Barbara Hannay - Miracle in Bellaroo Creek

Shoot me now, they used to say at the very thought. They’d been sixteen then. Sixteen and super confident that the world was their oyster, and quite certain that it was vitally important to escape Bellaroo Creek.

Unfortunately, Heidi had changed her mind and she’d become engaged to Brad only a matter of months after Milla had left town.

But although poor old Heidi had stayed, it was clear that many others had found it necessary to get away. These days Bellaroo Creek was practically a ghost town.

This discovery had been a bit of a shock. Milla had hoped that a trip to her hometown would cheer her up. Instead, she’d been depressed all over again when she’d walked down the main street and discovered that almost all the businesses and shops had closed down.

Where were the cars and people? Where were the farmers standing on street corners, thumbs hooked in belt loops as they discussed the weather and the wool prices? Where were the youngsters who used to hang around the bakery or the hamburger joint? The young mums who brought their babies to the clinic, their children to the library?

Bellaroo Creek was nothing like the busy, friendly country town of her childhood. The general store was now a supermarket combined with a newsagent’s and a tiny post office—and that was just about it.

Even the bakery Milla’s parents used to own was now boarded-up and empty. Milla had stood for ages outside the shopfront she’d once known so well, staring glumly through the dusty, grimy windows into the darkened interior.

From as far back as she could remember the Bellaroo bakery had been a bustling, busy place, filled with cheery customers, and with the fragrant aroma of freshly baked bread. People had flocked from miles around to buy her dad’s mouth-watering loaves made from local wheat, or his delicious rolls and shiny-topped fruit buns, as well as her mum’s legendary pies.

Her parents had sold the business when they retired, and in the short time since it had come to this...an empty, grimy shop with a faded, printed sign inside the dusty window offering the place for lease. Again.

Who would want it?

Looking around at the other vacant shopfronts, Milla had been totally disheartened. She’d driven from Sydney to Bellaroo Creek on a nostalgic whim, but instead she’d found a place on the brink of extinction...

It seemed the universe was presenting her with yet another dismal picture of failure.

It was so depressing...

Poor Heidi must be going mental living here, Milla decided as she drove down the winding dirt track between paddocks of pale, biscuit-coloured grass dotted with fat, creamy sheep. At least Heidi was still married to Brad and had two kids, a boy and a girl—which sounded fine on the surface, but Milla couldn’t believe her old friend was really happy.

Admittedly, her contact with Heidi had been patchy—the occasional email or Facebook message, the odd Christmas card...

She’d felt quite tentative, almost fearful when she’d plucked up the courage to telephone Heidi, and she’d been rather surprised that her friend had sounded just as bright and bubbly as she had in her teens.

‘Come for lunch,’ Heidi had gushed after the initial excited squeal over the phone. ‘Better still, come for morning tea and stay for lunch. That way you’ll catch up with Brad when he comes in around twelve, and we can have plenty of time for a really good chat. I want to hear everything.’

Milla wasn’t particularly looking forward to sharing too many details of her personal history, but she was keen to see Heidi again. Curious now, too, as the track dipped to a concrete ford that crossed a small, shady creek.

As her tyres splashed through the shallow water she imagined Heidi and Brad’s children playing in the creek when they were older. She edged the car up the opposite bank and rounded a corner, and saw her first view of the farmhouse.

Which wasn’t grand by any means—just a simple white weatherboard house with verandahs and a red roof—but it was shaded by a big old spreading tree and there were well-tended flowerbeds set in neat lawns, a vegetable garden with trellises at one end and free-ranging, rusty-feathered chickens.

Her friend’s home was a far cry from the acres of expensive glass and white marble of Milla and Harry’s Beverly Hills mansion...

And yet, something about the house’s old-fashioned, rustic simplicity touched an unexpected chord in Milla.

No need to get sentimental, she warned herself as she drove forward.

Before she’d parked the car, the front door opened, spilling puppies and a rosy-cheeked little girl. Heidi followed close behind, waving and grinning as she hurried down the steps and across the lawn. As Milla clambered out she found herself enveloped in the warmest of welcoming hugs.

After weeks of loneliness, she was fighting tears.

* * *

Ed had tried to ring his father several times, but the arrogant old man had a habit of ignoring phone calls if he wasn’t in a sociable mood. Which happened quite often, and went part-way to explaining Gerry Cavanaugh’s multiple marriages and divorces and why his three sons had been born to three different wives, who now lived as far apart from each other as possible.

Today, when Gerry finally deigned to return his son’s call, Ed was in the Business Lounge at JFK, sending last-minute business emails.

‘Glad to hear you’ve tracked Milla down.’ His father always jumped in without any preliminaries. ‘And you know what you have to do when you catch up with her, don’t you, Ed?’

‘Well...sure. I’ll tell her about Harry.’

‘If she doesn’t already know.’

Ed was quite sure Milla couldn’t know that Harry had died. Even though she’d run away, she would have been upset. She would have contacted them if she’d heard, and come back for the funeral.

‘And I’ll set up the trust fund for the baby,’ he went on. ‘Make sure Milla signs the necessary papers.’

‘That’s not all, damn it.’

Ed sighed. What else had his old man up his sleeve?

‘Your main job is to bring the woman home.’

‘Home?’ This was news to Ed. ‘Don’t forget Milla was born and bred in Australia, Father. And she still calls Australia home,’ he added with a grim smile at his joking reference to the popular song.

‘Like hell. My grandson will be born in America.’

‘What are you suggesting? That I kidnap a pregnant woman? You want extradition orders placed on your pregnant daughter-in-law?’

His father ignored this. ‘You’ll find a way to persuade her. You’re a Cavanaugh. You have a knack with women.’

Not with this particular woman. Ed squashed unsettling memories before they could take hold. ‘Just remember, Father. Milla ran away from Harry and from our family. It’s obvious she wants as much distance between us as possible. She’s unlikely to come back willingly.’

‘Trust me, son, as soon as she hears she’s a widow, she’ll be back here in a flash. Of course, she won’t get a goddamn cent of Harry’s money unless she lets us raise the child as a Cavanaugh, as my grandchild.’

‘Got it...’ responded Ed dispiritedly. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

His offer was received with an expressive grunt that conveyed the full brunt of his father’s doubts and displeasure.

Ed gritted his teeth. ‘Anyway...I’ve briefed Dan Brookes and everything’s in hand as far as the business is concerned, so I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.’

Ending the call, Ed sat staring bleakly through the wall of windows, watching the busy tarmac and the endless streams of planes taking off and landing.

He wasn’t looking forward to the long, twenty-hour flight, but he was looking forward even less to the task that lay ahead of him. After all, Milla had returned to Australia because she’d planned to divorce Harry, and she’d clearly been so disenchanted with the Cavanaughs that she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy.