I'll Tell You Mine

by Pip Harry

  ‘It’s a bit of a mess here,’ she says. ‘I didn’t have time this morning to clean up.’

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’ I ask. Meaning, where’s Lachy?

  She looks out to the paddocks from the window and waves a hand. ‘Working.’

  She dunks tea bags into mugs of boiling water, douses them with milk and two sugars. ‘Here. Tea.’

  I put my hands around the hot mug, feeling better before my lips have even tasted the sweet, earthy liquid.

  Maddy dunks a homemade Anzac into her tea, offering me one from a battered tin. ‘Have you told your parents where you are?’

  ‘Nup.’

  ‘You’d better. They must be worried by now.’

  I swirl a biscuit in the tea, letting it dissolve into soft lumps. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Kate. Just call them. Otherwise I will.’

  ‘Fine. You call.’

  I turn on my phone, scroll down to my parents’ number and push the phone across the table. It comes to life with a series of beeps. My heart beats rapidly waiting for the reaction on the other end.

  ‘Hi. It’s Maddy Minogue. Kate’s friend from school.’

  There’s a pause and Maddy looks at me, narrowing her eyes. I reach over and take the phone from her. It’s my mess.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ Dad says. ‘Maddy?’

  ‘It’s Kate,’ I say.

  I’m swallowed up by angry silence.

  ‘Kate. Where the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m at Maddy’s farm. Near Wagga Wagga. I’m okay.’

  ‘So you think it’s okay to disappear in the middle of the night? Christ, anything could have happened to you. I dread to think.’

  I usually don’t agree with my parents but some small voice inside me thinks: He’s right.

  ‘Are you coming back?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  I picture him. The deep wrinkles around his eyes, his hair standing up at crazy angles. I can see Mum at his side, trying to listen in, furrowing another line into her forehead.

  ‘Well, we are beyond getting in the car to come and get you. This weekend has been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Mum wants to talk to you. She’s been worried sick.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to talk to her. She’ll just yell at me.’

  ‘She’d have every right to. Look, we’ll sort this out when you get home. Put Maddy on again.’

  ‘My dad’s here,’ Maddy says into the phone. ‘Yes. It’s fine for Kate to stay. We’ll drive her back to the boarding house. Yes. Okay, I’ll tell her. Bye.’

  ‘He said to tell you, you’re allergic to hay.’

  ‘Oh yeah. I forgot.’

  Dad once dragged us down to a friend’s hobby farm for the weekend. He took Liv and me to the hayshed to climb the stacks of yellow straw piled up to the ceiling. It was fun until my throat closed up and I was rushed to the local hospital and given antihistamines. We drove back to the city first thing the next day and never had a farm holiday again.

  ‘Allergic to hay? Fat lot of good you’ll be helping me with the chores then. So, we’re having a burn-off tonight,’ Maddy says. ‘Lach started on it but he needs us to finish setting it up. Is that okay?’

  Hanging out around a fire, with Lachy, in the dark? Yes, I think, a burn-off is perfect. I swig back the last of the tea and try not to look too eager. ‘Let’s go now.’

  12

  We stand back from a wobbling heap of dry shrubs and wood, piled up over our heads. The bonfire is the size of a big 4WD. We’ve been building it all morning. My arms ache and my fingers are full of splinters. Lachy has already built a base of logs and tree roots. He left Maddy in charge of the smaller stuff – branches, old fence palings, even a broken rocking chair.

  I flop down on my bum, exhausted. ‘What’s a burn-off for anyway?’

  ‘To clear out the weeds, grass and bits of wood and rubbish before summer,’ says Maddy, sitting down next to me. ‘We almost lost the farm to bushfires last year. Dad refused to go. He kept fighting, even when we got the emergency warning. He loves this place.’

  ‘Have you seen Steve yet?’ I ask, squeezing a splinter out of my thumb.

  ‘Yep. Down the shops yesterday. All over Sara Kettle. She’s a bush pig. Ugly as.’

  I give her a hug but she shrugs it off. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asks. ‘Why do guys always ditch me after they screw me?’

  ‘Maybe you’re a dud root.’

  Maddy looks shocked, then breaks into a smile and tackles me to the ground, smudging dirt on my cheeks. ‘At least I’ve had a root,’ she shouts.

