She was surprised her dad hadn’t seen to the breaks, but perhaps he’d slowed down since his first heart attack. Luke’s departure wouldn’t have helped. And I certainly wasn’t offering to lend a hand, she thought guiltily. At least she could make up for that now.
As she drew closer to the Mitchells’ homestead, her stomach started jumping again. She’d always been nervous around Gabe’s mother, Leila, but in the past she’d at least had Gabe on her side. Now she felt as if she was entering enemy territory.
No one answered, however, when she knocked at the front door, even though it hung wide open, giving her a view down the long hallway to the old-fashioned kitchen at the back. She was standing on the verandah, wondering what to do next, when a voice called.
‘Hoy! Bella!’
Old Roy, the retired ringer who’d stayed on in a small cottage as the Mitchells’ gardener and handyman, hobbled across the front yard on stiff, bandy legs.
‘Long time, no see.’ His grin was broad as he held out a gnarled brown hand. ‘Welcome back.’ They shook hands. ‘S’pose you’ve come for the dogs.’
‘Yes. But it seems there’s no one home.’
‘Leila and the girls are away at Noosa, escaping the heat. Lucky beggars.’
Lapping up the good life while Gabe does the hard yards here alone, Bella added silently.
Gabe’s mother had always been different from other outback mums. Delicate was the polite adjective, although Bella had heard others.
When she was little, there’d been a stretch of years when Leila Mitchell had actually gone away to live in the city, leaving Gabe and his father to manage on their own.
Bella had heard her mum muttering with other women over cups of tea, their voices a blend of concern and suspicion. As a child, she’d never understood. Later she still hadn’t been sure if Gabe’s mother had had an affair with a city man or if she’d been ill. Gabe had been tight-lipped about it.
Now Roy shrugged. ‘Gabe’s around here somewhere.’
‘I don’t really need to see him,’ Bella intervened quickly. ‘I spoke to him yesterday and I told him I’d be over.’
She wasn’t sure if she was incredibly relieved or deeply disappointed by Gabe’s absence. ‘Anyway, how are you, Roy?’
‘Not bad.’ He grinned again. ‘You know how it is. Getting stiffer. Lost a few teeth. Still offering advice and bullshit to anyone who’ll listen. But they’re bloody few and far between.’ His expression sobered suddenly. ‘How’s your old man?’
‘Making slow but steady progress. Fingers crossed, he’ll be fine.’
‘Poor bugger. Let’s hope he’s a cat. Nine lives and all that.’ Roy squinted back over his shoulder. ‘The dogs are over at the stables. I’ll take you there, if you like. Old Gus’ll be pleased to see you. He’s been pining.’
Gus was her father’s blue heeler. ‘Gus won’t be happy till Dad’s home again,’ Bella said, but then she was distracted by the sight of a gorgeous kelpie puppy bouncing over the grass towards them.
‘Roy, what a darling!’ In a heartbeat, Bella was squatting to greet the eager pup, rubbing his ears. ‘Aren’t you a beautiful boy?’ He truly was the cutest thing with a rich brown coat and ginger points above his huge, bright blue eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beauty. What’s his name?’
Roy scowled. ‘That’s a sore point.’
‘Why? What’s he called?’
With a hefty sigh, Roy stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and rolled his eyes, dramatically, skywards. ‘George bloody Clooney.’
Bella stared at him in laughing disbelief. ‘George Clooney?’
The puppy leapt to attention, tail wagging madly.
‘See?’ scowled Roy. ‘He won’t bloody answer to anything else.’
‘How hilarious. How did that happen?’
‘Sarah and Ellie fell in love with him. He’s supposed to be a working dog, but the way they’re carrying on they’ll spoil him useless.’
Bella smiled. It was very easy to imagine how smitten Gabe’s younger sisters must have been.
‘At first young Ellie wanted to call him Justin Bieber,’ said Roy.
‘Justin Bieber doesn’t have blue eyes.’
‘Doesn’t he?’ Roy shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Neither does George Clooney, for that matter.’
