Right As Rain (27 page)

Mackenna gave Patrick an apologetic look and left them to it. There was still so much to do to get ready for crutching tomorrow and she was annoyed at Cam. He said he'd checked those sheep she'd treated but he couldn't have. Then there was her guilt about Yasmine being so physically upset but overriding it all, she felt a wave of excitement. She was going to be an aunty. Her excitement waned a little when she thought of her mother. Louise could be very old fashioned when it came to moral issues like children out of wedlock.

“You've got a spring in your step,” Cam said as she approached.

“Lucky for you,” Mackenna snapped.

“Why?”

“I've just had to deal with flyblown sheep because you didn't do your job properly.”

“Hang on a minute, boss.” Cam held up two dirty palms to Mackenna. “What's this about?”

“Saturday. I asked you to check the sheep in the swamp paddock.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I checked them,” he said. “They were all fine.”

“You had a good look?”

“Yeah.”

“Every single one of them?” Mackenna watched his face closely.

He glared back. “I checked them,” he said emphatically and bent to pick up a roll of wire at his feet. “I just fixed the fence leading up to the yards. You might want to check that. Make sure I've done it properly.”

Mackenna opened her mouth but he didn't wait for her to speak. He tossed the wire over his shoulder and headed to the shed.

“Damn it,” Mackenna muttered. Patrick was often prickly to deal with and now Cam was as well. Why were men so tricky to get along with?

The early morning air was crisp but there was still no sign of rain. Mackenna hugged her jacket close and quickened her steps. It wasn't very often she and her father disagreed but she wished now she'd fought harder to stop him from sowing those early paddocks.

The light was on in the kitchen as she approached. She hoped that meant Patrick and Yassie were up. They'd both gone to bed early last night and there hadn't been a chance to go over today's plans or talk much about the bombshell discovery of their baby.

Patrick was standing at the sink with a mug in his hand when she stepped inside. There was no sign of Yasmine.

“Good morning,” Mackenna said brightly.

“Morning,” said Patrick. “Want one?” He lifted the mug.

“No thanks. I've had breakfast.”

“I'm ready to get started but I let Yassie sleep in.”

“Is she okay?”

“She worked late last night.” He nodded towards the desk where a laptop and a bag sat beside the family computer.

“I thought you were getting an early night?”

“We did. At least I did. Yassie can be a bit nocturnal. She says she does her best work at night. She'll be up later and she'll make sure the food is done.”

“Are you sure? Food just doesn't seem her thing.”

“That's only since she's been pregnant. Savoury food turns her stomach and the smell of meat cooking really sets her off, but she's been craving sweet things. Half the grannies at work say it means she's having a boy and the other half say it means a girl. She'd been feeling better these last few days.”

Mackenna still couldn't believe Yasmine was pregnant. It seemed strange to hear her little brother talk about a baby – his and Yasmine's baby. Even stranger to think so many other people knew but not his family.

“It's such exciting news, Patch,” she said. “When is Yasmine due?”

“Mid-August.”

“I can't believe you kept it from us all this time.”

“It was more about keeping it from Mum and Dad . . . Mum really. I wasn't sure how she'd react.”

“It will be a shock but she'll get over it.” Mackenna spoke with a certainty she didn't feel. She understood Patrick's reluctance. “She's always hinting about weddings and grandchildren.”

“I guess one out of two will be okay.” Patrick had a wry smile on his face.

“You're not planning to marry?”

“The baby was a surprise to us, too. I wanted to get married straight away but Yasmine thought I only asked her because of the baby.”

“Is she right?”

Patrick wrapped both hands around his mug. “Partly. We've been together a long time and ... I love her. I can't imagine being with anyone else and the baby is a surprise – a wonderful surprise. I'm sure I would have asked her eventually, baby or no baby.”

“Maybe Yasmine's a bit overwhelmed. A baby and marriage are both big steps.”

“I know.”

