Ringer (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

Miranda

I had debated whether to move back into the house or not.

The thought of dragging
my belongings back inside, past my mum, past my sister, would be one thing I
didn’t want to have to explain. Besides the idiot next door, I had to admit I
liked the seclusion, for as long as it lasted. My sister lay on my bed in the
shearers’ huts thumbing through a copy of
French Vogue
, going “Ooh
La-La” at every beautiful dress that she set her eyes on. After fifty Ooh La-
Las, it was enough to drive a person to drink, which gave me a bit of an idea
of how I wanted to spend my evening.

“What’s that look for?”
my sister asked, peering up at me.

“What look?” I said,
turning to hang one of my tops on a hanger.

“The look that says
you’re pretty pleased with yourself.”

“Well, I am! I have
finally unpacked my stuff.”

“Tell me again, why are
you staying in here?”

“I told you, I need my
space. Besides, do you really want me and Mum fighting all day, every day?” I
reasoned.

“No, that does kind of
suck.”

“Exactly! At least here
I don’t have to argue with anyone.”

Well, aside from my
arsehole of a neighbour.

“Why can’t you two just
get along?” Moira sighed, returning her attention back to the magazine.

“Because he’s an
absolute dickhead,” I said, my glare still fixated on the wall.

“Huh? Who’s a
dickhead?”

Shit, we had been
talking about Mum.

“Hmm? Oh no one, don’t
worry about it.” I waved it off.

But it was too late;
Moira missed nothing and she followed my angry stare to the wall I had held
only a moment before.

She pushed herself into
a cross-legged position on the bed, her eyes lit with excitement. “Oh. My. God.
You saw him!”

“Oh, of course I saw
him,” I snapped. Annoyed that I was about to have this conversation.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?”
Moira all but squealed.

I deadpanned at her,
refusing to answer the question. I guess he was all right looking, tall and
toned in all the right places—his shoulders had felt like it anyway. When his
white T-shirt had been soaked last night, I will admit that my eye did wander
over the see-through fabric that clung to his chiselled stomach, but it wasn’t
exactly like I had gawked any more than he had at my boobs. I saw him; I wasn’t
stupid.

“He has wicked hair,
and dreamy eyes; what are they, like a greeny-brown?”

“Hazel,” I said,
instantly regretting my answer.

My little sister
grinned from ear to ear, blinding me with her braces. “Oh yeah, you have seen
him all right.”

I had seen him, more
than I cared to want to or was going to. As soon as my car was fixed, and Mum,
Dad and Moira were set to head for the Wahroo Cattle Station next weekend, I
was out of there. When I returned to the kitchen that morning, I was annoyed to
discover Dad had left for the day. Mum had said he was going to take Ringer to
Bluey’s and talk ‘business’. Of course we both knew what that meant; they were
going to have a beer and watch the cricket.

Typical.

So leaving no one else
to talk to about the possibility of getting my car looked at, it had left me no
choice but to hang out with Moira for the day. Where I went she went, chatting
animatedly about boys mostly, and by the sound of it, she was Ringer’s number
one fan. It did make it less than ideal as I had planned to sneak into his room
and get my cardigan back, but the last thing I needed was to get Moira to keep
a secret about what my cardi was doing in Ringer’s room. Because when it came to
keeping secrets, well, Moira just couldn’t. Fact!

I shoved my empty bag
under the bed, slapping my hands together with a sense of achievement.

“How about we go for a
swim?” It was part ploy to change the subject from Ringer, and partly to get
Moira away from the huts long enough so I could sneak into Ringer’s room and
grab my cardi. The day was heating up and it was the only source of
entertainment, aside from my plans tonight when I would make my way into town
for a quiet drink, just like the old days. I didn’t know how I would get there
but I would find a way.

Moira’s eyes lit up as
I knew they would.

“You’re on,” she said,
rolling off the bed and sprinting out the door. “Wait for me, I’m just gonna
get changed,” she yelled, all the while running backwards, almost falling over
when she spun around to gun it across the dirt drive. She was so unco. I
smiled, shaking my head as I watched Moira almost fling the wire door off its
hinges as she ripped it open.

My smile soon fell away
into a sneer as I turned towards Ringer’s door. I would have to hurry; Moira on
a mission meant I had only minutes to go in, find the cardigan and get out. The
last thing I needed was to be busted by Moira or, worse, Ringer. I bit my lip,
as I reached for the handle.

No, it would be okay. I
could hear a car approaching from a mile away; hell I would hear Moira
approaching from a mile away she was so bloody loud. I twisted the knob
expecting the door to no doubt be locked, but as I slowly twisted, and pushed
the door inward my breath hitched.

