Page 41 of Wings Above the Mallee

As though to prove her wrong, her phone vibrated. She ignored it. Taylor, Heath, whoever: it wasn’t important.Theyweren’t important.

The second time it rang, her brain clicked into gear. Thursday night: Dad’s weekly call. The one where they politely pretended he hadn’t betrayed her by selling her birthright, leaving her with no future, no memories. Nothing but money.

He’d keep ringing if she didn’t answer. After the second overdose, perhaps he had every right to.

‘Dad.’ She couldn’t breathe properly. She felt ice cold, couldn’t draw oxygen into her lungs.

‘How is it down south, Mel? Got that rain coming in yet?’ For the last few years, Dad had adopted a hearty tone when he talked to her, one usually reserved for strangers and employees, not the daughter who had worked by his side, as hard as any man, since she was fifteen years old.

‘Bit. Not so much.’ Talking hurt, her throat swollen so much that she momentarily panicked, afraid she couldn’t breathe. She was definitely coming down with something. ‘Why did you do it, Dad?’

Had she really said that? Had the words she’d been thinking for so long made it past her guard?

‘What’s that? Do what, Melly?’ Dad’s joviality ramped up, as though he was about to start booming ‘Merry Christmas’ in a manner he never had. Or as though he hoped to force her into reciprocal friendliness.

‘Why did you sell the property when you knew it was my whole life? Why didn’t you help me work out a way I could buy it?’

The silence was so long, she thought the call had cut out. But that was okay, she had the pressure in her head, the dull pounding beat, to keep her company.

‘How could I not?’ Dad said quietly. ‘There was nothing left for us there. No one to carry on the name.’

She clutched her chest. Dad had been stoically thrilled when she’d announced Noah would have her surname as well as Tim’s. ‘But Dad—’

‘And I didn’t need the reminders,’ he continued harshly.

‘But I did,’ she gasped. ‘Idid. That’s the only place I can remember Noah. The only place he’s ever been.’

Her father swallowed loudly, the sound painful. ‘I didn’t need the reminders that I’d failed you all.’

She ran a palm across her damp forehead, although her throbbing hand felt too heavy to lift. Her lungs ached, and she was gasping for air with each breath. ‘You failed? What do you mean?’

‘A father is supposed to protect his children. I was supposed to keep you all safe. And I failed.’

‘But Noah was my son, not yours. I was the one who failed him.’

‘And I failed to protect you from that hurt.’

She deservedallthe hurt. ‘I’m the one who left him with the governess.’ The immature, untrained kid who’d just graduated high school and thought it would be fun to babysit a child on an outback station. The governessshehad interviewed and appointed, impressed by Mara’s grades, her cheerfulness, the way Noah had taken to her instantly, clinging to her hand to drag her off to show her the new litter of kelpies in the implement shed. ‘I’m the one who went must-musting …’ Her voice trailed off as she couldn’t find the correct words. She took a wobbly breath, closingher eyes as she forced her mouth and brain to cooperate. ‘I’m the one who went chasing cattle instead of looking after my child.’

‘And I’m the one who rostered you for the muster, because I knew I could rely on you to make sure all the calves were brought in. I’m the one who couldn’t stand to walk out of that back door every morning, Mel; walk out and look at that big sky and know Noah would never see it again. So I had to sell. Run from it. Hide from myself.’

‘But it was all I ever wanted, Dad,’ she whispered, as though finally letting him in on a long-held secret. ‘That and Noah. They were everything to me, but now they’re gone. Everything. You took them all.’ Her ears were aching and her words thick. She let the phone drop from her hand, her head nodding uncontrollably until her chin hit her chest and she jerked upright, only to have her head, too heavy to support, flop forward again.

Dad hadn’t disconnected, she could make out his voice in the distance, asking if she was okay, if there was someone nearby, if she could call Taylor. But his voice was metallic and robotic—tinny, like the Tinman. Was Dad searching for his heart? Or was it, like hers, forever broken?

