Bottlebrush Creek Page 9

  The alarm clock trilled on the bedside table. 4.30 a.m. Angie crawled out of bed, eyes bleary as she instinctively felt for exercise clothes laid out the night before, only for her fingertips to find stiff denim and a fleecy jumper instead of soft lycra. Ugh, milking time.

  Rob flicked on the bedside light, sparking a wail from Claudia’s bed. ‘Sorry, little princess, we’ve got to get up.’

  Every fibre in Angie’s body rebelled against the notion of deliberately waking Claudia now that she was finally sleeping through. She’d fleetingly thought of asking Tessa or Bobbi to stay the night, or come around early, to avoid waking Claudia, but had discarded the idea just as quickly. Where would a babysitter sleep in the tiny caravan? And she didn’t know anyone in Port Fairview well enough to ask those types of favours. Yet.

  ‘Time to get dressed, honey. We’ll go see the cows.’

  ‘Granny and Pop milking?’

  ‘We’re milking today, Claud.’ Angie helped Claudia into her clothes and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Rob, who looked equally tired. Getting up early for a run was one thing, but she sensed she was going to need a fully functioning brain to milk cows. Rob squeezed her hand.

  ‘Two days, that’s all. I know Mum said they were happy to call in a relief milker while they were away, but it seemed stupid seeing as we’re right next door now.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t mind. They’ve got enough to worry about with their friend’s funeral. It’s not like we’ll be doing it often.’

  ‘I’ll get the cows in. See you there.’

  The cows were waiting in the yard by the time Angie flicked the dairy lights on, plugged in the vat hose and fitted the filter the way John had shown her. She slipped on the pair of khaki overalls and the plastic apron John had left for her, trying to remember what else he’d explained the afternoon before. The cows shuffled into the stalls either side of her, angle-parked with their heads facing away, keen to have the milk suctioned from their swollen udders.

  Angie began to fit the cups, cautiously at first, her hands darting in and out quickly to minimise the chances of getting kicked. A happy squeal came from the far end of the dairy. Angie looked up to see John’s border collies, Mog and Patch, sitting on either side of Claudia’s pram, daintily accepting pieces of peanut-butter toast. ‘Careful with the dogs, Claudia,’ she said, hosing down the concrete as she’d seen John do.

  Rob passed Angie in the lowered milking pit. ‘They’re probably the best-trained dogs this side of Melbourne. She’ll be fine. Should get her one of her own, really.’

  ‘I think we’ve got enough on our plate. Watch out, that cow’s about to—’ Angie pulled Rob to the side as a cow emptied her bladder.

  ‘See, I’ve lost my touch. You, on the other hand, look like you’re getting the hang of it. Don’t tell Dad, or he’ll train you up as part of his succession plan.’

  ‘Fat chance. I don’t know much about cattle. Pretty sure your dad will be carted out of here in a coffin.’

  Rob stroked a cow’s flank. ‘There’s only so long they’ll be able to manage a herd this size. Max was—’ He stopped abruptly.

  They worked in silence for a while, Angie hosing down the udders and Rob switching the cups.

  ‘Hey, you didn’t know much about building until a month ago, either, and look how well that’s working out. We could get a small herd, start tiny and build up until we’re cattle barons,’ Rob finally said.

  Angie opened her mouth to make another joke, but she stopped at the sight of his eager expression. She sprayed the next cow’s udders, trying to decide if she was pleased or concerned about Rob’s endless enthusiasm and boundless ideas. There was no doubt he was Rosa’s son.

  ‘I think we’ve got enough going on right now,’ she hedged, hoping he’d forget all about it, like his latest suggestion to turn their freestanding chimney into a pizza oven.

  The sun had been up for an hour by the time Rob patted the last of the milkers on the rump, sending them back down the laneway. They finished washing up the dairy yard. The conversation circled back to cattle as they checked the milkers had made it back to their paddock and shut the gate.

  ‘Have you heard of Speckle Park cattle?’

  Angie yawned and shook her head. Claudia mimicked her.

  ‘They’re the hottest new thing out of Canada. One of my mining mates told me about his brother’s herd, reckons they’re incredibly high yielding. They’re pretty, with a gorgeous black- and-white-speckled coat, but I’m more interested in what lies beneath the hide. His brother got a 70 per cent carcass yield. Seventy per cent, Ange! Regular British breeds typically yield about 55 per cent. It’s a goldmine.’

