‘Yes,’ said Janet, her voice a little steely. ‘But to get down to business, my son’s the reason I’m calling. I haven’t heard from him in a while and I can’t get him on the mobile. His wife said he’d left Sydney but she doesn’t know where he is either. He said something about going west and I thought he may have headed your way.’
‘Yes, he’s been here, what – four months?’ This was not what she was expecting. This woman sounded pretty much on the ball.
‘Good. He has a habit of doing the … unexpected. Though what could have possessed him to go out there, I don’t know. I haven’t been to The Springs since I left in 1960.’
‘Of course – you grew up here,’ said Nina. ‘That must have been a great experience. It’s a beautiful place.’
‘And all yours now.’ Janet gave a short laugh. ‘How ironic.’
‘Ironic?’ Nina was taken aback.
‘I did so much work on the place when I was a young woman. I put in that bore, built the new kitchen and bathroom with my own hands, introduced the drought-resistant cattle. But in those days, it was the sons that mattered. Women on the land didn’t count for much. Not like now, it seems. Anyway, is Lachlan there? I’d really like a word with him.’
‘No problem,’ said Nina. This woman clearly had issues. And demented? She certainly didn’t come across that way. ‘Let me just go and check.’ She put the receiver down and walked to her office where Lachlan’s neatly-folded clothes sat on the camp bed. Empty. She yelled out the back door towards the shearers’ quarters, ‘Lachlan? Phone!’
A pair of startled cockatoos loitering near the pomegranate tree took off, a flash of white against the cobalt sky.
Nina saw that his car was gone and headed back to the phone. ‘Sorry, Janet, seems he’s out. Do you want to leave a message?’ She waited for a response.
‘How has he been?’ Janet’s voice was hesitant.
‘He’s doing really well. He seems to love it,’ said Nina. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Not really,’ replied Janet. ‘Is he working in town?’
‘Well, he’s actually working here – temporarily. I run an artists’ retreat and we’re flat out. He’s been a great help.’
‘Oh, that sounds good,’ Janet seemed relieved. ‘An artists’ retreat. That’s something new for the old place.’
‘And you, Janet – you live up near Innisfail. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must come and visit too,’ said Nina. ‘The more Larkins the better.’
‘Unlikely.’ That short laugh again. ‘Anyway, tell him I called, please. I need to know he’s alright.’
‘I’ll tell him as soon as he gets in.’
They said their goodbyes and Nina wandered back to the kitchen deep in thought. Lachlan hadn’t inherited his charm from his mother, that was for sure. There was a lot of bitterness there. But she had seemed as sharp as a tack. And why hadn’t Lachlan told anyone he was at The Springs?
Nina put on a cassette labelled ‘Lazy and Hazy Afternoons’ and a warbled version of ‘I Heard It through the Grapevine’ stuttered out. Maybe one too many plays. She threw it in the bin just as the door opened.
Lachlan.
‘Hi, looks like you two have been busy,’ he said as he bent down and rubbed Syd behind the ears. ‘Just been down at the Commercial. Great counter lunch. What’re you making?’
‘Rogan josh,’ said Nina, attacking another onion. She glanced sideways at him. ‘Hey, your mother rang. We had a nice chat. She seemed very – with it.’
‘Mum rang here?’ said Lachlan. He seemed rattled but recovered quickly. ‘Ah, must have caught her on a good day. I’ll call her back.’
Nina waited.
‘I’ll do it now,’ he said, heading for the hall.
‘Great, and when you finish would you mind giving me a hand with these onions?’ said Nina, her eyes watering.
‘Of course.’
They looked at each other for a few seconds before Lachlan headed down the hall.
‘I’ll take the red ones, yes, those,’ said Nina, pointing at the earrings in the glass counter. ‘And those black spotty ones too.’
‘You got a nice couple of frocks to match?’ asked the woman behind the counter of the Wandalla general store who Nina had recognised as one of the minor Campbells.
‘Yes,’ Nina replied. ‘Well, one dress – not a couple. I like to mix up my earrings a bit.’
The woman looked puzzled.
‘You know, wear a different colour in each ear sometimes.’
The woman pursed her lips. ‘That’s … different.’
