The men were home late that evening. They had been pulling Canteen bore, Len told her, and would be starting back at first light to complete the job. ‘Would’ve camped if we’d had the gear,’ he said. ‘Could you manage a five o’clock breakfast, Sara?’
‘Of course.’ It seemed awfully early. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘Water,’ Jack grunted. Neither of them had showered yet and their clothes were smeared with rusty-looking mud – or muddy-looking rust, Sara couldn’t decide. ‘The tank’s empty so the cattle don’t drink till we’ve fixed the mill.’
‘I see. What shall I do about the goats?’
‘Let them out,’ Len said. ‘Their kids’ll take care of the milk.’
‘Right.’ It was at moments like these that Sara was most deeply aware of her ignorance. Even Becky would’ve known the answer to that, she thought, and felt foolish for asking. Both men appeared tired so she got the meal on the table quickly, and later shook her head when Jack moved to pick up the tea towel. ‘Becky and I will do it. Is that the phone?’
Len answered it, sticking his head into the kitchen some five minutes later to say, ‘They’ll be home tomorrow, Sara.’
‘How’s Sam?’
‘Better, Beth said. He had a fever, but he’s brighter now. She thinks he’s right to travel.’
‘That’s good.’
Len vanished into the bathroom and Jack went out yawning, calling goodnight from the door. Becky, putting away the last pot, looked expectantly at her.
‘What shall we do now?’
Sara stifled a sigh; she had planned to watch television, but current affairs wouldn’t interest Becky and it wasn’t yet her bedtime. ‘You could read a book,’ she suggested without much hope. Becky had already complained that her books were boring. She reiterated it again now with vigour.
‘Okay.’ Sara gave in. ‘We could think about another page. What if we find some pretties to paste onto it first, then decide on a theme, what it’s to be about?’
‘I want to make one about us, for Mum,’ Becky said. ‘I could put all our faces on it. There’s heaps of photos of me and Sam, and Mum and Dad and Uncle Jack. And I could put in Jess and the horses. I wish I had one of you too, Sara.’
‘That’s nice, but maybe you should just keep it as a family thing. Have you got a snap of the homestead? You could put it in the middle with all the faces around it.’
‘Yes! And a ribbon in the corner. Only, can you tie a bow, Sara? Mine never turn out right,’ she confessed sadly.
‘I’m sure I can, chicken. Your mum is going to be amazed.’
Becky beamed.
The clamour of the alarm dragged Sara from sound sleep, its strident urgency impossible to ignore. Groaning, she rolled over, shut it off, and got up reaching for her wrap. In the kitchen she lit the gas for the kettle and a pan of eggs, which would be quicker than chops, and was setting the table when the men came in, dressed for the day.
‘Morning,’ she yawned at Len. ‘Do you need lunches?’
‘Morning, Sara. If you wouldn’t mind.’ His hair was rumpled, he looked as tired as she felt.
‘No problem.’ There was cold meat and cheese, she thought, and pickle. That would do. She opened the fridge, then stiffened as an eerie whistling sounded. ‘What on earth’s that?’
‘Curlew.’ Jack had come in unseen. He dropped bread into the waiting toaster and pulled the pantry cupboard open. ‘We got any dead horse?’
‘What?’
‘Red sauce. A curlew’s a bird, by the way.’
‘Well, I know that,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m warning you, Jack Ketch, I am not a morning person and you are starting to irritate me.’
‘Can’t have that.’ He found the sauce and sat down. ‘Not when you’re looking so fetching.’ He buttered his toast and winked. ‘Great eggs too, just how I like ’em.’
Sara ignored him, dropping more bread into the toaster and then starting on the lunches. Twenty minutes later when the Toyota drove off, she cleared the table, left the dishes for later and returned to bed. She remembered the wink then, and smiled. Jack’s cheerfulness could be irritating, but she had come to trust him. There had been no time yet for a private word, but that was scarcely his fault. She knew little enough about cattle country but water must obviously take precedence over all else, and even if he hadn’t been called away, Beth’s return today would leave her with little time alone. She would do a load of washing later, she thought, and some baking. Beth would be tired from the long drive; she’d appreciate an easy day tomorrow.
Sara yawned, snuggling luxuriously into her pillow. Life out here was certainly different. Who would have thought a month ago that she would find herself able to bake bread and entertain a child, and consider it all part of the job? The office and her previous life seemed like an old film she had once seen, her stalker no more than a stereotyped villain. She hadn’t even suffered a migraine since coming to Redhill. Without quite knowing how, it seemed she had found the one place she truly wanted to be.
