Home Truths

by Louise Forster

  ‘Morning, Jen,’ he said.

  ‘G-good morning,’ Jennifer stammered, embarrassed at the way she’d mishandled the night before and made herself feel like crap. To top it off she’d missed cuddling into Calum’s warm body, his broad shoulders protectively curling around her while his strong hands held her close; instead she lay awake all night berating herself.

  Calum took the stairs two at a time. He stopped in front of Jennifer, eyes levelled on her with a steady gaze. She saw in their hazel depths a glint of anger and disappointment, yet his face remained expressionless.

  She stopped her hand from going to her hair. You look fine, she told herself, and slid them into the pockets of her jeans, just in case she had the urge to fidget. A thought struck her. So what if she wanted to fidget with her curls? It had nothing to do with the mother thing about hair and clothes and keeping your knees together on the bus. Oh god, she groaned inside.

  ‘I’m here for Bret,’ Calum said steadily.

  ‘So soon? He’s barely had a good night’s sleep.’

  He scanned her face. ‘Have any of us?’

  It felt like a fist slammed into her chest and clutched her heart, her lungs, and her stomach, everything inside crushed in a tight, miserable ball

  His brows drew together as he scanned her face. The silence around them was intense.

  ‘I was just having coffee and toast,’ she ventured. ‘Want some?’

  ‘No thanks, not hungry. Anything else?’

  ‘I want to apologise for everything I said last night. I sounded like an ungrateful bitch; I’m truly sorry.’ It took a mammoth effort to control her emotions, but her eyes welled anyway. Hands at her sides, she stood waiting.

  ‘I did it for you,’ he said, his voice strong, unwavering. ‘This is yours.’ He handed over a small, black purse, gave one curt nod, then strode down the hall to Bob’s old room.

  Jennifer turned the purse over in her hands. It was the one he’d shoved in his jeans pocket the first time they’d kissed outside the door of her uncle’s shop.

  Calum came out of Bob’s bedroom and strode back towards her. ‘Bret’s…’ He stopped short, studied her eyes with a look she’d never seen before: dismay, determination, acceptance, all rolled into one emotion. His expression softened, then he cupped her face, and tenderly wiped her tears away. ‘I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks in this town. The people that know me, understand me. I respect them and in turn they respect me and what I stand for. I shouldn’t and I won’t justify my actions and that’s not going to change — ever. I love you, Jennifer Dove, so you better get used to it.’ He kissed her on the mouth, gave her one last meaningful look, then turned and headed down the stairs.

  She had no time to gather her thoughts. Bret came striding down the hall; when he saw her face his head snapped back, chin tucked in, and his brow furrowed. She probably looked unhinged, but there was nothing she could do about that either.

  ‘Get a grip, sis, I’ve got farm work to do. See ya.’ He patted her on the head and took off after Calum.

  Snapped out of her stupor, Jennifer lunged for Bret’s hoodie and missed. She so wanted to lay it out clear and concise, that if he trashed all over this generous opportunity, she would hunt him down and haul his arse back to finish what he started.

  Jennifer watched Bret pause at the back door; he looked up at her, smiling.

  She pointed at him from the landing and gave him a lethal glare, and growled, ‘Don’t fuck up.’

  With a slight shake, Bret dropped his head. He raised it again and, eyes glistening, he said, ‘I won’t sis…not this time.’ He turned and went out the door.

  Was she wrong — could the farm and Calum change Bret? There was nothing she could to about it now, he was gone, no longer under her control, but he was still her and Sofie’s responsibility. She rang her sister to keep her up to date as promised.

  After a few rings, Sofie’s croaky voice answered. ‘Hi, Jen, you’re up bloody early.’

  Jennifer smiled to herself. ‘I’m ringing to let you know Bret’s left with Calum. He’s off to learn farm stuff.’

  ‘This is going to be really good for Bret,’ Sofie yawned. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’ More noises came down the line. Jennifer imagined Sofie stretching like a cat. ‘You should wake me up more often. Did you apologise to Calum like I said?’

  ‘Of course. He was pissed off and disappointed, and I can’t blame him, but then he kissed me and, and…’ Jennifer lost it and began to bawl.

