CHAPTER 11
Heath stepped out of the shower, his body aching from the morning’s mustering. His damp hair would keep him cool for now, and his shirt felt luxuriously clean. He’d driven the ute over to Paramour, mainly to keep the engine turning over. He often went days without driving it, preferring to use Jet for cattle work. He chatted with Hilary about the muster and she’d sent him onto the verandah with a cold beer. She didn’t like an audience when dealing with the domestics.
Paramour’s gardens were silent except for the ticking of sprinklers and the distant kitchen clatter. Eight weeks after the party, the expanse of lawn and tidy garden beds were back to pristine perfection. The timber rails beyond gleamed a faint gold in the late afternoon sunshine.
Heath shifted in the verandah chair, his limbs pleasantly heavy. The horizon was like a kid’s drawing of a sunset, red and orange and pink. It was so wide he imagined he could see the curve of the earth. And he had a sudden rush of knowing he was where he was supposed to be, that he was part of this country.
A gravelly crunch of hooves signalled Deborah’s arrival on Saracen. He admired her upright carriage and self-assurance as she slowed the beautiful chestnut to a walk. The horse tossed his head and whinnied and Deborah leaned down to stroke his neck. Matty hurried out of the stables to greet her and Heath watched them exchange a few words as she slipped out of the saddle. With well-practised ease, they removed the saddle and bridle and brushed Saracen down.
Deborah was beautiful. They’d had a great time down at the coast the week after Christmas. He laughed quietly to himself remembering her hanging onto the water-ski towrope with one determined hand and trying to hitch up her falling bikini bottom with the other as she flew across the surface of the lagoon.
But close though they were, she was never as relaxed with him as when she was riding, or working in the stables. She and Matty stood talking, silhouetted by the pink sky. She’d been her usual understanding self after that incident at the engagement party but had been subdued ever since. It must have been embarrassing for her with Hilary making such a song and dance. Though there was nothing in it, of course. Just dancing. Nina’s smell. The look in her eyes. He drained his glass and shook his head, dislodging the sense memories that still clung there. It was only a moment of stupidity and now it was gone, thank god, he told himself. It was plain sailing now to the wedding and the serenity of married life.
He stood up and shouted a greeting to Deborah, who called back and waved, gesturing for him to join them. Striding across the yard, he made a silent vow that he was going to give her the happiness she deserved.
Nina lay on her stomach, enjoying the perfect weather. A light breeze came off the surf, keeping the heat at bay. She had forgotten what a pleasure it was to glide over the soft rolls of the swell in the cool green water beyond the breakers.
Why didn’t she do this more often? In the couple of months she had been back in Sydney, life had been a whirl of work, catch-ups, clubbing and parties. Work was particularly grinding. Helen had seemed even brisker than usual and had asked Nina little about her time away. Nina couldn’t blame her for being annoyed. After all, she had packed up and left just when the business was really taking off. Now she had landed back in the deep end, rarely leaving the office before seven at night and often taking work home with her. Zac always seemed to be running into Helen’s office with bright ideas and her other colleagues seemed to be permanently excited about some new account, some new app, some new aspect of the business. Nina yawned. She just couldn’t get enthused.
She re-tied the straps of her red gingham bikini and propped her chin on to her hands. When was the last time she’d had a chance to just sit and think like this? To relax? She closed her eyes and immediately a picture of the sun setting from the verandah at The Springs appeared. She sighed. The nightclubs, the bars, the beach, the shops, cafes and movies had rapidly lost their appeal now she was back among them. She always looked forward to going out, yet once she’d made the effort she felt bored, listless. Everything, everyone, seemed the same. Maybe I’m just not satisfied wherever I am, she thought.
A pair of muscular, tanned legs passed by. How long had it been since she’d been ready for anything? Ages. She just couldn’t be bothered. She sighed as she watched the tanned legs continue their easy lope over the sand.
The embarrassing bust-up with Theo now seemed just a blip in a series of minor blips since she’d been back. He had slipped out of her life effortlessly. She’d bundled his things into a courier bag and sent them to his mum’s place with a note saying ‘see you round’. No reply, and that suited her fine. They went to the same pubs, the same nightclubs, but there was no awkwardness.