  Like kids we chase each other around the bonfire. I’m wheezing and laughing at the same time. ‘I give up! Maddy! Stop!’

  She leans her palms onto her knees, gulping air. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to have a girl around. There’s too much testosterone around the place.’

  Maddy puts on a roast chicken with veggies. She doesn’t even need to look at a recipe book. She just plonks the raw chook into a baking dish, rubbing its goose-pimpled skin with garlic, lemon, oil and herbs, and stuffing it with a mixture of breadcrumbs, butter and bacon.

  ‘How’d you learn to do that?’ I ask.

  ‘Mum taught me to cook. She said she didn’t want her boys to go hungry. Y’know. After she died.’

  ‘Here,’ I say. ‘Let me help.’

  I peel and cut pumpkin and potato into careful squares, then I set the table. We try to make it special by adding a cloth and a pair of candles. The candles are my idea. It’s all bubbling away in the oven when we hear the low rumble of a truck pull up outside followed by men’s voices.

  ‘Something smells bloody fantastic,’ booms a deep voice, boots clomping down the hall.

  Mr Minogue is gnarled like an old tree, hair going white at the temples and tufts growing out of his ears. His eyebrows are like two furry caterpillars trying to escape from his face. He reaches out dirt-caked fingers to grab a piece of fresh bread from a stack on the table. Maddy slaps him gently on the forearm as he stuffs it into his mouth, leaving a dob of butter on his cheek.

  ‘Dad! Wash hands!’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ he says, smiling and sloshing his hands in the sink. ‘So, who’s this beautiful stranger in our kitchen?’ he asks, winking at me.

  ‘This is Kate. I told you she was coming this morning, remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember, I’m not senile yet, Madeline.’ He wipes his hands on a tea towel and reaches out a damp, calloused palm. ‘Miss Katherine. Delighted to meet you. We were starting to think Maddy didn’t have any mates.’

  ‘Dad!’ Maddy says, looking indignant. ‘Maybe I’m just embarrassed to introduce them to you.’

  Lachy inches into the small kitchen, dressed in a red flannel shirt rolled up to the elbow and brown King Gees. He’s tanned from working outside, his nose peeling and red. He looks like Maddy’s dad – solid with curly black hair – but with Maddy’s light blue eyes. Chest hair escapes from the top of his shirt. I feel myself getting nervous, the way I do around Nate. I wonder if he remembers winking at me at the boarding house all those weeks ago or our scrap of conversation on Maddy’s phone.

  ‘This is Lachy,’ says Maddy. ‘My dirty, feral brother.’

  Lachy shakes my hand too. His grip is so firm my knuckles crunch together. Up close he smells like sweat and animals.

  ‘I do remember you,’ he says, looking very happy to see me for some reason. ‘That day we dropped Maddy off, with your luggage, and on the phone that time.’

  I look down and he’s still shaking my hand vigorously. ‘Sorry, too hard,’ he says, dropping my palm and looking at the floor shyly. ‘I’m used to shaking farmer’s hands.’r />
  He turns to Maddy. ‘When’s dinner?’

  Maddy checks the roast, letting a blast of garlicky steam out of the oven. ‘Ten minutes. Have a shower. You smell like a cow’s arse.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. All right.’ He sneaks a look at me. ‘Bossy, isn’t she?’

  Maddy’s dinner is so delicious it could’ve been cooked in a restaurant. Afterwards she serves up dessert – dense sticky date pudding with buttery caramel sauce.

  ‘You should be a chef when we leave school,’ I say. ‘Like those ones on telly.’

  ‘Maybe I could go to cooking school . . . in France.’

  ‘If you find a way to pay for it, luv, you can learn to cook on the Great Wall of China,’ says Mr Minogue, putting a finger in the sauce and licking it contently. ‘Just delicious. Lucky you got your cooking skills from your mother.’

  The table falls silent and Mr Minogue sighs, the smile flushing from his face. ‘Best I call it a night.’

  ‘We were going to light the burn-off tonight. You don’t want to help?’ asks Maddy.

  ‘Nah, thanks, luv. I’ll leave you kids to it, I think. You made the call to VicFire?’

