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  ‘You are.’ Josh persisted. ‘He rings you and you answer. Talking to him, sitting with him at meetings. You should be distancing yourself from him.’

  Anger flared now. ‘And how do you propose I do that? He’s the president and I’m the bloody secretary. It’s pretty normal we should have conversations. I can’t believe you’re even thinking like this.’

  ‘Well, I am. And you need to listen to me. I can see how it looks to everyone else. And I’ve seen how he looks at you. I’m sure you don’t want to be the talk of the town.’ Josh stuck out his chin and Laura had the unexpected urge to hit him.

  ‘If you don’t trust me, Josh, why are you going out with me?’ She stared straight into his eyes.

  ‘I trust you, but I don’t trust Jim. The best thing to do is take yourself away from the situation.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Laura exploded. ‘The whole conversation is bloody stupid. You sound just like your mother!’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh,’ she nodded her head, ‘that’s where all this is coming from. Glenda. She doesn’t like me. Never has.’ Josh’s stepmother had all kinds of pretensions. Who knew what the socialite farmer’s wife thought of their relationship? Laura crossed her arms. ‘Let me tell you, I don’t care what the town thinks about me and I really don’t care what your mother thinks. I’m not resigning from my position just because she doesn’t approve.’ She began to walk away.

  ‘Laura! I didn’t mean for us to fight,’ Josh called.

  ‘Well, I don’t know where you thought the conversation was heading, bringing up that sort of rubbish. I have to go. I have things to do.’ She looked over her shoulder with disbelief on her face. ‘When you’re ready to apologise, call me.’

  ‘Me? Apologise for what?’

  Laura didn’t answer. She kept walking back to her ute. She put her handbag on the roof of the car and dug her keys out of her pocket. Forgetting her bag, she drove off, her cheeks red with anger. At some point on the journey home her bag blew off the ute roof. It wasn’t until she got home to Nambina that she realised what had happened, and that her precious diary had also gone for good.

  ‘Come on, Laurs! If you don’t get off that farm, you’re going to turn into a sheep.’ Meghan always overstated things. That’s just the way she was.

  Laura laughed. ‘Don’t be dense! Anyway, I was at the Young Farmers’ meeting a couple of nights ago. I’m still going out, not welded to the yards just yet.’

  ‘But tomorrow’s Friday. You’ve got to come to the pub. We always go.’

  ‘I know, I know, but I’m just so tired, Meghan. I really need an early night.’ In all honesty Laura couldn’t think of anything worse than going to a smoke-filled, beer-smelling, yahooing pub. Even with her best friend. And how would she explain not drinking?

  Meghan lowered her voice and Laura imagined her friend glancing around to make sure her mother wasn’t about. Laura now had a clear idea how Glenda felt about her relationship with Josh, and it wasn’t good. She’d obviously been in Meghan and Josh’s ear.

  Howie had implied as much when Laura, ashen faced, told him about her argument with Josh in the park.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the Josh I know,’ he’d said. ‘What’s got into him? Or who has?’

  ‘That’s not the point. How could he stand there and accuse me of something I haven’t done?’ Laura had fumed.

  With a little placating Howie had managed to calm her, but Laura still felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. The two phone calls she’d had with Josh since had been stilted and she wasn’t sure she could forget it until he apologised.

  Now Meghan was talking in hushed tones down the line. ‘Josh is worried about you, and I am too,’ she said. ‘You’re so tired all the time. Josh said you overreacted to something he said last week and you look pale. Are you sick?’

  Laura ignored the jibe about her so-called overreaction and closed her eyes, wishing with all her might she could tell Meghan. That she could halve the load. In fact, she got as far as opening her mouth before stopping herself again. Josh had to know first.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just a little rundown. After all, it’s not just the farm, it’s all the other things I’m involved in.’ She took the opportunity to change the subject. ‘Did you know I’m on five different committees? I counted them.’

  ‘Don’t doubt it.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to arrange to get Catherine back down here. She runs empowering and communications courses for women now. But she’s so hard to pin down. So busy! I’d love to be able to do something like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Not really, Laura.’ Meghan determinedly turned the topic back to what she wanted to talk about. ‘You haven’t even got time for Josh or me these days.’ Her tone was whiny, laced with reproach.

