Page 42 of Wings Above the Mallee

Mara sidled into the room, looking down as she fiddled with her phone. She held the device up. ‘I was moving around, trying to get a better signal so I could check my emails. The second-round uni offers came out today.’

Irritation flared in Amelia. Mara had assured her she had no intention of heading to uni in the foreseeable future. It had taken Dad ages to persuade Amelia to employ someone to watch Noah so that she could put in more hours on the property, and she didn’t much fancy starting the process all over again. Still, she supposed it made sense that the teen would want to know if she had an offer so she could defer.

‘Did you get in?’ she asked, pulling her boots back on a little begrudgingly. She gestured at the back door, then followed as Mara went outside. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, lengthening the shadows of the stunted bushes surrounding the dusty yard so they formed inky pools. Amelia wasn’t fond of twilight: either the sun or thestars provided more clarity out here, whereas dusk held a certain ominous murkiness.

‘Still don’t know.’ Mara waggled the offending phone. ‘I’ve been trying to get on for the last hour.’

Vague unease wormed through Amelia, but she pushed it away. ‘Noah’s usually worse than a blow fly, it’s not like him to disappear when there’s bacon cooking.’ She unclipped the kelpie, but held his collar as a thought struck her. ‘You did check in the kitchen?’

Mara shook her head and Amelia reattached the chain to the dog, trying to hide her annoyance. All she wanted was a hot shower. ‘That’s where he’ll be, then. Under Nanna’s feet.’

‘No. I don’t think so,’ Mara said uncertainly, glancing around the yard as though she expected to see Noah. ‘Your mum wasn’t cooking bacon when I noticed he was gone.’

‘When you noticed—?’

Mara refused to meet her eye. ‘A while back.’ Again, the waggle of the phone, as though poor service excused any transgression.

Fear bloomed like an exploding puffball mushroom in Amelia’s chest, but she clenched her fists, contained it. ‘Where’s Bluey?’

A vacant shrug.

‘Right.’ Amelia cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Blueeey! Noah!’ Though Noah might not answer, Bluey knew to bark. She strained into the darkness. It wasn’t silent. So very far from it. The cows in the holding pen bellowed, a motorbike droned a few paddocks over. That’d be Tim, checking the stock troughs before finishing up for the day. The genny hummed behind the house and insects committed noisy suicide in the light of the bug catcher on the verandah. But no dog, no child.

‘Bluey!’

Suddenly, she knew. She whirled back to Mara. ‘Get inside. Tell everyone he’s missing.’

By the time the yard filled with the station hands and her parents, with Mara skulking pale-faced on the outskirts of the group, Amelia had checked the hayshed. Over and again, trying to persuade herself Noah was playing hide and seek. But Bluey wouldn’t—Bluey knew better than to ignore her summons.

‘Where have you looked?’ Dad asked, immediately taking charge. Within seconds, he’d sent Mum and Mara back inside to comb the house, though Bluey wasn’t allowed in there, and divided up the hands to check various points. They could be heard all over the yard, hollering for Noah and the dog.

So loud, surely they wouldn’t hear his response? The reply that had to come. Must come.

Amelia raced behind the sheds, pushing alongside the barbed wire fence, her heart thumping. She knew all of her boy’s favourite places. The cats’ nests, the chicken coop, the hollowed-out base of the giant gum tree where she’d taken him to picnic since he was tiny. He’d be in one of them, giggling as he hid, imploring Bluey not to give him away.

As she approached each of their secret spots, she was certain he’d be there, could imagine his blond hair catching the rising moonlight, his cheeky grin that would make it so hard to reprimand him, even though he knew the rules.

And at each location she was disappointed, unwilling to accept the evidence of her eyes, her stomach churning with fear.

How had she never realised how huge the yard was, that there were so many places she needed to check herself, to be sure, despite Dad methodically issuing commands to the hands?

Breath sawing in her throat, she half-collapsed against an iron-framed gate. Hanging on to the still-warm top rail, she bent forward, trying to ease the cramp in her chest. Something chinked against the toe of her boot and she froze. Bluey’s collar dangled from a stray piece of wire, the dirt beneath the gate scuffed and hollowed, so there was just enough space for a dog to squeeze under. A dog and a small boy, who knew better than to open the gate.

‘Dad!’ she screamed, ripping the gate open and pelting down the rutted track. ‘Noah!’

There was no point running. This paddock was fenced for a reason. The deep dam at the end of the track was lined, the steep sides covered in heavy duty black plastic to maximise the holding capacity, so they could pump water from it around the property. Steep sides and slippery plastic that offered no exit. No way out for a silly puppy that had gone on an adventure. No escape for a small boy who’d tried to rescue his drowning puppy.

18

Heath

Heath felt like an idiot. Well, he was an idiot, so that wasn’t surprising. He’d spent the night stewing over the way he’d spoken to Amelia, trying to work out how to face her, unsay his words. How to let her know that he felt her pain … although, did he, truly? Over the last two years he’d spent uncounted hours attempting to persuade himself that Sophie had made the right choice, the only logical choice. Even unfairly cut short, at least she’d had a life, had experienced so much; allowing Charlee to be the one to die would have meant not only the loss of their daughter’s life, but the loss of potential, the loss of dreams, the loss of future.

Except hadn’t Charlee thrown that all away anyway?

The back door banged and Sean bustled into the kitchen. ‘Doubt the answers can be found in there,’ he said, nodding at the mug Heath clutched between both hands. He shucked off his heavy Drizabone, leaving it in a pile on the floor, and ran a hand through his blue-black hair, showering droplets onto the kitchen lino. Heath hadn’t even looked out thewindow, hadn’t realised it was raining. ‘Didn’t lose any lambs overnight.’

‘Always a good news day,’ Heath said dryly. ‘Speaking of the sheep, you’re going into Settlers this morning? I might grab a lift and pick up another bag of milk replacer for Amelia. She’s probably only putting up with that office manager’s shit so she can feed those lambs.’

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