Rain Dance Read online

  Brandon stepped out into the heat and slammed the truck door behind him, leading the dog towards a small patch of grass.

  Holly climbed out and spent a moment stretching her stiff limbs. ‘How long until we get there?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s about another half hour up the road,’ answered Dad. To the west the sky was dark and purple. Lightning flickered in the distance. ‘Be good to get there before dark.’

  Holly pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her Facebook page but the battery was finally dead. She looked at the big dust-covered tarps over their belongings, and hoped her laptop was okay. And her guitar.

  Mum stood under the awning of a shop with her mobile phone clamped to her ear. She walked in circles as she talked, probably to Grandma. She always paced and got agitated when she spoke to her mother.

  Within moments everyone was squeezed into the truck again.

  ‘Be there soon,’ said Dad, reversing out.

  It took more than two hours to find the property. The front gate was little more than a cattle grid. Upon closer inspection, there was a sign which had fallen over and lay hidden in the long grass: GLENVALE.

  ‘Putting that thing back up will be my first job,’ said her father. He shoved the truck back into gear and rolled over the cattle grid. Grass scraped at the doors as they drove towards a cluster of outbuildings. The cottage couldn’t be too far away.

  They came to an old grain-storage shed. White paint peeled off the slatted timber sides like sunburnt skin. Behind that was some sort of hut, another small shed and then another, larger machinery shed.

  Her dad pulled up in front of the buildings. Everyone tumbled out of the truck into a hot, dry wind, and Holly felt it burrow through her clothes and drink the sweat off her skin.

  Dad was on the phone again, with his finger corking his other ear against the wind, trying to reach the boss.

  He flipped his phone shut. ‘That’s the workers’ cottage,’ he said, staring at a tiny weatherboard hut with a wonky brick chimney.

  ‘That weird little building over there?’ said Brandon. He whistled.

  Dad nodded.

  There was a collective stunned silence beneath the mocking roar of the wind. The whole building could not have had more than two or three rooms, and one of the windows was broken.

  ‘That is not a cottage,’ said Mum. ‘That is a shack. Did you tell Pat we had four children?’

  Dad let out a long sigh. ‘He did say it was small.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him we had four kids, did you?’

  ‘It didn’t seem relevant at the time,’ said Dad, scratching his collarbone uncomfortably.

  ‘Remind me why we had to come and live in Gunnedah again?’ Mum looked grim.

  ‘Melinda, you know why. It was the first job I could find, and it came with a . . .’ He didn’t seem game to say the word house. ‘. . . Accommodation.’

  Holly squeezed her arms tight around herself and bit her lips hard to stop from screaming. She watched her dad yank open the front door of the hut. He waved them over.

  Inside there was a strong smell of mouse poo. The main room contained two sagging couches and an ancient telly. In an adjoining room was a small kitchen with an old wood stove. Another doorway led into a small bedroom. Brown dust lay on everything.

  Mum walked into the kitchen and wrestled with the tap over the sink. Nothing but a breeze and a clunking sound came out. ‘There’s no water.’

  Brandon flicked at the light switches and stared at the ceiling. ‘No power.’

  ‘But I need to check my emails,’ protested Holly. Her friend Jenny had promised to check up on Rocket for her and send some photos of him in his new home.

  Brandon snorted. ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘Maybe there’s a generator,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll see if I can get it running.’ He disappeared out the front door.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Mum. ‘We can’t all squeeze in here!’

  Her dad reappeared. ‘No genny.’

  ‘Where are the water tanks?’ asked Mum.

  ‘There’s one behind the house,’ said Dad, ‘probably just need to turn the pump on.’ He stalled. ‘When we have power, that is.’

  ‘We do have gas,’ said Mum, peering out the window at two large silver bottles. ‘That’s if they’re not empty.’

  ‘Where am I supposed to sleep?’ said Eva.

  ‘Good question,’ said Holly. There would be zero privacy in this hut. She wouldn’t have a single thought to herself.

