Flying the Coop (36 page)

‘You stupid old bugger.' Dot knelt down, pulled up the side of Mac's shirt and slapped away his hand when he tried to stop her. Geraldine licked her face as well for good measure.

‘God, Mac.' Chris knelt down next to him, near tears. ‘I'm so sorry. I panicked. It's all my fault. I'm so,
so
sorry.'

‘S'okay, Red. I'm not bloody dyin', you know,' Mac grunted while trying to push both Geraldine and Dot away. ‘Christ, woman! What're you doing?'

‘Checking the damage.' Dot pressed her hand against his side. ‘Does
this
hurt?'

‘Owww! Jesus flamin' Christ!'

‘I'll take that as a yes,' said Dot, removing her hands from his side. ‘Well, I reckon you've cracked a couple of ribs there, you old fool. Geraldine, sit!'

‘Are you okay, Mac?' Zoe, with Michael only two steps behind, arrived in the compound and squatted next to the now sitting Geraldine, her tail sweeping a fan in the dirt.

‘He'll be fine,' replied Dot airily.

‘And it's not his fault, Dot,' Chris remonstrated. ‘It's
mine
. I don't know what happened.'

‘
I
do.' Dot knelt back in the dirt and glanced up at Chris. ‘I bet he was letting you drive that tractor, wasn't he? Before you were anywhere near ready. And you know why?' Dot went on without waiting for an answer, but she transferred her gaze from Chris to Mac, who glared up at her. ‘Because you think it's funny, getting women t'hop up on that thing. Well, this time you got your comeuppance, didn't you? Serves you right.'

‘Haven't we got a short memory then?' drawled Mac, smiling up at her. ‘There was a time you used to love that damn tractor. Don't you remember when –'

‘That's enough,' snapped Dot, glancing across at Zoe and Michael. ‘There's kids here.'

‘I bet this means we won't be allowed to drive the tractor now.' Zoe glared at her mother. ‘Just coz you stuffed up.'

‘Actually –' Dot held up her hand – ‘
no-one
'll be driving the tractor –'

‘Except me,' Mac looked at her narrowly.

‘Except
me
,' finished Dot. ‘For the rest of it, this is what'll happen. I'm guessing that this job has t'be done today. Not just because Chris's going away for the weekend but you'll have new chicks coming Monday, won't you?' She glanced down at Mac.

‘Yep.' he held his side awkwardly as he readjusted his position on the ground. ‘Besides, I'm off Monday. In me ute.'

‘You're not going anywhere, you old fool,' said Dot dismissively. ‘Now, first I'll ring the community centre and tell them I won't be in today. Then I'll take his majesty down t'the doctor's t'get strapped up. While I'm gone, perhaps you lot could finish off the morning's processing. Then, when I get back, we'll start the hard stuff. I'll do all the tractor work and Chris and the kids can help with the groundwork. We'll get it done, no worries. Then afterwards, I'll take the tractor back and pack up some of your gear.'

‘My gear!' spluttered Mac, aghast.

‘Of course. You'll need some clothes and things if you're staying at my house for a while.'

‘Your house!'

Dot looked at him with exasperation. ‘Will you stop repeating everything? It's
very
annoying. What did you think was going t'happen? You can't look after yourself now, can you?'

‘I bloody well can! I'll just –'

‘For heaven's sake, use the brains God gave you.' Dot got to her feet and dusted herself down. ‘It'd be one thing if you hadn't thrown Ken out, you great lummox.'

‘Bloody Ken!' spat Mac, his face going an unattractive puce colour. ‘I don't need '
im
. And I don't need you either, woman! I'm
fine
!'

‘Fine, are you? Well then, Mr I'm Fine, get up. Go on.'

‘Okay! I will!' Mac put one hand down onto the dirt, rolled
towards his good side, and used his leg to lever himself into a half-kneeling position that actually looked like he was paying obeisance to Dot. Once in this position, he paused momentarily before straightening fully and, on the way, he groaned involuntarily and wrapped one arm across his chest. Chris stepped forward to help him but Dot shook her head fiercely so she stopped. Finally upright, Mac stood perfectly still for a few seconds, glaring across at Dot, and then, as his face faded from the puce to an even less attractive greenish colour, he sagged slightly and put his hand on her shoulder for support.

