Outback Dreams (2 page)

Trying not to look too awkward standing on her lonesome by the bar, she sipped another mouthful of the almost sickly-sweet bubbly and nearly didn't notice a tall, thin, peroxide blonde sidle up beside her.

‘Oh my. If it isn't Faith Forrester.'

Faith tried not to flinch as the woman air-kissed her and scraped long, hugely impractical, bright red fingernails over her arms as she hugged her. She was surprised that Kat—Head Girl of Perth Ladies College a decade ago—even remembered her name. They'd not spoken more than two words in high school.

‘What are you doing hiding all the way over here in the corner?'

Faith bit her tongue on a sarcastic reply. The better question was why she'd come in the first place. Lord knew she'd never had any inclination before—not since that first time, almost ten years ago, when she'd spent all evening alone.

Where many boarding schools were full of farmers' kids, hers had catered to the Perth elite, and she had never fit in with these posh ladies. Nothing had changed; she was still just a country girl, and now her school pals were married to lawyers and doctors, just like their mothers had been. Not that she'd ever called any of them pals. She'd got through private school hell with her head down, her nose in books (mostly novels about country kids) and her focus on the weekend when she could escape the prison and catch up with Monty.

But when the invitation to this year's old girls' function had landed in her post office box, something had twitched inside her. She'd forgotten the downside of these events and pounced on the opportunity to do something different for a change. Something to liven up her otherwise depressingly dull existence.

Mulling these thoughts over, Faith suddenly realised Katarina Lamberusco-whatever-her-married-name-was expected an answer. She was standing there smiling like plastic and looking Faith up and down like some sort of exhibit in the museum.

‘Well? What's your excuse for hiding in the corner?"

‘Just taking a breather,' Faith said eventually.

Kat giggled in a manner that grated on Faith's nerves. ‘It is a bit overwhelming, isn't it? Catching up with all these old friends. So, what have you been up to lately?'

And there it was, a slight variation on the dreaded question, which was really just a polite way to ask if anyone had seen fit to marry Faith and let her breed.

The answer was no.

It didn't make an inch of difference that this was supposed to be a modern world. Things like husbands and babies still mattered, and if you fell short in that department, you'd better have a jolly good reason—such as becoming the youngest partner in a law firm or making it big-time on a catwalk in Paris. Unfortunately, Faith couldn't tick either of those boxes.

When she didn't reply, Kat leaned a little closer and wiggled her immaculate eyebrows. Her gaze glued on the unadorned finger wrapped around Faith's glass, she asked, ‘Is there a lucky man?'

Faith swallowed and the words fell from her lips without her thinking them through.

‘Yes. There is, actually.'

Good Lord. Have I just invented a boyfriend?

While she lamented this disturbing fact, Kat's eyes literally glistened with excitement as she beckoned to someone across the room. Faith downed half her glass of bubbly as a whole horde of women formed a circle around her. Just like something out of a horror movie.

‘Faith's just about to tell us about her ma-an,' Kat sang, informing her little posse (the girls who'd hung on her every word at school apparently still did).

‘Ooh,' came the replies. ‘Do tell.'

Faith's throat went dry. She wanted another drink, but somehow her glass had emptied. ‘Well…' she said, aware ten eyes were trained on her, ‘His name's Monty.'

Eyebrows rose in unison.

‘That's a nickname, obviously,' she rushed, wondering why she cared what any of them thought. She never used to. ‘His full name is Daniel Montgomery.'

‘Mont-gom-ery.' Kat tried the surname on for size. ‘Sounds hot.'

Her posse laughed.

Faith thought about her best friend. ‘Oh, he is,' she said, stifling a laugh because she'd never thought about Monty in that way at all. Ever. They'd grown up together, he was the brother she'd wished she could swap her own with. That said, half the women in Bunyip Bay had swooned after him at some stage or other.

‘What's he look like then?' asked another former student as she raised her glass. ‘Is he tall, dark and delicious?'

‘He's tall,' Faith nodded, thinking about how she had to jog to keep up with Monty's big strides, ‘but not dark. He's got golden blond hair.' She smiled. ‘But he's very tanned from being outdoors lots.'

