Circle of fight

CHAPTER 21

Madeleine Randall would never understand what it cost me to say that to her. How could she? After we got back from Havelock, that day I’d walked all around the property, walking the boundaries, the day I’d stood there looking at the wisteria and the roses, the lagoon and the tip, and the swallows, the day I’d remembered the brown snake and the dog getting bitten and the poddy lambs and mustering Coopers, well, I’d put myself through those memories for a reason. I wanted to stuff my head full of memories so that I could keep them forever. I don’t think it really works that way, at least that’s what the logical part of my brain told me, any more than it would make sense to eat three kilos of sausages because you know you’re going to be starving in a week’s time. My memories were either there already or they weren’t, and overdosing now wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

But it wasn’t just about memories. It was also about getting permission from my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents to sell the property. I needed some sort of peace of mind before I did this thing. It was my family who had created this place, and every fence post, every planted tree, every metre of guttering on every shed, was put there by a member of my family who had spent hours or days or weeks doing it. They’d thought about it, they’d left the house to do it, they’d worked in the hot sun or the cold wind, they’d come in for lunch and then gone out again to continue the job… They’d concentrated on it and given it energy and imagination and skill… and now I was going to throw it all away.

Your family are so much to you. Too much sometimes. They give you roots and they give you wings. Some families give you roots that are too shallow, and some clip your wings. My family had given me roots that went so deep I didn’t know if I could ever pull them out. I suppose in a way that meant they hadn’t given me wings. It was always kind of taken for granted that I’d own the farm one day. If my mum and dad had lived and I’d said at some point that I didn’t want to get into farming, they would have been totally cool about that — depending on what I wanted to do instead of course. Lying in a hammock in Fiji wouldn’t have impressed them much. But if I’d said I wanted to be a doctor or a carpenter or a computer programmer or to start my own business Mum in particular would have been fine about it. Dad would have too, except he would have done a bit of private grieving, shed a tear behind the cattle yards maybe. But he’d never have told me.

I wondered now what would have happened if they’d kept running the place and I’d bailed out when I got to twenty or twenty-five or whatever. It was one thing we never talked about, but I suppose they would have just stayed here until they were tottering around on walking frames and then they would have sold up and moved into Wirrawee. That’s the trouble with only having one kid. You’ve got too much invested in them, and if they don’t come through for you, then you’re stuffed.

So here I was, with dead people controlling my life. That’s putting it brutally, but I had to say stuff like that to myself, to convince myself that it was OK to do this. ‘Tradition is rule by the dead,’ Jeremy had said to me a few months back when we were talking about them bulldozing the gym and the library at Wirrawee High School. I don’t think it was his own original saying, but I remembered it.

At the same time as it didn’t make sense for dead people to control my life, I also wanted to honour and respect those people, the work they’d done, the energy they’d spent, the way they’d made it possible for me to live the life I led. Without them I could have been living in a little suburban house, seeing the neighbours’ wall on one side and the other neighbours’ wall on the other side. The view from my bedroom window could have been bricks and more bricks instead of a huge gum tree and a messy garden bed overflowing with daisies and roses and hollyhocks and evening primrose. I’m not disrespecting people who live in suburbs, because I was about to join them, but I was glad I’d had the chance to experience space and freedom and open fresh air for so many years, and that was only because some people I’d never met, and some people I knew very well indeed, had worked their butts off to make it possible.

One of the hardest things would be telling my friends and neighbours and having to put up with everyone’s comments and advice. But the hardest thing of all would be telling Gavin.

He came home with Homer at about four-thirty. I’d thought about whether I should say anything about Ms Madeleine Randall and had decided that I should. He was going to find out sooner or later anyway, and I’ve never been a big fan of secrets. Fair enough I’d had to keep a lot of secrets during the war and since then, but given a choice I’ll always vote for things to be out in the open. And when Gavin came into the kitchen, with Homer trailing not far behind, I thought it was a good chance to get Homer’s opinion on what we should do.

I started in on the story. When I got to the part about Marmie on the bed, Homer’s face went quite black. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry, and that’s saying a lot. Believe me, a very large lot. I was glad for everyone’s sake that Madeleine had left the building. Gavin on the other hand — well, Gavin surprised me. Not for the first time of course. But looking at them I honestly wondered for a moment who was the older. Homer swept a row of stuff off the bench, including the telephone, stomped up and down the kitchen swearing that he’d drop a hand grenade on anyone who tried to take Gavin away. It was quite some tantrum. Finally, though, he threw himself into an old armchair that I’d dragged in for Marmie and said, ‘OK Ellie, come on, time for another brilliant idea.’

I just shrugged, and Homer then came up with his own brilliant idea. ‘Let’s go down into Hell again. We can hide out there for years, like the Hermit. They’ll never find us.’

I assumed this was a joke, although I must admit there were things about it that did appeal to me.

Through all this Gavin had stood there watching Homer and frowning and now he said, ‘That’s no good. We have to tell them Ellie’s good at looking after me. I’ll go and tell them she’s the best.’

Tears filled my eyes. Gavin so rarely said or did anything affectionate, and fought me over so many issues, and complained bitterly that I was unfair and horrible and cruel. Deep down I knew he loved me like I loved him, but it was nice to hear it from him occasionally.

‘Sounds like you better go back to the lawyers,’ Homer said, calming down a bit now he had Gavin as his role model for calmness under pressure.

‘I guess so. God, I had enough of lawyers last time.’

My own guardianship battle had been such an ugly experience. Like I said before, one of the local lawyers, Mr Sayle, had tried to get the right to handle my money, basically so he could steal as much of it as possible. I won that case, and in the end Homer’s parents agreed to be my legal guardians, but I couldn’t ask them to take on Gavin as well. To be honest they weren’t his biggest fans. They were very strict and old-fashioned, and they already had two wild boys. They put up with him for my sake, but every time he went over there they complained about him. The idea of Gavin moving in with them — not to mention me as well — wasn’t a good one.

I’d told them how Ms Randall said it was dangerous for Gavin and me to be living on the property. But I hadn’t told them my answer to that. Now Homer’s mind was ticking over, and he said to me, ‘How are you going to live here safely?’

The way he looked at me, I knew he’d been thinking about it for a while, and more specifically thinking about having this conversation with me. Like, wondering, ‘How can I tell Ellie this isn’t workable any more?’

So I let him off the hook, and took a deep breath, and said, ‘I’m selling up. I’d already decided before she came out here. I’ll use the money to buy a place in town where we can live.’

Homer stopped breathing and just stared at me. Gavin’s head dropped. I fought to stay in control of myself. I knew I was going to have to be pretty strong during the next couple of months. Finally Homer nodded and said, ‘The end of an era.’

Gavin didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening. His head didn’t lift either. Homer left after a quick dinner and Gavin and I both went to bed. Later, as I lay in my room, I heard him sobbing like his heart was broken. But I didn’t go to him. I couldn’t. My emotional bank had been empty for quite a while. I needed some deposits but I didn’t know where they’d be coming from, in the near or distant future.