The Sunburnt Country (3 page)

DANIEL
had never needed anyone. He grew up through his late teens more or less on his own, without family help. No mother, no brother, just his dad, who was hardly home and not involved in his life unless trying to direct him in his career.

So he felt quite odd being at the mercy of a beautiful girl. Jonelle certainly was something of a contradiction: dressed like a well-kept woman but so at home doing the dirty work. And the Torana! She must have one of those muscle-man boyfriends – buff arms, tattoos and black boots – who let her drive his pride and joy. Daniel pictured her boyfriend as he drove up a slow rise in the road towards his destination.

At the top the view opened up before him and all he could think was
Why me?
The dusty little town of Bundara lay ahead, its welcome sign rusted and drooping to one side.
Bundara, best little bush spot, estimated population 580
. The paint was peeling, and if the sign was any indication of what the town would be like, then he was in for a stellar couple of months.

Bundara looked like a dust bowl. The town was a huddled speck surrounded by acres and acres of bare dirt, with the odd dead tussock or spindly bush. A wasteland. But the sapphire sky that encompassed everything was magnificent. He’d never seen anything like it. So much clear sky, like a blue blanket thrown over the earth. And the sun was bearing down on this tiny town like it was beating it into submission. For a moment, the contrast of the beautiful sky against the red, dry landscape took him by surprise. It was like a postcard.

Daniel turned his focus back to the small speck of a town. He saw the rusty tin-roof homes. Heat shimmered off the main road and dust swirled along the gravel edges. Daniel slowed down as he approached for fear he’d miss the whole town.

‘Oh wow,’ he said when he spotted the tiny shop on the main street, just before the local Sovereign Bank, his new place of work. The bank was an old rendered brick building with high cream walls and its opening hours taped up in the centre of the large glass door. There was no ATM out the front and no indication that this was a bank, except for the little bank logo by the door. The concrete footpath was uneven with giant cracks caused by the roots of the great lilac tree alongside it. The tree cast a huge circle of shade and was the only enticing thing he’d found on the street so far.

It was nearly six o’clock. Everything was shut except the pub. He knew that would be open because he was supposed to be staying there for the night. Tomorrow the removal truck would arrive with the furnishings for the bank manager’s house – his house.

The pub wasn’t hard to find in a small town like this, perched on the corner of the main road and the street that led to the town hall. It was a two-storey rustic red-brick construction, with a balcony on the top floor and a bright-red roof. The balcony rails and the trimmings around the leadlight windows of the grand entranceway were all painted the same heritage red.

Daniel pulled his car around the back, where a few utes were already parked on the gravel. Outside the car, the heat took his breath away and again he noticed the dust and eucalyptus in the air, so strange and so different from the city. Sweat began to gather on his back, and he hurried inside to check in. The decor made him smile: out-dated, patterned, red and black carpet, worn black lino around the edge of the bar and stools that had supported their fair share of backsides. It had the customary dartboard in one corner, pool table in the other, and dining tables with plastic chairs opposite the bar. Ahead he could see a set of French doors that led into a front bar and a small bottle shop.

‘Can I help ya, mate?’ asked the barmaid from behind the bar, where she was polishing glasses.

‘Checking in,’ he said, stepping forward. The girl was in her mid-twenties and wearing a singlet that barely reached the top of her denim skirt.

‘Sure, follow me. I’m Renae.’ She walked around the bar, out through the glass doors and headed left to a tiny reception area. ‘Daniel Tyler, right? Just one night?’ she asked, after consulting the small diary on the desk.

‘Yep.’

Renae raised her eyebrows and gave him the once-over. ‘Just passing through?’

‘Um, no. Here for a little while.’ He watched her waiting, hoping for more details. He wasn’t sharing.

‘Well, here’s your key. Up the stairs to your left, room at the end. Shower’s on the right. Dinner is available at six-thirty until the cook feels like leaving.’

‘Great, thanks.’

‘I’ll be at the bar if you need anything.’

He watched Renae walk away, admiring her petite body. She was very friendly and had a great smile – a prerequisite for barmaids.

As he carried his bag from the car up to his room, Renae flashed him another smile. If he were leaving tomorrow, yes, he’d probably try his luck, but this tiny town would be his home for the next couple of months. He didn’t need complications.

