Family Farm Read online

  She’d never passed this information on to her dad, of course. He’d have a fit if he knew she’d been doing farm work. As far as he knew, she’d simply been the house-hand. Otherwise he never would have let her go.

  The Radcliffs had become like an adopted family and Izzy would always remember them for their kindness and love. She sighed heavily. She already missed Alice and the two kids so much. If only Izzy’s own dad could be more like Rob; so understanding, and eager to teach her anything she wanted to learn. Rob never held back because she was a girl. It was just a shame he had to go and ruin it all. Everything had been so perfect, but now … well … every good memory was blurred by his betrayal. She could never go back.

  Shaking her head, she tried to throw Rob from her mind. ‘So, Dad, what’s new on the farm?’ Izzy rested her hand on his arm for a brief moment, drawing his attention back to her.

  ‘The farm’s the same, love. Not a lot happening. We’re counting on this year’s crop. It looks like the best we’ve had in a while. Just as well too. We need it to help pay off the new land and to replace the old header that’s on its last legs.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘But don’t worry your pretty little head over it. We have more important things to do. I think your coming home is cause for celebration, don’t you, Jean? What say we have a barbie? It’s been a while since we’ve had everyone over.’ Bill scrunched up his brow, trying to remember.

  ‘I think that’s a great idea,’ said Jean. ‘I’ll do a ring around and let everyone know. How does Thursday night sound, Izzy? That should give you enough time to settle in.’

  ‘Yeah, sounds fine to me, Mum. I don’t have a lot to unpack and I already feel settled in. Does anyone need a hand with anything or shall I just go and put my stuff away?’ Izzy said, stuffing a large portion of scone into her mouth.

  ‘No, I’m fine, Isabelle,’ replied her dad. ‘You go do your thing. I’m off to feed the sheep in the side paddock, and then the header needs seeing to.’ He swallowed the last of his tea. ‘I’m so glad you’re home, honey. You’ve made my day. We’ll catch up when you’re done.’ With a wink, he turned and headed to the back door.

  ‘Come on, Izzy,’ said her mum. ‘I’ll help you get your stuff.’ Jean collected up the cups and put them in the sink, then placed the clingwrap back over the remaining scones and popped them in the fridge, which was decorated with the postcards Izzy had sent them from the towns close to Rob’s farm near Merriwa. Some were from Dubbo, some from Newcastle, and a couple each from Tamworth and Bathurst. When Rob had given her a weekend off here and there, she’d taken off in her ute and explored New South Wales with Tom.

  Walking out of the kitchen, Jean stopped in front of Izzy and smiled before pulling her into another embrace. ‘Did I mention that I’m happy you’re home?’ she said.

  ‘Maybe once or twice.’

  2

  THE next morning Izzy woke with a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Everything seemed right. She lay motionless for a moment, trying to get her bearings, taking in the smells and sounds of her old room. She blinked as she focused on the wall that held the weight of a large, jarrah frame enclosing a picture of two girls on a motorbike. Both girls had the same blue eyes and oval faces, with similar, striking smiles. Izzy remembered having so much fun with Claire that day. A mischievous twinkle was unmistakable in Claire’s eyes, as the wind flicked her golden hair about her face.

  They had been young then: Claire was sixteen, three years older than Izzy. Even with the age gap, they still got on like a bonfire. Claire had loved to dink Izzy on the bike, and they’d had their fair share of stacks. She’d been born a daredevil, fearless – something Izzy had tried to aspire to.

  Izzy’s head swam with memories. Claire had been her best friend as well as her big sister. She had to admit that she’d idolised her, although she’d never confessed it then.

  A magpie squawked outside her window, competing with a heap of screeching pink and grey galahs in the distance, and she caught the smell of fresh toast. Mum and Dad must be up already, she thought.

  Flinging her arm out of the bed, she checked her watch. ‘Bugger.’ She sat bolt upright. It was already six a.m. Izzy had planned to be up early to do a tour of the farm with her father. She must have been more tired than she thought after all the driving. Five days it had taken her to get back home, not to mention a lot of petrol money and one flat tyre.

