Page 52 of Wings Above the Mallee

‘We haven’t crossed that bridge yet,’ Sean warned. ‘And I’m not entirely sad that I doubt you’ll be able to find any of that gear, Charls.’

Charlee grinned unrepentantly. ‘Don’t worry your ancient head about it, Daideó. We’ll get you all tricked up. If Tracey can’t help out, I’ll hit up Depop and see what’s online.’

She’d completely lost him—and lost sight of the fact that he wasn’t looking to be the star attraction at the dance—but Sean didn’t care. Because he had the old Charlee back.

‘I’m going to rope Ethan in, too,’ Charlee said, warming to the idea.

‘You think he’ll be into it?’ Amelia said.

‘Like I said, he’s pretty easy going.’ She pressed her lips together for a moment and shot Sean a sideways glance. ‘So I’m dragging Ethan along, you’re with Lynn … but we can’t have Amelia going alone. Thoughts?’

Sean narrowed his eyes. He could tell she had a plan up her sleeve, yet seemed oddly uncertain whether to share—a very different Charlee to the one who was usually so cocksure and steamrolled everyone into doing things her way.

‘Line dancing isn’t partnered,’ Amelia protested.

He admired her nerve—or perhaps it was naivete? Amelia had never come up against his granddaughter’s scheming before. Whatever Charlee had in mind for her new friendwas sure to happen, despite the Amelia’s protests. Although he wouldn’t have thought Charlee knew enough people in the small town to rope in a date for her. Perhaps it was one of Ethan’s friends? The age group wouldn’t be far wrong. ‘Who are you thinking of, Charlee? Short of Dave Jaensch—’ he shot a teasing glance at Amelia ‘—I reckon most blokes we met at the action group were already spoken for.’

‘Firstly,’ Charlee said, standing up, ‘you’re gender stereotyping: who even said anything about Amelia’s date being male? And secondly, I’ll let you know after I’ve toldhim. Speaking of, I have to go down to the shops. So you may stay and babysit Amelia, Daideó, but no more of your scheming.’

Sean laughed. ‘Pot, kettle, black.’

21

Heath

Heath would be willing to swear Charlee knew that he was behind her in the aisle of the IGA and was dawdling on purpose. She’d stopped for ages, staring at a shelf that held three varieties of loo paper.

He almost hadn’t recognised her, dressed in a clean, pale-blue windcheater rather than the ubiquitous flannel jacket. The rolled-up dungarees gave her away, though.

‘Charlee.’ Heath spoke so softly, it probably seemed he was afraid of startling her. That wouldn’t be far wrong. She had refused to speak with him since he’d accused her of lining things up so she could steal Amelia’s drugs. His only contact with his daughter the last few weeks had consisted of instantly disconnected phone calls, the front door shut in his face each time he knocked, and updates from Sean. Not that any of that was vastly different to the preceding two years. But the glimmer of the old Charlee last month was enough to keep him going. Keep him hoping. Keep alive the dream that his daughter would return. He’d seizedevery opportunity to come into town with Sean, heading to Amelia’s place each time, always with a bag of groceries or a stack of magazines he’d scooped from the shelf of the supermarket. While it hurt that Charlee wouldn’t speak with him, at least he knew she was safe. And, according to the regular updates from Sean, she was doing well.

Almost as frustrating as not being able to front Charlee was having her gatekeep his attempts to see Amelia. While the opportunity to apologise for his ignorant words was well past, he still wanted to check on her.

Maybe it was a little more than that. Perhaps he wanted toseeher. Despite her feistiness—and her propensity to disagree with him—his conversations with Amelia were stimulating. And where he’d imagined a woman who had never found love was actually a woman who had lost love: a kindred damaged soul.

Charlee’s shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second before she turned. ‘Heath,’ she said carefully.

Disappointment slumped his own shoulders. Whatever he’d been conjuring into the moment this wasn’t going to be an open-arms reunion where Charlee either forgave or understood his lack of trust or concern.

‘Daideó tells me you’ve got Amelia’s menagerie well in hand.’

The mention of the animals seemed to soften his daughter’s hard exterior. ‘Eating out of it. Literally.’ She grinned. ‘Biggles—that’s the possum—actually seeks me out for her food now. Of course, I did get Ethan to make a trip to the South Parklands in the city to steal the last of the rose petals for her.’

‘Cute.’

‘Very.’

‘Are the sheep into the hay?’

‘They are. Though they really need grain to develop their rumen, rather than hay.’

‘I can pick up a sack, if you’d like.’ He struggled to sound offhand rather than over-eager. ‘Seeing as you don’t have a car.’

‘That’d really be Daideó picking it up then, wouldn’t it?’

He refused to show that the barb hit its mark. ‘I’ll carry a sack around from the stock fodder shop. It’s not far. Not like anything is far in this town, is it?’ Anything except the yawning chasm that stretched between them, that was. How was he ever going to build a bridge long enough, strong enough?

Charlee’s gaze flickered to his bad leg. ‘It’s okay. I’ll get Daideó to do it. Or Amelia’s talking about going for a drive somewhere. Maybe that can be her first outing. Two whole streets.’

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