Mountain Ash (6 page)

‘Hi, Milly!'

Jodie knew it paid to be upbeat with her daughter, especially if the day was looking like it had been bad. Better to have one up and one down than the two of them down together.

‘Hi, Mum.' Her daughter's voice was little more than a mumble. ‘Did Alex offer you a lift up the hill?'

‘Yes.'

‘And …?'

‘I wanted to pedal myself.'

‘Right,' Jodie handed over a tall glass of icy lemon cordial. ‘Tough day, huh?'

‘Well, you could say that.'

‘Why?' Jodie settled herself against the bench, a drink in hand. She'd decided 4.30 pm was close enough to beer o'clock, especially when beer was a Vodka Cruiser.

‘I need to write a prayer.'

She'd sent her child to St Catherine's as it was the best of the two schools in town. She'd forgotten about their preference for prayers.

‘Ooooh-kaaay. And the problem with that is?'

‘I don't know what to write about,' said Milly, dejectedly. ‘I wanted to be the first to put a prayer in the new prayer box but Fiona Wright beat me to it.'

Jodie took a swig of her drink. Fiona Wright? Why did that name ring a bell?

‘And Fiona prayed for all the poor people. She said her prayer was for people like us. Are we poor, Mummy? Is that why we had to sell Grandpa's house?'

Her mother took another swig of the vodka. Fiona Wright. The local real-estate agent's daughter, at a guess. The little shit. It sounded like the arrogant Gavan Wright had sold more down river than just her father's house. What a bloody question. Were they poor? Actually she wouldn't be sure about that until she spoke with the solicitor tomorrow. Possibly. Probably. Poor enough. She hoped Fiona Wright was wrong. ‘No way, Milly Molly Dooks. We're fine. What on earth gave you that idea?'

Milly looked, considering. She seemed to come to some decision. ‘I heard Mr McGregor –'

‘Alex,' broke in Jodie.

Milly wriggled in her chair. ‘Alex, then. He said he wanted to give you everything you've ever wanted. And I figured … well … if we had enough money you and I could just buy whatever we wanted. Mr McGre–, I mean
Alex
wouldn't have to give it to us then, would he?'

Jodie's belly tilted uneasily. She put her drink on the bench and sat down at the table beside her daughter. ‘When did Alex say this, Milly?'

Milly tilted her head to one side, thinking. Another gesture she'd inherited from Jodie. ‘A while ago, at Grandpa's house, before we moved. He said it to you.'

Jodie had been so surprised by the turn of the conversation with Alex that night after she'd told him Robert's house had sold, she'd obviously missed that bit. ‘You were supposed to be in bed asleep!'

‘I was! I was in bed! Just not asleep.' The child hung her head. ‘I came to ask you for a drink and heard him, and, well, I didn't need a drink so much any more, so I went back to bed.'

Jodie sighed and thought about what to say. This was one of the many drawbacks of single parenthood: namely, not having the backup of another party. Two heads were definitely better than one, especially when it came to dealing with the simple logic of kids. But then, if she had a partner they wouldn't be having this conversation either.

‘No chickadee. We're not poor. We're not rich either, mind you, not like Alex, but we're comfortable.' Well, as comfortable as a rented house on someone else's farm filled with someone else's furniture could make them. Hopefully the solicitor would tell her tomorrow that after paying all her father's medical bills she had enough of a nest egg from the sale of the house to start over. All her own savings had gone on supporting her and Milly while she'd been working part-time so she could look after her father.

‘And so this prayer?' Milly's mind was back onto her problem.

‘Yes, the prayer …' Jodie had no answers when it came to Alex, so the prayer was the lesser of two evils.

‘I thought I might write about the people in heaven, like Grandpa.'

‘Right.'

‘I could write about Grandma Joy, but she doesn't count – even though she says she lives in heaven, it's not
really
heaven, is it? Like “in the clouds” heaven?'

Bribie Island wasn't heaven. Not by a long shot.

