She scowled. Tien had been after her for the last three years to complete a stat dec so she could become a silent elector and have her residential details hidden. It was typical of him to focus on mundane practicalities and so like her to be too busy to bother. ‘Nope. I haven’t changed my electoral details to my new address yet,’ she said triumphantly.
‘Like your chronic procrastination over literally anything that isn’t to do with work is proactive behaviour?’ Tien’s glasses slipped down his nose as he hiked one eyebrow. ‘Come on, Jemma, you’ve got to be more careful. Although …’ He regarded the paper thoughtfully. ‘“You are being watched”. Cliché enough to be ripped straight from a Hollywood thriller, isn’t it?’
‘Depends—are we talking trope or just plain dope?’ she said, trying to inject a little humour. She should never have let Tien read the note, which had been living in her pocket for the last fortnight.
‘I mean, could it be someone trying to be funny? Like maybe … an old boyfriend, or something?’ Tien’s gaze slid from hers. Any second now, he’d start blushing.
‘You know I’m married to the job. No boyfriend, old, young or otherwise.’
In her final year of university, Jemma had allowed Kain the label of boyfriend. While she was buried beneath the demands of study and focused on clawing her way up the legal ladder, Kain had been the ideal partner: attractive, easygoing, undemanding. Being with him—when it suited her—had made far more sense than putting effort and time she didn’t have into dating. If she was busy, Kain was happy to play computer games or take himself to the gym. But when she required a plus-one for a function, he was the perfect accessory. ‘Ken Doll’, her colleagues had nicknamed him: perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfectly attired. He’d carry her coat and handbag, stand dutifully by her side, fetch her drinks, and knew better than to initiate conversation with her peers. At least, not after the first time, when she’d allowed him to escort her to the Law Ball, and he’d embarrassed her by admitting that he worked as a bank teller and had no career drive. She’d made it abundantly clear that no one got to humiliate her twice. The warning was more leeway than she’d given her mother, two decades earlier.
She took the note from Tien and screwed it up. ‘But you’re right. It’s clearly someone’s lame idea of a joke.’ She tossed the paper into the bin alongside her desk, then held up her hand for a high five as she gave her colleague a bright, overconfident smile.
It was definitely best that she didn’t share with him the contents of yesterday’s letter, which she’d buried in the kitchen drawer.
2
Hamish
‘Don’t get me wrong, man,’ Hamish said. ‘I like being back on the farm. And I appreciate you sorting it with Dad so that I can be. But it’s just …’ He gestured at the yard surrounding the farmhouse, as though the sheds and paddocks half hidden in the twilight could flesh out his thoughts. Not that this was the place for sharing. Out in the ute checking fences, a guy might sometimes spill his guts to a mate, diluting the issue with necessary talk about sheep, weather and crops. But you never sat over a drink and talked about your problems. Not even if your best mate was your brother. Emotions weren’t something to be put into words.
Lachlan’s fingers whitened as they wrapped around the beer bottle he held out to Hamish. ‘Not going to leave me in the lurch, are you?’
‘Lach, between you and Charity, you’ve got it in the bag, man. You guys would be fine if I hauled arse. But, nope, no plans to go anywhere. Got no plans at all, actually.’ He leaned back in the wicker chair, noting the ominous creakthat suggested he’d been having too many meals at his brother’s place. Hamish had put on a mechanic in the workshop and returned to the family farm, hoping that would fill the need that gnawed incessantly at him. But while recreating his connection to the land had helped, there was still something missing. Something intangible. He was restless. Longing for something; a yearning that wasn’t based on greed, but on an unformed sense of loss. ‘Guess Mum would have said I’ve got ants in my pants.’
Funny how sometimes the mention of Mum hurt so much. This was one of those times, when the flash of memory stabbed like a blunt blade. Not cutting or slicing, but bruising. A tender spot that didn’t bleed, but also didn’t heal.
‘Charity reckons you’ve got ADHD.’
Behind them, the screen door banged and Lachlan’s partner stepped out onto the narrow verandah at the front of the farmhouse. ‘Lachlan!’ she protested, setting a tray of cold cuts on the upturned plastic chemical drum that served as a table between their chairs.
‘What?’ Lachlan assumed an innocent expression. He often teased Charity, gently challenging her characteristic seriousness. The tactic had worked: she’d lightened up considerably since moving to Settlers Bridge almost a year earlier. Yet it was Charity’s innate qualities—endlessly practical, thoughtful and attentive—that made her the perfect partner for Lachlan. She provided the stability and security Hamish’s brother needed.
That steadiness meant Charity flew a bit too close to being boring, Hamish thought as he picked up a slice of ham and waved down her embarrassment. ‘Fair call. You wouldn’t be the first teacher to suggest it. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask, is your sister coming up again anytime soon?’
‘Faith and Skye are staying over next weekend,’ Charity said with a knowing grin.
‘The other one.’
‘Ah, the sweet, kind sister, you mean?’ Lachlan chuckled.
Hamish snorted. Hope was a firecracker. About ten years younger than Charity and as different from her and their middle sister, Faith, as it was possible to be. And, yeah, she was the sister he meant.
‘I thought you two had landed on being just … you know, friends?’ Charity said.
Friends with benefits, on occasion, but no need for Charity to know that. Hamish shook his head. ‘Haven’t you noticed Hope never travels alone? Every time she visits, the male–female balance in Settlers Bridge takes a bit of a wobble back in the right direction.’
A curling breeze drifted a wisp of hair across Charity’s face, and Hamish and Lachlan both looked in the direction of the prevailing weather. It was getting too dark to see clouds, but they’d be able to smell if there was rain on the way.
Nothing.
Charity retied her ponytail. ‘You know you’ll never persuade any of Hope’s friends to stay out here?’ she said in her trademark anxious tone. He’d never met anyone who worried so much about other people’s thoughts and feelings. ‘They’re city girls, Ham. Only out for a good time. Or a rich grazier.’
‘Then, as I’m definitely not the latter, it’s only fair I make an effort to be there for the former.’
Lachlan pulled Charity down onto his lap. ‘Come on, Charity, let the kids have their fun.’
‘You’ll make me all dirty,’ she protested, pushing ineffectually against him.
