Country Roads Read online

  Bec gradually realised that Jack had very fixed ideas about how things were done on the farm, from which shearers to employ to what drench to use – damn it, even down to what bloody brand of chainsaw to buy. It was her father’s show all the way, and he would never deviate from his tried and trusted course. If the job, whether it be crutching sheep or digging a fencepost, had been done Jack’s way for the past twenty years, then he could see no reason why it couldn’t continue being performed the very same way for the next twenty.

  After her father’s accident things had got even worse. Bec understood that Jack was trying to hold on to control of the farm, but there was something in her father’s behaviour that was more than just annoying. She tried not to admit it, but the constant rejection of all her ideas hurt more than she could say.

  ***

  Matt Harvey stepped out of his car and leant against the door. Absently he reached down and tried to rub the dull ache out of his right knee. It had been a long drive – the extra half-hour he’d added to it when he’d taken a wrong turn hadn’t helped – and his whole leg was twitching. He straightened up and stared at the ramshackle cottage. Despite his discomfort, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this excited. A smile crept to his mouth as he drank in the sight of his new home. Everyone except Jules thought he was going through a phase and he’d be back in the city where he belonged by Christmas. But they were wrong.

  He sucked in a deep breath of clean country air and congratulated himself on one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Moving out of the city to his own rural idyll was just what he needed. He guessed that he owed part of this to Jules, because without her badgering and the piles of magazines she’d procured, Matt would never have come up with this radical idea to turn his life around. He’d spent far too long in the shadows, and it felt good to be in bright sunlight again.

  Matt stood still for a moment and listened; there was the soft sound of the breeze blowing through the old willow tree in the front yard and the faint twitter of small birds. How peaceful was that! He reached back into the car and grabbed his phone to make a video, then finger-combed his hair in a vain attempt to smooth it before he turned the lens onto himself.

  ‘Hi guys. I know you’re probably all bored by my I’m moving to the country rant but no more talking – I’ve actually done it. Yep, that’s right, I’ve left the city and gone bush. I’ve found the perfect place to write the next Alistair Tremayne novel and dabble in a little home reno with a dash of self-sufficiency thrown in. Twenty minutes ago I picked up the keys, and here we are outside my new place. Want to have a look?’

  Matt flipped the phone’s camera around and framed up the perfect quintessential shot of rural Victoria: a shabby miner’s cottage nestled in a wilted garden.

  ‘I know it needs some work, but once it’s all finished, I promise it will be amazing,’ he said before carrying the phone towards the wire fence and dilapidated gate. Matt had to give the gate a hard shove to get the damn thing open, and the old metal scraped against the crumbling cement path.

  The garden was full of plants and trees but Matt wasn’t sure if many of them were actually alive. The cottage was shaded by the old willow, but other than that the majority of the plants looked as though they hadn’t made it through the summer. Everything looked dry and dead. Matt hoped he was wrong and that with a bit of water and a whole lot of wishful thinking some of the plants would revive. He wandered over a patch of dirt which probably had once been lawn; there was a pile of old bits of wood, paper and assorted junk sitting in the middle of it.

  Matt turned the phone’s camera back towards himself. ‘As I said, it needs some work but I’m up for the challenge, and by the looks of things, I’ve got one,’ he said with a chuckle.

  He headed up the three grey stone steps which led to the verandah. The steps were worn and smooth, and Matt found something about that comforting. A wooden slated balcony enclosed the front verandah and there was a large terracotta pot containing a straggly geranium hanging on for dear life. Still trying to hold the phone steady, he twiddled the key in the lock in the old front door.

  ‘Okay, so here we go,’ Matt said as he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold into a small room. ‘Well, this is the lounge room. Tiny, I hear you say, but I prefer to call it cosy.’

  He panned the camera around the room. It was indeed small, with a wooden floor and ceiling and one double window facing out onto the verandah. There was a little fireplace on the far wall and a nook for wood next to it. Matt opened the door opposite the fireplace and revealed another room which was a carbon copy of the first.

