“Got everything?”
“I think so.” Jess frowned at the car. “Too bad if I haven’t, I don’t think much else will fit in there.”
“True that.”
They both stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the overflowing car.
“Well… I guess this is it, eh?”
Lucy bit her lip. “I suppose it is.”
Jess hugged Lucy hard.
“Good luck, wench.”
“You too, trollop.” They both laughed.
“Luce, you need to let go.”
“I don’t want to.”
She finally did though.
“Hopefully we’ll wake up in a few mornings and find out that they’ve diverted it or whatever, and we can resume life as usual,” Jess said.
“Yeah. They’ll have to think of something. Surely.”
“But in the meantime, you take care and be careful.”
“You too.”
“Keep in touch.”
“Thanks for being such a good friend, Jess.”
“Oh come on, don’t get sappy on me, Black.” Jess punched Lucy on the arm and started crying. “Damn it, now you’ve made me cry.”
“Sorry,” Lucy half-laughed as she wiped her own tears away.
“I’m gonna go now before I start crying buckets.”
“Drive safe. Let me know when you get home.”
“Likewise.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Present…
Lucy savoured every moment of the ride home, but it was over too quickly. Time has a funny habit of speeding up when we least want it to. She tried to take everything in and to notice it all, the piercing blue sky, the rustling of the gum trees, the warbling of the magpies, the scurrying of the little sunbathing skinks as they fled the horses oncoming hooves, Lightning’s warmth and deep even breathes. She even took notice of the slight wind lifting the hair off her neck, the persistent fly that seemed fascinated with her nose, the sound of Lightning’s hooves on the road. The damn fly!
Too soon for her liking, Lightning turned into the driveway. The dogs came racing up to meet horse and rider, barking excitedly. Lucy nudged Lightning into a trot and approached the house. She looked at it, almost with a stranger’s eyes. The house was rambling and welcoming. It was part of the landscape, like it had been there forever and would be there forever more, surviving drought, bush fires, floods and inheritance. Not massive asteroids though.
Lucy unsaddled Lightning and lingered over his last brushing. He seemed to enjoy it; although he enjoyed the apples she gave him when she put him back in the paddock more. She gave him a hug and kissed him on the nose, before heading back inside.
“Mum! Dad! I’m back,” she called out as soon as she opened the back door.
“In the study, sweetheart,” Liz replied. “How was Tim?” Liz asked as Lucy walked into the small, sunny room.
“Okay. Considering. I invited him to come here for it.”
Liz smacked her forehead. “Of course, I should have suggested it. Did he come back with you?” she asked, looking behind Lucy.
“No, he’s not coming.”
“What? Why ever not?” Liz frowned in puzzlement.
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he wants to be alone. Alone with his thoughts and his whiskey and his memories.”
“That poor boy, he’s been through so much.”
“We all have, Mum.”
“That’s true, but… well, I wouldn’t wish that family’s past year on anyone.”
“I wish we’d found Beth,” Lucy sighed.
“Of course.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Just washing up, he’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay, I think I might too. What are you looking at?” Lucy asked as she belatedly registered that her mother was surrounded by scattered photo albums.
“Baby photos, yours and Claire’s, and mine… and some of your grandmother’s. Your Gran looks so young in these.” Liz handed a photo to Lucy. There was a young redheaded woman holding a newborn baby, with a black haired toddler clutching her skirt.
“Is that you?”
“I’m the baby. That’s your Aunt Mary.” Liz pointed to the toddler.
“Was Grandma’s hair really that colour?”
“Yep, she was a natural red-head. Your Grandma was quite disappointed that she never had any redheads herself. Just Mary’s black, my mousy brown and Greg’s blond.”
“She must have been happy when Patrick was born then.” Patrick was Lucy’s cousin, Aunt Mary’s youngest.
Liz smiled fondly at the photo. “Yes, she was.”
They spent the next half hour looking through the old photographs until Lucy’s father came looking for them. The smell of cologne preceded him into the room.
“Wow, Dad, you look spiffy!” Lucy and Liz both looked up at Bill admiringly. He had somehow managed to tame his unruly hair, trimmed his beard, managed to get the dirt out from under his fingernails that, Lucy swore, had been under there since she was a child.
“Just dressing for the occasion,” he said.
“What, dying?” Lucy asked with a furrowed brow.
“No. The last supper.”
“Oh. Right, suppose I’d better too!” Lucy got up. Her father sunk into the spot she’d just vacated and started looking at the photos in Liz’s hands.
Lucy paused just outside the door and listened to her parents reminiscing about a family holiday they’d taken to Perth when Lucy had been seven. She smiled fondly and made her way to the bathroom. It was still steamy from her father. She took her time in the shower, refusing to feel guilty. What was the point of saving water now? She inhaled the scent of the mango body-wash and enjoyed the feeling of the bubbles all over her skin. She turned the taps off once she started to get bored, and then dried herself under the heat light.
Hair wrapped in a towel, she stood in front of her wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. Something nice. She ran her hands through her dresses hanging there, considering.
“You look lovely,” Liz said when Lucy came into the kitchen a while later. She’d settled on the dress that her mother had given her last Christmas, and actually made an effort with her hair and make-up for the first time in weeks.
“Thanks, Mum. Like Dad said, better dress for the occasion.”
Liz nodded approvingly.
“What can I do?” Lucy asked, eying the kitchen bench which had bunches of herbs and piles of fruit and vegetables on it.
“The chicken’s already in the oven, your Dad’s just gone out to pick some basil for me, you can cut the potatoes for the roast while I finish up the lasagne. Thanks, love,” Liz said as she pushed a chopping board toward Lucy. Lucy went into the pantry and grabbed a half dozen large potatoes, plonked them in the sink and started peeling them. After she’d chopped up the potatoes, her mother pushed carrots, broccoli, cauliflower and pumpkin in her direction.
“Bleh, Mum, I hate pumpkin.”
“Too bad, I love it, and we’re having it,” Liz said firmly. Bill winked at her from his reclaimed spot stirring at the stove.
The kitchen was warm and full of mouth-watering smells. Lucy thought it was pleasant, all of them cooking together. It was usually a solo job for whoever’s turn it was cooking that night. Lucy smiled to herself again as she listened to her parents exchange light-hearted banter.
One of the dogs stuck his head around the corner, watching them with bright, alert and hopeful eyes. The dogs weren’t allowed in the kitchen, and they knew it, but it didn’t stop them from trying their luck every now and then. The smell of the roast chicken made it a most tempting challenge.
Lucy stopped chopping.
“What are we going to do with the dogs?” She looked up at her parents, who glanced at each other. “And the cat, she just had her kittens this morning… I know the horses and the goats can’t fit into the shelter… but…”