Flying the Coop (18 page)

She finished her scrutiny of the compound by the garden, which housed the oldest chooks, and reflected that at least the one she killed had been nearing the end of its lifespan. Perhaps she had even done it a favour. She turned back to Mac, who was watching her with obvious amusement.

‘I've got tons more questions.' She flicked a glance over towards the alpaca, who stood watching them. ‘But why don't we go inside and have a cup of coffee or tea while I ask them?'

‘Sounds like a plan.' Mac nodded, and then set off with his rapid stride towards the house with Chris trying to manage a dignified run behind him. At the first compound he made a detour inside, scattering a bunch of hens who were crowded around their slain fellow. He swept the dead bird up by its feet and then held it out to Chris, its head hanging almost to the ground and swinging slightly to and fro.

‘How're you at plucking then, Red?'

Chris paled, looking from him to the bird and then back again while she tried to work out whether he was serious.

‘Obviously not.' Mac grinned and left the compound with the bird still swinging by his side. ‘Meet you inside after I get rid o'this.'

‘Okay,' agreed Chris, not really wanting to know what he intended to do with it. She figured that sort of knowledge could wait a week or two – one thing at a time. She headed for the barn quickly, convinced that the alpaca was going to make a beeline for her now that she was a lone target. But she made it through and out the side door without incident.

Once in the kitchen, she put the kettle on and then ran down to the bathroom and stuck her head under the shower. Once her hair was good and wet, she turned the shower off and dried her hair as much as possible with a towel which she then dropped into the laundry hamper. It wasn't as good as a full-scale shampoo, but it would have to do for now.

Back in the kitchen, and feeling decidedly more alert, she shook her head to settle her hair into its usual waves and then gathered up the breakfast dishes and piled them in the sink to make the room look a little tidier. The sound of the screen door opening heralded Mac's arrival. He grinned when he saw her wet hair.

‘Coffee or tea?' asked Chris, ignoring his amusement.

‘Coffee, thanks. Strong, sweet and black – like me women.'

‘Gosh, I've never heard
that
before.'

‘You're a feisty one, aren't you?' Mac leant back in the kitchen chair and regarded her with obvious approval. ‘Where's your old man?'

‘I'm divorced.' Chris turned and gave him a rather narrow look. ‘
Happily
divorced.'

‘Hey, don't look at me!' Mac put his hands up and laughed. ‘You're too young for me, anyways. Take me too long to teach you everything.'

‘Is that so?' Chris tried to look serious but failed miserably. They both grinned at each other and then she turned back to assembling the two mugs of coffee.

‘You've never done any farming before, 'ave you?'

‘Is it that obvious?'

‘Yep.'

‘Oh.' Chris put a mug of black coffee in front of Mac and slid into the chair opposite. ‘Well, I'll learn. It's what I've always wanted. What about you? Do you miss it?'

‘Miss it?' repeated Mac incredulously. ‘I 'aven't stopped it yet!'

‘Of course not.' Chris laughed at herself. ‘But where did you go? I mean, where are you living?'

‘Over there.' Mac waved a hand laconically to his right, which encompassed the entire area from the farm all the way up to the Great Dividing Range. ‘Up at th'farm next door.'

‘The one on the hill? You mean you're
farming
it?'

‘Nah. Th'land's leased out. I'm just caretaking th'cottage for a month or so.'

‘I see.' Chris took a sip of coffee and tried to think of some polite conversational gambits. ‘Don't you have a dog?'

‘Yep. Geraldine.'

‘
Geraldine
?'

‘Named 'er after me mum. Best bitch I've ever come across.'

Chris decided to proceed on the assumption that he was talking about the dog, and not his mother. ‘So where's Geraldine today?'

‘Left 'er at 'ome. Trouble with foxes.'

‘I could give you an alpaca if you like.'

‘Ha!'

Chris gave up trying to be courteous and instead spent a few minutes assembling all the questions she wanted to ask about the farm. Then, just as she opened her mouth to begin the interrogation, she registered that Mac was staring at her quizzically, and had been for some time. She shut her mouth again.

‘Listen, Red –' he cocked his head slightly as if appraising her – ‘have you taken on all this on your Pat Malone?'

‘My what?'

‘Your Pat Malone – your own. I mean, d'you 'ave a partner or summit?'