Eureka!

That’s as stealthy as I
got, as I quickly opened the door and dived inside, closing the door but
leaving it slightly ajar.

Right. Should be simple
enough. There wasn’t much to the shearing huts: a bed, a wash basin, a rack
mounted on the wall with some scraggly coat hangers, most of them housed some
of Ringer’s belongings, the rest of his things were slung over his unmade bed.

Pfft, such a boy.

I started rummaging
through the pile; he had so much crap everywhere, it was like he had packed like
a girl and yet they all seemed to be the same sort of clothing. Jeans, white T,
Jeans, black T, Jeans, navy T. Well, at least he was always guaranteed to be
clean. I bit my lip at the pile of clothes I had tossed onto the floor,
oops.
I quickly gathered them up and put them back onto the bed, organising them in
such a way that seemed as if he had chucked them there himself.

Damn, no cardi.

I was running out of
time. I stood with my hands on my hips. I blew a wayward strand of hair out of
my line of vision as I turned in the room, examining every square inch.

Where the hell had
he put it?

I pulled back the
bedspread and dragged the pillows away, thinking he might have creepily stashed
it behind his pillow.

Nothing.

I sat on the bed, a
crease pinching my brow in frustration before I bent over and checked under the
bed, spying only bare floorboards and a thick layer of dust.

I slapped my thighs in
frustration as I moved towards the hanging clothes, checking behind them,
seeing if he had it hidden it there. I was momentarily distracted when I came
to a navy dress shirt. My fingers lazily ran down the sleeve. Soft to the
touch, this would look nice on him, I thought, as my thumb grazed the
pearl-coloured buttons. I brought the material of the sleeve up to my nose to
smell the crisp scent of laundry detergent.

“What are you doing?”

I screamed, leaping
away from the clothes at the unexpectedness of the voice from the door. My
heart thumped fiercely against the wall of my chest, my eyes wild and wide as I
spotted my sister, standing in the doorway with a confused scowl across her
face, as if what she was seeing before her was truly disturbing … me in
Ringer’s room, smelling his shirt; well, that even disturbed me.

“Nothing,” I said a bit
too loud. “I was just, putting on the ceiling fan, it’s going to be a scorcher
today.” Luckily the wall control for the overhead fan was next to the clothes
rack, it made my casual move to turn it on seem more believable, even if I
could tell by the sceptical curve of Moria’s brow that she wasn’t buying it.
Not for one second.

How could I have not
heard her? Not sensed her pushing the door open? Guess I had been lost in a
trance of picturing Ringer in the blue dress shirt. I had to get out of there;
being surrounded by all of Ringer’s clothes was doing strange things to my
mind. I quickly shook it off as I lifted my chin and walked a long, determined
line towards the door, not meeting my sister’s eyes as I brushed past her.

“Come on, let’s go,” I
said, without a backwards glance.

Chapter Thirteen

Ringer

Well, well, well
…

It appeared a rat had been in my room: a
giant, blonde-haired rat with a smart mouth and a bad attitude.

To her credit, she had tried to make it
seem like nothing had been touched, but I had guessed it the minute I had
stepped into my room. An incredulous smile curved my lips as the shadows of the
blades from the overhead fan flickered across my bed.

Instinctively, I moved and lifted up the
mattress. My smile broadened as I reached and pulled out the soft black fabric
of Miranda’s cardigan. I thumbed the fabric, actually amazed she hadn’t found
it; it really hadn’t been the most imaginative hiding place.

My first choice was shoving it inside my
pillowcase the night before, but then all I could smell was her, and trying to
sleep when all the blood was rushing to your groin was not easy. I ended up
dumping the infuriating, sweet-smelling expensive scrap of material out from
the case and shoving it under the mattress. Having no real intention of giving
it back any time soon, I left it there instead. That was my plan anyway, but
after having spent the day at Bluey’s with Steve and being told way more than I
cared to know, I had decided to lay off Miranda, even avoid her if possible. It
seemed she was pretty messed up, so I was going to leave well enough alone and
just put my head down and work hard like I intended to do in the first place.
Of course, that’s what I was thinking until I entered my room and noticed it
had been tampered with.

Maybe just one last little push, I thought,
holding the cardi up in the air and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

***

“I think the girls have gone for a swim,”
said Steve, as he busied himself watering the herb basket by the kitchen. “It’s
bloody hot enough.”

Beyond a green, grassy strip of lawn and
established garden that surrounded the homestead lay nothing but dry, dusty red
earth and a blistering hot sun. It would be a full-time job keeping anything
alive out here, and something that Steve was obviously pedantic about as he
moved to untangle the hose to attach to the sprinkler. I made a note to self:
don’t kill anything while he was away; I guess that included Miranda. I smirked
to myself.

