Spring Clean for the Peach Queen

by Sasha Wasley

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Aunty Pris’s whiskey cream.’

  I sniffed. Smelled like Bailey’s Irish Cream. Angus held up his glass for a cheers and I clinked.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I said when we’d drunk. ‘That is some good shit.’

  ‘It’s the only good thing Pris brings to Christmas.’

  I laughed. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our drinks.

  ‘I should have bloody checked the oven was on,’ he said eventually. ‘You told me what happened with the scones last week. I should have known it might happen again.’

  ‘I should have stayed here to help her,’ I said. ‘I could have helped cook and prevented the whole thing.’

  We agreed on our mistakes, sipping Pris’s delicious whiskey cream in mutual self-reproach.

  He finished first and I knocked the rest of mine back so I wouldn’t miss out on a refill.

  ‘Want to get drunk?’ Angus asked.

  ‘Hell, yeah.’

  He refilled the tumblers generously and I raised my glass to his.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Angus.’

  ‘Merry fucked-up Christmas, Lottie.’

  I hung out with Mrs Brooker every day. We did a lot of cooking and worked on her crossword puzzles together. She was good at getting the answers to clues, except her focus drifted every so often. Sometimes, when I prompted her, she stared at me blankly as though she had no idea what we were doing. We didn’t mention the turkey but I could tell she was still upset over it.

  Later in the week, she asked me to post some letters for her. I messaged Angus and he came back to the house ‘for a cuppa’ so I could go to the post office. I passed the Rabbit’s Foot Newsagency on the way and fumed at my mother afresh. An A-frame sign sat on the kerb out the front of the shop: $21 million New Year’s Eve Jackpot! Get your tickets now!

  Inside the quiet post office, the extent of Pris’s machinations became clear. There was a Harvest Ball poster on the door as I entered, another stuck down on the counter, and yet another up behind the woman serving. A wad of flyers lay on the writing bench. And that was just in the post office. When I drove back along the main road, posters were everywhere. Every shop window and door held the poster of me, laughing in a romantic orchard, all feminine and sexy. The poster was literally all over town. How could I have let this happen?

  I drove back to Brooker’s.

  ‘We’re just having another cup of tea, love,’ Mrs Brooker told me. ‘Join us.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Angus’s friend Toby dropped by while you were out, so I invited him and his wife for dinner. Toby and …’

  ‘Jo,’ Angus supplied. ‘And their baby, Amelie.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll like them, love,’ she said, nodding at me.

  Mrs Brooker went to an extra effort to cook for her guests and I hovered around, ‘helping’. Actually, I was making sure gas burners were on, seasonings were appropriate and vegetables washed. She had decades of experience, and yet here I was supervising as though she were a child.

  Toby and Jo arrived at six with their baby girl asleep in a capsule. I remembered Toby from school. He’d been in a higher year. Jo filled me in on her history with Toby while Angus organised drinks for the guests. She had met Toby when visiting Bonnievale for someone’s twenty-first birthday party.

  ‘It was a bush dance, would you believe? In a barn.’ She laughed. ‘We had to dress up as country bumpkins, so I had a straw hat and flanno shirt and pigtails, and he was in a bright-red rodeo shirt with a cowboy hat on his head and this bloody huge belt buckle.’

  ‘Match made in heaven.’ Toby grinned at me. He was tall and lanky with sandy hair that grew in all directions. ‘Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickock.’

  ‘I thought he was a giant dag,’ Jo confided. Her brown eyes were full of humour above a splash of freckles. ‘He got shitfaced on Jim Beam and at the end of the night he tried to tell me he’d never met a girl as beautiful as me, then next minute he had to run off and have a spew. What a gem!’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately, by then he’d already captured my heart.’ She said it with humour, but I could see she meant it.

  ‘So you came to live in Bonnievale?’ I said. ‘Did you ever think you’d end up a farmer?’

  She snorted. ‘That was no biggie. I’m already a farmer’s daughter, although our place was wheat and sheep in Dinningup. Growing stone-fruit a princess’s life compared to that.’

  ‘You didn’t want to take over your family farm?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m one of three,’ she said, her face suddenly cynical. ‘Two brothers.’

  I knew how farming dynasties worked. Girls rarely got a look-in when it came to inheritance.

