Flying the Coop (40 page)

‘Ate her dog?' repeated Chris, dumbfounded.

‘So she says. Fool of a woman. I told her poultry ain't meat-eaters but she swears the dog's gone and the chook's fatter than 'twas.'

‘Could it really –'

‘Nah. Don't be stupid, Red.'

‘What're you going to do?' asked Dot curiously.

‘Nothin'. Not my problem. She wanted a chook, I gave 'er a chook. And –' Mac paused as he flicked a level glance across at Dot – ‘That's
all
I'm givin' 'er.'

‘Hello, this is Chris Beggs from Beggs Eggs out on Zoello Road, Healesville returning your call. You asked if you could sell our eggs on consignment at your milk bar. I'm terribly sorry but the response has been rather overwhelming and I'm going to have to wait and see if the businesses who have already started with us want to keep it up. The problem is we're running out of eggs! I've put your name and number down on a list of those wanting to stock the eggs and I'll give you a call as soon as we have a vacancy. In the meantime, thank you very much for thinking of us.'

‘Hey, Mac, I've been wanting to ask you a favour. I want to get the kids a puppy for Christmas and I was wondering if you knew anyone who bred farm-type dogs? The thing is we want one like Geraldine. You know – good looking, well behaved, fully trained and one hundred percent house-broken. But only a pup, because we want it to grow up with us. What is it? Why are you laughing?'

‘Hi, Garth, it's Chris here. All packed and ready to go? Anyway, I was wondering if you could do me a favour. It seems that I've left the Christmas tree and decorations up in the roof-space at the Canterbury house. Do you think you could pop out there for me one day this week and pick them all up? It'd be much appreciated. The kids tell me that you've been going to a gym to get fit for your big adventure? Good on you. Even apart from the rafting side of things, I bet Farrah won't look at you twice unless you've got a six-pack. And I don't mean beer either.'

‘I've got some news for you, love, that I think you're going to like.'

Chris glanced over at Dot, who was sitting at the kitchen table and nursing a cup of tea while she watched Chris make school lunches. ‘Yes?'

‘Well, it's like this. There's no way that old fool of mine will be able to drive all the way t'Sydney, whatever he reckons. And I can't very well go and leave him here on his own now, can I?'

‘I suppose not,' agreed Chris, thinking that Dot wouldn't have hesitated a few weeks ago.

‘So I told my boy Neil that he was going to have t'come down here instead. And I have t'say he seemed quite willing to go along with that plan. Quite willing indeed.'

‘Really?' Chris busied herself with the bread she had been buttering.

‘Yes, really. Anyway, so he'll be flying in just after two on Christmas Eve and staying for ten days. And I was thinking, why don't we join forces for Christmas dinner? I'm sure Neil'd love t'meet you, seeing as how the two of you have been corresponding for so long, and, well, it seems a bit silly for the two of us t'each cook up a storm, hey? Is that my cat at your back door, love? Sorry about that, I can't imagine why he hangs around here so much.'

‘Neither can I,' replied Chris distractedly, turning back to Dot. ‘But about Christmas dinner, Dot. When you say join forces, do you mean . . .'

‘Oh, we'll have it here, of course,' Dot laughed good-naturedly. ‘It'd be silly t'have it at my place, wouldn't it? Not enough room for everyone. But don't worry, dear. I'm
more
than happy t'do the cooking. What do you reckon? A leg of pork? Ham? And one turkey or two?'

‘Just a quick message to let you know that Lauren's decided to come too. Her dad said he didn't mind either way and if she wasn't there, he'd just stay up at Bundaberg and work through. I think
she's
there too. But I don't care anymore. Anyway, I got the flight you suggested, so we'll be arriving at 3.10 pm on Christmas Eve. Are you sure Dot doesn't mind waiting for us after she collects her son? Gotta go. See you soon.'

‘Hello, Chris? This is your dad here. I'm letting you know that your mother and I have decided to spend Christmas with you and the kids. I must say I was a bit annoyed at first about you saying I was showing profound ignorance by not visiting you and then I thought maybe you're right. So we're coming down to see the place for ourselves. We'll be arriving at four o'clock Christmas Eve. If you're late to the airport, we'll be waiting near the luggage carousel. See you then.'

From:
Neil Mackaway

Date:
Sunday, 3rd December 2006. 8.30PM

To:
Christin Beggs

Subject:
Hi again

Hi there. By now you've probably heard that my mother has talked me into coming down there for Christmas. I'm
hoping while I'm there that we can get together for a drink or something, though I quite understand if you don't have the time. I understand the farm is getting even busier!

Cheers, Neil

From:
Christin Beggs

Date:
Sunday, 3rd December 2006. 9.10PM

To:
Neil Mackaway

Subject:
Re: Hi again

Yes, the farm is getting busier – but I shall definitely make time for that drink with you. It'll be great to actually talk face to face! And did you hear that you're having Christmas dinner at my place? Your mother is doing the turkey. It should be fun. I'm looking forward to it.

