Magpie's Bend

by Maya Linnell

Penny called out to Toby from her station on the finish line: ‘The last bus is heading to the start line. I’ve got everything under control here. Nanna Pearl’s whisked your folks off for a quick coffee before it gets crazy busy.’

  Toby looked across to the food vans and coffee trucks that had set up a mini food court by the windmill. He made out his parents in the distance, along with Tim’s grandmother, who was easily identifiable with her lilac hair, and Eddie’s green McIntyre Park shirt.

  ‘You’d better go,’ said Penny. ‘Can’t have the race director miss his own race briefing.’

  Toby’s guts churned as he drove under the archway of trees along the Avenue of Honour and headed towards the start line. He thought of all the half-marathoners they’d attracted to this tiny town, and wondered if they were feeling the same rush of pre-race adrenaline he normally felt as he pinned on a race number. Instead of months of training, he had invested months of organisation into this one event. He felt a stab of unease.

  Can I really pull this off?

  The top of the hill had a carnival-like atmosphere, with cheers from the crowd as runners from the five-kilometre race crossed the finish line. The pop music paused and Pete’s voice came over the loud speakers: ‘And how’s this for a finish at the inaugural Windmill Track Fun Run, folks? The Edna McCluskey 5K is done and dusted! Now we’ve got the first of the 10K runners coming into sight.’

  Lara lifted a hand to shield her eyes as she looked into the sun. The woman in the lead was charging up the hill towards the finish line as if she still had plenty more left in the tank.

  Diana stopped beside Lara, carrying a box of lime-green water bottles.

  ‘Finish-line freebies have been a hit. I’m pretty sure Paul’s ZingleDangle company will be pleased with the coverage they’re getting from this promo.’

  Lara laughed. ‘It’s much easier to stomach his logo on the side of a plastic drink bottle instead of the general store. Speaking of hits, your husband’s a natural on the race commentary.’

  Diana and Lara looked at Pete, microphone in hand as he introduced the runner coming across the finish line.

  ‘I suppose it’s like another day auctioneering at the saleyards. I keep waiting for him to throw a “Hup a bid, hup a bid, who’s gonna give me a bid” into the mix,’ Diana laughed.

  Diana was right. Pete’s auctioneering voice was a lot like his commentating voice.

  ‘What a great day to be at the top of Windmill Track, folks,’ Pete said with a wave across the crowd. ‘We promised you action, and here we have it. Sasha from Canunda was one of our VIP weekend ticket holders, she’s nabbed herself the 10K first-place trophy today. I wonder whether she was a winner on Friday night too? All for a great cause, of course!’

  The crowd’s cheers were boosted with laughter and clapping as the woman broke the tape across the finish line and headed straight into the arms of a dishevelled-looking man wearing a 5K race bib. It was the pair from the bonfire.

  The couple hammed it up for the camera. From the hobbled gait as they walked away, and the smile on the bloke’s face, it looked like he’d upheld his side of the bargain. Everywhere Lara looked, people were smiling, and it was impossible not to get swept up in their high spirits. Even the weather had come to the party, with only cockatoos and galahs in the cloudless sky.

  Lara continued past the creaky windmill, which was now the star of many selfies, and narrowly avoided a collision with children playing tag, fuelled by fairy floss and sporting vibrant, glittery designs from Holly and Evie’s face-painting stall.

  She ducked into the organiser’s marquee and added the morning’s raffle tickets to the large plastic tub.

  A tornado of blonde curls and tiger stripes—or were they supposed to be lions?—rushed up to Lara at warp speed as she stirred in the new tickets.

  ‘Can I draw the raffle, Aunty Lara?’ said Harry, thrusting a sticky hand towards the large plastic tub.

  ‘Sorry, mate, Mrs Beggs will be our barrel girl as soon as the half-marathon’s finished. Anyway, the tickets would stick to all that fairy floss and you’d pull out three winners, not one,’ she laughed.

  Her youngest nephew piped up. ‘Not a single snake, Aunty Lara.’ Leo’s voice dripped with disappointment. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, mate,’ she said as the boys ran out of the marquee.