She slumped in the bed, propped at an awkward angle against the bedhead, but unable to adjust herself. Everything required too much effort.Livingrequired too much effort. She wanted to be done with it. If she had the energy, she’d go to the bathroom, find something—anything—she could take. Make sure the third overdose did the trick. Maybe alcohol … If only she could get out of bed, perhaps that would work. Had it worked for Sean? Had he found the oblivion he wanted? Why hadn’t she asked him? Learning that answer would have been far more important thancongratulating him on being recovered—because recovered simply meant he had learned to live with the pain.

Amelia scraped her nails through the red dirt coating her palms. If she looked in a mirror, pale panda circles would stare back where her sunglasses had protected her a little from dust so fine that it powdered her hair and lashes, embedded itself in wrinkles and pores. She knew from experience it would take more than one shower to remove the layers of dirt. Her grin broadened at the thought of a hot shower. Much as she loved the outdoor life, she could never give up the little luxuries the station offered.

Before she headed for one of the three bathrooms in the large homestead, she’d check in on Noah. As usual, he’d sulked about not being allowed to go on the muster, certain he could help from the tubby pony her father had bought him for his fourth birthday last year. Despite his sturdy little legs comically sticking straight out either side of the saddle as he bounced along, he would determinedly cling to the pommel to keep his seat, occasionally freeing one hand to tip back the oversized Akubra that Tim had carefully weathered by wetting and crushing until it matched his own beaten-up, decade-old version. Her own cute little cowboy, Noah loved to copy his dad, both in dress and mannerisms. Last night, he’d fallen over while trying to nonchalantly lean back against the kitchen counter he was barely tall enough to see over. Clutching a juice box, his legs crossed at the ankles, he’d been copying Tim, who stood, beer in hand, chatting while Amelia fried up chops and Mum served the veggies. Tim’s and Amelia’s amused glances had met above Noah’s head, but neither of themhad acknowledged his tumble. Their son took himself very seriously.

She chained the kelpie at the back door. The tabby house cat was the only animal Mum allowed inside, and that was only for vermin control. While he was a miniature of his dad in looks, Noah had inherited Amelia’s love of animals. She was dreading the new year, when his School of the Air lessons would start; although it seemed the governess she’d just appointed might be able to encourage him to spend some time at a desk, she knew Noah would rather be out in the cattle yards, petting the doe-eyed calves and letting their raspy tongues suck on his fingers, or up in the hay shed, where she’d shown him the yard cats liked to hide their tiny kittens in warm burrows they tunnelled between the giant bales. Noah was farm smart: he knew to make enough noise to scare away snakes, not to walk behind machinery, not to go through closed gates, and to always take a dog—usually Bluey, the pup he’d named a year ago—with him. He was starting to challenge her, though, wanting to be allowed to ‘help’ more on the property. That was a good part of her reason for employing Mara: the teenager was fantastic at keeping Noah engaged during the long days when Amelia was far from the homestead and Mum was too busy wrangling paperwork and managing the house to be responsible for a very active four-year-old.

She toed off her boots inside the tack room and slung her sleeveless jacket on top of the pile in the corner, then turned to the sink. Cold water only, but it would do for the first round of dirt removal. ‘Noah!’ she called as she started scrubbing with the block of Solvol. ‘Mummy’s home.’ She glanced at her watch, tutting as she splashed water on the face. ‘Do you want to go see the kittens with me before dinner?’ As he hadn’t participated in the muster, Dad hadvolunteered to put on a barbecue for all the hands. Mum would have spent the afternoon in the kitchen preparing mountains of coleslaw, along with the ubiquitous pav and fruit salad to follow.

Mara’s head appeared around the doorframe. ‘I think he’s already gone to find them.’

Amelia reached for the hand towel, noting that it needed changing. It’d do for an extra scrub of her hands, though. She frowned. ‘Did he check with you? He knows he’s not allowed to go over to the sheds without permission.’ Come to think of it, why hadn’t Mara gone with him? She was employed to care for him from the time Amelia left the house until the evening meal, which they all shared. Her stomach rumbled as she registered the smell of frying bacon and onions, the signature touch to Mum’s special hot potato salad.

---