‘I feel faint.' Kat placed a hand theatrically against her chest. The rest of them giggled. ‘What does he do?'

Faith opened her mouth to say jack-of-all-trades but caught herself. This was supposed to be a fantasy. ‘Monty's a farmer.'

‘Ooh, so he's landed gentry.' One of the women actually clapped.

Faith summoned a smile, nodded and then pretended to take another sip from her now empty glass. This was why she'd hated boarding school. Even though her family were lucky enough to be fairly well-to-do—one of the farming families who could afford not to stress over the odd bad season—she'd never felt comfortable with the class system her prestigious boarding school classmates clung to. Quite frankly, she didn't give a damn how much money a person had, whether six generations had owned their property, what suburb they lived in, whether their father was a judge and their mother a charity queen, yadda yadda yadda.

She cared about what was inside—whether a person could make her laugh when she wanted to cry, was there for her in times of need and didn't judge her by her outfit.

Yes, she'd noticed the looks her fellow old girls had given her when she'd first entered the yacht club. So, she wasn't wearing a cocktail dress or heels that would give a ruler a run for its money, and maybe her mousy-brown mid-length hair wasn't shiny and straight, but she was comfy in her look.

While the women around her nattered on about her imaginary boyfriend, Faith giggled inwardly at the fact that this was her best going-out outfit. Knee-high boots, leggings and a chiffon tunic were far removed from her normal uniform of shorts or jeans (depending on the season), tee or flannelette shirt and her Blundstones. Tonight she was even wearing make-up.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,' boomed a microphoned voice from a raised platform at the front of the room. ‘Welcome to our annual alumnae cocktail party and the presentation of Ms Alumna of the Year.'

The women around Faith scattered to find their business-suited husbands and Faith stood alone at the edge of the room, nursing her empty champagne flute.

‘As you know,' continued the principal, ‘tonight we celebrate our former students' successes in fundraising for charities in need. Perth Ladies College is proud of our Ms Alumna award, and the continued support by our students and old girls is admirable. It's hard to believe the award is now in its twenty-fifth year. I'm going to hand over to Mrs Priscilla Morgan-Brookes, organiser of this outstanding initiative, to announce this year's finalists.'

Faith scanned the faces all around her. Amongst these women, being crowned Ms Alumna of the Year was akin to winning a Miss World title. To enter, you had to organise a fundraising event for a charity near to your heart, garner the support and attention of the media (thus giving the school good publicity) and raise the most money of all the entrants. Faith had never thought too highly of the award, which in the old girls' magazine always seemed like yet another way for some women to draw attention to themselves, but as she listened to the list of finalists and their achievements, she wondered if she'd been too quick to judge.

How could you be anything but positive about a woman who rode a tricycle all the way around Australia to raise money for sufferers of non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, and did the books of her family's business online at night?

And this wasn't an act in isolation. Most of the entrants had worked hard to achieve fulfilling careers, all the while starting families and giving back to the community. What the hell had
she
done?

She made a mental inventory of her achievements.

Complete half a degree in agricultural sciences.

Coach Bunyip Bay's junior netball team.

Um… This was a lot harder than she liked.

Look after Dad and Ryan, help them on the farm when they let me.

Nup, nothing else was jumping out at her.

Sad, seriously sad
. Faith focused back on Priscilla Morgan-Brookes as she spoke about a woman who'd been a few years ahead of her at school.

‘Lara Leeds has taken time off from the law firm where she met her husband Michael to home-school their three children. Somehow, whilst doing this and supporting Michael's demanding career, Lara managed to raise forty-five thousand dollars last year for research into childhood cancers.'

Faith joined in the applause while images flashed across a big screen—photos of Lara's fundraiser in which children with leukaemia had illustrated greeting cards, which had then been sold for big bucks across the country.

Another finalist had organised an art show for victims of posttraumatic stress. One woman raised almost thirty thousand dollars for homeless people by getting Western Australian actors to donate their time and put on a theatre production. Faith recalled reading something about it in
The West Australian.

