1
Holly waited in the back seat of the truck, taking deep breaths. This was it. They were really leaving. Everything her family owned was going with them: chairs, tables, beds, suitcases, boxes of food and a guitar. Marley the dog sat between her legs, alternating between wagging his tail and whining nervously. She ran a soothing hand over his black-and-white face.
The house had a bi-fold sign stabbed into the front paddock with FOR SALE BY PUBLIC TRUSTEE in bold red letters. As if her family wasn’t humiliated enough. A SOLD poster had been slapped over the top. Tomorrow a new family would be moving into the home that her mother and father had built. That she had lived in all her life.
She took one last look at the little timber house with its steep roof and mismatched windows that let morning sunlight flood into their kitchen. She could see the crystal chandelier that sent light dancing in tiny rainbows all over the ceiling and walls.
She stared at the small paddock by the house. There would be no more beach rides with Jenny. Gidget and Rocket’s feed bins lay upturned now, empty.
‘Will there be a trampoline at our new house?’ asked Eva, wriggling in her seat.
‘I don’t think so, honey,’ said Mum. ‘But there will be plenty of other things to do,’ she added, in a breezy, unconvincing voice. ‘Mr Armstrong will be there to welcome us. There will be cows and calves.’
Yeah, lovely big-eyed calves that would be slaughtered and turned into hamburgers, thought Holly.
She noticed that Mum kept her head turned so as not to see the doors of the animal enclosures flapping open. The local wildlife organisation had come to collect the possum and the two joeys she had been hand-raising.
‘Who is this Mr Armstrong, anyway?’ Jake asked.
‘He’s your father’s new boss,’ said Mum.
‘I hope he’s more scrupulous than the last one,’ said Brandon, as he jumped in next to Holly and slammed the door closed. He ran his hands through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair.
‘The job is only a twelve-week contract, so it doesn’t matter much,’ said Mum.
‘And then I’m coming straight back,’ Brandon said in a determined voice. At nineteen and not long out of school, he had wanted to move into a beach house with some friends, but he hadn’t been able to find a job. Dad had talked him into working on the building project instead.
Holly groaned inwardly. Why did they have to leave Blue Gum Flats and move to the sticks? Surely her dad could find work on the coast. Gunnedah was an entire universe away. She’d googled it and found it was in the middle of nowhere. ‘How far out of town is it again?’
‘About an hour,’ said her mum.
Mum had arranged for the rest of them to do home-schooling – as if they wouldn’t already be isolated enough. But at least Holly wouldn’t be thrown into a new school with a pack of students she didn’t know.
‘Will there be any internet?’ she asked. ‘I’ll need it to study.’ And to keep in touch with the civilised world, i.e., Facebook.
‘Of course there will be,’ said Mum. ‘We won’t be living in a tent.’
‘Will we be allowed to round the cows up?’ asked Jake.
‘Your dad’s a builder, not a stockman. There’ll be other workers to manage the livestock.’
‘So, what’s the house like?’
‘It’s a caretaker’s cottage. Apparently it’s a bit rough, but we’ll fix it up.’ She looked away.
‘We’ll be slumming it, in other words,’ said Brandon.
‘We will be caretakers on a beautiful property,’ said Mum. ‘How many people can say that?’
‘How many people want to say that?’ grumbled Brandon. He elbowed Holly in the ribs as he clipped his seatbelt in.
‘You’re not making this any easier, Brandon,’ said Dad, jumping in and slamming his door closed. He looked exhausted, with three days’ growth on his chin and deeply sunken eyes. ‘It’s only a short-term contract, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Then what?’ he demanded.
Dad shrugged. ‘Then we’ll put our faith in the universe and see where life takes us.’ With a turn of his wrist he started the truck’s engine.
‘It’s gonna be great,’ said Jake. ‘I hope we can help with the mustering and cattle work.’ He started singing and air-punching. ‘I wanna be a cowboy!’ He pointed to Holly with gun-shaped fingers. ‘And you can be my cowgirl!’
Holly rolled her eyes. ‘Would you act your age?’ Even though he was nearly eighteen, sometimes Jake was so puerile. ‘And don’t call me a cowgirl.’ She couldn’t think of anything more insulting.
‘Ready to roll,’ said Dad, wrestling with the gearstick. His eyes flicked to the rear-vision mirror. ‘Everyone buckled up?’
‘Yes,’ they all chorused. Marley barked.
Holly twisted in her seat and peered out of the back window past the mountain of furniture, watching her childhood home slowly recede. This was it. They were leaving. She choked back tears. She would not cry. She was choosing to get through this without self-pity. The truck rolled around a bend in the tree-lined road and suddenly home was gone.