‘What do you mean?’
‘It was laced with methamphetamines. Speed.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Tegan looked confused.
This time, nobody said anything for a minute.
‘Bloody hell,’ Robyn said. ‘That’s crazy. Why . . .’
‘I don’t know,’ Laura answered. ‘I’d like to, though.’
‘That goes without saying,’ Tegan said, looking at the others. ‘We’d like to know too, wouldn’t we?’
‘My oath.’ Robyn nodded vigorously.
Only Allie was quiet.
‘I guess my question is, did anyone see anything that was the least bit suspicious? Did you see anyone leaning over the rails, touching the ram? Ah!’ Laura’s frustration showed. ‘It sounds stupid! Of course there are going to be people touching the sheep. They want to look at the wool, at the sheep’s conformation.’
She threw her hands up, stood up and walked away before turning back to face them. ‘I’m furious that someone has done this on purpose. It’s deliberate. Someone was trying to mess up my chances of winning a ribbon. And it’s not just the ribbon. It’s the prestige, all the sales of semen, financial gain. Not to mention the reputation you get as a breeder. It all goes with that bloody ribbon!’
‘How much is Random worth?’ Allie finally asked a question. She looked shaken.
The other two turned to look at her, horrified.
‘Allie!’ Tegan reprimanded her.
Allie held up her hands. ‘No! No I didn’t mean that rudely. I’m just wondering whether that was the reason it happened. If he was worth, like, I don’t know, twenty grand and someone decided they’d be better off if he wasn’t in the competition . . .’ She broke off.
‘Yeah, he’s worth a fair bit, Allie,’ Laura answered. ‘You can never really tell until he’s sold at an auction, but I’d like to think maybe seven thousand. But doping an animal because he’s worth money doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Does if you’re trying to kill it and claim the insurance.’
Laura started at Allie’s comment, unsure how to take it. ‘Well. Yes, I guess that’s true. But . . .’ She stopped. She really didn’t know what to say. She decided honesty was best. ‘I’m not really sure what you’re getting at.’
‘I didn’t mean that’s what you were doing, Laura,’ Allie said quickly, obviously realising she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Oh shit, sorry. Foot-in-mouth. I’m just saying it can happen. Or rather it could happen.’
‘Allie, shut up.’ Robyn looked at her crossly. ‘You’re just making it worse.’
‘Definite mouth engagement before brain,’ Tegan said.
‘Sorry.’ Allie looked suitably chastised. ‘Just thinking outside the square. I didn’t . . . I’ll shut up now.’
‘I know,’ Laura said kindly. ‘We’re all upset about it. But did any of you see anything that could be classed as weird?’
What could have happened on the show day? Laura could tell they were trying hard to remember. The excitement and anticipation was still as memorable as the devastation and wreckage after Random’s accident. Slowly Tegan began to shake her head. ‘I can’t remember anything that sticks out,’ she answered.
‘There was someone who came running across to help and then Josh Hunter grabbed Boof’s halter,’ Allie offered. ‘But that’s during, not before.’
‘Tim said it could take up to twenty minutes for the drugs to work, so I guess the timeframe we’re looking at is in the lead up to haltering and getting him out of his pen,’ Laura explained. ‘We were all there. It just doesn’t make any sense.’
They fell quiet until the silence was broken by a magpie warbling and they watched as he flew down onto the pile of trees. He walked up and down the branches as if trying to work out why they were all on their side.
Allie suddenly let out a loud breath. ‘Laura,’ she said urgently. ‘You’ve got it wrong. It didn’t have to be within that twenty minutes. Think about this—if it was mixed in with the food, it would only react when he ate a bit of crumble. And I’d imagine that if he ate one tiny piece of crushed-up speed, it wouldn’t react that much, but if it built up in his system over time, say a couple of hours, that widens the timeframe a lot.’
‘Yes,’ Laura said slowly, nodding her head. ‘Yeah, and we all took off to get coffee and have a break, didn’t we?’
The girls nodded.