‘Ha! Don’t worry, Despene,’ came an unmistakeable voice. ‘My daughter and I have different taste in just about everything, but I can assure you she will make your earrings shine.’
Nina turned to see Hilary, dressed in white linen with a coral scarf, her arms laden with packages. ‘Oh, hello.’ She moved to kiss her mother on the cheek but Hilary stepped forward as she did so, causing them to bump noses. They stood looking at each other.
‘For the Show?’ asked Despene, who seemed friendly again now that Hilary was on the scene.
‘The earrings?’ said Nina. ‘Yes. I guess so.’
The woman smiled at them. ‘Got any entries then, you two?’ she asked, wrapping the trinkets in wads of tissue paper.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Nina, her turn to be puzzled.
Hilary laughed. ‘I think she’s asking if we have any entries in the baking, craft, flower-arranging or vegie-growing competitions – aren’t you, Despene? I can guarantee you there’s one thing that we do have in common – a total lack of interest in the kitchen.’
Nina smiled, tempted to point out that she could, in fact, cook quite well. But somehow she thought it would kill the moment. How little the two of them really knew each other.
‘So, Heath not game to show his face in town, eh?’ came a gruff voice from behind a greeting-card stand.
Porker Farrell. Nina would recognise that gut protruding into the Sympathy cards anywhere.
‘What do you mean?’ she snapped.
‘That cattle business,’ replied Porker, who seemed oddly emboldened by Hilary’s presence. ‘Says one thing, does the other for a few bob. McNallys got you both out of the shit by the sounds of it. Woulda killed the pasture – all that stock. Not surprised he’s always in the big smoke. No wonder they kicked him off the cattle judgin’. Sounds like you need to have a word with him before his greenie ideas send your mum broke along with everyone else.’
‘That’s quite enough, Mr Farrell,’ said Hilary. Her voice was quiet but firm.
‘No, Hilary, I can take care of this,’ said Nina, her temper rising as she addressed the man directly. ‘Get your facts straight before you go sprouting crap around town. Heath was totally in the dark about the cattle – that was a simple mistake by my manager and –’
‘Manager?’ asked Hilary.
‘And the responsibility rests with me,’ continued Nina. ‘So don’t go spreading it around that this was Heath’s fault. It’s just gossip and it’s wrong and it’s put out by people who have an agenda …’
‘Sheesh. Don’t get your knickers in a knot,’ said Porker, who was now starting to wilt under Hilary’s glare. ‘Just thought I’d call it how I saw it.’ He turned to Despene. ‘Just a packet of smokes – the usual, thanks, Desp,’ he muttered.
‘Sure,’ replied Despene. ‘So just that and the Metamucil?’
Porker nodded and paid as Nina bristled beside him. She watched him scuttle out the door.
Hilary smiled. ‘You know, you shouldn’t let him get to you like that.’
Nina nodded. ‘I know I …’ She was suddenly aware of Hilary’s armfuls of parcels. ‘Gosh, here, give some of those to me. Can I … um … help you to your car – or something?’ The minute the words – which sounded far too much like an invitation – escaped her lips, Nina regretted them. She had no time to be buying earrings, dealing with Porker o
r trying to make awkward conversation with her mother. She would already lose a day’s painting tomorrow because of the Show. And soon she had to meet Possum to judge the art competition. There were the accounts she had lumbered Lachlan with. And she had to get to the bank.
Hilary took a deep breath. ‘Well, I was thinking of getting a coffee at the Astoria. Game?’
There was no way out. ‘Sure,’ said Nina.
‘So, who’s this manager of yours?’ asked Hilary, sipping her lukewarm instant coffee with distaste.
Every time Hilary came to the Astoria she felt a shot of nostalgia at the battered metal milkshake containers, the fly-specked mirror behind the bar and the timber booths scratched with names. But these great milk-bar memories always disintegrated as soon as the coffee arrived.
‘Lachlan, of course,’ Nina replied.
‘Of course,’ said Hilary.
‘And he didn’t mean to stuff up. He’s been brilliant – it’s just he got carried away with the numbers.’
