by Jane Carter
‘Granny talked the other day about the rabbit plague, just after they were married,’ Diana said.
‘Rabbits, I’ve forgotten all about them,’ said Tom. ‘Like they were, that is. Repressed it, more likely. That rabbit plague lasted for twenty years. I remember when all we ate was rabbit. Rabbit roasted, stewed and fricasseed. Put me off rabbit for life. Thank you, Stella, for never serving me rabbit.’ He put out his hand to pat her arm. She smiled back.
‘We fenced and poisoned and dug out and shot rabbits every spare minute we had. Everyone had a pack of hunting dogs, which we fed on rabbit. Lord, I remember the bastards were so thick when you drove them into a netting fence they just packed into each other. Then the rest could just run up over their backs and hop over the fence!’ Tom shuddered.
‘Why were there so many rabbits?’ said Milo.
Stella smiled. She was learning Milo was never short of a question. He reminded her of Cody that way.
‘Some fool brought some out from England. I think his name was Austin, the damn idiot. They just loved this country so much they went mad and bred up until they were totally out of control, because they didn’t have any predators,’ Tom said.
‘What’s a predator?’
‘Something that eats it,’ Diana answered. ‘Everything has something to eat it, to keep the numbers down. I think it’s called the food chain.’
‘Who eats us?’ Milo paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, as the thought suddenly struck him.
‘Sharks eat us,’ Sienna piped up.
‘Oh come on, that’s enough. Who wants pudding?’ Diana stood, gathering the plates together.
One good thing was that Milo was coming out of his shell, and Tom was laughing. He didn’t do that much these days.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All of a sudden it was May and the days were getting shorter with brilliant blue skies. Nearly winter—but it was nothing like the English winter, where the sun had virtually disappeared by four in the afternoon, Diana thought, as she made her way to the meat house.
A sheep was hanging upside down on a curved wire hook outside the little shed. A large puddle of vermilion blood pooled underneath it on the concrete slab. There was nothing like the colour of real blood. The neck was severed and the head was still hanging by the skin.
Diana watched as her father cut the outside skin, down the belly from the top to the bottom. She observed how efficient he was. Quick, fast cuts from the razor sharp knife. The body was all loose and soft. She put her hand inside to separate the outside skin. Inside you could feel the warmth, the heat of the dead sheep.
She shivered. Charlie had been so cold.
The hospital where the policemen had taken her was a big place, enormous, with hundreds of people running every which way. They’d all been very kind to her, hadn’t made her wait hardly at all before showing her into the cubicle where Charlie lay on the bed, his eyes closed. He was so still. Diana had picked up his hand but it was cold. She remembered rubbing it to try and make him warm again. Someone had to tell her he’d died. She’d thought he was asleep. His face, not a mark. There was nothing to show—
‘Diana. What are you doing?’
Diana shook her head to lose the memory, the unwelcome images. ‘Sorry.’
Punching, her father called it, but it was more a sliding, using the fingers and knuckles to separate the wool-covered outer skin from the skin that would keep the carcass in shape. It was important not to break through either of them. You had to slide between them. It was quite hard work, but she hadn’t forgotten how to do it.
‘Mum said you don’t go to church anymore.’
Her father grunted. ‘They are a mob of bloody hypocrites. I’ve lost my faith in a God that won’t send rain to people who need it. I got sick of thanking him for disaster, every week, putting the little envelope in the plate. It was a waste of good money, I was thinking.’
‘You and Mum used to make us go all the time. Every Sunday.’
The skin was off, and Diana carried it over to the fence where they always dried the skins, hanging it inside out to dry.
‘You needed the instruction,’ said Tom. ‘Your mother liked to go. I don’t think Rosie and Mal go much. Here hold this.’
Diana held the bucket steady as the guts spilled into it with a rush. So many slippery insides in a sheep, all quickly sliced away.
‘What’s the retirement plan, Dad? You must have some super stashed away.’
He lifted the bucket up. ‘Bloody super. The little we had I cashed a couple of years ago and it’s gone in feed bills. You tell me, Diana.’