  ‘Yep. I registered it this morning. No probs,’ says Lachy.

  ‘Good. Be safe. Make sure you have plenty of water handy and if the wind comes up – put it out.’

  Maddy and Lachy look on solemnly as he leaves the table, then Lachy shoots Maddy a look.

  ‘I can’t help that I cook like her,’ Maddy protests.

  ‘Bugger,’ Lachy whispers. ‘We have work to do tomorrow too. He’ll be in no fit state.’

  Maddy gets up to follow him but Lachy puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘Leave him,’ he says.

  After dinner we light the burn-off. Maddy, Lachy and I lie out on a blanket, watching as it catches – a few weak flames growing into a roaring triangle of orange-blue heat. I’m warm, full and a little drowsy. Maybe we’re too close to the fire but no one seems to want to pull back. It’s like we all want to be near enough to nearly burn, breathing in the smoke that drifts our way, no matter where we position ourselves.

  I sniff at my sleeve. My clothes, even my skin, are infused with the scent of burning wood. The stars are like a paint splatter across the black, clean sky. So different from the murky brown smog that blankets the city. Lachy is on my right side, one arm almost touching my elbow, the other behind his head. After his shower he smells like shampoo and boys’ deodorant. Having him so close is making it hard for me to concentrate.

  ‘Did you know, Kate, a star is just a massive ball of plasma?’ he asks.

  ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Actually the sun is a star too. Did you know that?’

  ‘No, she didn’t know that either, geek boy,’ says Maddy. ‘She has a life.’

  ‘I dunno much about stars,’ I admit. ‘But they make you wonder what else is out there.’

  ‘Yeah, like aliens,’ says Lachy. ‘Reckon I saw a spaceship once. Coming in from the back paddocks one night.’

  ‘Did not!’ snorts Maddy. ‘It was probably a Jetstar flight.’

  ‘Was not a Jetstar flight,’ Lachy says.

  The fire spits off a mouthful of sparks and we reluctantly pull the blanket back to a safer distance.

  ‘Fires are cool,’ I say. ‘Or hot I guess.’

  Maddy gets up, brushes herself off. ‘Nature calls,’ she says. ‘Don’t let him give you an astronomy lesson.’

  For a moment it’s awkward lying down looking at the stars with a strange boy. But we keep our heads angled at the sky and it doesn’t seem hard to find things to talk about. ‘Do you want to be a farmer?’ I ask. ‘Like your dad?’

  Lachy thinks about that, as we listen to the popping of the fire, the heat of it on our shins. ‘I want to study engineering. Got the marks for it but someone’s gotta help the old man here. Otherwise we’ll lose this place to the bank.’

  ‘Maybe you can study later?’ I say. ‘Come down to the city to live?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lachy sighs. It doesn’t seem like he really believes it. ‘Maybe one day.’ He lets his arm drop so it’s lying just above my head and I can feel what it would be like to have his arm around me. I’m desperate for a real boyfriend. Not someone I pine after like a hungry dog. I imagine rolling over and resting my head on the warm, fleshy space between his armpit and neck.

  I like Lachy. A lot. Maybe even more than Nate.

  ‘It’s been a bad year,’ he says. ‘After Mum died, Dad didn’t get out of bed for ages. Like two months. Didn’t shower. Didn’t eat. Just drank bottle after bottle of beer. Maddy cooked for days – filled the freezer to bursting with frozen meals. If it wasn’t for that he would have wasted away. I can’t cook toast and someone had to take over running this place. We couldn’t afford to put someone on.’

  ‘My parents kicked me out of home this term.’

  Suddenly my year doesn’t seem nearly so dire compared with Lachy’s. I’m almost embarrassed to mention it.

  ‘Really? I don’t see why. You’re pretty good company.’

  Lachy holds up his drink. ‘To next year,’ he says, and turns on his side. He’s so close I can almost feel his breath on my cheek.

  ‘Why do you wear that stuff on your face?’ he asks. ‘No offence . . .’

  Normally I would take offence but I don’t think he’s being mean. ‘I dunno. Just do.’

  ‘It seems like you’re trying to hide something.’

  I feel myself bristle. My secret starts to bubble away. ‘Like what?’ I say, a note of defensiveness creeping into my voice.

