Heart of Gold

by Fiona Palmer

A while ago, there had been a bad year where she’d rebelled against her father’s deteriorating health and their family life. She used to get blind drunk and have wheelie-bin races down the main street, leaving burnt rubber around town. She hooked up with some bad blokes, took drugs and had no respect for herself. At her lowest point, CJ had got into a fight with another girl over nothing. She’d lost control, hitting the poor girl when she was already down. She cringed as she remembered seeing the girl’s face a few days later, black and blue like she had a giant mulberry for a head. CJ couldn’t believe she’d caused that, and had thrown up in the rose garden outside the RSL hall after the girl had crossed the street to avoid her. Tom had trained her too well. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done by any means, and it had opened her eyes to her father’s plight. No way in hell was she going to turn out like him. She’d made her choice to stay away from parties, and especially from too much grog, and to grow up. Since then, she’d become the adult, the leader of the house. There was no one else.

  Today was her day with Burt Kelly. The day she felt special, wanted and free. Burt lived ten minutes out of town on his farm, Rosevale. But it only felt like a minute away as CJ’s mind kept wandering to the night before – and to Lindsay. She couldn’t wait to tell Irene what had happened with Marty, not to mention the kindness from Lindsay. So many emotions were floating around in her head that she almost forgot to turn off into Burt’s driveway. She skidded the ute sideways and narrowly made it through the cattle grid, hoping Sam was hanging on. She drove past the rickety Rosevale sign flapping in the breeze. As legend would have it, Burt’s dad had named this part of the farm after his wife, Rose, back when Burt was just a wee tacker. His family had been in the area for years and had some good land. A lot of farmers talked about it being a waste of good soil, seeing as Burt was the only one left and he preferred to run it alone, with only Joe to help. It had been running down slowly over the years. CJ tried to lend a hand when she could; Burt didn’t like anyone else to help.

  She pulled up outside the rambling old homestead. It was built with rocks and bricks, and surrounded by a faded red bull-nosed veranda. Wild, self-sustaining plants and shrubs spilled over the pathway and onto the veranda in their search for shade. Burt didn’t have time for gardening, or didn’t want to find time. But you could tell that it had once been a garden to be proud of. After a good rain, the roses would flower and the shrubs and lawn would come alive again, giving you a hint of what it could be with a bit of love.

  CJ struggled up the path with her arms full of plastic shopping bags. A big bobtail lizard scurried in front of her, frantically trying to get to the protection of a twiggy lavender bush. Sam’s black and white coat brushed by her leg as he went to sniff the bobtail out.

  ‘You leave him alone, Sam. Why don’t ya go and see if you can find Burt or old Scabby?’ Burt’s dog, Scab, had got his name when he’d fallen out of the ute as a pup and taken some skin off his nose. It had festered into a big scab for ages. The poor dog was all Burt had left now – other than CJ, of course.

  CJ pulled the flywire door open with her little finger. Behind it stood a large wooden door with a stained-glass window at the top depicting a couple of magpies in a gum tree. Linda, Burt’s late wife, had made it herself. Once inside CJ deposited the groceries on the dining table.

  ‘Ya home, Burt?’ CJ had a quick look out the back towards the two silver sheds but couldn’t see his ute. She spotted Sam sniffing around the machinery, re-marking all the spots Scabby had been. Burt must be out feeding sheep, she thought. Oh well. It will give her time to clean the place up without him nagging her.

  She filled up the kettle, then switched it on before clearing away the shopping. The whole time CJ could feel Linda’s eyes upon her, watching from her photo frame.

  ‘Morning, Linda,’ CJ said to the woman with long, dark hair and a strong, oval face.

  CJ had never met Linda, but knew a lot about her from what she’d heard over the years. Linda had been a vet who came out to fix one of Burt’s prized rams many moons ago. Burt had been a single farmer most of his life and was lucky the day she walked onto his farm. Linda was a tough-looking sort who could handle herself in a male-dominated area. It’s why she’d been the perfect match for Burt.

  Sam started barking out the back and CJ heard a ute approach. It had to be Burt; no one else ever came here. Opening up one of the cupboards next to the sink, she pulled out a deep roasting tray.

