Chapter 30
BACK TO WORK
On June first the note from Ronnie’s doctor clearing her to return to work finally appeared on her online health portal.
Ronnie let out a sigh of relief, printed it out to show to Nev, then began hunting down work clothes.
It took her an age to figure out how to pull on boots.
Her back had mostly healed, but she still had no core strength when she was bent over.
She drove herself and the dogs to Upsend Downs mid-morning in the truck. Driving was uncomfortable, but that was allowed. On either side of Boar Pocket Road the neighbors’ paddocks looked dry.
She had been to Stone House a handful of times since the accident, not as often as she would have liked, but she hadn’t set foot on the public side of the operation. The lads hadn’t seen her in six weeks.
Nev stood out front waiting for her. That wouldn’t have happened before. Ronnie’s stomach tightened into a knot. She turned off the engine.
Nev opened the door of the truck.
Ronnie’s cheeks burned. “Bloody hell. Don’t look at me like that.” She swallowed.
“Like what?” Nev asked.
Her boss unfolded her from the seat the way Rainbow unfolded origami dream-catchers—lower lip between her teeth, cautiously optimistic, already knowing what was inside.
Kazi, Ric-Rac and Barney came running when Nev radioed that she had returned.
Ronnie was deeply moved by how relieved they were to see her.
They took off hats, ran fingers through thinning hair and gave her one-armed hugs as if she might break, which made her throat tight.
She wanted them to squeeze the breath out of her, manhandle her and wrestle her the way they used to.
The lads presented her with a pavlova while singing “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” loudly, off-key.
Nev’s sleeves looked tighter. Either her shirts had shrunk or she had been lifting. The thought of the older woman working out on the free weights behind the barn made Ronnie smile. Nev didn’t own gym clothes.
The bin in the staff kitchen in the barn contained an empty box of nicotine gum. Someone was trying to quit.
In the barn office a letter addressed to Ron Madonna sat face-up on the desk. The return address was TAFE North Queensland in Atherton. She ripped it open. Inside was a formal-looking letter printed on corporate letterhead from the post-secondary adult education campus.
She carried the letter out into the open center of the barn where the two halls crossed. Barney was outside hosing down horses. The animals flicked their tails placidly while he bathed them with a giant soapy sponge.
Letter in hand, Ronnie went back inside.
Nev was angrily cleaning out a chest freezer.
“What’s this?” Ronnie asked.
“Tell Barney he’s sacked.”
“Why? What did he do?”
Nev had rubber gloves, a spray bottle of bleach, and was scrubbing out the inside of the deep freezer. Buckets nearby were full of defrosted packets of lamb. By the smell, Ronnie guessed they were not good anymore. Dog food, maybe. She swore.
“How long was it unplugged?” Ronnie asked.
“Long enough.”
Barney walked over to see what Ronnie was looking at. He peered into the buckets, watched Nev scrubbing the bottom of the chest freezer. He took off his hat, scratched his head. Nev straightened, threw a wad of blood-soaked paper towels in the bin, glared at Barney. “You’re sacked.”
Barney looked around, startled. He touched his chest. “Me? What did I do?”
Nev disappeared over the edge of the chest freezer again.
Barney swore, scrubbing both hands through his hair and taking a step sideways. “I thought I plugged her back in! Truly! I only unplugged her for a second when I was hoovering with the shop vac like you asked me to…”
“Yup. I told you what would happen if you buggered something again. You’re done.”
Barney chuckled nervously. “Mate…”
Nev straightened, fixed him with a glare. He swallowed. He turned and walked out of the barn. Nev bent over the chest freezer again, reaching into the bottom corner with a fresh wad of paper towels. “This wasn’t the first thing he did.”
“He means well. It was an accident.”
Ronnie jogged after Barney. Outside, he looked like he had seen a ghost. He looked sick. He lit a cigarette, sucked on it in the shade against the side of the building, calming his shattered nerves. She walked over to him. The hand holding the cigarette was shaking.
“Mate,” he muttered.
“You’re not sacked. I’m re-hiring you.”
“Can you do that?” he asked.
She didn’t know. “Take the rest of the day off, eh? Wait for her to cool down.”
“Bloody hell… Thanks, mate. Owe you one.”
“No worries. What did you break while I was gone?”
Barney’s shirt said Love Fast, Die Sprung, around a cartoonish drawing of a snake. “Nothing, mate. She didn’t like the way I mowed the grass.” He sucked his ciggie. “She’s mental.”
“Mate. Anyone else would have sacked you day one.” They had all been guilty of leaving tools out in the rain once or twice, but Barney had a special gift for buggering the machines. He had the touch of death, but that wasn’t his fault.
While she waited for the computer in the barn office to boot up she tossed back a fistful of party-colored chocolate candy from the jar.
According to the letter, TAFE had received letters of recommendation from two of her references.
This had to be a practical joke from her dad.
Another heavy-handed attempt to help her rebuild her life.
She pulled up the website for the adult education center.
“Certificate IV in Adult Tertiary Preparation.” According to Google, tertiary meant third.
That answered no questions. She read the smaller text below.
It was a year twelve alternative, and ran for a year out of the Brisbane campus.
There was an option to do the course online.
“Gain access to university or other tertiary education institutions.” On the right side of the page four price options ranged from $0 to $5,000.
Interesting. As far as she could tell, the material was only reading, writing, and math. She could do this. It would give her more opportunities. It would give her the choice to go to uni someday. Most high-paid jobs on the Tablelands required a professional diploma, certificate or degree.
She didn’t seriously want to do manual labor for the rest of her life, did she? Surely that wasn’t sustainable long-term?
She drew a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks, let out the air with a fart sound.
The car park at the public boat launch on the east side of Lake Tinaroo was full.
Winter was tourist season. Number plates from Queensland and the Northern Territory.
Ronnie parked on the grass. The door of the truck thudded shut behind her.
She lowered dark sunnies over her eyes. A sign at the end of the public dock said “Tablelands: Shire of Diversity.”
Nev stood behind the sign, throwing brown bricks into the lake. One landed with a splash and floated away.
“That’s gonna upset some people, babe,” Ronnie said.
Nev snorted. “Feeding the barra.” Barramundi. “Can’t eat dogs, can I?”
“No,” Ronnie agreed, peering into the half-empty esky of rotten lamb from the defrosted chest freezer. “Need a hand?”
“I got it.”
Ronnie watched her friend toss another slimy brown block into the lake. “If you could have any job, what would it be?
Nev hesitated, squinted against the sun. “I don’t know. This one isn’t too bad.” She looked down. “How about you?”
“Women’s pro soccer coach.”
“You need a master’s degree.”
“I don’t want to travel for work.”
“That eliminates pro sports, Dain’y.”
“I like working for you.”
“But I made that job for you,” Nev said.
“That’s why.”
“What part of working here do you like?”
“The people,” Ronnie admitted.
“If we were all dead, hypothetically, how would you make your living?”
Ronnie was silent for a while, then smiled. “I’d flip real estate.”
Nev tossed a towel at her.