Standing Strong (7 page)

She'd spent the first half-hour being grilled about Damien: who had dumped whom and why, et cetera. She'd deflected as best she could and managed to get away with saying it was mutual, that the timing was wrong, what with her being new in town and he being busy with his new venture. Eventually they'd seemed satisfied and gave a collective shrugging of shoulders and moved on to the next topic of gossip – a young lad who'd crashed his car and lost his licence for twelve months. Louise and Cecile had tutted and shaken their heads, but as far as Jacqueline could see, they were operating on a double standard. While they weren't staggering drunk when they'd left the pub the couple of nights she'd been out with them, there had never seemed to be a whole lot of thought given to driving home, and everyone had had more than she thought would keep you under the limit. Tonight she was pleased to see Rob had only been sipping water – on account of him heading off to SES. But Louise and Cecile had downed three bourbon and Cokes to Jacqueline's one glass of wine, which was disgusting and lukewarm by the last sip. Oh, well, they were adults, they knew the risks. She couldn't nag them and come off looking like a wowser. Other than Ethel, they were the only real friends she'd made in town.

When Louise dropped her home – she'd half-heartedly tried to decline the offer, on account of the drink-driving risk, but her fear of walking alone when it was almost dark, thanks to Jacob Bolton, won – Ethel was out watering her front flower beds. Jacqueline waved Louise off and went across the street to say hi.

‘You've been out,' Ethel said, with her hose trained at the base of a rose bush. ‘Good to see you're not sitting home pining.'

Jacqueline felt a bubble of annoyance burst inside her. ‘Did you tell anyone about me and Damien splitting up?'

‘Of course.'

Jacqueline was taken aback. She'd been expecting a denial, or a confirmation and a sheepish look. Certainly not a cheerful admission.

‘Why? Who?'

‘I told Madge down the road, who is one of the biggest gossips in town, and also happens to be young Louise from the surgery's gran.'

Jacqueline frowned. Why the hell was Ethel looking so damned pleased with herself? She grew more annoyed. ‘Why can't you stay out of other people's business?'

Ethel sighed, went over and turned off the tap, wound the hose up on its reel, and took it back to beside the house. Jacqueline stood there not knowing if she was expected to stay or if this was Ethel signalling she wasn't wasting any more breath on the topic and their conversation was over. For Jacqueline, it was far from over.

Finally Ethel looked up at her and spoke. ‘Sounds like you need a cup of tea.'

I don't need a bloody cup of tea
, Jacqueline wanted to snap,
I need an explanation or for you to mind your own bloody business
. But instead she meekly followed Ethel inside.

‘Now, don't go getting all uppity with me, missy,' Ethel said, pointing her finger at Jacqueline as she waited at the bench to tend the pot. ‘I did it for your own good.'

Jacqueline opened her mouth to protest.

‘Uh-uh, just hear me out,' Ethel said, raising a silencing hand.

Jacqueline shut her mouth and clasped her hands tightly together under the table.

‘You need the town to know there is nothing between you and Damien so no one gets wind you've done anything wrong with regards your career, right?'

Jacqueline nodded.

‘So, what better way than to get the news going through the oldies and the young ones at once?'

Jacqueline wondered if Louise and Cecile had invited her out of their own accord or been manipulated by Ethel. She really didn't like all this meddling going on around her and involving her. But she was starting to see it was being done for the right reason. Ethel's heart was in the right place. But it still rankled.

‘Yes, Louise's invitation tonight was off her own bat,' Ethel said, startling Jacqueline slightly. Did the woman have psychic abilities as well? ‘Not that I wouldn't have pulled a few strings in that direction, too, if need be.' Ethel grinned naughtily. When that grin came out, Jacqueline could never be annoyed with the old lady.

‘God, Ethel, you're incorrigible,' she said, smiling and shaking her head slowly, rolling her eyes as a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of her.

‘Friends again?'

‘Yes, but you have to stop meddling.'

