Magpie's Bend Read online

  ‘Make it twenty bucks. We’ve taken at least five hundred photos today. It’ll take me ages.’

  She was right. Culling blurry, out-of-frame shots was his least favourite part of the job.

  ‘Fifteen dollars if you load them onto the laptop afterwards. Wake me when you’re done.’ He shut his eyes, listening to the bird calls, the cicadas humming and children in the nearby playground.

  He woke with a start what felt like a second later.

  Holly promptly pushed the laptop under his nose.

  ‘Look at this,’ she said. Even though it was difficult to see the screen for the glare, there was a perfectly framed shot of Lara McIntyre, tending to Mrs Beggs in the back of the storeroom. How the—

  ‘It’s beautiful, Dad. She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?’

  He raised himself onto his elbows and angled the laptop screen away from the sun for a better look. The light globe at the back of the storeroom had illuminated Lara’s hair, making it look like a golden halo.

  ‘I deleted that picture,’ he said drowsily. ‘I deleted them all.’ ‘But you didn’t empty the trash, did you? I know a trick or two. It’s even better than the old lady helping the koala cross the highway.’

  Toby studied the picture. Holly was right. His koala photo had made the front page of the Ballarat newspaper, scored him a trophy at the Country Press Australia awards night and earned his newspaper royalties when it was reprinted in America, but it didn’t have the same emotion, the same action, as this one.

  Temptation swelled for a few seconds. Lara would never know you kept it. It would be perfect for the Nikon Press Club comp. But just as quickly, he pushed it aside. He shook his head. He already felt bad enough that he’d dragged the photo out for a look last night before deleting them again.

  ‘Get rid of it, Lollypop. Delete them all properly.’ With everything already resting on his conscience—the death knocks to elicit quotes from grieving families in his cadet journalist days; downplaying the corruption of politicians during his stint at the Melbourne paper; the guilt for being unable to fix his marriage—he didn’t want to add deliberate deception to his tally.

  Three

  The KitchenAid whizzed effortlessly, whipping the egg whites into stiff, glossy peaks. Lara leaned over the mixer, pleased with the consistency.

  ‘That’ll just about do,’ she said, switching it off and running a finger along the whisk attachment. The meringue was smooth between her fingertips, not a hint of gritty sugar left. She dolloped it onto the lemon curd and biscuit base and slid the pie into the extra-wide oven.

  A tidy-as-you-go cook, it didn’t take Lara long to put the kitchen back in order. She returned ingredients to the pantry, wiped flecks of wayward meringue off the copper splashback, and swished a damp cloth over the marble benchtops. Lara threw open the windows for good measure, but turned a blind eye to the cobwebs that danced along the exposed beams. Cob-webbing was a spring-cleaning job, and even then she did it reluctantly.

  A quick stack of the dishwasher and the beautifully crafted kitchen was once again spick and span.

  Lara found a calico bag and headed outside to the lemon tree. She had just about filled the bag when the magpies and crows converged on the chook-house roof, and Basil bounded across the yard in a half-hearted attempt at scaring them away.

  ‘Waiting for dinner, aren’t you, you blighters? Worse than seagulls,’ she called, pitching a lemon in their direction. The birds fluttered up and then resettled. Not content with pecking at her eggs, they’d also started taking liberties with the chook food.

  Shaking her head, Lara went back inside and changed into a fresh pair of jeans. She chose a blue linen shirt and fine gold earrings, pulled her straight, red hair into a ponytail and headed back into the kitchen as the oven timer pinged. The lemon meringue pie looked as good as it smelled, filling the room with a delicious lemony sweetness. This’ll go down a treat.

  Leaving Basil to guard the property, Lara got in her car, strapped a seatbelt around the basket containing their dessert, and carefully made her way to McIntyre Park. She rolled the window down when she reached the driveway. Wind whipped away the lemony aroma and in flowed the familiar smells of her childhood. With a nostalgic smile, she soaked up the ever-present scent of freshly cut grass and, as she drew to a stop, the perfume from her mother’s rose garden.

  Home always felt good, no matter what time of year. The peach-coloured roses stood out against the farmhouse’s grey weatherboards, and bees stirred lazily as she walked between the lavender hedges.

  Slipping off her sandals in the porch, Lara set her pie on the kitchen bench. They were having roast lamb, by the smell of it.