  She was putting the lid on the tub of raffle tickets when a clash of palm trees and hibiscus flowers loomed into view. Lara squinted at the ghastly Hawaiian shirt. Dallas’s taste in clothing hadn’t improved in the weeks since his last shift at the general store. His new venture into Bitcoin investment obviously hadn’t netted him a fortune.

  ‘Just the lady I’m looking for,’ he said, hurrying in her direction. His hair was slicked back, car salesman style, and he was almost quivering with excitement.

  ‘I’ve got a business proposal for you, Lara …’

  Oh boy …

  Maybe it was the success of the weekend, or the inner triumph at having exceeded their fundraising target, but Lara found herself indulging Dallas’s animated sales pitch.

  ‘… and these colour runs are the hottest thing since sliced bread. I know a guy who knows a guy that gets the colour powder for mates rates, so we’d have low overheads and …’

  She nodded and took the rainbow-coloured business card he pressed into her hand, even though she already had his contact details.

  ‘Thanks Dallas, I’ll think about it when all this is over,’ she said, gesturing to the marquee full of trophies, spot prizes and race-day merchandise, and then the crowd beyond.

  ‘Don’t leave it too late, Lara. It’s the perfect spin-off event and you already know we make a great team.’

  We do?

  In too good a mood to disagree, Lara waved Dallas off with a promise to keep it in mind.

  Toby dashed in a moment later, his hi-vis Race Director vest flapping.

  ‘Found you! First half-marathoner’s on his way. He’s passed the final water station,’ Toby said, holding out a hand.

  Lara took it, treasuring the warmth on the clear but cool day, and didn’t let go until they were standing by the windmill with a bird’s-eye view of the track. Lara remembered the last time they’d stood there together. How many months ago had it been? Toby squeezed her hand and she couldn’t help but smile up at him, pretty sure he was remembering it too.

  A voice from behind them broke the moment.

  ‘Look, here he comes!’

  Lara squinted into the sun. Sure enough, there was a small figure ploughing up the bottom of the hill, wearing the bright yellow bib that distinguished the half-marathon distance.

  Pete’s commentary reached fever pitch when he realised the runner was a former local.

  ‘It’s one of our very own, Bridgefield-born athlete and all round great guy Charlie O’Brien. He’s been living in the city but we won’t hold that against him, he’s going to take out first place, this is a great moment, folks …’

  Lara caught a glimpse of Diana in the crowd, shaking her head indulgently.

  ‘Reckon Pete thinks he’s calling the Melbourne Cup?’ she said.

  ‘Imagine him with a karaoke microphone,’ said Toby.

  ‘We sure dodged a bullet there,’ Lara said with a laugh.

  A breeze kicked up, making the windmill spin and promo banners flap. The smell of paddocks, fresh and fecund, drifted across the food-stall and fairy-floss aromas, a reminder that they were in the middle of prime grazing country. She caught sight of the lake in the distance, the majestic mountain range, the patchwork of properties that made up their district, and felt more grateful than ever for the place she called home.

  Toby’s thumb traced a line along the back of her hand. She huddled in closer, making the most of his windbreak.

  The place we call home.

  Twenty-six

  The sun had lost its warmth, but instead of thinning out as Toby had expected, the crowd at the top of Windmil
l Track had grown. By the time he stood near the podium, handing out trophies, there was barely a spare blade of grass on the top of the hill.

  He spoke into the microphone. ‘This whole weekend was organised to save our general store, and we’ve done it.’

  Toby paused as a cheer rippled through the crowd. He thanked the sponsors, the runners, and finally the community.

  The applause echoed across the valley. A flock of swans lifted off the Bridgefield Lake, and not for the first time, he itched to have his camera around his neck, documenting the day. He hoped Holly had managed to squeeze in a few shots between face painting and keeping an eye on her grandparents and little Queenie, who was rugged up in a sheepskin-trimmed dog jacket for the occasion.

  And if he’d thought it was gratifying to hand out the trophies, Toby was unprepared for the thrill of watching Lara and Mrs Beggs step up to the microphone to draw their raffle.