  Throwing back the sheets, Izzy swung her slender legs out of bed and planted them on the old wooden floorboards. Stretching out her arms and bending her neck, she stifled a yawn and stood up. It was warming up and high temperatures were expected. The flies were already buzzing around, trying to find a cool spot. Izzy stepped towards a white melamine cupboard and grabbed out a pair of khaki shorts and a dark-blue singlet. Quickly she dressed and put on a pair of thick socks, as well as her boot guards, and strode out of her room.

  Mum was in the kitchen alone.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Izzy asked.

  ‘He’s just out fuelling up the ute. Here, eat some breakfast first. Your father’s already had his.’ Jean finished buttering some multigrain toast, then reached for a pan on the stove and transferred two eggs onto the bread. ‘There you go, love.’

  ‘Ah, Mum, you’re a legend.’ Izzy settled herself on a stool at the breakfast bar and began to dig straight in.

  As Izzy and Bill drove from one dam to the next, the morning sun sparkled against the golden tips of the wheat and heavy heads leant over in the gentle breeze. An impatient Tom pushed his head out past Izzy to the open window. Little mounds of woollen bodies lay dotted over dry feedless paddocks, trying to conserve energy for the warm day ahead.

  The final paddock came around too soon as they checked on the last mob of sheep. A blurry haze had spread out before them as the heat intensified in the late morning.

  ‘It’s gonna be a hot one at the clearing sale today,’ said her dad suddenly.

  Lifting her head from its comfy position on her arm, Izzy turned to her father. ‘What clearing sale? You didn’t tell me there was a clearing sale on. Whose?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Ray North’s. He’s retiring early after having too many shitty years back to back.’

  Izzy nodded. She knew Ray and his wife. They lived about twenty-five kilometres away. ‘Who’s interested, Dad?’

  ‘Johnno’s already leasing most of the land and Perkins the rest. Ray just has his machinery and sundries to sell. Thought we could go in and have a look. He still has that yellow ten-tonne Volvo truck I wouldn’t mind getting, if it’s in my price range. Plus there’s probably a few other things that might be of interest. Best go give our support as well.’

  They settled into silence. Another family was leaving the district while their farm merged with others around it. Towns shrunk, schools closed and local businesses battled. It seemed the way of the world, Izzy thought sadly as she rubbed Tom’s ears. She wondered what Pingaring would be like in another ten years. She pictured a derelict town with tumbleweeds rolling past.

  It took them most of the morning to drive around the farm checking on sheep and dams. Plus Izzy made her dad detour to other parts of the farm, just so she could see every square inch of it. She had missed it all so much and was happy to find it just how it was before she left. All except the large eucalyptus tree that had fallen over in the rock paddock, which Dad said had happened last year after Cyclone Harry had come down the coast.

  When they finally returned to the sheds, Izzy quizzed her dad on his new purchases and checked them over, much to his irritation. She liked the new – well, actually, second-hand – seeder bar he’d got, and the new drill press for the workshop. By then it was almost lunchtime and Jean was calling them on the two-way, telling them to clean up and head to the house.

  After a cold meat and salad lunch, they all headed to Ray’s farm. Izzy grilled her dad for more details on the way. What other things was he interested in and how much was he willing to pay? She even offered her opinion but knew damn well he
wouldn’t listen to it.

  ‘I think you’ll be lucky to get that truck, Dad. It’s gonna go way above your price,’ she said, having a go anyway. ‘With harvest around the corner it will sell as fast as a carton of cold beer. My bet is it will go for around twenty-five thousand.’

  Her dad just ‘hmphed’ at her.

  Crossing her arms, she shook her head. She should have bet a six-pack on it, because she knew the old man was dreaming. Trucks were always in high demand at harvest, especially during a good year.

  Her mum was helping the CWA ladies with afternoon tea and drinks, so she was dolled up nicely today. She had on a pair of white shorts, a soft blue shirt and minimal make-up, but that was all she needed. Izzy couldn’t believe how graceful her mum could look. Why hadn’t she inherited any of that, she wondered. Izzy wouldn’t dare wear white. It would never stay clean on her. She was still wearing her work clothes from the morning. She stretched her legs as much as she could. Three adults in a ute was just a bit too cosy. Thankfully, it wasn’t going to be a long trip. Lifting up her cap, she scratched her head where the sweat was itching her skin. Clearing-sale days always seemed to be hot.