‘No . . . well, that is, I've got my two kids. They'll help.'

‘Hmm . . .' Mac picked up his mug and regarded her gravely over the rim. ‘I've met your kids. Look, I don't wanna be rude, but d'you think you might 'ave bitten off a bit more than you can chew?'

‘Certainly not,' said Chris emphatically, before involuntarily looking over towards the kitchen window, and the expanse of country beyond it. ‘Um, maybe. But I'll learn.'

‘It's not a matter of learning, lass, it's a matter of
ability
. It's a bloody big job.'

‘Oh.' Chris felt her resident niggles start to boil within. ‘I was thinking I'd be able to get a part-time job as well.'

Mac looked at her incredulously. ‘You '
ave
to be kidding me.'

‘I wish.'

‘Look, Red, I'm gonna be straight with you. For your own sake. There's over four thousand chooks on th'place and that means work. A
lot
o'work. Sure, you 'ave slow weeks but other times you ain't got a minute to scratch yourself. I've bin doing this for near on forty years, and I oughta know. There's no time for other bloody jobs. And, besides, it's too much for a woman on 'er own anyway.
Much
too much. You 'aven't got a hope in hell.'

‘I see.'

‘And I'd like t'say I'll stick around to help. But as soon as th'month's up, I'm off to Sydney for a time. First 'oliday I've 'ad in twenty-odd years. And to be honest, Red, I doubt you'll be 'ere when I get back.'

Chris nursed her mug and tried to quell the sick feeling in her stomach. All those moments of wondering if it was too much, all those niggles – she had worked so hard to try to keep them subdued and kept telling herself that it was only her ignorance speaking. That, after the one-month training period, it would all be second nature and she'd be able to laugh at her earlier fears. But apparently not. She felt like crying.

‘Never mind, lass.' Mac, who must have read the despondency on her face, tried to sound upbeat. ‘Maybe you can get someone in.'

‘Can the business afford that?'

‘Well . . . no.'

‘Thought not.'

Chris got up, ostensibly to put her mug into the sink, but really to have an excuse to turn her back on Mac until she got herself under control. With her eyes feeling like hot lead weights, she stared blindly out of the kitchen window. What had she done? And, more to the point, what was she
going
to do? As she gazed out, a million condemnations running through her head, something moving registered in her peripheral vision. With an effort, she brought the world back into focus and was immediately rewarded with the top of Dot's salt and pepper head as it moved steadily past the veranda and towards the back steps. A few seconds later came the sound of the screen door opening.

‘Yoo hoo! Are you home, love?'

Chris, with her stomach sinking even further, turned towards the sound of the voice and tried to dredge up a welcoming smile. But she needn't have bothered. Because Dot, who was now standing in the office doorway, was not looking in her direction at all. Instead, she was staring with narrowed eyes at Mac.

‘
You
!'

‘Hello, Dorrie.' Mac leant back casually. ‘Long time, no see.'

‘
Pfft
!' said Dot in reply as she turned her broad back and, visibly straightening, left the room with her head held high. Shortly afterwards, Chris watched the top of her head move steadily back across the yard.

‘What was
that
about?'

‘We don't get on,' said Mac shortly, standing up and pulling his leather pouch out of his pocket. ‘Gonna go 'ave a smoke.'

As Mac left the room, Chris wondered what it was that had gone wrong between the two. Because it was evidently more than just a matter of simply not getting on. Instead, it was clear that Dot disliked Mac intensely, and had no hesitation in showing it. Even to the extent of leaving just because he was
here – which, Chris reflected,
could
prove a useful tactic for keeping her at bay.

Nevertheless, that was the least of her problems. All the propulsion of the past three months only meant that the wall she had just hit felt even harder. And, it seemed, there was no way she could clamber over it. It was just too high. Now that it was too late, all sorts of questions were occurring to her that she had never slowed down enough to ask. Not questions about the state of the floorboards, or whether she could get a painter in the day after settlement, but
real
questions.
Important
questions. Like how much work was actually entailed in running a free-range egg farm? And whether it would have been possible to spend a week on the farm itself before she made a decision. Or even whether this whole thing was a ridiculous fantasy so far removed from reality that she should have been institutionalised the minute she even
contemplated
signing the papers. Chris groaned and shook her head, thinking miserably that she should have listened to her gut, way back when it had tried to tell her that this was all way over her head. Instead, she had leapt in – and now would probably drown.