His voice was so mature. Mackenna found it hard to equate the man who stood before her with the weight of the world on his shoulders, to her carefree baby brother. He'd grown up and she hadn't noticed. The silence stretched between them.

Finally she spoke. “I've made a list for Yasmine of what we need and when.” She pulled it from her pocket.

“That's a good idea. Yassie likes lists.”

They both stared at the paper on the table between them. Once again there was nothing more to say.

The rumble of a truck broke the silence.

“That will be Cam,” Mackenna said. She was relieved. After their words yesterday she had been almost afraid he wouldn't turn up this morning.

“How do you know?” Patrick asked.

“I asked him to bring the truck back. He's been using it a lot lately.”

“He is the working man.”

“For his own use, I mean.” Mackenna studied Patrick a moment. “What do you think of him?” she asked.

“Haven't given him any thought.”

“You two have spent a bit of time together. What kind of bloke do you think he is?”

“Hadn't really thought about it.” Patrick put his cup and plate in the dishwasher. “He's easy to get on with. He does the work. What more is there?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Mackenna said. Nothing except, more and more, she had the feeling that Cam was easy to get on with because it suited him. He did the work but she wasn't convinced he always did it well.

“Sometimes I get the feeling he's taking the micky.” Patrick looked her in the eye. “But I'm used to that around here.”

Mackenna saw a brief look of hurt cross his face before he moved away. She assumed his words were aimed at her but she wasn't buying into an argument this morning. She pushed her hat firmly onto her head and was about to pat him on the back when she thought better of it.

“Time to get this show on the road,” she said and led the way outside.

They had everything ready to go by the time the crutching team arrived. Mackenna shook hands with Garry Finn. He'd brought the men together to do the job.

“Thanks for fitting us in, Garry,” she said.

“You were lucky,” he replied. “We've had a few calls from this area to come earlier. You got in first. We've just finished a big job way out the other side of Naracoorte. Saw that guy picking up sheep at the last place and now he's here. He gets around.”

“What guy?” Mackenna followed Garry's gaze to the open shed window. Cam was pushing up sheep in the yard. “You mean Cam?”

“Don't know his name but it looks like him, and the truck's the same as the one out in your yard. There was another bloke with him. They were carting sheep for the farmer where we worked last.”

Mackenna looked from Garry back to Cam. Surely Garry was mistaken. Cam had been helping a mate shift house over the weekend.

“Time to start,” Garry called and the shed burst into life.

Mackenna forgot about Cam in the business of the next few hours, and it wasn't until smoko time approached that she gave any thought to Yasmine either and how she was managing with the food. Mackenna was about to ask Patrick to go and check when Yasmine appeared at the shed door, her arms laden with containers.

Mackenna went to help.

She was surprised by Yasmine's very different look. The hair and make-up were immaculate as usual and she wore the same flat black boots as she'd had on yesterday, but her clothes were in total contrast to her usual layered outfits. She was wearing a long red jumper over skinny-legged black jeans that were tucked into her boots. A black and grey scarf was knotted loosely around her neck. The loose jumper didn't give away her pregnancy.

Mackenna showed her where to put everything beside the kettle and the mugs that had been set up yesterday. The noise of the crutching ceased and the blokes gathered round to take their morning tea break.

Patrick lifted a couple of pieces of slice from a container and waved at Mackenna. “Cam's waiting for me outside. We'll shift this lot back and bring in the next mob.”

“Okay,” Mackenna replied. Cam hadn't come into the shed at all. Was he avoiding her, or maybe someone else? She glanced over at Garry but was distracted by the look of total surprise on his face. One of the other blokes whistled and another gave a sharp laugh.

Yasmine had lifted the lids on the other containers. There was a log cake that looked vaguely like a train and a container of little cakes decorated as farm animals with bright icing, lollies and sprinkles.

“I hope you men don't mind,” Yasmine said shyly, “but I've been practising my decorating skills. You're the guinea pigs.”

