Dear Banjo Page 3

  But I reassured you, said we’ll still be at the same uni, doing the same course and hey, what’s life without some hiccups? And we’ll finish just a year apart and come back home and guess what? Quintilla Homestead and Paterson Downs will still be here, and we’ll still be the ones who’ll turn them into a combined superstation of organic, humane beef production that will lead the friggin’ industry. And you’ll still be Willow Banjo Paterson and I’ll still be Tom Forrest.

  And you cracked a smile and we switched letters so you were holding mine and I was holding yours, and we ripped them open at the same moment and read them and —

  Holy shit, we both got in!

  And for about thirty seconds, everything was perfect.

  Then I couldn’t hold back any longer and tried to seal the moment with a kiss. And you shoved me so hard I nearly fell over a chair. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Banjo, mistakes get made. People get forgiven – usually. Forgive me.

  Tom

  That’s enough. Willow found herself clutching the pendant her mother had given her, and her chest had tightened to the point where she suspected an anxiety attack might be imminent. She hadn’t had one of those for years. She used one of the tricks her psychologist, Jessica, had taught her: holding in a breath to the count of five while she imagined herself somewhere calming – standing next to Tuffie, his warm chin on her shoulder, puffing his horsey breath past her cheek.

  Jesus, Tom.

  Willow exhaled slowly. She wasn’t sure if it was guilt or resentment that had got her so worked up. The memory of her mother’s funeral was bad enough, and then to relive that moment when Tom screwed it all up – it was more than she could handle. There were still several letters to read but she shoved the bundle back into her handbag, thankful that a decade had passed since Tom wrote them. It would be awful if he remembered what he’d written – how he’d bared his soul – but the likelihood was low. She twisted her hands together at the thought of seeing him soon and that tightness in her chest returned.

  Willow scrabbled in her bag for her notepad again and started her to-do list. She would use this flight productively, damn it. She would not get caught up in an emotional hangover from her teen years.

  Beth was thinner than when Willow had last seen her at Christmas, three months earlier. At thirty-two, Beth was attractive, tall and poised. They exchanged a brief hug at the luggage carousel. Beth was as collected as always – her glossy brown hair in a professional knot at the nape of her neck, her slender frame encased in a buttoned blouse and pale capris – but there were traces of tension in her face. Willow hoped she could alleviate that tension by taking on the station management and being around to help with Dad.

  ‘Is Free on her way home yet?’

  Beth rolled her eyes. ‘Free is broke. She’s been sleeping on the floor of a friend’s place in Pisa. She was due to come home in a month anyway, so I told her she might as well see out the trip. She reckons she’ll earn enough in the meantime to pay her own fare home but don’t be surprised if you get a request for an emergency funds transfer in about four weeks.’

  Willow stared. ‘She’s not coming home to see Dad now?’

  ‘What’s the point?’ Beth said. ‘He’s doing really well, no angioplasty required at this stage, and the cardiologist says he can go home tomorrow. You’re here now and what would Free do anyway except make more work for everyone else?’

  Willow couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed in both her sisters. Free should have come home for this. And Beth shouldn’t always assume Free couldn’t help.

  ‘Here’re my bags,’ she said, pointing out the two cases on the carousel.

  They lugged one each to the exit. The heat hit Willow’s skin as soon as she stepped out the airport doors. She turned her face upward, letting the sunlight touch her cheeks more fully as they crossed the small carpark. God, she loved that heat. Dry-season heat could be a little humid but it was nothing like the damp, hot air of the wet season. The dry was definitely easier to work in. They loaded Willow’s cases into the rear of Beth’s 4WD, known as ‘The Beast’ because it was huge and never got bogged, and turned towards town.

  ‘How’s work?’ Willow asked.

  ‘Busy. McInerney retired so we’ve picked up a lot of his patients. We’ve taken on a new nurse and I have to use a locum so regularly I’m thinking of offering him a permanent role.’

  ‘Oh, wow.’

  ‘Must’ve been tough giving notice at the university,’ Beth said, glancing at her. ‘Any regrets?’

  ‘Not one,’ Willow told her honestly.