  Soon they were pulling into an open paddock where they found a bare patch of earth and parked among the sea of mostly white utes and dual cabs. Already there was a large gathering of blokes in hats and boots. Dust rose in the air, like when sheep were on the move in the paddocks, but this time it came from the prospective buyers walking up and down the rows of items for sale. In and out of the large machinery they wandered. Even if you weren’t there to buy, you still had a look.

  Two large red headers sat neatly in a row next to a yellow truck, two green tractors and seeding bars to suit, plus a couple of ploughs and two motorbikes. Ray’s work ute, a firefighting unit, and a couple of bits and pieces filled another few rows, and an area in his large shed contained sundry items. That was where the farmers’ wives congregated. Izzy tagged along with her dad, looking at various items and stopping to chat to the locals. Everyone was coming up to them wondering who was with Bill and they were surprised to see it was Izzy. The subsequent conversation therefore always lasted that bit longer and they all asked the same questions. Have you been home long? Are you staying for good? How was it in New South Wales? What’s the farming situation like over there?

  A good hour and a half had passed by the time Izzy glanced over to the shed, where the ladies had set up their tables with an assortment of goodies and an old bathtub filled with ice for the cans of soft drink and beer. Her mum was busily getting the urn organised for those who wanted tea or coffee.

  A minute later the auctioneer started up and his voice boomed out erratically as the bids began. He started with the small items first, which took nearly an hour to get through, before starting on the larger items. The truck her dad was interested in was coming up shortly. Izzy stood back from the crowd of men circling around the auctioneer. They were dwarfed by the large black tyre of one of the red headers. Once the auctioneer’s hand went down, the men all shuffled on to the next item, raising a dust cloud as they went. They moved together, almost synchronised as if they had an imaginary rope around them all.

  Bidding eventually started on the large yellow truck. ‘Do I hear fifteen thousand?’ bellowed the red-nosed auctioneer. His large gut heaved. He obviously enjoyed the taste of beer, Izzy surmised. Give him a red suit and a white beard and he could easily have been mistaken for Santa Claus. A bloke in front of Izzy raised his hand, clutching a bit of paper with the number thirty on it. In the blink of an eye, hands were rising left, right and centre, and the bids flew upwards. Izzy gave a silent chuckle as the price ran straight over the limit her dad had set himself. She was sure he didn’t even get a chance to bid.

  ‘Twenty six and a half thousand, going once … going twice …’ The auctioneer scanned the crowd for a bid. ‘Sold,’ he yelled after confirming there were no more takers. Izzy saw her dad look across to her and she raised her eyebrows and smiled with an ‘I told you so’ look.

  ‘What did I tell you, hey?’ she teased as she rejoined him, while the rest of the crowd moved on to the next item for sale.

  ‘You had a lucky guess,’ he grunted back, avoiding her eyes.

  She should have known. Not many blokes out here took a girl seriously, let alone her dad. She was trying to break into a tough market.

  ‘I’m dry as chips,’ he said quickly, changing the subject. ‘Let’s go see Jean.’

  Off they strode side by side, both the same height but Izzy half the width, towards the spread of food. Her dad bought a beer. It was only three-thirty but it was a given that it was okay to drink earlier in the day if it was a special occasion – or if there were more than two blokes around. They made all kinds of excuses to crack open a cold can.

  ‘Hi, Bill. Any luck?’ Jean asked.

  He mumbled his reply.

  Jean gave an understanding nod with just a hint of a smile, and winked at Izzy when Bill wasn’t looking. ‘I’ll be finished here in a few minutes, Izzy. Did you want to meet up and go over the sundries?’ she asked as she handed Izzy her change. ‘Your father will have found a few mates to have a drink with by then, no doubt.’

  ‘Sure, Mum,’ replied Izzy, before taking a large mouthful of the lamington she’d just bought.

