Flying the Coop (35 page)

Ten minutes later, Chris had worked her way up the passage to the kitchen doorway. She sat back on her haunches and took a deep breath. Then, with kneecaps protesting loudly, she got to her feet and shoved the now totally ruined t-shirt into the plastic bag, which she tied off. She glanced at Michael, who was rummaging through the biscuit barrel and listening to the rooster crow.

‘Leave it,' said Chris, coming over and hitting the lid closed with the back of her hand as she passed. ‘Dinner'll be ready soon. And take this bag out to the rubbish bin.'

‘Ow!' Michael rubbed his hand. ‘That hurt!'

‘Tough.' Chris emptied the bucket outside, then put it away and washed her hands with dishwashing liquid because she couldn't be bothered going to the bathroom. A shriek and a thump from the passage indicated that Michael had just slipped over on the wet floor, but Chris decided that unless she saw blood seeping into the kitchen, she didn't care.

‘Sure you don't need a hand?' asked Dot, still concentrating fiercely on the computer.

‘Not now.' Chris stuck her head into the office. ‘So, anything back from Neil? For you, I mean.'

‘No.' Dot hit the keys methodically, pausing every now and again to gaze up at the screen. ‘So I'm sending him another one while I'm here.'

‘I see.' Chris left Dot to it and went over to the stove to switch it off. Then she grabbed the tea-towel and pulled out the casserole, which immediately sent a deliciously thick, meaty aroma throughout the kitchen, managing to dispel the lingering smell of canine faeces. Chris turned to Michael, who was now standing by the bench and sticking bandaids over his hand and one leg. ‘Would you please go and get your sister? Dinner's ready.'

Michael went to the bottom of the staircase and screamed: ‘
Zoe!
Dinner's ready!'

‘I could have done that,' snapped Chris with irritation.

‘Then why'd you ask me to?'

‘Because I –' Chris rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind. Just go
upstairs
and tell your sister that it's ready. Now.'

‘Sure.' Michael leapt up the stairs and disappeared from sight while Chris gathered the cutlery again and took it over to the table. She stared at the three placemats she had laid out earlier and then glanced towards the office and sighed.

‘Dot? Would you like to stay for dinner?'

‘For dinner?' repeated Dot, appearing in the doorway. ‘Um . . . what's for dinner?'

‘Casserole. That smell before was Michael, he stepped in dog poo.'

‘In that case, I'd
love
to. Much appreciated.'

‘No problem.' Chris fetched another place setting and laid it out. Then she started ladling casserole carefully onto four plates.

‘I'll take them over.' Dot proceeded to do just that and, when the last plate had been set down, settled herself in her favourite chair near the stairwell.

‘Smells yum!' Michael jumped down the last three stairs and threw himself into a chair. ‘I'm
starving
!'

‘Where's your sister?'

‘She's coming.' Michael picked up his fork and impaled a large piece of meat.

‘Not till I sit down thanks,' reprimanded Chris as she placed a jug of water, glasses and a wicker basket full of dinner rolls on the table and contemplated it. ‘I think that's it.'

‘It looks delicious.' Dot smiled happily.

‘Let's hope it tastes delicious.' Chris pulled out a chair and sat down, glancing over at the stairs with irritation.

‘C'n I start now, Mum?' Michael's hand hovered, his fork just outside his mouth.

‘Go for it.'

Zoe joined them a few minutes later, the set of her face suggesting that her present mood was volatile. She pushed the food around on her plate for a while and then glowered across at her mother for a moment before dropping her gaze once more.

‘Spit it out, for god's sake,' said Chris, picking up a bread roll and breaking it in half.

‘What?' muttered Zoe.

‘Whatever it is you think I've done this time.'

‘Nothing.' Zoe stabbed a piece of potato viciously and pushed it across to the other side of her plate, creating a tidal wave of gravy that dribbled over the edge of her plate and onto the table.

‘Okay, that's it.' Chris glared irritably at her daughter. ‘You come down here in a sulk, don't say thanks for the meal or anything and then sit there scowling at me. You seem to be holding
me
responsible for the fact that Jenny and Lauren have gone back home. In which case you could at least have the decency to ask what happened before you go leaping to conclusions.'

‘I didn't –'

‘Because I wanted them to stay as much as you did. In fact, probably more.
And
I made it abundantly clear that they were welcome for as long as they liked.'

‘Well, I –'

‘It's not like I rang Lauren's father up and dragged him down here, you know.' Chris waved the bread roll at Zoe. ‘He
chose
to come down, and Jenny
chose
to leave. And Lauren
is
their daughter, not mine. So what could
I
have done?'

