memory of kindness, the knowledge of the debt I owed them, remained. Well, I was working on that and the moment I had the wherewithal I would make the journey south to see them before it was too late. Pulling myself tiredly into the Nissan, I headed for home.
By the following night Palmer’s house stood ready for occupation. The windows shone, the curtains were all rehung and not a speck of dirt remained within its four walls. I thanked Amy, who had worked zealously beside me all day, for her efforts and opened the vehicle’s back door to receive the bucket, carpet sweeper and mop.
‘Hop in,’ I said, banging them closed, ‘I’ll drop you home.’
‘Thanks.’ She sighed as she settled a fringed fake leather bag in her lap. ‘And for the money too. I’m gonna be out of work soon, aren’t I?’ Her tone was doleful. There weren’t, I guessed, many jobs to be had in the Springs.
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I’m sorry, but the business was folding anyway.’
‘What am I gonna do?’
‘I don’t know, not in the short term. If – and it’s a pretty big if, Amy, but stranger things have happened – my Station Stays at the Park pick up next year, there’ll be a job for you there. You would be just what’s needed – you’re willing, cheerful and a good worker. I can’t promise anything, except to say that should I ever need help, you’ll be the first person I call.’
‘Really?’ She beamed at me. ‘Thanks ever so much, Miss Macrae. It’s just down the end of the street there and round the corner, that’s right. There it is – the house with the red chimney bricks. Here’ll do fine. Ta, ever so. I’ll see you round.’ She hopped out, waved to me and walked away, swinging her bag jauntily. It was my turn to sigh as I turned the Nissan around to head out of town, wondering when a casual promise that might never eventuate had last put my world to rights.
I had the weekend to catch my breath and prepare, and on Monday Mark drove into town to meet what turned out to be the elderly couple arriving first. Their name was Tieval. Both their speech was flavoured with a distinct Welsh cadence. They could have passed for bookends, the only differences in their appearance arising from gender. They were of average height, lean of body, with thick shocks of white hair and weather-ravaged skin. His eyes were green, hers hazel, and they had an identical lilting habit of speech. His name was David and hers Wyn.
‘Short for Blodwyn, do you see?’ David said, ‘Only they look at me if I say Bloddy, people do, thinking it’s swearing, when it’s no more than affection I’m meaning.’
They slotted effortlessly into the household, making no demands and praising both the accommodation and the food. Over dinner they entertained me with stories of their experiences of British B&Bs during walking tours they had done there.
‘You had to carry everything,’ David said, ‘and that’s hard in a backpack. If you couldn’t nail it down, it wasn’t provided. Bog paper, bath plugs – the buggers thought you’d pinch them, do you see?’
Wyn laughed merrily. ‘And there was the one with no light bulbs in the room. Supposed to bring your own, you were.’
‘How extraordinary!’ I said. ‘Isn’t there some sort of – I don’t know, Code of Service or something for landlords? There must be a statute of minimum standards, at least, surely?’
‘Not in the wilds of Britain,’ David said solemnly. ‘Little better than savages, see – sheep and mists and bring your own it is, back there.’
‘Speaking of sheep, would you like to see the shearing shed in the morning? Joe will give you a shearing demo and show you how the shed works. Back in my grandfather’s time there’d have been a dozen men working the stands when the shearing was underway. And there’d have been roustabouts, a wool classer, a tar boy – though he’d have been a learner roustabout most likely – men to bale the wool and sharpen the cutter blades. It was all done in the shed. What do you think?’
Both were already nodding eagerly. ‘Good.’ I rose to bring in the coffee. ‘And later perhaps you’d like a tour of the run – that’s the station country. You won’t need your vehicle, Mark will drive you.’
‘Wonderful,’ Wyn said. ‘How many workmen is it you have, Orla?’
‘There’s only the four of us now. There’d have been a dozen when my father was a boy but that changed – wages went up and prices down and right now the industry’s in the middle of a recession. Everyone’s doing it tough at present.’
‘Fascinating,’ David murmured. ‘Such a big land and so many shifts in fortune. I see you’ve quite a library – would you be having a book on the history of the country at all?
‘No,’ I said doubtfully, ‘but there are the old photo albums – they go way back. We could have a look at them if you like?’
Both agreed and we spent a happy evening poring over slightly yellowed black and white pictures of sheep, shearers, horse teams and the like, which helped them better understand what they’d be seeing tomorrow. I saw them off to bed at last and went yawning to my own.
At early breakfast next morning (the PGs were se
rved their own much later), Mark put a crimp in the plans I had made.
‘Sorry, Orla,’ he said brusquely, ‘but I won’t be free today. Joe either, I’m afraid.’
