13 AMELIA

13 Amelia

When Amelia caught herself applying mascara in the bathroom mirror with Dusty perched on her head and watching curiously, she took a step back. What was she doing? Her interactions with Heath over the past month hadn’t been exactly encouraging. He was unreadable, swapping between being inexplicably friendly and downright taciturn.

Scowling into the mirror, she finished the mascara—only because it would look odd if she went out with one eye done, not because there was a risk she might run into Heath before the RAG meeting that night. It was common knowledge around town that the man was something of a hermit.

‘Dusty!’ she groaned as the bird tugged strands of hair from the braid she had spent too long perfecting. Dusty clacked her beak, jumping from one of Amelia’s shoulders to the other. ‘Fabulous, I look like an untidy haystack.’ She shook her hair loose. ‘With your styling, and Karmaa and Kismet leaving white hair all over my clothes, I think Faelie just about has cause to fire me.’

The two lambs skittered into the bathroom, their tiny hooves clattering on the tiles as they skidded to a stop. Kismet, always the more adventurous of the two, took a goat-like leap, clearing the side of the bath. She landed in the sloped tub, looking around in apparent surprise, then emitted a high-pitched bleat.

‘Got yourself into that mess,’ Amelia said.

The lamb eyeballed her for a moment, then took an entirely impossible jump up onto the bathroom counter.

‘No, Kismet!’ Amelia scooped up the animal and placed her on the tiled floor. ‘Remember, we worked out you’re a sheep, not a goat. Now try behaving like one.’

Dusty flew up to the shower curtain rail and snapped her beak admonishingly.

‘Out, all of you.’ Amelia shooed the menagerie from the bathroom and down the hall to the open back door. Dusty fluttered to the branches of the gnarled peach tree and started stripping the last of the tenaciously clinging curled yellow leaves.

Amelia turned her face to the sky. Eyes closed, she took a moment to refocus, determined to embrace the new day. The first touch of sunshine always held a tantalising promise of renewal, as though, if she could find the way to allow the light and warmth within, the misery, grief, remorse and guilt could be burned away.

Except she needed those emotions to fill the emptiness inside her.

Amelia snapped her eyes open then bent to take the nappies off the two lambs. They were growing so quickly, she’d have to size up again next week. ‘Dusty, you’re in charge of these monsters.’

Dusty swooped down, landing on Karmaa’s back. The lamb froze, then started cavorting and twisting, trying to unseat the magpie. Amelia chuckled. It was becoming harder to leave her little family each day. But for the sake of her mental health, she had to force herself to keep moving, keep working, keep … hiding.

‘Afternoon tea sorted,’ James announced to the office in general, brandishing a plastic-wrapped tray of cream-filled jelly cakes.

‘Make sure you put one aside for me,’ Amelia called, looking up from the documents she was sliding through the scanner. Normally she would remain silent rather than engage, but she was determined to do better. ‘Nothing like a sugar high to get us through the day.’

‘For those who have time to snack,’ Faelie observed as she stalked into James’s office and closed the door.

‘She’s in a rare giumar dona , that one.’

Amelia was surprised at the lift in her mood as Sean Brennan approached her desk. ‘If that means foul temper, I promise you, it’s not that rare.’

One of the clients waiting to speak with the lawyer snorted with laughter and Amelia grimaced. It was hard, after years of working outdoors, to remember to modulate her voice to ‘office’ rather than ‘acres’.

Sean brandished a handful of pages. ‘The agenda for tonight. Heath mentioned you’ll be there? Maybe you should join the committee, instead of just waiting around to lock up behind us.’

She shook her head. ‘Strictly work.’ She wasn’t about to risk getting involved with this community. ‘I hear you’re expecting quite a few more people to show up this week.’

Sean cocked an eyebrow. ‘And are we pleased about that or not?’

She remembered to lower her voice this time. ‘Given that Dave Jaensch has been drumming up support for his anti-skatepark campaign, I’d suggest dubious optimism, at best.’

‘A skatepark?’ a client seated on one of the motley cloth-covered chairs in the centre of the room exclaimed. ‘My kids would be all over that.’ She immediately looked down at her hands, red creeping up her neck as though she doubted her right to voice an opinion.

