Dusk at the Rouseabout B&S Ball carried with it a thousand promises. V8 engines throbbed as they wound their way towards the B&S entrance, and country music blared into the air, heralding the pledge of people intent on getting blind together on Bundy rum, and praying for a drought-busting rain.
It wasn’t just the party that drew Kate’s peers to the isolated spot in a barren, windswept valley in Tasmania’s central highlands. It was something otherworldly. It was part of being. Here, beneath the shadows of long-dead great grey gums, it was something so specific as simply being country.
The B&S ball was an experience out of reach to most people. But Kate knew she was one of the lucky ones who belonged, who understood. She felt the contagious buzz of excitement rush through her. Goosebumps cloaked her skin. She loved the informality of country crowds. Rural youth, defiant and proud, who had turned their backs on the consumerism and political correctness that had infiltrated through Australia’s cities. Kate hated the Americanisms that had spread like cancer to the suburbs and beyond, making every city look and sound the same. She loved country culture to the core.
Here, in this paddock on this weekend, there’d be no designer drugs. No doof-doof music. No baggy skate pants revealing bum-cracks. No Playstations. Instead, Kate knew there’d be booze and boots and ‘bloody-oath, mates’ and good, old-fashioned piss-wrecked fun. There’d be snags and chops wrapped in fluffy white bread with tomato sauce oozing through like a bullet wound. And the money raised by the B&S committee would be poured back into the community. Charity funds to help the local nursing home and health centre. Plus Kate knew that this weekend she’d see larks that would stay with her and make her smile years later, when she was old and grey. That was all part of it. Part of her world at the B&S ball.
Kate looked around … she was in the midst of a crowd of youth. Rural youth were deemed to be dying or at least dwindling, if the city media was to be believed. But here they were, vibrant and keen to be country. Big boys in big black suits wearing big black hats and big brown boots. And shirts that weren’t so white. Girls who didn’t give a damn. Stuff the fact they had a bit of a beer belly, tonight they would walk proud in their not-so-stylish dresses, with their not-so-flash hair. The rougher their ute, the sleeker their dogs, the tougher their hands, the more gorgeous they felt. Strong country girls, flexing muscles and flashing pretty smiles.
‘We’re from the country and we like it that way,’ Kate sang to herself, wishing the big man himself, Lee Kernaghan, were here to sing it to her straight up. Wishing Will were here. From the window of Dave’s ute, Kate looked ahead to the glinting snake of dust-smudged vehicles winding its way down into the B&S venue. She smelt rum and dust and pure, unbridled anticipation. They were about to be swallowed up for the weekend, swept back to their youth. The three of them, now young parents, all trying to forget that they were mums and dads for a night. Janie, Dave and Kate, revisiting the scene of their crimes. A chill ran down Kate’s spine. Fear? Excitement? She wasn’t sure. She leaned further out of the window and felt the breeze on her face, soaking it all in.
Ahead of them, the sound of slide guitars drawled from giant boxy speakers set up in the back of some joker’s ute. The golden globes of bull lights shone in rows from the roofs of utes, dispelling the half-light of the setting sun. Kate pointed out to Dave and Janie ute stickers like ‘giddupindaback’ and ‘Help feed the world – F*** a Farmer.’ A tailgate that read ‘Glorious absence of sophistication’ and ‘Save a horse … ride a cowboy.’ And they even watched in half-horror, half-hilarity as a taxidermied red heeler drove past, chained unnecessarily to the back of a Hilux. The stuffed dog sat, glassy-eyed in a frozen pose, next to his owner, who reclined with his arm about him.
A load of grinning boys drove by, jumping the queue. One of them pointed out Kate by raising his beer can in her direction. His mates whistled at the vision of the dark-haired girl in the soft blue dress, framed by the pink sky. She was half-hanging out of the ute to see how far she had come and how far she had to go. The lush curve of her bare shoulders. The fall of her glossy hair, lifted by the breeze. Unaware of how gorgeous she looked, Kate gave them the finger and the boys whooped and blew kisses before motoring away.
She sat back down on the bench seat, where Janie and Dave were playing lovers again. Dave’s hand was wedged between Janie’s thighs, while Janie strummed her imaginary guitar and leant her head on Dave’s shoulder.