Chris

'T
was the day before Christmas – and Chris had the whole farm to herself. Mac and Dot had left for Tullamarine before lunch and didn't expect to be back until seven at the earliest. They planned to collect Neil first, then Jenny and Lauren, and last of all Chris's parents. Originally it had looked like they would need two cars, but then Mac organised to borrow a mini-van from a friend that would fit all the visitors – plus Zoe and Michael, who had both elected to go along for the ride.

As a result, it had been a lovely, relaxing day. Sales had taken care of themselves on the veranda, with Chris only needing to stock up the eggs once and empty the change tin five times. And, although the afternoon's processing had taken longer as she was by herself, it had been worth it just for the uninterrupted thinking time. There hadn't been much of that lately – and certainly wouldn't be any tomorrow.

Chris left the washroom and went to the next door, opening it to reveal the latest batch of chickens. Not that they were strictly chickens anymore, as their cute yellow fluffiness had only lasted a couple of weeks and now they were just as ugly as the last lot. While the half-feathered, half-fluff mini chooks
scrambled to the furthest corner, clambering over each other in their eagerness to put distance between themselves and her, Chris checked the heater and then double-checked that her temperature alarm was switched on.

‘Sleep tight, youngsters.' She secured the door behind her and then crossed the barn to close the double doors at the front. As she pulled the first one inwards and pushed the bolt down into the concrete, Chris spotted Ergo lumbering over to say hello. So she paused and reached out one hand to give the alpaca a scratch behind the ears. He stretched his neck out happily and Chris quickly inspected his eyes. To her relief, the redness had almost disappeared.

‘You're not a bad old thing, are you?'

Ergo snorted happily in reply and blew a gust of rather bad breath over her. Chris grimaced but kept scratching, mainly because every time she slowed down, Ergo butted her shoulder to get her going again.

‘That's it now, I've got a million things to do.' Chris pushed the alpaca away gently and then quickly tugged the second door closed. After she bolted it she left by the side door, closing it securely behind her before crossing the garden towards the house. It was a beautiful evening, warm in an enveloping, pleasant sort of way, and with an army of cotton-ball clouds studded across the sky. Chris paused when she reached the veranda and sat down on the steps for a moment to enjoy the solitude. From here, she just drank in the serenity of her surroundings. The poultry could be heard clucking away in the background but it didn't really detract from the actual silence. Indeed, she rarely even noticed their incessant sound now unless something in particular called her attention to it. Instead, it was like white noise in the background of her routine, and just part and parcel of the jigsaw that made up the farm.
Her
farm.

The cat slid out from underneath the house and padded towards her, then jumped neatly over her legs and up the steps. Once on the veranda, he sat by the back door and looked at her quizzically.

‘This has to stop,' said Chris, shaking her head. ‘You live
next
door, not here. But I tell you what, I'll feed you this one last time because it's Christmas Eve. Not right now though, in a little bit. Then that's
it
. Do you understand?'

The cat lifted a paw and started to lick it fastidiously. Chris turned away, glancing over towards Dot's fence line where her chooks could be seen milling around. It was easy to tell that the gate was being used far more frequently now, simply by the amount of torn-off rhododendron leaves scattered on the ground, while the rhododendrons themselves, previously allowed full rein, seemed to be making a defensive retreat. Absentmindedly, Chris wondered if Dot was going to come good on her oft-mentioned threat to throw Mac out after Christmas. Certainly his ribs seemed to have healed now, and all that was left to remind anyone of his accident was an occasional grimace when he got up too quickly.

Nevertheless,
he
wasn't making any noises about moving out. Instead he seemed to have settled himself in remarkably quickly and was even showing signs of having gained weight with the regular meals he was receiving. But Chris wasn't complaining, because although Mac had now seen through the contract stipulation of the one month training period and she was supposed to be on her own, the fact that he was right next door meant that, more often than not, he wandered over to help anyway. So it would be interesting –
very
interesting – to see what happened.

It would also be interesting to see how Neil fitted into the household next door. Even though he sounded fairly easygoing in his emails, it was only a small house and, just a month
ago, Dot had been in it all by herself. Now she was going to have to share it with two full-grown men. And, in Chris's experience, full-grown men often required more looking after than small children. If Dot really intended streamlining her life, she wasn't going in the right direction at all.

As for her, she had her children all to herself for the entire holiday period. Which meant no handover/takeovers, no travelling, no having to organise timings. It was going to be lovely. And she sincerely hoped that Garth enjoyed himself too. He and Cynthia had left only three days ago and would be somewhere in America by now. According to Zoe, Cynthia had spent the last two weeks running around Melbourne buying up all the cold weather gear she could find as it had suddenly dawned on her that they were about to enter a different season. A much
colder
season. As if America itself didn't have stores capable of catering for their clothing requirements. But no doubt they would hear from them tomorrow morning, when Garth rang to wish the kids a merry Christmas.