‘Well, the girls were sure the pup needed a celebrity name, and for some flamin’ reason, George Clooney stuck.’ He grunted his disgust. ‘Now it’s the only bloody name the mutt will answer to. If we try to shorten it to George or call him anything sensible, he plays deaf.’
Bella couldn’t help laughing. The pup was truly beautiful and somehow George Clooney seemed ridiculously right for him. ‘Ooh, you gorgeous fellow.’ She rubbed her nose against the dampness of his. ‘I can tell you now, you had me at woof.’
It was only as the puppy bounced away again that she noticed a second pair of boots had arrived to stand beside her in the dust. Startled, she looked up to see Gabe.
From this angle he was all denim jeans and belt buckle, but she didn’t miss the emotion in his eyes – a fleeting flash of pain laced by a flare of heat.
The impression was gone in a blink, but Bella felt its impact deep inside and she was swamped by unexpected confusion. She was blushing as she stood and the laughter that had been bubbling evaporated. ‘Hello, Gabe.’
‘Good morning.’ His face was once more a careful mask.
Roy was watching them both with wide-eyed curiosity. Bella supposed that even an elderly outback bachelor could sense the sudden crackle and tension in the air.
Despite the scorching heat she felt a chill.
‘As you can see I’ve had the privilege of meeting George Clooney.’ She dredged up a jaunty smile and to her relief Gabe almost smiled in return.
‘He’s quite a show-off,’ he said.
‘So I guess he suits his name.’
‘I guess. But it’s going to be crazy when we’re out mustering, calling to George Clooney.’
Bella laughed. ‘Heel, George Clooney. Get behind, George Clooney.’
This time Gabe smiled properly, and for a moment, his eyes were lit from within. The skin at their corners crinkled and Bella caught a glimpse, at last, of her old friend.
Out of the blue she found herself remembering another Cute Animal Moment from years and years ago, a happy flashback to their childhood, when her father had brought her over to Redman Downs.
While her dad and Gabe’s father had discussed cattle business, Gabe had taken her round the back of the homestead, to a corner of the back verandah and a box lined with straw. Even though she was a girl and years younger than Gabe, he’d always treated her with way more respect than Luke ever had.
Inside the straw-lined box a pale spiny bundle had curled, asleep.
‘What is it?’ Bella had whispered.
‘An albino echidna,’ Gabe told her, wide-eyed.
‘Wow!’ When Bella looked again, she could recognise its quills and its pointy little face, but the colours were all wrong. Pink and white, instead of brown and black.
‘I’m feeding him termites,’ Gabe told her. ‘Dad said we could keep him here for a bit and I can take him for Show and Tell at school.’
‘That’s so cool.’
Bella hadn’t yet started school, but Gabe was a weekly boarder at the tiny primary school in Gidgee Springs. In another year he would head off for fulltime boarding school in Townsville.
Back then Bella used to think he was practically a grown-up. But when he’d shared the echidna with her, he’d simply been a happy kid.
Now he was looking almost as happy as he had that day.
It felt good.
Too good surely? Their more recent past was still an ugly, ugly mess.
‘Roy was about to take me over to our dogs,’ she said, wondering if Gabe would offer to come instead.
Gabe didn’t offer. Already his face had morphed back into the serious mask as if his happy s
mile had been a regrettable mistake. He simply nodded to her and took two steps back, clearly in a hurry to head off, to go about his business.
‘Thanks for looking after the dogs,’ Bella said.
‘Roy did the honours. They’ve been well behaved.’
With that Gabe more or less dismissed them, and it was Roy who walked with her to the barn-like room attached to the stables where the four Mullinjim dogs, all blue heelers, were housed.
Of course, when Roy opened the door, the cattle dogs barked madly, but it was Gus, the house dog and her father’s old mate, who trotted straight up to Bella. In many ways, the dog was an extension of her dad. The two of them were always together.
