The Shadow House(7)
I couldn’t think of a response. Ollie, 1: Mum, 0.
I let it slide and returned my attention to Kit and the retirees but couldn’t find a way back into their conversation. I waited politely for them to finish, gazing over at the beautiful storybook farmhouse. There was, I realised, a dark shape on the veranda just behind one of the posts. Was someone up there? I waited for the shape to move. But the longer I looked, the more I suspected it was just a shadow cast by a tree, or perhaps something left leaning against the balustrade. I shielded my eyes from the sun, straining to see more clearly.
‘Seriously, Mum, can we get out of here now?’ Ollie said, loudly enough for Kit to hear. ‘I am so done.’
I was mortified. ‘Oliver.’
He scowled at me, and a spiteful, unforgivable thought flashed through my mind: Lucky farmers. If my son disappeared, I might not mind so much.
RENEE
3
‘Ivory? Ivor-eee. Where are you?’
Bending down to peer underneath an empty metal trolley, Renee Kellerman puckered her chapped lips and made a series of squeaky kissing noises.
‘Ivor-eeee. Come on out now, puss, it’s breakfast time.’
Like all the other places she’d looked, the space under the trolley was empty of everything but dust balls and dried leaves. No flash of white fur, no flicking tail or pink tongue. She straightened up and, placing her hands on her hips, looked around the wrapping room. Where the heck is that cat?
Just beyond the doorway, Michael stood conducting the morning meeting under the tin roof of the big shed. Eleven team members huddled around him in a ragged circle, rubbing their bleary eyes and shuffling their feet.
Twenty years ago, when she’d first moved to the farm as a newlywed, mornings had been like one big party: a crowd of people milling around, chatting, laughing, rehashing the previous night’s footy or arguing over whose turn it was to help out with the weekend market run. Renee would scurry around like a waitress, handing out hot coffee and bacon and egg rolls, and generally making sure that everyone was adequately prepared for the day ahead. Making breakfast for over twenty people had added an extra hour to her daily schedule, but she didn’t mind. The backslapping and banter, she’d quickly discovered, were as much a part of the morning routine as the rising of the sun itself.
But then came the drought. For almost a decade, crippling conditions had seen the team cut down to a third of its original number and the merry babble of voices reduced to a low, solemn hum. It had taken Renee just ten minutes to brew the coffee, and another five to butter the toast. No more banter, no more bacon and eggs; the drought had taken them, along with all their profits.
Never mind, she thought, glancing up at the bulbous grey sky. It’s all over now. The last six months had seen unprecedented rainfall and the next six at least looked set to stay wet, so even though they weren’t quite back to full strength yet, she knew they weren’t far off. Michael had worked hard to keep the business afloat and his efforts had paid off; re-expansion had already started and the bacon was back. As surely the cat would be, once she got bored of chasing skinks.
Before she left the shed Renee checked the coolroom, sliding open the door and securing it with the latch. She stuck her head inside. There was a small chance Ivory had been locked in there overnight; it wasn’t like the poor thing could heed the same incessant safety warnings Renee doled out to Gabriel every day of his life. Never let that freezer door close behind you; always put the latch on so it doesn’t slide shut. Never go down to the dam at night. Never play with chemicals. Never go into the farm sheds or play with the equipment. Never stick your fingers into the conveyor belt while it’s running. Never put your hand into a small space without first checking for spiders. Never run around in long grass. Her fears were not unfounded. A young boy had fallen into a sinkhole a few years ago. A local girl had been bitten by a snake. Cautionary tales, everlasting fuel for a mother’s fire.
It was only after Renee had married a farmer that she’d had any idea of how dangerous the job was. A century ago the most you had to worry about was getting jabbed by a pitchfork, maybe run over by your horses. Now the hazards included grain bin suffocation, tractor rollovers, fume exposure, livestock accidents, electrocution, limbs snagged and captured by machinery. Every day was a dance with death.
She frowned. It was true that a flower farm didn’t have as many risks as an agricultural station, but when you laid out the risks, it was a small miracle both the cat and her son had survived thus far. Fortunately, they were both such home-loving creatures, so unlikely to wander too far from the soft furnishings and sunbeams of the house, that neither had come to any harm – but just because nothing had happened yet didn’t mean that nothing would.
A thorough search between the trolleys turned up nothing but unswept corners and eventually Renee had to concede that the coolroom was empty. She checked her watch: 7.20am. The school bus would be arriving soon. Time to get back to the house. Shivering, she swept her eyes around the coolroom one last time. Then, with a final desultory call – ‘Ivor-eeee’ – she made her way back to the door, lifted the latch and dragged the heavy silver panel back into place.
Renee was too late to see her son off. As she drove the buggy up the hill, she could just make him out in the far distance, a lanky silhouette sloping away up the lane. He was almost certainly too far away to hear her, but she called out anyway, leaning from the buggy and waving, and the futility of the gesture seemed briefly poignant. For years now, she'd felt as though all he'd done was travel further and further away from her.