‘Rosie and Mal are champing at the bit. Impatient to take over.’
‘Well, they might be—doesn’t change the fact we’ve nothing to retire with. Now we’ve Mum to sort out, those retirement places cost a fortune. I’m not moving into town and that’s that,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ve realised we could easily have another twenty years to go. It makes you want to hang on to what you’ve got for as long as possible. While I’ve still got two arms and legs in reasonable working order.’ He looked up sharply. ‘Hope you don’t need money?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. We’re fine. It’s just you lot that seem to be in a mess.’
‘I’m sorry, Diana. Twenty years ago it all seemed so simple. There was going to be money for you, and there will be after Mum goes.’
Diana watched him empty the bucket into the pit. He looked strong but he was more stooped than he used to be. Crushed might be a better description. Not quite as quick in the yards either, she’d noticed.
‘These last few years everything has fallen apart. Wool prices are bad, and the cost of fuel and fertilizer is skyrocketing. Maybe it’d be better for Mal and Rosie to get out now, quit wanting to take over the farm. Maybe I’d be doing them a favour.’
Somehow she didn’t think Rosie would agree. Diana used her weight to let down the sheep slowly, while her father took the carcass off the wire hanger and carried it over his shoulder into the meat house.
She followed him into the small room with its hanging meat hooks and the butchering block, a solid tree trunk that had been there forever. All openings were netted with wire gauze to protect from the flies, not that there were many around at this time of year. Steadying the hooks for her father, Diana couldn’t help notice that it wasn’t quite as easy for him as it used to be. She wished that he’d let her do more to help.
She sloshed water over the blood on the concrete. She didn’t know where she stood in trying to talk her parents into leaving; they certainly didn’t seem to be any closer to a solution than they’d ever been. She began to feel a bit sorry for Rosie. What an awful situation. Thank God she was out of it.
They walked back through the gathering gloom to the house, to light and warmth and family and the smell of dinner cooking.
* * *
‘What do you think about putting the children in school while you’re here?’ Stella asked while serving out dinner.
‘No, I don’t want to go to school!’ Sienna was quick off the mark.
‘You’ll make some friends and have fun. It’s a good little school. Mummy, Rosie and Cody all went there, and I’m sure the Headmaster, Mr Lloyd, will let you in.’
‘Why, have you asked him already?’ Diana was amused. She’d witnessed her mother’s not-so-subtle machinations before. She smelled a rat.
‘I might have mentioned it. I saw him today in the supermarket. He said they had vacancies since the Collins left. Anyway, three more is not impossible, apparently.’
‘What do you think, Milo?’ Diana addressed her eldest, noticing the anxious look on his face.
‘Do I have to, Mummy?’
‘No. There’s your answer, Mum. My children wouldn’t know what hit them—a whole school with two teachers and thirty kids.’ She loved her mother but sometimes she wished she was a little less meddling. Diana wasn’t twenty anymore, and she’d finished needing someone to organise her, quite some time ago.
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‘Let’s just leave it. There’s plenty of time.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Town was always busier on a Friday, when a lot of the city farmers came up for the weekend. The local cafe was almost full. Stella had managed to bag a table near the window and sat waiting for Diana and Rosie to join her. Tom was staying with the kids, so it was going to be just them. She waved to the Wallises as they loaded their ute with supplies. Maybe she’d chosen this table because it had been a while since she’d had her two daughters to show off.
Rosie walked in the door and looked around before coming over and plonking herself down.
‘Hi Mum.’
‘Hi yourself.’ She leant over for a kiss.
‘Have you ordered?’
‘Yes, Fran’s going to bring us cappuccinos, and I ordered Diana a long black. But she said she’d wait till we were all here.’
‘I’m knackered.’
‘Rosie!’
‘Well, it’s true. What does it mean anyway that’s so terrible? I’m going to get a Diet Coke, Di will probably be ages.’
