Wattle Creek

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Um, okay, I guess.’

  At that moment the back screen door slapped against the wall of the house and there were heavy footsteps on the laundry tiles, then on the wooden kitchen floor.

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry.’

  Jacqueline turned towards the unfamiliar voice.

  ‘Tina, hello. Long time no see,’ Ethel said brightly.

  Oh shit, Jacqueline thought.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the woman demanded, staring at Jacqueline. Her reddened complexion suggested embarrassment or anger, but the frowning, almost frightened expression and nervous wringing of her hands told Jacqueline otherwise.

  ‘Tina, this is Jacqueline Havelock …’

  ‘I know who and what she is,’ Tina said.

  ‘… the new psychologist in town. We were out and about and I wanted to pop in on Damien – it’s been so long,’ Ethel rambled, ignoring Tina. ‘We’ve just arrived, actually,’ she added.

  ‘Yes, just arrived,’ Damien repeated, parrot-like.

  Jacqueline looked quickly from Damien to his mother, and realised things had just got a whole lot more complicated. But at the same time she felt another trickle of comprehension in relation to Damien’s problems. Not that it meant helping him would be any easier. Especially given she wasn’t even going to be helping him anymore, she reminded herself.

  ‘Come and sit down. I’ll get you a cuppa,’ Ethel said, cutting in quickly to ease the tense silence.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Tina said, standing her ground. ‘So, Damien, shouldn’t you be out moving the rest of the field bins before they get too wet?’

  ‘Just having a late lunch. Had some other stuff to do first,’ Damien said.

  ‘Like what? Obviously not housework,’ Tina pushed.

  Jacqueline felt decidedly embarrassed to be caught in what had the makings of a major domestic confrontation. But she was thankful when Damien didn’t take the bait and remained silent.

  Ethel suddenly leapt up exclaiming, ‘Oh, look at the time! Jacqueline, we’d really better be getting you back.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jacqueline agreed, relieved at being given an out. Nothing was going to be achieved here today.

  ‘I thought you’d just arrived?’ Tina said.

  ‘Yes, well, you know how it is – patients to see,’ Ethel said as she pointed at Jacqueline.

  ‘Mm, all those troubled souls,’ Tina said.

  ‘See you then,’ Ethel and Jacqueline said together as they hurried out.

  ‘Wow, that was interesting,’ Jacqueline said, when they were in the car and the house had disappeared from view.

  ‘Controlling, uptight, like I told you,’ Ethel said knowingly.

  ‘No wonder he’s so screwed up,’ Jacqueline said. Suddenly realising she’d spoken aloud she added, ‘I didn’t say that. Nothing leaves this car,’ she warned Ethel.

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ Ethel said, pretending to lock her lips with a key then throw it away.

  ‘Thank God you were there, Ethel,’ Jacqueline breathed.

  ‘I didn’t realise she was that bad,’ Ethel said in agreement. ‘I rarely see her these days, and only really to say hi across the street. Perhaps she was just having a bad day.’

  First thing Tuesday morning Jacqueline was notified of the council’s approval of her plan to repaint the new ‘Psychology Clinic’. She was excited to be finally given the go-ahead to get rid of the beige on the walls and replace it with the lovely shade of periwinkle blue she and Ethel had chosen. And Doris at the hardware store was proud to tell her that she’d managed to twist her boss’s arm enough to get him to donate the paint and any other required materials, within reason of course, to the ‘community’.

  ‘And what’s more,’ Doris gushed, almost exploding in her desire to be the messenger of good news, ‘I’ve also managed to get Reg Elliot, formerly a professional painter, now all-round good bloke, to donate his time to do the job.’

  Jacqueline was relieved. She’d never done any house painting in her life and the last thing she wanted was her patients sitting in her room staring at ragged edges and paint-stained carpet; two scenarios that were almost guaranteed.

  And the news got even better. Doris was happy to tee everything up for her since Reg would be buying it all from the hardware store anyway. The following Monday afternoon was chosen because of its tendency to be quiet due to the regular ladies’ bowls competition.