‘That's settled then,' said Dot decisively as she put her own hand on top of Mac's. ‘Let's get going. It's going t'be a long day.'

And it was a long day. A very, very long day. While the kids finished the egg collection, Chris hammered the trough back onto the oldies' chicken coop as best she could. Luckily it had come away relatively cleanly and her fix-up job meant that it was at least workable. Unfortunately the corner of the coop was beyond repair but Chris found some canvas in the barn and hammered a piece of that over the damage so that the coop was waterproof once more. By that time, Dot and Mac had returned, with the news that he had indeed cracked three ribs. He was now strapped from armpits to waist, and so tightly that his long stride was now more of a cautious waddle, and whenever he lit a smoke, he could only manage a shallow drawback that turned him pale each time. Nevertheless he persevered.

To Chris's surprise, Dot proved to be quite competent at tractor driving and the partially broken chicken coop was moved with no further excitement. Once this was done, though, the fun work really began – shovelling the enormous mound of chicken manure into bags ready for sale. When the
last scrap of manure had been bagged, Chris leant on her shovel with exhaustion and breathed a sigh of relief. Then Zoe pointed wordlessly to the spread of enclosures beyond. Each with chickens to be moved, and coops to be relocated, and manure to be shovelled.

Throughout the day, Mac sat in the papasan chair, which had been moved to outside the barn, and directed operations. Every so often, when he was particularly frustrated at not getting his message across, he struggled to his feet only to be reprimanded shortly by Dot, who kept a close eye on him at all times. Generally speaking, though, he remained relatively calm and relaxed – a state of mind no doubt helped considerably by the little blue tablets supplied by the doctor.

Ergo kept him constant company and Geraldine, when she wasn't needed to help round up poultry, lay by the chair with her head on her front paws. By the time all the coops had been moved, all the mounds had been shovelled, and all the chooks had been shifted, Chris crumpled in a heap by Geraldine's side and closed her eyes tiredly. She was aware of Ergo standing right behind her but didn't have to pretend not to care – in her current state of exhaustion it came naturally.

Zoe emerged from the barn carrying the last box full of ugly chickens and regarded her mother critically. ‘We still have to clean out the baby chickens' room, you know.'

‘No way.' Chris partially opened her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. ‘I'll do that Sunday, when I get back from the city.'

‘Big job, hey?' asked Mac cheerfully.

‘Yep. Big job.'

Zoe headed off towards the far enclosure with the box as Dot brought the tractor down and parked it neatly by the barn. She turned off the ignition and the engine rumbled to a halt. Then she folded her arms across the steering wheel and laid her chin down on them, gazing across at Mac and Chris
wordlessly. Even though she had done little of the actual physical work, like the shovelling, the day had obviously taken its toll.

‘You okay, Dorrie?' asked Mac, looking at her narrowly. ‘You get down and go sit down. You're not as young as you used to be, woman.'

‘Thanks,' said Dot, sitting back up. ‘I'll sit down after I've returned this tractor. Get it over and done with. Your place open?'

‘Yep. Take it easy. Hey!' Mac gestured at Zoe, who had just returned with her empty box. ‘Can you go round and unhook the back wire for Dorrie here to take the tractor through?'

‘Sure.' Zoe flung the box in the barn on her way around to the back.

‘Do you know –' Chris paused as she watched Dot start the tractor up again and then chug it slowly out of sight – ‘you're an idiot sometimes, Mac. Fancy telling her she's not as young as she used to be!'

‘Well, she's
not
,' retorted Mac, looking offended. ‘What'm I supposed to do? Fib?'

‘Yes! If you have to!'

‘Bloody women.' Mac shoved a hand into his pocket and brought out his tobacco pouch. Morosely, he started to roll himself a cigarette.

As the rumble of the tractor gradually faded into the distance, Chris shaded her eyes and gazed over at the oldies' pen, with its new residents. In the centre was Michael, meticulously rebuilding his road system and making full use of the few splintered planks that remained from the earlier accident. Zoe came back and threw herself down onto the ground on the other side of the papasan chair. One of her overall buttons immediately popped and the button went rolling over the dirt towards the fence. They all watched it go without moving.

‘What's for dinner, Mum? I'm starving.'

‘Me too!' yelled Michael, who had excellent hearing when it came to food.