‘So it seems,’ Hilary replied as she stirred her coffee again in the vain hope that it might taste better. She looked at Nina directly. ‘Hard as it might be to hear it, Porker did have a point.’
Nina groaned.
‘No, listen,’ said Hilary. ‘You can’t very well preach to people about water allocation and using land wisely on the one hand and then let anything happen on your watch,’ she said, folding her arms.
‘Heath does know that, Hilary,’ said Nina, her voice cold. ‘Anyway, it was on my watch. I messed up. Lachlan has been great with all the office stuff and the ordering and everything else, but I should have realised he’s not used to cattle and paddock ratios and all that bizzo. End of story.’
Hilary sipped her coffee and added another teaspoon of sugar before replying. ‘What do you mean by office stuff?’
‘He’s just been helping me out around the place. You know, with the banking, the accounts, paying the bills. I’ve even managed to offload the grocery ordering onto him, thank god. I need to spend time painting.’
There was a silence.
‘Nina. What did we just say about letting things slide on your watch? What if Lachlan makes another mistake?’
‘He won’t,’ said Nina, downing her cup with a grimace.
‘I just mean that you have to be careful in business. Trust me, I know. You have to cross every “t”, dot every “i”.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Nina. ‘Look, I have to get to the bank before I head home.’ She stood and kissed her mother on the cheek.
‘Bank? I didn’t think anyone ventured into one nowadays.’
‘True,’ Nina replied. ‘But I’m hoping Trent Campbell can help me sort out a mix-up with my credit card. Don’t want to sit on hold for five hours and then talk to a machine.’
‘What sort of problem?’
Nina chuckled as she headed to the door. ‘Got an annoying stray purchase on my statement. Somehow, my card was used to buy a $600 man’s shirt. Seen Heath’s wardrobe lately? Now that is hilarious. Bye now.’
Nina blew Hilary a kiss as she closed the door behind her.
‘Anything else?’ the girl behind the counter called.
But Hilary didn’t answer. She was too busy stirring her coffee.
CHAPTER 21
The tinny loudspeakers blared out a brass band version of ‘I Still Call Australia Home’ as the Western Wonders Formation Riding Team put its ponies through their paces. Bearing coloured pennants on long poles, the riders wove an intricate pattern across the main arena of Wandalla Showground. Beyond them, the Ferris wheel and the Octopus, loaded with screaming passengers, wheeled against the blue afternoon sky.
Nina had dressed up in a sea-green circular skirt with ’50s-style petticoats and a bolero jacket. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a tawny scarf, she felt more herself than she had in a long while.
‘Do they ever have collisions?’ she asked, pointing to the riders.
‘We’ve seen a few stacks over the years, haven’t we, Heath?’ said Ben.
‘Yeah, a few riders got dings in them. Had to send them to the panel-beaters,’ replied Heath, deadpan.
‘Budge over, you lot.’ It was Moira’s daughter, Sheree, carrying a toddler and an armload of showbags. ‘What’s the deal with this Minister bloke, anyway?’ She plopped down next to Nina.
‘He’s going to say something about the taskforce Heath’s been on,’ Nina replied.
‘Oh yeah?’ Sheree pulled out a handkerchief, spat on it and began to wipe the remains of toffee apple from the face of the child on her lap. ‘You mob have gotta go over and see Mum at the bush-tucker tent,’ she said, grinning. ‘We’re raking it in.’
‘How’s Izzy doing?’ asked Ben. Nina shot him a look.
‘Going like a champ,’ said Sheree.
As the horses exited the ring, Nina saw that a group of journalists and camera operators had gathered around the flat-bed truck that served as a stage. A huddle of dignitaries climbed up the steps and stood around the microphone with Wandalla Mayor, Francine Mathers, who was sporting yet another fascinator.
‘Hey, Heath! It’s your big moment – you greenie wanker,’ called someone from the stand behind them.
There were a few laughs.
‘Yeah, why don’t ya go eat kale with your city mates while the rest of us go broke,’ added someone else.
Nina glared at them. She turned to Heath. ‘Don’t listen to those rednecks.’ But he was staring straight ahead, the ghost of a smile on his face.
Nina moved closer to him and linked her arm through his. ‘Do you think he’ll mention you?’ she asked.