Diana arrived while Rosie was at the big double fridge. ‘Hello. I’ve been doing Dad’s list at Barkley’s—except it’s not called Barkley’s anymore. I’ve got everything except the nails. Apparently there are no nails to be found until the next shipment from China. Hi Rosie, that looks good.’ Diana eyed off the Coke.
‘My memory’s not that bad, I got you one too.’ Rosie smiled at Diana and produced a second bottle.
‘I seem to remember we used to share the same one.’ Diana laughed, looking around. ‘Hey, all the booths have gone. In London, they’re putting them all back in.’
Stella sat back enjoying the sight of her two daughters sitting at the same table. They’d always been the best looking girls in town, and she wasn’t prejudiced, was she? Rosie with her honey-coloured curls and Diana’s unusual green eyes. Not that they were girls any more, she reminded herself. Her daughters were women with children of their own.
‘How’s Dad getting on at home?’ Diana was asking.
‘I think they were going to draft some sheep,’ said Stella. ‘I heard Milo telling the girls where they were to stand as he was opening the gate.’
‘Nothing changes does it? The eldest is always the bossy one.’ Rosie sighed.
‘I might have been the bossy one, but you always got your own way.’
‘Oh, I did not. Poor Dad, he’ll probably still be there when we get home.’
‘Have you heard from Phillipa?’ Stella was pleased to see Rosie’s face light up as she turned to her.
‘Oh yes, she’s off to a twenty-first in Wagga, wants to know if I can send her down my black dress.’
‘I can’t believe she’s going to twenty-firsts already,’ said Stella.
‘One of the boys in her flat is twenty-one, I think it’s his party. I’m just so thrilled she wants to wear a dress.’
‘You’re lucky, I can’t get mine into anything else. And what’s worse, they always have to be pink dresses. I even had to buy pink gumboots for them to wear here,’ Diana grumbled.
‘That time does pass, I can assure you.’
‘Lovely to see you again, Diana,’ Fran said, arriving at the table with their drinks.
‘Thanks, Fran. This is a welcome change. Real coffee, I’m impressed.’ Diana sniffed appreciatively.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Change does actually occur here, slowly admittedly, but with all the new people in town there was a demand. I got the espresso machine last year and it’s been very popular. Took me a while to get the hang of it, though.’ Fran wiped her hands on her apron and looked anxious. ‘Anything else I can get for you ladies?’
‘What about some sandwiches or scones?’ Stella asked the girls.
‘Oh yes, some of your scones, Fran. That would be lovely,’ Diana said.
‘Coming right up,’ she said as she walked away.
‘Those are great boots, Di,’ said Rosie, eyeing them off. ‘Where did you get them?’
‘Harvey Nichols. They’re amazingly comfortable.’
‘Actually, your whole outfit is wonderful,’ Rosie sighed. ‘It was the saddest day of my life when I stopped growing and realised I was never going to fit into your clothes again.’
‘I bet.’ Diana laughed at her. ‘You used to always complain you had to wear my cast-offs. I can still hear those moans and groans.’
‘That was before you came back in these wonderful outfits. I want those boots.’
‘You always wanted what I had, right back to my first Barbie doll.’
‘And do you blame me? Try having you for a sister.’
Stella felt it was time to change the topic. ‘Did you get on to Megan?’ she asked Diana.
‘I’ve emailed her. I’m hoping we can go and see her.’ Diana glanced around. ‘Look at all these people in here. I hardly know anyone. But every person who’s come in has smiled at you, Rosie.’
‘It’s hardly surprising, Di, I have lived here all my life. Tell me more about London and where you live, Gospel Oak? What’s it like having an agent? Is he making pots of money for you while you visit Australia?’
‘I’d like to think so. Sebastian is a good agent and I’m lucky to have him. I feel a bit guilty about not getting in touch, but I guess if there’s a problem he’ll contact me soon enough.’
‘You’ve certainly been lucky, Diana, always,’ Rosie said.
Stella felt uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. ‘You remember Megan, Rosie. Diana flatted with her in Sydney when she was in college. Did she ever marry?’
