Magpie's Bend

by Maya Linnell

  Lara twisted the key in her Subaru. Gravel and dirt crunched under her wheels. She blinked back the tears that threatened to break the carefully constructed walls of her self-control.

  ‘For a small dog, she’s pretty fast,’ Cameron panted.

  Toby broke stride as he glanced across at Lara’s nephew. Sweat beaded on his skin, his face was flushed, and they had a solid hundred metres on the girls, who’d slowed to a walk-jog. Toby backed off his pace a little.

  ‘Hard to believe a chihuahua could outpace a runner and three fit teenagers. We’ll just have to hope her little legs tire soon,’ Toby said, squinting into the afternoon sun. The wallabies were long gone, and it was almost comical to watch the dog zigzagging across the hillside following their scent. But Queenie didn’t show any signs of slowing, no matter how many times she stumbled or lost her footing on the uneven ground.

  ‘We’ll be lucky to catch her with our knees and ankles intact,’ Toby said, pointing out a dip on the track ahead. They both gave it a wide berth.

  ‘So, you’re pretty keen on Aunty Lara?’ said Cameron.

  The comment was so out of the blue that Toby almost lost his footing.

  ‘I am, she’s great.’

  Cameron coughed, then continued, his voice somehow deeper. ‘You’d better be good to her, you know. Anyone who hurts her again is going to have us to answer to.’

  Toby was impressed by Cam’s loyalty. He toyed with the idea of quizzing Cameron on his intentions towards Holly, but before he could, the girls let out a whoop of delight.

  ‘She’s all out of puff!’

  Toby shaded his eyes against the glare to see Queenie flop down in the middle of the track, letting out the occasional protest bark.

  ‘Hard to know whether to shake her or pat her, silly thing,’ said Evie when the girls caught up with them. Toby grinned. Evie was a chip off the old block, no doubt about it.

  ‘Granny and Pop are still watching, so best not shake her,’ said Holly dryly, scooping Queenie from Toby’s arms and beginning the trek back. The teenagers all groaned when they reached the base of the hill.

  ‘Last one to the top’s a rotten egg,’ said Toby, breaking into a slow jog. He was eager to get back to Lara and find out what the night held. ‘You girls can rest your weary legs on the drive back to Ballarat. Think of poor Queenie, she’ll be in twice as much pain with double the legs!’

  They let out a chorus of exasperated groans. He smiled to himself as he climbed the hill. Hard to beat a Dad joke.

  The windmill came into view and then his parents.

  Concern was written across their faces.

  ‘Queenie’s fine, just knackered,’ he said, keen to allay their worries.

  Alice reached for his hand. Her voice trembled.

  ‘No, it’s not Queenie. Your lady friend, Lara, just left.’ Toby spun around, looking for Lara’s car. It was odd that she hadn’t stuck around to say goodbye to Evie. Very odd.

  ‘She looked really upset,’ his mum continued. ‘Her face went white as a sheet, like a ghost walking over her grave.’

  The teenagers huffed and puffed their way to the car.

  Toby’s stomach clenched.

  ‘Why? What were you talking about?’

  ‘Well, I was saying what a lovely photo you’d taken. The one for the contest.’

  Toby scratched the back of his head.

  ‘I haven’t entered any contests this year, Mum.’

  Alice looked at her granddaughter, puzzled.

  Toby in turn looked at Holly, who bit her lip.

  ‘It was supposed to be a surprise. I was only going to tell you after they’d done the judging. I’m sure it’ll win, Dad, and imagine that new Nikon. It’s top of the line, the type of prize that would really kick off your photography business.’

  Toby shook his head, trying to understand.

  ‘The Nikon Press Club comp?’

  Holly studied her shoes.

  Toby sucked in a sharp breath. There was only one photo he’d taken this year that was contest worthy, and he’d deleted it.

  They’d deleted it. ‘You didn’t …’

  Holly scuffed her toes in the dirt, still not meeting his gaze.

  Alice Paxton gave a bright smile, eager to cut through the tension.

  ‘It was a lovely photo, darling. You should see how grand it looks in Melbourne with all the other portraits.’

