Wattle Creek

by Fiona McCallum

  It took him around ten minutes to walk to the quarry, Squish panting away next to him, his little legs going a mile a minute trying to keep up. Sitting on the bank above the pond of shallow muddy water, he selected flat rocks and skimmed them one by one across the surface like he used to as a kid. Everything had been so much easier then. He looked around at the acres of farmland stretching out from him in every direction, almost four thousand in total.

  Slowly, like the rising morning sun, he realised that if he’d only been the caretaker he’d been a damn good one. At least seven miles of fencing had been replaced, both the wool and crop yields were up, and the quality of both were better than ever.

  His gaze fixed on the northern horizon where the green-grey of veldt grass interrupted the pale, golden yellow and browns of stubble and non-wetting sand. Both his grandpa and father had struggled for years to stop the drift and erosion on the barren twenty-acre rise.

  They’d tried all sorts of things, like fencing it off and planting a variety of groundcovers only to have their efforts ruined by the next big wind. Eventually they’d given in to nature and abandoned the project.

  But it had been one of Damien’s first lone triumphs. He’d built up the soil with clay and sheep shit from under the shearing shed and watered it with the boom sprayer. It had seemed to take forever, but gradually the grasses and native seeds had taken off and it was now so thick with vegetation even the sheep wouldn’t venture in.

  ‘So perhaps I have made my mark, Squish.’ He patted the smooth head and flicked another stone across the water. ‘So where to from here, eh?’ he asked aloud.

  Suddenly thunder boomed and crashed all the way around him and jagged sprays of lightning branched across the sky just above the old concrete tank not three hundred metres away. Then the downpour started, steadily in the beginning, followed by a frenzy of pelting drops fighting to get to earth first.

  Squish squealed in fright and tried to get into Damien’s lap by pushing his head under his elbow. He scooped the puppy up and sprinted back to the house. Damien’s heart pounded and the adrenalin pumped. It felt good to get rid of some energy, though Damien wasn’t sure Squish, tucked under his arm, would have agreed.

  He burst, sodden and puffing, through the back door to find his mum at the sink doing his dishes. She turned and, taking one look at him with hair and clothes plastered to him and a rodent-like creature dripping under his arm, puckered up her nose in distaste.

  ‘You’d better get those wet clothes off before you catch pneumonia or something.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll just dry Squish off first.’

  ‘I’ll do it. You get changed.’

  Damien raised his eyebrows. Squish appeared equally concerned and looked sideways at her coming towards him with the towel.

  ‘Go,’ she instructed, waving him to the bathroom. ‘Come on you,’ she said, grabbing the frightened creature.

  When Damien appeared in the dining room a slightly fluffy, damp-smelling dog and steaming cup of Milo awaited him. He considered discussing his recent revelations with her but reminded himself his mum had never been one for D&Ms. Staring into his Milo, he searched for the right words. There were some things that had to be talked about, no matter how difficult.

  ‘Mum, when I was a kid, what did I want to be when I grew up?’

  ‘You mean apart from the usual fireman, cowboy and Arctic explorer?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m serious. Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember. You always wanted to be a farmer – nothing else.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly in my blood, is it?’

  ‘Where’s all this coming from? That shrink, Jacqueline?’ his mum asked, becoming defensive. ‘Is she putting ideas into your head? I’ll have something to say to her.’

  ‘Look Mum, she’s really helping me.’

  ‘Helping you to do what?’

  ‘To see who and what I am.’

  ‘For goodness sake, you’re Damien McAllister and you’re a farmer. And a good one, too.’

  ‘Well, I wonder if I wasn’t meant to be something else. Like I’m only here because Dad died. Dad was only here because he got sick and couldn’t work in town anymore. And Grandpa, well I’m not exactly sure what his story was. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long, but now I realise I’m only a caretaker, the third in a line of accidental farmers.’

  ‘Now you’re sounding ridiculous. What else would you rather do?’

