A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 9 Aug 2018

Ralph met Wayne at the car as he drove up to the house. He was quite excited about something and quickly led the way to a patch behind the house.

“What do you think of that?” He proudly asked and displayed a well stocked vegetable garden of many rows and budding produce forcing their way through the rich red soil.

“I had to erect a fence, I lost most of the first lot to bandicoots.”

“Very cleaver you have been busy,” Wayne agreed examining his friend’s handy work, “you will be able to sell the extras to the town.

“That’s the idea.” Ralph said checking for cabbage moth eggs.

“Carrots,” Ralph declared pointing at the far row “What have you there?” He asked spying the book Wayne was carrying.

“It’s a diary kept by my great uncle, I was given it by Molly McBride in town.”

“Biff told me about her, said she knew about the farm.

“Have you read any of it yet?” Ralph asked.

“No she only gave it to me an hour ago.”

“We had a visitor last week”

“Who might that have been?” Wayne asked.

“Verrocchi.”

“The sons or the old man?” Wayne asked.

“The old man but the sons were close by at the time, he wanted to know who bought the farm.”

“I hope you didn’t tell him.”

“No again I said he would have to speak to you.”

Ralph led the way to the house offering coffee but Wayne declared that he had enough refreshments at Biff’s and at Molly’s to last the day long.

“Nice to see your wearing pants this time.” Wayne laughed.

“Just for you.”

“Really it doesn’t worry me, I guess if you have it, why not flaunt it.”

“Flaunt what?” Ralph innocently asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“How is Louise?” Ralph asked as they entered into the house.

“It’s over; she dropped me at the insistence of her old man because I didn’t sell Verrocchi the property.”

“Sorry that’s my fault, I should never have accepted the farm.” It was clearly visible Ralph was upset over the outcome and had concerned himself greatly since Wayne’s last visit.

“No it’s no one’s fault, it would never have worked out between us, I realise now, besides I’m starting to enjoy the freedom and Louise was somewhat dominating,” a pause and chuckle, “she would be better off with a Poodle, as for selling the farm, if not to you it would have been another and not Verrocchi, so the outcome would have been the same.”

“Still, I should not have accepted such a generous gift.” Ralph was becoming more distressed as the conversation progressed.

“Ralph morally it was your farm anyway.” Wayne became assertive as he placed the diary down with a measure of force onto the kitchen table, gently taped at its heavily bound cover with his finger.

“Why would you say that?”

“Going by what Molly McBride has told me, originally it was call the Henderson farm; my great uncle purchased it after the Henderson’s became bankrupted and it was held in two names.” Wayne calmed.

“What has that to do with me?” Ralph asked from within a fog of confusion.

“You are a Henderson.” Wayne paused.

“No I’m a Matthews.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you this at present but I met a cousin of yours up at Yungaburra the other day and by chance I learnt of your family ties and that the Matthews family and the Henderson family are branches of the original owners of this farm.” Wayne paused again fiddling with the diary – once again he continued. “I don’t know how or who yet but this book is supposed to have the answers. Going on what your cousin Stephen Henderson said and what Molly has told me, you are related to the original owners of this farm.”

“I didn’t even know I had a Cousin Stephen. I do have a number of cousin but-” Ralph went into thinking overdrive, “hang on there is that lot up on the tablelands and if I recollect one was called Stephen, yet I’ve never met any of them.”

“There you go, so the farm is morally your property.”

“How did you meet this Stephen fellow?” Ralph asked.

“By chance I called into the local pub and we got chatting.”

“That’s spooky.”

“It is as if the whole ordeal was prearranged, your arrival at the farm, my great aunt leaving me the property and if it wasn’t for my breaking up with Louise I wouldn’t have gone to Yungaburra where I met your cousin.”

“What was this Henderson who had the farm to your uncle?” Ralph descended back into mystery. He stood from his chair and extracted a can of beer from the fridge, then replaced it.

“Go on mate, I think we both could do with one.” Wayne suggested.

“What is my cousin like?” Ralph asked at length.

“As for the original Henderson I don’t know about him yet but your cousin is a lot like you, except not so skinny, in fact because of the likeness I thought I knew him from somewhere. That is how we started our conversation.” There was a smile on Wayne’s face as he mentioned skinny, as Ralph had filled out quite some since their first encounter.

