by Maya Linnell
The nurse nodded as she kept pace with them.
‘Sounds like you’re arguing over sheep stations,’ she said, looking between Lara and Penny, clearly unaware just how accurate her comment was.
Penny looked across at Lara warily, giving a slight shake of her head. Not today, Lara. Not here, not right now. She hoped the silent stalemate could keep until later, and judging by the minute nod of Lara’s head, she seemed to agree. The farm sale wasn’t raised again as they walked towards the car park. The silence between them felt heavy, and Penny pulled her jacket closer against the chill. A sense of foreboding prickled at her skin as the four sisters splintered in different directions.
Thirty-three
Angie picked up speed as the houses turned into industrial businesses and tractor dealerships. The road then opened up and an expanse of prime cropping land whipped past the windows. Penny tried Vince’s number again, cursing when it went to voicemail a second time. She knew the mobile phone coverage would wax and wane as they skirted around the Grampians and resigned herself to leaving a message.
‘Vince, I’ve got some bad news. Dad’s been in an accident. He’s in hospital. Anyway, I’ll call you later, after I’ve had some sleep. Love you.’
She set the phone down and avoided Angie’s sceptical gaze. She stared at the paddocks, wondering whether they’d been sown with wheat, barley, chickpeas, lentils or canola.
‘I can understand Vince is a busy man, but you cut him an awful lot of slack, Pen. He must be bloody good in bed.’
Penny continued staring out the window. It was no use trying to convince Angie or explain the engagement ring. Unless she saw Vince in action, at the helm of a boardroom in his suit and tie exuding charisma and power with clients lapping up his every suggestion, she wouldn’t understand. And their sex life … it had been so long since she’d lain beside Vince that she barely felt qualified to comment. The month before she was hospitalised had been a write-off. No quantity of cold and flu tablets had been able to mask her internal aches enough to focus on the passionate form of pain relief Vince suggested.
Rusty danced on the end of his chain, watching Penny’s every move as they pulled up at the farmhouse. She waved Angie goodbye and strode over to the dogs, dust swirling down the driveway and sandblasting her skin with each gust. The other three kelpies were busy gnawing on fresh bones, but Rusty sat to attention, his ears pricked.
‘Who fed you guys?’ She stroked Rusty’s black and tan head, wondering which of the neighbours had taken care of the animals in their absence. His tail thumped against her leg as if to remind her the bush telegraph could be a blessing, not just a curse.
She gave Rusty one last pat and turned back towards the farmhouse.
A small bouquet sitting on the back step was another surprise. The harsh wind had blown most of the delicate petals from the peonies and a film of red, Western District dust covered the green stems. She didn’t have to read the card to know the flowers were from Vince, and made a mental note to ask the local florist to put deliveries inside the back door next time. She picked up the flowers and leaned on the unlocked doorhandle with her elbow, pushing it open with her shoulder.
The two surviving peonies were recovering in a vase of fresh water when Penny heard a vehicle pull into their driveway.
‘Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?’
Penny turned around to see a short, stocky figure silhouetted in the doorway. He moved into the house, his clothes still as ripped and paint-spattered as ever and his familiar smile as generous as always. A distant neighbour and father of one of her high school friends, he had barely aged in the last two decades.
‘Mr Harvey?’
‘Good to see you home, Penny. Sorry to hear about your dad. Bess sent me round with lasagne and fruit cake, though I bet you’ll have half of Bridgefield baking for you this week.’
Gratitude welled inside her. As desperate as she was for a shower and change of clothes, she wasn’t going to turn away casseroles and cakes that she wouldn’t have time to cook.
‘There’s something to be said about small communities. No matter what happens, nobody goes hungry.’
‘Fat chance of that with Bess around. Not a moment too soon though—can’t have you fading away to nothing. Give me a call as soon as you need a hand checking your dad’s paddocks. I threw the dogs some tucker earlier, too. Figured you had enough on your mind.’
‘Thanks, Mr Harvey. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, to tell you the truth.’
He brushed off her comments with a shake of his head, looking down at his dusty boots.