‘No, Grandma doesn't count.' Since when had Grandma ever really counted? Jodie could list on one hand the number of times her mother had visited or helped out since Milly had been born. After Rhys Lucas had left Jodie literally holding the baby out near Augathella, her mother's attitude had been ‘you've made your bed now lie in it' and ‘I've done my time with babies'. Hardly ‘babies'. Jodie had been an only child and Joy hadn't even helped with her granddaughter when Jodie did her nursing training. Joy was all about joy for Joy. Nothing else counted.

‘So that leaves Grandpa. And the calendar says it's his day tomorrow.'

Jodie was now flummoxed. His day? ‘You wrote it on the calendar,' prompted Milly. ‘It says Dad's Day.'

‘Since when do you read the calendar?'

‘Since I could read,' said Milly, rolling her eyes. The little girl flung her plaits over her shoulder with pride. ‘You didn't know I could do that, did you? Keep track of stuff?'

No, she hadn't known. But that was also a bane of a single mother's life. So busy working, mothering and trying to just stay straight in your own head, you tended to miss the subtleties.

‘So what is Dad's Day, exactly?'

‘Grandpa's first anniversary.'

‘Of leaving his house?'

Jodie glanced at her daughter and realised she was serious. ‘Well, yes. Kind of. His first anniversary of being in heaven.'

‘Good,' said Milly.

‘Good?' Jodie reached for her Vodka Cruiser. This conversation was getting weirder by the second.

‘Yes. I can write my prayer for tomorrow.' Milly dragged her pencil case and homework book from her school bag and started scrawling out her prayer, pausing every now and then to tap the pencil against her teeth.

Jodie took a swig of her drink, leaned her head back against a kitchen cabinet and watched her daughter. Goodness only knew what she was writing, the child had always been an original.

Speaking of which, she suddenly remembered Alex had left a note somewhere near the front screen door. She should find it, she guessed. Leaving her daughter scrawling away at the kitchen table she moved into the little hall that led to the front door. There on the table beside the old black telephone was a piece of paper. Alex's flamboyant script was embossed across the A4 page, taking up all the space with a short message.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been taken out for dinner, and at Narree House too. It was just like Alex to choose
the best of the best. She idly studied his signature, all decisive cursive copperplate loops with a full stop after his name. It went with the world of directorships, meetings in Melbourne with ministers and premiers, a whole universe away from the world of a single mother sitting atop McCauley's Hill. No wonder her feelings were all over the place. She couldn't help but wonder why he was interested in her.

‘You are captivating, Jodie. So full of life and vigour,' Alex's voice echoed through her mind, ‘I am so delighted Robert brought you into my life.'

All she'd ever wanted since Rhys was someone to take care of her, of them. (Mind you, Rhys had only ever taken care of himself, like her mother. Hindsight was indeed a wonderful thing.) So where were these doubts coming from? Alex was kind, generous, caring. He was trying to look after her in the only way he knew how. It was a bit arrogantly done, especially organising a babysitter without asking her, but that was Alex. He always knew what he wanted and that was a part of him that appealed to her. His solid confidence. Plus he'd been busy – that was why he hadn't helped with the packing, the moving, the unravelling of a new life for her and Milly. Jodie took another swig of her drink. It was nothing to do with her not fitting in with what he wanted her to do. Namely move in with him. Now. Straightaway. It had nothing to do with the stigma of her being a single mother. He'd obviously got over that somehow without her even knowing it. Not like some people around Narree. When she'd arrived in town three years back, she could almost see the doting Catholic mothers of the bachelor boys drawing their precious sons back under their skirts. ‘Careful. She's a single mother or, worse still, a loose woman.' Geez. It was almost like she'd had a choice in her marital status. Which of course she hadn't.