“Is he married?” Ralph asked.

“No.” Wayne’s answer transported his thoughts back to that night in Yungaburra, Stephen’s visit to his cottage and what may or may not have eventuated. “Somehow I don’t think he is the marrying kind.” Wayne added.

“What does that mean?” Ralph asked.

“I got the impression he was gay.”

“What gave you that impression?” Ralph asked and joined Wayne at the kitchen table, pulling the tab on both cans of beer, he passed one to Wayne.

“Sometimes you can pick up on these things.”

“Does that worry you?” Ralph asked.

“Not at all.”

“I haven’t told you the full extent of my treatment by my step father.” Ralph quietly admitted.

“You did say he bashed you.”

“True he did and within an inch of my life but there was more.” Ralph appeared reluctant to continue but obviously had a desire to confide in someone he could trust.

“There’s no need to tell me.”

“No Wayne, I believe I do have to.”

For a time Ralph became silent. Firstly he took a swig of beer; he grimaced and took another, a sigh and another. Eventually he spoke. “He raped me.” Wayne remained silent. “More than once, it became almost a weekly ordeal in those last few months, whenever he returned home drunk especially after a shit day at work. Firstly he would rape me than bash me shitless, shouting I was a faggot and needed a good thrashing.”

“You poor kid, why didn’t you tell someone?” Wayne felt the story tug on his heart string.

“I did, I told my mother but she didn’t believe me, she said if I kept up with my lies I would have to be put in a home.” Ralph softly sighed.

“What about the cops?”

“Couldn’t, the bugger was the sergeant at the local station.” Another deep sigh, “so now you know the whole dirty truth.”

“I would never say that Ralph, it wasn’t your fault, you should have been protected from that sort of treatment.”

As Ralph related his story Wayne felt himself growing even closer to the lad, wanting to protect him, to give him a better life and maybe restore a small amount of childhood from his loss.

“Is that why you ran away?”

“I had no other choice, his thrashings were becoming more severe each time, one more and he may have killed me.”

After Ralph’s admission and the conversation on his affiliation with the Henderson family had become exhausted, the subject of Louise and Wayne’s future became topic. Ralph showed concern for his friend’s happiness while Wayne apparently had settled into the fact of once again being single with some ease. There was of course the loss of sexual activity but that was only part of his life and even though he enjoyed it immensely, he often felt there was something missing from the act, possibly because Louise treated such encounters with a measure of humour, which seemed to Wayne to be an attack on his masculinity. She would often give score to his performance. Eight out of ten, would be given on a good night, mostly after he had relieved his urge during the day and the night’s action therefore became prolonged. There were other nights when Louise would declare that a rabbit had hopped into her bed, scoring him three, declaring that three was her lowest score possible and all that was deserved.

Wayne couldn’t describe what was missing from their relationship. It was more an afterthought while Louise had her final cigarette before lights out, or during morning coffee, with Louise lying in his bed naked and smiling, her only interest who they could visit during the day or what new shop had opened down town, or even more tedious, her father’s business dealings and the size of his profits. The missing element was deep inside his head he would reach out for it but could find nothing, just an itch, always distant always there. If only he could put it all into language but how was it possible to explain a sentiment.

At first Wayne assumed it developed from Louise’s lack of closeness but often she did display affection yet even then his itch was apparent. Now Louise was gone and it mattered not if he had an itch at all, or if it needed scratching.

“How long are you staying?” Ralph asked as he thumbed the corner of Lachlan McBride’s journal.

“Why are you already tired of my company?” Wayne answered unsure of why the question was issued.

“No of course not, I like it when you arrive and hope you will stay longer this time. I know how to talk to you and feel I can be honest and open with you.” Ralph answered showing his usual straight forwardness, while displaying a mark of embarrassment for being so.

“I may stay forever.” Wayne lightly threatened.

“Sure that is fine as well.” Ralph guaranteed.