  ‘How old’s your bub?’ I asked.

  ‘Seven months.’ She checked on the sleeping baby. ‘Angus, did Toby tell you Ammers is crawling now?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Angus. He passed me a wine and Jo a beer. ‘Can’t believe it. Next, she’ll be running around – getting into all sorts of mischief, I reckon.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jo said proudly, eyes still on her daughter. ‘Then it’ll be trouble.’

  I helped Mrs Brooker serve a dinner of chicken pie, corn cobs and beans. The pie had been baked in a large rectangular dish, but Toby ate like I’d never ever seen anyone eat before and the whole thing got devoured. Amelie woke up part way through dinner and Jo perched the baby on her knee and spooned soft bits of pie into her mouth. Every now and then, she paused to disentangle her brown hair from the baby’s hand and sweep it behind her ear. When Mrs Brooker had finished, she took the baby so that Jo could eat the rest of her meal. The old woman looked down at Amelie adoringly, adjusting the romper sleeves and smoothing little wisps of sandy hair.

  After dinner, Toby announced that he and Angus would do the dishes. Mrs Brooker tried to disagree but Toby didn’t pay any attention. He whipped Angus with a tea towel while Angus filled the sink. At last Angus could take no more and grabbed his own tea towel to retaliate. Jo rolled her eyes and stood, reclaiming her baby.

  ‘I need to give her a feed, Mrs B,’ she said. ‘Can I use the lounge?’

  ‘Yes, love, of course.’

  ‘Ta.’ She disappeared.

  Mrs Brooker and I cleared the table, then I took Jo’s half-finished beer in to her. She was seated on the couch, stroking Amelie’s arm as she breastfed.

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ Jo took a drink. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I’m happy to give you privacy …’

  ‘No, seriously. I’ve had my boobs out for seven months now – I’ve got no shame left. Checked my dignity at the door when I became a mum. And my vanity! Boobs have gone to shit since I got pregnant – big, then small, then big again. And Ammers bites me from time to time, so my nipples are munted.’ She laughed and Amelie gave a start. ‘Oops, sorry bub.’

  I couldn’t help but glance at her breasts and saw they were soft and full, but certainly stretched. Amelie detached while I was looking and a bright red nipple came into view, glistening with milk. The baby caught her mother’s eye and gave her a huge grin, her mouth hovering millimetres from the breast. Then, as though she thought her meal might be whisked away, she clamped back on and resumed feeding.

  Jo chuckled again. ‘Cheeky little madam.’

  I sat down. ‘You seem like a natural. Is Toby an involved father?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s good. He’ll sit with her for hours. He sometimes moans because I get to feed her all the time. I tell him, just try waking up three or four times a night to get your boobs out.’ She shook her head. ‘At least it’s summer now. I froze my arse off in winter. It gets lonely sitting there tired at night, and being cold makes you feel pretty sorry for yourself.’ She looked at me. ‘You want kids?’

  I shrugged. ‘I haven’t given it much thought. I don’t know if I’d be any good as a mum.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Too selfish.’ I laughed sheepishly.

  She glanced at the
door. When she spoke, her voice was lower. ‘You don’t seem selfish. Angus said you’ve been keeping an eye on Mrs B.’ Jo must have seen my surprise. ‘Toby and I both noticed what’s going on. We see Angus and his mum pretty regularly. When Angus dropped in last week, we ambushed him. Squeezed it out of him.’ She eyed me. ‘He said you’ve been helping her.’

  ‘She’s a beautiful person.’

  ‘Yeah, she is. I’m glad Angus has you around to help. Me and Tobes worry about him.’

  ‘I’m only here for a little while.’

  ‘Any support they can get is good,’ Jo said firmly. ‘You going back to the city soon, then?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I’m going back at all. I’m at kind of a crossroads.’ I hadn’t planned to open up to Jo but she was unexpectedly easy to talk to.

  She nodded, sympathy in her eyes. ‘I bet. You’ve had a hell of a run lately.’

  ‘It doesn’t compare with the demands of a new baby.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jo looked down at Amelie. ‘She’s a pretty easy baby. And there’s rewards, at least.’ She drank her beer.

  ‘Are you allowed to drink when you’re breastfeeding?’ I asked.

