Billabong Bend Read online

Eva put on her glasses and examined the photos that Nina had taken the day before. The reach, the jetty, the canoe tree – and a photo of the homestead that she’d put in a cheap frame. The old lady sighed and smiled. ‘Remember when you used to come visit me, all by yourself, in that little boat? I’d show you where the brolgas danced, and where the little snake-necked turtles were hatching. Such happy days.’

  ‘Of course I remember.’ When Nina was a child, her parents routinely took injured and orphaned birds to Billabong Bend. Eva had been a miracle worker, healing and returning all sorts of waterbirds to the wild. A friendship had quickly formed between young Nina and Eva, who’d loved to pass on her knowledge of the wetlands to the eager child. It had been a magical time. Nina looked out the window to the withered garden and busy road beyond. No wonder Eva lived in the past.

  ‘I hate this place,’ said Eva, with sudden urgency. ‘I’m not dead yet, but in here I might as well be. How long, do you think, before I’ll go back to Billabong?’ She picked up the photographs again and began looking through them. Minutes passed. It was as though she’d forgotten all about Nina’s presence.

  ‘Eva?’

  Eva started, confusion clouding her features. ‘This is awful.’ There was a quiver in her voice. She held up a photo in her papery hand. ‘Somebody must fix the jetty. And all this water hyacinth. Somebody must clear out those dreadful weeds.’

  Somebody indeed.

  ‘I could do it,’ said Nina. ‘Eva, why don’t you sell Billabong to me, like we talked about? You know how much I love that place. I love it just like you do.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, child. Where would I live?’

  Normally Nina didn’t have the heart to press her, but with each passing month the urgency of her mission to buy Billabong grew. Threats were mounting fast. The terrible drought. The erosion and weeds and feral animals. Hunters and irrigators and land clearers. The wetlands were copping it from all directions, and without an ally they didn’t stand a chance. On top of that Eva’s health was failing, a series of small strokes stealing her strength. Sometimes she was confused and didn’t remember Nina’s visits. Nina had to make Eva understand before it was too late.

  ‘If you went home, you’d live at Billabong, of course,’ said Nina. ‘Selling to me wouldn’t change that. But it would let me protect the property.’

  ‘Protect it from what, dear?’ Eva looked puzzled. She lifted the glass of water to her lips and sipped, dribbling a few drops on her blouse. ‘You were always such a worrier, Nina. I’ll sort everything out when I go home.’

  It was no use. How could she explain to Eva that she was never going home? That when she died, her precious James would auction Billabong to the highest bidder? Where would she find the words? Instead she sat for a while, listening to Eva recount stories from the old days, until the clock on the wall told her it was time to go.

  ‘Goodbye.’ She kissed Eva’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you again in a few weeks.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Eva clasped her hand. ‘I do look forward to your visits.’

  ‘Me too,’ sang out Nina as she slipped away. Tears pricked at her eyes. There had to be a way to convince Eva that her beautiful Billabong Bend was in peril. There just had to.

  ‘Well, that’s everything.’ Nina tossed her bag onto the back seat of Kate’s old Corolla, and checked the time. It was later than she thought. The dissection of their respective evenings over a late brunch had been a fascinating and protracted affair.

  Kate’s phone rang. ‘For you.’ She arched her eyebrows and handed it over.

  ‘Hello?’ said Nina.

  ‘It’s me, Ric,’ he said. ‘Dylan gave me Kate’s number . . . He wouldn’t give me yours.’

  Clever Dylan. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The transmission’s packed up in my ute . . .’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I was wondering . . . could you give me and Sophie a lift to Drover’s Flat? I’ll pay for the petrol.’

  She didn’t answer, her mind a kaleidoscope of competing emotions. ‘Please, Nina. Sophie’s been through a lot, and Dylan’s house is no place for a kid. I just want to get her home to Donnalee, get her settled.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Nina. ‘Meet me at the airport turn-off in twenty minutes.’

  ‘The airport?’

  ‘Don’t keep me waiting.’

  ‘Cool . . .’ Sophie’s eyes shone as Nina pointed out the little Skyhawk, waiting patiently in its tie-down spot. ‘I’ve never been in a plane before.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ Ric flashed Nina a nervous smile. In daylight, his movie-star good looks were even more impressive.