Gus sniffed at Bella’s boots then lifted his face, his hazel eyes searching the doorway for a sign of his master. Then he looked at her with pleading eyes as he gave a soft whine.
‘I’m sorry, Gus.’ Her throat was tight as she gently stroked the soft fur between his ears. ‘Dad’s not here, mate. It might be a while before you see him.’
She glanced back to Roy, caught the soft sympathy in his eyes, and looked away again quickly, before she started to blub.
9.
Gabe pulled on leather gloves and hefted a roll of barbed wire from the back of the ute, then collected star pickets and a post driver, pulled his hat low against the already hot sun and set to work.
Most times he used fencing contractors, but this job was a small repair job of a few hundred metres. Even so, it would take him all day on his own.
He should have asked Roy to help him, instead of making that awkward hasty exit and leaving the old ringer with Bella.
Then again, if Roy had been here, he’d probably be jawing on about Bella’s return and that was one conversation Gabe was happy to miss. Not that his own thoughts were much better.
His head was filled with images of Bella striding across the paddock last evening and playing with that damn pup this morning. Everything about her looks, her movements, her smile was as familiar and as much a part of Gabe as his own two hands. Yet now . . . she was a stranger.
There was a distance and wariness in her eyes that the impetuous young Bella had never shown.
An unbridgeable gap?
Or a challenge?
Liz stood in the middle of Mullinjim’s lounge room eyeing the baby grand that had held pride of place in the homestead for as long as she could remember.
It was amazing that after all this time the room still looked much the same. Virginia had introduced only the smallest of decorating changes via cushions and pot plants and paintings. The old-fashioned, Victorian-era furniture still graced the room, along with faded oriental carpets and uncurtained, deep, breeze-catching casement windows.
It was here that Liz’s mother, having first checked that her daughter’s hands were super-clean, had invited her to sit on an embroidered stool at the piano. Here Liz had touched the magical keys for the very first time, had played her first note, her first little song. And it was here she’d gradually been seduced by the mystery and power of music, falling under its spell as she discovered the heart-lifting exhilaration and the surprising solace it could bring.
So long ago . . .
Now Liz looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers, and she counted how many days it had been since she’d last played. Only four. But very soon, she would probably begin to feel twitchy. It always happened when she took a break.
She supposed that some people would think she’d developed an unhealthy dependence on her piano, but she wasn’t about to give it up. She wondered what her chances were that this instrument would still be in tune. Virginia didn’t play and Peter rarely touched the keys, although their mother had taught him, too, and he had a good ear. She’d gained the impression from chance comments he’d made over the years that he’d been conscientious about keeping their mother’s precious piano in good repair.
Unable to resist, Liz crossed the room, brushed her fingertips over the shiny black lacquer, remembering the many hours she’d sat here practising. She’d been lucky. Her mother was an excellent teacher, able to help her to achieve a very high standard, even before she left for boarding school.
Tentatively she lifted the lid. The keys were a little yellowed, but at least they were clean and dust-free. She tested a few notes and was pleasantly surprised. She played chords, major and minor and then an arpeggio or two.
The elderly piano wasn’t too out of tune, after all. Liz supposed this was one advantage of a prolonged drought. Piano strings hated humidity.
But I shouldn’t start playing now.
There was plenty of housework waiting to be done and outside there were hens to be fed and eggs to collect, a dying garden to be watered.
Maybe just one piece – a little Chopin nocturne to properly test the old girl while I have the place to myself.
Liz sat, placed her hands on the keys and the lush notes rippled forth, billowing until the music filled the sunlit room and satisfied a needy little corner of her soul.
The familiar, beautiful piece was short, but when it was finished she sat there, stirred by surprisingly happy memories of her love affair with the piano . . . all the years of practice . . . here, and at school, and at the Conservatorium . . . then London . . .
She remembered the growing determination that had built into a burning, fierce ambition . . .
She’d sacrificed everything to feed that ambition. It had taken ferocious will for a girl from an isolated outback cattle property to make it to the concert stages of Europe. But by God it had been worth it.