There was a moment of silence where the only sound was the shuffling of sheep in the pens behind them. Then Garry reached forward.

“Don't mind at all,” he said and picked up a pink cake decorated as a pig.

The others quickly followed suit and soon cakes decorated as cows and sheep were also being consumed. Mackenna chose a chicken. Not only did it look cute but it tasted great too. Yasmine was suddenly the centre of a discussion about cakes. Mackenna couldn't believe her ears. She'd heard all kinds of conversations at smoko in the shearing shed over the years but never one like this. Now she knew why Patrick had given her the funny look and teased his girlfriend about her cakes. Life was certainly entertaining with Yasmine around. Mackenna was beginning to enjoy the idea of having a sister.

“Your chooks look in fine shape to me, Mr Johnstone.” Hugh climbed out of the rickety yard, trying not to get hooked up in the loops of chicken wire. “Maybe a bit too well fed.”

“It was good of you to call in, lad,” George Johnstone said. “Only, your mother was saying how well you'd done with your studies and my girls have gone off the lay a bit lately. It's not the usual time and I was worried.”

Hugh smiled. Old George had to be ninety if he was a day. “It's no trouble,” he said. Goodness knows what stories his mother had been telling about him around town. She'd be setting him up as a vet next.

“I was worried it might have been the bags of grain I bought from the young fella at the pub that had upset them,” George said.

“What kind of grain?”

“Looks like good wheat to me but I'm no expert.”

Hugh followed the old man as he walked on wobbly legs to his equally unsteady feed shed.

“I got it at a good price.”

George pointed at three bags stacked against the wall. One was open with an old tin sitting in it. Hugh stuck his hand in and sniffed the grain then let it run between his fingers back into the bag.

“It's good quality wheat. Where'd you say you got it?”

“Young bloke at the pub. As you know I go every Friday night for my weekly constitutional. Seen this chap in there a few times with odds and sods for sale. Last week it was bags of wheat. Nice bloke. Even dropped it off and put it in the shed for me. Does your mum need some? I can ask him if he's got anymore if you reckon it's okay.”

“Mum's got plenty, thanks Mr Johnstone.” Hugh wondered about this bloke selling stuff at the pub. Occasionally there'd be some not so honest types moving gear that fell off the back of a truck.

“This guy's not a local then?” Hugh asked.

Mr Johnstone had lived in town most of his life. He used to work in the post office but he'd been retired for as long as Hugh could remember. There weren't too many people in town he didn't know.

“Seen him around a bit but not for all that long. Very tall with hair that needs cutting. What's he call himself?” The old man tapped his forehead with a crooked finger. “It's a short name, something like Sam but that's not it.”

“Cam?”

“By jingoes that's it. Do you know him?”

“Maybe.” Hugh didn't know what made him mention Cam's name but if it was Cam Martin and he was selling gear from his boot at the pub, it was just one more piece in a puzzle about the bloke that left Hugh with a bad taste in his mouth. “Look, I'd better get going, Mr Johnstone.”

“Righto lad, and say hello to your lovely mother.”

“Will do.” Hugh followed George up the overgrown path to his back door.

“She drops in with some baked goodies from time to time. Such a kind-hearted woman, your mother. She's just delighted to have you home at last.”

Hugh once again felt that niggle of guilt when he was reminded how he'd shut his family out of his life.

George stooped under a vine to step up on his verandah. “Last time she called in she was telling me all about your study. Education's a good thing. I didn't get past grade seven but I can read. Learned about the world through books.”

He pointed to a rickety old table beside an equally ancient chair. The chair was padded with assorted cushions and the table was piled with books. A couple of empty mugs perched amongst the books and a plate with a half-eaten orange. This was obviously a favourite spot for George.

“Don't know how to work those computers,” George continued, “but I love my books. Would liked to have seen some of those places I've read about but it wasn't to be. Reading about them gives me great pleasure.” George turned his steel grey eyes on Hugh. “Have you travelled, lad?”