‘I dunno.' Zoe stared down miserably.

Michael looked at his sister curiously. ‘I thought you didn't like her?'

‘No. She's all right,' mumbled Zoe.

‘Not t'worry, love,' Dot chimed in. ‘They'll be back soon enough.'

‘Don't tell her that,' Chris said with exasperation, ‘because they probably won't.'

‘I'll bet they are.' Dot buttered a bread roll liberally. ‘In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they're back by Christmas. February at the latest.'

‘Really?' Zoe looked hopeful.

‘On what do you base this?' asked Chris, trying to mask her annoyance.

‘On the fact you can't mend a leaky boat with bandaids,' replied Dot with the air of one imparting great wisdom. ‘Poor little Jenny'll have t'swim for shore pretty soon.'

‘Has Jenny got a boat?' asked Michael with interest.

‘No,' snapped Chris before turning back to Dot. ‘Listen, I think I know what you mean but the kids don't. And shouldn't, if you get my meaning.'

‘If you mean I don't know that her dad mucked around, you're wrong.' Zoe rolled her eyes in a pretty good imitation of her mother. ‘Lauren told me everything.'

The doorbell saved Chris from answering so she put her bread roll down, gave Dot a cautionary look and left the table. This time it was the hirsute gentleman from Lakeview, who was turning into a rather regular customer. He bought another two dozen, which he tucked neatly into a rather grubby backpack before setting off across the empty paddock towards the estate. By the time Chris got back to the kitchen, everyone else had almost finished their meals. Michael was mopping up some gravy with half a liberally buttered roll and Dot was just placing her cutlery neatly in the centre of her plate.

‘That was
delicious
, love.'

‘You're welcome.' Chris slid into her seat and picked up her fork.

‘Now I'd stay for a cuppa, but I have t'be off.' Dot struggled to her feet. ‘I've got bingo tonight. So I'll just start the washing up –'

‘No.' Chris held out her hand. ‘That's fine, Dot. Seriously. Just leave it. The kids can do it for once.'

‘We can?' Michael looked rather dumbfounded.

‘Yes, you can.'

‘Well, if you insist.' Dot pushed her chair in. ‘Thanks for a lovely meal. See you all tomorrow.'

After Dot had left, Michael finished off his bread roll and jumped to his feet. ‘What's for dessert?'

‘Ice-creams.' Chris waved her fork in the direction of the freezer. ‘You can take yours into the lounge-room and watch TV if you like. Then do the dishes.'

‘Excellent!'

Chris waited until he had carefully selected his ice-cream and departed into the lounge-room before turning to Zoe. ‘I wanted to talk to you.'

‘Thought so,' Zoe muttered unenthusiastically. ‘Did you know this place smells of dog shit?'

‘Whatever. And don't say shit. Now, about before, that was
really
rude.' Chris put down her fork and gave her daughter her full attention. ‘You know as well as I do that I would have liked them to stay as well. And let's face it, if you hadn't spent almost a week avoiding Lauren, you might have found out that you got on well a lot sooner.'

‘Yeah.' Zoe pushed a piece of meat slowly around her plate.

‘Out of curiosity – what changed?'

‘Dunno.' Zoe wrote a Z in her gravy with the meat. ‘Actually it was her. She followed me out to the barn yesterday morning and just started talking about stuff.'

‘And you realised you liked her?' prompted Chris.

‘Suppose so.'

‘She's very different from you but, in some ways, you're very much alike.'

‘That's right!' Zoe looked at her mother in astonishment. ‘How'd you know?'

‘Oh, I've been watching you both all week,' said Chris complacently. ‘And it was pretty obvious that if you just gave it half a chance, the two of you could be friends.'

‘I thought she was just some air-head,' said Zoe, putting her fork down. ‘But she's actually really nice. And clever, too.'

‘So are
you
.'

‘Not the same sort of clever. I wish I was more like her.'

‘You can't mean that!' Chris stared at her daughter. ‘Zoe, you're
different
. You stand out.
And
you don't try to pretend to be something you're not. I mean, you drive me nuts most of the time but I wouldn't change you for the world. You're bright, and gutsy, and really, really talented.'

‘Talented?' repeated Zoe, staring at her mother suspiciously. ‘What d'you mean by that?'

‘Just that you're good at stuff,' Chris said quickly, mentally kicking herself.

‘Oh.'

‘Look at all this.' Chris waved her hand around the kitchen. ‘I probably would have chucked it all in after the first week.
You
were the one who came up with plans and flyers and all that. You're a really determined character and, Zoe, I know I don't say this very often, but I'm really proud of you. I wouldn't change you for all the Laurens in the world.'