It had most definitely been worth it.
Liz had loved the fame and adulation, loved the house in Chelsea she’d been able to buy, loved her friendships with brilliant musicians.
If she’d stayed here in Australia she’d probably have married, sidelining her career and burying herself beneath a fair-to-middling husband and children. No doubt, she would have ended up teaching or doing something equally unsatisfying. It could, quite easily, have been a disaster.
She’d decided long ago she wasn’t cut out for that life.
She’d been right, hadn’t she?
When a painful memory speared her contented mood, Liz jumped on it quickly as she always did. She’d been doing so well since she’d arrived here. She didn’t want to succumb to angst from her past.
The phone rang in the kitchen and she hurried to answer it, grateful for the distraction.
‘Hello? Liz Fairburn speaking.’
‘Liz, it’s Zoe.’
‘Zoe, darling, how are you? Bella and I were planning to ring you today. Sorry, we should have rung last night, but we were stonkered. Still adjusting to time zones. We wanted to thank you for that delicious dinner you left for us. It was wonderful. Thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘Bella’s not here at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll want to call you, too. You’ll have to come over some time and bring that handsome new husband of yours.’
‘Thanks, Liz. Mac and I would love to see you.’
‘I should warn you, though – our cooking’s nowhere near your standard.’
‘Well, I can’t play the piano.’ Zoe’s voice bubbled with laughter.
‘You sound very happy, dear.’
‘I am, Liz. Happier than I could ever believe.’
Liz suppressed a wry smile.
‘By the way,’ Zoe said. ‘Mac asked me to let you know he’s seen to the firebreaks along your boundary and ours.’
‘Oh, that’s very good of him. Please pass on our thanks. I’ll tell Bella when she gets back. She’s focusing on firebreaks first off as well. We’re praying for rain, of course.’
‘I don’t like our chances. There’s no sign of a wet season yet in the forecasts.’
They chatted a little more about Peter’s health and about Zoe’s parents, who were old friends of Liz’s, and eventually, they said goodbye. Liz hung up and went outside to let the chooks out and found herself marvelling
again at Zoe’s unmistakable happiness.
She’d known Zoe’s mother, Claire, since their days at the Con and she’d seen young Zoe often during her visits to Brisbane over the years. She’d watched the girl grow from a bright toddler into a bubbly teenager and then into a lovely, determined young woman. Zoe had always been lively and fun.
But there was definitely something extra now. Without even seeing her, Liz could hear it in her voice.
True love?
Liz had long ago given up any belief in lasting romantic love. It was a phenomenon she’d certainly never experienced, beyond her music.
Her lovers had been charming, even passionate men, but conveniently temporary. It was the way she wanted her life. Her sense of real happiness, of self-worth, came not from lovers but from the concert stage and the affection and admiration she drew from her audiences.
Now, however, she only had to hear the warm certainty in Zoe’s voice and the tiniest sting of envy entered her heart. She shrugged it aside. She’d known from the start that coming home was dangerous. Her perspective was bound to be warped by an overdose of nostalgia.
10.
Bella glared at the obstinate old grader, wiped her sweaty face on her shirtsleeve and glared at it again.
Her day had not started well. The machinery shed was already stinking hot, even though she’d thrown all the doors open, and now the damn grader wouldn’t start. She pressed the starter button again and listened without much hope while the motor strained, trying . . . trying . . . to kick over.
To her surprise, it gave a loud phut this time – the sound that usually preceded a diesel motor chugging to life – but then the bloody thing sputtered and stopped again.
Heap of shit.
The grader was an old thing her dad had bought second-hand from the council to use on roads and firebreaks, but Bella didn’t have a clue how to fix it. If it had a petrol motor, she could have checked the spark plugs, at least, but a diesel motor didn’t have spark plugs. She’d hit a brick wall.
Thoroughly annoyed, she stabbed the starter one more time. Stabbed it hard, angrily. And – what the hell – stabbed it again.
It gave a sick click and . . . died.
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