  Beth laughed. ‘Stupid question. I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.’

  Willow gazed at the young boabs lining the road, thinking about her father lying in hospital. ‘How sick is Dad, really?’

  ‘The angiogram shows the situation’s not too bad. The heart attack was mild, as they go – a partial blockage only. He’ll be on clot-busting medication and a cardiac rehab program. I can keep an eye on his progress week to week, but he’ll have to come into town for specialist appointments. If the blockages don’t reduce with the medication, or if they get worse, the cardio team might decide on angioplasty to put some stents in, but hopefully he won’t even need that.’

  ‘And he’s really okay to come home tomorrow? It seems so soon.’

  Beth turned into the hospital parking lot. ‘They wouldn’t send him home if he wasn’t ready. He’s going to have to take it easy for a couple of weeks and then he can start doing some physical activity. He needs to, actually, and all that will be covered in the rehab plan. It’s critically important that we improve his diet and reduce his stress levels. Those are the main things.’

  ‘I can cook for him instead of him eating in the staff kitchen,’ said Willow.

  Beth raised her eyebrows. ‘Vegan food?’

  ‘Not vegan any more, remember? Just vegetarian. And he’ll eat what I say,’ Willow added with a chuckle.

  ‘Well, I’m sure your cooking would be a huge improvement on station kitchen food, health-wise. And Willow, I think you should try to minimise his worries about the station management. You know what he’s like, getting fired up over every little thing. I thought it might help when he took on an assistant manager a few years ago, but obviously the damage was already done.’

  Willow nodded. ‘I’ve already decided to keep Dad’s involvement to a minimum. He’s aware of my plan to take the station to organic certification and supports it, but letting him get involved would just wind him up. I won’t be going to Dad with questions or issues unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.’

  Barry Paterson was poking disconsolately at a salad when they arrived in his hospital room. Much to Willow’s relief, he looked the same as always – stocky frame, thinning hair shorn close to the scalp, and a tan that spoke of a lifetime in the harsh Kimberley sun. Barry’s green eyes lit up when he saw Willow. She hugged him, battling the sudden urge to cry.

  ‘Here she is,’ he mumbled against her shoulder. ‘Good to see you, sweetheart. Careful now, you’ll get your sleeve in my salad.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ she said, grateful for the distraction.

  ‘Lunch! Bloody rabbit’s tucker.’

  Willow couldn’t hide a smile. ‘Only one more day of hospital food, yeah? Beth says you’re getting out tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked apprehensive suddenly and Willow’s heart twinged.

  ‘I’m going to take really good care of you, Dad. Beth’ll give me full instructions.’

  ‘We’re only an hour and a half from hospital,’ he said. ‘Not too isolated.’

  ‘And don’t forget the Forrests’ helicopter,’ Beth added. ‘If it’s urgent.’

  ‘And you’ll be visiting regularly, won’t you, Beth?’ Willow prompted, and Beth nodded. ‘You’re on medication now, anyway, Dad. As long as you follow the doc’s instructions, you’ll be fine.’

  Willow hoped desperately that what she was
saying was true. It had to be true. She couldn’t bear to lose him as well, not after all those years of aching for her mother.

  ‘Tom’s doing a run into town tomorrow, Dad,’ Beth told him. ‘He said he’ll drive you home.’

  Hearing his name was enough to make her stomach clench.‘I can pick Dad up,’ Willow said quickly.

  Beth glanced at her. ‘Save you the trip, Willow. Tom’s coming in anyway.’

  ‘I’ll catch a lift with Tom,’ Barry said. ‘You’ll be needing to unpack and get settled.’

  Willow had plans to do more than that. She was going to reconnoitre the yards and outbuildings to get a feel for how things were running, re-acquaint herself with the staff, and check the books and inventory. But her father didn’t need to know about that.

  She mustered a smile. ‘Okay, Dad. I can’t wait to give Tuffie a big cuddle.’

  ‘And you’d better get straight to work because that cardio bloke read me the riot act about the stresses of station management. He says if I can’t relax, I’m better off handing management over to someone else entirely.’ He chuckled a little uncertainly. ‘That’s where you come in, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’ll get right on to it.’ Willow tried to echo his light tone. ‘Consider yourself relieved of duties.’