Slotting the old-fashioned key into the lock, he opened the door to his room. His jaw dropped faster than his bag. ‘Jesus!’ A brown threadbare cover lay over the bed, its tassels reaching all the way down to the floral carpet. The room was clean and tidy but unbearably daggy, and the decor made it feel so small. He sat on the bed, sinking down as the worn springs groaned. The musty smell had undertones of cigarette smoke. The newest thing in the room was the TV, which was as thick as a fish tank and definitely not digital. Daniel wondered why he’d even bothered to bring his laptop up. They wouldn’t have wi-fi. The crazy red and black decor of the bar downstairs was starting to look more enticing. He checked his emails on his phone and sent a text message to his mates to let them know he’d arrived in Woop Woop. He didn’t mention that he felt like he’d been dropped in a time machine and rocketed back fifty years.

Tucking his designer wallet into his pocket, Daniel headed back downstairs into the stale, alcohol-tainted air of the quiet bar. There were a few more people now, three guys sitting at the bar and a family of four at one of the tables. Dan pulled up a stool and sat down next to a guy in a blue truckie singlet who looked about his age. The other two blokes were in their fifties, with wrinkled leathery skin covered with spots and wayward hairs. They looked tough and territorial, but when they turned to him they smiled and offered cheery grins. Dan returned the greeting as he wondered what their lives had been like.

‘A newbie, huh? How you going? I’m Zac,’ said the guy on the stool beside him. Zac held out his large hand, callused and stained with dirt. His hands had clearly seen a lot more manual labour in their twenty-odd years than Dan’s had.

Daniel took his hand. ‘G’day. I’m Dan.’ Before he could say anything else, Zac whistled, and seconds later Renae popped back into the bar with a frown on her pretty face.

‘Zac Baxter, I’m not your bloody dog.’

‘Sorry, Nae, but I think this bloke really needs a drink.’

Renae started pouring a beer, watching Dan the whole time with a flirty smile. ‘Yeah, I think you’re right. You do look a little hot and bothered.’

She handed him the beer and before he could get his wallet back out from his pocket, Zac waved a note at Renae.

‘Hey, thanks, mate,’ said Dan, putting his money away and taking a long guzzle of the cold beer. ‘Ah, yep. I needed that. Long day on the road and then I got a flat tyre.’

‘Pretty shitty in this heat.’

‘Is it always this hot in November?’ he asked as Renae dropped Zac’s change on the counter. ‘It doesn’t get this hot in the city.’

Zac laughed. ‘Ya softcock. How would you know, when you’re in an air-conditioned office all day, and then you jump into your air-conditioned car straight to your air-conditioned house? I work out in that heat every day. And my old man still refuses to put in air-con at home. Says it’s for pansies. He likes to remind me that he grew up with just a wet sack hanging in the doorway to cool the breeze.’

Renae clicked her tongue. ‘Yeah, you’re so tough, Zac,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Ignore him, Dan. I’ve spent every summer for years listening to him bitch and moan about the heat.’

Zac squinted at Renae. ‘Haven’t you got glasses to wash or something? Dennis isn’t paying you to chat up the new customers.’

Renae pulled a face and went to serve the old bloke at the other end of the bar.

Daniel chuckled as he glanced at Zac, who had a week’s stubble across his strong jaw. ‘Not cool to upset the barmaid. She’ll cut your beer off,’ Dan said.

‘Nah. Not Nae. She loves it when I tease her. Besides, I’ve known her all my life and I’m one of her best customers.’ Zac scratched at his dusty arm, his nails lined with black dirt. ‘So, what are you doing in Bundara? You look a long way from home.’

‘Yeah, don’t I know it. But this is going to be my home for the next few months. I’m the relief bank manager.’

‘Oh, hey. Greg’s replacement. Man, I don’t envy you. You’re gonna be compared to the plague ’round here.’

‘Great. Thanks for the heads-up. So what do you do, Zac? I’m guessing farming?’

‘Yeah, I work with my old man and my brother on Baxter Plains. It’s outta town about ten k’s. Nine thousand acres, a few sheep and not much crop.’

‘Because of the drought? You really feeling it?’

Zac studied Dan, choosing his next words carefully. ‘The whole bloody district is. Our farm is better off than some, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t struggling. I guess you’ll see all that when you start work. Man, I’d hate to be in your shoes.’

Dan shrugged his shoulders. ‘It doesn’t worry me. It’s just a part of my job.’