Beneath Kate’s feet, empty rum cans rolled about with the lift and sway of the rough paddock under the tyres. Below her, far away in the valley, she could see the giant white rectangular shape of a marquee and the smaller blue oblong of a semi where the band would play. Portaloos flanked the site like Nell’s plastic building blocks, rows of green and red cubes. And at the centre of the site stood an old corrugated-iron shearing shed, with a mix of wooden, W-strap and railway iron yards tapering out from the shed’s base. In the shed paddock, dried wood was stacked high in places, like piles of grey fishbones, ready for a bonfire. And all around on the river flat, vehicles were filling up the paddocks in shiny rows. People, like ants, made tracks inward to the centre of the site and clustered at the marquee as if it were a slab of meringue. Kate smiled. She couldn’t wait to be down there. In amongst it.
‘Geez!’ Dave said suddenly as he hit the brakes. The ute in front of them had stopped. The blast of an air horn made Kate jump. She glanced up just in time to see the blur of three boys in white shirts, black trousers and giant sombreros running towards them. Within seconds, the boys were on the bonnet of Dave’s ute. Bare white backsides pressed to the windscreen. Too close to be pretty.
Janie screeched, Kate laughed and Dave turned on the windscreen washer, sending jets of water onto the boys’ bums.
‘Thanks for that, arse-wiper!’ cried one of them before they danced away, trousers half-mast.
‘They’re those bloody serial B&Sers,’ Dave said. ‘You know, the ones that spend all their moolah going to most of the mainland B&S’s and then they come over here – every year. Remember them? I can’t believe they’re still at it!’
‘Yeah,’ Kate said. ‘I saw them at a few B&S’s over there. Near Conargo and again around Dubbo. God. What are their names? That’s the trouble with meeting people at a B&S. You’re always too blind to remember. It was the Banditos, you know, Johnno, Simmo … and …’
‘Blue,’ Dave said.
‘There was a redhead in them!’ Janie said. ‘That’d have to be Blue. I remember now. The one on the right. I suppose I shouldn’t say he was a red-head. It wasn’t his head I saw. More like a red-gluteus-maximus. But not maximus at all. In fact, really skinny … a skinny, red, hairy arse. A gluteus minimus. A Fanta-pants.’
‘You didn’t have to look that close!’ Dave protested. ‘You could’ve shut your eyes!’
‘Oh, I could identikit the whole lot of them if asked. I’m very good on details. Very observant.’
‘You must be desperate to have kept your eyes open with those posteriors shoved in your face,’ Kate quipped.
‘Desperate,’ Janie said dryly, ‘or a mother of twins.’
Silence settled on them as they all remembered their kids. They would be bathed and ready for bed by now. Nell in her bunny pyjamas, Jasmine in her Saddle Club nightie and Brendan wearing Thomas the Tank Engine. A whole world away from here. Kate shook her head.
‘Why am I doing this?’ she muttered under her breath. She was a mother now. And all of a sudden, she felt too much had changed.
Inside the shearing shed, next to the bar, boys in suits clustered together like penguins in a rookery. Girls in bright dresses pressed amongst them, bringing colour to the crush of black. Kate noticed two girls, side by side in white satin suits, Shania Twain–style. They were soaking up attention from the crowd and also soaking up a lot of liquid from the floor. Brown rum stains covered their jackets and the surface beneath their white boots had already turned to a soupy mix of mud, manure and beer. The shit-coloured liquid was beginning to creep up their flared trouser legs, like a tide mark at a sewage treatment plant. But they didn’t care. The girls tossed back their glossy hair and laughed as the boys pranced around them. Kate recognised the shorter one as her boss Lisa.
Kate screeched a greeting and slung her arm about her. ‘You look fantastic! And fucking funny!’ she said.
Lisa, already drunk, ‘oh, oh, oh’d’ Shania-style and danced a few moves.
Simply wearing white to a B&S was funny in itself. That was the whole point. The grubbier, sillier, funnier the girls could get, the higher the kudos. The rougher and more tumbled they looked, the more approachable they were in the eyes of the country boys. And the Shanias were doing well.