‘Probably not. He’s top of the food chain and I’m just krill,’ Heath answered.
‘… so it gives me great pleasure to welcome the Minister of Agriculture, the Honourable Neil Bland MLC.’ Francine stood aside.
Wearing his ‘country bloke’ outfit of open-necked, check shirt and Akubra hat, Mr Bland stepped up to the microphone. ‘Councillor Mathers, City Council members, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘This Government has always stood shoulder to shoulder with primary producers in our great state of New South Wales. We’ve backed you through good times and bad and in return you’ve remained the backbone of our economy. But we have to face realities together. If we keep treating our natural resources the way we have in the past, there will be no farming out here in 20 years. We’ll be killing off our children’s future if we don’t do something about it.’
There were some scattered boos from the stands. The Minister held up a hand.
‘No-one said change was going to be easy. But this Government believes in providing solutions, not more problems. Over the past few months, we’ve been privileged to work with one of Wandalla’s finest, Heath Blackett. It’s his blueprint for soil and water conservation that lies at the heart of the initiative I am announcing today.’
Nina clung to Heath’s arm.
‘We have selected eight properties from the region to take part in a pilot program based on his ideas,’ he continued. ‘In all, this Government will invest six million dollars in the area over the next three years, with the goal of making those properties into international showcases for holistic farming practice.’
The audience broke into applause as Nina, bursting with pride, embraced Heath and kissed him. It wasn’t often you saw him blush, but he did now.
Sheree leapt to her feet and rounded on the hecklers behind them. ‘Six million bucks and none of you dinosaurs are getting a cent!’ she yelled. ‘Up your nose with a rubber hose!’
‘Steady on,’ the loudest heckler whined.
Ben high-fived Heath. ‘Awesome poker faces – both of us.’
‘What an immense shot in the arm for our local economy. This will make all the difference …’ Francine’s voice came over the din.
Then Peg Myers was edging along the row of seats. ‘You little beauty!’ she shouted, planting a big kiss on Heath. ‘I knew you could do it. Sorry,’ she said, turn
ing to face Nina. ‘I just had to.’
‘Help yourself,’ laughed Nina.
‘Your mum’s gonna be spitting chips!’ added Peg.
‘Do I look like I care?’ Nina replied.
‘I’d better get over and talk to Bland before he leaves,’ said Heath. ‘Come on, Peg – I want to talk to him about your place. And you, Ben. You’ve worked hard for this too.’
‘No way. I’ve managed to avoid him so far. He’s all yours,’ Ben insisted.
‘Yes, you go, Heath,’ urged Nina. ‘We’ll catch up with you at Moira’s tucker tent.’
She watched Heath make his way through the crowd, hands reaching out to pat his back as he went. She felt a pang of sorrow at having ever doubted him. He was the most principled man she’d ever known, and the most determined. And she was very, very lucky.
‘Shut up all of youse!’ bellowed Sheree to the stands. ‘It’s Miss Showgirl.’
Sure enough, four young women had made their way onto the stage. Dressed in skin-tight jeans, boots and hats, they spread out behind Francine Mathers.
‘In a moment, I will ask the Minister to sash Miss Wandalla Showgirl 2017,’ announced the Mayor. ‘But now I’d like to ask the finalists to introduce themselves.
‘First we have Tracey Campbell, oldest daughter of our very own Wandalla bank manager, Trent Campbell. Can you tell us a bit about yourself?’
‘Thank you, Your Worship, I mean, Madam Mayor. I enjoy riding and …’
‘She enjoys nights out at the old reservoir with whatever young bloke’s taken her fancy this week,’ said Sheree. ‘Geez, if only her dad knew what that one gets up to.’
Ben almost choked on the water he had just swallowed.
‘And I also like –’ continued Tracey.
‘Thank you, Tracey. Next, we have Renee Campbell, also a daughter of Trent. What are your hobbies, Renee?’
‘Vomiting,’ said Sheree in a loud whisper.
Nina smothered a laugh.
‘Everyone knows,’ Sheree added to Ben and Nina, ‘if there’s a queue for the dunny at the club, you can bet it’s her in there getting rid of her steak dinner.’
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