  ‘Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.’

  ‘We’ll find something to keep you busy, once you’re feeling better,’ said Beth.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, pointing at the window shelf where a book lay. ‘I’ve got that. Free arranged for it to be delivered. An adult colouring book. Have you ever seen anything like it?’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘Adult colouring in, for Chrissake.’

  ‘They’ve become really popular,’ Beth told him, grinning nevertheless.

  ‘They’ve been in Perth for yonks,’ Willow added.

  ‘Is that right? Is that what people do nowadays, sit around in bloody cafés, bloody colouring in? Strike me pink.’

  They didn’t stay much longer, since Willow had the drive to Paterson Downs ahead of her. She kissed her father goodbye, promising him he didn’t need to worry about a thing.

  ‘I’ve got complete and utter trust in you, sweetheart,’ he assured her. ‘And next weekend we’ll get some people round for a celebration. I’m alive and Willow’s back for good.’

  Beth drove Willow to her clinic, where the station staff had dropped off a vehicle for Willow on their weekly food run into town.

  ‘Be careful,’ Beth ordered her as they transferred Willow’s cases into the ute. ‘There’s still a lot of water on the roads. We had an unexpected downpour two days ago. Damn climate change.’ She pulled a wry face.

  ‘Thanks, Bethie.’ Willow hugged her impulsively. ‘What’s that assistant manager’s name again?’

  ‘Hegney?’

  ‘No, I know it’s Hegney, but I’ve only met him once or twice in passing, and I can’t remember his first name.’

  ‘Oh,’ Beth considered. ‘Liam, I think. Dad always calls him Hegney.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Liam. I want to keep him on-side through the change of management.’

  Beth shrugged. ‘He’s a pretty professional sort of guy. I don’t think you’ll have any issues.’

  ‘Okay. Good to know.’

  Beth shifted one of the cases into the top corner of the ute tray. ‘The cardiologist promised me there’ll be a written rehab plan to go home with Dad, and there might be some post-admission care instructions for you, too. If you’ve got any questions after Tom drops Dad off tomorrow, give me a call, all right?’

  Willow’s mind flashed to Tom’s letters, currently burning a hole in her handbag. ‘I really think I should pick Dad up myself so I can talk to the doctor. What if Tom forgets something the doctor says – an important detail?’

  Beth stared. ‘Willow, this is Tom Forrest we’re talking about. Next to you, he’s one of the smartest people I know. The guy’s got a mind like a steel trap – he’s not going to forget anything.’

  Willow smiled weakly, waved her sister goodbye and tried not to worry about seeing Tom the next day. Ten years, she reminded herself. After ten years, things would be so very different.

  Might as well get the awkward reunion over with.

  The drive south-east from Mount Clair to Paterson Downs gave Willow a sense of peace and deep, deep joy. It felt like Willow’s veins were filling with blood again after years of running on dust. The intense reds and greens of the landscape against the azure of the sky seemed to fire up optic receptors she hadn’t used in too long, and when the terrain changed and striated gorges and gullies appeared, she actually broke into a laugh.

  She turned into Paterson Downs and drove the final couple of kilometres to the homestead, bringing the ute to a stop in the gravel parking lot. She gazed at her home hungrily. Not much had changed from visit to visit in the past ten years.

  The first thing that caught her eye was the brass bell at the front door. It was tarnished green and missing its clapper, but no one would remove it because it had been Robin Paterson’s bell and everyone had loved Robin Paterson. Over the past couple of years, being reminded of her mother had lost its old, breathtaking stab of pain. Instead, Willow felt warm when she saw the bell with its fanciful overlay of dragons. Her mother had loved anything fantasy. She’d even chosen Willow’s name based on some fantasy flick from the eighties.

  Hegney was coming towards her from the homestead, a smile on his face. He was a lean, wiry looking bloke of forty-odd years, quietly spoken but respected by the staff. Willow knew how much her dad thought of the man.