“I have become interested in family history, also your family and wish to do some research. As for home, there isn’t much to hold me there these days,” he paused, “another thing the Aboriginal camp, you’ve been up there what is it like.” Wayne asked while standing to gaze towards that part of the forest where the camp was once situated, trying to imagine a forgotten time when the natives were still in that no man’s land being neither black nor white but mostly tribal, or at best attempting to hold onto their traditions. Now they were lost on the edge of society without capability of going back and held from going forward, being a modern no man’s land.

Ralph had often spoken of visiting the abandoned camp and found a strange reality about the area. Sometimes it appeared to be dead and listless, while at others there seemed to be life everywhere. Admitting he could almost hear voices of past generations and smell the eucalyptus leaves burning within cooking fires, while the calls of children travelled on the light breeze, talking in language, in broken English and laughter. He knew it was only the wind through the branches of the forest trees, or the call of cassowary and scrub turkeys deep in the undergrowth. Imagination yes, yet it felt so real giving sensation of not being alone. He related his experience to Wayne who listened with interest but lacked any ability to comprehend. Wayne was a black and white kind of person. If he couldn’t see it, touch it hear it then it didn’t exist.

Even while visiting Grace as a child, Wayne seldom went near the forest and knew nothing about its native history, besides his mother was ever watching, discouraging him from travelling past the house paddock.

Sylvia had been a town’s girl and hated country life, while Wayne’s father appeared to enjoy his visit to the farm, rolling up the sleeves of his city white shirt and burying his hands to the elbows in dirt, chook food and garden fertilizer but his many business ventures kept him close to Cairns, often needing to fly to Brisbane for extended periods while visiting contacts and signing contracts.

“There’s nothing from the old days left, just wild pigs, scrub turkeys and junk left by the town kids, also if you go too far into the forest there are feral dogs that have bread with dingoes – quite dangerous or so I have been told.” Ralph explained.

“Have you seen these dogs?”

“No it’s only hearsay from old Charlie who is the handyman at the pub. He showed me a set of scars across his upper legs, saying it was wild dogs that attacked him.”

“What in the scrub behind here?” Wayne requested somewhat disbelieving.

“Not behind here, Charlie said it happened down at the Five-Mile and if it wasn’t for his own dog he could have been a goner. He said they killed his Kelpie but in answer to your question about the natives, I couldn’t say.”

“I guess the natives were different back then,” Wayne commented envisaging the drunken lot on the Cairn’s Esplanade.

“True but we made them what they are.” Ralph protested.

“Possibly, want a beer?”

“No thank you.”

Wayne also forwent, instead put the jug to boil, “coffee?”

“That would be good.”

Late in the afternoon of the second day while Ralph attended to his garden Wayne took himself for a walk towards the main road. On reaching the gateway he noticed one of the Verrocchi brothers walking along the ends of the rows of sugar cane. Maurice Verrocchi, number three and youngest of the Verrocchi brothers and at almost thirty, was quickly becoming his father, with his short stature, receding hairline and dark complexion, created by constant exposure to the cruel northern sun.

Wayne waved out of country courtesy and Maurice waved back without any show of displeasure with his neighbour. Then as Maurice turned down one of the rows of cane Wayne became interested in replacing the missing gate and the sign he had found beside the road. The farm would once more wear the name of Henderson. As quickly he shunned the thought; ‘I guess it should be Matthews?’ he would need to run it by Ralph, it was his farm now and Wayne should refrain from thinking otherwise. Directing traffic, that is what Louise called his attitude, Wayne had a habit of doing so, giving orders without being canvassed, taking over other peoples situations without even realising he was doing so. ‘I should stop directing Ralph what to do with the farm it is his now, I am his guest,’ he concluded.

“G’day.” A voice of greeting came from behind, bringing Wayne to turn and spy two young men approaching from the direction of town. One was a tall, most handsome, honey-red headed young man whose build wouldn’t be embarrassed in any gym, while the other was somewhat slender, with long dark hair hanging around his head like rats tales. They walked arm around shoulders and smiling as if the sun would shine forever.

“G’day.” Wayne responded as they passed but nothing more was spoken. Wayne was distracted by Ralph’s call from beside the house and when he turned back towards the travellers they had gone. There was a blind spot, a bend in the road a little ahead of the farm gateway but it should have taken the travellers much longer to reach it. Wayne gave a soft huh thinking they must have sprinted but halfway back along the drive something came to him. It was now late in the afternoon and the shadows were long. The two he had encountered didn’t appear to cast shadows. Then the thought was gone.