Nina shaded her eyes as she took in the array of beautiful gym-fit Sydney bodies parading up and down the beach. They were so self-conscious and aware of the impression they were making. Heath and Ben would have laughed. ‘Bet they couldn’t dig a hole straight!’
Weird. She was seeing her familiar world with their eyes now. When had that started? She was a city girl, a beach babe even, and definitely someone who lived for the moment. Wasn’t she? The feeling that her life was coming to a crossroads had been growing stronger. She had enjoyed exploring her new country persona out at The Springs, but she had only been visiting. Yet being out there had begun to feel more true to who she really might be. All those long hours by herself, painting. The never-ending work of tidying up the house, the empty paddocks with the endless horizons. She had never spent so much time by herself. Alone, but rarely lonely. It had been like going to one of those retreats where you have no distractions except your own thoughts.
Nina rolled onto her side to look at the green surf. And then there was Moira, she thought. She missed her straightforwardness, her humour, her … her just being there.
She’d been so sad when she discovered Moira wasn’t at home when she had dropped in to say goodbye as she left Wandalla. She had scrawled a note and left it in her mailbox with the last of her cleaning cash but it wasn’t the same as saying goodbye in person. Nina sighed. Moira would know how to snap her out of this lull, or at least show how to look at it in a different way. She needed to move past this, to stop letting life just happen to her. Maybe she should try to become more enthused about work. Maybe she should write to Shona and Possum. Didn’t they say something about exhibiting Possum’s works in Sydney?
A shadow fell across her eyes.
‘Hi. Is this the best beach to go to for the surf?’ asked a tall, blond guy in a pair of faded board shorts. She guessed he was Scandinavian.
‘Best beach? Well, that depends on how far you want to go,’ stammered Nina, sitting up and feeling disoriented. ‘The best surf is further up to the northern beaches or down south. Bronte always has rips.’
‘Yeah, I nearly drowned just now. It’s very watery out there.’ He grinned.
He had a broad smile with deep laughter creases up the side of his cheeks.
Nina smiled back.
‘Can I sit here and recover myself? Is that okay with you?’
‘Well, I was about to go. I’m getting burned.’
‘Would you like to go for a coffee like everyone does here? So much drinking the coffee. No really, would you like?’
‘That’s nice of you but I won’t, thank you.’
‘Now that is a pity,’ he said, charmingly.
Nina hadn’t really meant to leave yet but she just couldn’t stay. She stood up, confused, and held out her hand.
‘Nice to meet you. I hope you find the right surf.’
‘Yes, I hope so too. Goodbye. I am sad now, but go …’
‘Sorry,’ said Nina and walked up the beach. A year ago she might have said yes. He was gorgeous.
Her daydreams about meeting someone used to involve tall, chilled cocktails and a long lazy night overlooking the harbour from some swanky bar.
But as Nina walked up the hot bitumen to her car, it was his strong blond arms driving a spade through the rich
soil of The Springs that she imagined. But then, as he smiled, his eyes became Heath’s – silvery grey against that painted sky.
Kasey Chambers’ ‘Little Bird’ was abruptly cut short and replaced with syncopated hip hop. A bunch of the kids gathered around the speakers, marking the beat with their heads and chanting the lyrics en masse. It looked to Deborah like a cult prayer meeting. They could be speaking in tongues, she thought.
The party in Moira and Roy’s backyard was well underway as she wandered down the couple of hundred metres from the garden to the banks of the broad Darling River. The yard flowed directly to the river’s edge. The night was alive with the sound of crickets and the smell of the evening dew on the dry grass.
‘Glad you made it, Debs,’ said Matty from behind, startling her.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Happy birthday, partner,’ she said, kissing his cheek.
They walked together towards the river.
‘Heath sends his best. He and Ben couldn’t miss Aunty Kathryn’s 70th.’
‘That’s okay. It’s important.’
‘I thought Mum was going to implode when I told her I wasn’t going.’ Deborah smiled. ‘You know what she’s like about them. It’s like they could heal leprosy and raise the dead.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m 30 now. That’s pretty much dead,’ said Matty with a sidelong smile. ‘Reckon they could do anything for me?’