  ‘There’s supposed to be a caravan here,’ her dad answered. ‘The boss hasn’t dropped it off yet. I’ve tried ringing him but I can’t get through. We’ll have to drive to Rockleigh, the main property. Holly, grab those old water drums out of the machinery shed and throw them on the back of the truck. You can come with me.’

  Holly sighed deeply. Just what she didn’t feel like – jumping back into the truck. She ran across the gravelly yard, found the drums and tossed them on the back of the truck among everything else, and then pulled herself into the front seat. She whistled to Marley and patted the seat next to her, but he slunk underneath the steps of the front porch.

  She wished they could drive straight back to Blue Gum Flats, with its beaches, town water, supermarkets, wi-fi connection and decent beds to sleep in.

  ‘Welcome to your new life, Holly,’ she said to herself.

  4

  Kaydon felt the familiar rattle of tyres over the cattle grid. All around, the sun glared through the grass, making it glow bright orange in the wake of the dust storm. Even the polocrosse field, normally so green, now looked like just another cow paddock. The garden of Rockleigh – home to five generations of Armstrong squattocracy – was neat but bare; only the hardiest of shrubs had survived.

  ‘I hope Jerry shut all the windows,’ said Bron as the house came into view, ‘or the place will be a total mess. I’ve got guests coming for dinner tonight.’ She peered at the sky. Dark clouds rolled over the outlying hills. ‘Even a bit of rain would be good,’ she said, with little conviction.

  ‘Hope some falls over the new place. The dams need filling,’ said Pat.

  ‘What new place?’ asked Kaydon.

  ‘We bought Glenvale,’ said his dad. ‘Just waiting on the exchange of contracts and it’ll be ours.’

  ‘Glenvale?’ The name rang a bell.

  ‘That overrun place up the other end of the stock route,’ said his father, cutting the engine. His voice lifted. ‘It’ll be a sister farm to Rockleigh, giving us good finishing country and only a day’s walk on the hoof to the yards.’

  Another property: how could his dad afford that? Last Kaydon had heard, the farm wasn’t doing well at all. ‘How much land?’

  ‘Five hundred hectares.’ There was triumph in his father’s voice. ‘I’ve got a builder arriving in a couple of weeks to put a new manager’s house on it. Ken Harvey.’

  ‘Who’s gonna live in that?’ Kaydon asked.

  ‘Your cousin,’ said his father. ‘If he takes the job.’

  Yes! Aaron was coming back to the district. Wow, this was a big deal. ‘What’s there now? Any buildings?’

  ‘Just a few sheds and an old cottage,’ said his dad. ‘The builder can stay in that while he builds the house.’

  In the small mirror under the sun visor, Kaydon saw his mother raise her eyebrows. ‘It doesn’t even have a proper bathroom,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll take the caravan over as well,’ said Pat, sounding a little defensive.

  A clap of thunder sounded outside the car.

  ‘I was hoping to have a hit on the polocrosse field,’ said Kaydon. ’Wanna join me?’ Even as he spoke, he knew he was wasting his breath. His dad was always too busy. With a new property to get up and running, he would be even more so.

  ‘Don’t dig it up too much,’ said Bron. ‘That’s where we’re holding the ball.’

  ‘On the polocrosse field?’

  ‘Yep. The CWA are going to lend us thei
r big marquee and I found a band to play for free. It’s going to be fabulous.’

  ‘Will it be like a B and S?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said his mother, quickly and firmly. ‘This is a fundraiser; it will be a lot more civilised.’

  ‘Damn.’ He had been counting the days till his eighteenth birthday so he could go to a bachelors and spinsters ball. There were four hundred and twenty-eight to go.

  He hopped out of the car and slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, following his parents through the huge wooden double doors and into the hallway.

  His mother sighed with relief. ‘What would we do without Jerry?’

  Kaydon saw the wet towels that Jerry had put along the window ledges and under the doors. Old Jerry was supposed to be the horse man on the place, but he also did odd jobs around the house while Dad was working the farm. He was the only full-time staff Pat Armstrong had these days.

  ‘I’m starving.’ Kaydon walked to the fridge and opened the door with an air-sucking yank. He found a platter of leftover barbecue meat: steak, chops and sausages. He grabbed a bottle of sauce from the door, hoisted himself onto the bench and began devouring the meat cold.