And the list went on.

Yes, Faith was guilty of serious judgement. If she'd been sitting, she'd have slunk low in her chair in shame. As it was, all she could do was smile and applaud along with the rest of the crowd as Lara Leeds took to the podium to be crowned Ms Alumna of the Year. While Priscilla Morgan-Brookes whisked Lara away to have photos taken with the other finalists, the principal took the microphone once again.

‘It is with great pleasure,' he made elaborate hand gestures, ‘that I declare our next Ms Alumna of the Year competition open.' He paused for a moment as more applause assaulted Faith's ears, then added, ‘All old girls who'd like to participate are invited to come forward and pledge this evening.'

When Faith had arrived that evening, she'd never in her wildest imaginings have envisioned doing what she did next. As she handed her empty glass to a passing waiter, took a deep breath and went forward to join the other women lining up at the pledge table, she suddenly felt like this was a turning point in her life.

This was her year to make a difference.

The next morning, Faith rose with the magpies. All night long, her mind had been churning with ideas. She'd alternated between depressing thoughts of her uninspiring single life and exciting thoughts about the charities she could choose for her fundraising efforts. Breast cancer research or support for victims' families seemed the obvious ones, but she wasn't sure obvious was the way to go. Not wanting to wake the Montgomerys—their ancient water pipes made horrendous noises when in use—she skipped a much-wanted shower, tugged on her jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and boots, and headed into the kitchen.

For as long as she could remember, Monty's parents had offered her a room in the city whenever she visited. She'd always been close to Monty's family, but in the years since her mother's death, Jenni Montgomery and Faith had grown especially close. Jenni called her the daughter they'd never had, which always made Faith smile. Although no one could ever replace her own mum, Jenni had been an amazing support during the hardest time of her life.

It had become a habit that whenever she used their hospitality, she made breakfast for them, and today she was more than happy for the occupation. As it was still darkish outside, she flicked on the light and smiled at the immaculate kitchen. Matching blue canisters of tea, sugar and coffee were perfectly aligned on the bench. The pantry was a work of art—tins arranged by size, with their labels all turned to face outwards.

This was the way Monty's younger brother liked it, and Jenni and Stuart had adapted in the twenty-five years since Will was born. Sometimes even Faith forgot that most people didn't find his behaviour normal.

William Montgomery was one of the most interesting and intelligent people Faith knew. He was also autistic.

‘Morning, Faith.'

At the sound of Jenni's chirpy voice, Faith spun round, the kettle she'd been about to fill swinging in her hand as she greeted her friend. ‘Good morning.'

Jenni wore a fluffy dressing gown, even fluffier slippers, and her hair was a bird's nest of white gold. She took the kettle from Faith and leaned over the sink, talking while she turned on the tap and filled it. ‘You know it's always so lovely to have you here, but there's no need for you to get up so early and cook for us. You had a late one last night, didn't you?'

Faith nodded as she began retrieving ingredients from the pantry. ‘I hope I didn't wake you.'

‘No, I can't sleep at the moment as it is.' Jenni dumped the kettle on the stovetop with a thunk. ‘Things on my mind.'

Faith frowned. It wasn't like Jenni to worry. Monty's mum was one of the most easy-going people Faith knew.

‘Anything I can help with?' she asked. Having located a bowl, she began cracking eggs for her signature breakfast omelettes.

‘Oh, it's probably nothing.' Jenni turned and leaned back against the bench, watching Faith with a forced smile on her face. ‘I keep having this dream about seeing a raven in my tea leaves.'

Faith turned her head slightly so Jenni wouldn't see her grin. Monty's mum had a few—how would she put it?—
quirky
interests. Where Monty and his father Stuart were logical in everything they said and did, both keeping up-to-date five-year plans, Jenni dabbled in numerology, tarot cards, tea leaf reading and—most recently—flower essences. Faith didn't give much weight to the validity of these things, but she hadn't been around Jenni for most of her life without some of her crazy knowledge rubbing off. ‘A raven is bad news, right?'