  She grimaced. ‘It’s only one. And light beer. And I’ve only had a couple of sips.’ She showed me.

  My cheeks warmed. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t accusing you. I was just curious.’

  ‘All good, mate.’ She studied me. ‘You should consider it – having kids. Like, don’t be scared off because people say you wouldn’t be any good at it, or whatever. If you want kids, go for it. Like Angus. I always say to him, you shouldn’t make a decision not to have kids just because you feel like you’ve stuffed things up somewhere along the line. Kids don’t care about that shit. Look at her.’ She nodded at Amelie, whose blue eyes were trained fiercely on Jo’s armpit as she fed. ‘She doesn’t care if I used to smoke weed like a chimney, or if I made mistakes with blokes, or if I can’t cook anything but sausage casserole and lasagne.’

  ‘If I have kids, it’s a way off yet,’ I said. ‘But I appreciate what you’re saying.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not saying you should run out and get yourself up the duff. Just, you know, remember that things you’ve done, or whatever happened to you, isn’t you. I have to tell Angus that all the time. You’re still working on what makes up you, every day.’ She half-smiled and adjusted Amelie’s romper. ‘I don’t think he listens, though.’

  For the first time in over a decade, I had no plans for New Year’s Eve. I would be staying in. I could help Mrs Brooker with dinner, maybe. I could shut away the chickens, then finish one of Mum’s books. Angus hadn’t asked me to keep an eye on his mother for New Year’s, so it seemed he was staying home, too.

  Halfway through the week, a silver car with tinted windows arrived at the farm gate while Mrs Brooker was napping. The dogs went ballistic. No one made a move from the vehicle until I stepped outside – then the door swung open and my agent slid out. Kelsey looked chic in a vintage-style dress and low heels, with her bobbed dark hair and sunglasses. She looked so city I almost laughed, except I was also annoyed that she’d turned up like this. Kelsey contemplated the dogs doubtfully as they barked their most ferocious farm-guarding barks, tails wagging. She caught sight of me and waved. I joined her at the gate.

  ‘Charlize, oh my God.’ She clearly wanted to hug me but with the gate between us, there was no chance. ‘Will they hurt me?’ she asked, nodding at the dogs.

  ‘No. Just park your car and I’ll let you through.’

  She jumped back in and parked under a tree. I opened the gate for her, shushing the dogs. Kelsey wrapped me in a fragile hug.

  ‘Hey, stranger. You’re a hard woman to get hold of. I found your parents’ shop and they told me where I could find you. I chatted with your mum and dad – they’re so sweet! We’re all really worried about you. I told them how you turned down all those interviews, and the spot on Celebrity Challenge—’

  ‘Didn’t you get my letter?’

  Kelsey’s face fell. ‘Yes. That’s why I’m here.’ She looked around. ‘Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?’

  ‘Mrs Brooker’s resting and I don’t want to disturb her.’ I indicated the verandah. ‘We can sit out here.’

  I led the way up to the porch and took a seat. Kelsey brushed off her chair before sitting down. ‘What on earth are you doing staying here?’ she asked. ‘On a farm?’

  ‘Helping out a friend.’

  She ran her eyes over the yard and craned her neck to see around the corner, up the track that led to the orchards. ‘It’s very pretty here. I saw your picture on the posters for that ball thing next month. Gorgeous photo, Charlize. Who shot it?’

  ‘Just a woman in town.’

  Kelsey made a little sound of surprise. ‘Did you need help with negotiating an appearance fee?’

  ‘No, I’m doing it for free,’ I said.

  ‘Okay. I guess they put the pressure on, seeing as you’re in your hometown. How much longer are you going to stay?’

  ‘I don’t have plans to leave.’

  Kelsey’s eyebrows shot up. At that moment, the farm ute rumbled down the track, coming in from the orchards. Angus parked at the side of the house and got out, eyeing Kelsey’s car. He went through the side gate without noticing us where we sat on the verandah.

  She turned her big dark eyes in that pixie face onto me. ‘Is that why you’re staying?’

  ‘No. He’s an old schoolfriend.’