‘You’ll be in for sure!’ Kate said and Lisa’s eyes gleamed.
‘That’s the plan, Stan! I’m going to trap one tonight!’
Kate looked down at her own pale blue dress. Too tame, she thought. But beautiful in itself – too beautiful for a B&S. Kate still wished Janie had made her an Elvis jumpsuit. That way she could hide behind sideburns and giant sunglasses. Instead, she felt like Barbie at a mud-wrestling match. Beautiful but out of place. She didn’t mean to be ungrateful, it was just she wasn’t used to wearing such stylish, tight-fitting clothes. But Janie had got it right – her curves did look good in the dress.
Kate saw Janie nod towards the bar and waved as Lisa and her friend danced away. It was time for a drink. But tonight, Kate vowed for the first time that she’d keep her senses. She’d prove to herself that she could still have fun without totalling herself.
Together, Dave, Janie and Kate pushed through the crowd. The bar staff, made up of locals in navy King Gee overalls, moved frantically back and forth trying to keep up with the push of people. Already, beer, rum and orange juice was awash on the trestle tables. As she leaned forward, Kate felt the liquid seep into the fabric of her dress, so it lay cold against her thighs and darkened the material in large patches. Oh well, she thought, bound to happen sooner or later.
Razor leant forward to serve them.
‘Razor!’ Kate said. ‘Razor Sharp!’
‘Miss Webster!’ He beamed a smile, his bald head gleaming under the floodlights.
‘How the flock are you?’ Kate asked, taking in the way his overalls could barely be buttoned at the front over his stomach.
‘Ram-bloody-unctuous! And ewe?’
‘A bit sheepish in this frock, but fine,’ she said, even though she felt far from fine. Though she belonged in this country crowd, she wondered if she still fitted into it, now she was a single mother. Could she ever feel that freedom at a B&S again, as she had in her life before Nell? She ran her hand self-consciously over the front of her dress, knowing that beneath the blue fabric her skin bore stretch marks from her pregnancy. At first she’d been shocked every time she saw them, her tropical fish stripes, in the mirror. As the days and months passed after the birth, the glowing purple marks faded to faint brown. But still she felt branded by them. Forever changed in some way. When Razor passed her the drinks and took her grog tickets, he leant towards her.
‘Don’t be sheepish. You look lovely. Come back to my baa anytime.’
‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ Kate took a sip. ‘Where’s your offsider, Jonesy? Surely he’d be up for a night out?’
‘Got a shed up north. Otherwise he’d be here – looking all puppy-dog eyes at you, no doubt.’
‘Nah,’ she said dismissively, ‘I don’t reckon.’ She raised her plastic rum-filled cups at him, before turning to pass them to Dave and Janie in the crush of bodies and the swirl and roar of animated conversation.
At the far end of the shed, on the grating, a PA system blurted out unintelligible words and another crowd was pushing together, four or five deep. Kate, Janie and Dave weaved their way through to see what was so interesting. There, on a particle-board floor with mats all around, rocked a mechanical bull. Kate was transported back in time as she watched a lean young jackaroo ride haphazardly. He flung one hand in the air, grimacing as he bumped his balls against the bull. Kate caught Janie looking at her.
‘I dare you,’ Janie said.
‘Don’t you start,’ Kate said, pointing her finger at her. ‘That’s not funny.’
‘No! I mean I dare you to have a ride of the bull!’
Kate looked at her friend, taking in the laughter in her eyes. They gathered each other up in a big buddy-hug, clanked plastic cups together and sculled.
‘What are you girls toasting?’ a voice asked. Kate spun around to see Aden. Although she hated to admit it, he looked clean-cut and very handsome in a metrosexual, Andrew Gee kind of way with his spiky, waxed, blond-tipped hair.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ Kate said.
‘C’mon, Kate …’ Aden said. ‘I’m family. You can tell me.’
Kate couldn’t help herself. She associated him so much with losing Will and Bronty. The gulf between her father and her. Annabelle’s intrusion. It all came rushing back to her.
Janie saw the anger on Kate’s face.
