Home Truths (29 page)

She wrote down pharmacy, condoms, potions, perfume, frock, glamour.

Marilyn.

Veronica!

She typed in
Veronica
and the screen lit up.

‘Of course, he'd use his girlfriend's name.' Her fingers hovered over the keyboard worrying, but told herself this was not snooping and she should check her uncle's emails in case they needed answering. She should at least cancel his account and send out a message to everyone in his address book. ‘So sorry, but Bob is no longer with us…'

She opened Microsoft Outlook and found it empty: there were no folders, nothing — very strange. Unless her uncle had cleared everything in his usual impeccable manner. No, he couldn't have. She'd been in touch with him until the week before he died. They'd chatted via Skype. When they'd first started contacting each other that way, he'd asked would she mind if he saved the conversations on a disc. He'd explained he wanted to use them to look back and have a good laugh, much like the days when families had slide nights. And of course she hadn't minded.

Jennifer looked around the room: so where were all those discs? Perhaps they were on file somewhere in the computer. Jennifer did a search, but couldn't find anything. It was as if the computer had never been used, but she knew it had. She needed help from a computer nerd if she wanted answers.

Something didn't feel right about this; she could almost taste it. She shut down the laptop, pushed herself out of the chair and started taking books off the shelves. Perhaps her uncle had filed the discs neatly away like a book with its own title and cover.

The phone rang and Jennifer leaned over the desk to pick it up.

‘Hi Jen.' Calum's deep voice murmured, sexily.

‘Calum.' Her breath caught in surprise and set her heart thudding.

‘How're you going for time?'

‘I'm good, done everything I needed to — why?'

‘Sorry it's short notice, but Gran's decided to arrange a special afternoon tea,' he said. ‘Around three. I have to get a distributor cap from Armidale, but I'll be back in plenty of time. Would you be able to make it?'

‘Absolutely, yes, thank you.'

‘See you then. Looking forward to it.'

And he was gone. Jennifer stared at the receiver. ‘Okay, I can do this with flare and decorum.'

She began to pace and decided to spend her time productively and write the Help Wanted notice. After spending nearly an hour on it, she had a coherent notice but couldn't get the printer to work. Jennifer gave up; bugger the Help Wanted sign, she'd never seen a sign in any of the fancy restaurants in London, anyway.

* * *

Every morning for the past week, Cassius the rooster had woken Bret at dawn. He thought the bird was either old or had a throat problem. His cock-a-doodle-doo sounded more like squealing car tyres. As if that wasn't enough, Priscilla the cockatoo copied everything the rooster did, and more. Connie said the cockatoo had belonged to his Uncle Bob. Priscilla would follow anyone, squawking, ‘What a lovely frock, darling.' And, ‘Nice arse, nice arse!' Even if there wasn't a frock or an arse in sight. She also mimicked the phone and doorbell.

Priscilla was a nightmare.

Working on the farm was epic; he woke up excited about doing it every day.

Connie had insisted Bret have breakfast before mucking out the stalls in the barn. ‘You can't possibly enjoy bacon and eggs after shovelling dung,' she'd said.

Bret grabbed a pitchfork and stuck it into the soiled hay. At that same instant, a God-awful sound echoed through the valley. It couldn't have been the cockatoo, surely. Bret stopped and listened, but now there was total silence, which was also a little creepy. Goose bumps crept up his spine. He shivered and continued mucking out the stables, not minding the aroma of steamy horse dung and hay. Muscles straining with a full wheelbarrow, he headed for the steaming compost heap. As he came out into the sun, Connie caught his attention, her rose-flowered apron fluttering as she hurried towards him on her long, spindly legs. Her face lined with worry and her frantic waving made Bret wonder what the hell he was doing wrong, especially since Connie still had her house slippers on. Under normal circumstances, they came off before she stepped out the door.

Another agonising bellow ripped through the air and echoed around the hills. Bret cringed. ‘What the friggin' hell? Oops, sorry Connie, didn't mean to swear, but that was —
insane!
'

Connie's wrinkles had deepened with concern and, scrawny arms flapping, she pointed in the general direction of the house.

‘That,' she paused to catch her breath, ‘is George. He's in terrible strife.'