  She returned to the car and collected the bag of lemons, but even after she’d emptied the contents into the fruit bowl, there was still no sign of anyone.

  It was like déjà vu. Argh, Penny, please don’t be buried under a pile of boxes!

  ‘Hello,’ Lara finally called out into the silence. ‘Anybody around?’

  Her hand flew to her mouth when she noticed the cane bassinet in the far corner of the kitchen. ‘Oops’, Lara whispered, glad she hadn’t woken her niece.

  Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Tim Patterson’s big feet appeared first, then his rumpled jeans and shirt. A mis-buttoned shirt … Lara smothered a laugh as her sister Penny emerged a few steps behind him, her strawberry-blonde hair equally rumpled.

  ‘Just catching a bit of shut-eye,’ said Penny, adding a yawn for good measure.

  ‘That what they’re calling it these days?’

  Penny flushed. Lara laughed and wrapped her arms around her sister.

  ‘I’m joking, Pen. Gotta grab it when you can.’

  ‘Lucy still asleep?’ asked Tim.

  Penny glanced at the bassinet. ‘Amazingly, despite all the noise Lara’s making.’

  ‘Better she gets it now. It’ll be like Bourke Street when the rest of the crew arrive,’ said Tim, looking around the cosy kitchen that had housed McIntyres for four generations. Penny and Tim had breathed new life into the house since they’d moved in, but it still felt like her old home. The family photos and high-school portraits still hung on the walls, accompanied by new additions from the recent weddings—Penny’s and Angie’s—and candid shots of Tim with his brother Eddie, and the boys’ grandmother, Nanna Pearl.

  Lara waved as she spotted her father, Angus McIntyre, crossing the lawn between his quaint cottage and the farmhouse. He ambled through the back door.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ she said, leaning in to kiss his smooth cheek.

  ‘How’s the town hero?’ Angus’s smile was as broad as the Akubra he normally wore.

  ‘Hero? Hardly. Somebody needed to do something. The guy from the newspaper wasn’t much use,’ said Lara.

  Angus settled into his favourite chair. ‘It’s gone into the rumour mill, done two laps around town and been spat out the other end as open-heart surgery using barbecue implements. Think I like that version better,’ he said with a wink.

  Another car crunched its way down the gravel driveway, and soon Diana and Pete’s three youngest sons burst into the room. They went straight for the bassinet where baby Lucy was sleeping.

  Diana’s eldest son, Cameron, followed, glancing around the kitchen. ‘No Evie this weekend?’ His feet thumped along the floorboards. Although she wasn’t short, Lara felt downright petite as he wrapped her in a hug. He’d shot up since turning fifteen, quickly matching his father for height.

  She shook her head. ‘Nope, it’s a few more weeks until she visits.’

  ‘Bugger,’ said Cameron, with a nonchalance Lara both envied and resented. Of course nobody would miss Evie like she did, she had to remind herself. It was a mum thing.

  Diana’s twins crowded around the bassinet, fussing over the sleeping baby until she woke up.

  ‘Let’s change her and then you can have a hold,’ said Tim, herding all the children into the lounge room.

  Lara turned to Penny. ‘He�
��s a keeper, Pen.’

  Penny twirled a lock of hair around her finger. ‘Too right. Now we need to set you up with a decent bloke and we’ll all be happy.’

  Lara let out a dry laugh as their eldest sister, Diana, walked in.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Penny’s dusting off her Cupid’s bow. Waste of time, sis,’ said Lara.

  Another car pulled up in the driveway.

  ‘Aunty Angie! Claudia! Uncle Rob!’ Young Leo raced out from the lounge room, bounded down the steps and rushed to open the ute’s back door.

  Rob Jones was the first out of the ute. He unbuckled Claudia from her car seat and the two young cousins raced to the trampoline, hand in hand. Angie emerged from the passenger seat, her curls piled on top of her head, and her arms laden with a triple-decker sponge cake. There was never a shortage of desserts at a McIntyre family gathering.

  ‘Hi Jonesy! Hey Angie,’ said Diana, taking the elaborate dessert from their youngest sister. ‘We were trying to work out the perfect bloke for Lara. Surely there’s a few single hotties down at Port Fairview?’