  ‘Guess this will be my bedroom; and then if we go back and through here – we find the kitchen.’ He panned the camera back into the lounge and through an opening which led into the next set of rooms. Maybe there was meant to be a door on it; Matt wasn’t sure. He walked through and stood in an outdated and very cramped kitchen. Another small room led off that, which Matt had already earmarked for his office. Beyond the kitchen was the back verandah, which had been built in to house a small bathroom up one end and the tiniest excuse for a laundry down the other. Matt opened the back door and wandered out into a little bricked courtyard which was surrounded by a few scraggly rosebushes, lavenders and a peppercorn tree. A small path led past a dilapidated clothes line and a shed. There was also an ancient wire fence that looked as if it had seen better days. It ran behind the shed and separated the rest of the five acres from the garden.

  Matt swivelled the camera around again. ‘Well, it needs a bit of TLC, but it’s going to look great by the time I’m done with it. Anyway, I’ve got to unpack and settle in. So, thanks for joining me and I’ll talk to you soon.’ Matt smiled into the camera before he turned it off.

  ***

  Matt stood by the open front door of the cottage. The early evening air was cool and carried the scent of something sweet. He couldn’t work out what it was, but he liked it and hoped it came from one of the plants in his garden that he would be able to save. Matt didn’t really know that much about gardening, but he was willing to learn. Maybe in the morning he’d find a local nursery and get some advice.

  This would be his ninth night in the cottage and this was the first time he’d actually stopped to ponder what his new life was like – well, what he hoped it would be like, anyway. The past week he’d been busy, buoyed by the experience of moving in and buying new furniture. Each night he’d fallen into bed exhausted – too tired to think and too tired to dream, which was a blessing. The move had taken its toll, though; Matt’s leg had ached more and more with each passing day and he’d found by day six that he had needed to take a day off and rest.

  But even if his leg throbbed and he needed to swallow some painkillers, Matt knew that the move was worth it. Living in the cottage had given him something he’d never had in the city – peace. Everything about his old apartment had reminded him of Leanne and the life they’d shared. Sometimes the walls had seemed to press in on him so much that he’d found it hard to breathe.

  Hardly anyone had supported his decision to move. His parents couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around the idea. For them, being in the city meant he was close to people who cared about him in case he needed help. So why on earth would he sell his perfectly decent apartment and run away to the country?

  He loved them, but sometimes . . .

  Matt took another long look outside, past his garden to the old dirt road which led up to his neighbour’s place. What his friends and family didn’t understand was that this place was quiet, calm and just what he needed to find himself once more. Matt had been stagnant for too long – his life, his health . . . hell, even his writing. But the cottage would change all that. It was a clean slate and a new beginning – at least, that’s what Matt hoped for.

  Shutting the door behind him, Matt made his way through the lounge room and into the kitchen. The cottage boasted all new furniture – well, some of it was just new to Matt, like the slightly
banged-up kitchen dresser that he’d found for a bargain. With the exception of his books, his desk, his grandfather’s 1930s clock and some useful odds and ends, he’d sold off most of his old stuff before he’d made the move so that nothing would remind him of the past.

  As he went to put the kettle on, his phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. He smiled as he saw his sister’s name blink up on the screen.

  ‘Hey, Jules.’

  ‘Hey yourself. Listen, I’ll be up soon with supplies. I’m hitting our favourite delis and shops.’

  ‘You know I’m not exactly isolated, don’t you?’

  ‘Not if I take any notice of Mum. According to her you’ve become a hermit in the back of beyond.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Living in a tin shed.’

  Matt let out a laugh. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Well, our mother does like to exaggerate a little. I tried to tell her it was because of your artistic bohemian nature.’

  ‘You’re full of it, you know that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s going to run with it – it’ll give her something to talk about and embellish upon next time she lunches with the ladies.’