  ‘Why would I be kidding?’ Nina commenced her pre-flight walk-around, checked the fuel and oil levels. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  ‘Dad,’ said Sophie. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nina. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ric. ‘Nothing at all.’ But the doubt on his face belied his words. He ran his hand along the Skyhawk’s pitted fuselage. ‘How old is this plane?’

  ‘It’s not polite to ask a lady’s age,’ said Nina. ‘Let’s just say she’s older than me.’ She hauled the door open. ‘It’s a bit stiff.’ Ric was looking over her shoulder, decidedly unimpressed. She swung the door on its hinges several times and it creaked alarmingly. ‘Could use some oil.’

  Sophie was clearly itching to get aboard. ‘Come on, Sophie,’ said Nina. ‘Climb in.’ The child sprang up and settled herself in a back seat. Nina smiled and showed her how to put on her seat belt. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ asked Nina. ‘That little backpack?’

  ‘Dad left my suitcase in his car at the garage and there wasn’t time to go back for it.’

  Nina took in the girl’s faded T-shirt and too-big shorts. Her cheap thongs. ‘Tough break,’ she said and stowed the bag.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll send it on,’ said Ric. He was pacing the concrete, as if wrestling with his decision.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ asked Nina.

  ‘Dad, get in.’

  ‘You win,’ he said at last, and climbed inside.

  ‘Can you just pull that bit of loose carpet flat?’ asked Nina. ‘That’s better. It rides up sometimes and gets in the way of the pedals.’ Ric went a little pale, in spite of his dark complexion.

  ‘Are you ready, Sophie?’ asked Nina, as they roared up the runway.

  ‘I can smell fuel.’ Ric shifted his long legs.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Nina set her flaps. ‘That’s normal.’

  Sophie squealed with excitement as the nose lifted and the plane took off. Nina glanced back. The girl’s face was pressed hard against the window. Her first flight. What a thrill this would be for her; so new, so exciting, such an adventure. Ric cleared his throat, and she caught a glimpse of his handsome profile, both strange and familiar. She focused on the windshield, but could still see his face. The way he looked when she first saw him. His expression when Sophie came into the lounge room. The glance at her bare legs that he’d tried to hide, and how it had made her feel. She tried to imagine Lockie’s face instead, and failed.

  CHAPTER 5

  They drove past the entrance to Red Gums, over the old bridge and turned into the gates at Donnalee station. Ric swung his bag from the back of Nina’s ute and gazed around the yard of his childhood home. Here he was, back in the landscape of his past. A fierce north wind whipped his cheek and caused a line of blue shirts on the clothesline to dance and swing.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ Nina said as a man emerged from the house.

  ‘When can I come to see the horses?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Get your dad to give me a ring.’ The ute began to inch away from them.

  Ric swallowed and nodded his thanks, tongue paralysed. He hadn’t seen his father for fifteen years, and this meeting would not be an easy one. Dad had a temper, and had been tough on Ric and his sisters growing up. But he’d also been loving at times, and fiercely proud of them all.
r />   Max Bonelli adhered to an old-fashioned school of thought, one where his position as head of the family had defined him as a man. He’d measured his worth by how well he could provide for his wife and kids, and on that score he’d never failed them. Then Mum had left. They all had. What would that have been like for his father? To have his family, his identity, torn away from him like that?

  Ric stared at the figure on the porch and touched the shoulder of the slight girl beside him. The prospect of being a father himself, of having responsibility for this little person, was daunting. So was the idea of living with his own father for the month of Sophie’s holidays. What would it be like? What might he and Sophie be walking into? The only thing he was sure of was that he wouldn’t be taking any parenting tips from Max.

  Sophie jammed her hands into her pockets and squinted into the baking, afternoon sunshine. He heaved a sigh. How hard must this be for her? Hard for him, too. Ric wanted to turn around and go home, wherever that was.

  Nina’s car had retreated in a cloud of dust. It rattled over the grid, onto the road and over the rickety bridge back to her side of the river. Max Bonelli, his father, stepped off the porch and advanced with arms outstretched. ‘Ricardo.’ His voice was thick with emotion. ‘Happy new year. And you too, little Sophia. Welcome, welcome.’