‘Angus was a big help to us when I had my knees done, an’ Lord knows your mum baked enough cakes and meals for the community during her lifetime. Too short it was. Too short.’
Penny looked away, her heart too heavy and her head too tired to stroll down that part of memory lane right now.
‘But your father, he’s a tough bugger. I’m sure he’ll be back in the paddocks in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
Penny wished she could be as optimistic.
‘I sure hope you’re right, Mr Harvey. Thanks again.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’ll swing past the house tomorrow to check your sheep, let you know if there’s anything amiss.’
Penny watched his ute drive down their driveway and felt another wave of appreciation for the community spirit around her.
‘Hey babe, I was just thinking about you. Terrible news about your dad. Is he going to be okay?’ Vince’s warm voice was like a cup of hot chocolate.
Although the farmhouse fire was stoked up and the oven was on, Penny still couldn’t shake the chill from her quick trek to the wood pile and back. She let his comfortable conversation wash over her, the mundane work news and updates from their social circles like a balm to her tired, worried brain. Penny stretched out in the recliner that smelled like Angus. It was undoubtedly the comfiest seat in the suite and she could see why her father gravitated towards it every night.
‘He was pretty dopey when I saw him last. His pain medication is pretty strong. But he came through the operation okay. And he had a few minutes of being awake this morning,’ said Penny. She was about to start explaining the extent of his injuries when Vince’s voice cut over the top of hers.
‘Did you get my flowers, babe? I know how much you love those pretty ones, although they were supposed to be a ‘perk-you-up’, not a ‘get-well-Angus’ bunch. And I’ve got the apartment all sorted.’
‘The flowers were pretty. Thanks.’
Penny glanced at the two naked stalks in the vase, their shrivelled petals having dropped to the table in defeat just hours after she had brought them inside yesterday. Was it really only yesterday? It feels like an eternity. She leaned her head back against the soft chair.
‘When are you coming home, Pen? You could collect me from the airport Friday, save me getting a taxi?’
Penny was silent. Friday seemed a long way off. She looked out the window at another trail of dust coming down the driveway. Even over the barking dogs, she recognised the hum of the V8 engine.
‘Babe? You there?’ He blew out a sharp breath. ‘I’ve been like a monk here in Sydney, I promise. Nothing for you to worry about … Babe?’
She dragged herself out of the armchair and walked with the phone to her ear.
‘Sorry Vince, I’ve got to go. I don’t have the brainpower to think about this now—can we talk about it later?’
‘What do you mean? I’ve said sorry. I’ve done everything else you asked. What more can I do?’
The frustration in his voice was drowned out by a knock on the door. She walked across the kitchen.
‘It’s not about you, Vince. My dad’s in hospital. I’ll be staying here a little longer to sort things out. Can you do me a favour, please? Actually, make that two. Cancel my appointment with Georgie’s doctor. I’ll text you the number.’ The knock on the door came again, louder this time. Penny’s voice lowered. ‘And stay the hell away from Charlot
te.’
Tim usually walked straight inside when Angus was home, but he felt funny about waltzing into the farmhouse when he knew Penny was the only one home. He tapped on the door a second time and lifted the esky containing Nanna Pearl’s borrowed Tupperware containers, a bottle of wine and a six-pack of beer.
Her eyes were underscored with dark circles when she answered the door, flitting from his face to the phone in her hand. He got the uncomfortable feeling he was interrupting something and suddenly wished he’d waited until tomorrow to drop the food and drinks around.
‘Food delivery. I wanted to find out how Angus is doing and figured we could commiserate over a drink, but …’ His voice trailed off as Penny closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. What are you even doing here, Patterson? The last thing she wants is you intruding.
‘But that’s obviously a crappy idea, so I’ll just leave you to it.’ He clunked the esky onto the deck and spun on his heel, regretting his ill-conceived attempt to clear the air between them.
‘Wait.’ Her voice sounded as weary as she looked. ‘Dad’s the same as yesterday, stable but groggy. Thanks for helping, Tim. And thanks for the meals on wheels. I’ve got one of Bess Harvey’s casseroles ready for dinner, but those meals won’t go to waste. Is it your famous lamb roast?’