  Laura sighed inwardly and rubbed her forehead. Lord, she was exhausted and the gruelling schedule she had created for herself since she took over Nambina hadn’t helped. Of course, neither had the little one inside her. The doctor had, in a loving way, described an unborn baby as a ‘parasite’—a being that leaches all the goodness out of its mother. Apparently it wasn’t unusual to feel the way she did.

  As much as she loved Meghan, there was no doubt she was needy at times. Today, Laura wasn’t sure she had the energy. ‘Look, how about we have a lunch at Nambina on Sunday? I’ve got an Agricultural Society meeting in the morning, but I’ll be home by eleven.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, that’s if Jason hasn’t had another fabulous idea that needs ten hours of discussion, as he usually does.’ Laura tried to remember what was in the freezer. ‘I’ll do a roast in the Weber.’

  There was a pause. ‘I’d like that. I . . .’ Meghan broke off. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Irrational fear shot through Laura as she wondered if there was any way Meghan could know she was pregnant. She was a nurse, after all. Maybe she’d noticed something.

  ‘What’s up?’ Laura said.

  ‘I’ve finally got a diagnosis.’

  ‘Oh hell, Meghan. What a bloody awful friend I’ve been. I forgot to ring you and ask. Damn, I don’t know how that happened. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff, I completely forgot that you’d been to see that doctor.’

  In fact, Laura knew exactly why she’d forgotten—the argument with Josh and the fact she’d lost her diary. When she arrived home and realised what had happened, she’d spent the rest of the day buying a new phone and trying to track down what meetings she had over the next month. It had been a nightmare.

  Josh hadn’t thought to mention Meghan in either of their conversations, either.

  ‘What did Dr Jones say?’ she asked gently.

  ‘He’s pretty sure I’ve got endometriosis.’ Meghan’s voice cracked and Laura listened as her friend took a breath before going on. ‘They’ve got to do more tests, but he’s just about certain I can’t have children.’ Meghan sniffled. ‘You know how much I love kids—that’s why I trained as a paediatric nurse. It’s why I help at the kindy on my days off. I couldn’t wait to have my own, when I met the right guy, Laurs. And now, maybe I can’t.’ Her voice broke.

  Laura choked down a gasp.

  Chapter 3

  2000

  It was always amazing to Laura how quickly the weather could change. When she’d risen, the sun, still below the horizon, was throwing crimson rays on the leaden clouds. There were patches of blue and a hope that the day would see the clouds lift.

  ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherds’ warning,’ she’d said to herself as she glanced uneasily around the sky. ‘What will today hold?’

  It would hold a new beginning, she’d decided. She’d spoken with Josh the previous evening, both of them concerned about how Meghan was taking the news of her diagnosis. They’d also made plans to catch up that evening, and she was determined, this time, to break the news to Josh, whatever happened.

  Now the wind had picked up, the blue sky was hidden by clouds and a light rain was falling. Laura squelched through the she
ep yards, her rubber boots sticking. She wasn’t complaining, though. Howie always said there was money in mud, not in dust. There was definitely some mud this season.

  Laura climbed up onto the loading ramp, and spotted Rusty, the dark red cat, silently regarding the movement in the yards from a dry spot under a bush. They were the only farmers she knew of who had a yard cat instead of a yard dog. Rusty chose to walk behind the sheep as they were being brought into the yards, casually winding his way from one side of the mob to the other, just as a sheep dog would. It made Laura laugh every time she saw it.

  She’d found Rusty as a tiny kitten, eyes barely open, in the middle of the yards during a hot summer’s day. The kitten’s mother was nowhere in sight. Feeling sorry for the tiny creature, Laura had taken him home and cared for him. But there was a built-in wildness in Rusty’s little frame and he’d fought her, not wanting to be confined inside the house.