Swamped by a sickening feeling of despondency, she dropped back into her chair, folded her arms on the table and lowered her head down onto them. ‘Stupid, stupid,
stupid
.'

So the bottom line was that without some sort of outside job, there wasn't going to be enough income. But the time required to run the place wasn't going to allow for that option. And it didn't make much difference anyway, as she had vastly overestimated her capabilities and there was no way she could run the farm on her own. Chris sat up, held her face in her hands and gave it a rough squeeze. Then she let go and took a deep breath. It seemed that there was only one answer, and that was to put the place back on the market as soon as possible.

Once she faced this fact, Chris actually felt a bit better and
was able to think things through. And she realised that even if she took a loss, at least she would be protecting the majority of her savings, and she had made such a profit on the Canterbury house that she could afford some shortfall. Then they would simply repurchase, in a more economical suburb, and start again. New schools, new job, new life. It wouldn't be the end of the world. What it
would
be the end of, though, was her self-esteem. And the idea of giving up the farm, of breaking the news to the kids, of moving again, did not distress her nearly as much as the thought of the look on Garth's face when he found out.

‘D
o you think we should collect eggs?'

Chris turned to the sound of her daughter's voice but it took several seconds to fully disengage from her thoughts and concentrate. Freshly showered and dressed in her Carlton t-shirt cum nightie, she had been sitting in the papasan chair half dozing a million mental miles away. It was a reluctant return to reality.

‘Mu-
um
!' Zoe, her school-jumper sleeves pulled down over her hands with the ends clutched within her fists, so that it looked like she'd just had a double amputation, frowned impatiently. ‘I
asked
you a question!'

‘Okay, okay.' Chris bent down and picked up her glass of wine from the veranda. ‘And I don't know the answer. Don't do that to your school jumper, it's new. Now, I know they get collected in the mornings but I don't know about the afternoons. I forgot to ask Mac. Why don't you go and see how many there are?'

‘
Fine
.' Zoe rolled her eyes expressively but didn't mount an argument, which meant that she was looking forward to the task but wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.

‘Oh, and one more thing! Watch out for the alpaca – he's real nasty.'

‘
Ergo
?' Zoe shot her mother a disdainful glance and then headed off, speaking over her shoulder: ‘He wouldn't hurt a fly!'

‘Well then,' said Chris to nobody in particular, ‘spray me with Mortein and put me out of my misery.'

She took a sip of wine while she watched Zoe negotiate the older chook's gate awkwardly, mainly because her hands were still bunched within her sleeves to make a point. The cat leapt fluidly up onto the veranda and, rubbing itself against the balustrade, gave her the exact same look she'd just received from her daughter. Ignoring it, Chris leant back in the chair and returned to her mental musings. The thing was, she had decided ten minutes ago, she shouldn't be
all
that embarrassed about her idiocy – she wouldn't have been the first person to have fallen in love with a rural fantasy only to find that reality was somewhat different. Dirtier, and scarier, and considerably more complicated.

In her favour was the fact that she'd realised she was out of her depth early on, and hadn't stubbornly clung to an ideal that was simply unattainable. Chris took another sip and then cradled the glass in her hands. The funny thing about this realisation was, instead of just making her feel impulsive, incompetent and generally idiotic, she actually felt
relieved
– as well as impulsive, incompetent and generally idiotic. Yes, from the moment she had come to the conclusion that the only way forward was to go backwards and start again, she'd felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Failure wasn't going to be an option because she wasn't going to
let
it be an option. Instead, they would put the place back on the market and sell to someone who actually did know what they were doing.

She took another sip of wine and watched the sun continue its gradual, sepia-tinged slide over the distant blue-grey mountain ranges. The early evening was still warm, but fresh at the
same time, with a clarity that made her feel nourished every time she took a breath. Wherever they shifted to, Chris decided, it was definitely going to be more countrified than Canterbury. Because, apart from the early-morning wildlife visitations, this was lovely.

‘I think Mac must've already done it.' Zoe approached the veranda railings and put her now visible hand through to stroke the cat, who immediately arched its back contentedly. ‘Coz there's only a couple in the troughs.'

‘What troughs?'

‘You know – the
troughs
.' Zoe glanced up at her mother and frowned. ‘Or whatever you call them. The guttering that runs along the back of the hen-sheds and all the eggs roll into. After they're laid.'

