The Whole Bright Year Read online

  ‘It’s okay. Really,’ Celia reassured her. ‘In fact, Kieran, why don’t you stay here and Roza can show you how that gear works.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m up for that.’

  Sheena fixed the young man with a stern look. ‘Kieran. Remember. Don’t be a dickhead.’

  He nodded resolutely, as if this were a necessary and particular instruction. Only then did Sheena seem willing to leave him on his own and head off with Celia and Joe to the main house.

  Roza beckoned Kieran over to her. ‘That contraption you’re fiddling with is a picking bag.’

  He marched across the yard and handed her the canvas bag. Roza ran her eyes over his upper body, calculating the length of his torso. ‘You’re tall. So I need to adjust this part to fit you.’

  She tugged at the buckle on the webbing neck strap, cursing in whispered Hungarian when the thing proved to be jammed.

  ‘Is it hard picking peaches?’ asked Kieran.

  ‘If you want to make the good money – pretty hard, yes.’

  ‘I mean hard, like, difficult.’

  Roza flapped her hand. ‘You’ll be okay.’

  ‘This is such a beautiful place,’ said Kieran, his bright gaze scanning the orchard. ‘And you got peaches on tap! Oh – I guess you guys get sick of eating peaches.’

  ‘Not so much. Because the season ends and by the time it comes around again you think, Oh, peaches would be nice.’

  ‘Right. Right. I get you.’

  Roza pointed to a bin of leftover peaches. ‘Try one of the Red Havens.’

  Kieran reached down to take one but then jerked his hand back like a kid caught stealing sweets. ‘Oh – we really allowed to eat them?’

  ‘Most of those fellows have a split. So, you might as well.’

  He picked up a peach, and when he bit into the red and golden skin he gasped, miming the euphoric rush of a drug. But a moment later he grinned, surprised, sincere, his mouth full of the yellow flesh, and he blurted out, ‘This is . . . far out . . . this is – how come I never tasted anything like this in my life before?’

  ‘Because you only ever ate those green bullety excuses for peaches they sell in the supermarkets,’ Roza explained. ‘You never had a Red Haven fresh from the tree.’

  Kieran devoured two more peaches with messy enthusiasm, juice all over his face and hands. Roza was smiling as she watched him and then she called out in a singsong voice, ‘Are you going to hide over there and spy on us all afternoon?’

  Kieran was confused. ‘What?’ He spun around with exaggerated paranoia, like a cartoon character. ‘Is there really someone spying on us? Or are you some kind of a mental old lady?’

  Both Kieran and Roza heard the laughter, and a moment later Zoe wandered out from behind the windbreak of conifers on the other side of the yard.

  ‘So, missy, are you agreeing with this gentleman that I’m a “mental old lady”?’ asked Roza.

  Zoe waggled her head and smiled, peeling the hat off her hair, which was matted with sweat.

  ‘This is our Zoe,’ Roza explained to the young man.

  ‘Oh. Right. Hi. Hi. Kieran. I’m Kieran.’ He leapt forward and offered Zoe his hand to shake.

  Zoe took his hand, but then quickly withdrew. ‘Oh – sticky.’

  ‘Sorry! Peach juice.’ He started to lick the juice off his hand and Zoe laughed with surprise.

  At that moment, Sheena returned from the main house, arms full of cleaning gear, just in time to see Kieran licking his hand like an overexcited dog. ‘For fuck’s sake, Kieran. Are you acting like a head case and giving this lady the shits?’

  ‘Oh . . . well, maybe . . .’ He turned to Roza. ‘Am I giving you the shits?’

  ‘No. You’re okay,’ said Roza.

  Kieran smiled. ‘I guess Zoe might think I’m a head case. Sheena – meet Zoe.’

  Sheena offered a brusque wave in greeting, then dragged Kieran aside, whispering to him sternly. The young man listened to her, nodding, but Roza saw him sneak looks at Zoe in between those obedient nods.

  Celia and Joe walked back together from the house, carrying two foam mattresses and a pile of bedding.

  Celia was surprised to see Zoe in the yard. ‘Hello, lovely. Have you finished that section down the back?’

  ‘Poor Zoe,’ said Joe. ‘I guess, because it’s school holidays, your mum can work you seven days a week.’

  ‘Like a slave,’ agreed Zoe.

  ‘Hey, Celia!’ Kieran called out. ‘I tasted a sample of your peaches. Brilliant, dead-set amazing, best single item I ever ate in my life!’

  ‘Well, thanks. Good to hear.’

  Joe was frowning as he checked his watch. ‘I’d better head back. Mum, I’ll drop by later this week. So, if there’s anything you want from town —’

  ‘I say again: you don’t have to come out here and check on me all the time,’ Roza insisted, then she turned to Kieran and Sheena with a stage whisper. ‘He would do better to be checking on his marriage.’

  At that moment, on cue, the phone rang.

  ‘Hello? Heather. Hi,’ said Celia. After exchanging some pleasantries with Heather, she passed the phone to Joe, unfurling the long cord. He took the receiver and retreated into the shed to conduct his conversation.

  ‘That’s her, the wife, Heather,’ Roza explained to the newcomers. ‘Heather is the mean-spirited harpy who trapped my son in a marriage with no joy. And who has turned his two children into little snobs who don’t respect their own father.’

  Celia and Zoe both flashed Roza firm looks – stop it. So, she dropped her volume a little as she shared more of her analysis with Kieran and Sheena. ‘Josef and Heather – they don’t have sex. You can tell when a couple is not having sex. The way their bodies are with each other in a room. To live alone and have no sex, that’s bad enough. But to be married and have no sex – that corrodes a person’s insides, and eventually —’

  Roza shut her mouth when Joe walked back out towards them.