‘God, Mum.' Zoe got up and pushed her chair in roughly. ‘Don't go getting all mushy. It's embarrassing.'

‘Well, it's true.' Chris stared straight ahead and was surprised to feel her eyes go moist. While she was blinking in an effort to clear them, she suddenly felt a feather-light kiss on the top of her head.

‘You're okay, Mum.' Zoe kissed her again and then, as if she herself was afraid of getting emotional, turned and took the stairs two at a time, arriving at the top with an audible thud.

Chris leaned back in her chair and stared at the staircase, even after Zoe had disappeared from sight. Then she touched her hand lightly to the top of her head and smiled slowly. There was hope yet.

From:
Neil Mackaway

Date:
Sunday, 5th November 2006. 8.43PM

To:
Christin Beggs

Subject:
Hi again

Chris, I think you've created a monster. My mother has sent me two emails today from your computer and has also left two messages on my answering machine asking me if the emails have arrived! She also left another rather garbled message asking me if I got spam and, if so, to delete it immediately. But I really hope you don't mind her using your computer so often.

Cheers, Neil

From:
Christin Beggs

Date:
Sunday, 5th November 2006. 9.33PM

To:
Neil Mackaway

Subject:
Re: Hi again

No, I don't mind your mother using my computer at all. She's lovely company to have around. Besides, she tells me all sorts of interesting stories – like the one about the little boy who liked spam so much, he sliced his tongue open on the tin and couldn't talk for days. I'm hoping that she'll bring over the baby photos next.

Chris

W
hether it was because of the chook costume, or because whoever stole the basket obligingly did a leaflet drop with the rest of the flyers – something worked and the sales stayed steady at around the eight to ten dozen mark per day for the next two weeks. However, despite Dot and Zoe's enthusiasm, Chris remained rather pessimistic. Even though this was a vast improvement on what the sales
had
been, it still wasn't anywhere near enough. And it was all very well for Dot to say that word of mouth would increase the figures over time, it was
how
much time this would take that had Chris worried. They were now eating into their savings at a considerable rate and something was going to have to change – really soon.

Nevertheless there were a few other promising signs. Firstly, the ten cartons that had been dropped off on consignment at Dot's friend's general store had all sold over the course of the first week, and Chris had since dropped off another load. Word was that these were also selling at a steady rate. Buoyed by this success, Zoe had designed another flyer, this one for stores, explaining how the consignment system worked and asking them to ring if they were interested in participating. So far they had received calls from three businesses wanting more
details and one, a delicatessen, which had agreed to a trial run.

On the home front, Dot and Ken's romance – if indeed it
was
a romance – had spluttered to a halt, predominantly because Ken and Mac had had a fierce argument sometime over the last weekend that resulted in Ken being thrown out. Whereupon he had turned up at Dot's house with a suitcase, been allowed to stay one night, and had then returned to Horsham. Chris received all this information from two sources – Neil, who gave her the bare facts, and Dot, who embroidered the story with so much superfluous detail that it took nearly three hours to tell. Mac, who presumably knew more than anyone else, wasn't talking.

One romance that did appear to be improving slowly was that of Jenny and Stuart, judging from her emails and phone calls. A major step in the right direction had occurred when Stuart gave up what remained of the Bundaberg job, choosing instead to change departments within his firm. They were now seeing a marriage counsellor, talking through a few issues, and Jenny was sounding cautiously optimistic about the future.

Nobody knew what Mac was planning to do after he officially finished the farm handover on Sunday, in two days' time. If he was still planning on driving around the countryside and ending up in Sydney for Christmas, he wasn't telling anyone – including Neil. Instead, Mac just became more morose, stalking around the farm with that rapid stride of his and smoking so much that sometimes it looked like one of the enclosures had caught fire. But, even with his increasingly taciturn disposition, Chris was going to miss him immensely. Not merely because he was an incredible worker who still knew more about poultry than she would learn in a lifetime, but because just seeing him and Geraldine in the distance was reassuring – sort of like a safety net. And, come Monday, she would be flying solo. The thought was pretty terrifying.

So today was the last of her actual lessons in running the farm. Today they were going to do the great two-monthly chook shift. Both Zoe and Michael had been given the day off school in honour of the occasion – and because all possible assistance would be needed to get the entire job accomplished in one day. All of the oldies had been sold over the last week, and their coop was all ready to be moved. Each of the other poultry groups would be transferred into the next enclosure and the ugly babies in the barn – now looking more like chooks than mange-ridden aliens – would be getting their first taste of open-air living. Then, on Monday, the new babies would arrive. Two hundred tiny balls of yellow fluff that would inhabit the temperature-controlled room within the barn until they too were old enough to lay eggs.

