Standing Strong (35 page)

‘Righto. Thanks. Should be right.'

‘You must be tired from getting up all night for the kittens.'

‘Getting used to it,' he said with a shrug.

‘You'll have your body clock reset and then you won't need to do night feeds.'

‘Probably. Murphy and his bloody laws.'

‘Yeah.'

Silence.

‘It all looks the same. Few more houses here and there, I guess,' Lucy said.

‘Farms have been subdivided so all the hobby farmers and retired cockies don't have to have neighbours.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘Yeah.'

Damien instinctively put his hand by his leg to give Squish a pat. He missed the little guy. He could ease any awkwardness just by demanding attention. Damien knew he should be asking about Lucy's life, but couldn't bring himself to. He wasn't sure why.

‘Hey, you don't have furniture on the list. You know you're going to have to fully furnish the place, right?'

‘Oh. Hadn't given it a thought.'

‘If we're efficient with the boring stuff, we might have time to do some of that as well.'

Damien almost pointed out it was
all
boring stuff to him. And then he brightened a little: he could have a big-screen TV, which he would especially welcome after the one in the caravan that was about as big as a cereal box. And he could have one of those modern recliner chairs. He felt a stab of sadness at remembering his father's recliner. He shook it aside. He'd go for leather so it didn't stick to him in summer like the vinyl had. He found himself shifting a little in his seat, sitting more upright, looking more keen. Shopping sure would be much better having Lucy's eye.

‘So are you still with the advertising company?' he found himself asking.

‘Yeah. Though I'm now a graphic designer, not just a lowly admin assistant.'

‘Oh. Right. That's great. Well done.'
Why didn't I know this?
Did
I know this?
His brow furrowed.

‘Mum didn't tell you, did she?'

‘No. But it's my fault. I should have asked. Asked you, I mean. I've always been too wrapped up in my life and my own problems.'

‘It's okay, it's not really something that would be of interest to you.'

‘But I should still show an interest. You always ask about the farm.'

‘Yeah, but that's because I know about it. I grew up here remember? Just because I left and have an office job doesn't mean I stop being interested. It's in my blood, I think.'

‘It's weird, though, how Mum doesn't pass on some stuff but goes on and on about other things.' Damien had to be grateful to Lucy for letting him off the hook so easily. He knew he'd asked her stuff over the years and she'd told him, but he was always so distracted by his own worries. And since he'd seen Jacqueline and got a better handle on his head and the fog up there had cleared, he could see just how self-absorbed he'd been. Just like his mother.

‘So, what else have I missed? Are you still seeing Rick, Richard, Robert?'

‘Tom. Rob was the one before.'

‘Oh. Right. Sorry.'

‘My fault for being so disastrous at relationships,' she said with a smile.

Damien felt the urge to say,
And why do you think that is?
but kept it in check. He almost laughed out loud. There was Jacqueline in his head again. ‘So, are you okay?'

‘Am I heartbroken, you mean? Am I over here escaping it all?'

‘Yeah. I guess.'

‘Yes and no. And, probably. He wasn't the one. Though I'm beginning to wonder if such a thing exists. Tom actually ran off with his ex-wife's latest ex-boyfriend.'

‘Oh. Right. Well. Shit.'

‘Yeah, exactly. So at least I don't have to worry that I didn't wear high enough heels or not enough makeup. It's not like I can compete with a different gender.'

‘No.'

‘I'm so sorry again about Jacqueline. She seems really nice.'

Damien looked at her quickly. ‘You've met her?'

‘Yeah, she was over at Auntie Ethel's last night.'

‘They're as thick as thieves, aren't they?'

‘Yeah. How was she?'

‘Good. Okay. Worried about things. You know,' Lucy added, a little helplessly.

‘I dumped her.'

‘But for the best.'

‘Doesn't feel like it.'

‘I know. But it'll work out.'

Damien wanted to scream at Lucy that he wished everyone would stop saying that – he was sick of hearing it. He wanted proof. Action.