  Ric regarded his father with undisguised curiosity, amazed at how little he’d changed. Still a big man. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the body of a bull in his prime. The power and drive of him remained on full show. A little grey peppered his heavy eyebrows and thick dark hair. Extra creases lined his weathered face, but on the whole he was as Ric remembered.

  Sophie endured Max’s clumsy hug. ‘Sophie,’ said Ric. ‘This is your grandfather.’

  ‘Poppi, please,’ said Max. ‘Call me Poppi.’ He took Sophie’s backpack and led them up the cracked concrete path. The house, framed by sunburnt camellias and a few wilting bush roses, had changed more than his father. No sign of the beautiful flower garden that Ric remembered so well. His mother, tending to each exotic bloom like it was one of a kind. His father, labouring in high summer to water it by hand. The two of them taking cuttings, laughing and arguing and working together. Their shared passion for that garden had brought out the best in them both, and now it had vanished along with their love. The only green things left were the coffee plants, growing in a tall straggly hedge along the fence. A sudden sadness came over him. He shrugged his shoulders as if that might cast off the gloom.

  Sophie stopped and turned around. ‘Where are all the animals?’ She stared at him accusingly. ‘You said this was a farm. I don’t see any animals.’

  ‘Donnalee’s a cotton farm,’ said Max. He looked askance at her crestfallen face. ‘What about chickens? I have chickens. You like fat chickens?’ She brightened and his broad face cracked into a grin. ‘Come with me.’ He put her bag down on the path and beckoned. ‘And cows,’ said Max, clearly delighted that he’d come up with another animal. ‘I have cows too. Later, we’ll see my cows.’ The girl followed him around the side of the house. Ric retrieved her backpack and went on inside. So far, so good.

  After dinner, he sat drinking beer with Max out on the porch, while Sophie watched television. The wind had weakened to a hot gusty breeze. Ric watched a blood-red sun sink towards the horizon. Strange, embarrassing even, to be alone with his father after all this time. He didn’t know what to say. ‘You live here by yourself?’ he managed at last. Max nodded. ‘You get lonely?’

  Max stood and took a tin down from a splintered shelf. A cigar box. Ric had forgotten so much about his father. ‘I have good friends,’ Max said. ‘Plenty of good friends along the river.’ He selected a cigar and toyed with it, the way he used to when he was thinking. ‘Nobody to stop me smoking in the house any more, but I still can’t bring myself to do it.’ He smiled to himself. ‘There was a woman, after your mother left. Rosa. A good woman.’

  He offered the tin. Ric shook his head. ‘What happened?’

  ‘After ten years, she tells me that she’s sick and tired of playing second fiddle to a ghost. Accused me of never loving her like I loved your mother.’ He grinned. ‘She was right, bless her.’ He snapped the cigar seal with his thumb. ‘And you, Ricardo? The ladies, they like you pretty good, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He looked away.

  ‘Course they do.’ Max chuckled. ‘A handsome kid like you? You got that kind of wild look they go for.’

  ‘I’m not a kid, Dad.’ He kicked at the verandah post. ‘I’m thirty years old. I’ve got my own kid now.’

  Max’s smile died and he used his teeth to bite off the cigar tip. ‘Cramps your style, does she? There’s no pride in siring a child, Ricardo, and that’s all that you did.’ He lit a match. ‘What sort of man doesn’t even know he has a daughter?’

  There it was, what he’d been dreading. The meanness. Max hadn’t changed. Ric frowned. ‘What sort of man,’ he said, jaw tensed, ‘drives away his own wife and children?’

  His father blew out the match. ‘You want to hurt me,’ he said. ‘You want to fight. First time we sit and talk since you’re sixteen years old, and you want to fight.’

  ‘I didn’t start it, Dad.’ Ric shook his head. ‘And I don’t want to finish it either, but I will if I have to. I’ll take Sophie and walk right out of here.’ A new match flared in his father’s hand. Ric finished his beer and got to his feet. ‘It’s up to you.’

  Sophie appeared on the porch, quiet as a ghost, startling them. ‘There’s a movie on about a horse.’

  ‘You like horses?’ said Max.