  ‘Listen, Charlize, I’ve come all the way out here to talk to you about an opportunity. I know you’ve suffered post-traumatic stress after what happened with Jai—’ I opened my mouth to argue but she kept talking ‘—but there’s a new role come up and it’s exactly the type of thing you’ve always wanted. It’s a detective show. Think Bones or Rosewood but set in Australia. They want a female forensic pathologist – smart, sassy and sexy, but she’s got a past. Something deeper. She’s the long-term love interest for the male detective but the two roles are almost equal when it comes to screen time. You’d be the main attraction – you and a co-star.’ Kelsey reached over and took my hand. ‘Charlize. This is the one. This is what you’ve been waiting for. I’ve seen the scripts and it looks fantastic. Really smart – explosive. I wouldn’t be surprised if this show wins awards. Maybe even syndication into international markets.’

  She stopped to let it sink in.

  ‘They’re talking Leo Brighton as the detective,’ she added. Leo Brighton was the industry’s current darling. He’d been in a number of US series and a couple of accoladed Australian films. Great actor.

  Bundy climbed the verandah steps stiffly and came to stand under where my hand dangled off the arm of the chair. I reached down and scratched the dusty fur around his ears. He groaned and took a seat.

  ‘Charlize. They want you. The casting director’s called me, like, a dozen times this week. They want to meet with you. I’ve had to make up all kinds of shit about you, like you had laryngitis, you were out of range down here, your grandmother was dying, that sort of stuff, just so she wouldn’t think we were fobbing her off!’ Kelsey dug her phone out of her purse, giving me a wry smile. ‘The recent notoriety got you noticed. Maybe we should have set you up in a scandal years ago. Look.’ She showed me the screen. ‘She’s messaged me again. Would you speak to her, Charlize? Please? This is the moment you’ve always wanted.’ She held out her phone.

  I took it, gazing at the bank of messages on the screen.

  Kelsey drove away ten minutes later, Blue barking to see her off. Bundy stayed where he was at my side. He was too worn out to join his colleague but gave one or two deep growls to let everyone know he might get involved at any moment. Angus came out onto the verandah with two cups of tea and handed one to me.

  ‘Mum’s asleep,’ he said. He sat in the chair Kelsey had abandoned. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Kelsey Hannan. My agent.’

  ‘Oh, okay …’ He searched my face for clues.

&nbs
p; ‘There’s a part going - a good one - and Kelsey wants me to audition.’

  ‘Ah. She seemed a bit pissed off just now.’

  I thought about Kelsey’s face draining of colour as I deleted the messages from the casting director and passed her phone back. ‘Yeah. I think I just cost her a pretty healthy ongoing commission. She should have known better though. I ended our contract in writing a couple of weeks ago.’

  Angus fidgeted with his father’s old binoculars. ‘You really don’t want to act any more, then?’

  ‘No more lying or faking, Angus.’ I shot him a quick smile. ‘That’s all acting is.’

  He smiled back as though relieved. ‘You’ve still got to get through the Harvest Ball, though,’ he reminded me. ‘Your final performance. Or have you decided to tell Aunty Pris to stick it up her arse?’

  ‘No.’ I sighed. ‘I’ll do it. One last show.’

  ‘You might need a wingman.’ His voice had gone tight. ‘I’m available.’

  ‘What do you mean? Has Pris roped you in, too?’

  ‘No. I just – I owe you for all your help with Mum. I can be your wingman on the night, if you want.’

  I stared. ‘Are you asking me to the ball?’

  ‘No!’ He drank hastily but it made him choke and go red in the cheeks. He recovered. ‘Yeah.’ He patted Bundy, his hair falling down to hide his face. ‘If you want.’

  I bit back a smile. ‘That’d be fantastic. I definitely need a wingman.’

  After a pause, Angus lifted his head again, but kept his gaze locked on the front gate. ‘Right. It’s a deal.’

  ‘What about your mum? Who’s going to keep an eye on her for the night?’

  ‘I’ll ask Toby to spend the evening here, make sure she gets off to bed,’ he said. ‘He’s really good with Mum. They’re coming around tomorrow night to see in the new year with us,’ he added. ‘Toby and Jo, I mean. You going to be around?’

  ‘I’ll check my hectic social calendar, but I think I can make it.’

  ‘We’re having a barbie. Pris has threatened to drop in as well.’ Angus shot me an apologetic glance.