‘Auntie Ethel told me the whole story. I think you did the right thing. It's good of you to put the town ahead of your needs.'

‘Yeah, well …'

‘She loves you. She'll wait for you.'

‘She said that?'

‘She didn't need to. She knows why you did what you did. I got the impression she's pretty impressed. Especially after you spent that night out in your ute keeping an eye on her when that guy was stalking her. And she respects the choices you've made, what you're doing with your life. I think if you've got respect for each other, all the other stuff will come.'

I just hope she hasn't come to respect Paul Reynolds too much
. Damien had heard Jacqueline had gone to speak at Charity Flat at Paul's invitation. He'd been trying very hard to not give it or anything on the subject of another man any airplay in his head. It would do him in for sure. She was a free agent. He just had to trust he really did mean that much to her, that
they
did. ‘Did you respect Tom? You know, before you found out he was, um, gay?'

‘Bi. And, no, not really. I thought I did, but looking back I didn't respect him for putting his job ahead of me. That sounds so selfish of me. It's a bit complicated, but he'd never turn his phone on to silent in a restaurant – it would always be on the table beside him. And he'd answer it. He was the manager of a stationery company for Christ's sake – nothing was ever going to happen that needed him twenty-four-seven. He used to spout about work-life balance – it was his mantra. But blind Freddy could see he was a slave to his job.'

‘Haven't we all been?'

‘Well, farming's a bit different. It
does
require you to be pretty much on call around the clock. Anyway, enough about my crap,' she said, waving an arm.

‘So how long do you think you'll stay?'

‘Not sure. A lot longer while Mum's not around. Sorry, shouldn't say that. She just frustrates me with the whole parading me around to all and sundry as if she's responsible for me doing so well. Especially when she tried to stop me going to London in the first place.'

‘Why was that?' Damien didn't remember his mother talking about Lucy going to London at all.

‘Not sure. Probably because I was doing something she hadn't had the chance or the guts to do herself. I know she's been good to you, but she's never been supportive of me. And she's very controlling.'

‘Yes, she is that.' Damien knew it was the understatement of the year, and he was saying nothing new, but it
was
relatively new to him. He'd never fully realised just how in-his-face Tina had always been. So much for being self-employed.

‘You've only just realised that, haven't you?' Lucy said quietly.

‘Yes. And what a poisoned chalice the farm has been.'

‘So why not move everything down to your block and cut her out completely?'

Damien shrugged. Such a move seemed to make sense to other people, but not only was this his mother, Tina relied on him for most of her income, more so now she was on her own again. And, yes, he owed her. She'd given him lots of grief over the years, but had also given him a job and a roof over his head. Although it hadn't exactly been free. He thought about how she just burst in whenever she chose and ordered him around. He knew they'd had what was technically known as a co-dependent relationship. He'd reduced his dependency, but he still needed to ease himself slowly from her clutches. He wasn't sure who needed the separation the most: him or her. It was change and change was hard, especially when something had been like it was for so long without question. It would take time.

‘Maybe people might actually appreciate a drop-off point for animal surrender that's more off the beaten track. Maybe it would help,' Lucy offered with a shrug.

Damien stared at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. She might have a point; maybe he'd been looking at it all wrong. Maybe the farm being sold and him being pushed onto his own land to continue his venture wouldn't be the end of the world he thought it might be. If people had been generous with building his shelters once, maybe they would be again. And he was a fully-fledged tax-deductible donation entity – people, and maybe even businesses, would be much more willing to donate now, for sure. Not to mention the heap of followers he had on Facebook.

‘Hmm.'

‘But whatever happens, we still need to shop for the house – you're not getting out of that,' Lucy said, clearly misreading his thoughtful expression and vague response.

‘I hate the idea of asking for help again. You should have seen how many turned up for the working bee.'

‘I wish I'd been there. Damien, you do a lot for this community – of course people are going to return the favour.'