‘Nothing needs doing, mate. You’re in the prime of your life.’ Deborah nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. ‘And this party’s going to totally go off with all these Inchboards and O’Sullivans in the house.’
They reached the water’s edge and sat to watch a few of the teenagers swinging from a rope, throwing themselves into the brown, fast-flowing water only to reappear on the bank drenched and grinning to line up for another go. The edges of the ripples they made seemed to have caught fire from the setting sun, scintillating so brightly they hurt her eyes. Shouts from the scrubby bushes indicated that the younger kids were busy with one of their hide-and-seek games.
Looking back, Deborah noticed that the fairy lights draped in the bushes had come into their own.
‘Quite a crowd. Didn’t realise you were this popular!’ she said.
Matty turned away, hiding his close-mouthed grin. ‘Any excuse for this mob,’ he said, ‘’specially when Aunty Moira and Uncle Roy are lay’n it on!’
A group of men Matty’s age were kicking a footy around, wrestling and tripping each other good-naturedly. A fire pit beyond the old outhouse and citrus trees had attracted most of the other guests, clustered in groups and chattering. Many sat straight on the ground on blankets. Others sat in picnic chairs and there was a sofa dragged out from the shed that was being bounced on by a gaggle of toddlers.
‘Blown away by your dad’s present, Debs,’ offered Matty. ‘Never had a car like it. He’ll be picking up the new F6 next week and then the Hilux’s all mine. Unbelievable!’
‘You deserve it. Ten years’ work at Paramour too.’
A cluster of rellies were setting bowls of salad, baskets of bread, plates, cutlery, napkins and sauces on tables flapping with lacy plastic cloths along the verandah. Old aunties and a few of Moira’s friends sat nearby on vinyl kitchen chairs, lost in local goings-on.
Deborah smiled. It was such a relief to be somewhere where no-one was judging her. Not a single person here cared what she wore or what riding ribbons she won or what school she’d been to. As long as you weren’t up yourself and had a bit of a sense of humour, they embraced you like family. Though she knew they’d appreciate her outfit: checked shirt with pearl buttons, top-notch jeans, Stetson hat and imported Nashville-style cowboy boots.
‘Hey, Debs. How’s it going? Youse two gunna give us a dance demo a little later?’ Matty’s brother handed him a platter of foil-covered potatoes with a smile.
‘Hi, Stu,’ answered Deborah. ‘Depends how well you behave between now and then. Where’s Linda?’
‘Up helping Aunty Moira,’ said Stuart. ‘I hear congrats are in order, Debs? Finally gettin’ hitched? ‘Bout time. I reckon you’ll be breakin’ a few hearts around here, though.’
‘In my dreams, Stu,’ laughed Deborah.
‘C’mon, Debs, these spuds’ll be cold at this rate,’ Matty said rapidly, with a scowl at his brother.
Deborah and Matty headed off up the yard.
Roy and Possum were presiding over the barbecue surrounded by a bunch of blokes offering their expert advice as to the right time to turn the sausages. They looked to Deborah to have been ready a good few minutes ago.
‘Would ya change that bloody music?’ called Roy. ‘It’s giving me the irrits. Alfie, get over there and change it, will ya?’
‘Yep, Uncle.’ The lanky young man headed for the sound gear.
‘Where do you want these spuds, Aunty Shona?’ asked Matty as Deborah held the screen door to the kitchen open. The kitchen benches were covered with birthday cake, fruit salad and homemade biscuits for later on.
‘The spuds go back out on the food table on the verandah, you dill,’ said Shona to Matty. ‘Are you blind or something, bub?’
‘Those snags ready yet?’ called Moira. ‘Got the rest of the meat warming in the oven.’
‘Reckon they’re just about cremated, Aunty,’ laughed Deborah.
Later, with the barbecue cleared, the little kids asleep on picnic rugs and the teenagers off down the riverbank, most of the adults sat in the glow of the fire. It was deliciously cool now the sun had dropped. The warmth from the fire was perfect. A couple of uncles with guitars were singing ‘Stand By Me’ in gentle country-music harmony.
