The Long Road Home, page 17
Chapter Eighteen
On his way back home, Rick rounded a bend and saw a silver vehicle pulled over on a long straight stretch ahead. There was no dust hanging in the still air behind, so they must have been there a little while. He slowed, ready to stop if someone jumped out in front to flag him down. As he drew closer, he realised he knew the silver dual cab. The number plate BILKO81 was a giveaway. His heart sank a little – here was probably his group of mates who he’d wanted to be on a crop inspection with. He checked his mirrors and pulled alongside. A part of him wanted to keep going, but he was committed now. And his vehicle was recognisable, too. Somehow everyone could tell all the similar models of silver and white utes in the district apart.
‘Hey,’ Rick said, as cheerfully as he could.
‘Hey,’ Bilko said, and literally squirmed in his seat. Rick noticed Tommo and Steve in the passenger’s side with their heads turned towards the windows looking out at the crop.
‘How’s things?’ Tommo called from the back seat. ‘Pretty shit, I guess.’
‘Yeah.’ Rick didn’t fancy trying to explain how he really felt.
‘How’s your mum doing? Just been out to see her?’ Steve said.
‘Yeah. You know, as well as can be expected, I guess,’ he said with a shrug.
He checked in his rear-vision mirror. A vehicle was approaching, leaving a bank of dust in its wake. Still a decent way off, but a good excuse to keep moving.
‘Well, better be off. Catch ya.’
‘Righto. Look after yourself,’ they all said at once, the passengers holding up their beers in a farewell salute.
Rick’s heart was heavy as he pushed the gear stick forwards and then waved as he drove off. He couldn’t really blame them for not wanting to risk him being a dampener on their day, but it still hurt. He’d as good as ruined his relationship with these guys when he’d stopped going to the pub.
The first time he’d gone and said he wasn’t drinking – sticking with water – they’d looked at him sideways all night – like they no longer trusted him. It was the strangest thing and he hadn’t wanted to believe just how shallow his friends were – that the extent of their friendship really was just getting pissed together and playing pool while shooting the breeze. He’d got such a shock: like he was suddenly standing on the outside looking in on his life or from above it. They were uncouth, pissed dickheads – and probably technically alcoholics, if they couldn’t enjoy a night out or go a day without alcohol.
This had been another revelation of Anthea’s. Well, not exactly a revelation – she’d simply guided him to make the connection. He’d come to realise that drinking didn’t actually block out his problems after all, just clouded his judgement and made him feel shittier the next day, which brought back with a sudden rush all he’d been avoiding, anyway, and with the added burden of feeling crook. He’d also been forced to agree with this father that drinking so much alcohol was a waste of money. Perhaps if he’d told him he’d realised he was right their relationship might have got better. Rick almost snorted. As if! He’d tried plenty of times over the years to suck up to his old man only to be told not to be so weak, so namby-pamby. It was one of Joseph’s favourite words. Fuck he wished he could remove it from his vocabulary, erase it from his mind completely, along with the condescending tone it was uttered in.
Rick thought back to the guys in the ute. It wasn’t their fault they hadn’t known what to say, had chosen to avoid him in order to not have to face anything too deep. That was them – it was probably why they drank so much. Anthea hadn’t said it in so many words, but she’d made Rick realise that all the jibes about country people being ‘hicks’ were pretty much true. He’d only recently seen the irony himself of how they all drove home drunk, running the gauntlet of the district’s only police officer, after getting shitfaced as some stupid ritual to send off a local who had died as a result of drink driving. For fuck’s sake!
God, he wished he could talk to Anthea right now – not because he needed to, but because he wanted to. He’d had to cancel his last appointment because of his father’s funeral. That had hurt more than anything else recently, he realised. They had a standing fortnightly slot. He was lucky to get that – she was booked out months in advance. He’d love to have seen her every week, but he couldn’t afford the time or petrol to be driving up to Whyalla and back – a three-hour round trip. Also, he knew he was already addicted to her – dependent.
Rick was surprised to find a tear gathering at the corner of his eye at the thought of how completely alone he felt – abandoned by his friends and unloved and misunderstood by his family. He bit down on his lip to stop his chin from wobbling and his throat from exploding. Real men didn’t cry. He knew it was bullshit, but still you didn’t want to be seen doing it around here.
He cursed his vision becoming blurred. He pulled over and allowed himself to sob. He couldn’t help it. Too bad. And anyone who stopped and saw him might allow him this leeway. He blew his nose loudly. Get it together, Ricky boy, and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
He sighed.
It’ll all sort itself out, he told himself. He wasn’t sure he really believed it would, but he badly wanted to. He did feel a little better, though, calmer at least. He really could see why they said shedding tears was physically good for you. And it wasn’t just a myth – he’d looked it up after Anthea’s initial attempts at deprogramming him. He put on his indicator, checked his mirrors and pulled back onto the road.
Rick slowed right down as he approached the pub on his way through town, checking for any cars or utes he knew. It didn’t really matter if there weren’t any. The few old timers who got there on foot would be inside on their usual barstools, shooting the breeze. Maybe just sitting beside them would be enough. He had his indicator on to pull into the carpark before reluctantly deciding it wouldn’t help. His stomach growled and his mouth began to water. A schnitzel would be good. But then he realised everyone in there would be offering their sympathies and talking about Joseph, spouting their own eulogies. Rick didn’t need that.