  ‘I don’t know, that’s the problem. What if I was supposed to be a welder like Grandpa or a builder like Dad? I remember I loved helping both of them out when I was a kid. Both of them were never really farmers, were they?’

  ‘I suppose not. I know you loved spending time with them, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be like either of them. Are you forgetting all the hours you spent pretending to plough and plant crops out under the pine tree? And building miniature sheep yards, putting up sticks and string everywhere.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  She laughed. ‘And you got told off that day for making furrows in the Sunday school sandpit when you were supposed to be re-enacting the Resurrection. Miss Brown was beside herself. No, you were always meant to be a farmer. Anyway, you’re settled. You can’t just go throwing things in on a whim – you’re not the only one relying on this farm.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Not after everything …’ Tina stopped herself.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  ‘What? Come on.’

  ‘Well … it’s something I should have told you a long time ago. Actually, I thought you would have known, but perhaps not.

  ‘Anyway, when your Dad was first sick and had to give up work, I wanted to sell this place. God knows we needed the money. But he wouldn’t have it, said you were born to be on the land and wanted to give you the best start he could. You probably remember some heated arguments,’ she said, eyes downcast. ‘It was always about money and this place …’

  Damien noticed her wiping her face quickly with the back of her hand.

  ‘Oh shit, is that the time?’ she screeched, leaping up. ‘I’ve got to get home and get Geoff his dinner. I’ll see you later,’ she said over her shoulder as she hurried out.

  Damien spent Thursday in a bit of a daze dealing with a few meaningless tasks while thinking about all the revelations of the day before. For once he didn’t even feel that stressed about how little he was getting done. He reckoned Jacqueline would say he needed the peace to process everything.

  He wandered through his father’s old shed out the back of the property and did a bit of an inventory of it and the piles out behind the scrub. He liked the feeling of being closer to his dad while he did it. For once it didn’t make him sad or depressed.

  After lunch, Damien astounded himself by doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Then he found himself making his way through the whole house bit by bit dusting and vacuuming. All the while Squish followed right behind Damien’s heels. The little dog was terrified of the noisy machine, but still wouldn’t leave his master’s side. Damien felt terrible about how many times he’d stepped back and caught him underfoot.

  The last room he got to was his bedroom, and he used the vacuum cleaning head to push the guns and boxes of ammunition further under the bed. He shuddered at thinking about yesterday, but shook it aside. It was behind him, and would now never creep up again. He thought he really should put all that away properly in the gun cabinet – that was the law. He’d get in heaps of shit if he got caught breaking firearm laws.

  They’d bought the cabinet and set it up in the shed right beside the house that was meant for cars but was now too full of other stuff. He’d never got around to putting the guns into it. His dad had always kept a gun or two under the bed. It’s how it was on most farms until that bastard Martin Bryant did his thing in Tasmania and gun ownership l
aws got changed forever. Bloody pain in the arse, Damien thought.

  He sighed, lay down on his stomach alongside the bed and began dragging the assorted rifles and shotguns out. It was time. There was really no reason for them to be in the house other than it was how it had always been. Well, things were changing now.

  Walking back inside, Damien felt proud to see how tidy his house was. If only his mother would turn up right now. He decided to go to the pub for a meal to celebrate. He felt like a decent feed. Wasn’t Thursday night Stew Night? He loved a good stew. He tried to tell Squish he’d be better off staying home, but the little dog wouldn’t have a bar of it. Oh well, it wasn’t like he was too much trouble. He wouldn’t be in the pub long and the dog hadn’t disgraced himself in the ute yet. Damien wasn’t sure why, but he’d rather know Squish was lonely in the ute just outside in the car park than alone back in the farmhouse.

  Damien walked into the pub to find Jacqueline standing by the bar. Louise and Cecile must be there somewhere. He took a bit of a look around, unable to believe she’d be in there alone. But the pool table was free and he couldn’t see any sign of the girls from the doctor’s surgery. The place was quite empty, which wasn’t surprising given it was a Thursday night and the weather had cooled.