‘But what they did was so much bigger than anything I'll ever do. I only turn up on a fire truck now and then or turn snags on someone's barbie.'

‘And helping, and being a part of things, makes you feel good, doesn't it?'

‘I guess.' Damien took a moment to think about it, flick through in his mind the various things he'd done over the years. ‘Yeah, it does. Definitely.'

‘Damien. Never underestimate the joy someone gets from helping you. I know it's hard to ask for help – and you've got the double whammy of being a man and being a farmer – but by asking for help, you're helping people feel better about themselves by letting them make a difference, do something real.'

‘You should be in marketing,' Damien said, not sure what else to say. All this deep, heavy talk was a little uncomfortable. But maybe there was something in it – hadn't Philip Havelock said similar things?

Lucy laughed. ‘I am. Sort of.'

‘Yeah, well, you're clearly good at it.'

‘Thanks. Don't laugh it off and deflect, though, Damien. I'm being serious. I see Esperance as being for the whole community, and I'm sure plenty of other people do too. And people like you because you contribute. Nothing's ever been too hard or too time-consuming for you, even though you've always been stressed by your own stuff and worries.'

Damien felt a jolt run thought him. She was right. He'd looked forward to being asked to do a working bee or something for someone in the district or a community organisation. And got a buzz out of being asked to go on the CFS truck. He'd always thought it was to escape his overwhelming life, but he genuinely liked to help people. He could see that now. Why else had he been willing to drop everything for a day, knowing he'd have to face his mother's wrath and work ridiculous hours to make

it up?

Damien was surprised to see the outskirts of Port Lincoln looming ahead. The trip had gone a lot quicker than it had looked like it would when they'd set off. And he was feeling really good about things. It really was much better and easier being with his sister with his mother out of the picture.

‘Do you want to take a drive around first, say out to the marina, to see how things have changed?'

‘No, but I'd almost sell a kidney for a decent coffee.'

‘Okay. I'll park on the front street then. I'm not sure where has really good coffee.'

‘It only has to be better than instant. Anywhere will be fine. Hey, is that place that used to have the bright orange vinyl booths still here? Do you remember it?'

‘Yep.'

‘Do you remember how Dad always ordered a Kitchener bun?' Lucy said.

‘Did he?'

‘Yeah. And a cappuccino? And didn't it sound so exotic back then?'

‘I don't remember.'

‘Oh, I do. He'd always order the same thing. And the Kitchener bun had to be cut in half. And Mum would spend the whole time scowling at him.'

‘God, you've got a good memory.' Damien was annoyed with himself for not being able to remember. Maybe he hadn't been there. Lucy had come to Port Lincoln for dentist and orthodontist visits while he'd been left back at school. He had the strange feeling of being left out of something important.

They found a park right out the front of the café and walked in. Damien had been in here heaps of times – he stopped in here with his mum during the trips they made down to visit the accountant once or twice a year. He liked it because it was simple and familiar.

‘I'm going to have a Kitchener bun,' Lucy announced. ‘Going to join me in my nostalgia? I'll even have a cappuccino rather than my usual latte. And it has to be in a cup, not a mug.'

‘Um.'

‘Come on, be a devil. Pity Mum isn't here to frown at us.'

‘Yeah. Why not. You grab a pew and I'll get it.'

‘You sure?'

‘Yep, it's on the farm.'
Least I can do, since you've been so short-changed for so long,
Damien thought. He knew when he took over the farm it would have been fair to pay Lucy out. Thank Christ he hadn't had to. But it would have been the right thing to do. The daughters of farmers generally got a rough deal: some families paid them out, and equally, but usually only if there was a son who wasn't going to be on the farm as well. He wished his dad was here, especially to see them getting on so well. They'd fought a lot as kids and had plenty of harsh words and silent wars since. Their dad had been forever saying, ‘If you don't stop that, I'll bang your heads together,' or ‘I'm taking on the winner,' if their fighting was physical.