  No, no, no. Toby shook his head, trying to get a grip on his anger. His tone dropped a few decibels.

  ‘Holly Paxton! You bloody well didn’t!’

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evie flinch. He eased a carefully measured breath through gritted teeth and tamped down the anger. With Sam Kingsley for a father, Evie had probably seen enough aggro for one lifetime, and losing his cool wasn’t going to help anyone.

  ‘Did you, or did you not, delete Lara’s photo like I asked? Or did you go behind my back and enter it into a contest?’

  ‘Which picture are you talking about?’ asked Evie, confused.

  Cameron’s narrowed gaze swung back and forth from Holly to Toby to Evie. Toby could almost see the boy’s trust dissolving.

  Holly’s eyes flashed when she looked back up at him. ‘The one with your mum saving Mrs Beggs.’ She shot Evie an anxious look before continuing. ‘It’s your photo, Dad. It’ll win, I know it.’

  ‘We thought you’d be able to give the photo enlargement to Lara as a gift after the exhibition finishes, but she didn’t react quite the way I was expecting,’ said Toby’s mother.

  Toby groaned. ‘It’s a great photo, but that’s not the point. Lara asked me to delete it, and I did.’ His cheeks burned as he thought about the way he’d dragged it out of the camera’s trash file to admire it on the laptop screen. ‘Well, I thought I did … She hates having her photo taken without consent …’

  It was Holly’s turn to look confused. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her about Lara’s past and obviously Evie hadn’t either.

  Evie chewed on the end of her ponytail, a gesture that made her look about five, not fifteen.

  Cameron shook his head and put an arm around his cousin.

  ‘Is it breakfast time yet?’ said Eric. ‘I could eat a horse and chase the jockey.’ He leaned down close to Queenie. ‘Miss Queenie needs her meaty bites, too.’

  Toby looked at the setting sun. Now wasn’t the time or place for an explanation. He needed to find Lara and his folks needed to head off before every kangaroo between Bridgefield and Ballarat started the Russian roulette of roadside grazing.

  Evie took a seat in the rear of the car, propping her backpack next to her. She looked like she would rather hitchhike home than sit beside Holly. Evie slipped her headphones in and tapped at her phone screen.

  Texting her mum?

  Holly gave him a final hug before slipping into the car.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she whispered, pressing one of Alice’s floral hankies to her nose. ‘I wanted you to win that camera,’ she added with a hiccup.

  Toby pulled her in tight. ‘Love you, Lollypop. Always have, always will. Even when I’m angry with you. We’ll talk about it later, okay?’

  Cameron didn’t say a word as Toby drove him home, only a terse thanks before he hurried out the door. Diana waved from the kitchen window, and Toby wondered if she’d already heard the news. He pumped the accelerator, pushing the Volkswagen Golf as fast as he dared on the gravel road towards Lara’s homestead. Her battered Subaru was parked at an awkward angle.

  Toby took the steps two at a time, almost brushing a pot plant off its saucer, but no amount of knocking would bring Lara to the door.

  He crouched down and lifted the flap on the old-fashioned mail slot.

  ‘Lara, I didn’t know about the photo. I swear. I only wanted to see it on the big screen and then Holly hijacked things.’ You’re waffling, Paxton. Cut to the chase. ‘Anyway, I’m really sorry. Holly thought she was doing me a favour.’

  A sharp pain exploded in his lo
wer leg. Toby swore and sprang backwards as a flash of black and white launched off from the verandah. The magpie fluttered at knee height, flapping its wings. It fixed him with a beady glare, then attacked his leg again. Its sharp claws felt like little knives poking through his jeans. Another sharp pain came as the bird pecked at his hand.

  ‘Owwww!’

  Toby darted away. The magpie squawked indignantly then hopped its way across the deck. A trickle ran down the back of Toby’s hand and when he looked again, he saw it was sticky with blood.

  ‘Better than a rottweiler,’ he murmured with a wince.

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and moments later Lara opened the door. Toby had braced himself for anger, but he wasn’t prepared for the anguish on her face.

  ‘Save your excuses. If I can’t trust you, Toby, if you can’t stand behind your word, you’re no better than my ex-husband.’ She closed the door quietly, and Toby lifted his bleeding hand to knock again, but paused.