‘No, she’s the same old Megan. Doesn’t ever change. She lives down the south coast now.’
‘I auditioned for the Music Club’s Soiree last week,’ Rosie butted in. ‘And I got in. It’s going to be a Cole Porter night. Mum, they were wondering if you could do the costumes again.’
Making costumes or designing them for the local performances in town had become Stella’s speciality. She loved doing it. ‘Cole Porter—that’s anywhere from the twenties to the forties. Has anyone narrowed it down?’ Stella looked at Rosie’s blank expression and laughed. ‘Okay. I’ll ask Helen.’
‘So, all that Young Talent Time training finally paid off?’ Diana teased.
‘I was always much better than you at singing.’ Rosie tossed her head.
‘Says who? Mum, who was the better singer?’
‘Honestly, when are you two going to grow up?’
‘Never.’ They said simultaneously.
‘Jinx!’ Rosie squealed. ‘Got you!’
Diana opened her mouth and closed it again, glaring at her sister.
‘Ha, now you can’t talk till I say! Now I’m two up. I got you the last time too!’ Rosie was jubilant.
‘Girls, really! When was the last time?’ Stella laughed disbelievingly at them.
‘I’m not sure, when Di was fourteen maybe.’
Diana exploded. ‘It was not—I got you the last time.’ Then they both collapsed into laughter.
Diana insisted on paying when they’d finished. Stella watched her two daughters at the counter, still arguing over who’d got who, twenty-five years ago. She shook her head. And here she was thinking they were grown women with children of their own. Daughters. She was sad sometimes for Tom they’d only had girls, but not for herself. There was never a dull moment, that’s for sure. All the same she couldn’t help the pang as she saw the shadow of Cody standing beside them, reaching up to pull Diana’s elbow, asking for a bag of mixed lollies like she always used to.
She’d lost a child and thought she’d never recover, but she had. Diana had lost a husband. If anyone could help her it was Stella. If Diana would only open up and start talking to her. Was there ever such a stubborn daughter?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The bickering voices rose above the TV commentary.
‘Oh, oh,’ Diana raced to the sitting room. ‘Shh! Hey, quiet.’
Her father glared
at the children and then at her. The kids had to be totally silent for the weather reports or her father lost it. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Milo and Sienna and shepherded them out to the kitchen.
‘What is it about farmers and the weather?’ Diana said to her mother. ‘The kids don’t understand the fanatical obsession farmers have for hearing these long and complicated weather reports. Why don’t you get a computer and Dad could find out the forecasts whenever he wanted?’ Diana felt restless. ‘Would you two like to make biscuits?’
‘Oh, no.’ Stella frowned. ‘Not just now, Diana. Can’t they go outside?’
‘Come on, let’s go out.’
They didn’t want to go. Milo shrugged her arm away and Sienna looked like she was going to burst into tears.
‘I want to show you my first wheel.’
They relented, following her out the door as she led them towards the potting shed. They fell silent looking at the lumpy covered object with suspicion. Diana took off the dusty old wool bale. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘How old were you when you started to make pots?’ Milo said.
‘About thirteen. We had a fantastic teacher for art. We started making pots out of ropes.’
‘Ropes?’ said Sienna.
‘Ropes of clay.’ Diana laughed. ‘I’ve shown you before. I got hooked, and badgered Dad till he bought me this.’
She could have kicked herself. She’d done it again. Reminding these two they didn’t have a father to buy them a wheel. She had to be so careful. Diana went back inside leaving them looking at the wheel. At least it had got them out of the house.
‘Why won’t the kids go outside and play?’ her mother asked.
‘Well, outside isn’t an option in London. Outside for my children means parks and walks and outings, not out the back door. They don’t know what to do with themselves, the poor things. They just sit on the couch watching the television. I can understand it’s driving you crazy. It’s driving me crazy, too.’
‘Diana, relax, it’s okay. Let’s have a cuppa. Put the kettle on.’
She stood stiffly, waiting for the kettle to boil.