‘You make it sound like I should keep one myself,’ Evie said.
Paul stood stiffly then shuffled around the table to wedge himself between his wife and granddaughter. He put an arm around Evie’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. ‘Even the most loyal hound won’t look at you with as much adoration as I do, my Evie. But you know I keep telling you to choose one for company when I’m gone.’
‘Pops,’ Sam said, a sob in her voice. ‘Don’t.’
‘What’s that?’ Paul cupped his hearing aid. ‘You bring Pandora here to lock up my last wishes all tight and legal, but I’m not supposed to talk about death? How do I plan for after if I’m not allowed to mention it?’
‘Pops, I can’t manage—’ Sam started, then hid her face in her hands.
An unfamiliar wash of empathy cinched Jemma’s chest and she swallowed hard.
‘Of course you can,’ Pops said. ‘You’ve always been able to, Samantha. And now you’ve got Pierce to look after you, I don’t need to worry about that other bludger.’ Jemma assumed the reference was to Sam’s ex-husband. ‘Though that’s not to say that you can’t have a pup as well, if that’s what you’re angling at. There’s nothing much that a good dog can’t fix.’
‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ Evie said. ‘Your grandfather is talking rubbish, as usual. He knows full well that he’s irreplaceable. I’d need to take on at least half-a-dozen puppies to cause meone-tenth of the trouble he does. Besides, I won’t be hanging round all that long after him. We just need to get this place sorted for you and Jack. Don’t want certain people waltzing back in, trying to lay claim to what’s always been yours.’
Sam shook her head miserably. ‘You know this is all we ever talk about now?’
‘That’s what happens when something’s on your to-do list, but it doesn’t get done,’ Paul said, patting Sam’s shoulder clumsily. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll get it sorted. Then everything will be right as rain.’
Paul was correct: conversation was what happened when action was lacking. The subject of their imminent demise and the division of their assets had obviously been the morbid topic at every gathering for the past few months. If visits to her own grandparents were like that, instead of a riotous tumble of noise and joy and life, Jemma suspected she would find herself at their table less often.
Jemma pressed a kiss into the nape of the puppy’s neck, set him back down with the others, then straightened. ‘So I’ll take care of this paperwork for you and we won’t get any outsiders involved.’ It was odd how the inference that she wasn’t an ‘outsider’ gave her a feeling of belonging.
The puppy scuttled across the floor and pawed at a cardboard box.
‘Oh, stop him, Paul! He’ll wake the ducklings.’
‘Ducklings?’ Sam asked her grandmother. ‘Why aren’t they in the coop?’
Evie shook her head. ‘Native ducklings. Some waste of oxygen ploughed his ute through an entire family last week. Tara Paech picked up the survivors, but she had to rush off to do something, so she handed them over to Paul. Said she’d collect them to deliver to Charlee Brennan’s, but we’ve not seen hide nor hair of her since.’
The knowledge that people could be horrible even in such an idyllic setting was somehow worse than hearing of atrocities in the city. Yet that wasn’t what made Jemma frown. There was something about Evie’s story that tugged at her. An intuition that it could be of vital importance.
18
Hamish
Hamish glanced at his phone. He’d been up since before first light and fixed the float on the trough in the boundary paddock before heading over to the farmhouse for a coffee with Lachlan. ‘You know, Harry Haymaker’s got a point. It’d be far easier to do crops only and not bother about stock.’
‘Be the only time around here that anyone’s had something good to say about Harry.’ The sharefarmer was infamous for his overuse of chemicals. Nothing grew in a paddock if Harry didn’t want it there.
‘Well, you don’t hear anything about the wheat escaping into the neighbours’ place.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Lachlan said, setting thick mugs on the kitchen bench. ‘Jack was ropeable last year when Dave Jaensch’s canola contaminated his barley, remember?’
‘True enough. Speaking of escapes, those fences on the north are looking pretty shit, mate. We’re going to have to fix them.’
‘Take the strainer out after breakfast and tighten the top wires?’ Lachlan suggested.
‘Can give it a try, but I reckon some of the posts are cactus. If not this year, then next, we’ll be up for new fencing.’ Even though they’d do the labour themselves, kilometres of new fencing represented a substantial expense.
‘Sheep will be over in the south paddocks next season. Maybe we can put the fences off another year.’
‘Can hope.’ Hamish took a swallow of his milky coffee. ‘Charity not up yet, then?’ Lachlan hadn’t mastered the shiny espresso machine on the counter, so they were on instant. Hamish reached across and flipped the lid of the ceramic honey pot Mum had always kept on the bench and drizzled in a generous amount to take the bitterness from his drink.
‘She’s living with a farmer, not totally living the farming life,’ Lachlan said. ‘She’s too smart for that. Though she was up till all hours doing reports—beats me why primary kids even need them.’ He sipped his coffee, shuddered, and also reached for the honey. ‘You know, you’d get an extra half-hour sleep yourself if you’d move in here.’
‘Don’t think Charity would be too keen on my decorating choices.’ Hamish held up his paint-stained hand.