  The purplish blue would look fine against the cream colour of skirting boards and door and window frames, but it was a pity they couldn’t do anything about the brown carpet. And she hated vertical drapes, but at least their colour wouldn’t clash. Oh well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at least it would look a bit fresher and cleaner.

  Back in her office, after ordering the paint, Jacqueline stretched in her chair. Yes, she thought, everything is pretty damn good right now.

  Just as she was forcing herself to return to the mundane normalcy of her workday there was a solid three-beat knock on her door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, and pushed her files to one side. Her heart sank and she groaned inwardly when Doctor Squire pushed the door open and entered. She forced the dread back and smiled. ‘Hello, John,’ she said, trying to sound bright and friendly.

  ‘I would appreciate being called Doctor if you don’t mind.’ His tone was icy.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jacqueline said, feeling well and truly put in her place. ‘Please, have a seat,’ she added, indicating a chair on the other side of the desk.

  ‘No thank you, this won’t take long.’ The voice was gruff and Jacqueline realised her gut feeling had been spot-on – she was about to get another lecture. What had she done this time? Jacqueline stood up. She’d learnt early in her degree the psychological advantage a standing person had over someone seated.

  ‘So, what can I do for you, Doctor?’ she asked, again attempting to sound cheery.

  ‘This is not a social call …’

  Never thought it would be, Jacqueline thought.

  ‘Something of concern has come to my notice.’

  Right, get on with it.

  ‘I’ve just had a very angry Mrs Tina Anderson on the phone telling me about your antics yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Antics?’ Jacqueline said.

  ‘She says you were harassing her son.’

  ‘I did nothing of the sort.’ Jacqueline wanted to scream but kept her temper checked. ‘Ethel Bennett and I were out for a drive and she wanted to stop in and see Damien McAllister. Apparently they’re related,’ she explained.

  ‘We were having a cup of tea when Mrs Anderson arrived. She seemed a little tense when she came in, but I didn’t get the impression it was our doing. And she certainly wasn’t outwardly rude or angry.’ Jacqueline hated to lie, but she told herself what she’d said wasn’t that far from the truth. She crossed her fingers behind her back for extra luck.

  Doctor Squire was thoughtful for a few moments, staring at the carpet. Then, as if thinking aloud he said, ‘So, you were out for a drive in the countryside – on a Monday afternoon I might add.’ He looked up at her with raised eyebrows and Jacqueline felt she was expected to answer.

  ‘Well, because of the bowls, Monday afternoons seem to be very quiet so far,’ she said, offering a nonchalant, blank stare.

  ‘And,’ Doctor Squire continued, ‘Ethel Bennett suggested you drop in to the McAllister place. Just like that?’

  ‘Yes. She said since we were in the area we may as well.’

  ‘But he is a patient of yours, is he not?’

  ‘Well, he’s been in twice but I think he’s stopped his appointments.’

  ‘Oh right. Did he give any reason?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘To be honest, I’m finding your story hard to swallow.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s up to you. But it’s what happened,’ Jacqueline said boldly.

  ‘I suppose Mrs Anderson can be somewhat over-reactive at times,’ he mumbled, considering. ‘I promised her I�
�d look into the matter and I have. But I’ll remind you again, Miss Havelock, of your probationary status,’ he added as he turned to leave.

  ‘Doctor, before you go …’

  ‘Yes?’ he asked, sounding surprised, pausing with his hand on the door handle.

  ‘I saw some portable partitions in the storeroom the other day and was wondering if I could use them to screen my patients from the view of the waiting room and vice versa. I wonder if perhaps people might be uncomfortable seeing a psychologist if the whole town can see them coming and going. Given the nature of small towns, that is,’ she added, hoping to strengthen her case. At this stage she had no idea how she was being received; Doctor Squire’s expression remained stern.

  ‘Yes, I think you make a good point,’ he finally said. ‘Well done.’ He offered a hint of a smile. ‘Use whatever you can find in there.’

  Jacqueline was dumbfounded. Given the reason for his intrusion into her office, she’d known it was a long shot. But it had paid off. Yes, well done, she congratulated herself, silently mimicking Doctor Squire’s voice.