He flicked his indicator off again, checked his mirrors and offered a wave and a grimace to the patient person sitting in their navy-blue sedan behind him while he’d been stopped deliberating in the middle of the main street. No road rage or honking here. Some people might have zero patience and get hot under the collar dealing with sheep, but when it came to patience on the road, they had it in spades. Rick stuck his arm out the window and waved again for good measure. Goodness only knew how long he’d been idling there. It felt like it could have been days.
Rick drove out the main highway home, ignoring the road-house with its offering of assorted takeaway options. He’d just suddenly felt the need to get to his house – not unlike the feeling of running inside to escape the dark closing in behind him after feeding the dogs or chooks when he was a kid. He’d always had a fear of the dark. He didn’t know why. He’d throw the offering through the gate and then race back into the light of the verandah as fast as he could with his heart in his chest and barely able to breathe so as not to cop a teasing from his old man or one of his sisters. He knew his dad sent him out into the night more than his sisters as a strategy to toughen him up. Sometimes he’d resorted to turning off the verandah light and forcing Rick to stand outside in the dark alone.
Nothing had worked. Even these days as an adult whenever he came home alone after dark – and let’s face it, alone was the status quo now – he’d park his ute out by the house so he didn’t have to face the black in the shed or the walk back across. And he wasn’t allowed to waste electricity by leaving lights on. Joseph paid the electricity bill for both properties because most of it was a business expense and therefore tax deductible. That was another reason he wanted self-sufficiency – to be able to make the choices that suited him.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever shared his fear with Alice. Perhaps she’d guessed. She would never have teased or ridiculed him. It wasn’t in her nature – even when he’d been so cruel to her.
Rick’s heart ached as he now wished he’d confided this to her. Talking about your issues didn’t make you weak at all! He’d been taken for a ride his whole life.
That had been so earth-shattering to him that he’d been left feeling physically shaken. He’d sat in the car outside Anthea’s office collecting his thoughts and taking an inventory of how he felt for ages. It had been their second session and after he’d beaten around the bush and spoken bullshit for one session and then ten minutes into the second one, she’d gently said she was more than happy to take his money and listen to him talking about nothing, but really preferred to help with whatever had caused him to seek her out in the first place. Reluctantly he’d seen he had to start trusting her and opening up. And he had. At first it had been a drip, then a trickle.
Now he’d let loose with a torrent of words and she could barely get one of her own in. But it didn’t matter – just getting his thoughts and frustrations out helped more than he’d ever thought possible. Especially to someone who would keep it to themselves and not criticise him, no matter how ridiculous he sounded. He reckoned his parents would be horrified if they knew what he’d been saying.
Occasionally in the past few days he’d wondered if his father might send a bolt of lightning or some other ethereal message to express his disapproval from above? Heaven! What was he thinking? His parents might still believe in heaven and hell and all that religious crap, but he hadn’t for a bloody long time. Though he did occasionally lift his eyes upwards and ask for stuff, usually rain or for the wind to piss off. That was just a habit. No doubt if it were all true, god would have been charmed by his old man, too, and sent him in the wrong direction.
Rick was a little hesitant to initially be too forthcoming with Anthea – he didn’t want his negative thoughts to come back at him in the form of some kind of karmic payback. Or maybe they had, he suddenly realised as he pulled into his shed. Maybe he hadn’t been given the farm or responsibility for it because of all his whining to Anthea.
No, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Anthea hadn’t said it in as many words, but she seemed to not believe in the karma payback theory. Though she did encourage him to be kind and hold back from unleashing any frustration. Same thing, really. Treat others as you’d like to be treated.
He’d just turned the ignition off when his phone rang. His older sister’s name was on the screen. Okay, here we go, he said to himself and took a fortifying deep breath against the knot of tension that had just tied itself inside his stomach.
‘Hi, Danni.’
‘Rick. Hi.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Why did you have to go and upset Mum?’
‘What do you mean? She’s a bit in shock and sad, but …’
‘Of course she’s sad and in shock. We all are – well those of us who are mourning our father.’
‘Danni, what am I meant to have done wrong? I went out to check on her and the sheep.’
‘What’s the point in quizzing her? The farm’s your department. You’ve been doing it for long enough.’
‘Well, I don’t know, actually, Danni, he didn’t tell me – I’m in the dark as much as the rest of you.’ Didn’t Mum tell you that? What has she said?
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s true. The control-freak old bastard would only ever tell me what to do on a daily basis – weekly if I was lucky.’
‘But that’s insane.’
That’s one word for it, Rick thought. Maybe now you’re starting to see what the old man was really like. Maybe the pedestal is starting to sway.
‘You’ve been working together for more than a decade. Surely you … No … Really?’
‘I’m not sure what you want me to say or what Mum told you, but when I was there, she was clearly across the fact that she’s in charge now. And she is the sole beneficiary and executor, remember.’
‘But Mum’s never even so much as … counted a mob of sheep.’