Mother and son arrived late in the afternoon, the station wagon coasting to a stop before the front gate. Jess promptly went mad, leaping at the passenger door, her tail beating a frenzy of welcome as Sam got out and fell to his knees to hug her. He looked thinner than ever, and dark rings below his eyes emphasised his pallor. Beth’s weariness showed as she groaned and stretched, hands to the small of her back, before greeting Sara. She hugged Becky, but her eyes were on her son as he climbed the front steps.
‘I’ve made tea,’ Sara offered. ‘It’s all ready, if you’d like to go in.’
‘Thanks, sounds lovely; I could do with something. Sam, too. You’d best have a bite now, Sam,’ she called. ‘Then rest till dinner. He’s lost weight,’ she explained. ‘He always does. So, how’s everything, Sara? Len told me they’d probably be late back tonight.’
‘Yes. They’re pulling a bore.’ Sara felt satisfaction at having remembered the terminology.
‘Mum, Mum,’ Becky tugged at Beth’s skirt, which she had teamed with another of her singlet tops. It was the first time Sara had seen her out of pants.
‘Not just now, love,’ Beth said. ‘I need to get Sam settled first.’
‘Yes, but see what I’ve made. It’s my own book, all about us and the station. I did it all myself —’
‘That’s nice. You can show me later.’ Beth was hauling bags out of the back of the vehicle as she spoke, so she didn’t see her daughter’s face fall, and when she turned with a bag in each hand, Becky had gone. Sara had reached a hand towards the child but Becky ignored it, running up the steps to vanish inside.
Sara bit her lip and said nothing, seizing the handle of Sam’s bag instead. ‘Look, I can get this. You go on. It’s all set out in the kitchen.’
‘You sure? Thanks.’ Beth glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time for Sam’s tablet, he’s still on antibiotics. He’s had a fever, which is worrying . . .’ She rooted in her handbag, then hurried ahead, leaving Sara to follow. Sam was in the kitchen by the time she got there, a glass in his hand, and she smiled at him.
‘Welcome home, Sam. We missed you, especially Becky. Where is she?’
‘She went out. Do I have to eat that, Mum?’ He eyed the food and milk Beth was setting before him.
‘Just try, sweetie,’ his mother coaxed, ‘even a little bit.’ She poured tea for herself and Sara and settled into her customary chair with a sigh, and a quick glance round the kitchen.
Sara smiled sympathetically. ‘Good to be home?’
‘Yeah. It’s a tiring drive.’
Sara could see the palpable effort it took for Beth not to watch or badger Sam as he slowly consumed half a sandwich and drank some of the milk. ‘The treatment really takes it out of him,’ she said once the boy had left to lie on the daybed on the verandah. ‘It makes him so sick, he barely eats for days after. And the chemo itself suppresses his immune system so he’s wide open to infections. His temperature spiked the same evening, but we seem to have caught the bug in time. Or at least I hope so.’ She sighed, rubbing absently at the tiny permanent crease between her brows. ‘You’ve done a great job, by the way. How’s the meat situation for dinner?’
‘That’s done. There’s a casserole in the oven. Creamed rice and jelly for dessert,’ Sara said. ‘I didn’t think you’d feel like cooking.’
‘You’re a treasure.’ Beth sat back in her chair. ‘I noticed the laundry basket was empty. Don’t tell me you did the washing, too?’
Sara laughed. ‘If you’d seen the men’s clothes last night! It was wash them or have them walk out the door themselves. So Sam won’t be up to school tomorrow?’
‘Maybe Monday. Boy! I really needed that tea. Thank you, Sara. You’ve done wonders. Now.’ She glanced around as if just now noting her daughter’s absence. ‘Where did Becky get to?’
‘Gone after the goats, perhaps? I think,’ Sara said carefully, ‘that she really wanted you to see her book. She’s worked very hard on it to surprise you.’
Beth looked stricken. ‘Oh, God! I brushed her off, didn’t I? Sometimes all I can think of is Sam. I don’t mean to do it, but it happens and it’s not right to expect someone her age to understand.’ She got up as the clang of bells sounded, rattling rhythmically as their bearers cantered along. ‘That sounds like the goats coming now, and rather too fast. She’s angry, poor mite. I’ll go and find her.’