  Izzy headed off to check out one of the motorbikes, which she believed would be very handy on the farm. It would certainly be a lot cheaper to run, as well as being easier to shift sheep with, than the ute, especially with diesel prices what they were. She had seen the blue Yamaha TTR250 earlier, and now she got on it and started the engine. It purred into life. Quickly she shut it off, fearing other bidders would take too much interest. It was only a year old and looked in great nick. The black knobbly tyres still had plenty of tread, and the blue plastic mudguards and bodywork had no scratches or cracks. She guessed it might go for around five thousand and she had that much put aside. Deciding to find Ray and ask him about it, she turned and scanned the crowd.

  A tall, lean figure was approaching her. She couldn’t tell who it was at first as he had on a hat and sunglasses, and nearly every bloke here was wearing the same with jeans and boots. But she could tell this guy had a body you could bounce rocks off. It wasn’t until he raised his tanned, muscular arm in a half wave that she recognised him. Yeah, she remembered his sexy swagger all right and knew if he took off his sunnies that she’d be met with a pair of intense blue eyes. He fitted into the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ category, and something about him demanded your attention, as if he was magnetised and your eyes were little ball bearings.

  Suddenly, Izzy felt rather ill. She had been admiring the fine-looking fella, until she realised it was Will Timmins. Argh! Her skin crawled as the hairs on her arms twitched like little antennas, wary of a predator. Oh, she knew Will all right, had known him all her life. His parents owned the farm next to theirs.

  Brian and Sandy Timmins had one of the biggest farms in the area. Her father had told her just that morning there were rumours Brian was going to lease another 2000 hectares off Mike Littlemore next year. Mike was apparently moving to Perth for his kids, where they were booked into school.

  Brian and Sandy only had two children, Will and his sister, Jolene. Jolene was older than Will, already married with a couple of kids and living in Perth. Izzy hadn’t seen Will for ages, and frankly she’d have been quite happy if she’d never seen him again.

  Before she could turn and walk away, he spoke.

  ‘Hey, I thought that was you, Izzy. It’s good to see you. How long have you been back?’

  Will smiled, wondering what kind of answer he’d get. He had found Izzy by accident, admiring her from afar as she checked out the bike. After watching her for a moment, some of the things she did looked familiar. For a moment, he believed it was Claire standing there and his body almost burst with the thought. When he got his emotions back under control, he twigged that it was Izzy, and felt a moment of disappointment. But now, stan
ding in front of her, he found himself staring at this new grown-up version of the girl he once knew. With Claire momentarily forgotten, he began to remember the little Izzy and took pleasure in noticing the womanly improvements a few years had produced.

  Izzy kicked at the dirt, took a step back and planted her arms protectively across her body. Her face was set hard and her reply to his question was short and curt. ‘Long enough.’

  Will nodded his head. ‘Ah, I see you still haven’t forgiven me. You know, time is supposed to heal all wounds.’ He swung his hands onto his hips as if to reinforce the statement. ‘Come on, Izzy,’ he pushed. ‘It’s been years.’

  Lifting her head, she glared at him fiercely. ‘Why should I forgive you? I don’t have to like you, you know.’

  The look she was giving him was the same hatred-filled one he’d got the last time he’d seen her, several years ago. It was about the only thing that hadn’t altered about Izzy.

  Will laughed under his breath. ‘You Simpsons are a stubborn lot, you know that?’ He knew straightaway that he shouldn’t have said it. He noticed her body language change, as if he’d waved a red flag. Her eyes narrowed and were drilling holes into his head.

  Izzy couldn’t contain the fire brewing up inside her. All the anger and hurt broke free from the knotted ropes she’d used to secure them away and returned in full force. She tilted her head and spat just loud enough for him to hear every word clearly. ‘Better than an arrogant, self-centred, using bastard like yourself.’

  Izzy couldn’t see Will’s reaction as his face was partially covered by his hat and sunnies. He just stood quietly. His tall, muscled frame was almost leaning backwards from the force of her words.

  Ever so slowly and quietly he replied, ‘Why don’t you tell me how you really feel? Can’t a bloke change?’