  ‘Thank you,’ she called as he closed the door quietly behind him.

  Sitting back down in her chair Jacqueline felt slightly deflated. She’d steeled herself for a battle and she’d won far too easily. Suddenly she wondered if he didn’t have an ulterior motive, like palming her off quickly so he could get to the phone to confirm her story with Ethel. Well, she’d damn well get in first.

  Ethel agreed she didn’t think Tina had seemed that upset, but said Jacqueline had done the right thing to defuse the situation with Doctor Squire. She suggested he probably wasn’t all that worried, was merely following orders, and that he and Tina Anderson had never really seen eye to eye since Dean’s diagnosis.

  Chapter Eleven

  Damien was fuming over his mother’s interference with Jacqueline and Auntie Ethel’s visit. They were his guests. She’d given up the right to rule the comings and goings in this house when she moved in with the dickhead shearer.

  He was surprised at how well Jacqueline had taken his decision to not continue seeing her. Not that it was really his decision. He thought she’d seemed to understand. God he felt bad about not cancelling his appointment. He’d totally meant to; he’d just got busy and forgotten. Fancy her and Auntie Ethel driving all the way out to check on him. Did she do that for all her patients? It was great to see Auntie Ethel – he should see more of her, she really was a good old stick. Jesus, trust Mum to turn up right when she did. How fucking embarrassing. He’d expected her to totally go off at him after Auntie Ethel and Jacqueline had left, but instead he got the silent treatment, the I-told-you-so glare. He wasn’t sure what was worse.

  Why hadn’t he been stronger, and insisted they stay? If he was honest, he was pretty stunned himself that Jacqueline was there. It was a real shame about that patient and doctor rule. Though was that out the window now?

  Damien didn’t want to admit her visit was just out of professional concern. But he reckoned that was better than nothing. He wished he’d been more grateful and welcoming. He hated how he always thought of the right things to say once it was too late. He couldn’t understand what his mum had against Jacqueline. She reckoned Jacqueline was only interested in seeing where he lived so she could use it against him. Where did that come from, anyway? Talk about paranoid. Damien thought he wasn’t the only one who was screwed in the head. And so what if he hadn’t done the fucking dishes? He was the only one who had to live with it.

  Tuesday brought a hefty hot northerly and Damien was finally able to get back to rolling the rest of his stubble. Walking back to the house, feeling pretty stuffed from driving around and around all day, and with a mouth as dry as a chip, he really hoped his mum wasn’t waiting for him. The last thing he wanted was another lecture.

  There were no cars in the driveway, but the phone was blinking, indicating there was a message for him on the answering machine. Probably Mum. He’d listen later, after showering and cooling down.

  With beer in hand he was about to press the play button when the phone rang.

  ‘Jesus Christ, you scared the bloody shit out of me,’ he screeched at it, wiping the spilt beer from his no longer clean jeans.

  He was sufficiently recovered by the third ring to speak to Johnno Campbell, the Apex secretary, who told him they were organising a special joint meeting with the Ag Bureau so the new psychologist, Ms Jacqueline Havelock, could be introduced and give a talk. Men only, so that’d be good.

  The meeting was on Thursday night and could he count on Damien to attend? Mm, Thursday should be okay, Damien thought, and agreed. He was pleased Johnno’s tone didn’t suggest he thought Damien had already met Jacqueline. But there was no way all those locals in the waiting room would have kept their mouths shut, so perhaps Johnno was pretending to be nonchalant, just so he wouldn’t be put off turning up.

  What was he thinking? As if people had nothing better to do than worry if he’d met the new shrink. And anyway, everyone would have seen him talking to her in the pub the other Friday night.

  Have a listen to yourself. You’ve lost the plot.

  Johnno could talk the leg off a chair. He was still going on about what they had to organise and whom he’d contacted so far. Damien only caught the odd word and couldn’t wait to get rid of him so he could finish his beer in peace.

  ‘No worries, Johnno, count me in. I’ll be there at six,’ he cut in. A bit rude, but you had to be like that with Johnno. He hung up without waiting for a reply because there was always the threat Johnno would get talking about his beloved cows and how they had individual personalities, and then he’d be stuck listening all bloody night.