Tim nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Don’t say it, Patterson. Just walk away now. But his mouth was quicker than his brain and he plunged ahead, searching her face.
‘About the other day at cooking class …’
Penny’s gaze dropped to the phone in her hand again. He saw her cheeks flush.
‘I don’t know what I was thinking, Tim. I’m so embarrassed. I’m not like that, no matter how terminal my relationship is. Please, can we forget it even happened?’
Tim pressed his lips together, squeezing his vulnerability into a sharp line of pain. Great work, Patterson. Kicking goals here. He nodded slowly, making a zipping gesture across his compressed lips.
‘Yep, too easy. Glad we’re on the same page,’ he lied.
He turned away, unable to handle the relief flooding into her features, and berated himself for misreading the situation.
‘I’ll catch you tomorrow, Mac.’
‘Night, Tim.’
Thirty-four
‘And with wool prices currently on the rise, we can expect to see better stability in the markets …’ Penny stopped mid-sentence, folded up the newspaper and placed it on Angus’s bedside table. She stroked his pale forehead, careful not to bump the wound near his eyebrow. Perhaps he was trying to send her a sign in his sleep, trying to communicate that he was sick of her regular reading sessions, tired of listening to wool prices and market reports that were utterly irrelevant to him in his current state of health.
She looked back at the newspaper’s colourful front page. The lead article highlighted two more fatalities on Victorian farms. She hadn’t had the heart to read that piece out loud, nor the editorial or letters to the editor about the same subject. It would have sounded way too much like ‘I told you so’, even though her audience was not in any position to contradict her or complain.
‘You’re one of the lucky ones, Dad,’ said Penny, surveying the bandages, splints and casts decorating his body. She fossicked in her handbag for an apple, dislodging her notepad. She bent down to collect the slip of paper that fluttered to the floor, which was a scribbled version of the Melbourne-to-Sydney flight schedule. Three days ago, it had seemed like a sound solution—fly up to Sydney and confront Vince face-to-face—but now … the idea had fallen by the wayside, just like rescheduling the work medical, eating regular meals and bothering with her daily blow-dry and make-up routine. She clasped Angus’s hand and longed yet again for her mother’s advice to help straighten up her jumbled list of priorities.
‘You can’t even step away from that thing for one second, can you?’
Lara’s hostile voice rang out across the room. Penny looked up from her phone to see her sister standing in the doorway, trackpants and a hooded top replacing the nurse’s uniform she’d been wearing earlier.
Penny saved the draft email she was composing and checked the time. Over an hour had passed as she replied to work emails on her phone, the novelty of decent reception keeping her glued to the chair by her father’s bedside. Penny had planned to be halfway back to the farm by the time Lara finished work. She squared her shoulders, unwilling to reward her sister with the reaction she so obviously wanted.
‘And how was your day, Lara? Mine was fine, thanks for asking,’ said Penny, mimicking the saccharine tone Diana used with the children when she was at her wits’ end.
‘Your priorities are up the creek. We were almost orphans a few days ago and you’re sitting there on Facebook or whatever, checking to see if your idiot boyfriend has posted any new photos of himself and his new girlfriend.’
Lara snatched the chart from the back of the bed frame and flicked through Angus’s medical notes.
‘Or let me guess: you were messaging your boss, telling her you’ll be a day late returning to work due to a highly inconvenient farm accident? Selling the farm is the best idea, obviously.’
Penny leaned over and kissed her father’s cool cheek. She collected her bag and phone, leaving the newspaper on Angus’s bedside table.
‘Give me a break, Lara. He’s been in hospital for less than a week—doesn’t mean we need to whack a “for sale” sign on the front gate.’ Penny pushed past Lara to get to the door and was halfway down the hall before Lara called out to her.
‘Hey, Penny. The quicker we sell the farm, the quicker you can get back to your beloved city, right?’
Penny kept walking, not wanting Lara to see the doubt in her eye.