However before that was the weekend – and her richly deserved reward. Mac had offered to take care of the farm for the whole weekend while Chris took her kids into the city, did a bit of shopping, dropped them off at their father's at lunchtime – and then headed straight for Southbank. Where she planned to enjoy a boozy afternoon before seeing whether one of her friends would offer to put her up. If not she'd simply stay in a nearby hotel. Chris had deliberately left the actual arrangements up in the air, because this was a weekend for playing it by ear. As long as she had a sleep-in before she headed back to Healesville on Sunday, it didn't much matter. And she smiled every time she thought of it, and quite simply couldn't wait.

The siren call of the weekend was also the reason she bounded out of bed that Friday morning with more energy than she had had for the past month. The sooner today was finished with, the sooner tomorrow would start. Michael was already in the kitchen when she came through, dressed in the child-size bib and brace overalls that she had purchased for
him recently, and Zoe came down the stairs soon after, still doing up Chris's spare pair of overalls that she had purloined. The three of them looked like close relatives of the Beverly Hillbillies.

For the first time since she had moved to the farm, Chris arrived at the barn before Mac. This in itself was a taste of things to come and, for a minute, her stomach turned with an anticipatory dread. Then came the sound of a tractor from the direction of the driveway and Chris, with the children in tow, hurried over to the double gate to see what was happening. It was Mac, on a dirty-red and black tractor that pulled a small, fenced-in trailer behind it. He pulled to a bumpy halt just shy of the gate and waved. They each waved back happily. Mac frowned.

‘Open th'bloody gate!'

Chris pulled the latch across and then grabbed one gate while Zoe took the other. With some effort, they tugged the gates back until there was enough room for Mac to get the tractor through. He turned the tractor off and the engine spluttered to a halt while Zoe and Chris pushed the gates shut behind him and latched them again.

‘Ready for a long day?' Mac slid off the tractor and started rolling a cigarette.

‘Yes!' yelled Michael, reaching out a finger to touch the tractor engine and then whipping it back quickly.

‘That's hot,' commented Mac laconically as he lit his smoke.

‘Yes,' said Michael, a trifle more subdued as he sucked his finger.

‘Whose is it?' asked Zoe. ‘And can I ride it?'

‘The farm's over there. And maybe later.'

‘Okay then, what's first?' Chris, who wasn't at all interested in the tractor, stuck her hands in her pockets and leant against the gate.

‘Well, first we need to get that pen done.' Mac waved his cigarette toward the oldies' enclosure. ‘I'll move the coop and we'll bag the manure. It sells a treat. Though, if you like, you can dump some of it on Elsie De Bries' front yard, Red.'

Zoe frowned, puzzled. ‘Why would she do that?'

‘I'll let your mother explain.'

‘There's nothing
to
explain.' Chris glanced across at Mac and grinned, shaking her head ruefully. ‘Nothing stays a secret around here, does it?'

‘Not a damn thing. Okay, let's get to it.' While Mac ground out his cigarette and started up the tractor again, Chris led her children over to the barn where they collected shovels and bags. Mac drove the tractor around behind the barn and up to a point where chicken wire had been stretched across from the back of the barn to the fence to keep Ergo from the farm's garden section. This Mac simply folded back, drove the tractor through, and then re-hooked. When he got to the deserted enclosure, he left the engine running while, with Chris's help, they pulled an entire side of the fencing open. Then he unhooked the trailer and left it outside while he drove the tractor through, dismounted once more and, putting two fingers in his mouth, gave a piercing whistle that made Chris jump. Geraldine appeared a few minutes later and trotted over to Mac's side where she sat, her tongue lolling as she panted.

‘Now, you two –' Mac pointed at Zoe and Michael – ‘You go start collecting th'eggs from th'other pens. Just leave 'em in th'washroom. We'll process 'em later.'

‘Oh – okay.' Zoe looked clearly disappointed at having been relegated to a normal, everyday task. She poked her brother in the shoulder. ‘Come on. Get a move on.'

‘You –' Mac gestured towards Chris – ‘come 'ere. Watch this.'

As she followed him, Chris noticed that Ergo had appeared
by the barn but, obviously perturbed by the sound of the tractor, was loping skittishly up and down and glancing across at them with the whites of his eyes gleaming. She waved at the alpaca cheerfully. Mac was now bobbing down by the back of the chicken coop, the remains of Michael's road network still visible in the dirt around his feet. As Chris joined him, he gestured towards two large hooks that could be seen jutting out from the bottom of the coop.