Zac almost choked on his beer. ‘You’d better not go around saying that too loud or too often. Folks won’t take too kindly to it. It may be a job to you but these are real people’s livelihoods you’re playing with.’

‘Oh, for sure. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. No hard feelings?’ The look on Zac’s face wasn’t one of forgiveness but he shrugged his muscled shoulders.

‘You won’t upset me. I’ve got a duck’s back but I’m just warning you that others can be a bit testy. Lots of high-strung folks around at the moment,’ said Zac.

Dan nodded, grateful for having met someone not easily offended. He glanced around the unfamiliar pub, feeling more foreign than ever. He had begun to realise that it wasn’t just the scenery; it was the people and their way of life that were different as well.

‘So, you camping at the pub the whole time or moving into the bank house?’ asked Zac.

‘My gear is coming down tomorrow, so it’s just the one night here.’
Thank God
, he thought to himself.

‘All right. Well, I haven’t got much on over the weekend so if you need a hand, give me a call.’

Dan smiled, a little shocked. ‘For real?’ If someone had offered to help in the city he’d be worried they were planning steal all his stuff. But this was the country. And there was something trustworthy about this bloke. Open and honest. Rare virtues. ‘Cheers, Zac. That’d be great.’

‘No worries.’

‘So what does a guy do around here for fun?’ Dan asked as he undid the top button of his shirt, the cool interior of the pub refreshing after the oppressive heat.

‘Well, we’ve got the pub and footy season, or we make our own fun.’

Dan threw Zac a questioning look.

‘Don’t worry. Stick with me and I’ll show you some fun while you’re here. I’ll send you back to the city a different bloke. A better bloke.’ Zac slapped his hand on the bar, making Renae look over. ‘Can we’ve another two please, Nae?’

Dan drained the last of his beer and thought about what Zac had said. He highly doubted that a few months in the bush could change him, beyond drying out his skin and giving him a tan. He was tougher than these country blokes would think; they’d soon find that out.

*

The next day after lunch, Daniel let himself in to the three-bedroom house that would be his home here in Bundara. It was one of the nicer ones in town – around six years old with a modern kitchen and tiles throughout. It was a huge improvement on the pub. He’d only been in the house ten minutes when there was a knock at the door.

‘Hello, anyone home?’

A woman in her forties wearing trackpants and workboots, her brown hair pulled into a loose bun, was standing before him. She looked a little rough, like a strong country woman, he guessed.

‘Hi,’ said Dan, opening the security door.

The woman held out her hand. ‘Daniel? How are you going? I’m Jean Symonds. I’m the senior consultant from the bank. I live three houses down. I saw a bit of movement at the house and thought I’d come and introduce myself, see if you needed any help.’

‘Oh, thanks, Jean. Um, that’s nice of you, but I’ll be fine. I haven’t really got all that much to do.’

‘Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it and I’ll see you in the office on Monday. But if you have any questions or you’re not doing anything, we have dinner at seven so feel free to pop over then. Our house is the cream one. There’s a ute out the front, ‘SYMMO’ number plates – can’t miss it.’

Dan stood gripping the door and wondering how it was possible that a lady he’d just met was inviting him into her home to share a meal. ‘Thanks again. So nice of you to offer, but I’ve got dinner sorted.’ Dinner hadn’t crossed his mind, but going to the house of a stranger in a town he’d just arrived in was a bit weird. God, for all she knew, he could have been a murdering psychopath.

‘Good luck moving in. It’s the best house in the street. See you Monday,’ she said, before walking back down the footpath.

As Jean made her way home, Dan saw his removalists pull up out the front. It was only a small white truck with
Henderson’s Removals
painted on the side. He greeted the driver, Paul, who was wearing a fluoro-yellow shirt that stretched across his enormous belly. Dan slipped his hands into the pockets of his denim shorts as he watched the hydraulic back door of the truck open. The sun’s rays seemed to burn through his white polo shirt, and the back of his legs tingled with heat. It was going to take him a while to adjust to the brutality of the November sun. No-one had warned him about that when they sent him out here.

A newish Holden ute rumbled along the street and parked nearby. Its black and white plates read ‘MERRIT7’. He recognised Zac in the passenger seat. Zac climbed out of the ute in what seemed to be the Bundara male uniform: singlet, shorts and workboots. A young bloke trailed behind.