‘Well, then. Guess we won’t be able to remember anything odd then, will we?’ Laura was philosophical; she really didn’t want to think about it anymore. Not for the moment, anyway. ‘Righto. We’d better run a wire to make sure this fence is straight. Allie, can you grab my binoculars from the dash of the ute? I’ll teach you the proper way to site up fences, not the way Papa did.’
‘How did he do it?’ Robyn asked.
Howie’s unorthodox way of doing things was folklore on Nambina.
Laura grinned. ‘He’d use the sights of a gun to help get a straight line. Nearly gave the neighbours a heart attack one day when they realised Papa had a gun trained on them!’ She gave a wicked giggle. ‘He swore it was for sighting the fence, not aimed at the very pretty widow who happened to be hanging out the washing without any clothes on.’
Chapter 17
1937
Thomas gazed out at the barren countryside, which seemed to go on forever. It had been a long trip on bumpy dirt tracks, and there were still miles to go before they would reach Adelaide.
Mac had a cigarette rolled and ready. Now he put it in his mouth and asked Thomas to light it while he drove. After a couple of puffs, he asked: ‘Ever think about what’s going on at home?’
‘I don’t have a home.’ Thomas gave his standard reply.
‘That’s rubbish, and you and I know it.’
Thomas was silent, wishing the conversation would stop, but it never did with Mac. ‘Don’t bring it up!’ he wanted to scream. ‘Leave it alone. I don’t want to think about it. Don’t want to talk about it.’ Unconsciously, he raised his hand to his cheek and touched the spot where the last fist had fallen. As his fingers connected with his skin, he realised what he’d done and quickly dropped his hand, hoping Mac hadn’t noticed.
‘Reckon you should think about it.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mac glance over at him.
‘Maybe make contact with them. You never know what might have happened since you’ve been gone.’
‘Nothing would’ve changed,’ Thomas said tonelessly. Then without thinking, he said, ‘It would still be as dark and frightening as it was when I was there. He’d come into our room, you know. When we were asleep. He was always drunk. Make me do things, like clean up after he’d puked—half the time he never made it outside. I’d have to cook him tea at midnight. And if I didn’t do what he said, he’d lay into me. The day before you found me, I’d had it. I couldn’t stomach the violence or abuse anymore. You saw the bruises.’ He touched his cheek again.
‘I sometimes think about my little brother. He was a good kid. I’m sure our “father”’—he said the word sarcastically—‘wouldn’t have touched him. He didn’t look like my mother.’ He broke off, horrified at how much he had given away.
‘Where’s your mother?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘Who knows? Gone, anyway,’ he answered bitterly. ‘He’s all front, you know. In public he’s so different. Smiling, laughing, joking. I don’t know what to call it. And he’s on heaps of committees—he even helped organise the local show one year. He’s very different at home. Don’t know what people would think of him if they knew. He wouldn’t be the good bloke and pub larrikin then.’
Mac was silent and Thomas went back to gazing out of the window. The landscape was covered in low scrubby blue bush and prickly-looking small grey trees. It was a world away from the lush green pastures of the south-east of South Australia where Mac had picked him up. The dirt here was a purple-red, whereas the soils down south were dark grey. There was rain there too, unlike here. Even if the seas
on was good, there were only a few things that would grow on twelve-inch rainfall country. Lush green grass, like the lucerne he’d grown up with, wasn’t one of them.
‘You know,’ Mac said at length, ‘if you don’t mend a rift, it plagues you for the rest of your life. It sorta gets inside you and doesn’t let go—like a cancer. It eats away at you and as it does, the more resentful a bloke becomes. The more questions a bloke has, the angrier he gets.’
Thomas’s head whipped around. ‘It’s not a bloody rift, Mac! I was used as a punching bag. Fathers don’t do that to their kids. He betrayed me. Nothing I did brought this on me. It’s his fault, not mine. I have nothing to mend, nothing to fix.’ He folded his arms then turned his whole body away from Mac and stared moodily into the nothingness.
After a time, Mac said: ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, mate. There’s forgiveness. And then there’s peace.’ He said nothing more.