  ‘I had your tux altered while you were gone,’ said Bron. ‘It’s hanging up in your room. Can you try it on before you go out this afternoon?’ She dumped the towels in the doorway of the laundry then reached out and took the plate from his hands. ‘Sit at the table properly, Kaydon. Would you like me to make you a sandwich?’

  ‘Sure.’

  His mother took the plate to the opposite bench and reached for a bag of bread. ‘I told your father he should slaughter a beast before you and Aaron got here,’ she muttered.

  ‘When does he get here?’

  ‘Tonight,’ said Pat. ‘He’s coming to look around the Glenvale property with the new partner, then he’ll stay on to help with the stock.’

  ‘New partner?’

  ‘Hugh Parker, his name is,’ said his father. ‘He’s a property broker and he’s also an expert in finance and logistics. Smart bloke – got his fingers in a lot of pies.’

  ‘Hugh and his family are coming over for dinner tonight,’ said Bron, handing Kaydon a plate of sandwiches. ‘So make sure you’re dressed smartly and don’t come in late.’

  ‘I want you to give a good impression,’ said his father. ‘You’re the heir to Rockleigh. Mr Parker needs to meet you too and be confident that you’re interested in carrying this place forward. We’ve got to show him strong commitment from our family.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Kaydon. His dad had never included him in anything like this before. ‘So, is Aaron coming back for good?’ he asked. Aaron had lived and worked on Rockleigh full-time for years until he left to make big money in the mines.

  ‘We hope so,’ said Pat. ‘He’s the one that put us in touch with Hugh Parker in the first place. He knows him well.’

  ‘Aaron’s bringing his girlfriend too,’ said Bron, flicking her eyes to the clock over the fireplace. ‘Her name is Stacey. They should be here in a couple of hours.’

  Kaydon could see the delight in his mother’s eyes. Without any daughters or nieces, she was always trying to find the boys girlfriends, not that Aaron ever needed any help. Girls seemed to like big, muscular guys, and Aaron always went around with his shirtsleeves ripped off and his biceps hanging out.

  ‘I’ve got a mile of paperwork to sort out before Hugh gets here,’ said Pat. He turned to Kaydon. ‘That grey horse, Pilot, is fresh broke if you want to give him a ride. Jerry finished him while you were away. See if you like him – if you do, you can use him to muster this week.’

  ‘Cool.’ Kaydon took the empty plate to the sink. Things were looking up. For the first time in a long time, Rockleigh felt full of good vibes. His dad didn’t seem so depressed about the drought, and he was even going to the ball. Aaron was coming back and there was a new property to explore. Best of all, his dad seemed to be including him in the business side of things.

  He went to his room. Hanging on the wardrobe doorknob was his tux, freshly drycleaned. He ignored it and got dressed for riding in faded denim jeans and an old workshirt, then jammed his hat on and headed out the front door. He wasn’t sure which direction things were going in, but for the first time in his life he felt like one of the men around the place.

  5

  After a ten-minute drive, Holly’s dad turned onto a dirt road and drove up a small hill. Her eyes widened as she saw the Rockleigh homestead, a green oasis amid the parched surrounding countryside. Shafts of light beamed down from the sky, as though God himself was blessing the place.

  ‘Quite a joint,’ said her dad.

  As they neared the homestead, Holly took in a tennis court, a horse-riding arena, a large brick stable block, and countless sheds and buildings. The place was like a small suburb.

  Her dad stopped the truck just short of the main house. ‘Grab the drums off the back and see if you can find a tap to fill them from.’

  ‘Where? I can’t see one.’

  ‘There’s supposed to be a guy who works here with the horses,’ said Dad. ‘Can’t remember his name, but if you find him, he should be able to help. I’ll go find Pat.’ He wandered towards the house.

  Holly took the drums off the back and walked gingerly over the burning sandstone path. Water squirted from tiny metal sprinklers embedded in the grass, but she couldn’t find a tap. Then she thought of the stable building. Horses needed water. There would have to be a tap in there somewhere.