  ‘Dunno, Kate. But I reckon you don’t need to hide anything. You look all right to me.’

  You look all right to me. I repeat the sentence in my head a few times. Rolling it around like a smooth stone. Just as I’m wishing I could lie like this all night – me and Lachy looking up at the sky and talking – Maddy returns. She settles back down on the rug and Lachy moves his arm back around his head and shifts away from me. I’m disappointed.

  The warm smell of alcohol fills the living room. Mr Minogue is lying on the couch, head lolling on the armrest. He’s snoring deeply, one arm thrown out to the side like a sleeping child. A longneck of beer is tucked into the crook of his other arm.

  Maddy puts her palms over her face. ‘Not again,’ she says, and I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed for her or for Mr Minogue.

  Lachy takes the bottle away from his father’s arm and puts it down on the coffee table next to six other empty bottles, lined up like brown soldiers.

  Mr Minogue is out cold. He doesn’t stir.

  ‘You girls go to bed,’ says Lachy, sounding more like a grown-up big brother now than a potential love interest. ‘I’ll sort this out.’

  Lachy shakes Mr Minogue’s shoulders. His shirt button has popped open, and his fleshy stomach hangs out. He lets out a beery groan and rolls over onto his side, pulling a cushion over his eyes, then he sits up with effort, eyes bleary and blinking. ‘I’m okay,’ he says, trying to make the words sound clear and rounded. ‘I juss had a couple of beers.’

  ‘You’re off your face,’ murmurs Maddy.

  Mr Minogue grabs the bottle of beer on the coffee table. There’s still a swallow left in the bottom and he swigs it back.

  ‘Off to bed now,’ Lachy says, wrestling the bottle from him. He puts one arm around his father and pulls him to his feet. ‘I thought we said no more than one or two bottles a night, Dad.’

  Mr Minogue dips his head into his chest. Guilty. ‘I’m sorry, Lach, won’t happen again. I just miss her. I miss my wife.’

  ‘I know, Dad. I miss her too,’ says Lachy gently.

  Maddy and I watch as Mr Minogue sways on his feet like the floor is a rocking boat.

  ‘Madeline, I said I’ll handle i
t,’ says Lachy, more forcefully this time. ‘Take Kate to bed now.’

  ‘Sorry about Dad,’ Maddy says as we lie in the dark, listening to Lachy put Mr Minogue to bed – heavy footsteps stumbling down the hall.

  ‘That’s okay. I’ve seen my dad drunk before. He likes to play his guitar really loudly and pretend he’s a rock star or something.’

  Maddy laughs thinly and I can tell it’s not the same thing. ‘Can I ask you something?’ she says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you fancy Lachy?’ she whispers.

  ‘No way,’ I say a little too forcefully. I wonder if she can tell that since I saw him walk into her kitchen, every nerve and cell in my body has been lit up, just like that bonfire.

  ‘I reckon he fancies you,’ she said. ‘He’s gone all polite and weird.’

  ‘Has he?’ I say, playing dumb.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry if he’s hanging around too much.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I say quickly. ‘He’s pretty cool.’

  After that she falls asleep, nearly mid-sentence, starting up her usual rattling snore. I lie awake for ages thinking: Lachy and Kate. Kate and Lachy. What would his lips feel like on mine? When can we be alone again?

  13

  Maddy’s bed is empty and there’s a note on the side table: Feeding the animals. Back for brekky. Mx

  I’ve slept well for once. My hair smells woody and there’s dirt edged under my fingernails. I pull on a jumper and drift out into the kitchen, the lino floor is cold on my bare feet. I put the kettle on and pour myself a strong, sweet coffee, looking out the window. Fog cloaks the overgrown garden, the sun struggling to make an appearance. I feel like the last person alive on earth. Even Bone’s dog bed is empty. I yawn and stretch.

  It’s too quiet in the house. All I can hear is the creak of the walls moving in the wind, the faraway moo of cows and a couple of birds. I decide to make myself useful to pass the time. Pancakes. That’s what Lachy would want to eat after hard farm work. What’s in pancakes? Flour, sugar, an egg and milk. I mix it up in a big bowl, cover it with cling wrap and wait for them to get back.