  ‘Good grief, Jen, pull yourself together. And he what?’

  ‘He said he loves me, and that I should get used to it.’

  ‘Oh…oh.’ Strange crinkly noises came down the line.

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘I’m fanning myself with a magazine. That’s so beautiful, Jen. You’ll have me crying next. When are you seeing him again?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Jennifer sniffed. ‘I shouldn’t intrude while Bret’s settling in. Besides, there’s so much I need to get ready for the opening.’

  ‘Good, get on with it,’ Sofie ordered.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Jennifer began, cautiously. ‘There’s a missing room, a space that we can’t get into between the en-suite and bedroom I’m staying in.’

  ‘What?’ Sofie gasped.

  ‘It’s true. Calum pointed it out. We think the way in is through that huge closet.’

  ‘God…are you worried?’

  ‘Um…nah. Uncle Bob was a sweety.’

  ‘Okay, well let me know if you find something, I’ll be up soon. When’s the big day?’

  ‘I was thinking Easter Saturday. It’ll give us time to post flyers and advertise.’

  ‘I like that idea. I’ll be on school holidays. You’ll have to think up some egg recipes. We can have kids look for eggs in the courtyard garden — I’ll tidy it up and it’ll look gorgeous,’ Sofie said, full of enthusiasm. ‘This is so exciting, Jen, I’ll go dream up some more things and see if I can dream up a man like Calum. You’re very lucky…and so is he. I’ll see you soon.’ She hung up.

  *

  Jennifer sat in the kitchen, chin resting in her hand, the other holding a pen ready to jot down anything that came to mind, but Calum’s last words ‘I love you, Jennifer Dove’ kept intruding her thoughts. She wished she’d said something, anything, even ‘Really’ would’ve been better than nothing at all. She was so in love with him, her body ached, she couldn’t eat — couldn’t sleep. She’d gone through the closet several times to take her mind off Calum and look for the hidden door. That was a mistake: it only served to remind her, how she’d thrown caution to the wind in there and how good it had felt. It was so easy to be herself in the dark, free of the childhood baggage that weighed her down. She promised herself to enjoy the rest of her life, with Calum, without that baggage.

  It had been a week since Calum had taken Bret to the farm. A week she spent working herself out…well, trying to anyway. Bruce had made a visit to teach her how to use the fire extinguishers. Then he’d helped her put together a plan using the exit signs Calum had installed. She’d been through fire drills in the London restaurant where she’d worked, but this lecture on how to carry out an exodus safely and calmly was personal. An important day spent well. Other than that, Jennifer got on with restaurant business. By Saturday morning, Jennifer had one job left to do for the restaurant opening: write a ‘Help Wanted’ notice to put in the window. She slid behind the desk in the den and opened her uncle’s laptop. It whirred into action and asked for a password. ‘Bugger,’ Jennifer cursed softly. The old chair creaked as she leant back and interlocked her fingers behind her head. Was this like an ATM — three strikes and you’re out? She tried to think of a password her uncle might use. She grabbed a pen and pad out of the top drawer and started writing down possibilities, like their birthdates and names. She could throw their initials into a hat and pull them out, one by one, that may work, but the combinations were endless.

  She
wrote down pharmacy, condoms, potions, perfume, frock, glamour.

  Marilyn.

  Veronica!

  She typed in Veronica and the screen lit up.

  ‘Of course, he’d use his girlfriend’s name.’ Her fingers hovered over the keyboard worrying, but told herself this was not snooping and she should check her uncle’s emails in case they needed answering. She should at least cancel his account and send out a message to everyone in his address book. ‘So sorry, but Bob is no longer with us…’

  She opened Microsoft Outlook and found it empty: there were no folders, nothing — very strange. Unless her uncle had cleared everything in his usual impeccable manner. No, he couldn’t have. She’d been in touch with him until the week before he died. They’d chatted via Skype. When they’d first started contacting each other that way, he’d asked would she mind if he saved the conversations on a disc. He’d explained he wanted to use them to look back and have a good laugh, much like the days when families had slide nights. And of course she hadn’t minded.