Rhys had been all cowboy. Slim hips, square shoulders, a bum that made a pair of Wranglers look like they'd been made for him alone. He'd had crinkly hazel eyes that danced with mischief like Milly's did when she was treading the fine line between spiritedness and flat-out cheek. His battered Akubra looked like it'd been glued to his head and when he tipped his face in Jodie's direction, and smiled that sexy grin which made her insides turn upside down, well, it all spelled disaster for the heart. She couldn't really blame the pretty blonde barrel-racer for driving away with Rhys in his battered F100 ute. She probably would have done the same at twenty-one. Whoops. That's right. She had. That's what had got her into all this mess. What an idiot. She, Jodie Ashton, had been a life-long sucker for a cowboy. But that was over now. Never again. At thirty-two years of age she had well and truly learned her lesson. Grand passion did not equate to a love that lasted.

When she was twenty-six, and doing the late-afternoon shift bar work in Charleville to provide an income for herself and the baby, Jodie had realised that to support them better she needed a qualification, something she hadn't thought that important straight out of school. (She wished she'd listened to her parents on that one.) But three years' study on a tiny student pension and whatever cash work she could scramble together in the holidays, while a family day-care woman got to watch Milly take her first steps, put paid to that hurdle. She'd become a qualified nurse. A profession chosen purely because it was reasonably paid and meant she could be at home with her daughter at least some days of the week.

‘Mum! I've done it! I've got my prayer!'

Jodie looked down at Alex's message once more, before folding and shoving it into her pocket. She'd deal with that
later. Milly came first. ‘Hit me with it, Milly Molly Dooks,' she called as she walked back into the kitchen. This was going to be good. She could see it in the way her daughter was wriggling in the chair as though she'd laid an egg. Jodie's father, Robert, had been the same when he'd solved problems for his secondary students.

‘
Dear God
…'

Yep, thought Jodie, it was a good start because dear God, what was going to come next?

‘
I pray for all my grandparents in Heaven
…'

Rhys was now in the States on the rodeo circuit. He'd married a woman out there and had kids with her. Neither Jodie nor Milly had ever met his folks so there was only one grandparent in heaven that Jodie knew of, but that was beside the point …

‘
I feel sorry for them
…'

So did Jodie. Except anything was better than the pain her father had endured in the last few months of his life. It had taken its toll on all of them, but at least Alex had been there for her. Well, when he wasn't running his property, his investment portfolio properties, his directorships, his Rotary commitments and so on and so forth.

‘
I loved you very much, Grandpa Rob
…'

Jodie loved and missed her father terribly too, and tomorrow was going to be really hard. She should probably grab Alex's invitation with both hands. Milly would love to spend a few hours with Mue.

‘
I hope you are getting some great games of chess up there
…'

Robert had loved chess, especially his games with friends like Alex and Mue. She was so grateful to Alex when he suggested that Muriel, his housekeeper (and Mue to everyone else), could
sit with her father three times a week while Jodie worked. She wouldn't have been able to survive moneywise without the part-time nursing shifts. There it was, Alex again, taking charge. Trying to make life easier for her.

‘
It was sad we had to sell your house, but it's good we aren't poor
…'

Yet. The solicitor would tell all tomorrow. It had to be tomorrow, though, didn't it? Of all the shit days …

‘
I like being here on McCauley's Hill. Maybe you can look out for a dog called Boots, and an old man called Joe, living up there in heaven?

‘
And I hope you had a good time when you were on land. Amen.
'

What more could she say, but … ‘Amen.'

Her daughter beamed up at her from the kitchen table.

At least one of them was happy.

‘Where am I gunna go now?' asked Wally, as they drove back towards the staff dongas. ‘Who'll want an old bloke like me? Especially at this time of the year?'

‘You got money?' asked Nate.

‘A bit. Not enough to get me through without a roof over me head though.'

‘How about family?'

The old man peered out the window towards the east. ‘A sister in Brisbane.' He squinted his eyes, then looked towards the ute floor with studied interest. ‘She lives in a flat.'

Nate felt his guts clench. A flat? Wally Price could never live in a flat. It wasn't about the space inside the building either. The dongas they lived in out here were little more than a bedroom. It was what was outside the flat that was the problem. Urban sprawl – houses, concrete and people. A man like Wally needed space, open air and some solitude. And then there was his horse …

‘We'll pick up your stuff and you can come with me.'