“Why don’t you go for a dip, cool off
before I take you into town later?” Steve said, as he wrestled with the
anaconda-like garden hose that was hooked around his foot.

Again I glanced beyond his little oasis.
Apart from the water tanks, animal troughs and shearers’ shower block, could
there be any other drop of water?

“You have a pool?” I asked, thinking it
possible that there might even be a tennis court stashed away as well, seeing
as the Henrys seemed to like the finer things in life. I mean, I had a fucking
cheese platter for dinner the other night, for Christ sake’s; it was a far cry
from a pot and parmi at the Onslow.

“Ha! Don’t worry. I have been plagued
endlessly from the kids to get one, and, sure, it would be great, but do you
know who would be the poor bugger that would have to keep it clean?”

Steve finally untangled the hose, only to
find there was a kink in it right down the other end. He swore under his breath
and stormed a path to fix it, sweat lining his brow.

“So I take it that’s a no then?” I mused,
moving to help pull the hose out straight.

“I told the girls you have two choices. Run
under the sprinkler, or duck dive in the dam. And seeing as they’re not here—”
Steve triumphantly clicked the attachment onto the tap, “—my guess is they’re
…”

“At the dam,” I said, finishing his
sentence. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers, and seeing as I haven’t run under a
sprinkler since I was five years old, I think I might choose the dam, too.”

Steve nodded in good humour. “It’s
that-a-way.” He pointed towards the shearing shed, which I was guessing meant
beyond.

“Right, thanks,” I said, squinting up at
the sun. “Well, might go for a dip then.”

“Just come up to the kitchen when you want
to head into town,” Steve said.

“Will do.” I saluted, before leaving the
green, shady homestead behind me, making my way to get changed.

***

I didn’t need the visual of Miranda Henry,
arched back on a sun lounge, sunning in the blistering rays of an Australian
summer. The image of her running under a sprinkler was enough to make me
swallow hard; I didn’t need this, too.

The dam was a fair enough walk from the
homestead even from the shearing shed. It sat in the middle of nowhere, a big
muddy hole in the earth that was a far cry from any chic, fancy-tiled in-ground
swimming pool. It surprised me that Miranda Henry would be caught dead in it,
of course, not that she was in it. She was reclined back on the rickety jetty
that led out onto the dam. Her long legs were elegantly stretched out, her arms
were resting on the armchair, her dark sunnies aligned her face, and her rib
cage was clearly visible in her red bikini as she inhaled a contented sigh.

For fuck’s sake, think ugly thoughts.

I thought about my task at hand and smiled
to myself.

“Oooh, feel the burn,” I quipped, as I
crossed from the dust to the decking.

I heard the giggles from beyond and I
lifted my shades, frowning at where it was coming from, until I spied Moira.
She was in the water, her elbows hooked over a pool noodle, wearing goggles and
a white swimming cap, which she quickly pulled off and fixed her hair in my
presence. She pulled her goggles off, wincing as they got caught in her hair.

“Miranda, look!” Moira laughed.

Miranda sighed; this time it had nothing to
with contentment, but everything to do with annoyance.

“I thought a black cloud had descended over
me.” She yawned, still bidding me no notice.

I stood above her, my silhouette cast over
her, clearly spoiling her tanning session. The satisfaction made me want to
stand there all day, but I had bigger, more infuriating plans.

“I’m sorry, am I blocking your death rays?”
I asked innocently.

“If you mean sun, yes, yes you are,” she
replied, as if bored.

“Well, I best get out of your way then,” I
said, moving towards the edge of the decking. It only caused Moira to lose it
in a fit of more giggles.

“Miranda.” She laughed.

“What?” Miranda snapped.

I held my finger up to my lips, winking at
Moira. Her smile spread broadly across her face as she stared up at me in a
trance.

“What do you think, Moira? Do you think I
should jump in?”

Moira’s eyes widened as she shook her head
vigorously –
No.

“Really? I don’t know; what do you think,
Miranda, do you think I should jump in?” I turned, looking back towards Miranda
who hadn’t moved an inch.

“You can go jump for all I care.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” I sighed, crossing my
arms and cupping my chin in deep thought as I looked back to the water. “Moira,
I’m thinking I should; honestly, do you think I should?”

Before Moira had a chance to giggle a
reply, Miranda slammed her palms on the armchair.

“Look,” she bit out, pushing herself to sit
up, lifting her glasses to the top of her head. “Why don’t you just …” She
froze, her eyes narrowing in a death-like stare.

Bingo!