  Her eyes lit up. ‘It’s about two boys who are given a beautiful white horse by their gypsy grandfather. I think it might be a magic horse. It gets sold by a bad man and the boys are trying to rescue it.’ She stopped like she expected them to say something. Her next words were a long time coming. ‘Don’t you have any horses, Poppi?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophia. No horses.’

  The girl ran back inside. ‘Her name’s Sophie,’ said Ric. ‘Sophie, not Sophia.’

  ‘Sophie,’ said Max. ‘Sophie, of course.’ He finally lit his cigar, rotating it slightly to ensure an even burn. ‘Sit down, Ricardo,’ he said at last. ‘No more talk of women, eh? Agreed?’

  A teasing breeze blew the tobacco smoke into Ric’s face, a breeze that blew without cooling. He inhaled the acrid aroma, so evocative of childhood. This was his father and he was right. After all this time they had better things to do than argue. ‘I’m getting another beer,’ he said. ‘Want one?’

  Max breathed an audible sigh of relief from behind a puff of smoke. ‘Yes, I want one. Of course I want one. Then we’ll talk cotton or weather or anything you want. I step out of line, just clout me over the head, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Ric. ‘Let’s shake on that.’ Max grasped the extended hand with both of his own. His grip, tight and eager, said more than words.

  ‘Just so we understand each other,’ said Ric, ‘the topic of football is also out of bounds. Women and football.’ Max nodded. ‘Then we should get along just fine.’ Ric crushed his empty can in one hand. ‘I’ll go get those beers.’

  Max settled his big frame back in the chair. Ric went to the kitchen, astonished by what had just happened. The ground rules had changed. He’d changed them. An echo of his father came to him, his voice like thunder. What sort of a half-arsed job is that? Do it again, Ricardo. And remember, if I tell you to jump, you jump. Now get back out there. He shook off the memory.

  Ric cracked open a new beer and took a swig. A few weeks ago he’d been at the end of his tether. What was he supposed to do with a surprise daughter? What did he know about kids? Going home to face his father had been a last resort. But now, with room to breathe, with the beautiful Nina living across the river and with Donnalee’s broad green acres stretching away to the horizon, now he knew he’d made the right choice.

  CHAPTER 6

  Nina stood statue-still, looking across to the north side of
the river. There it was, an inquisitive head, staring back. In one swift motion she raised her rifle, took aim and fired. The fox dropped at the base of the red gum. ‘Go,’ said Nina. Jinx, who’d been waiting by her side, trembling with anticipation, launched himself into the water. He reached the opposite bank, dragged the body from beneath the twisted trunk, and started back. The tree’s gnarled old roots, once submerged, now lay naked and exposed, like the clawed fingers of an ancient hand. The soil of the eroded riverbank had long ago slipped from its grasp.

  Heartbreaking, to see scores of the iconic river red gums, some centuries old, dying along the Bunyip. It was the same all over the Murray-Darling basin. Frightening stories abounded – that the Lachlan River swamp had lost most of its trees, that the flows to the Booligal marshes had halved. ‘Those wetlands are like graveyards,’ a neighbour had told her. ‘The waterbird breeding colonies all gone.’

  Jinx burst proudly from the water in a rainbow of spray. Nina crouched to examine his prize, noting with satisfaction the clean head shot. A big dog fox in the prime of life. A beautiful animal. She hated shooting anything, but foxes wreaked havoc among the small animals and ground-nesting birds along the river. Nina stood and scanned the north bank. There could well be a den hidden in those tree roots. She’d better talk to Ric.

  Ric. The man was a constant distraction. She’d sit out on the verandah at night, watching the lights in the window at Donnalee homestead. And despite her best intentions, she’d imagine what he might be doing. Watching telly, playing cards, laughing with his daughter? When the lights went out, she’d imagine him in bed, whispering to a lover on the phone, or talking to Sophie’s mother . . . reconnecting. That’s when it would hit her – an irrational wave of misery and anger that kept sleep at bay for hours. When Ric had rung this morning to ask if Sophie could visit the horses, it was almost a relief. Seeing the man might help get him out of her system. She owed it to herself – and to Lockie. Pity he’d been so busy lately. If he was around a bit more, maybe she’d stop thinking about Ric.