Deborah felt more relaxed than she had in months. She was sitting on a garden bench, hat by her side, when Roy called for everyone’s attention. He and Moira stood straight and proud under the balloon-festooned Hills hoist.
Moira started the formalities. ‘Everyone, ah, I’d like to take just a short while, on the occasion of his 30th birthday, to say a few words about our nephew, Matthew Gerald O’Sullivan. Come on, son, join us up here …’
Reluctantly, to the whistles and cheers of his family and friends, Matty walked over to Roy and Moira. He gazed intently at the ground, the long curl of his fringe nearly covering his eyes. The back of his neck, where the hair was cut short, looked strangely vulnerable.
Moira told some hilarious and embarrassing tales of his youthful antics and then it was Roy’s turn to tell everyone how proud they were of Matty and the man he had become. How it wasn’t often that anyone made a fuss of Matty and he deserved it. He was a favourite with the kids and the adults alike. He was a hard worker and a credit to the family. He’d taken many of the younger ones under his wing, like Alfie now. He still represented Wandalla in footy and, of course, there was his dancing. On his days off, Roy reminded everyone, Matty often volunteered as a tour guide for the cultural tours and the young fellas looked up to him.
Deborah listened proudly. Any praise for Matty always made her feel good. Maybe because they’d been dance partners so long, she mused. Or maybe it was a reaction against her mother, who seemed to go out of her way to humiliate anyone Aboriginal.
The speech was followed by a spattering of applause and a slow chant of ‘Ma-ttee – Ma-ttee – Ma-ttee.’
Matty, hands pushed into the back pockets of his jeans, looked up slowly with dark, thickly-lashed eyes. ‘Thanks, Aunty Moira and Uncle Roy, for throwing this bash. And for saying all that great stuff,’ he began quietly.
‘We don’t believe a word,’ called out a pudgy young man at the back, raising a bottle of beer in a stubby holder. The crowd laughed.
‘And thanks to all of youse for coming along,’ continued Matty. ‘’Cept for you, Porker. If we’d known you were going to gatecrash we’d have got more steaks in. No, seriously,’ he added, holding up a hand to quieten the guests, ‘we all know where the heart of this town is and it’s right here in this backyard.’ A murmur of approval ran through the crowd.
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nbsp; ‘This is our mob. This is where our memories are.’ He indicated the elders still sitting next to the fire. ‘This is where many of us have found a home. Hasn’t always been plain sailing for me and Stuart and plenty of others too – even now.’ Matty nodded towards Alfie and a few other older kids at the outskirts of the crowd. They stood in a row, arms folded. Now a couple of them looked at the grass below and kicked at imaginary tussocks with their boots. ‘But they’ll do all right if they stay near this place and these people. And this place is where our future is, too.’ He smiled at his sister-in-law, Linda, who held a chubby two-year-old on her hip, his sleeping head cushioned on her breast. ‘None of us knows what’s going to happen tomorrow or who’s not going to be here next year. But we’ve got each other right now. And that’s … that’s really something.’
Deborah felt her eyes smart as the group toasted Matty and sang a raucous round of ‘Happy Birthday’. They all belonged to each other, so close they were practically intertwined. What did she have? A loving but distant father, a mother she did her best to please, and Heath. He was the only person who was really hers. But one day, they too would have a family like this. They’d be the ones grey-haired and holding hands as they proudly surveyed their sprawl of children and grandchildren. She sighed. That happy scene seemed immeasurably far away.
Later, under the fairy lights on the lawn, Deborah danced with Stuart and then the birthday boy. At the insistence of Porker, they gave a brief display of their line-dancing skills. As usual, they each seemed to know exactly where each other was in the sequence without ever needing to check. Like one creature moved by a single mind, their moves reeled fluidly out of their knees, hips and ankles. Deborah laughed with delight and forced Matty to take a bow to their little audience.
She was about to take a break and get a much-needed drink when ‘Sisters Better Show Your Moves’ came on and the volume was pumped way up. Linda and most of the other women squealed. The men on the dance patch soon disappeared as every woman present rushed on to the lawn, stopping only long enough to make others join them.
The Painted Sky Page 18