‘Yeah. She lives in the middle of Brisbane too, not on the outski– … What? What did you just say?'

‘You can come with me.' Nate pulled up at the staff quarters, bailed out of the ute and called back to a still stunned Wal: ‘C'mon, I want off this place before morning smoko.'

‘What's your dad gunna say?'

Nate glanced in the rear-view mirror at the old Singer pedal sewing machine balancing precariously on his tray-back. ‘He'll think I've turned into a fairy.'

Wally swung around just in time to watch his prized machine bounce a few more inches towards the back of the tray. The horse float hitched behind the ute was in danger of wearing the antique as decoration. ‘Hey! Take it easy on those cattle grids, ay?'

‘You want a roof over your head?'

‘Well, yes, but I love that machine.'

‘My father will think
you're
the fairy then.'

‘It was me mother's. Does good leather work, as you well know.'

Nate did know. He resisted the urge to look down at his ringer's belt, handmade and tooled by the bloke sitting beside him. He concentrated instead on keeping the ute and float steady in the gravel.

‘Maybe you should just drop me in Longreach,' said Wally. His voice had a quiver to it and Nate could hear the other man try to swallow, make his voice firm and even. It didn't work.

Nate couldn't believe Van Over had done this. Sure, get rid of him but not Wally. What had the man ever done except
protect a mate and sometimes see the bottom of too many bottles? ‘We'll find you something to do. Might not be much money in it, but you'll get a roof over your head and three meals a day. Mue's a great cook.'

At the mention of food, Wal's interest shifted. ‘Who's Mue?'

‘She's Dad's housekeeper.' Nate's expression suddenly turned pensive. ‘Well, she was. That's if the new bird hasn't got rid of her.'

‘She's hardly likely to do that if it means getting her hands dirty, is she? That's if she's like what you're saying?'

Nate's face hardened. ‘Of course she's like what I'm saying. A bloody gold-digger. Why else would a young chick go out with an old man like my father?'

It wasn't until they were driving into Longreach and pulling up to a service station to refuel that Wal spoke of his situation again. ‘You could still drop me here?'

‘Yeah right. Where are you going to put that?' said Nate, nodding to the Singer. ‘On the street?' Although that wasn't a bad idea. With all the other stuff jammed in the back, the pokey iron bits were making Rupert's life a misery. Nate got out of the ute, patted his dog and then grabbed hold of the nozzle of the fuel bowser. He could see Wal sitting with his chin in the air, trying to be dignified.

‘I'm sure I could sort out somethin',' said the older man through his open window.

‘And the float with your horse in it?'

‘We'd be right.'

Nate sighed. He needed to deal with this a little better. A man had his pride. He clipped the nozzle so it would keep
fuelling up the ute without him and leaned back in the open window. ‘What do you want, Wal?'

‘Huh?'

‘What do you really want in life?'

Wal pushed at his hat, scratched his head. ‘That's a bit deep coming from you, isn't it?'

At the younger man's exasperated look the older man sat back in the seat and thought. Finally, ‘I want to belong to a place, that's all.' He turned to face Nate. ‘Security, I guess. It's all right for people like you. You've got a property you can call home, even if your old man's a prick. People like me haven't got nuthin'. We don't have roots.'

‘Does a roof over your head, a meal in your belly and stock work with some of the best views in the world help with that?'

‘Well, yes. I guess so.'

‘Goodo then. We'll turn you into a mountain man yet. It might even help you mount a woman for a change. Now, hand me my wallet.'

They made it to Emerald that night. A wayside stop just out of town. Nate was all for turning south at Barcaldine and heading for Charleville, but Wally had other ideas.

‘Know a bloke on a station south of Emerald. He might have a decent horse for ya.'

‘What makes you think I want one of those?'

Wally turned and levelled a withering look at Nate. ‘You said so. Plus, you're a stockman and you're going home. Of course you wanna good mount,' he raised a hand. ‘And I don't mean of the female variety either.'

Nate laughed. ‘You saying I can't have a mare?'

