she wondered why, no matter how much she pushed and worked, she could never seem to transform the place to anything other than a tired old homestead that struggled, alongside a farm and a family that struggled. The visit to Rivermont the night before had made the feeling even more sharp. Bec was failing. Failing life, failing her boys, failing herself. Her dreams were dying before her eyes, yet the reason why was beyond her reach. Did she not pour enthusiasm into everything she did? Did she not try her hardest?
She glanced at the plastic bag on the front seat; it contained Yazzie’s freshly washed baby-doll nightie. She must’ve been so drunk to borrow it and put it on for Charlie! Along with the spray tan! She felt such a fool. Wheels whirring over the grid onto the bitumen, Bec settled into the drive to Bendoorin. Again she reassured herself that things would be OK. Once the parcel from the sex-toy party arrived, she and Charlie would get back on track and she would feel alive again.
As Rebecca drove into town, her bleak mood shifted to one of amusement when she saw the sign that announced the current campaigns of the state police. A wag with a big black Texta had defaced the sign. The formal overzealous state budget font read: POLICE ARE NOW TARGETING … And in the space provided some clown had scrawled CRANKY CHICKS.
She burst out laughing. That was something she and her college mates would have done in their wild Ag College years.
‘Police are now targeting cranky chicks!’ she said, giggling again. ‘Huh! That’s funny.’
‘What, Mummy?’ Ben asked. ‘What are you laughing at?’
‘Oh, nothing, sweetie. Just a silly sign. Not very politically correct.’
‘Not very what?’
She smiled at Ben in the rear-vision mirror, his serious dark eyes looking at her, curious.
‘Politically correct. It’s when very nerdy people don’t get jokes and take life far, far too seriously for their own good.’
She now looked at her own image in the mirror and wondered if she would be considered a ‘cranky chick’ these days. She suddenly realised she too had become a very serious person. With a start, she wondered when? And how had the seriousness set in? Why didn’t she do anything crazy any more, like she had done at Ag College? Where was it in the rule book of life that you had to grow up and be sensible? Even at the sex-toy party, she had barely let herself go. She resolved that she should be more fun, like Yazzie had suggested. Rebecca realised she was in one huge deep rut — she needed Charlie’s bloody stupid new big tractor and a chain to pull herself out of it. For herself, for her boys and, of course, for Charlie. With that resolve in mind, she cranked up the CD of The Sunny Cowgirls for the last hundred metres of the main street, rocking to ‘Summer’ until she turned into the car park of the health clinic.
An hour later, after the dentist, Bec found herself whizzing the boys in a trolley up and down the supermarket aisles of Candy’s store, making V8 engine noises. At Ag College they’d had many drunken adventures with the sturdy steel contraptions. Why shouldn’t she have fun with them at this age? But even as she whizzed the boys from the canned goods section to the sauces, she felt her mood was forced. Strained. She knew the Who’s Who of Bendoorin would be lurking in the aisles to find out the gossip from the scandalous party at Doreen and Dennis’s. Luckily Bec managed to avoid too many encounters, making it to the checkout with only one ‘Hello, how are you?’ from Mrs Newton, who looked equally knackered from minding the boys.
At the checkout they found Candy also looking frazzled from the party. Her bright orange poncho with blue knitted flowers cast a sickly hue across her greenish-grey face.
‘What a night! I feel so undone!’
‘You’re not alone,’ Bec said, loading groceries onto the counter.
‘Nice tan, by the way,’ Candy said, starting to bip the goods past the scanner. ‘One of Yazzie’s, I’d say. She got me last week when the parcel first arrived. We took the bloody thing upstairs into my shower and she turned me into a Polly Waffle.’
‘Hah! Yeah, it’s not the best look,’ Bec said, holding up the palms of her hands to reveal patches of tanning lotion.
‘It’ll wash. While you’re in town, you should get yourself a coffee and some lunch for the boys. Larissa’s new shop is open for business. I know I’m her very proud mother, but she really does make the best coffee. She can give you a double shot. Get you over the line back to Waters Meeting this arvo. There’s also the hoodoo guru’s new shop next door. You should check it out.’
‘Hoodoo guru?’
‘Yeah,’ Candy said as she bagged a few groceries. ‘Some blow-in woman from somewhere opened it this week. Filled with crystals and Buddhas. If you’re into that sort of thing. The kids might like it. Loads of colours, fountains and that funny-smelling incest stuff.’
A smile lit Bec’s face. ‘Don’t you mean incense, Candy?’
‘Oh my god! Did I actually say incest?! I must still be drunk. Incense … Oh dear, I’ve been in this tiny town too long with people like Ursula!’
Bec shook her head, smiling. ‘Now I’m intrigued about this shop. I’ll have to take a look.’
‘She’s got clothing in there too. But I can’t see you in a kaftan. Bit hard climbing fences in one of those numbers, and the tie-dye colours may scare the sheep. Me though — I bought five of them!’
‘Before yesterday, I couldn’t see myself in a bondage suit either, but apparently Yazzie’s ordered me a Catwoman outfit. Never say never.’
‘Look out, Charlie, when the parcel arrives!’ Candy laughed. ‘He won’t be driving his new tractor to the pub! He’ll be at home with you.’
A cloud of puzzlement passed across Bec’s face. ‘He drove the new tractor to the pub?’
‘Didn’t you know?’
Bec shook her head and felt her cheeks redden in humiliation and anger as she handed Candy some cash and gathered her grocery bags. ‘I was asleep when he got home. Then we had the livestock contractors out early, so I’ve not really seen him much.’
‘Sorry,’ Candy said, searching for eye contact as she handed Bec the change. ‘I thought you would’ve known. He’s a wild boy, your Charlie Lewis. Always was. Always will be.’
‘Oh, there’s a lot I don’t know, I’m sure. It’s no biggie. Funny really. The tractor to the pub. What a nong,’ she said, forcing a smile and only glancing at Candy.
With the little boys in tow, Bec felt a chill as she stepped out through the brand-new automated sliding doors of the general store, despite the summertime heat.
She glanced at her stern reflection in the window of the shop. ‘Wish they sold senses of humour in there too,’ she said absently. ‘I think I need a new one.’
‘What, Mummy?’ Ben asked.
She was momentarily distracted by the handsome face of Andrew Travis, who smiled back at her from behind the glass. His picture was on a large RLM poster advertising that night’s information seminar at the pub. ‘I wish the store sold men like that too.’
‘What, Mummy?’ Ben asked again.
‘Nothing,