Penny looked up from the newspaper. After a week of reading aloud to Angus, she’d almost reached her saturation point for articles about wool prices, crop advice and new machinery releases. She folded the paper and placed it next to another fresh bag of grapes on his bedside table. The simple act of reading the articles aloud to her father always made him smile and if he noticed her skipping the ones about farm accidents, he didn’t mention it.
Diana swept into the hospital room, her hair unruly and a large, jammy smear on her wrinkled white T-shirt.
‘I’ve only got a minute. The twins need collecting from a birthday party in ten minutes. Just wanted to see how Dad is today? Did they say any more about the nerve damage after those tests?’ Her words were rapid-fire, miles away from her usual calm demeanour.
‘The EMG tests weren’t so good. No response to the nerve conduction survey or the needling. Maybe surgery down the track, but for now, they’re more interested in managing the pain and starting rehab.’
Diana ran a hand through her hair, adding to the dishevelled look. Penny noticed a tremor in her hand and brimming tears.
‘Are you okay? Sit down, tell me what’s wrong.’ Penny was worried. Diana never fell apart. Even in the darkest days following Annabel’s death, Diana had remained the rudder of the family.
Diana slumped down in the seat—no customary straight back, no steely reserve as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She threw her hands up in the air, a low cry coming from her haphazardly lipsticked mouth.
‘It’s everything. Dad is never sick, never injured. He’d hate being fussed over like this, hate the farm being ripped out from under him like Lara is suggesting. She called me about it again yesterday. There’s no changing her mind. Leo’s still teething, Harry hasn’t been sleeping through either, and Pete and I keep fighting about McIntyre Park.’ Diana’s sobs amplified in the room, but Angus remained asleep.
Penny wrapped her arms around her eldest sister, puzzled by the floodgates, but understanding the sense of flailing around and waiting for the dust to settle before they could work out the best path forward. Lara’s words had weighed heavily on her mind overnight, her stomach curdling with distaste each time she thought about them.
‘Have you had any other ideas?’
<
br /> Penny shook her head, feeling just as helpless. ‘Nope, I just know Lara’s still stuck on the idea of selling. She’s got a real bee in her bonnet about it. Thinks it’s a win-win for everyone.’
Diana drew a shaky breath and wiped her eyes with an ironed handkerchief. ‘I could have strangled Pete last night, seriously. I thought our nest egg was still sitting in the bank, perfect for investing into a farm-share arrangement, but unbeknownst to me, Pete’s locked it into a five-year term deposit. Reckons it’s generating interest for the kids’ school fees. Frugal bastard.’ Diana spat out the words, more irate than Penny had ever seen her.
Penny looked at her watch, sending an apologetic look to her sister. ‘What time did you say the birthday party finished, Diana? It’s half past now.’
‘Oh, shoot.’ Diana scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her skirt with damp hands. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll be better after a glass of wine and a good night’s sleep. But before I forget, here’s Dad’s mail and another soppy postcard from Vince. Looks like he’s back in Melbourne, desperately awaiting your return.’ Diana thrust the bundle of envelopes into Penny’s hands.
Penny ripped open an envelope addressed to her, the pathology clinic logo matching the letterhead inside. She smiled and leaned out the doorway.
‘My bloods have come back perfect, Diana. Ross River fever is all cleared up.’
Diana’s retreating figure turned but didn’t pause as she sped down the corridor.
‘Good,’ she called back. ‘We’re going to need every ounce of strength possible to get through these next few months.’
Penny paused at the door as her sister’s words echoed down the corridor. Months? Who said anything about months?
Thirty-five
Tim stepped into the farmhouse laundry. Angus’s coat still hung on its usual peg, but the shoe rack looked empty without his large boots. He wondered if they’d been cut off him in the ambulance. Should get him a new pair as a ‘welcome home’ present, thought Tim. The door slammed behind him, bringing with it a gust of wind that swept through the house and into the kitchen, ruffling the curtains and blowing hair across Penny’s face. He almost grinned at the sight. Her hands were covered in egg whites and breadcrumbs, almost as if she’d been tarred and feathered, and she tried unsuccessfully to push her fringe out of the way with her forearm.