After the night’s meal Wayne settled down with Lachlan’s diary. He found the reading somewhat difficult as it was written in pen ink and copperplate style while being somewhat faded and blotted by a century of tropical dampness.

He also found difficulty in distinguishing many letters that appeared to be the same, as Lachlan’s r’s and e’s and i’s were but squiggles and no one did S’s like that in modern text.

“What have you discovered?” Ralph asked looking over Wayne’s shoulder to what he was reading.

“Interesting, it appears that Lachlan had two sisters and four brothers, he was the youngest and it appears he hated his father.”

“Does he actually write of his hatred towards his father?” Ralph asked.

“Not as such, it more than suggested,” Wayne turned the page. It also seems he was a horse breeder from a very young age which made him quite wealthy and after your ancestor lost the farm, he bought it at auction and handed it back to the original owner’s son.”

“Spooky.” Ralf declared, “You’ve read all that in just two pages?”

“No Molly told me about Lachlan buying the farm. He hasn’t mentioned any Henderson’s as yet, mostly about his earlier days,” Wayne paused, “Here’s a thought, more than likely Lachlan is buried at the town’s cemetery and most probably your great uncle as well. How would you like to have a look?”

“I’ve never been to a cemetery before.” Ralph admitted.

“What, not even when your father died?”

“I went to his funeral, he was cremated and given to my mother in a small box, I remember thinking it was so small to hold the remains of such a large man.”

“What did you mother do with the box?” Wayne asked.

“For all I know it could still be in the sideboard where she put it, we couldn’t afford a cemetery plot.”

“My parents had prearranged their own plot and were buried not burnt and in dad’s family section of the Cairns cemetery,” Wayne explained.

“I guess once they’re gone they live in your head and not in the ground or some small box.” Ralph supposed.

“Another thought Ralph, I think you should learn to drive.” Wayne added taking the conversation away from death and burials.

“That scares the shit out of me.” Ralph answered appearing nervous with the suggestion then he gave a shudder and said maybe he would but not that day. “What if I crashed your car?” He added.

“Then I’ll get another one.” Wayne laughed and closing the journal continued; “when you were cleaning, did you find any old photos?”

“There were a few but mostly of your aunt and some kids playing in the yard, they are in the draw in what was your aunt’s bedroom. Do you want me to fetch them for you?”

“Na, I know what she looked like, maybe later, I was more looking for way back photos, maybe Lachlan or even the Henderson fellow, your great – great uncle.” Wayne yawned declaring that living in the country and doing nothing made him tired.

“What was my so called great uncle’s name?” Ralph asked.

“Going by what Molly said, like your cousin he was also Stephen but I am only up to Lachlan living at home and he hasn’t mentioned his friends to any length but according to Molly McBride, one of the Henderson’s remained here in the district so maybe he is also buried at the cemetery.”

“More than likely I guess eventually everyone ends up there, or in a box on a mantle shelf.”

“Where is the cemetery, I haven’t seen it while driving around the district and it can’t be that one near the church, it and the church appear disused.” Wayne asked but Ralph also had no idea, as it wasn’t the kind of place he went looking for, stating he would arrive there in his own good time and then it wouldn’t matter if he knew the way or not.

“There is another church further out but doesn’t have a grave yard.” Ralph recollected.

“I guess Biff will know, I’ll ask her.”

“I like Biff.” Ralph admitted as he drifted away from the conversation, being drawn through the window towards the distant forest. The daylight was fading, giving the western sky a light pinkish glow, as a flight of fruit bats blackened a portion of the sky while heading for the fruiting trees in the forest “Destructive little fellows but cute,” Ralph casually commented.

“What are?”

“The fruit bats – flying foxes, I’ve noticed the damage they have done to Verrocchi’s trees.”

“Speaking of trees there was once a mango tree at the back corner of the house and when in season the bats would strip it and drop the seeds onto the roof all night.” Wayne recollected.

“It was gone by the time I arrived.”