  Lara groaned. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine her three sisters sitting around the dining table, making a list of eligible bachelors. She knew they were well intentioned, and she might have been the teensiest bit lonely since Evie left, but she wasn’t desperate.

  Toby pulled up alongside a rustic roadside stall and handed his wallet to Holly. Fashioned from an old wardrobe at the entrance to a long, winding driveway, the stall was bursting at the seams with bouquets of native flowers, pumpkins and egg cartons.

  Holly chose an impressive posy of grevilleas and proteas, and soon afterwards a young nurse was ushering them into Mrs Beggs’ hospital room. The postmistress had never been particularly youthful looking, but without her bright blouse and trademark chirpy greeting, she looked much older.

  ‘Well, aren’t you the spit of your dad?’ said Mrs Beggs. ‘Are you a lifesaver like your father, too?’

  Toby shook his head and corrected Mrs Beggs. ‘I only called the ambulance.’

  ‘And he got a great action shot too, and that lady made him delete it,’ added Holly, injustice oozing from her words.

  She should be taking drama classes, not clarinet. ‘Mrs Beggs mightn’t have liked it either. Lara was right, I shouldn’t have taken the photo in the first place.’

  Mrs Beggs looked between them, and he saw the effort it took to raise her eyebrows.

  ‘She’s had a rough trot, our Lara, though you won’t find a better nurse in the district. Not one to blow her own horn, either. As long as my dress wasn’t riding up, or my boobs hanging out, I wouldn’t have minded.’

  A nurse bustled in.

  ‘Visiting hours are nearly over, I’m afraid. Mrs Beggs needs her beauty sleep,’ she said as she flicked through the medical chart. To Toby’s untrained eye there seemed to be a lot of pages for someone who had only been in hospital for one day.

  ‘When can we expect you back behind the counter?’ he said.

  Mrs Beggs grimaced. ‘You won’t, pet. This blasted shoulder won’t be lifting mail bags anytime soon. I’ve done my dash. The shop will have to be sold,’ she said, gravely. She sank back onto the pillow and Toby tried to imagine how she felt about this unexpected end of an era. Change was hard to accept at the best of times, and even more confronting when the decision was taken out of your hands.

  ‘Sold?’ he said gently. ‘That’s no good. Bet that wasn’t in your plans.’

  The nurse strode over, a sympathetic look on her face.

  ‘That bump to your noggin’s making you feel poorly too, isn’t it, Winnie? Time to leave her be, folks, all this shop talk is too much.’

  Toby and Holly moved to the door. Mrs Beggs’ tired voice rang through the room.

  ‘Toby, can you put an article about the shop sale in your paper? You never know what buyers might come out of the woodwork to make an offer.’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll give it front-page billing, if you like? Shall I run the article past you first?’

  Mrs Beggs closed her eyes again. ‘I trust you, Toby. Haven’t read an article of yours that wasn’t fair and honest.’

  He gave her his word. ‘Leave it with me.’

  Lara’s heart felt full as she watched Cameron pass Lucy around among the cousins. ‘Hold her neck properly,’ he said, sounding more grown up than ever as he rearranged Harry’s grip.

  Eddie Patterson bounded over to greet her, his ever-present delight clear on his face.

  ‘Lara, Lara, Lara!’ He squished her into an enthusiastic hug. Lara gently untangled herself while her ribs were still intact. Tim’s brother was as gentle as a lamb with the children, particularly his new niece, though sometimes around the adults he forgot his own strength. ‘Uncle Eddie!’ he said, pointing a finger to his chest, beaming widely.

  ‘She’s a beauty, Eddie,’ Lara agreed.

  He seemed thrilled with the praise, but suddenly his face fell. ‘Mrs Beggs. No good,’ he said, his face creasing with concern. ‘No shop.’

  Lara nodded. As a young man with Down Syndrome, there weren’t many job opportunities for Eddie in Bridgefield, and although he loved helping Tim on the farm, his self-confidence had skyrocketed since he started volunteering at the shop.

  ‘Mrs Beggs will be better soon, mate,’ said Lara, taking another look at the blonde cousins all lined up on the couch.

  Only Evie missing, she thought wistfully. Lara caught herself. Moping around wouldn’t make Evie’s absence any more bearable. She had to be patient and wait for the next long weekend.