  ‘Artistic bohemian?’

  ‘Hey, it’s better than being labelled freaky twisted recluse.’

  ‘You always have such a way with words.’

  ‘Thanks, it’s my gift. So, when I come up, there will be somewhere for me to sleep, right? I mean, I won’t have to sleep on the floor among the stack of unpacked boxes?’

  ‘I think I can squeeze you in somewhere.’

  ‘Excellent. So is everything alright?’

  Matt took a second. ‘Yeah, it is.’ And for the first time in a long time, he actually believed it.

  Chapter 2

  Bec pushed her chair back from the big wooden table and gave her mother a fleeting smile before she grabbed her plate and headed over to the dishwasher. She had a hundred things to do and had only dropped back to the house to grab a sandwich before carrying on with her day.

  ‘Just leave it on the sink, sweetheart – I’ll do it,’ Maggie Duprey said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Maggie nodded her head. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, I’ve got a pretty full-on afternoon.’ Bec took a step towards the back door.

  Her father rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen. ‘I thought I heard your voice.’

  ‘Hi Dad, I was just having some lunch.’

  He nodded his head but Bec wasn’t even sure that he’d heard her. ‘Listen, I need you to load up the ute with some of the small hay bales. Old Wally over at Stringy Creek has run out of feed for his sheep. Apparently the stock feed order got mucked up and his supply won’t arrive for another couple of days. I said we’d help him out.’

  Bec closed her eyes for a second. Great, like she could spare a couple of hours. Well, there was nothing she could do about it, Wally’s mob needed to be fed.

  ‘Sure, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good – and have you got the paperwork for the tractor repair? Oh, and you need to take a look at the chook pen. The door has come away, hasn’t it, Maggie? We can’t have a fox stealing away all your mother’s chickens.’

  ‘Yes, the door is broken, but I’ve already got it sorted. There’s no need for you to worry about it, sweetheart.’ Maggie reached over and gave Bec’s arm a gentle squeeze before glancing back at her husband. ‘Our daughter has enough to do, don’t you think?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘You want to tell me exactly how you sorted it?’ Jack asked as he wheeled up to the old wooden table.

  ‘I hired Jamie Bannon to come and fix it.’

  ‘Damn it, Maggie, that’s a waste of good money,’ Jack said before he blew out a breath and glared at his wife. ‘We’re only hiring him in for the big jobs, the ones when Bec needs a hand – like the crutching or drenching’

  ‘Better that than wasting our daughter’s time. Besides, Jamie’s a good boy and he needs the work. I don’t know why you don’t just hire him full-time – we could certainly do with the help,’ Maggie said before she turned back to Bec. ‘Go on, love – we’ll see you later.’

  Not needing to be asked twice, Bec dropped a kiss on her mother’s cheek and headed towards the back door. This whole thing about the chook shed and Jamie could escalate quickly and Bec just wanted to get the hell out of there.

  ‘See you later,’ she said. ‘And don’t worry, Dad, I’ll get the feed over to Stringy Creek.’

  He didn’t answer and Bec hadn’t expected him to. He was still focused on Jamie and the chook shed.

  ‘Maggs, you know we have to be careful now that we’ve bought that land.’

  ‘Yes, but not at Bec’s expense. Besides, Jack, Mr Hargreaves sold you that land for a lot less than you thought he’d ask.’

  ‘You know that’s because the old bugger didn’t sell us the whole bloody thing. The bottom line is, we now have a loan and we have to pay it back.’

  ‘Hiring Jamie for a couple hours to fix a door isn’t going to break us.’

  Bec heard her mother’s final quip as she slipped out. A blast of hot air hit her face as she opened the flywire door and walked outside. The wind was picking up, which would make for an uncomfortable afternoon, especially now that she had to lug some hay bales about. Summer had officially ended but the hot weather seemed determined to carry on. The autumn rains were late and Bec could only hope that they’d get here soon as the land was parched, brown and tinder dry.