  Oh well, that’ll break the monotony of the week, Damien thought. It was pretty sad that almost anything could beat another night at home in front of the box eating baked beans. He wondered how many blokes would turn up. He knew most of them would be there just to check out the new chick and heaps, like his mum, wouldn’t want to be seen to need any sort of professional help. Shit! That’s what they’d think of him – needing professional help.

  When Damien finally made it to the golf club, the large, open room was a sea of black plastic chairs. He thought the organisers were a bit optimistic. But then, what would he know? Johnno told him there was nothing more to do, the place was all set up. He was obviously pissed off at Damien for being late and was looking like he was expecting an explanation. Damien was not about to oblige.

  What would Johnno know about having shit machinery you spent half your time tying up with bits of wire to keep it going? Damien thought. Rich prick that he is. Anyway, everything got done okay without him, so Johnno could just bloody well lighten up.

  Damien found a spare seat in a middle row near the window between ‘Doubtful’, the fuel delivery bloke, and ‘Handy Andy’, the mechanic who’s not. He was about as useful as tits on a bull and charged like a wounded one. He nodded to them and said ‘g’day’, and they mumbled back. Hardly anyone was talking to anyone, like they were all pretending they weren’t there.

  Suddenly Johnno boomed into the mike, calling for people to take their seats and give him, ‘A bit of shoosh.’ Dave Jenson, Apex president, and Donald Stening, town mayor, joined him on the stage constructed of square carpeted blocks, and Donald announced, ‘A round of applause for the new psychologist, Ms Jacqueline Havelock, thanks.’ From the number of wolf-whistles, it was obvious to Damien that those who had come to check her out were satisfied.

  And he was too. Man, she’s looking nice. He thought those wanting a bit of cleavage would have been disappointed, but she still looked pretty hot in her knee-length black skirt and a top he reckoned was the exact colour of three-week-old wheat seedlings. He’d thought her eyes were a brown hazel colour but this time they looked brighter, almost emerald. But she was, like, five metres away so he must have been making it up.

  Jacqueline thanked everyone for coming and a few sniggers followed. Damien was embarrassed to be se
ated among the sickos. Finally the murmurs and whispers died down and the audience fell silent. As Jacqueline talked Damien looked around and noticed some blokes sitting concentrating hard, some frowning like they weren’t getting it, and a heap who looked like they were about to drool onto their crumpled shirts. He wanted to yell at them to have a bit of respect, but didn’t want to make a complete idiot of himself.

  Jacqueline was saying that making a list was a good idea when there were a lot of things to be done, which she assumed was the case in farming. Damien knew what she meant. He had way too much to do – by rights he shouldn’t even be here. But what was the point of writing them down in a list? Wouldn’t you be better off just getting on with it? And what’s more, a list of everything that needed doing? Yeah right, he silently snorted.

  Then sort them into columns of daily, weekly, monthly and long-term goals? Hell, some of the smaller shit he had to do could be done by the time he’d finished that. She was making his head spin.

  Prioritising? What was the point of prioritising when everything had to be done yesterday or last week? He thought another pair of hands would be a damn sight more helpful.

  Well, he got the bit about priorities changing, but constantly updating the lists? Jacqueline obviously didn’t get how much work was involved with primary production.

  Larger print for more important things? Damien could just see the whole back wall of his shed covered in scribbled lists of stuff to do, with just the odd line crossed out here and there when he finally managed to get something done. Make that the side wall as well, if he had to break tasks down to their smallest bit.

  What was it about women and housework? It was like the whole bloody world was having a dig. Fine you can break it down and write ‘dust’, ‘vacuum’, ‘do dishes’, ‘clean bathroom’ and so on instead of ‘clean house’, but Damien didn’t give a rat’s arse about housework so none of it was going on his list. She was damn right in working out what way works best is up to the individual.

  ‘Man, she’s amazing,’ Doubtful breathed.

  Damien thought she must have just finished with a joke because the whole room was sniggering, but he was still stuck on the bit about lists.