“Do you now remember Biff from when you lived at home?” Wayne asked, disregarding Ralph’s description of the bats.

“Sorta’, but that time is a blur and I would rather think of her in the present and not in the past.”

“Fair enough comment.” Wayne admitted.

“What about yourself Wayne, what do you remember of your parents?”

“Quite some I suppose but from a child’s perspective. I thought my mother was beautiful yet somewhat aloof. She dressed well and had many friends,” Wayne gave an ironic chortle; “I guess too many and that is why they divorced.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No need to be, I’m well over it all, even the accident doesn’t concern me too much. I guess I was too young to understand.”

“Did they love you?”

“I never went without but sometimes, even as a child, I believed I was an afterthought and my existence interfered with their lifestyle.” Dad wanted children – by his account, lots of them. After a daughter was stillborn my mother called it quits, said she couldn’t take the strain of loosing another. Wayne grew silent as if searching the past for answers, “no I guess in their own way they did love me, only sometime I got in the way of things. What about yourself?”

“I suppose my parents did so when dad was alive.” Ralph offered and fell silent on the matter.

“That brings me to think of marrying Louise.” Wayne spoke as if he was at distance, his mind projected far into a future that would not happen.

“In what way would that be?” Ralph asked.

“I would love kids. It is easy to admit so while not having any but Louise would be different.”

“Why so?”

“Like my feeling I was an afterthought, I am sure children would also be a burden to her, kids would get in the way of her entertainment schedule.” Wayne paused, “that would be like starting the cycle over once more. No I wouldn’t like that part – yet.”

“Why do you say yet?”

“I guess it would be nice watching them grow, playing ball with them and teaching them stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“I guess life in general.”

“I’ve never thought of having kids.” Ralph calmly responded.

“Some say it is our only reason for living.” Wayne stood from his seat and moved to the verandah rail, “if so why do some parents treat them as optional extras or a hindrance,” he placed within the reflection.

“Or worse,”

“We are becoming morbid.” Wayne laughed and tuned his ear to the night, “an exercise Ralph what do you hear?”

“More so Wayne you tell me.” Ralph answered.

“Frogs and a whole lot of background noise, I’m afraid I don’t have nature’s ear.”

“Righto I’ll try -,” Ralph paused and tuned into the night. “Crickets, three kinds of frogs – an owl, a barking owl by the sound, and a dog but that is a long way off, ah another owl the Rufous and there is something moving in the oleander at the end of the verandah, could be your green tree snake returned and down in the long grass I believe a bandicoot is designing its way towards my vegie patch.”

“Woo fella’ that will do.”

“Well you did ask.” Ralph smirked.

“Yea but I didn’t expect a nature doco.”

While relaxing, Wayne allowed his mind to meander back to his encounter of the two young fellows along the road in the late afternoon. It came to mind there was something else not right about the two. It was their attire which appeared to be somewhat old fashioned, this he put down to his belief people were unfussy in the country and having none to impress, dressed accordingly unless it was an occasion. Still in question was how they reached the bend in the time it took for him to turn and answer Ralph’s call. More than likely they were as Ralph suggested, from one of the properties a little further along the road but why sprint to the turning for no apparent reasoning.

“Hey Ralph how would you like me to take you up to Yungaburra to meet your cousin?” Wayne asked after an extended period of listening to the night callers. ‘Must be rain on the way,’ he thought, ‘the night is always noisy before rain.’

“Dunno I haven’t met family for so long I wouldn’t know what to say, besides why should my cousin want to meet me?”

“That’s a little defeatist,” Wayne disapproved of his friend’s appraisal of self.

“No, simply I don’t know any of the lot on the tableland and haven’t done much that would be of interest to Stephen. Besides what if he asked me about home?”

“Your cousin is easy going and what I’ve noticed with Stephen, he likes to talk about himself and I’d be there, so if you run into difficulty, you would only have to give me the nod and we would leave immediately.”

“Still dunno’,”

“Put dunno’ as a percentage,” Wayne suggested with a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t get ya’.”

“If yes was one hundred and no was zero, where would dunno’ fit?”

“That’s silly,” Ralph quickly answered.

“Humour me.”

“Righto’, it would be at fifty.”