  The kitchen was full of conversation and gentle jibes as the four sisters prepared the meal together. It wasn’t until dessert had been cleared away, the men had finished the dishes and Annabel’s treasured china returned to the hutch that the adults migrated to the back deck.

  Lara nestled into the wicker chair and looked out to the Grampians.

  ‘Reckon Dallas Ruggles will handle the shop?’ Diana asked.

  The rest of the family turned to look at Lara. She and Dallas had been in the same year at high school, often working the same holiday shifts at the store, and she’d picked up the slack for him on many occasions.

  ‘Dallas couldn’t organise his way out of a paper bag. I don’t know why Mrs Beggs didn’t sack him long ago.’

  ‘That’s family for you,’ said Angie. ‘What about Octavia? She’s the more reliable of the casuals. Mrs Beggs could leave her in charge.’

  ‘Hip replacement last month,’ said Lara. And cancer riddling her body again. Like many of the health issues in the community, it wasn’t Lara’s secret to share. She sipped her wine instead.

  ‘If Mum were here, she’d be holding the fort,’ said Angie.

  Lara knew it was true. Annabel McIntyre had always been a doer, and her four daughters prided themselves on upholding the family tradition.

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Beggs will be back on her feet soon,’ offered Lara. But even as she said the words, she wondered how many more years Mrs Beggs had planned to carry such a load. As well as selling newspapers and distributing mail, she hired teenagers during the school holidays, gave opportunities to people who needed them, including Eddie, and employed a baker on Wednesdays to make a week’s worth of mouthwatering pies. Not with a knackered shoulder, she won’t be.

  Diana shrugged. ‘We can’t be without a shop.’

  ‘Blokes at the stock agency reckon Dallas would sell the place out from under her if she turned her back for a minute,’ said Pete. ‘Nobody round here would let that happen to her, though.’

  ‘Course they wouldn’t. This is Bridgefield we’re talking about,’ said Tim.

  Lara raised an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t mean everyone’s a saint, though.’

  ‘No …’ Tim studied his boots. He’d once been friends with Lara’s ex-husband, Sam Kingsley, but when she’d finally revealed his secrets, Tim had been the first to help bring him to justice. ‘No, but we look out for our own. Someone will snap u
p the shop the second it comes on the market.’

  Diana nudged her father. ‘Great retirement plan?’

  Angus laughed. ‘It’s crossed my mind. But I’m not much use with a bung arm. And I couldn’t do twelve-hour days again.’ He looked out over the paddocks. ‘I met your mother in that store, you know.’

  The four sisters exchanged an indulgent look. They’d heard the story many times, but they still loved how Angus told it as if it were the first.

  ‘She’d stopped for a bite to eat when I was collecting my mail. Best thing I ever picked up in that shop,’ he said, nostalgia clouding his voice.

  Lara tried to imagine a younger version of her father clapping eyes on the beautiful Annabel amid the shelves of groceries and newspapers.

  ‘So, we wouldn’t all be sitting here watching the sunset if it weren’t for Mrs Beggs’ famous pies?’ Diana’s tone was thoughtful.

  ‘No two ways about it, love,’ said Angus. The family fell into silence for a few moments.

  ‘What about those community consortiums? Like they formed for St Brigid’s church near Koroit, and the store in Balmoral,’ Diana asked, draining her glass.

  Penny lifted her chin. ‘I think it’s a great idea. If we hadn’t bought those extra paddocks and cattle we’d consider it, but the budget won’t stretch much further this season.’

  ‘We don’t even know how long Mrs Beggs is going to be away,’ said Lara. ‘Surely Dallas can hold the fort for a few weeks?’ But Lara knew that a bustling business like the Bridgefield General Store needed more than Dallas holding the fort. In the long term, someone was going to have to step up.

  It was late afternoon on Sunday when Toby drove Holly back to Ballarat. His parents’ home and the little cottage he was renting in Bridgefield were of a similar era, but there was a very different vibe between the two.

  Flowers spilled onto the driveway of the house he’d grown up in. Hoses were coiled by every tap and the path to the front door was neatly edged, inviting guests to enter. Maybe his place would feel a little cosier if he took a leaf out of his mother’s book and added more flowers, shrubs and herbs. She was sure to be a fount of knowledge on hardy plants he might start with.