‘Excuse me,’ Janie said to Aden. ‘I need my friend for a second. We’ll see you later. Okay?’ And she dragged Kate into the crowd, gathering her long dress up on the dance floor. Kate tried to banish the thoughts of Bronty that Aden had prompted in her. She shut her eyes and conjured the image of Will. It felt as if he were there, dancing with them. A smile radiated from her face. Suddenly Kate felt a rip. She looked down to see the seams of her dress parting like a zip towards her upper thigh.
‘Great sewing,’ she shouted to Janie above the music, indicating her bare leg. Janie cupped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Poor dress couldn’t handle my thunder thighs!’
‘Here, I’ll fix it.’ Janie stooped and reached for the other seam. Riiiiiip. Two slits in the front of Kate’s dress now rose up from the floor.
‘Oi! You scum-bucket!’ Kate protested, looking down at her bare legs. Dave crossed his arms in front of his body and looked at Kate’s two pale pins – so white compared to the sun-kissed skin of her shoulders. Her legs rose up out of thick explorer socks and Blundstone boots.
‘Nice guideposts,’ he said. ‘No one will want to drive anything between those tonight, guaranteed.’
‘Thanks,’ Kate said flatly, but somehow she liked the dress better this way. Who gave a toss anyway? The one person she wanted to impress wasn’t here tonight. She tipped back her rum and glanced at her watch. No more grog for another hour. She was pacing herself.
Turning, Kate saw Johnno, Simmo and Blue shuffling towards them, their pants around their ankles. All three wore gaudy boxer shorts with cartoons of roosters on them. A tubby Johnno made a lunge for Kate, grabbing her from behind. He began to swing her around. Her feet flew outwards from the force, scattering people backwards. Simmo lifted Janie from the ground and swung her too. A puny Blue tried to reach around Dave’s wide girth. But Blue only succeeded in pulling Dave off-balance. As Blue lay spread-eagled below Dave, like a beetle wearing a brick, the girls whirled round and round in their enforced dizzy whizzes. Kate screeched as Simmo gained momentum. Just when she thought she might throw up, she felt his arms give way. Next thing, she was flying through the crowd in an uncontrolled run. Laughter bubbled up from her. She was putting her arms out to break her fall when she collided with the rough lapel of somebody’s jacket. She looked up, and her smile slipped away.
It was Nick. He looked down at her, his arms instinctively wrapping about her. His face so close to hers. The world still spun in dizzying circles around her and for a moment all she could focus on were his eyes. His wide, long-lashed, gorgeous blue eyes. Clasping his rock-hard upper arms, she found her balance again.
‘Ooops,’ she said, totally confused. Hadn’t Dave said he wasn’t coming? Lying bugger! ‘Er, sorry, Nick,’ she said shyly.
Before Nick could speak they were rushed again by the B&S Banditos, Johnno, Simmo and Blue, in a party-animal tackle. Kate was thrown against Nick’s body again. She felt the shove and thrust of the boys’ group hug at her back, pushing her into the hardness of Nick’s wide chest. His firm arms were still around her. From where she stood, her cheek pressed against Nick’s shirt, Kate could see Felicity through a gap in the huddle of bouncing boys. She was standing alone in a silver dress, her arms wrapped about her body. A sour look on her face, like she’d just smelt rotten meat. Not happy, Jan, Kate thought.
At last the boys broke away and Kate took a step back from Nick, feeling Felicity’s gaze settle on her like frost. But she could still breathe in Nick’s lovely clean smell, and his touch was still fizzing through her senses, sending her brain into a spin.
‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said breathlessly. He reached out and held her hand for a moment.
‘I wasn’t sure you were either. But I hoped you would.’
Kate took in his words, hardly daring to believe it. Those few words told her that he still felt the same way about her, despite the fact she’d told him about Nell. But then confusion swamped her. Felicity stood just metres away glaring at them. Was he stringing them both along? Playing games with them? But before she could say anything more, the B&S Banditos were back.
‘Niiick!’ Kate heard Simmo call in a blokey greeting.
‘Niiiick … maaaate!’ echoed Johnno. Then Blue, who was puffing heavily after extracting himself from beneath Dave, called, ‘Hey, Nick!’
‘G’day,’ he said. ‘Been a while.’