  Banging the door down wasn’t going to prove exactly how different he was to Samuel Kingsley. From all he gathered, the man hadn’t taken no for an answer.

  You’re no better than my ex-husband. The words had more bite than a mid-June frost, haunting him as he walked away.

  Twenty-seven

  The days merged into weeks, then months and before Lara knew it, spring was bearing down on them. Tulips from a long-ago owner were pushing their green fronds through her soil, irises were popping up along her driveway, blooming happily despite the neglect, and a hive of bees had decided the chook house roof was the perfect place to swarm, scaring the hens off the lay once again. And still, Lara hadn’t replied to Toby’s letter.

  He’d slipped it under her door in the week following the fun run. No matter how many times she’d read it, and the letter of apology that had also arrived in the mail from Holly, she still hadn’t made headway on her response.

  Lara picked up the letter, now folded and creased, and re-read his apology. She couldn’t fault Toby’s sincerity, and yet she still couldn’t find the words for her own reply. She sat it back on the bench, next to Holly’s letter, and picked up her pen and notepad.

  Flicking through the pages, she reviewed her latest attempt. Neat handwriting meant nothing when the words couldn’t convey how she felt. She tore the lined sheet off the notepad and tossed it across the kitchen. It rebounded off the KitchenAid and landed in the chook bucket.

  ‘Give me a break.’

  With a sigh, Lara retrieved her rambling half-finished letter and tossed it in the bin. She remembered the cold horror of finding out what Sam had done with the footage he’d secretly filmed. How could she explain how it had made her feel when she’d discovered Toby’s photo had been used without her permission?

  It’s not logical, she told herself. Toby isn’t Sam. And yet every time she put pen to paper, trying to tell him that she knew his photo was nothing like Sam’s video, and she knew Holly had used it without his permission, she couldn’t explain all the emotions it had stirred up.

  Trusting someone always leads to pain.

  Lara huffed out a frustrated breath as she locked up behind her, refilled Basil’s water bowl and topped up his dry food. She stalked across the lawn, then paused as she realised something was missing.

  Now that his wing was healed, the magpie had taken to impressing her with his new and improved flying skills every time she walked outside. But today, Vegemite zipped past, paying her no attention, and landed in the tree beside another bird.

  From a distance, they looked like a pair of matching bookends, both black and white, although as Lara got closer, she noticed the smaller bird had a slightly grey ruffle around its neck.

  The bad mood that Lara had woken with lifted slightly. She watched the female magpie edge a little closer to Vegemite.

  ‘So, you’ve finally found a mate,’ she murmured, catching herself before she went gooey, or worse, felt jealous. ‘Don’t think I’ll be feeding two of you. Or a whole magpie family.’

  The magpies were the perfect excuse to call Evie on her way into work.

  ‘Hey Evie, how’s things?’

  ‘Mum? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can’t I call to say good morning?’

  ‘Let me guess. Brody locked himself outside the apartment again wearing only his Garfield boxer shorts?’

  Lara managed a laugh as she pulled out of her driveway and onto the sealed road. The new tenant in the upstairs apartment had been embarrassed and freezing by the time she’d noticed three missed calls and driven into town with the spare key the previous week.

  ‘Nope, though you’ve got to admit that was pretty funny.’

  Helping Brody settle into his new home had been the only highlight of the past month, and though she felt like her personal life was in turmoil, it was satisfying to see him thrive now that he was out of his father’s house. With a bit of luck, his shifts at the shop would be a stepping stone to employment when he graduated high school.

  Evie’s guessing game continued.

  ‘Did Olive mix up the pie days again and nearly cause a riot by serving the chicken and leek on Monday then cheese-and-bacon on Thursday?’

  ‘Better than that. Guess who’s got himself a girlfriend?’

  Evie’s response was incredulous: ‘What? And why do you sound happy about it?’

  It was Lara’s turn to be exasperated.

  ‘It’s Vegemite! The magpie. The magpie has a girlfriend. I thought you’d like to know.’

  Lara pulled in behind the Bush Nursing Centre and killed the engine.