  As she headed across the backyard she glanced up at the impossible blue sky. A thin column of smoke rose in the distance.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ Bec whispered as she put her hand up to her eyes to block out the sun. Yeah, there was definitely a fire. She just prayed that there was still time to contain it. She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and was about to call 000 when her fingers stilled.

  He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?

  She jogged over to her blue ute and slid into the driver’s seat. Firing up the engine, she drove down the dirt road towards the smoke plume. Just over a week ago, a blow-in from the city had moved into the old miner’s cottage that bordered Bluestone Ridge’s southern paddocks – the cottage and its five acres that, by rights, should have formed part of the land package her father had just bought.

  She couldn’t pretend not to be annoyed with the previous owner. True, old Mr Hargreaves had sold them some of the land that bordered their property, a long skinny rectangle of about thirty acres, at a very fair price. But Bec had assumed that the old man would sell it in one piece. She had been wrong.

  Bec had been sitting at the small wooden table on the slightly dilapidated verandah. Mr Hargreaves had wrinkled his face up in a grin as he passed her a glass of lemonade.

  ‘I know why you’re here, missy. You never had a good poker face – not even when you were a little tacker running around the paddocks.’

  Bec had taken a sip of the lemonade before she glanced over and smiled. ‘It’s that obvious?’

  ‘Only to those who know you. Oh, I’ll sell you the land – I always intended to.’

  Bec had felt the relief flow through her. ‘That’s great, Mr Hargreaves – thank you. You don’t know how much that’ll mean to my dad . . . to both of us.’

  ‘You can have the twenty-five acres and that will bring your place right up to Boundary Road.’

  ‘Twenty-five acres?’

  ‘Yep. I’m afraid I’ve got plans for the cottage and I figured I’d better keep a bit of garden around it.’

  ‘But we’re more than willing to purchase all of it. That way, Bluestone Ridge will run all the way up to Boundary Road and along Magpie Lane all the way to the creek.’

  ‘I know, and as I said, you can have most of it, but I’m keeping the cottage.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Besides, what would you do with the cottage, eh? You’ve got the best old house in the entire town to rattle about in. The o
ld cottage is a bit run-down but it’s high time there was someone living in it. It needs someone to love it again. There were a lot of wonderful memories made in that house – hot summers, swimming in the creek, and I swear that old apple tree has the sweetest fruit for miles around.’

  ‘But we would look after it.’

  ‘Yes, I believe you would, but it wouldn’t be the same. My grandfather built it and it deserves to have someone give it another lease of life. Now, missy, I’ve made up my mind – so just drink your lemonade and don’t pout.’

  Pout – really? The comment had still rankled her – and if Mr Hargreaves hadn’t been so bloody ancient she would have taken him to task over it. Anyway, he wouldn’t budge about the cottage. So Bluestone Ridge had bought the land from him, but it still annoyed her every time she drove past it that the cottage belonged to someone else.

  The new owner, according to the gossip in town, was some sort of writer who had swapped his busy life in Melbourne for a tree change in White Gum Creek. And when she had driven past the cottage last Thursday there had been a large delivery truck parked in the driveway.

  Bec tapped her foot on the accelerator. The ute sailed down the road, leaving a dusty cloud in its wake. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe something had happened and her new neighbour was in trouble. That must be it, some sort of accident, because no one in their right mind would intentionally light a fire on a day like this.

  A few minutes later, the ute bumped over a rise and the cottage came into view. A man with black hair and a green shirt stood in front of a large fire in the front yard.

  Bec narrowed her eyes as she pulled up and switched off the car. A flash of anger unfurled in her belly. Of all the stupid, irresponsible . . . Geez, what is this joker thinking! She clambered out of the ute and slammed the door shut. The noise was loud enough to make the guy look up. A smile began to bloom on his face but quickly disappeared as Bec stomped up to the front gate and glared at him.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  The man frowned as he leant on his rake handle. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.’