Thomas rolled over restlessly. He was camped in a little dark room at the back of Mac’s house in Adelaide. After months of sleeping rough, nothing had prepared him for the lumpy mattress and the sense of being walled in. It felt hard to breathe. It hadn’t felt like this when he was working in the sheds, no matter where he slept.
He got out of bed and opened the door slightly, hoping for a puff of breeze. There was nothing. Quietly, he slipped out of the room. The cement floor of the laundry was cold on his feet. He knew the night would cool the sweat on his body, so he opened the back door and went out into the darkness.
Thomas felt the breeze on his skin before he heard the leaves of the tree rustle. The forecast cool change had just arrived.
Above the silhouettes of pointed roofs, he could see the stain of dawn and he thought back to the night he left Nambina. For the umpteenth time he wondered whether Howard would have understood immediately what had happened. Had he cried? Felt alone?
Thomas’s recurring dream had Howard moaning in pain, clutching at his head and crying for his brother, questioning why he’d been left behind. His mother was there too—a ghostly figure, flitting from room to room, her hands to her chest and tears on her cheeks. His father? He was stalking the edges of the sunroom, a bottle in his hand. Cursing Thomas, calling him all the names he could think of. Flea was trembling in the corner. Thomas broke out in a sweat just thinking about it.
Inside the house he heard Mac moving about and putting the kettle on the wood stove. Thomas had to let it go because today was the first day he was going to get a look inside the sheep pavilion at the Agricultural Society Royal Adelaide Show.
Mac came out onto the small verandah.
‘Morning,’ Thomas said.
‘Ready for today?’
‘Bit nervous, but excited at the same time.’
Mac lit a smoke and inhaled, glancing over at him. ‘You look a bit rough there, mate.’
‘It was hot last night. Didn’t sleep well.’
‘Unseasonably hot. And let me tell you, we’ll be hot inside that shed today. It’ll make you want to rip your tie off.’
‘I’ll want to take it off before I even put it on.’
Mac smiled. ‘Gotta look the part. Be professional. Keeping up appearances is what this is all about.’
Thomas grinned and he knew he wouldn’t take it off, no matter how desperately he wanted to, because Elizabeth Ford would be there—somewhere.
Mac strode through the gates of the showgrounds, flashing his membership badge. ‘He’s with me,’ he said to the man on the entrance, holding his arm out towards Thomas and ushering him through.
It seemed to Thomas that Mac commanded respect wherever he went. He wanted to be like that.
‘Ah, now here.’ Mac pointed to a small door and hustled him towards it. They entered a dim world, and the first thing that struck Thomas was the smell of lanoline. Immediately he felt like he’d come home.
The white fleeces, all contained in wooden display boxes, seemed to go on for a good fifty yards, and there was not an empty one to be seen. The stewards moved up and down the rows, tagging the fibres.
‘Mac! It’s good to see you again.’ An older man in a bowler hat and thick moustache came towards them, his hand outstretched.
‘John Banks! I’ll be damned. You’re still here!’ Mac turned to Thomas. ‘John’s head steward. Has been for as long as I’ve been coming. He keeps threatening to retire, but it never happens. He turns up every year, just like a bad penny.’
He nodded at the man and shook his hand, his left one coming around into a double handshake. ‘John, meet Thomas Murphy.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Thomas. Have I met you before? Your face is familiar.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t, sir. I’ve never been to the show before.’
‘Well, then, my boy, you’re in for a fine day. A fine day.’ He turned towards Mac. ‘A lot of lovely fleeces in this year, Mac. The quality is definitely up and there are more entries.’
‘That is good news,’ Mac answered as he led the way over to the closest entry. He tucked his hands behind his back and leaned over, nose almost touching the wool, and looked at it intently. Thomas followed suit.
‘See here, Thomas,’ Mac said, without changing his stance. ‘I can tell straight away this is from the north of the state. Crimps are a bit further apart, micron is stronger.’
Thomas nodded and Mac quickly walked further down the rows. ‘And here,’ he said, his finger jabbing at another fleece, ‘the southern part. Can you see the difference?’
‘Yeah,’ Thomas said, understanding immediately. ‘Yeah, I can.’
Mac nodded contently. ‘Knew you’d be able to. We’ll make a classer of you yet.’