  ‘Hold up, we were talking about possibly getting a few cows an hour ago. Now you’re seriously considering starting a stud? I’m not sure we’re ready to add livestock breeding to our to-do list, are we?’ Angie was racking her brains trying to keep up with Rob’s train of thought.

  ‘You never know, Ange. You might love it,’ he laughed, taking her hand and whistling as he lifted Claudia over the fence.

  Angie yawned her way through the Rhythm and Rhyme class and the grocery store, then basked in the last minute of the car’s air conditioning as she pulled off Enderby Lane and into their driveway. The new sign on their fence made her smile.

  Bottlebrush Cottage.

  Rob’s tongue had poked out the corner of his mouth as he’d painted each letter, then coated the sign with so many layers of marine-grade varnish that Claudia spotted her reflection.

  She unpacked the groceries into the shed fridge. Sweat dripped down her cleavage, the fridge providing only momentary respite from the otherwise sweltering space. Hot, then rainy, and now hot again. Topsy-turvy weather.

  ‘It’s like a sauna in here,’ she groaned, switching on the pedestal fan as she made a green smoothie. Channelling her inner Bobbi, she downed a handful of almonds with brisk efficiency, focusing on the feel of her loose belt and not Rosa’s latest delivery of slice. She moved the pile of freshly printed Christmas cards to the outdoor setting. It was almost as hot outside the shed as inside, and slightly steamy after the recent rain, but at least the verandah offered shade from the belting sun and a tiny wisp of breeze.

  Angie allowed herself a moment to study the cards, admiring their first proper family portrait. Claudia stood in between her and Rob, her head not quite reaching the top of the Bottlebrush Cottage sign. The morning sunshine cast a golden glow on the weatherboards behind them. The timer had captured a flock of yellow-tailed black cockatoos sweeping through the cloudless sky above them. Although the yard was cluttered with building supplies and the lawn was scarred by plumbing trenches, the cottage had a happy aura.

  It wasn’t magazine perfect, it wasn’t even anywhere close to being habitable, but it was theirs.

  Sixteen

  Angie turned the radio down, listening to see if the noise she’d heard was just Claudia and her stack of blocks, or someone knocking on the door. The noise came again and she swung open the front door of the cottage to find a tiny lady on the front step. A bulging shopping bag dangled from each of her arms. Her hair was as white as her false teeth, and her razor-sharp gaze made Angie stand a little straighter.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Angie asked, wiping dusty hands against her shorts. The lady thrust the bags at Angie, then rebuttoned her cardigan.

  ‘I’m Mrs Ellis, a friend of Rosa. Taught your Robert at primary school, so I did. Time to downsize my dahlia patch; half an acre is too much for an old duck like me. Pop them in the ground and you’ll have cut flowers for months.’

  Angie examined the brown, soil-encrusted tubers inside the bag. Green and white shoots poked out from some, looking more like sweet potatoes than anything floral.

  ‘Thank you, but—’

  ‘No need to thank me. But get them in the ground this week, mind, so they’ll be ready for the dahlia show in March.’

  Angie pursed her lips. What was she missing here? Was she supposed to k
now something about a flower show?

  ‘It’s our twenty-fifth anniversary this year, and, as secretary, you’ll need the best stock for your entry.’

  Angie’s mouth gaped. Secretary? When did that happen? And why is this lady talking as if it’s a fait accompli?

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Mrs Ellis. We’ll be busy renovating—I don’t have time for any committees.’

  The old lady waved her hand dismissively. ‘Young people these days … too busy for reading, too busy for gardening. What’s the world coming to? Rosa’s told me all about your committee management skills. Said you’d be perfect for the job.’ She clasped Angie’s hands in her own and squeezed them with a strength belying her eighty-something years. ‘Like I always say, “If you want something done, ask a busy woman.” It’s only a tiny role, really. Bright young lass like you will run rings around us oldies.’

  Despite Angie’s protests, Mrs Ellis wouldn’t take no for answer.