‘
Oh
.' Chris tried to look knowledgeable. ‘
Those
troughs. Um – good.'

‘Yeah.'

Chris leant over and put her glass back down. ‘Listen, while there's just the two of us, I want you to tell me how school went. Honestly.'

‘Later,' muttered Zoe, coming up onto the veranda.

‘That's what you said when Michael was in the car with us, but now it's just us. So at least tell me – good or bad?'

‘Okay!'

‘Okay good or okay bad?'

‘Just okay!' Zoe opened the screen door. ‘Okay?'

‘Okay.' Chris watched the screen door bang shut behind her and reflected that perhaps it was just as well that the girl hadn't been deliriously happy about the new school, because
that
would have made leaving even harder. But then again, if she
had
been deliriously happy – which was hard to actually picture – then they could have just moved to within the Healesville area, which would not only mean staying at the same schools, but
would also lessen the whole
intrusiveness
of another move. Chris thought about this and decided it wasn't a bad idea anyway. In fact, everything seemed to be falling into place. Now all that remained was to inform the kids of her decision, and convince them of how lucky they were to have such an astute and forward-thinking parent.

With this in mind, Chris hoisted herself out of the chair and picked up her glass of wine. Then she drained it and took the empty glass with her into the house, placing it with the other dishes in the sink. As she did this, she noticed, through the net curtains, Mac's figure approaching from the direction of the barn with a metal bucket in his hand. Groaning inwardly, she wondered if this was more bad news. But instead of turning towards the veranda and the back door, he continued straight on across the garden towards Dot's fence and out of sight.

Rather puzzled, Chris leant forward, but from this angle, her view was blocked by the laundry area at the end of the veranda. Just as she decided to head outside and discover what was going on, Mac came back, still carrying the bucket but now retracing his steps. As Chris stared, increasingly baffled, Mac walked quickly past the house towards the barn, where he opened the side door and promptly vanished.

Chris frowned thoughtfully, eventually coming to the conclusion that she had more important things to worry about at the moment. This odd little event could be stored with the nocturnal gambler until she had time to sort them out. Instead, she turned her mind back to breaking the news to her children. Not that she was overly concerned about this. Sure, they would raise a few objections, but she had answers for all of them, and offering them some input into wherever they moved to next would certainly soften the blow.

‘Family conference in ten minutes!' she yelled into the
lounge-room and then, getting no answer, ran up the kitchen stairway to repeat herself loudly as she walked the length of the upstairs passageway.

‘Okay!' called Michael from his room.

‘Whatever!' called Zoe from hers.

Chris took the front stairs back down and then turned into her bedroom, where she flopped down on her bed and spent a few minutes wishing that she could pull the doona over her head and go to sleep. But at least tonight, if the nocturnal visitor returned, she wouldn't behave so stupidly. Chris groaned with the memory of herself rushing around the house armed with the meat tenderiser. Now that she knew it was an animal and not some psychopathic stranger, surely she could just ignore it?

With an effort, Chris got herself moving and crossed the room to the dressing-table where she found a pad and pen amongst the paraphernalia. She took these back to the bed where she sat cross-legged in the centre and proceeded to jot down all the questions she needed to ask Mac tomorrow. They were starting to hurt her brain. And whether or not she sold the farm quickly, there would still be a settlement period, so it was in her best interests to run it at optimum efficiency.

Pausing for a second, she glanced across at her dressing-table mirror and examined herself critically. A cloud of dark red hair still slightly damp from the earlier shower. Expressive brown eyes. Hardly any lines at all. To test this last hypothesis, Chris gave herself a huge smile and promptly amended the observation to a multitude of
expression
lines that gave her added character. But the main thing was that, with or without lines, it was
not
the face of a farmer – and she should have realised it.

‘Old MacDon-
nald
had a farm,' she sang to her reflection, with little display of talent. ‘Ee,
i
, ee,
i
, o. And on that farm she
had some chooks, ee,
i
, ee,
i
, o. With a stuff-
up
here, and a stuff-
up
there. Here a stuff-up, there a stuff-up . . .'