‘Where do you hail from, Thomas?’ John asked.
‘Oh, everywhere really. I work with Mac.’ Thomas deftly avoided the question.
‘Are you sure I haven’t met you? I usually remember a face.’
‘I’m certain you haven’t,’ Thomas answered.
‘Come along, then. I’ll take you through the merino pavilion. They also have increased numbers. I tell you, Mac, I’m excited about this show.’
Thomas grinned as John practically bounced on his heels in excitement. This wasn’t how he imagined stewards to be. He’d assumed they’d look down their noses at him because he wasn’t anyone. That’s how stud people usually were.
He trailed behind, taking in the sights and smells, wondering if he would see Elizabeth, but all ideas of her vanished as John pushed open another door and Thomas saw rows and rows of merino sheep.
There were people combing fleeces and washing faces. Some rams stood in single pens with buckets of water and feed in them. A smell of ammonia rose in the air and Thomas’s eyes watered.
‘It’s not open to the public today,’ John said to Thomas. ‘Judging only, both wool and animal. We start,’ he looked at his watch, ‘in about two hours, judging live. Later this evening, we’ll look at the fleeces.’
‘Righto, John,’ Mac said. ‘I’ll get organised and see you out on the judging floor.’
John nodded and walked towards another steward, who held up his hand for attention.
‘You go and sit up there, Thomas.’ Mac pointed to the chairs around the edge of the shed. ‘I’ll get changed and come back for you in a while. Don’t wander around on your own yet. Like John said, it’s not open to the public today, so you’ll need to be with me.’
Thomas did as he was told, and sat surveying the ewe hoggets in the pens in front of him. His fingers itched to open up the wool, but there was no way he would get Mac into trouble by leaving his seat.
Caught up in observing everything intently, he didn’t notice the girl who sat down beside him, until she spoke. ‘Hello there,’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘We weren’t introduced properly last time. I’m Elizabeth Ford.’
Chapter 18
2008
Laura pulled open the screen door and walked into the sunroom. She was pleased the day had finished. She could be alone.
&nbs
p; Already upset from the news about the ram, the trip to the mailbox on her way home had made her stomach churn. It had taken some moments to force herself to open the flap of the forty-four gallon drum that served as her mail drop-off point.
It had been like this since the show. Anxiety at every turn. What had Meghan meant when she said to watch the mailbox? Was she going to send her something that would irrevocably change her life? Laura had tossed and turned most nights, thinking, trying to work out how Meghan could possibly have a claim on Nambina. But no matter how many scenarios she considered, Laura kept coming up with nothing.
Zilch.
Just as, once again, there’d been nothing in the mailbox other than the normal bills and magazines.
Now, as she let herself into the house, she resolved to put those concerns behind her. She had to believe that Meghan had been bluffing and simply trying to shake her confidence at the show.
The smell of the pork roast she’d thrown into the slow cooker that morning hit her. ‘Roast for one. Just what I feel like,’ she muttered sarcastically. She wished there was someone to share a glass of wine and talk about the day with. She had so much to say. So much to debrief about.
The house had never been lonely while Howie had been alive. And years ago, she’d believed it would stay the same once she and Josh were married. She’d imagined laughter filling the kitchen as they cooked together and talked about what had happened on the farm, that they’d sip wine and sit on the verandah, watching as the sun sank below the horizon. She’d pictured them there in the mornings too, drinking coffee as the dawn broke and working out a plan for the day.
Now she knew it had all been a romantic fantasy she’d dreamt up when she was still naïve enough to believe that Josh was the man for her. As it turned out, aside from her father, Howie was the only man she could ever trust. But Howie was gone. She glanced over at the empty chair where her grandfather used to sit. The brown leather was the same as it had been that morning and every other day since his death. Worn and wrinkled. Much the same as its owner before he’d died. Catherine had suggested she shift the chair into another room, so it wasn’t a constant reminder. But Laura couldn’t do that, just as she couldn’t clean out the bedroom Howie had shared with her grandmother. And Howie’s office, which was a small room just off his bedroom, remained exactly the same as he’d left it.
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