‘Now, that I cannot promise. Not when it's for a good cause. And you, my dear, are a good cause. But, seriously, it's one thing for a rumour to go around about you and Damien, but it's even better to back it up with a sighting, actual evidence.'

‘You make me sound like the Loch Ness monster, or Big Foot, or something.'

‘Well, you are a local attraction.'

As she sipped her tea, it struck Jacqueline that creating the news around her and Damien might have the opposite of the desired result; that putting their names in the front of people's minds again might get people thinking, and then someone might … No, she was being paranoid. No one cared about her private life – well, they did if you asked Ethel … But still. She reminded herself of a quote she'd heard a few times: No one thinks of us nearly as often as we think they do. Well, she thought that was how it went. And, anyway, whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. She'd done her best to right a wrong situation for the good of all concerned. She really just had to put it out of her mind and get on.

In the next breath, Ethel changed the subject. ‘It's time you went and did some community talks over at Hope Springs. How would next Tuesday work – seven p.m.? CWA?'

‘It's very short notice, isn't it? And I thought they only met during the day.'

‘Ah, doesn't take much to rally the troops. And they do usually only meet during the day. But I said you're far too busy now with your growing list to go gallivanting around the countryside during work hours,' Ethel said with a wave of her hand. ‘It'll be organised by the CWA – so you can be assured of a good spread! – but it'll most likely be open to all women of the town and area. Hospital auxiliary, church ladies of various congregations, et cetera. So are you in?'

‘I'm in. On one condition.'

‘Name it.'

‘No, actually, two conditions.'

‘Now don't you go getting all demanding on me,' Ethel said.

‘One, you come with me. And, two, you squirrel away a plate of the best sweets and savouries for me like last time.'

‘I have to go – you'll need a car on account of you not having got one yet. Remember? And on point two, consider it done.' Ethel clapped her hands together. ‘Good, all sorted. I'll start properly rallying the troops.'

They lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts.

‘Damien is fine, in case you're wondering,' Ethel said. ‘He's busy with all his stuff. Plus he's taken delivery of four kittens needing round-the-clock feeding – dear little things. Just when the joey was about to be put on a more convenient meal schedule, too. He's just thrilled someone had the courage to deliver the little blighters, rather than leave them somewhere to die. He's going to do great.'

Jacqueline knew Ethel wasn't having a go at her, and hadn't actually added, ‘No thanks to you,' but she still felt the words stab painfully under her ribs.

‘Yes, he is,' she said, only sure she'd uttered the words when she heard them with her own ears. She was sad not to be a part of it, not to be able to phone, give him encouragement, go out and help with the workload. Four tiny mouths to feed at once must be difficult with just one pair of hands.

When Ethel began yawning, Jacqueline took it as her cue to leave. They hugged tightly at the door, their friendship clearly restored. Not that it had been completely severed, thanks to Ethel's firm hand.

Chapter Eight

Damien thought back over the past week, and felt a great sense of achievement. He'd settled into a routine and the kittens were doing well. He'd officially named the joey Jemima, having decided running a competition was too complicated and would take too long. The poor little thing was part of his growing family, so needed a name. She was now spending more time out of the pouch. He'd tried to start leaving her for short bursts in one of the smaller runs, though when he'd peeked through the caravan window after half an hour and she was still scratching at the wire door and trying to get out, he'd felt sorry for her and brought her back inside. The last thing he wanted was for her to be distressed. It would be different if she had other kangaroos for company, but she didn't.

Each morning and evening, he'd taken to making the three-kilometre round trip to the gate to check the depository, new enclosure he'd set up so people could make donations of food and bedding, and surrender unwanted animals. He'd set up an old phone he'd got from the second-hand store in a box attached under the little verandah and had left clear instructions on how to turn it on, send a text advising of delivery of an animal, and then how to turn if off again to preserve the battery. He thought it was pretty straightforward, and hoped it would make people feel more comfortable doing the right thing by the creatures of the district – maybe even beyond. He was going to try to rig up some sort of solar recharger for the phone, but at this stage he was still pondering how. Nonetheless, he was pleased with his efforts. It would be time-consuming and a bit of a pain to keep checking the enclosure, but he couldn't bring himself to totally trust the phone, or that people wouldn't just leave animals without notifying him. But it was a start.