‘Why don’t you come along tonight?’ Sean suggested.

‘Like the bloody council ever cares what the rate payers want,’ the other client waiting to see James grumbled. ‘They don’t even realise that us smaller towns exist.’

‘This hasn’t anything to do with council, though I’d say we’ll be hitting them up for funding at some stage.’ Sean leaned over Amelia’s desk. ‘So it pays to keep Dave on side,’ he murmured, then turned back to the others. ‘The RAG is a non-partisan get-together, just spit-balling ways to make Settlers Bridge … better. So if you’ve got thoughts?’ He paused, extending a hand.

The other man reached up without standing and shook Sean’s hand briefly. ‘Robert.’

‘If you’ve got ideas on how to revitalise the town, Rob, we’re all ears. And …?’ Again, the pause.

‘Danielle,’ the woman offered, still staring at her lap.

‘Danielle, perhaps bring your kids along, let them put in their five cents’ worth? What do you have, boys or girls?’

‘Two of each. My husband reckons the footy and netball teams need the support. Wants to go for a fifth.’

Sean chuckled. ‘I’m quite sure team spirit isn’t his only reason.’

Danielle glanced up, then caught Sean’s inference. She blushed deeper, but looked flattered.

Sean was a charmer, no doubt about it. He was infallibly easy to like. Unlike his son.

Amelia stood, pulling on her jacket.

‘You off out?’ Sean asked.

‘Ducking home to sort the lambs.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’

Depending on the direction of the breeze, scents of the lush vegetation fringing the river or the rather riper smell of the dairy farms on the outskirts of town swirled about them as they reached the footpath in front of the old council chamber.

‘You don’t strike me as the office type,’ Sean said.

Amelia’s gut clenched; he shouldn’t be able to tell. She had to make herself fit in the office, as far from her former life as she could. Flying was her only respite, the only joy she would allow. ‘Gotta do what pays the bills,’ she lied. She glanced into the windows of the house that served as the GP’s office, looking for Taylor. They’d had surprisingly little time to catch up, and she vacillated between relief she didn’t have to have a deep and meaningful with the doctor and concern for her obviously overworked friend’s well-being.

She pulled the edges of her jacket a little closer as they tramped the footpath. ‘My house is on the next street.’

‘Yep, I know,’ Sean said. ‘I dropped Heath off with the lamb the other week.’

‘You should have come in.’ Heath had been less surly than she’d anticipated, so the brief visit hadn’t been too awkward. ‘Bit of a nip in the air today.’

‘My favourite time of year. Seems like autumn doesn’t quite want to let go, though,’ Sean said.

Goosebumps covered Amelia’s arms at the reminder of Gavin’s words. Now she would never acknowledge autumn without thinking about death. Not that the spectre was ever far from her mind.

As her keys clinked together, the lambs rushed to the side gate, bleating loudly. ‘Shh, shh,’ she said, thrusting her fingers through the palings to quieten them. ‘You’re going to get us kicked out.’

‘Why?’ Sean reached over the gate to tousle Karmaa’s dark head. The same colour as his jet fur, the lamb’s eyes were invisible.

‘I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to have livestock in town.’

Sean shrugged. ‘Seems all the rentals in Settlers belong to Lynn from the IGA. Reckon she’d be the last person to turf you out.’

‘Maybe. But I can imagine someone like Dave reporting me to council.’

‘You might be onto something there. Oh, well, the lambs can always come back out to the farm.’

Amelia fondled Kismet, wincing as the graze across her knuckles throbbed. The lambs were getting bigger by the day, but she would crate them, load them into the Jabby and fly out of here before she’d let anyone take them. ‘Okay, monsters, let me go make up your milk.’

She opened the front door and walked swiftly down the hall, calling over her shoulder, ‘Come on in, Sean. I’ll just let them in the back before they kick up too much of a ruckus.’

Sean chuckled. ‘I think we’re already past that point.’

The lambs hurled themselves against the door, desperate for a cuddle. As they rushed her, Amelia caught Karmaa then swiftly swaddled him in a nappy. Kismet was more awkward to handle, butting into her sore hand and trying to suckle.