  ‘G’day, love.’ Burt’s crackled voice echoed through the passageway before the slam of the door.

  CJ plonked the large chunk of beef into the tray.

  ‘Jesus. Now that’s what I call a roast!’ said Burt.

  ‘Beauty, hey?’

  Burt leaned against the doorway, his common stance when he watched her cooking. His bulky, hard frame and dark, deep-set eyes would cause any child to baulk. But deep down he was the sweetheart CJ knew him to be. His skin was dark from the sun and deeply wrinkled. All that was left of his hair was some soft, grey fly-aways around the lower half of his head – hence the permanent fixture of his blue floppy hat, which was nearly as old as Burt himself. Other people thought him a crazy old hermit, the kind who would run outside with a shotgun if they saw you on their land. Well, Burt definitely liked to give that impression. But CJ loved him to bits.

  She walked over and kissed him on his cheek. The faint smell of fresh tobacco lingered on his skin. ‘Come and sit. I’ve put the kettle on.’

  While CJ made their cuppas she filled Burt in on her father’s escapades, careful not to mention Lindsay. She didn’t want to get him too excited. Burt was always telling her to find a partner, as the best days of his life were when he had Linda. She knew he didn’t want to see her lonely for the rest of her life.

  As she handed Burt his tea, his eyes searched the shopping bag for the biscuits. Smiling, she pulled them out.

  ‘Don’t eat them all at once.’

  Burt began to tell CJ about the things he’d been doing on the farm. ‘Joe’s started his holidays, so it’s just me and Scabs for a while.’

  Joe Hines was about her father’s age and worked for Burt. Joe was quiet and just plodded along doing his jobs without too much interference from Burt. Everyone knew that Joe was the main reason the farm was still workable. He lived alone in an old caravan in one of the empty sheds down the back.

  ‘Well, don’t forget to call me for help. I don’t want you busting your balls.’

  Burt gave her a wink. ‘As a matter of fact, how would you like to hang around and help me drench the sheep?’

  ‘No sweat, Burt. I think Sam would love the run.’

  ‘Hey, guess what? I finally got a fella renting out the old house. He seems all right, said he could even help me out here and there.’

  ‘Not that you’d ever ask for any help!’ CJ frowned. ‘I hope you’re charging him a hundred bucks in rent.’ She watched Burt’s head drop a little. ‘Burt! Please tell me you’re not charging fifty bucks? I told you last time it’s not enough.’

  Burt’s head came up and his shoulders straightened. ‘No, I’m charging him eighty.’

  ‘Oh well. That’s okay, I suppose, especially if he can help out. You will have to charge more eventually – that house is worth it. Plus, after the state the last shitty couple left it in, I think it’s time to charge a bond as well.’

  ‘Gee, you’re a hard woman.’

  ‘I’m just looking after your interests. You’re the stubborn one who won’t lease out some of your land. That way you could live a bit better and not have to work so goddamn hard.’ CJ pierced holes into the beef and poked in some fresh garlic.

  Burt got up, put away his cup, and then lit the old, wide oven. ‘Yeah, and I’ve told you before that no one is getting on my land until I’m in me grave.’

  CJ gave Burt a hug. ‘I hope that’s not for a bloody long time,’ she said, looking up into his wise brown eyes.

  It took her back to the moment they had connected, nearly e
ight years ago. Doug’s team had been sent to Burt’s for shearing and CJ remembered pulling up outside his old shearing shed. She was late because Emily had called from school and they’d had a massive fight. Emily wanted to go on a school camp with all her friends.

  ‘Please, CJ. I don’t want to be the only idiot not going.’

  ‘You can’t, Em. We don’t have the money.’

  ‘For crying out loud, it’s only five hundred bucks. Please, CJ.’

  ‘Em, you’re not listening. You’re not going. We don’t have the money.’

  ‘But you told me you just bought a new pair of boots the other day.’

  ‘Emily, I needed those boots for work, which I do every day to earn money to pay the bills.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just don’t like me having any fun.’