He'd also figured out a contraption for feeding the four tiny kittens at once. He'd wrapped a shoebox in foam and then a towel – that could be washed – and poked holes through so the teats could stick out. Then he'd placed a rolled-up small towel in the shoebox so the bottles attached to the teats would be raised enough to keep the flow going right to the end. He'd put the whole thing in the large box with the kittens and, voila, he had a self-feeder, a pretend mother cat, for his little kittens. He'd work on perfecting his design, but for now it did the job, and he could always add more holes for more teats along the way if necessary. He was satisfied that his creation wasn't too far off feeling like their mother's tummy when the kittens paddled, if they used their imagination. But best of all, because it was contained in the larger box, he could take the kittens wherever he went and they could be fed on the move while he was out in the ute.

It had been a good few days, he thought as he had breakfast and checked the new Facebook page he'd set up. It had photos of the tiny kittens drinking from their self-feeder and a cute shot of Jemima with her head poking out of her pouch – he liked that he had a name to add to the caption. He'd even managed to get a great photo of Squish peering into the box of kittens as if overseeing proceedings. He'd got lots of ‘likes' and even a few shares. He was beginning to see how Facebook could be a valuable marketing tool. When he got organised to do a major fundraiser, he might be able to save time and money by doing most of the advertising via Facebook.

Damien was starting to really enjoy the PR and marketing side of things. He'd never had to do anything like this to sell his grain and wool; you just took your load of grain to the silo or put your wool into the next sale. There was no having to suck up to people to get them to buy your produce. Perhaps, if he had his time again, or if this all went tits up – which he wouldn't let happen because the animals needed him – then he figured he wouldn't have minded giving this marketing caper a crack. He idly wondered if he should look into doing some short course or something to learn more. He was serious about Esperance Animal Welfare Farm being a huge success. And for the next two years he wouldn't have a relationship to distract him or take up his spare time.

With that thought in mind, he gathered his troops – Squish, Jemima, Bob and Cara – and set off to check the depository. On his walks, he always took Jemima's pouch – she insisted on tagging along, but only ever got a few metres before she was panting and unable to keep up. Damien would stop, bend down so she could hop into the pouch, and then they would carry on until the next time she decided she wanted to get out and hop, though she also spent plenty of time with her head out of the pouch, enjoying the sights. Damien knew this wouldn't last for much longer – soon she'd be too big for the pouch and too heavy for him to carry. She was growing like a weed, so he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Squish's little legs struggled to keep up too, so he often had the pup perched on his shoulders. He was sure when Bob and Cara paused to look at him it was with pleading expressions for them to be carried too. Not a bloody chance! He felt like a pack horse as it was. Anyway, they needed the exercise, they were starting to look like lard-arses thanks to all the extra human treats – like little bits of cheese – he was giving them out of gratitude, despite telling himself they didn't expect it and had probably long forgotten the fire.

His little menagerie sure did bring a smile to his face and put a spring in his step. As he traipsed along, he pictured the four kittens, grown up, following in a line. But he had to stop himself – they were temporary visitors. Not all creatures who came his way could stay – he'd rehome them when he could. He wasn't going to be in the business of just collecting.

But he had plenty of space, and if he could earn enough, perhaps horses and donkeys could retire here. He stopped in his tracks. Where the hell had that come from? He hated horses. No, not hated horses, had hated having them on his property. After the last of his mother's and Lucy's horses had gone, he'd vowed there would never be another horse there again. He couldn't think of a reason why, except that it was the view of most farmers around here. And of course, while he'd been so unhappy he'd had a negative opinion on most things. He was starting to see that. His dad had loved horses. Now he quite liked the idea of the challenge of working with a spooked or mistreated horse to see if it could be retrained and then sold on to a good home.