  Thanks a million, Rosa, thought Angie, dumping the bag of tubers on the ground. After hearing out Mrs Ellis’s detailed instructions on how to plant, stake and tend to the water-hungry plants, she realised the secretarial role would be the least time-consuming part of the deal.

  Country music filled the ute cabin as Rob turned away from the coast and headed inland. His phone vibrated on and off throughout the drive: new clients wanting quotes, suppliers trying to sell him tools and machinery worth more than a new roof, and a call from Angie he let go straight to voicemail.

  ‘Don’t want to spoil the surprise, do we?’ he said, turning to Claudia in her car seat. She gave him a toothy grin in return and a thumbs up as the Grampians mountain range loomed on the horizon and they approached the turn-off for McIntyre Park Merino Stud. Instead of parking near the lavender hedge, where Ange always pulled up when they visited her family farm, Rob sought the shade and parked the work vehicle under a towering maple tree that had been planted by the late Annabel McIntyre.

  Rob unfolded his long legs. Stretched, breathing in the sweet spring grasses and lingering smell of wool from the nearby shearing shed. The combination was distinctly Western District, so different to the salty, sandy scents of Port Fairview, and the hot dry desert of the West Australian mine.

  He checked the crate of chickens on the ute tray as he walked past. Little red feathers poked out through the wire, the birds clucking and shuffling around as he walked to the passenger door. Rob leaned back in and unbuckled Claudia. He felt the press of paws on the back of his leg as he straightened. A young pup weaved in and out of his legs, its tail propelling its body sideways with each excited wag.

  ‘Look, Claud! Your new puppy wants to say hello,’ he said, holding out a hand. The kelpie sniffed at his hand. Rob crouched down quietly, keeping Claudia to one side as he settled the boisterous dog. ‘You’re a little beauty,’ he crooned, ruffling her fur and pushing her down to sit. The pup obliged, ears pricked, and sat to attention. ‘Gentle, Claud, she’s a bit excited,’ he said, guiding her hand over the pup’s soft fur. The interaction between the two was priceless.

  The farmhouse door creaked open and Rob looked up to see Angie’s father standing on the top step. ‘Nice-looking kelpie, Angus. Have you given her a name yet?’

  ‘That’s your job. Good to see you, mate. Snazzy ute you’ve got there.’

  Rob turned to admire the sign-writing. He still got a buzz out of seeing his business name splashed across the side of the work ute. ‘Yeah, not too shabby, thanks. Needs a wash though.’

  Angus smiled and pointed to the farm vehicles parked under the carport, each coated with a thick layer of red grime. ‘You’ve either got too much time on your hands, or too much water, if you’re worried about a little dirt. Coming in for a cuppa? Penny and Tim are out drenching, they shouldn’t be far off though.’

  ‘Yep. Coming, Claud?’ Rob scooped Claudia up into his arms and started towards the house. The pup jumped up, trying to nip her dangling feet.

  She squealed, then laughed. ‘My puppy,’ she said, squirming until Rob set her back down.

  ‘Careful with her, Claud. Don’t let her bite you.’ Rob watched the black-and-tan muzzle sniff at Claudia’s hand, then lick it gently.

  ‘I’ll stay here, Daddy.’

  ‘Grandpa and I will get a drink and we’ll be outside in a minute, okay?’ Rob kept an eye on the pair as he followed Angus inside, watching them through the window as the kettle boiled.

  ‘I guess you’ve got a birthday party planned with all her little friends tomorrow? Has Angie already given the pup a name? Hope it isn’t Scruffy or Rex. Never could quite come up with an original name when she was younger,’ said Angus, wedging the tea canister between the bench and his waist so he could remove the lid one-handed. Rob bit back an automatic offer to help. It may have been years since the farm accident, but Angus still wore his independence like a badge of honour.

  ‘Haven’t actually mentioned the pup to her yet, or the chickens. It’s a bit of an impromptu birthday present for Claud and I thought the chooks would be a nice surprise for Ange.’

  Angus shot him a quick look. ‘Good luck there, son. Angie’s hated chickens since Randy the rooster attacked her when she was ten. They mess with her asthma too. Thought she would’ve mentioned it?’

  Rob swallowed hard. He’d never asked the question. What’s not to like about chickens?‘She loves free-range eggs for her baking, though she’s barely had a chance to cook without an oven, so I just figured she’d love her own chickens. God, tell me she likes kelpies?’