Dismayed, I demanded, ‘Why not?’
‘The pump on Saltbelly’s packed it in. We’ve got to pull the rods today.’
‘Can’t it wait? I mean, what am I going to do with them all day if they can’t go out?’
‘What’s to stop you taking them around yourself? Use the Toyota and we’ll take the Land Rover.’
‘But the others – the family – are coming this afternoon. I can’t just go off and ignore them! Surely your job can wait a day?’
His voice hardened. ‘Actually it can’t. Cattle have to drink. The tank was down to the halfway mark yesterday. Just ask yourself what’s more important here? If he’s quick about it Joe can shear the damn sheep for them before we leave, but that’s it. You’ll have to scrap the tour or do it yourself, because I can’t.’
‘You won’t, you mean!’ I said furiously. ‘You’ve never believed in what I’m trying to do, have you?’
Joe rose hastily, saying, ‘I’ll get the stuff ready in the shed then.’ He pushed his chair back in and grabbed his hat just as Marty spoke.
‘I could look after the new guests until you get back, Orla. That won’t be any trouble.’
‘Yes, well, thanks,’ I said, ‘but you shouldn’t have to, Marty. It’s not your job.’
‘Yeah, well how’s it mine? I’m a station hand, not a bloody tour guide,’ Mark said roughly. ‘From where I’m standing, perishing stock count more than tourists.’ He rose, steadying himself with a hand on the chair-back. ‘Half an hour, Orla. Which is about as long as it will take me to transfer the gear over from the Toyota, then we’re gone. One thing your dad would never have done was put anything else before the welfare of his stock. You seem to have forgotten quite a lot in your absence but I’m surprised it includes that.’ He limped to the door, and banged it shut behind him.
I opened my mouth to retort then closed it again, suddenly conscious of Marty’s presence. ‘That man!’ I leapt up. ‘Right, well it seems I’ll have to drag them out of bed if I want to . . . Talk about the ten top ways to ruin a business! Employing him would have to be number one on the list! And the next five!’ I stormed out and, pausing only for several deep breaths, tapped on the Tievals’ door. Fortunately they were already up and amenable to a change in plans. Waving aside my profuse apologies, they agreed to visit the shearing shed before rather than after breakfast, and seemed similarly undismayed by the prospect of a change of tour guides.
‘Ah, you’ll be knowing more about the place, anyway,’ David said comfortably. ‘We’ll enjoy it, won’t we, Wyn?’
His wife beamed at him. ‘That we will, bach.’
I said fervently, ‘Thank you. You both deserve medals for being perfect guests. This way then.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
The afternoon passed pleasantly enough in the Tievals’ company. There was, I decided, little point in worrying about the new guests so I might as well ensure that my present company enjoyed themselves. It was a good day for it, almost windless and the first really warm one we’d had.
‘The start of summer,’ I said. ‘We don’t really do spring round the Barrier. One minute it’s cold, then it gets hot and then hotter. So just now is perfect.’ The land ran away before us, dun and ochre coloured where the soil was visible and at least forty shades of silver and olive and grey where the saltbush grew, the flat discs of its leaves stirring in the occasional breeze. The distant range was a mauve smear on the horizon, the whole encapsulated by the pale blue of the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, just the specks of whistling kites riding the thermals with outspread wings. I omitted Saltbelly bore from my route and plotted a rough circle through the paddocks, pulling up to allow time for photography and to recount the history of the various sites. Some of Grandfather Charles’ sheep-yards still existed, as well as the dam delved by Afghan cameleers. There were cattle on the bores, clumped under she-oaks and wattle, stolid as rocks in the landscape as they chewed the cud or flapped their ears at the flies. We boiled the billy for afternoon tea in beefwood shade at one of the bores, and David wandered about taking pictures. He came back carrying a sprig of leaves laden with tiny red berries.
‘What would this be now, Orla?’
‘Was it growing along the ground, sort of flat?’ He nodded and I said, ‘That’s saltbush too – it’s a big family.’ I waved at the familiar waist-high shrub behind us. ‘That’s Old Man there. This little one is called something like Ruby Prostrate.’ I picked off a segmented berry and put it in my mouth. ‘They’re edible, but quite salty.’ I had a sudden vivid image of myself as a child out riding with my father, the first time I saw the fruit. ‘Don’t eat ’em colleen, they’ll make you thirsty,’ he’d said, but I couldn’t resist the jewel-like wink of them, like tiny magic rubies. I had crouched at my mount’s feet to gather them and Bessie, wanting to go, had snorted horse-spit on my neck . . .
‘But the animals don’t just live on saltbush, do they?’ Wyn asked. ‘It’s so dry looking.’