‘I know that. I offered to at least try to organise a contract harvester or someone to drive Dad’s header, but she said she would. She’ll have to do it soon – before everyone gets booked up. I’ve told her I’ll continue to look after the sheep.’ Because I’m not such a heartless bastard that I’d leave their welfare in the hands of complete incompetents. ‘But beyond that, I’m just a salaried employee waiting for instructions.’
‘Fuck,’ Danni eventually said after a long pause.
Fuck, indeed. So, she’s human after all. He could picture her running her left hand through her hair over and over, her phone in her right hand. If the situation hadn’t been so scary and serious, Rick might have laughed. He’d have given up one of his pinkies to see her face. He didn’t think he should feel such pleasure over her discomfort. Danni Peterson – always in control.
‘I could just walk away, you know. I wouldn’t mind even a short break before harvest, but when I mentioned that, Mum clearly wasn’t keen. So, of course I wouldn’t do that to her.’ He hadn’t been able to resist digging the knife in at least a little. Maybe they might start being nice to him.
‘Sorry. I didn’t know. Jesus, what a shitshow.’
‘Yup. It’s a shitshow all right. And a kick in the guts.’ Rick hadn’t meant to say those last words out loud.
‘I know you didn’t get along with him, but I’m sure he didn’t hate you.’
Rick wanted to say, ‘We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, Danni. And, no, I’m not feeling sorry for myself. It’s the truth. You’ve never liked me either.’ But what was the point? He’d just sound like he was feeling sorry for himself. He had to remember that while he felt a certain sense of relief – farming circumstances excluded – in his father’s demise, his sisters were clearly upset and grieving their version of the man – no doubt fun, supportive, possibly perfect.
‘I’d better go. I need to talk to Matilda and Mum and figure some things out.’
Well, don’t take too long. ‘Yeah, let me know what you need from me.’
‘Thanks.’
Rick sat staring at the phone in his hand for a moment before getting out and locking the vehicle and then pulling the heavy iron shed door to behind him. As he made his way over to the house, he shook his head at what an absolute disaster the great Peterson empire was. The old him might have been ranting and raving and completely lost the plot. The new Rick was calm. Soon he might even start to see the situation as amusing. Not my monkeys, not my circus, he thought, remembering a funny meme he’d seen recently online. Even the thought of everyone else in the district thinking him a useless dick for not being all over the running of the farm didn’t bother him. It was what it was.
Chapter Nineteen
The following morning Rick sat at the kitchen table fidgeting with the handle of his mug. He needed to keep himself busy – he knew that – but how? Watching TV wasn’t the answer. He knew that. What else? He’d always been busy on a weekday, even these quiet times between major jobs on the farm. But what had he done? Driving back and forth between farms – often just to arrive at his parents’ and be told to go back again or into town to pick up or deliver this or that. When he could have done it on his way through.
He was beginning to see what a waste of time his father’s control-freakishness had been as well as completely doing Rick’s head in. He’d accepted it. How would he know any different? And he’d been happy – well, happy was too strong a word – he’d gone along with it with his eyes firmly on the prize. His prize being his own farm.
It seemed ridiculous when he looked at it critically beyond the here and now. Had he ever really wanted the farm – a farm? Probably not, though he did like the idea of owning where he lived. He supposed it was ingrained in him – and of course owning land around here, especially the best dirt and large parcels of it, put you in the upper echelons of society. It harked back to the notion of the landed gentry, didn’t it? Arrogance. But Rick liked belonging somewhere. Having four walls around him, if not land to work and making a living from. But in his world those came hand in hand. Also, to own one’s own farm was what a farmer’s son aspired to. It was in the DNA.
And by own, of course he meant in partnership with the bank. A lot of farmers were obsessed with getting bigger and bigger, buying more land and having newer machinery, too, regardless of the huge debt and never actually being free from the bank. Of course, it was pretty impossible to buy land without borrowing. That was one thing. But after a good season, a lot around here upgraded their machinery and utes and four-wheel-drives, even if the old stuff was in good nick and working perfectly fine. It was all about minimising tax. And of course the loan repayment amount was tax deductible too. Rick thought it was short-sighted and arse-about, given you didn’t get dollar for dollar back on what you spent. He’d come to the conclusion that it also probably had a lot to do with ego, too – looking like you were doing well, even if you weren’t. Keeping up with the Joneses, greed – all of that. To so many, impressions seemed to be pretty much the be-all-and-end-all of everything around here. He thought that glove had fitted Joseph Peterson well, but he knew nothing about how the books were run and the old man didn’t discuss it with him, so what would he know?
He looked up and around him at the kitchen. The thought of losing this house didn’t really bother him, if it came down to it, but the idea of not having a place to call home did. He drained the remainder of his coffee and got up, rinsed his mug and put it in the sink. He needed to stretch his legs, move, get some of this frustration out of his system – try not to think about how he’d lost one master and pretty much gained three more, and what that meant down the track. He hated this limbo. He thought fleet-ingly of going into town with the guise of checking the mail and buying the paper, but he knew he might end up in the pub. And the last thing he needed was to get caught for drink driving and lose his licence. And the way he was feeling …