  ‘Hi, Liam,’ she called. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘How you going, Willow? Here, let me help you with those.’ He heaved her cases from the tray, giving them a slap to knock the orange road dust from their lids. ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘He seems really good, considering. He’ll be home tomorrow.’

  They headed for the house, chatting about the plane trip and Willow’s father. When they reached the door she heard a familiar snort. There, over at the closest yard, was her beloved Tuffie – fluffy head propped over the fence, bright eyes on Willow. Her heart seemed to liquefy.

  ‘Just dump it inside, could you?’ she said to Hegney. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’

  She crossed to her old pony and put her arms around his neck, rubbing her hands along his shoulders, crooning his name. Horse hair floated off on the light breeze.

  ‘Oh, my God, look at you,’ she said. ‘Moulting like mad, as usual. How’s my old boy?’

  He sniffed her shirt unceremoniously. Typical. Food-oriented as always. She checked his hooves and teeth, feeling along his withers and ribs. Satisfied, she patted him on the shoulder and promised him a piece of carrot later. Willow went to roll her other case inside but Hegney had already done the job for her.

  ‘Have you finished for the day?’ she asked him. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a chat.’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he said. ‘Give me ten minutes to finish some paperwork?’

  ‘Meet you on the patio,’ she said.

  Willow had to hold in her excitement at the thought of getting started on her plan. She walked over to the station kitchen and said hello to the staff, including a couple of stockmen loitering around before their tucker. The current head cook was Jean, and she appeared to be halfway between crumbing steaks and cranking the deep fryer. No doubt chips were on the menu. Her dad’s favourite sort of food. Not on my watch, thought Willow.

  Hegney was waiting on the back patio with two beers when she got back. She didn’t drink much and when she did it was generally red wine, but she took the beer to be sociable.

  ‘I want to talk to you about my plans for Paterson Downs,’ she said. ‘Has Dad ever mentioned my – uh – pastoral philosophy?’

  Hegney burst into laughter. ‘You’re joking, right? Your dad thinks the sun shines out of your – well, you know where! Every time you went back to the city he’d come to me and say, Right, Hegney
, Willow thinks we should get in more of this breed. Willow says we need to stop using this feed supplier. Willow says there are better branding methods we can use.’

  Willow flushed. ‘Dad’s so good to me. He tries to implement the methods I talk about.’

  ‘I’m happy to make changes,’ Hegney told her. ‘As long as we can keep a lid on costs.’

  ‘Dad’s got a lot of respect for you, Liam,’ she said. ‘That’s good enough for me and I want you to know I’m really glad I’ll be working with you.’

  His face changed slightly. ‘Barry will still be involved, though, won’t he?’

  ‘A little. The idea is for him to hand over the reins to me now. He’s told me he needs to cut out the stress of work or he could end up in an even worse condition than he is now.’

  Hegney blinked. ‘Okay. I knew he’d asked you back but I figured it would be a gradual handover.’

  ‘I’ll still go to Dad to make big decisions and get advice, but I want all communication with him to go through me from now on, okay? I want to reduce his stress as much as possible and I think the best way to do that is for me to vet which decisions he gets to contribute to and which I can handle.’ Seeing Hegney’s slight frown, she reassured him. ‘Dad’s asked me to do this, Liam. He wants me to run the station.’

  ‘Okay,’ Hegney said slowly. He glanced at her. ‘I mean, that’s great, and I’m sure you know your stuff. It’s just sudden.’ He gave her an uncertain smile.

  ‘I get it,’ she said, nodding earnestly. ‘It’s going to be a big change. But to be honest, the path to being a certified organic, sustainable operation isn’t as rocky as it sounds. If Dad’s started on some of the changes like you say, then we’re already on our way.’

  Hegney was nodding, although he still looked a little uneasy. ‘Quintilla’s going for organic certification as well, so I’m familiar with some of the strategies.’

  Willow paused, surprised. ‘Are they?’

  He picked at the label on his beer. ‘Old Forrest has handed most of the station management over to Tom these days. He’s done optimal breed selection – they’ve got mostly Brahman crosses over there now. Gone to organic feed, too. And he’s got this great little pasture strategy going. He’s been training the cattle to eat certain plants, you know, specifically the junicora . . .’