  ‘Em, don’t be a spoilt little bitch…’ CJ had cried back but Emily had already hung up on her. CJ was angry, hurt and late for work. When she’d finally got to Burt’s she’d caught her shirt on the ute door, ripping it. Tears had exploded from her eyes. She’d felt like hiding under a rock for the rest of her life, and then she’d felt two strong arms pull her up into an embrace full of tobacco and Brut aftershave.

  ‘There, there, lass. What’s the meaning of this now?’ Burt’s voice had been so gentle and caring that she’d mumbled about her fight with her sister, about Tom, and about the never-ending bills. It was a lot for an eighteen year old to handle. Burt had patted away the sobs in a loving, grandfatherly way. She’d hardly known Burt, but from that day on, he had become a huge part of her life. He’d told her to come out on Sunday for a roast, and those Sundays had never stopped. They never spoke about their relation ship, but they both knew just how important it was. Together they had found a father and daughter in each other to replace the loved ones they’d lost.

  CJ smiled at the memory as she put the meat in the oven. Burt waved her through the door and they headed out to round up the sheep. CJ took Burt’s motorbike and, with Sam’s help, they had them in the pens in half an hour.

  ‘Come on, Sam. Push ’em up.’ CJ waved her arms and moved the sheep up the race towards Burt, who was setting the dose on the drenching gun. She had helped Burt enough times to know that she had to let him take the lead. She would watch him carefully and when he was buggered she’d offer to take over. It was the only way.

  Burt was about halfway through when she noticed each sheep seemed harder for him to keep still.

  ‘Hey, Burt. Can I have a go?’

  He looked up at CJ and nodded his head. ‘If you must,’ he growled, but his eyes showed relief.

  Burt shook off the backpack, passed her the gear. ‘Oh, Burt. Would you mind putting the vegies on to roast, please?’

  ‘Gee, you’re a pushy bitch. Anything else?’ he said with a cheeky smile.

  CJ grinned as her hair blew around her cheeks in the gentle breeze and she could feel the black dust from the pens coating her face as it stuck to the sweat from the hot sun. She waved Burt away and stuck the drench down the waiting ewe’s throat.

  8

  LINDSAY pulled up in front of CJ’s house on Wednesday. He was a bit early so he walked up to the front door and knocked. Their drives to work were going really well. They were saving heaps on petrol, plus he was enjoying her company. She was a funny bird at six in the morning.

  CJ opened the door and mumbled ‘morning’ through the large piece of toast hanging out of her mouth. She pulled out the toast. ‘Come in. I’ll just finish packing away breakfast.’

  Lindsay walked in and closed the door while CJ headed back into the kitchen.

  A few seconds later, she came out again with a water bottle in her hand. ‘Here, can you take that? I’ve just gotta go get my shirt.’

  He took it from her and she headed off through the back of the house. He walked across to the cabinet against the wall and looked over the framed pictures. He saw one of Tom and Dot on their wedding day and couldn’t believe how attractive and happy they looked. He’d seen them a couple of times when he’d dropped CJ off and couldn’t help feeling sad to think of the contrast. They never talked, just shuffledaround the house like droids. How CJ managed it, he didn’t know. The next picture made him smile. CJ looked about thirteen or fourteen and she was shearing a sheep. Tom was in the background guiding her and pride radiated from his face. She was skinny and a bit dorky but the way she held the sheep with relaxed ease and the grip on her handpiece quite impressed him. She looked like a natural.

  ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’ CJ whizzed past him and pulled open the door. Ten minutes into their drive, Lindsay glanced at CJ. ‘I saw that photo of you shearing when you were young.’

  Her eyes squinted as she pulled a face.

  ‘How old were you then?’

  ‘Um, about thirteen. It’s actually my favourite pic, but not because of me. It’s the last good photo we have of Dad before his accident.’

  ‘Was he teaching you to shear?’

  ‘Not really. I used to sit and watch him and one day he told me to have a go. Dad was good like that. Mum always reckoned he treated me like his son, but I know that’s not true. He loved me for being his daughter, but he never wrapped me up in cotton wool. I like that he made me tough and not afraid to tackle things.’

  ‘Sounds like you had a great relationship once. I always felt alienated from my dad. I think I was so much like Uncle Doug that it rubbed him up the wrong way. Or maybe he just didn’t like me. James is the golden boy.’