Chris stopped singing and grimaced at herself instead. Then she glanced across at the time and realised that more than ten minutes had passed since she called for the conference. Accordingly she pushed the pad and pen away and scrambled off the bed, hurrying out of the room and up the passage. As she went, Chris decided that she would start with the financial angle. Kids
love
money – and the little luxuries that come with it. She started rehearsing the exact words as she entered the kitchen.

‘About time!' snapped Zoe. ‘You
said
ten minutes, you know!'

‘Sorry, I just . . .' Chris trailed off as she registered who was seated around the table waiting for the family conference. Zoe, looking cross, Michael, looking fidgety – and Dot.

‘Hello, love,' said Dot brightly. ‘Just came over t'apologise for this afternoon and the children invited me t'stay. Apparently we're having some type of conference?'

‘Yes, that's right.' Chris gave her daughter a telling look. ‘A
family
conference.'

‘Oh, lovely.' Dot crossed one legging-clad leg over the other and waited expectantly.

Short of physical eviction, it appeared that she was here to stay. After staring at her for a few minutes, Chris did her invisible rolling eye trick and then settled herself down in a vacant chair and tried to remember how she had planned to start this off.

‘C'mon then,' grumbled Zoe. ‘I've got things to do.'

‘First me!' Michael burst out, looking at his mother peevishly. ‘How come you didn't tell me you was collecting eggs before? You
knew
I wanted to do it too. You
knew
it!'

‘It's the quick or the dead,' said Zoe smugly.

‘We
weren't
collecting eggs!' Chris looked with surprise at Michael, who had now folded his arms across his skinny chest and turned his head away.

Michael inclined his head towards his sister. ‘
She
said she went out to look for eggs. And no-one told me!'

‘Well, you can help tomorrow,' replied Chris, annoyed at being sidetracked. ‘It's not like there's suddenly going to be no eggs, you know.'

‘Knock on wood!' said Dot fervently, rapping her knuckles firmly on the tabletop.

‘Still not fair.'

‘Perfectly fair,' said Zoe.

‘'s not!' screeched Michael furiously.

‘Gross!' Zoe made a flicking motion at him. ‘Either shut up about mucus or piss off!'

‘Goodness!' said Dot, looking from one child to the other.

‘Enough!' yelled Chris, before taking a deep breath and counting quickly to ten. ‘If I hear you swear one more time, Gra–
Zoe
, then you are going to be spending the next fortnight in your room.'

‘Suits me.'

‘Actually, cancel that. How about you'll be collecting the chook manure for a month instead?' Chris was gratified to see this threat work more effectively. ‘I
asked
for this conference because I've got something important to say. And I really can't deal with your bickering at the moment. Understand?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Sort of.'

‘Certainly, love.'

‘Okay then.' Chris pressed her palms together before taking another deep breath. ‘It's like this. When I went through the financial statements from this place way back when, I
knew
that things would be tight. And I did tell you both that, didn't
I?' Chris waited for her kids to nod before continuing: ‘So I was aware that the income here would be less than what we were used to. But I thought, to make it up, I'd just get a part-time job or –'

‘Goodness me,' interrupted Dot, ‘you'll never have time for a part-time job, love.'

Chris nodded, grateful for the back-up. ‘Yes, I know that now. Which is the first of our problems. The second is that I've found out the farm isn't a one-man operation. In other words, I can't do it on my own, and we can't afford help.'

‘
We'll
help,' said Michael magnanimously. ‘Me 'n' Grace.'

‘Zoe,' snapped his sister.

‘If it was that simple, Mikey, I wouldn't even be having this meeting. And I'm really, really sorry. I've got no-one to blame but myself.' Chris sighed and melodramatically glanced towards the kitchen window, glowing with the last rays of the setting sun. ‘I think I was so caught up with the idea – the farm, the country, the whole thing – that I only saw what I wanted to see. And I didn't ask the right questions either.'

‘So what're you saying?' asked Zoe suspiciously.

‘I'm saying that we just can't live on what's coming in. It's impossible.'

‘And?'

‘And I can't do it by myself anyway.'

‘And?'

‘And so it looks like we'll have to put it back on the market again.'

‘No!' yelled Zoe, jumping to her feet. ‘I am
not
moving. No bloody way.'

‘Who's moving?' asked Michael, looking from his mother to his sister and then back again. ‘Not us? We've only just unpacked!'

‘Look, I'm sorry. I really –'

Zoe shook her head emphatically. ‘Doesn't matter. I'm not going.'