‘You need to drive th'tractor round 'ere and then reverse it up to th'hooks. Then we'll hook 'er up.'

‘
Me
?' said Chris in a voice that came out considerably higher than she expected.

‘Yeah. You.' Mac stood and grinned down at her. ‘You'll 'ave to learn sooner or later, Red.'

‘I know, but –' Chris glanced across to where the tractor sat, idling noisily. ‘Bloody hell.'

Chris reluctantly walked over to the tractor and gazed at the controls. Mac joined her and, still grinning, started rolling himself another smoke.

‘You're enjoying this, aren't you?' asked Chris.

‘Yep. Sure am.'

‘You're sick.' Chris grabbed the far side of the tractor seat and used it to pull herself up and into position. And immediately realised one thing – the incessant throbbing of the tractor engine reverberated up and into the seat which, as she happened to be sitting astride it, reverberated up and into her. Even her brain started pulsating. But the area where this vibration seemed to be concentrated – or maybe just the area that was the most sensitive – was that which had direct contact with the seat itself. Chris's eyes went wide and, with a Herculean effort, she willed herself to think of something dull or boring – anything. Like brussels sprouts, or ironing, or the hairy guy from over the road, or cucumbers – no, not cucumbers.

‘What's up, Red?' asked Mac, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

‘Nothing,' replied Chris shortly, readjusting her position. ‘Let's get on with it. What's what and what's this?'

There followed a fifteen-minute lecture on the workings of tractors in general and the idiosyncrasies of this particular one. Then there was a cautionary tale of the fellow from up Yea way who rolled his tractor and trapped himself underneath. Finally, Mac had her depress the clutch and run through the gears, over and over. Just as Chris's eyes were starting to glaze with utter boredom, he stood back and professed her ‘as ready as you'll ever be'.

‘Just take it easy, Red. No clever stuff.'

Chris, who had no intention of trying any clever stuff, nodded reassuringly. She took a deep breath and cautiously slipped the lever into the drive position. The tractor immediately lurched forward and started heading, quite quickly, towards the coop. And a strange thing happened as soon as it started moving. While one area of her brain was saying
turn the steering-wheel, turn the steering-wheel
, it didn't seem to be getting through to the part of her brain that actually governed her movements. All this part heard was
bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell
. And Chris froze.

‘Turn! Turn!' yelled Mac, throwing his smoke away and leaping for the tractor.

‘Go, Mum!' shrieked Michael, from the next enclosure.

Chris's trance, which had only lasted a split second anyway, broke and she grabbed desperately for the steering wheel, yanking it around to the right just as the tractor hit the corner of the chicken coop. Mac, who had jumped onto the side to reach across for the controls, jumped off again rapidly as his side of the tractor, now turning, snagged the coop's egg trough and, with an awful grinding noise, wrenched it away from the
coop. The trough travelled along for a moment and then, as the leading edge touched the ground, flipped up and backwards, somersaulting through the air and careering straight into Mac, who was running behind. He, and the trough, shot backwards into the dirt. Geraldine started barking excitedly.

‘Turn it off!' Mac struggled to sit up. ‘Turn it bloody
off
!'

Chris grabbed at the wildly vibrating lever, trying desperately to pull it out of gear but it wouldn't budge. She glanced up and saw the far fence of the enclosure coming towards her rapidly and, beyond that, the next enclosure where Zoe and Michael stood at the fence staring at her open-mouthed.

‘Move! Get
out
of the way!' Chris waved her arms and then grabbed at the lever again, standing up so that she could pull at it with all her might. But it still wouldn't give an inch.

‘Th'ignition!' yelled Mac from behind her. ‘Turn off th'goddamn ignition!'

Chris dragged her eyes away from the rapidly approaching fence and looked frantically for the ignition. After a panicked second, she found it tucked away to one side and she wrenched the keys to the off position. The loud rumbling of the tractor immediately ceased and it coasted to a stop about three feet from the fence. Chris grabbed at the handbrake and pulled it up before leaping down from the tractor and running back to where Mac sat in the dirt, his face ashen.

But as quickly as she moved, she still wasn't the first to reach him. Geraldine was already licking his face and Dot, who had come bouncing into the enclosure through the garden gate, was picking up the end of the trough as easily as if it was made of tinfoil. She held it in the air for a moment to make sure it was clear of Mac and then hefted it away.