  Lara’s initiative had been the most innovative of the three fundraisers, the one that had drawn the most conjecture and strongest laughter, but it had raised the most money in the end.

  Lara gave the plastic tub a generous shake and spoke into the microphone.

  ‘As you all know, the winner of this raffle gets twelve months’ free rent above the general store. I can’t take responsibility for any pie-eating habits developed while living above the shop, nor can I promise absolute silence from the hours of eight till five. Lord knows what type of gossip will float upstairs on a gentle breeze.’ She paused as the crowd laughed. ‘But I can promise a neat and tidy little apartment.’

  Mrs Beggs swirled her hand through the tickets theatrically.

  ‘And the winner is …’

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  ‘Brody Pilkington,’ said Mrs Beggs.

  The name rang a bell. From the hearty clapping, Toby realised he was the local lad who volunteered at the shop.

  ‘Absolutely perfect,’ said Lara, leaning in close enough that Toby could smell her shampoo. He shook Brody’s hand and presented him with the keys to the apartment.

  Toby took one last look at the gathering, trying to imprint it in his memory before he switched the microphone off. He caught sight of his parents by the windmill. They were bundled up in their winter jackets and beanies, Queenie’s tail was wagging and the biggest, proudest smile was spread across his mother’s face. Now all that was left to do was clean up and celebrate their success.

  Holly, Cameron and Evie stacked the empty Tupperware containers from the bake stall into the back of Lara’s Subaru. There was a perfect square of neatly pressed grass beside the windmill where the jumping castle had been, but no other sign of the crowds, the banner-flanked finish line or the stalls that had converged on Windmill Track hours earlier.

  Crickets and frogs had begun their dusk chorus and the sun had started to bathe the hill in a soft, golden glow. A mob of wallabies bounded across the paddock, watching warily as they paused to nibble at the tender shoots of native grass.

  ‘Surely it’s beer o’clock,’ said Tim as he packed the last of the finish-line barricading into his ute tray and tied it down.

  ‘My oath,’ said Pete, nearly hoarse after a full day on the microphone. Diana passed him a bottle of water from the car.

  ‘Let’s get the boys dinner and settle them in front of a movie first,’ she said. ‘One drink and I’ll be out like a light.’

  ‘We’ll head off too,’ said Rob, hoisting Claudia up onto his shoulders.

  Angie yawned and rested her head against Rob’s chest. ‘You can drive, sweetie. Claud and I’ll both be fast asleep the minute the car hits the highway. Remind me why we decided to move two hours away,’ she groaned.

  ‘Because you love me, and the beach is a pretty nice spot to live,’ he said, kissing the tip of Angie’s nose.

  ‘Bunch of party poopers,’ said Lara. ‘Toby’s putting on a big spread tonight, half the committee have already put in their apologies, you can’t pike out now.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Penny, with a teasing smile. ‘It’d be such a shame if it was only the two of you.’

  ‘No wonder he’s taking so long to collect Holly’s overnight bag. He’s probably sprinkling rose petals on the bedspread and lighting candles,’ added Angus, barely hiding his amusement.

  ‘Pftttt, you guys need to get out more,’ said Lara, but she knew she was smiling. Her family made their farewells, each excuse lamer than the next, and headed their separate ways. Lara had almost finished her final scout around the area when two cars rumbled up the same track the runners had huffed and puffed up earlier that day.

  It wasn’t until she saw the older couple in the car behind Toby’s Volkswagen Golf that she realised in the hubbub of race day, she hadn’t even introduced herself to his parents. And here they were collecting the girls to take them back to Ballarat.

  Great manners, Lara. Way to make a good impression.

  She squeezed Evie into a big hug.

  ‘Thanks for all your help today.’

  The cars pulled up, but before Lara could introduce herself, Holly had opened the back door and a small dog barrelled out.

  ‘Queenie!’ cried Holly, reaching down to scoop up the chihuahua, but the little dog wriggled out of her grip and scurried down the track.

  Toby was out of his car in a flash.

  ‘Stay here with Granny and Pop. I’ll get her,’ he said, loping off down the hill.

  ‘The wallabies!’