  ‘Hi, Damien.’

  ‘Um … hi, Jacqueline.’

  ‘Can I get you a beer or something?’

  ‘Yeah, alright. A light, thanks.’

  The silence became a little awkward while they waited for the girl behind the bar to come over.

  ‘Hi, Tash,’ Damien said. ‘Have you met Jacqueline, the new psychologist?’ he added, thinking his mum would be pleased he’d remembered his manners.

  ‘Yes, thanks, a couple of times,’ Jacqueline said.

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Damien said, feeling a little embarrassed before telling himself not to be so damn ridiculous.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Tash asked.

  ‘Two light beers, thanks,’ Jacqueline said, handing over a twenty dollar note.

  The silence again grew awkward while they watched Tash pouring their drinks.

  ‘Here you go,’ Tash said, putting the beers on the bar before turning around and using the till behind her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jacqueline said, accepting her change from Tash. ‘Cheers,’ she said to Damien, and raised her glass.

  ‘Yeah, cheers. Thanks.’ They tapped glasses and as they did Damien’s heart flip-flopped.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘So, what brings you in on a Thursday night? Jacqueline asked.

  Damien wondered if it was a probing question from the shrink or friendly banter from the absolutely gorgeous woman standing next to him. He yearned to say something intelligent.

  ‘Came in to check out their Stew Night. Didn’t feel like cooking.’ That would have to do, he thought.

  ‘Me too. Not really worth doing a stew for one.’

  ‘Yeah, know what you mean.’ Jeez, you can cook for me anytime, Damien thought.

  ‘Can you just excuse me a sec? This beer’s going right through me.’

  Damien laughed politely. She must have already had a couple and was getting a little tipsy. This could get interesting. He watched as she hurried away to the loos, her skirt clinging to her nice curvy hips. Intelligent and beautiful, he thought. What I wouldn’t give to have her.

  ‘How about we check out their menu? I could eat a horse. Strange thing to have in summer,’ Jacqueline said, as she materialised next to him.

  Damien thought he could love a woman who had a decent appetite.

  ‘Not around here,’ he said. They both laughed.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said. Damien stood up and let her lead the way.

  They were almost at the dining room when a big scary-looking bloke with green tattoos covering his massive hairy forearms stepped in front of Jacqueline and blocked the doorway.

  ‘Excuse us,’ Damien said cheerily, and reached for Jacqueline’s hand. But she wasn’t budging and he realised she looked petrified, as though she recognised the guy.

  ‘What’s this?’ the bloke said gruffly, looking at Jacqueline and tossing his head in Damien’s direction.

  ‘A friend.’

  Damien looked from her to the bloke, trying to figure out what was going on.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it to me,’ he said, staring at Damien’s hand gripping hers. Damien instantly let go.

  ‘We are … we’re just friends. In fact, only acquaintances really.’ Damien knew he was rambling, but couldn’t help it.

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you, I was addressing my girlfriend.’

  Damien’s eyes bugged.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, Jacob,’ Jacqueline said firmly. ‘You’re really going to have to accept that.’ Damien thought she sounded tough enough, but looked scared shitless.

  ‘No. You’re coming home with me. Now!’

  ‘Look buddy, the lady obviously doesn’t want anything to do with you. I suggest you leave her alone before I call the police.’ Shit, where did that come from? Damien wondered. And as if he’d leave her alone with this bloke while he went and called Bill, the local copper. If only he hadn’t left his mobile in the ute.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’ said a gruff voice from behind Damien.

  Thank Christ. It was Bill. Damien let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Um … no. Mr Bolton was just leaving. Weren’t you, Jacob?’ Jacqueline said.

  Damien thought Bill should just lock the mean-looking bloke up.

  ‘All right, I’m going. But you haven’t seen the last of me,’ the thug growled at Jacqueline before raising his hands in surrender and leaving.