  Jennifer looked around the room: so where were all those discs? Perhaps they were on file somewhere in the computer. Jennifer did a search, but couldn’t find anything. It was as if the computer had never been used, but she knew it had. She needed help from a computer nerd if she wanted answers.

  Something didn’t feel right about this; she could almost taste it. She shut down the laptop, pushed herself out of the chair and started taking books off the shelves. Perhaps her uncle had filed the discs neatly away like a book with its own title and cover.

  The phone rang and Jennifer leaned over the desk to pick it up.

  ‘Hi Jen.’ Calum’s deep voice murmured, sexily.

  ‘Calum.’ Her breath caught in surprise and set her heart thudding.

  ‘How’re you going for time?’

  ‘I’m good, done everything I needed to — why?’

  ‘Sorry it’s short notice, but Gran’s decided to arrange a special afternoon tea,’ he said. ‘Around three. I have to get a distributor cap from Armidale, but I’ll be back in plenty of time. Would you be able to make it?’

  ‘Absolutely, yes, thank you.’

  ‘See you then. Looking forward to it.’

  And he was gone. Jennifer stared at the receiver. ‘Okay, I can do this with flare and decorum.’

  She began to pace and decided to spend her time productively and write the Help Wanted notice. After spending nearly an hour on it, she had a coherent notice but couldn’t get the printer to work. Jennifer gave up; bugger the Help Wanted sign, she’d never seen a sign in any of the fancy restaurants in London, anyway.

  *

  Every morning for the past week, Cassius the rooster had woken Bret at dawn. He thought the bird was either old or had a throat problem. His cock-a-doodle-doo sounded more like squealing car tyres. As if that wasn’t enough, Priscilla the cockatoo copied everything the rooster did, and more. Connie said the cockatoo had belonged to his Uncle Bob. Priscilla would follow anyone, squawking, ‘What a lovely frock, darling.’ And, ‘Nice arse, nice arse!’ Even if there wasn’t a frock or an arse in sight. She also mimicked the phone and doorbell.

  Priscilla was a nightmare.

  Working on the farm was epic; he woke up excited about doing it every day.

  Connie had insisted Bret have breakfast before mucking out the stalls in the barn. ‘You can’t possibly enjoy bacon and eggs after shovelling dung,’ she’d said.

  Bret grabbed a pitchfork and stuck it into the soiled hay. At that same instant, a God-awful sound echoed through the valley. It couldn’t have been the cockatoo, surely. Bret stopped and listened, but now there was total silence, which was also a little creepy. Goose bumps crept up his spine. He shivered and continued mucking out the stables, not minding the aroma of steamy horse dung and hay. Muscles straining with a full wheelbarrow, he headed for the steaming compost heap. As he came out into the sun, Connie caught his attention, her rose-flowered apron fluttering as she hurried towards him on her long, spindly legs. Her face lined with worry and her frantic waving made Bret wonder what the hell he was doing wrong, especially since Connie still had her house slippers on. Under normal circumstances, they came off before she stepped out the door.

  Another agonising bellow ripped through the air and echoed around the hills. Bret cringed. ‘What the friggin’ hell? Oops, sorry Connie, didn’t mean to swear, but that was — insane!’

  Connie’s wrinkles had deepened with concern and, scrawny arms flapping, she pointed in the general direction of the house.

  ‘That,’ she paused to catch her breath, ‘is George. He’s in terrible strife.’

  Bret nodded. ‘Yeah, and George is letting the world know.’

  ‘The poor pet needs help.’ Connie’s strong, bony fingers gripped his arm. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I’ve only seen George from a distance. I think he’s out of my league. Where’s Calum or Michelle?’

  ‘Michelle’s at school. We have to do whatever we can.’ Connie gave Bret a warm smile. ‘I’ve seen you with the animals, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Of course they love me. I have food!’

  ‘It’s more than that, dear.’ Connie blinked, bright eyes shining with innocence. ‘You do have a certain affinity.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Bret wasn’t entirely sure he could believe Connie. She was a shrewd old lady.

  ‘Really dear, I’ve lived long enough to know, you’re wonderful with the animals. Believe me.’

  Agonising bellows ripped through the air again.

  Bret stepped back and broke out in a cold sweat. He gave Connie an askance look. ‘Oh no, I’d like to help, but Calum can deal with George.’

