Evie Wyld - All the Birds, Singing

Up on a shelf above the dresses is a chocolate box with no lid, in it the driver’s licence of Carole McKinney from Carnarvon — it puts her age at forty-two. There are two bracelets made of blue and orange coral and a pink lipstick without its top. Underneath these objects is a large colour photograph of Carole and Otto on their wedding day. Otto is wearing the suit with the armpit stains and has Kelly standing next to him, staring straight into the camera. Otto’s arm is around Carole’s shoulders, so the armpit is visible. Carole wears one of the dresses that hangs in front of me — it’s over the top, purple and with one shoulder bare, the other with a large satin bow on, like Carole is a present that is ready for unwrapping. She holds a small white hairy-looking dog with both hands. Her hair is in a short permed bob and has yellowish highlights all through it, her eyes are barely visible beneath the layers of mascara she wears, and there’s that hot-pink lipstick, just about holding in her astonishing buck teeth. Carole is smiling, trying to keep the teeth in check, and she is presenting one long brown leg for the camera. Otto stands firm on both feet, straight-backed with a look that could bake biscuits. All of this is going on outside Darwin Registry Office. My hands start to sweat when I recognise the earrings Carole is wearing, and I have to put the photograph back in the box so I don’t mark it. I would like to tear it up.

I go into the kitchen and I take out the box under the sink which is filled with rusted can openers and bent spoons. I find a curved boning knife, and go to put the box back under the sink. In the space behind where the box normally lives is a golden syrup tin I’ve never noticed before. I lever up its lid with a spoon and inside is a thick roll of money. I put it and the box back, and then I put the knife down the side of my bed. I lie down on the bed and think about that money, about how far it would go. There’s the sound of Otto’s truck coming up the drive. He brings me a can of Coke and some peppermint syrup.

I woke up early and lay a minute in bed trying to put things in the right order. I’d got into bed and lain there listening out for creaks on the stairs. None came and I had listened for the hammering on the wall, but it was quiet too. Something had changed in the house. Even the fox stopped shrieking. I’d slept deeply, not dreaming. When I woke, there were large beads of rain on the window, and the glass boomed now and again in its frame, but the sky was not deep brown any more. I could see the hedgerow at the top of the hill flattened by the wind.

Downstairs Lloyd was asleep on the sofa, an old Bible open on his chest. He’d left the lamp on and when I pressed the button to turn it off he snapped awake.

‘Christ,’ he said, holding his hand up to his face. I picked up the phone and dialled Don’s number. Still no reply. I was late — he might have come and gone already. I turned round and looked at Lloyd and his Bible.

‘You god squad?’ I said. He kept his hand over his eyes a few moments. When he took it away, he looked at me.

‘What?’ he said, then looked down at the Bible. ‘Oh.’

I started to fill the kettle.

‘No — the only book I could find, and I thought I’d give it a go.’ He yawned extravagantly.

‘How was it?’

‘It beat lying awake listening to you.’

I stopped scraping. ‘Listening to what?’

‘Jesus, you were having some kind of horror-film dream. I went up, thought you were being murdered, but the dog wouldn’t let me in. You were shouting away, didn’t wake up when I called out your name.’

‘I have to go and look after the sheep now,’ I said. Then I turned and walked back up the stairs to my room. The bath was filled to the brim with water. I pulled out the plug and watched it start to drain away. I dried my hands on a towel and went downstairs and stood in front of Lloyd.

‘I have to go and look after the sheep now,’ I said again.

All sheep were accounted for, and the cold air burnt my lips and took the white smoke of breath from my mouth. There was a new smell to the day, the wind had changed direction and it brought with it salt and bonfires. Snowdrops that had come up in the night were pinned to the earth by the wind. I marked the sheep that looked like they had triplets and twins and Dog chased a rabbit into the woods.

I crutched a dozen or so of the furthest along, and while I worked, a fox appeared at the edge of the woods. I stopped what I was doing and watched her. Compared to the sheep she was small and skittish.

‘It wasn’t you, was it?’ I asked out loud. If I was any kind of farmer, I’d be there with my gun and I’d take her out. I watched two skinny cubs amble up behind her. They were far too early, and she’d be needing food to keep her milk up, to keep her strength up. I looked at the ewe I’d just crutched, settled comfortably in the grass, saw her sigh at the solidness of herself against earth.

One of the fox cubs snapped at a fly, and the vixen’s ears sprung around at something in the undergrowth. She kept one foot off the ground to listen, then hauled up a cub by its scruff and the other followed her back into the dark where it was safe. Dog appeared out of the woods, long pink tongue lolling out of him, seeds plastered to his snout and goosegrass tangled around his back leg. He looked happy. If they could they would all kill each other, the fox would kill the sheep and then Dog would kill the fox.

Dog came up and smelled the newly sheared bum wool and then lay down panting heavily next to the pregnant sheep, who laboured up and moved away like she couldn’t take the smell of him. From the trees a flock of starlings took off. Maybe they signalled the vixen moving deeper into the woods.

From the stile, I saw Don’s truck was back and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Christ’s neck, what happened to you?’ he said as he opened the door, smiling like he always did when he knew exactly what had gone on and was waiting for me to ask for help. ‘Get bogged did you?’

‘Could you give me a tow out?’ I said, reddening.

‘Good opportunity to call on one of those younger farmers, don’t you think?’ he said, making no move to get his boots on.

‘I could do it myself if you’d let me have your keys. I could pull it out myself.’

‘Really? And who’d steer? Some things you just can’t do on your own.’ He turned and started to pull on his oilskin. ‘That’s why farmers need to know each other, you help them, they help you, that’s just how it goes. All it’d take’d be the pub once a week for a couple of hours’ — he started to push his feet into his gumboots — ‘because sooner or later I’m going to hit the post and be dead and then what’ll you do? Starve to death I suppose.’ Don was in a good mood at least.

It took just a couple of tries to get the truck out, and when it was free, Don leant out his window. ‘This that chap who helped you out of the ditch?’

Lloyd was coming up the track, looking like a country rambler with an ash pole to help him along.

‘Yep.’

‘Handy to have him around.’

Lloyd raised a hand in hello. Don nodded back and turned his engine off. I turned mine off too, reluctantly.

‘Hi there,’ said Lloyd to Don. He looked at me and I might have imagined it but he looked a little hurt. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to — thought I might be able to help? But you’ve got the car out I see.’ There was a quiet in which Lloyd’s words hung.

Don looked back to me. ‘I’ll come by with a chainsaw and get rid of this for you,’ he said, nodding at the tree.

‘Thanks, but I’ve got a saw, I’ll be right.’ Don narrowed his eyes at me.