17 AMELIA

17 Amelia

Amelia drove faster than she normally would, as though she could outrun her anger. Heath had just proved the truth of what she’d said to Biggles in the plane a few months earlier: men were dicks. She could see he was hurting, but she could also see Charlee’s pain. Beneath the oversized shirt, dishevelled hair and the clumsily inked infinity symbols that she intuitively knew were Charlee’s form of warding off the inevitability of life—and death—the teenager was crying out for help.

Her left hand tightened on the wheel, though she dropped her right to her lap: it was hot and aching and the thought of touching anything was enough to make her scream. When she’d peeled back the plaster that morning, the graze on her knuckle was weeping yellow pus. She should get Taylor to take a look, but her poor friend was under so much pressure at the moment—

The car hit the ridge of dirt on the side of the road and Amelia swerved back, shaking her head to clear it. God knows, she was angry enough at Heath to maintain her focus. How could he not recognise the pain his child was in? Pain worse than the hot ache that throbbed up her right arm, pulsing in her armpit.

She tightened her grip, hunching forward in the seat to fasten her attention to the road … to the trees flicking past … to the moon that sailed like a ship behind the clouds … camels were ships … ships of the desert … they had feral camels on the property … Noah loved them, chuckling at the eyelashes that swept their narrow cheeks … eyelashes … Noah had such beautiful eyelashes, just like his dad …

She buzzed down her window, welcoming the wash of fresh air. What was wrong with her? Why was her mind wandering, leaping from one subject to another like a skittish foal? It was Heath’s fault. Heath … what was going on with him … with her …? Sometimes it seemed that perhaps they were edging toward a friendship. Or did she feel something … more? Her heart clenched, hard enough to shock her back to reason. Any attachment, even friendship, was impermissible.

By the time she’d reached her front door, she couldn’t recall whether she had locked the car nor how she had somehow managed to pull into the driveway without hitting the hinged gate. She didn’t care. Her head was on fire, her arms hanging like iron star droppers at her sides. She must have picked up something from one of the clients: she’d had a sudden onset flu like this before. Of course, back then, there had been people around to help her: family, friends … Now there was no one to shoulder her responsibility.

And that’s how she wanted it. No one owed her anything, and she owed no one in return. She gritted her teeth and started the routine of animal meal preparations, trying to find a little joy in Biggles’ cuteness as the tiny possum accepted a sliver of apple, holding it in both paws to delicately nibble as she watched Amelia curiously. Dusty was asleep in the bathroom, her head hunched into her ruffled chest feathers, though she stirred enough to utter a deep churr of welcome. The lambs drank their milk eagerly, then Amelia let the empty bottles fall to the floor. She could nap in the chair, instead of struggling to bed. But she hadn’t changed the lambs’ nappies, and she needed to watch them for a few minutes, make sure they digested properly. Besides, she was frozen, the cold seeming to radiate from her core, rather than creep from her extremities. She needed to get to bed before she got worse. If only she had some aspirin in the house. But she didn’t dare keep it, couldn’t risk the temptation in moments of weakness.

Using her hands on the arms of the chair, she levered herself up like someone decades older. Plodded to the spare bedroom to get the nappies and the scissors. Wished she’d had the foresight to prepare the nappies earlier, as the wadding seemed too thick to force the blade through.

The lambs wanted to play, and by the time she’d caught the pair and managed to get the modified nappies taped on tight, sweat dampened her clothes. Hadn’t she been cold only moments earlier? If she left the lambs loose, surely they’d be all right—but they’d started showing an interest in electrical cables and Karmaa loved to jump on the bed. It was important to keep Noah behind the childproof gates, to keep him safe.

No, not Noah—the lambs.

It seemed to take an hour to get the animals safely contained at the foot of her bed, with Kismet leaping like a jack in the box, trying to break through the blanket Amelia draped across the top of the pen.

‘Kismet, Karmaa, Biggles, Dusty,’ she checked before allowing herself to fall on the bed. What did it matter if she didn’t get undressed? Her bra pinched, but there was no one to see, no one to care.

As though to prove her wrong, her phone vibrated. She ignored it. Taylor, Heath, whoever: it wasn’t important. They weren’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. ‘ I did. 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 deserved all the 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 governess she had 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, closing her 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. Living required 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 than congratulating 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 them had 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 had volunteered 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.

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 the stars 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.