  Angus peered out the window. It was hard to tell who was having the most fun—Claudia or the puppy. The pup was nestled in her arms, lapping up the attention. Rob remembered Rosa’s advice the previous week. Mum was right, every kid needs a dog.

  ‘Angie’s not too different to the little one out there. Loves a good sheep dog. Bit of training, and the pup’ll be rounding up chickens in no time,’ said Angus.

  Rob let out a sigh of relief and held the back door open for Angus. Claudia rounded the corner, pup by her side, as they eased into the wicker chairs on the farmhouse verandah.

  ‘How’s the cottage coming along?’

  Rob sipped his tea and studied the deep-blue mountain range stretching across the horizon. ‘Pretty good. Foundations are rock solid again, footings are in for the extension and the roofing iron’s arrived, ready to screw down as soon as the new wall frames are up. Humming along, really. How’re things up here?’

  Angus stared out at the golden paddocks. ‘Dry as a bone, and it’s not even proper summer yet. Already started feeding out, might have to de-stock if it keeps up. You got much grass in your paddocks? I’ll send a truckload of woolly lawnmowers down your way if you need some help?’

  Rob laughed. ‘Sorry, you’re too late. Dad extended his herd the minute we signed the papers, so most of our paddocks are full of Friesians. And hopefully cash crops and a few specialty-breed calves if all goes to plan.’

  Angus nodded as Rob settled back in his chair and filled his future father-in-law in on everything he knew about Speckle Park cattle, his plans to start their own herd and the calves he’d paid a deposit for.

  Angie almost felt like a Port Fairview local as she whizzed through the hardware store, knowing which aisles she needed for building supplies, plus the gardening items on her shopping list. A queue had formed behind her by the time Wally finished ringing up her purchases.

  ‘Just on the home account, thanks, Wally. You’ll be pleased the town is humming before school holidays even kick off?’

  Wally’s lined face creased into a smile as the electric doors slid open and another stream of customers poured in. ‘Shaping up to be our best summer yet. Now, before I get silly-season fatigue and forget, Rosa was in here the other day, mentioned you were a fundraising guru. Can I tempt you to join the Tidy Towns committee? I know you’ve got your hands full with your little one and renos, but we need every cent if we’re
going to keep our title for the fourth consecutive year. Camperdown is champing at the bit to take our spot and Rosa said your bake sales are a cash bonanza.’

  Did she now? What else has Rob told Rosa during their phone calls?

  Angie thought of the kitchen benches back in their old rental, regularly laden with all manner of biscuits, cakes, muffins and slices for bake sales over the last few years, despite their temperamental oven. Their new cottage kitchen would be twice the size, but instead of filling her with joy, the idea of obligatory committee baking made her head pound.

  ‘Can I get back to you?’ Angie forced an apologetic smile, grabbed her trolley and almost took out a stand of camping chairs in her haste to leave. The queue surged forwards and she was grateful the store was busy. A lack of customers would have presented Wally with way too much time for persuasion.

  ‘We’ll talk about it next time,’ Wally called after her.

  Angie nodded and raced out the door, hoping festive fatigue would well and truly wipe the idea from the shopkeeper’s memory.

  Back home, she unloaded the car in a rush, hoping she’d have enough time to make Claudia’s birthday treats before she and Rob returned home. Next year I’ll make her a whopping big cake, Angie thought. But this year, it would be a fruit sculpture. She cut the fruit into perfect squares and threaded them onto skewers. Before she knew it, the watermelon was covered with spikes of multi-coloured fruit kebabs. She was pleased with the end result. The only thing left to do was make room in the fridge for the colourful centrepiece and ensure Claudia didn’t see it until her party tomorrow. Angie was just about to transfer it to the fridge when a knock came at the shed door.

  ‘Cooeee!’ said Rosa. ‘Special delivery for the birthday girl.’

  Angie gasped at the pink monstrosity in Rosa’s arms. It wasn’t just a cake, it was a double-decker princess fairy castle cake decorated with every type of sweet imaginable. Rainbow sour-strap flags waved from turrets, musk sticks held up the drawbridge, marshmallows lined the roof, there were chocolate-chip windows and the whole thing floated on a cloud of fairy floss.