Bret nodded. ‘Yeah, and George is letting the world know.'

‘The poor pet needs help.' Connie's strong, bony fingers gripped his arm. ‘Come on.'

‘I've only seen George from a distance. I think he's out of my league. Where's Calum or Michelle?'

‘Michelle's at school. We have to do whatever we can.' Connie gave Bret a warm smile. ‘I've seen you with the animals, you'll be fine.'

‘Of course they love me. I have food!'

‘It's more than that, dear.' Connie blinked, bright eyes shining with innocence. ‘You do have a certain affinity.'

‘Yeah, right.' Bret wasn't entirely sure he could believe Connie. She was a shrewd old lady.

‘Really dear, I've lived long enough to know, you're wonderful with the animals. Believe me.'

Agonising bellows ripped through the air again.

Bret stepped back and broke out in a cold sweat. He gave Connie an askance look. ‘Oh no, I'd like to help, but Calum can deal with George.'

Connie slipped her arm through his and led him back to the house. ‘I've called him, he's in Armidale getting a new distributor cap for the tractor. It's going to take him over an hour to get back.'

As if on cue, George let go another thunderous roar.

‘You don't honestly want to listen to that poor creature in pain for the rest of the morning, do you? I would never put you, or any of my loved ones, in danger. I have no doubt at all that you can do this, Bret…'

Loved ones?
Bret's heart swelled and, head in the clouds, he tripped over his own feet.

Connie didn't notice and continued, ‘…I have every faith in you.'

Bret rallied. ‘Small animals like me, but that doesn't sound like one of them.' It was a mistake to glance at Connie's smiling, hazel eyes. His resolve melted.
Shit!
He looked to the skies for mercy.

‘Stay right there,' Connie said. She hurried into the house, returning moments later wearing gumboots and carrying a loaf of sliced wholemeal bread. ‘Follow me,' she ordered, walking ahead of him.

‘What's the bread for?'

Connie slowed her pace so Bret could walk beside her. ‘It's for Killer George.'

Bret latched on to Connie's arm. ‘Killer!'

‘That's his nickname, because he's not. You see? Or KG as Michelle calls him.'

Bret rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Oh, I think you're having fun at my expense.'

‘Not at all dear.' Connie giggled.

The sun glinted off a partially hidden object in her hand. ‘What else have you got there? A gun?'

Connie stopped suddenly, almost tripping over her own feet. ‘A gun? What in heavens name would I do with a gun?'

‘Shoot George out of his misery? Shoot me out of mine?'

Hand to her chest, Connie turned to face him, horrified. ‘George is like a member of the family; and you're definitely family, we would never.' Connie gasped. ‘This,' she held up a heavy-duty clip on a chain, ‘is George's lead.'

Shit!
Connie should just stop talking; Bret wanted to believe he was part of this a family that cared, but he doubted it was this easy. ‘We're not talking dog here, Connie,' Bret said quietly.

‘Oh, I know, dear. George is much sweeter. Almost sweeter than his namesake, my late husband.'

They rounded the corner of the house and, standing in the autumn sun, his warm breath fogging out of flaring nostrils, was George. He looked like a mythical beast, a hybrid from the future. Where genetic doctoring had gone either horribly wrong or magnificently right.

‘F-f-far out!
What
is
that?'

‘Don't be offensive, young man. He's not a
that;
he's George, he's a Black Angus. One of the biggest in the country. We've had him since he was a baby.'

‘Connie, he's a friggin' giant,' Bret squealed. ‘He's got his tongue up his nose.'

‘Don't pull that face dear, you look like you've eaten a lemon. Poor George.'

Bret forced a poker-face. For her own safety, he held Connie back with his arm stretched across her chest.

‘Come on,' Connie soothed. ‘He's harmless, otherwise he would've tried to…um…he would've given us the
look
by now.' She put a hand on his arm and moved it firmly out of her way.

‘I've only ever seen George in a distant paddock. What's he doing here anyway? And tried to what, Connie? Given us what?' Bret hissed.

‘Did I say that?' Connie asked innocently.

‘That's it — we're going inside to call the RSPCA, a vet or the fire brigade. Let's get all three — we'll need ‘em.'