At the thought of tomorrow, Chris felt a thrill of excitement. Although it was children who were supposed to have trouble sleeping on the night before Christmas, she suspected she was going to have to have a stiff nightcap to help her relax before going to bed. She had been looking forward to Christmas for weeks. And she had perfect presents for everybody, up to and including a new collar for Geraldine and a container of alfalfa mix for Ergo. Deciding that the
Kama Sutra
might not be the most appropriate present for Jenny, given the circumstances, she had raced out and bought a gorgeous pair of beaded earrings and the latest novel by her favourite author. She had also rung the place where she had ordered the Christmas hamper for her parents and changed it to a standard, non-Christmas hamper, to be delivered to Garth and Cynthia's new address on the day of settlement. As a replacement, she
had bought her father a bottle of excellent whisky, and her mother a séance kit that was apparently guaranteed to raise the dead. Then there was the new puppy, currently being housed next door but due to make his grand entrance sometime tomorrow morning.

Even more important than the presents was the company. Usually Chris's Christmas morning was shared with Zoe and Michael, after which they left to spend the rest of the day with their father. Chris would usually have an engagement somewhere or other and would return home in the early evening to wander through a house that seemed to echo far more than it did on any other day. But not this Christmas. This Christmas, if anything, she had
too
many people. Her parents would be housed in Zoe's bedroom, Jenny would have the boxroom again, and Lauren and Zoe – much to their delight – were sleeping out in the loft.
Without
candles.

For Christmas dinner, she was going to move the kitchen table and chairs into the dining-room so that she could fit all those attending. Her parents, Jenny and Lauren, Zoe and Michael, Dot and Mac, Neil . . . and herself. They would have turkey, pork, ham, roast potatoes and pumpkin and parsnip, thick homemade gravy, plum pudding with coins stuck inside, Christmas crackers . . . the list went on. And the house would smell delicious, and cosy, and just bloody wonderful.

Chris picked up one of Michael's matchbox cars from the veranda and tossed it from hand to hand, grinning happily. She had done it. For the first time in her life, she had taken something on and seen it through and was now reaping the rewards. And, sure she realised that she hadn't done it alone, that she had had help and encouragement along the way, and that, really, if it had been up to her, she may well have given up after one week. But the fact remained that she hadn't, and now she could sit here and feel almost
empowered
by all that she saw.

And it was because of that feeling, and how much she loved it, that she had already decided she wasn't interested in re-partnering for the immediate future. In a few hours she would meet Neil and there was no doubt that there was
something
there, although whether it survived a face-to-face meeting was yet to be seen. But even if it did, Chris was pleased that they lived a considerable distance from each other.
She
wanted to build this farm up, and
she
wanted to say, in a few years: ‘
I
did this.' And to have a guy come in at this stage and join forces with her would mean that, down the track, she would be expected to say:‘I couldn't have done it without him.' When, really, that was exactly what she wanted to do.

Because it had occurred to her lately that she had always shared. First there was the house in which she had lived with her parents, then the dormitory at university and then rented accommodation with friends. The first place she had actually owned was the Canterbury house, and that had always seemed more Garth's than hers, even after he left. But this farm – it was
hers
. Every room, every stick of furniture, every enclosure, every square inch of soil. Her name was on the title, on the letterbox, and even on the egg cartons that were now providing a reasonable living for her family.

The droning buzz of a mosquito broke her concentration. She glanced around and then saw it just as it landed on her arm, its gossamer wings trembling. She dropped the matchbox car and flattened the mosquito with the palm of her hand. Then, raising her hand slowly, she looked with disgust at the blood amongst the smeared grey, which indicated it had already got her. Sure enough, her arm immediately started to feel itchy and she wiped the mosquito smear away, then scratched it. While she did, it occurred to her that, if she wanted to be a trifle melodramatic, she could see the mosquito as a reminder that nothing was perfect. And, indeed, it didn't
pay to think that it was, because that would lead to complacency, which in turn could lead to negligence.

And she needed to preserve that small, niggling part of her that kept interrupting her contentment to inform her that it was all too good to be true, that something would go wrong because, well, something often did. That niggle kept her alert. Besides, it was good to be reminded that things weren't perfect as, really, she didn't
want
them to be perfect. After all this time, she had discovered that she actually enjoyed a challenge.

So she wasn't burying her head in the sand about the realities of this life she had rather accidentally chosen. She was well aware – now – that she would very rarely have a day off. Even tomorrow, eggs had to be collected and chooks had to be fed. But, nevertheless, it was
rewarding
work, and it was
her
farm. Every nook, every chook, every single cranny. And, whatever the future brought, she wasn't going to give that up without a fight. More than anything she had ever done before, it quite simply made her feel good – proud and self-sufficient and successful. So it didn't much matter that, even at its best, the farm was damn hard work that would never bring her untold riches. Because, then again, maybe it already had.