‘Yeah,’ said Johnno. ‘Last time we saw you was when they gave you a passport and sent you out of inbred-land to do that wool course with us. When was it? Coupla years back? Heard you were engaged.’
Simmo leered at Felicity, lifted her hand and peered through piggy eyes at the ring on her finger.
‘Nice rock.’ Simmo flicked the strap of Felicity’s dress. It slipped down over her shoulder. ‘Whoopsie daisie,’ he said, eyeing her hungrily. The B&S Banditos gathered round. Girlie-girls in girlie dresses were always a target for boys like them, even ones engaged to mates.
‘Come in behind, Simmo,’ Nick growled, as if steadying a wayward sheepdog.
‘Yes,’ Felicity added. ‘Settle, boys. Don’t touch what you can’t afford.’
‘Doesn’t look expensive,’ Blue said. ‘What’s it made of? Your mum’s Alfoil?’ Felicity gave a snide smile but Kate noticed her flinch. ‘Aren’t you freezing your tits off in that?’ Blue went on.
‘I’ve got Nick here to keep me warm.’ She slid her arm around him, delivering a gaze directly at Kate. Nick looked down at the floor.
‘That’s if she had any tits to freeze off,’ Simmo quipped. ‘Not like Pammy A and young Dolly P here …’ Simmo slung his arms around Kate and Janie’s necks and swung round to bury his nose in Kate’s cleavage.
‘Get your face out of my crevice,’ Kate said, shoving him off.
‘You sure your little lady hasn’t got worms or something, Nicko mate? Coz it sure looks like she could do with a shot of Valbazen and a better paddock too, maybe.’
‘Bugger off, Simmo,’ Nick said, putting his arm protectively around Felicity’s waist.
‘Nice mates you’ve got, Nick,’ Felicity said, frowning at them. The boys knew they’d got to her then. They pushed further. Simmo tugged up his shirt and began to rub his hairy beer-belly with the palm of his hand.
‘Hey, Nick,’ Johnno said, stooping and trying to look up Felicity’s dress, ‘you gotta check your stock for dags. Sure sign of worms.’
‘Yeah,’ Blue chipped in. ‘And look out for them rubbing their bum against posts. You know, a bit of the itch …’
Blue began to rub his backside up against Felicity, until Nick grabbed him.
‘Get your bum-cheeks off her,’ Nick said. ‘That’s enough.’ Nick’s stern tone was enough to sober the boys momentarily.
‘Yeah,’ Kate added. ‘Ease off, guys.’ She turned to Felicity. ‘Ignore them. They’re just being pissed idiots. If you come to a B&S you kind of have to expect wallies like that.’
Felicity cast her an ice-cold look, tossed her head proudly and turned to Nick. ‘I’m going back to the ute.’
‘Ooooo!’ chorused the Banditos.
Nick, cheeks flushed red, glanced up at Kate again. She was trying to hide the mix of amusement and dismay on her face.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Nick said.
‘Don’t bother,’ Felicity snapped. ‘Feel free to stick with your own kind.’
She gave them a frosty smile and then turned and stalked away.
‘I …’ Nick began, pointing after her. ‘I’d better …’ He cast another glance at Kate. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
Kate watched his broad back disappear into the crowd. Joy, confusion, disappointment and jealousy swirled within her all at once. What was going on?
But she had no time to dwell on Nick as the band revved to life. The drummer thwacked his drumsticks together. One, two, three. He let loose on the drums. The crowd let out a cheer, just as the guitarist opened up on the amp, full throttle.
‘Chisel! They’re playing Chisel!’ Simmo cried. ‘Bandito Johnno! Bandito Blue! C’mon, amigos!’ They were all swept up into the dance.
‘I can’t believe I used to think he was hot,’ Janie said as she watched Johnno bouncing up and down to the music. ‘Such dickheads.’ She smiled at Dave. ‘I sure made the right move that night!’
Dave collected Janie and Kate, one under each arm, and carried them into the heart and heat of the crowd, which was leaping, jumping and grooving to the music, so the whole shearing shed shook. As Kate danced she ran the words Nick had spoken through her head over and over. I hoped you would be here. Through the bobbing heads of dancers, she kept looking for him. But he was nowhere to be seen.