  As he grew, there had been days he’d disappeared and nights he hadn’t returned, and Laura had feared he’d been bitten by a snake or injured somehow. But, like a homing pigeon, Rusty always reappeared and in time they came to an arrangement that suited them both. He never slept in the house and Laura stopped trying to encourage him. She knew now he lived in one of the sheds, and would always turn up at the sheep yards whenever there was work to be done.

  ‘Hello, Rusty,’ she called now. She smiled when she saw how the cat ignored her, looking away to wash his paw. ‘Hello to you, my life saver,’ she said, her sarcasm evident.

  She whistled to her black and white border collie, Dash, and called him to heel. The ewe lambs were skittish today and pushing them hard would make them worse.

  ‘You won’t ignore me today, will you?’ she asked the dog. ‘Come on, come behind, Dash.’ She leaned against the fence, trying to catch her breath. ‘Don’t reckon we’ll need you much today, mate. Not that you’re much good in the yards. The paddock is more your style, hey? Now, go and sit down.’

  She was still feeling squeamish from breakfast and the morning sickness was getting harder to hide. Her usual coffee routine had changed to a cup of tea—if, in fact, she could stomach anything at all—and her choice of beverage to accompany her nightly discussion with Howie had gone from a glass of wine to an iced tea.

  And she was so tired. So tired.

  If he was aware anything was different, Howie wasn’t letting on. But she’d caught him looking at her with concern this morning as, pale faced, she’d tried to walk calmly from the kitchen to the toilet, when she really needed to run. He must suspect something, she thought.

  In a rush of clattering hooves, the ewes pushed down the raceway and squashed up against each other. Clanging the gate shut behind them, Laura leaned over to inspect the first one. Using her thumb and pointer finger, she parted the wool on the sheep’s hip and looked at the crimps. Brushing it back together, she repeated the process in three other spots of the fleece and gave the animal a once-over. Good feet, no undershot jaw. The ewe needed to have a good size and frame about her.

  She ran her hand over the head, checking for the layout of the wool. If there was a chance crutching would be late, she didn’t want any of them getting wool blindness.

  ‘I reckon this one’s a keeper,’ she said to Dash, who was now curled up out of the wind.

  She moved on to the next ewe and the next. By the time she had reached the last one, there were only two culls with red marks on their heads.

  Glancing at the four hundred sheep she still had to check, she unchained the gate. She’d have to work more quickly. She gave a short, high whistle, then waited for Dash to hunt the ewes. The dog barked and, with a leap, the flighty animals charged towards the opening.

  ‘Whoa there, you lot. Settle down,’ she muttered.

  Concentrating, and looking for the redheads, she counted the ewes as they ran towards her and within moments there were none left. The two culls were drafted off into a smaller yard and the others milled around in a larger one, sniffing each other and calling for their mates.

  Laura turned around and started all over again. With only fifty or so left, she finally had a break and drank deeply from her water bottle. She closed her eyes, trying to rest for a moment. She felt Rusty wind his way around her legs.

  ‘Oh, feeling social now, are you?’ she asked, reaching down to pat him. Her smile widened as his purr started and his eyes shut. Her fingers traced his chin and cheek, and she marvelled that an animal could be so soft. She took her hand away and stretched, back aching. Rusty reached up onto her calf with his two front legs and dug in his claws.

  She let out a squeal. ‘Ow! Rusty, don’t do that.’ Laura pushed the cat away.

  With a haughty look, Rusty leapt onto the yard rails and stalked off. ‘Yeah, well, if you weren’t so bloody nasty . . .’ she began and felt a cold, wet nose touching her hand. She looked down to see Dash’s eyes, one blue and one brown, staring at her.

  ‘Glad you haven’t got claws like that.’

  He pushed at her again.

  Automatically, she touched the flat spot between his ears. ‘Jealous, are you? Need a pat?’ She looked across the yards. ‘We’re not doing too badly here. I reckon there’re only about forty culls out of four hundred and fifty. I’m happy with that. Those new rams Papa and I bought from Sharpe’s last year have pulled this breeding program into line.’

  Dash didn’t say anything.

  Laura laughed quietly as she looked at the bliss on his face. ‘I wish I had your worries, Dash-a-dog. Only caring where your next feed or pat comes from. You think you’ll be able to babysit for me, later? Tell me if the baby is crying?’