“Then when it lowers to forty-nine you let me know.”

Wayne showed a measure of frustration towards Ralph’s evasion and found difficulty convincing him to visit his cousin. At first he said no then yes and as the positive escaped through his lips it once again turned negative but after sleeping on the suggestion, in the early morning he came to Wayne’s room and softly called through the woodwork, “okay I’ll meet him.”

“I’ll arrange it – when?”

“I’ll leave that to you, would you like breakfast?” Ralph opened the door after gently knocking.

“Breakfast would be nice, I’m not used to service: Louise didn’t cook and we usually only had coffee, sometimes we were adventuress and had toast, or went for brunch at some café.”

“What would you like?” Ralph asked.

“You surprise me.”

“I’m not very good at surprises.” Ralph admitted.

“Well then, I like omelette and my Gran was a marvel at making them.”

“How did she do it, mine either turn out scrambled, or like rubber place mats.” Ralph freely professed.

“Let me think, ah yes she separated the yoke from the white and fluffed up the whites with a beater before combining the two, folding in the whites she called it and added cheese, while bulking it out with a little water, not milk.” Wayne paused.

“And what else,”

“Tomato or whatever was around but they always turned out light and fluffy and tasted great.”

“Fussy taste.” Ralph complained.

“You did ask.”

At last breakfast was served, Ralph’s surprise being two fried eggs on toast, a side serve of crispy bacon with fried tomato and coffee.

“What happened to the light and fluffy omelette?” Wayne quietly protested.

“I wasn’t brave enough, maybe next time.”

“Never mind you fry a mean egg and you are a marvel with the toaster.” Wayne smirked from behind a mouth full of egg and toast.

It was decided to visit Stephen Henderson as soon as possible. For Wayne it was before Ralph could again change his mind, for Ralph the sooner the better, if it had to happen why drag it out. So it should be that very morning.

“I haven’t contacted Stephen yet, he may be out of town, busy or possibly he doesn’t want to meet.”

“That suits me fine,” Ralph admitted while lowering his positivity to a level well below fifty on his scale of alacrity.

“I’ll telephone this evening.”

“I’ve never been to Yungaburra.” Ralph confessed, being more interested in travelling to new parts than meeting some unknown relation.

“It’s much cooler and can be bitterly cold in the dryer months, more like a southern winter.”

“I haven’t been south either.”

“They even have dairy cows and grow spuds.”

“I tried to grow potatoes out the back, they rotted.” Ralph disclosed.

“Yes it’s the humidity.”

“You did warn me but I tried anyway.” Ralph admitted.

During the morning Wayne drove into town to enquire from Biff how to find the cemetery, instead chanced upon Verrocchi, who again accosted him before entering into Biff’s shop.

“Mister Jenkins I hear your wedding has been cancelled.” The man sarcastically mused while blocking Biff’s doorway with his middle age bulk.

“It does appear to be so Mister Verrocchi.” Wayne agreed, keeping his tone as coincidental as possible but under the surface he was seething and damning Jack Miller for interfering.

“I see you still have that kid living at the farm.” Verrocchi perceived, while taking a half step to allow Wayne’s entry but not enough distance to avoid his personal space being encroached upon.

Wayne paused, “Ralph, yes he’s still there.”

“When is the hand over to the new owner?” Verrocchi asked, leaving Wayne in decision how he could end this unwelcomed conversation. He could silently walk away and refused further recourse or give it on the line. He decided to be finish with the situation once and for all.

“I sold the property to Ralph Matthews.”

“Who?”

“Ralph Matthews the kid you reckon is the caretaker, he now owns the property.”

Verrocchi appeared most confused, how could a skinny, callow kid of no means afford to purchase anything greater than a grocery list.

“What would a kid like that do with a farm?” Verrocchi’s voice lowered into displeasure, even lower towards hatred and seethe.

“That is something you will have to ask of Ralph, now excuse me Mister Verrocchi but I need to do business with Biff.”

Wayne side stepped the man and left him at the door, where Verrocchi stood for some time milling over what he had heard and how he could convince this Ralph, this skinny kid, this callow kid of little means, he had no use for the land and what he may need to offer to attain its purchase.

