Page 43 of Wings Above the Mallee

‘Looks to me like she can take care of herself where Faelie’s concerned,’ Sean said. ‘In any case, she’s using regular milk.’

He knew that. But he’d forgotten, like he did everything that didn’t centre around him. ‘Yeah, but she mixes it with dried milk. I can pick up a packet or two of that from the IGA. They’d have it, right?’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Sean said, taking a box of muesli from the cupboard. ‘They need some hay from the stock fodder place, too. I’ve got a bit of running around to do, so might be an hour or so. Maybe take Amelia a coffee along with the lambs’ stuff? Sam over at Ploughs and Pies makes a good one.’

Heath clenched his jaw. It was like he was fifteen and his dad was priming him for a date. At least he hadn’t suggested make-up flowers.

‘Though you’re probably going to get Christine at this time of day,’ Sean continued with a sympathetic grimace. ‘Rumour is, she’s taking over the cafe. That’ll add an interesting dynamic to the town.’

‘Dynamic is probably not an adjective this town would recognise.’

‘Ah, come on now, lad. The interest in the skatepark has to have surprised you. Wouldn’t have drummed up that much enthusiasm across the border.’

‘Again, I’m not sure “enthusiasm” is the right word.’ Yet Heath couldn’t completely stifle his grin. The challenge of winning over Dave’s brow-beaten cohort appealed.He recognised that Dave’s dislike of the project was probably rooted in obstinacy and control, rather than being a justifiable objection. And he also knew a bully when he saw one: people fell into line with Dave because it was easier than becoming the target of his longwinded hostilities and overbearing protests. But if they wanted Settlers Bridge to grow and flourish—and it was clear that a slightly terrified majority did—they needed someone to advocate for them. He had the skills, both in finance and project management. And maybe throwing himself more into that role would get his head out of his butt, stop him focusing so much on himself.

And perhaps if he’d come to that realisation a little earlier, he wouldn’t have screwed up so monumentally the previous night. Heath winced at the memory of Amelia’s face. What he’d thought was scorn at his parenting was actually a reflection of her own pain and grief. A recognition of their similarities, their shared trauma.

Dad was right. He owed Amelia a coffee.

‘You right then?’ he asked Sean, trying to hide his impatience. It had taken his dad a couple of hours to finish with the animals and whatever else it was that he used to keep himself busy around the property.

‘You could have lashed out and shaved.’ Sean nodded at the beanie Heath had pulled on. ‘And I’ve been ready for hours, but Charlee and Ethan are coming in with us. Apparently their “early” isn’t quite the same as ours.’

‘Takes effort to look this good,’ Charlee responded as she slouched into the room. She didn’t look any different to her new usual: tattered clothes, unkempt hair. But her attitude was … fresher. As though aware of Heath’s assessment, shetwisted her mouth wryly. ‘And by this good, I meanthatgood.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder as Ethan came up behind her.

‘Mmm.’ There didn’t seem any appropriate response to his teenage daughter admiring her lover.

‘Morning, all. Thanks for the brekky, man,’ Ethan said to Sean, crossing the kitchen to stack bowls in the sink. He splashed water over them. ‘Was a time when I barely ate, but now I reckon that a decent breakfast sets you on the path for a good day. Right, Charlee?’

As he switched his gaze between the two of them, Heath realised that Charlee’s eyes seemed less vacant, her cheeks a little fuller. He should have noticed before, but the truth was, he avoided looking at her because it had become like looking at a mortal injury.

‘Yep,’ Charlee said. ‘But if we’re back next weekend, I expect you to level up on that breakfast, Dad. I told Ethan about the pancakes you used to make.’

Heath’s heart contracted and he turned away to hide his face. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

‘It’s on,’ Sean agreed enthusiastically. ‘I thought you liked my boxty-boxty best?’

‘Boxty?’ Ethan asked as they all made their way across the yard to Sean’s car.

‘Potato pancakes,’ Heath said as he realised the other two were far enough ahead not to engage. ‘Traditional Irish recipe.’

‘Fair enough. I’m down for it even if it’s haggis, as long as it gets Charlee eating more than a sparrow does.’

‘That’s Scottish, not Irish.’ Though he automatically corrected Ethan, Heath slid his gaze sideways, surprised at what sounded like genuine concern for his daughter in the other man’s tone.

Sean and Ethan kept up a running dialogue all the way into Settlers, and Heath wished they’d shut up; Charlee had slipped into her usual silence once more, and he was desperate to have her input again. He snorted. He was like an addict himself: give him one tiny dose of the old Charlee, and he craved her interaction like a drug.

They pulled up in the main street of Settlers Bridge. The gusts of wind whipped the canes of the bougainvillea, scattering the odd purple or burgundy bloom along the wet road in the lingering gloom. Heath made for Ploughs and Pies—not because of Sean’s suggestion, but enticed by the smell of hot pastry on the wintry breeze. The doorbell jangled above him as he blustered in. His dad had called it: Christine was behind the counter, and for a moment, Heath almost did a runner. But he’d caught her eye and it’d take a braver man than him to back out without making a purchase.

He assessed the glass-fronted counter, finding it hard to choose a couple of pies when he’d had no interest in food for so long.

Aware of Christine’s beady gaze, he blurted an order. ‘Two coffees, please.’ He paused, realising he didn’t know how Amelia took hers. ‘Flat whites.’ Coffee was coffee.

‘Sean prefers his black,’ Christine said acerbically.

‘It’s not for Dad.’ He could have bitten his tongue. He knew small towns well enough to realise he’d invited questions. Sure enough, Christine lifted a thin eyebrow. She didn’t offer any comment. It was all there in the look. ‘And a couple of steak and mushroom pies. And a Cornish pasty.’ He also didn’t know whether Amelia was a vegetarian.

Or whether she’d let him in her house, for that matter.

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