‘I'm thinking pizza,' said Chris, reaching out a hand and scratching Geraldine behind the ears. ‘Or fish and chips. Anything, so long as I don't have to cook.'

‘Pizza,' said Zoe decisively.

‘Ham and pineapple!' yelled Michael.

Chris started gathering together the energy necessary to get up. But before she did, something pushed her in the shoulder and she looked around questioningly – and came face to face with Ergo.

‘I reckon 'e wants a scratch too,' commented Mac with a grin.

‘Really?' Chris regarded the alpaca apprehensively. ‘But I thought he hated me!'

Zoe frowned at her mother. ‘Well, now that you've stopped spraying –'

‘There you go, Ergo,' interrupted Chris, reaching out a hand tentatively and scratching the animal behind one ear. He immediately elongated his neck, thrusting his face forward even more and half closing his eyes with pleasure. The feel of his woolly head was springy yet surprisingly soft, much like a sheepskin rug. After a few minutes, Chris gave him a final pat and stood up, groaning as she stretched. Ergo butted her lightly against the shoulder and then exhaled a gust of rather fetid breath into her face.

‘Yep, 'e likes you all right,' said Mac, flipping his cigarette down onto the ground and then grinding it out without bending.

‘Okay, Ergo.' Chris looked at the alpaca evenly. ‘I like you too, now. But I still can't stay out here scratching you till all hours. I have to go order pizza for the starving hordes. I'll see you tomorrow.'

The first thing Chris did after ordering three large pizzas was to go out onto the front veranda and check the honesty jar. For the first time today they had trialled a system where half a dozen egg cartons were put in the cooler on the veranda together with a glass jar and instructions for customers to simply leave their payment there. Chris fully expected both eggs and jar to be gone but, to her surprise, only the eggs were. The jar itself was half full with change. And the correct amount of change at that.

Rather touched by the integrity of complete strangers, Chris emptied the jar into her pocket and replaced it. Then she fetched another three cartons from the kitchen and put them in the cooler in case any customers came as they were having pizza. While she was doing this, a cream station wagon pulled into the driveway and a dark-haired older woman, dressed in tan slacks and a dark brown polo shirt, climbed out. She walked over to the veranda where Chris stood waiting.

‘Hi. Were you after eggs?'

‘No.' The woman shook her head emphatically. ‘Actually, I've come to return one of your hens.'

‘Did it get out?' Chris frowned, puzzled.

‘Oh no. I bought it from you a few days ago.'

‘I see.' Chris looked at the woman more closely and vaguely recognised her as someone who had purchased one of the oldies. ‘Was there a problem?'

‘There most certainly was. You didn't tell me it was vicious.'

‘What? None of our hens are . . .' Chris trailed off as she remembered Howard. ‘Oh.'

‘Yes. I'll have you know that bird attacked our Persian and nearly took her eye out.'

‘I'm terribly sorry.' Chris tried to look suitably apologetic. ‘These Isa Brown hens are usually quite placid so it's very unusual to get a nasty one.'

‘Well, it's nasty all right. We nearly had to take the cat to the vet, you know. The poor thing's been traumatised. And it also took a chunk out of my husband's ankle.'

‘God! Is he okay?'

‘Oh, sure –' the woman waved her hand dismissively – ‘it's the cat I'm worried about.'

‘Once again, I'm very sorry. Here you go.' Chris plunged her hand into her pocket, separated the correct amount and passed it over. ‘There's your money back. And let me give you some eggs as well.' Chris went over to the cooler and pulled out a carton of eggs, which she handed to the woman.

‘Why thank you.' Looking slightly mollified, the woman gestured towards the car. ‘And there's your hen. Could you get it please? I'm . . . well, I'm a bit nervous of it now.'

‘Sure.' Chris followed her over to the car and stood aside as she opened the boot. Inside was a cardboard box that was rocking furiously from side to side.

‘There you go.' The woman gestured at the box and stepped back.

‘Thanks.' Chris reached forward and grasped the box, which stopped rocking as soon as it was lifted. Nevertheless Chris held it well away from her body as she walked slowly back up onto the veranda and then, after apologising again, entered the house. She took the box through to the kitchen and put it down by the office door. The box immediately rocked sideways and Howard could be heard squawking angrily inside.