‘Makes me wonder how Roni Krueger coped with her twins when they were younger. I’m not going to pretend I was the main carer—or any kind of carer, really.’ Sean’s tone turned bleak, and she could sense he forced a smile as he finished the thought. ‘But I always thought one baby was enough of a handful.’

Nostalgia swept Amelia, but she pushed it aside with a tight smile and headed for the kitchen, the lambs on her heels. ‘Would you mind?’ She passed Sean one of the bottles of milk.

‘Bit cold, isn’t it?’ he asked, holding the teat as he shook the bottle.

‘Roni said cold is less likely to cause scours and bloat.’ She pulled a face. ‘Sheep diarrhoea is all kinds of gross, so I’m keen to avoid going back there.’

‘Guess no one likes a belly ache.’

Amelia took a seat and Karmaa jostled between her knees, rearing onto his hind legs and placing his front hooves in her lap. ‘Bloat’s more serious than that: it can kill within hours.’ The thought terrified her and she hated leaving the animals between feeds, preferring to spend the time massaging their tight little velour-soft bellies. She knew what could happen if she didn’t watch her babies every minute.

But she also realised that she would find it too easy to make this her life, to become neurotic about protecting her charges at the expense of any semblance of normal life. So she forced herself to put them out in the garden after a feed, watching as they curled together in the large dog bed in a sunny spot beneath the naked branches of the old peach tree. And then she’d watch a little longer, making certain they didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Eventually, she’d rush back to the office, counting the hours until she could return to her babies. Always terrified of what she would find.

Or, as history had it, what she would not find.

‘Well, live and learn,’ Sean said, as he leaned down to feed the lamb. ‘Never thought I’d find myself in a country kitchen bottle-feeding lambs with a rather more attractive version of Doc Dolittle, but life takes some funny turns.’

Amelia twisted her hand so Kismet’s sharp baby teeth didn’t graze her sore knuckles. ‘What’s this?’ she muttered, running a thumb over a callus on the lamb’s bottom lip. ‘You’ve been mouthing something funny.’ She looked up to include Sean. ‘Along with my electric blanket cord, phone charger and the handle on my suitcase, that is. I swear these two are more goat than sheep.’

‘My very limited sheep knowledge is that Dorpers are browsers, rather than grazers. So, yeah, more goat-like,’ Sean agreed. ‘Devils with fences, too.’

Muzzles covered in white froth and tails whisking excitedly, the lambs finished the bottles in seconds. Amelia gave each milky face a quick rub, barely catching Kismet before she took off on a game of chase through the house. Karmaa followed, his skinny shanks comically sliding in the opposite direction to his front end. Every so often, he redirected his course by leaping high into the air, tiny hooves scrambling as he botched the landing.

Amelia sterilised the bottles and took the animals out into the backyard as Sean frowned at his phone, laboriously typing out a text.

He glanced up. ‘Do you have time for lunch?’

‘Absolutely.’

The sun had appeared from behind pewter clouds and bright eucalypt flowers littered the dirt footpath. Amelia realised her heart felt a little lighter than it had for … years. But she wasn’t sure she liked that.

‘Any preference?’ Sean asked as they turned into the main street.

‘You’re the local, I’ll leave it to you.’

‘I’d need a couple more decades before I’m local. Don’t reckon that’s happening in my lifetime.’

She frowned. Sean was only early sixties, surely? ‘I’ve only tried the pub. The fancier one. You?’

Sean glanced at his phone as it chimed and his face tightened. ‘Maybe not the pub today. Ploughs and Pies?’

‘Sure. Wherever.’

Her tone must have been odd, as Sean grimaced. ‘Sorry. I’m an alcoholic.’

‘Oh.’ She struggled to cover her surprise, school her face into politely interested. ‘But you were in the pub the other week …’ She cringed. Calling Sean out was probably not the correct response.

‘Six years sober. But some days, the pub isn’t the best call for me.’

She had an urge to ask what it was about today that made him reluctant to go to the pub. But she wouldn’t, because the day had so briefly seemed to hold some cheer. Plus she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to get that close, didn’t want to care.

‘The cafe it is, then.’