‘Don't be silly, dear,' Connie said firmly. ‘We've got the bread and his lead.' She pushed Bret closer.

George sniffed the air. He pawed the ground and snorted, frustrated that he couldn't move.

Adrenalin rushed through Bret, and more cold sweat broke out all over his body.

‘Poor George.' Connie held out a slice of bread. A long, pale blue tongue came out and gently hooked the slice out of her hand.

Bret squatted at a safe distance and peered under the beast. He grimaced: the massive bull had managed to get its legs tangled in some fencing wire. ‘His leg looks awful — not much blood, but a couple of nasty gashes. Friggin' hell, I can almost see the bone.'

‘You see what I mean now.' Connie rested her hand on Bret's shoulder and bent over for a better look.

‘That's gotta hurt, mate.' Bret stood. ‘Okay, let's think carefully about this.'

Connie gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I knew you could help him.'

‘What the hell.' Bret heaved a sigh. ‘So he breaks every bone in my body; it's not like I'm busy at the moment.' He put both hands on his head and paused to think.

‘We are insured, you know.' Connie winked. ‘We'll look after you, feed you.'

‘That really sets my mind at rest. Okay,' Bret nodded. ‘Be sure to tell Jennifer I love her and that I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. And if I'm in a coma, she has my approval to pull the plug.'

Connie blinked at him. ‘Nothing will happen to you, dear. You must have more confidence in yourself. Just remove the wire with the cutters I put on the fence post.'

‘What I need is a rope to secure his horns. That way he can't swing his head around and stick one in me — or you. Then I can tie the rope to the tree trunk here,' he said, slapping the spotted gum that stood nearby. ‘Then I can tie up his rear end to the other tree and pull both nice and tight so he's got nowhere to go.'

Connie stood quietly, digesting his plan. ‘How are you going to get the ropes on him?'

‘Lasso, of course. It can't be difficult, seen it on the telly plenty of times.'

‘No-no-no, what
I'm
going to do is feed him slices of bread and clip the lead onto his nose ring,' Connie said. ‘While
you
cut the wire.'

Bret shook his head in disbelief. ‘Yeah, right.'

Connie dangled a slice of bread. George raised his massive head. His eyes bulged. The whites were showing — he looked insane. He sniffed the air and bellowed, dribbling saliva.

Bret stumbled backwards, losing his footing, and fell flat on his arse.

‘Stop teasing him, dear,' Connie called out. ‘He won't like that.'

Bret slipped the wire-cutters into his pocket and forced himself to step up to the enormous bull. George's massive, blue tongue curled out, took another slice of bread and lazily chewed, his trapped leg forgotten for the moment.

Bret hunkered down at the rear end of the beast. ‘Shit, they are the biggest pair of gonads I've ever seen.'

Connie giggled. ‘They do the job all right. George is famous — aren't you, George? You're just a beautiful big boy,' she cooed, handing him more bread. ‘You'd better get a wriggle on. I'm running out of slices fast.'

Bret rolled his eyes and turned back to the task. He grabbed hold of the trapped leg above the injuries, but it was like trying to lift a tree trunk out of the ground. George swung his head around and Bret caught his eye. ‘Don't you look at me like that, I'm trying to help you.'

Drool hung in glistening strings from George's mouth. He turned his head, and his tongue snaked out to lazily lick at an itch on his flank.

‘Sorry, Bret. The chain simply ran through my fingers. Besides, I don't think it's a bad idea to let him see you're trying to help.'

Bret gave Connie a pissed-off, narrow-eyed stare. He pulled out the wire-cutters, extended his arm and, with his face averted, one eye open to the job, the other screwed shut, he did what he had to, to free George.

Connie fed the bull another slice. ‘Won't be long, George.'

Bret sidled up next to her. ‘It's done.'

Connie crushed him in a bear hug. Bret stiffened, arms and hands flat to his sides. ‘Oh you did it, you did it! I'm so very proud of you — but how?' She stepped back, beaming up at him, glistening hazel eyes almost disappearing in the crinkly folds.

A warm glow spread through Bret. No one had praised him like that, no one had included him as part of a family, and no one had ever been this nice to him in a long time — if ever.