  Holly and Evie ignored his instructions and followed close behind. Cameron joined them, calling the little dog. The wallabies took one look at the procession careening down the track and bounded in the opposite direction, which only intensified Queenie’s yipping.

  Lara hurried to the car.

  ‘I’ve never seen such a little dog move quite so fast,’ she said, noticing Toby’s mother had the same deep-blue eyes and warm face. ‘I’m Lara. Sorry I didn’t catch you earlier, I meant to come and say hi when you were at the finish line.’

  ‘Shush, I don’t expect you had much time to scratch yourself, let alone greet each and every volunteer. I’m Alice, and this is Eric. And I knew who you were the second we arrived here today. You look like you did in Toby’s beautiful photo.’

  ‘With my sisters in front of the general store? I mightn’t have let Toby take it if I’d known it would be turned into a front page.’

  A frown crinkled Alice’s face, making her soft wrinkles even more pronounced.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve seen that one, though it does sound special. The photo of you saving the shop lady.’

  Lara’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You know, the one in that award? Mrs Beggs, I think Holly said her name was? She was lucky to have you in her corner that day. You’ve got life-saving hands, that’s for sure.’

  Lara froze, and her mind replayed the scene from so many months ago. The adrenaline of saving Mrs Beggs. The anger at having her photo taken.

  But Toby deleted that photo. He promised. She’d seen him hit delete.

  It didn’t matter that he’d taken dozens of pictures of her since, or that they’d laughed the other day about starting off on the wrong foot.

  ‘Didn’t you like the photo? I would’ve thought you’d be pleased.’ Alice’s tone had taken on a note of worry. ‘Our Toby’s such a talented man. Newspapers, photography, we’re so proud of him.’

  ‘Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. What photo?’

  ‘The big one in the Nikon Press Awards. It looks so good blown up. It’s sure to win first prize.’

  Lara scanned the horizon. Toby, Evie, Cameron and Holly were only small dots in the distance now, the mob of black wallabies barely visible as they headed for the scrub at the bottom of the lake. She could hear the yip, yip, yip of Queenie’s bark, but from the way Toby was running, it looked like the dog was still in hot pursuit. Any other time, she might have laughed, might have driven down and picked them up and trailed behind the stupid dog until
it tired of its fruitless chase.

  He didn’t delete the photo, he entered it into a goddamn competition … How could he?

  A deep voice from the other side of the car interrupted her stupor and she turned to see Toby’s father leaning across his wife.

  ‘My boy’s a darn good reporter. Did you know he’s top dog at the Ballarat newspaper?’

  Lara remembered Toby talking about his father’s dementia. He must be confused.

  ‘The Bridgefield paper,’ she gently corrected.

  ‘Nope, the daily paper in Ballarat. I’ve read it every day of my life, couldn’t be prouder of him,’ said Eric with a wink.

  Lara looked at Alice, who patted the older man on the arm as he shifted back into his seat. She gave Lara an apologetic smile and lowered her voice.

  ‘Don’t mind Eric, dear. Gets his wires crossed. Toby hasn’t officially accepted the promotion yet, but he’ll have his name on the masthead soon enough. Top secret.’ Alice smiled and tapped her lips.

  What …

  Lara mumbled what she hoped sounded like a polite farewell but it felt like her world had tipped upside down.

  He lied to me about the photo.

  He said he was staying in Bridgefield.

  He didn’t even tell me he’d been offered the Ballarat job.

  Was the whole thing a ruse to get into my pants? A little bit on the side to pass the time until he could head back to the city?

  Lara marched woodenly towards her car, casting a final glance in the direction of the man she’d thought she could trust and the daughter she’d spent her life fighting to stay strong for. If she left now, she would also give up hugging Evie for the last time until the July holidays. Lara took a deep breath. She pulled the door open and tucked herself into the driver’s seat.

  I should drive down there and tell Toby Paxton exactly what I think of liars.

  I should stay and give Evie one last hug before she leaves for boarding school.

  The deceit felt even more painful on a night when she should be celebrating.

  A voice from the past whispered in her ear, low and mean: You’ve never been the smartest tool in the shed though, have you, Lara?