‘Nope. A filly, mare, doesn't mean nuthin' to me but remember, my lad, you need to find,' Wally put his pointer and middle fingers in the air and crunched them downwards, ‘the one.'

Wally's mate couldn't come up with anything either bloke liked in the way of a good horse, mare or otherwise. His taste in grog, though, was impeccable. They had a big night on beer followed by spirits, rolling out of their swags the next morning with sore heads. Over greasy bacon and eggs, cooked by Nate (who was the most with it), Wal's mate told them he could get them some fencing work down near Thargomindah. A friend of a friend was looking for some extra hands. Nate was nodding before the man paused to slurp from his ‘hair of the dog' can of beer. Anything to put off the inevitable of Glenevelyn and Alex McGregor.

They were on the road again the next morning after another night on the turps, the horse float trailing forlornly behind the ute, Rupert and the sewing machine vying for space on the tray. Nate felt all right. He hadn't drunk nearly as much as the night before, preferring to give his liver (and his head) a rest. Wally was asleep in the passenger seat and the radio was set to a local station, where a bloke called Gazza was encouraging everyone to have a good day. Nate leaned forwards and glanced up at the incredible blue sky, then around at the scrubby country flying past his window. Yep. Central Queensland at its most magnificent. You really couldn't fail to have a good day when faced with all that sunshine.

He slunk back into his seat and resettled his bum, took a look at Wally. The old man was leaning sideways in his seat-belt,
snoring like a fog horn. Any louder and Nate wouldn't be able to hear the radio. He gave the older man a gentle shove. Wally tilted the other way, landing softly against the window, cheek smooched up with the glass, muttering and grumbling. He didn't even open his eyes but at least the snoring stopped. Nate contemplated the man for a few moments. Asleep and vulnerable to the world, Wally Price looked … well … old. Those remarkable crevices in his face were all collapsing in on each other, and the apples on his cheeks were tracked by broken red capillary lines. Would his own father look like this now? Old? Alex's appearance had always been urbane, almost regal, regardless of what he'd been doing with his day. Nate could never imagine his father looking like Wal. Alex McGregor knew where he was headed, what he was doing next. He'd always had his eye on the prize. He would never be found sleeping off a hangover, wandering in a ute like a hobo down the back roads of Queensland. Not like Wally Price. Not like his son, Nathaniel McGregor.

Nate idly thrummed the steering wheel with his tanned fingers. He'd asked Wally the other day in Longreach what he wanted in life. But what did
he,
Nathaniel McGregor, want?

A chance to run the family property.

Yeah, right. As if that was going to happen. But then again, his father
had
rung him. Wanted him to come home, help out. And since when had Alex McGregor ever wanted that? To hand over the reins, or at least a halter rope, to the property? It sounded like the old bloke was serious about this bird, for whatever reason, even if it was just to satisfy his dick.

Suddenly Nate could hear Elizabeth, his mother, in his head.
Now, Nathaniel Alexander McGregor!
She was always on at him to be polite and not ruffle his father's feathers. While his mother's counsel had influenced
him
often enough, it was a
shame it hadn't held sway with the old man. Nate could never do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

And then there was the day it had all come to a head.

They'd been shifting a mob of steers to the Scrubby Flat: Nate, two blokes who'd been working for his father for only a few weeks, and Rupert. Nate and one bloke were on horseback. The other fella was in the ute. They'd heard a wild dog howling over on the other side of the river. Nate, with Rupert, had gone to investigate, taking a rifle from the vehicle with him, leaving the two newcomers with the cattle.

Nate had thought they'd be all right, that nothing could possibly go wrong as the mob was nearly to the gate into the Scrubby Flat paddock.

How wrong could he have been?

At the rifle shot (Nate firing at the fleeing feral dog) the mob had stampeded, causing the bloke on horseback, who was opening the gate, to be thrown from his horse and get crushed by 400-kilogram bodies, one after the other. When they finally dug him out of the ground into which he'd been pounded, a broken pelvis had been the least of his worries. Internal injuries were the most pressing and the emergency helicopter had only just got the man to the hospital in the nick of time.