  ‘Do you and your brother get on?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s a couple of years younger but we do okay. James has a head for farming. He loves his tractors and harvesting. We get on heaps better than Dad and Doug did, but there was eight years between them.’ Lindsay looked over at her again. ‘Do you have any other siblings?’

  It took her a few seconds to answer. ‘I have a sister, Emily. She lives in Perth now. We hardly see her.’

  ‘So she doesn’t come and help?’

  ‘I wish. But if I was her, I’d stay away too.’

  ‘Any other rellies to help you?’

  CJ sighed. ‘The family doesn’t want to know us. Mum’s family moved away when I was still a kid and Dad was a blow-in shearer. We only ever had friends but Dad soon got rid of them. It’s probably easier this way. I know how to handle him.’

  ‘How long can you keep this up by yourself?’ Lindsay asked.

  CJ shrugged and looked out the window as if something had caught her eye in the distance. He guessed she didn’t know. She was still young but hadn’t really started her own life yet. In a way, that’s how he’d felt on the farm. Every day he’d got up and hoped the next would be better, but with his dad sitting on him and the farm fencing him in, he’d begun feeling despondent. He’d felt like a pawn doing what he was told, meanwhile dreaming of something different. But through it all at least he always had James in his corner. Who did CJ have? Lindsay knew James would help him in a heartbeat if he needed anything, but obviously Emily didn’t want anything to do with her family. It was a shame, as CJ would be an amazing sister to have.

  It was towards the end of the third run on the last day at Atkinson’s shed, and with the promise of an early knock-off everyone’s spirits were high. Roger Atkinson’s shed was aged and small with only four stands – one for Lindsay, Dave, Jules and Marty. In the meantime the rest of the shearers went into other teams. It was a classic shed with wooden floorboards throughout and no raised floor, but CJ was back classing this week so it didn’t worry her.

  She rolled up the fleece on top of the skirting table with ease, like she was scooping up handfuls of fairy floss. She pulled out a bit of skin and chucked it into the bin behind her, before pulling a staple of wool out and testing it to grade the quality. She’d heard about some farmers who kept some of their sheep protected with covers, so that their wool would be cleaner and fetch a higher price. CJ hadn’t come across any like that out here. No doubt it would be too costly. John, the presser, took
the rolled-up fleece and put it straight into the wool press. CJ rested her hands on the skirting table, a large wire rack with gaps for the small cuts of wool to fall through to the floor. She could feel the build-up of oil and dirt under her hands. Black grime covered the whole table from years and years of use. The oil from the wool ended up everywhere and sometimes the smaller particles of wool would work their way into her skin and irritate her chest. But all in all she still loved her job. There was something special about the smells of a shearing shed and how everyone worked in harmony. It was rewarding at the end of the day to feel your joints ache from the work, to know you’d pushed hard. CJ felt alive. After all, being physical was supposed to create happy endorphins, and she needed all of those she could get.

  Lindsay appeared beside her. He smiled and she smiled automatically back. His short blond hair was wet at his hairline from sweat and his arms glistened a beautiful bronze. Something about this was strange but she was so sidetracked by Lindsay’s body that it took a minute before she realised what it was.

  ‘What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be shearing?’

  Lindsay was watching her with an expression that could only mean mischief. He raised a long finger and wiped away two beads of sweat from his forehead. ‘I just thought I’d finish this run early and let you have a go.’

  ‘You want me to do what?’

  ‘I want to see you shear a sheep. I reckon you’d be good at it.’

  CJ raised her brow as she picked up the stencil ready to label the next bale.

  ‘Or are you too chicken?’ he teased, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth provocatively.

  CJ thought for a minute. ‘No, I’ll give it a go. But I’m warning you, it won’t be pretty.’

  She followed Lindsay to his stand. Jules was finishing his last sheep; Dave was fiddling with his gear and she heard Marty snigger as he left for his break. CJ peered into Lindsay’s pen, where one lonely ewe stood in the back corner. She walked up to it, grabbed it and pulled it out backwards by its front legs. Then she positioned it like she’d seen many shearers do. Lindsay had taken up a spot on her left, quietly observing.