  She looked across the green paddocks and saw the misty shadow of another light rain shower approaching. She pushed herself off the fence. ‘And while we’re talking about it, have you got any idea how I’m going to tell the three most important men in my life?’ She stared down at him. ‘Okay, sorry. Four, but you already know. Come on, let’s finish up before we get wet.’ She looked around and saw that the cat had well and truly disappeared. ‘And that’s probably the last we’ll see of Rusty today, so I won’t be telling him.’

  The clanking of the chain on the iron gate scared the last of the sheep and they piled on top of one another against the fence.

  ‘Man, you guys are feral,’ she muttered. Turning to the dog, she raised her voice. ‘Get out, Dashy. Out of the yards. I don’t think we need any extra force.’

  Dash barked loudly, ignoring her instructions.

  ‘Shut up!’

  Quietly she walked back along the fence, reaching down to turn their heads with her hands. One ewe saw the narrow race and cantered towards it, taking her friends with her. Laura pushed the last one in with her knee and shut the gate, yanking the chain hard.

  ‘Must be the weather,’ she said, as the pitter-patter of rain started on the tin roof covering the raceway.

  Laura grabbed the red rattle from her pocket and marked a ewe with an undershot jaw. Startled at the force, the ewe reared up, planting its two front feet on the animal in front of it. The ewe’s head had caught Laura under her jaw and the thump of skull on bone made her see double for a moment. She let out a screech. Tears welled and she grabbed at her head.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ she gasped, trying to shake the pain in her teeth away. ‘Bitch!’ She turned away from the race and stood still until the pain had eased slightly.

  She had to keep going, even though the throbbing was still there. Only another eight ewes and she’d be finished. Cranky at being hurt and unable to yell without her head ringing, she yanked opened the gate and gestured to Dash. ‘Go back. Fetch ’em up.’

  The sheep started to run. Nine, ten, eleven, she counted. Laura saw the red mark and waited until it was nearly at the end of the race, then pulled the drafting gate across to make the ewe run out into the other pen.

  Realising her escape route had been closed off, the ewe began to slow down, her feet sliding along the ground. And then she jumped. She’d tri
ed to clear the barrier and follow her mates, but the ewe jumped straight into Laura’s stomach, knocking her flat on the ground.

  The next thing Laura knew, Dash’s warm body was curled up next to her and Rusty was sitting heavily on her chest, his rough tongue licking her chin.

  And there was a cramping agony rippling through her abdomen.

  Chapter 4

  1937

  Thomas breathed heavily against the cold air that had snuck into the enclosed verandah between the glass louvres. He touched the spot on his cheek where, only hours before, his father had smashed his fist. Gently he rubbed at it, trying to brush away the pain and all the emotion that went with it.

  Staring down at the man who was supposed to love and protect his children, Thomas could feel nothing but hatred. Ernest lay across the sun lounge, mouth wide open, large belly shuddering with each alcohol-infused breath. A pig-like snort came from his nose.

  Near the sun lounge stood an old and nearly dead pot plant. Thomas loved that plant. It was the only thing belonging to his mother that his father hadn’t destroyed when she left, and Thomas had done his best to keep it lush and green. He hadn’t done a very good job.

  As Thomas checked his rucksack, Ernest rolled over before falling off the couch and onto the floor. The snoring stopped for a moment and so did the boy, terrified. Then it started again. Even louder than before.

  Thomas closed his eyes briefly and made a hurried inventory of what he had grabbed from the room he shared with his brother. He was taking very little, but not because he was travelling light. He didn’t have much to take. Just a few clothes, some food from the pantry and the chain his mother had given him. It was wrapped up tightly, right at the bottom of the bag.

  Thomas glanced again at the lump of a man and knew he wouldn’t move any time soon. This scene had played out many times before. The boy felt sick with revulsion: it made him tremble, made his stomach roll, made him want to hold a pillow over that ugly, bearded face and put a stop to everything. He shook himself. There was no place for those sorts of thoughts.