  Connie slipped her arm through his and led him back to the house. ‘I’ve called him, he’s in Armidale getting a new distributor cap for the tractor. It’s going to take him over an hour to get back.’

  As if on cue, George let go another thunderous roar.

  ‘You don’t honestly want to listen to that poor creature in pain for the rest of the morning, do you? I would never put you, or any of my loved ones, in danger. I have no doubt at all that you can do this, Bret…’

  Loved ones? Bret’s heart swelled and, head in the clouds, he tripped over his own feet.

  Connie didn’t notice and continued, ‘…I have every faith in you.’

  Bret rallied. ‘Small animals like me, but that doesn’t sound like one of them.’ It was a mistake to glance at Connie’s smiling, hazel eyes. His resolve melted. Shit! He looked to the skies for mercy.

  ‘Stay right there,’ Connie said. She hurried into the house, returning moments later wearing gumboots and carrying a loaf of sliced wholemeal bread. ‘Follow me,’ she ordered, walking ahead of him.

  ‘What’s the bread for?’

  Connie slowed her pace so Bret could walk beside her. ‘It’s for Killer George.’

  Bret latched on to Connie’s arm. ‘Killer!’

  ‘That’s his nickname, because he’s not. You see? Or KG as Michelle calls him.’

  Bret rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Oh, I think you’re having fun at my expense.’

  ‘Not at all dear.’ Connie giggled.

  The sun glinted off a partially hidden object in her hand. ‘What else have you got there? A gun?’

  Connie stopped suddenly, almost tripping over her own feet. ‘A gun? What in heavens name would I do with a gun?’

  ‘Shoot George out of his misery? Shoot me out of mine?’

  Hand to her chest, Connie turned to face him, horrified. ‘George is like a member of the family; and you’re definitely family, we would never.’ Connie gasped. ‘This,’ she held up a heavy-duty clip on a chain, ‘is George’s lead.’

  Shit! Connie should just stop talking; Bret wanted to believe he was part of this a family that cared, but he doubted it was this easy. ‘We’re not talking dog here, Connie,’ Bret said quietly.

  ‘Oh, I know, dear. George is much sweeter. Almost sweeter than his namesake, my late hu
sband.’

  They rounded the corner of the house and, standing in the autumn sun, his warm breath fogging out of flaring nostrils, was George. He looked like a mythical beast, a hybrid from the future. Where genetic doctoring had gone either horribly wrong or magnificently right.

  ‘F-f-far out! What is that?’

  ‘Don’t be offensive, young man. He’s not a that; he’s George, he’s a Black Angus. One of the biggest in the country. We’ve had him since he was a baby.’

  ‘Connie, he’s a friggin’ giant,’ Bret squealed. ‘He’s got his tongue up his nose.’

  ‘Don’t pull that face dear, you look like you’ve eaten a lemon. Poor George.’

  Bret forced a poker-face. For her own safety, he held Connie back with his arm stretched across her chest.

  ‘Come on,’ Connie soothed. ‘He’s harmless, otherwise he would’ve tried to…um…he would’ve given us the look by now.’ She put a hand on his arm and moved it firmly out of her way.

  ‘I’ve only ever seen George in a distant paddock. What’s he doing here anyway? And tried to what, Connie? Given us what?’ Bret hissed.

  ‘Did I say that?’ Connie asked innocently.

  ‘That’s it — we’re going inside to call the RSPCA, a vet or the fire brigade. Let’s get all three — we’ll need ‘em.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ Connie said firmly. ‘We’ve got the bread and his lead.’ She pushed Bret closer.

  George sniffed the air. He pawed the ground and snorted, frustrated that he couldn’t move.

  Adrenalin rushed through Bret, and more cold sweat broke out all over his body.

  ‘Poor George.’ Connie held out a slice of bread. A long, pale blue tongue came out and gently hooked the slice out of her hand.

  Bret squatted at a safe distance and peered under the beast. He grimaced: the massive bull had managed to get its legs tangled in some fencing wire. ‘His leg looks awful — not much blood, but a couple of nasty gashes. Friggin’ hell, I can almost see the bone.’