  ‘Not everything in this world is about Toby Paxton,’ Lara said.

  Evie sighed loudly. She could almost see her daughter rolling her eyes in the boarding house.

  ‘He’s a nice guy, Mum. You liked him and he liked you, that’s all.’

  ‘Past tense, Evie-girl. That’s real life, I’m afraid, not everything gets wrapped up with a pretty bow like those soppy TV shows you’ve been watching.’

  Lara caught sight of her reflection in the rear-view mirror. The words belonged to an old shrew, not someone in her early forties, but it was easier this way.

  ‘But you know it wasn’t Toby’s fault, Mum. He was as surprised as you. You need to see this article, Toby’s—’

  Lara winced. She couldn’t sit through another pro-Toby conversation, not this morning. Whatever she thought they might have been, she was mistaken. The quicker she erased him from her mind, the better.

  ‘Stop right there, missy. I need to go, really,’ Lara said, blowing loud kisses down the phone before hanging up.

  The conversation played on her mind for the rest of her shift. Even the bumper turnout at the Move It or Lose It class failed to brighten her mood.

  Cindy the receptionist had left a copy of the Bridgefield Advertiser upside down on the lunch-room table. Lara studied the back page football coverage as she ate her sandwich, then, with a huff, she flipped over the paper and read the headline:

  Bridgefield Advertiser set to close

  Close?

  Lara scanned the article, swallowing the lump in her throat along with the last of her sandwich. She folded the paper in half, refusing to wonder what this would mean for Toby.

  Not my problem, she reminded herself, tossing the edition in the bin on her way out.

  Toby took the first park he could find at the saleyards, pulling up by the truck-washing bay. A horn tooted, and the pungent aroma of cow shit wafted across from a B-double truck awaiting its turn.

  Toby tried to shake off his melancholy mood as he headed towards the auction arena. The cattle sales had always been a highlight, with news tips coming from the most unusual places. He would miss the upbeat feel to the day, the sense of occasion as the local farmers caught up with friends, trading stories from their paddocks. His thoughts were interrupted as a hand clapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his gloom.

  ‘Long time no see, mate.’

  Toby greeted Pete, and looked
over his shoulder to see if Cameron was there too.

  Last night over the phone, Holly had confided she hadn’t heard from Evie or Cam since the fun run, and the misery in her voice had been as clear as her millionth apology. He glanced around again. Pete was the only one from Lara’s family there, as far as he could see.

  ‘This month hasn’t been one to write home about,’ Toby admitted.

  ‘Sorry to hear about the newspaper closing, mate. Are they really mothballing it even after all the community backlash? I thought you were on a two-year contract?’

  ‘The board of directors had committed, but apparently a proud past doesn’t make up for a sleepy present,’ he said, repeating the weak excuse the company’s directors had given him.

  ‘It’s insulting, that’s what it is. After all the effort you made to get the Addy back on track. So, readership was up but they still closed it? Doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Turns out elbow grease and warm, fuzzy feature stories aren’t enough when the number crunchers are baying for blood.’ ‘Over a hundred and fifty years of local history, gone for good? Ludicrous,’ said Pete, his voice laced with disgust. ‘What will you do for a crust? Do you have to pack up and head for the big smoke, cap in hand at your old paper?’

  Toby thought about the job Mick had offered him, and the lure of a steady income doing something he knew well. He’d known instantly that it wasn’t the path he wanted to follow anymore. Not after that front-page Mick had run. He’d also toyed with the idea of starting a community newspaper but hadn’t fully fleshed out the business plan yet.

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m going freelance. I’ve got plenty of contacts in magazines and newspapers, plus it’ll give me a chance to focus on my photography. There’re enough weddings and family portraits to keep me afloat, and I can work from anywhere.’ Even if it meant he had to sell one of his city investment properties, he knew he would have enough to live on and support Holly.

  ‘Just make sure they sign permission slips, eh?’

  Pete gave him a wink and laughed at his own joke. Toby grimaced. He still felt bad about Lara’s photo ending up in the Nikon photography contest, and even though he’d tried to right the wrong—Holly’s wrong—he knew it was too little, too late.