“Good morning young fellow.” Biff greeted, her steely gaze on Verrocchi who remained silently blocking the entrance.

“Excuse me Mister Verrocchi,” Trish Whitmore, Vicar Whitmore’s wife begged pardon to gain access. The man reluctantly half stepped aside but his rage was holding him to the spot.

“Thank you.” The woman entered and progressed to the dairy counter, she nodded to Biff and patiently waited.

“One moment Trish,” Biff called across the space.

“No Hurry,”

“I better see what Trish wants,” Biff excused herself from Wayne. Moments later one of the Verrocchi brothers arrived and spoke in Italian to the father, who gruffly answered and both advanced to the footpath. Once beyond the shop the man could clearly be heard arguing with his son, again in Italian but punctuated with English cursing, “entra nella cazzo di macchina!” The man shouted at his son.

“No dad, I won’t get in your fucken’ car, I have things to do.” Maurice Verrocchi returned the shout and brazenly walked away. As Maurice reached the corner, the old man departed town at speed.

“There goes an angry man.” Biff acknowledged in a breath of dismay. She turned to the vicar’s wife, “Trish it’s a good thing you don’t understand Italian.”

“I think I got the gist of it. The woman answered; “and who is this young man new to town?” Trish Whitmore enquired as she paid for her groceries, while keeping a wary eye on Wayne.

“Oh Wayne is related to Grace McBride, who had the farm out on McBride Road, the vicar did her funeral some time back.” Biff answered and introduced Wayne to Trish.

“Yes I do remember and we didn’t see your Grace in church on Sundays either.”

“I don’t actually live here Missus Whitmore.” Wayne protested.

“God is also interested in travellers – remember Saint Christopher,” the woman sternly remarked. She gave Wayne the once over and satisfied he wasn’t some larrikin, continued, “So are you going to farm on the McBride land?” she asked.

“No I have already sold it.”

“Not to our friend Mister Verrocchi that is obvious and we don’t see him in church either but I guess, like Saint Christopher, he belongs to the other lot.” The woman paid for her groceries and went on her way.

“And what can I do for you young fellow?” Biff asked once alone.

“Eggs,”

“How many?”

“No Ralph has an oversupply and wanted to know if you needed any.”

“How many dozen and how often?” Biff asked.

“I don’t think dozens he wishes to give them to you, as he can’t eat them as quickly as the chooks are laying.”

“Sorry lad I have a regular supplier.”

“I thought that may be so.”

“Yes, suppliers can be a little difficult. If you chop and change at a whim they are likely to give you old product; or none at all.”

“Did I tell you I found a cousin to Ralph while up on the Tablelands?”

“You did mention doing so.”

“Ralph’s agreed to meet him and I’ve arranged for early next week.”

“Knowing Ralph’s reticent towards strangers that could be interesting,” Biff admitted.

“True and it did take me some effort to have him agree.”

“He wasn’t always that way, as a boy he was most gregarious – polite yes and inquisitive, wanted to know all about everything and smart. I guess losing his father and Bob’s Wilkins treatment knocked the best out of him.”

“Did you know Ralph’s stepfather?” Wayne asked.

“Of sorts, by that time I was having problems of my own, my old man left with another woman and I lost the house, it was sold and I came up here and bought this place with my share.”

“It appears the country is awash with broken relationships.” Wayne proposed with a sigh of memory.

“That not the half of it.”

“Did you know much of his stepfather’s treatment?” Wayne asked without divulging what Ralph had related.

“I did know about the beltings and approached Veronica but she wasn’t having any of it and when Bob heard, he threatened me to mind my own business and had his mates from the police station park outside the house. He even suggested he could arrange a raid and was sure he would find some contraband.”

“It appears this Bob Wilkins is a nasty bit of work.”

“That is putting it simply, yet to meet him he would appear a perfect gentleman.”

Eventually Wayne departed and was half way to the farm when he realised with the confrontation with the angry Italian, he had forgotten to ask Biff for the location of the cemetery but it mattered not, there was plenty of time, besides there was the approaching visit to Yungaburra and Stephen Henderson to keep him well occupied.

Let Gary Know that you are reading and what you think of his story. Drop an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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