  She poked her head through the doorway and felt a sharp pang when a baldy-faced chestnut poked its head over a stable door. Rocket, although smaller and black, had a baldy face too. She wished she could hug Rocket now and feel his soft whiskers against her hand. But that would never happen again. Out here, she couldn’t even pick up some photos of him via email, so best she clear him from her heart, best she erase all horses from her heart. They weren’t a part of her life any more and would never be again.

  ‘Hello?’ she called out, and waited.

  ‘Yeah?’ A lanky teenage boy led a grey horse out of a stable and closed the door. His gaze started at her face, ran over her clothes and bare legs and landed at her dirty feet. His nose wrinkled before his eyes lifted again to meet hers.

  ‘I’m looking for some water,’ she said, trying to avoid his harsh gaze.

  ‘What for? Staffers aren’t usually allowed in here without shoes on.’

  Holly arched both eyebrows. Staffers? Just because he was employed in some menial job picking up horse crap didn’t mean she was.

  ‘My family has come here to build a house,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘We should have been provided with fresh water. There is none. My father sent me to find some.’

  She watched some arrogant kind of humour flash in his eyes. ‘You’re with the builder then? Out at the new place.’

  She didn’t answer. The way he said that really did make it sound as though she was staff. ‘Who are you?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Kaydon,’ he answered, with no further explanation. He ran an idle hand over the horse’s back.

  His name meant nothing to her. And she had no idea why he found her funny. ‘Well then, can you tell me where I might find a tap, Kaydon?’ Her voice came out sounding tight. She took a deep breath.

  ‘There’s a horse wash at the end of the aisle. You’ll find a tap in there.’

  Kaydon disappeared back into what looked like a feedroom. Holly carried her drums down the aisle. The boy popped his head out of the feedroom and spoke again. ‘There are some old boots in the tackroom, if you want them.’

  She stopped, faced him and mustered the sweetest smile she could. ‘Thanks, but I like a bit of grit between my toes.’

  What was his problem? Had he never seen a person without shoes before? Where she came from, people hung loose on the beach without shoes, and she wasn’t about to change her identity for anyone.

  ‘The black snakes like the water around the homestead.’
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br />   Holly gasped, and she caught him smirking before he ducked back into the feedroom. She spun on her heel and stalked off to the end of the aisle.

  The horse wash had hot and cold water and a nozzle at the end of the hose with about fifteen different settings. She set it to a shower spray and cleaned off her feet with lusciously cool water. She fought the urge to hose her entire self, knowing there would be no shower waiting for her back at the shack.

  She changed the setting and poked the end of the hose into the drums. When they were full she could hardly lift them. She half carried, half dragged them into the aisle, making a scraping sound.

  ‘Let me get this horse out of the way before you drag that past,’ Kaydon said, sounding annoyed.

  She stopped, waited for him to put the dappled grey into the stable, and then continued.

  He grabbed a hat from a row of several that hung on the wall. ‘If you don’t wear shoes, at least put a hat on. You’ll fry out there.’ He thrust the hat at her, giving her no choice but to take it, shouldered her out of the way and then lifted the drums. ‘Where do they go?’

  She watched him lug them out of the building. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, turning the hat over in her hands. It was ridiculously large. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ He disappeared outside and she trotted after him into the searing heat. She pulled the hat onto her head. It did seem to take the glare off the day.

  ‘The truck is back near the house,’ she said, conceding. The guy was paid to do this. Why was she arguing?

  Kaydon stopped and put the drums down, puffing. ‘Is that it?’

  Holly had never noticed how old the truck was until that moment. It had dents and scratches and diesel stains running from the fuel cap. ‘Yes,’ she answered, a little defensively. She liked the truck. It was one of the few things her dad had managed to keep from the receivers.

  ‘Are you on the way to the tip or something?’

  Holly exhaled through her teeth and glared at him. ‘No,’ she answered coolly. ‘It’s just some of our stuff.’ She silently thanked God everything was covered in tarps so he couldn’t see what a state it was in. ‘I can take these from here,’ she said, wishing he would go away. ‘Dad will help me get them onto the back.’