‘No, there’re native grasses too, if you look. Which is just as well because the saltbush mustn’t be overgrazed. I believe they have to rest the paddocks to let it recover.’ She seemed about to ask so I forestalled her. ‘Sorry, I should have explained. I do know this country but I’ve not been out in the paddocks for years. I’ve been away, you see.’
‘Well, you don’t seem to have forgotten much,’ David observed with a twinkle in his clear old eyes.
‘No,’ I agreed, my gaze resting on the familiar, well-loved hues that spread from our feet to the line of the distant range. ‘You don’t forget. Now, have we all finished? Shall we get on?’
Wyn sighed. ‘Aye, we’d better. It’s Broken Hill we have to make tonight.’
‘It is so,’ David agreed. ‘But it’s been a privilege to have your company, Orla, that it has.’
‘Well, thank you.’ I was touched. Of course it was partly down to the nature of people like the Tievals but Ben, it seemed, had been right. There was something in this land that appealed to folk. We had been right to chance it, whatever Mark might think.
My guests finally left a little before five, just as the new ones drove up in a big four-wheel drive with an impressive bull-bar. The driver, a dapper-looking city type, stepped out of the vehicle and looked around before coming across to the three of us grouped near the Tievals’ dusty Suzuki.
‘Reg Culvetti and family,’ he said, ‘booked in for two nights. Who do I see about that?’
‘Me.’ I shook hands with him. ‘Orla Macrae, Mr Culvetti. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
‘You’ll have a wonderful time,’ Wyn said, turning to him, a smile on her gnomish face. ‘I wish we’d booked another night. Goodbye, Orla. And the best of Irish luck with you, my dear. A name like yours just fair demands it.’
‘It does that,’ David agreed. ‘We’ll not forget our time with you.’
I shook hands and waved them off, then turned to the new arrivals, all of whom were now out of their vehicle. The wife, Hilary, had black, tightly curled hair – tinted, at a guess – and a plump figure, dark eyes in a round face and a rather high voice. Her two sons, Darren and Matt, took after her save that Darren, the eldest, was tall and spotty-faced with a sulky demeanour, but it was probably only his age, I thought, as I shook hands with him.
‘Nice to have you here, Darren. How old are you?’
He glared at me. ‘Why? What difference does it make?’
‘Darren!’ his mother said sharply, and to me. ‘He’s fifteen. A typical loutish teenager as you can see.’
‘Um, it helps me work out what’s likely to interest you,’ I said pacifically. ‘What about you, Matt? Anything you particularly want to do?’
The young boy smiled back with uncomplicated pleasure, face alight with anticipation under the mop of dark curls. ‘I’m
five. I’m at big school now. Have you got a dog?’
‘I’m sorry, Matt, we haven’t. But there’s a cat and we keep hens. Bantams too – very cute. Right, well, I’d like to welcome you all to the Park. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here and find lots to interest you. Shall we go inside? And once you’ve settled in I’m sure you’d like a cuppa – or maybe you boys would rather have a fruit juice?’
‘I want a soft drink,’ Darren said.
‘Sorry, there’s only juice. But we have a lemon tree, so I can vouch for its freshness. It’s really very good. Just the thing for a warm day.’
His lip curled scornfully. ‘Lemonade. D’you think I’m a kid?’
‘Find your manners, boy. You’ll drink it and like it,’ his father thundered.
In a strained silence with dismay burgeoning in my heart I conducted them inside and immediately ran into trouble.
Darren took one look at the twin beds in the second bedroom and spun on me. ‘I’m not sleeping in here with that little brat. Why on earth should I? I want my own room.’
‘Darren,’ his mother began, but he shouted her down.
‘I’m not! Christ, if this is your idea of a holiday it’s not mine! Bad enough to be shut up in the car with him all day. You know what he’s like! He’ll be yelling his head off half the night, and getting into my things. I —’
‘Look,’ I intervened, ‘if you really want your own room, you can have it. I just thought, being brothers, that you would prefer to share. Bring your bag.’ Holding in my temper I marched down the hall to the blue room and, seething, yanked the door open. ‘Here, all yours, big boy. And if you don’t like lace curtains that’s tough. You can always go sleep in the shearing shed.’
He looked taken aback but slouched past me into the room without a word.
In the kitchen, venting to Marty, I clapped my palms to my cheeks in sudden remorse. ‘God, I shouldn’t have said that, but he made me so mad!’
She had a little smile on her face but nodded sympathetically. ‘Teenagers – chockablock with anger and confusion, and totally against authority – whatever form it takes. I know the feeling.’
Secrets of the Springs Page 25