  ‘Sure everything’s okay?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Fine now, thank you,’ Jacqueline replied, nodding.

  ‘If you need me, just call the station. If I’m not there, the phone goes straight through to my mobile,’ Bill said, his concern obvious.

  ‘Thanks. Thank you very much.’

  Damien thought she sounded pretty shaky and looked a little pale. ‘Would you rather skip the stew? I could give you a ride home instead,’ he offered. He was starving, but to hell with that.

  ‘That would be nice, thanks.’ She seemed so vulnerable and while he didn’t like the idea of her being scared, he did like the idea of being the one there to protect her. He wondered if he was falling in love.

  In the ute, Jacqueline sat staring ahead holding Squish on her lap. He reckoned the dog understood something was up because he sat dead still and totally quiet. Not even a whine like he was prone to. As he drove, Damien kept one eye on the rear-vision mirror for any sign they were being followed. It was a weird feeling. Since when did anything like this happen in Wattle Creek? What was the deal with that bloke, anyway? As if she’d be interested in him.

  Back at Jacqueline’s house he carried Squish around while he made sure the windows and doors were locked, all the time trying not to seem like he was checking her place out, which of course he was.

  ‘All clear,’ he said, trying to sound cheery. She still looked pretty shaken up and he could see she’d tried to wipe away a couple of tears while he’d been gone. All Damien could think was that he would love to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something? Or do you want me to call Auntie Ethel?’ he asked.

  ‘Tea would be great, thanks. White with one. Feel free to put Squish down, he’ll be fine.’ Her smile was weak, but he could tell she appreciated his being there. He’d put Squish down in a corner, where he’d promptly curled up and gone to sleep, and was rummaging around in her kitchen looking for the sugar when she came in.

  ‘Could I ask a huge favour?’ she whispered shyly. Damien desperately wanted to go to her, but resisted.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and turned to fully face her.

  ‘I know this probably sounds ridiculous but …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you … um … give me
a hug?’ she asked, looking nervous.

  Could I ever, Damien thought.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, moving towards her. He put both arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. He realised he wasn’t all that much taller than her.

  Jacqueline held on tight and laid her head against his shoulder. He could feel her warm breath blowing gently on his neck and thought this could even be better than sex. Please don’t let me embarrass myself, he silently prayed.

  Suddenly he realised she was crying. Now what was he supposed to do? He stroked her hair and told her quietly that everything would be okay. Suddenly she pulled away and began rubbing furiously at her face.

  ‘Look at me, what an idiot,’ she cried.

  ‘Do you … um … want to talk about it?’ Now who sounded like a shrink? She was moving away and he didn’t want to let her go. Please don’t.

  ‘How about I get us something to eat? It’s the least I can do,’ she asked.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he lied.

  ‘Well I’m starving.’ She was out of reach and Damien thought she might as well have been miles away. The mood had changed, the moment lost. ‘Mum froze some leftovers, there might even be some stew in here somewhere,’ she said, rummaging in the freezer.

  ‘What can I do?’ Anything to stop himself staring at her bending over.

  ‘Here we go – lamb hotpot. I reckon there’s enough for two if we put some toast with it. Um, how about you do the drinks? I’ll just have water, but there is some beer in the fridge and a cask of wine. Or feel free to open one of the bottles of red in the box down there. Glasses are up there, to your right.’

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll just have a water too.’

  Finally the two of them were seated at the kitchen table tucking into stew and toast. Squish had wolfed down his little bit of stew in two seconds flat and gone back to sleep.

  Damien liked having the food to concentrate on because otherwise he would embarrass himself by asking her if it was true that that animal back at the pub was her boyfriend. Damien reckoned he wouldn’t want to give her up either if she was his. But wanting someone and scaring the shit out of them were two entirely different things. And she’d definitely been scared. Had Jacob been stalking her or something? He sure as hell couldn’t really see her being with a creep like that. God, he wished she’d tell him something. Anything.