  ‘Was my mother saying appalling things?’ he asked, with a stoic smile.

  ‘Appalling beyond description,’ Celia confirmed. ‘Have you got time for a beer before you go?’

  ‘Uh no, love to but can’t.’

  ‘Ah. Heather’s mysterious surveillance system has alerted her that Josef might be having a pleasant time,’ said Roza.

  ‘Mum. At least do it so I can’t hear.’

  Roza made a show of pressing her lips together and put both hands in the air – an innocent party.

  Joe offered Sheena and Kieran a generous smile. ‘Good luck with the picking work.’

  Kieran grinned. ‘Thanks, Joe. Thanks, mate.’

  ‘Uh – yeah – thanks and everything,’ stammered the woman. She sounded so graceless, that Sheena, whenever she tried to be polite.

  Roza watched her son slot himself back into the car and drive away, weighed down by the duties of the joyless household to which he was returning. What can any mother do about the person her child chooses to marry? Just hope for the best. And if the best hasn’t happened – if, for example, a son has married Heather – there was nothing to be done but sigh and keep the mouth shut.

  There was not much of the day left for picking, and Celia decided it would be best to use the remaining hours of light to sort out the cabin as living quarters. She hoisted one of the mattresses onto her head and started down the slope.

  ‘Come on, Kieran, we’re supposed to be helping,’ said Sheena.

  ‘No worries. Let’s get scrubbing,’ said Kieran, grabbing an armload of cleaning paraphernalia. But then he twisted his head to throw a cheeky smile to Zoe and as a result, he tripped and scattered bottles of cleaning products across the yard, whooping with laughter at his own clumsiness. He reminded Roza of a new foal not yet in control of its limbs. She’d seen many young men who didn’t grow fully into their bodies for a long time.

  The woman, Sheena, hurried to gather up the items on the gravel. ‘Sorry about this,’ she said. ‘Kieran can be a b
it of a —’

  ‘A bit of a clueless fuckwit,’ Kieran confirmed with a smile.

  ‘Grab that other mattress. Stop mucking around,’ said Sheena, shooing him down the slope.

  Celia was already halfway to the cabin. She was focused on what needed to be done, throwing herself into the work, the way she always did.

  Roza recalled the very first time she had laid eyes on Celia, striding across the yard of the peach farm, carrying baby Zoe in a backpack. Within a few weeks of their arrival, the story had whooshed around the district, the way such stories could. Celia’s husband had been paying for petrol at a service station – this was somewhere in the city – when the place was robbed by a man armed with a shotgun. The husband, standing by the fridges, was killed. At the time this terrible thing happened, Celia had been late in her pregnancy with Zoe.

  When Celia moved onto the property with her ten-month-old daughter, people around the district thought she was crazy. She can’t run that place on her own. But right from the start Roza had seen that Celia was a strong woman. A fretful woman, yes, but robust.

  Celia wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision, having these people here. Possibly, in the moment, she’d been too worried about the harvest to think clearly. Her judgement might have been skewed by gratitude towards Joe for trying to solve her problem. Or maybe she was operating from some misguided notion of politeness – the couple had come all the way out to the farm, willing to work, and Celia didn’t want to seem churlish or suspicious. But was that the best way to make a decision? Did it make sense to have two strangers live on the property, when she had no way to cross-check their identities and reassure herself? She smiled at her own convoluted thinking – ridiculous.

  Whether or not it was wise to have Kieran and Sheena stay on the place, Celia wanted to treat them decently. After a shower and a quick meal, she headed back down to the cabin from the house, carrying a baking tin with homemade lasagne the two of them could eat tonight, plus an esky with other food supplies.

  It was dusk by the time Celia approached the cabin. She was pleased to see the place looked surprisingly homey – the gas lamp was going inside and the one window of the little hut was now a warm yellow square glowing in the dark orchard. She called out – a cheery Yoohoo! – and Sheena swung the door open.

  In the limited interior space, the bunk beds were arranged in an L-shape, red paint flaking off the old metal frames. The two bottom bunks were now made up with foam mattresses and bedding. There was just enough room for a fold-out picnic table with a camping stove and the basic kitchen items Celia had put together. On one of the unused top bunks, she had hoisted a container of drinking water – a big plastic drum with a dispensing nozzle.

  ‘How you going? Is it fit to live in?’ Celia asked.

  ‘It’ll do us,’ said Sheena. ‘Thanks for the lasagne. You didn’t need to do that.’

  Celia smiled but felt a little sting. Sheena had a spiky manner and it was decidedly ungracious for anyone on the receiving end. But it was worse when Sheena was aware of her own rudeness and then scrambled to smooth things over.

  ‘Anyway, it looks delicious. Kieran loves that kind of food,’ she blurted. ‘He’s just gone up to have a shower.’

  It had been agreed that the two of them would be able to use the shower and toilet in the lean-to on the back of the packing shed.

  Celia unloaded the bag of food onto the little table. She was resisting the temptation to interrogate Sheena. Was her nosy impulse fuelled by simple curiosity or was it unreasonable anxiety? Whatever, she should ask nothing. Leave them be for now. But then she figured it counted as a legitimate desire to understand the situation and so she gave in to the urge to ask.

  ‘So, have you and Kieran been on the road a fair while?’

  Sheena stiffened up. ‘Couple of months.’

  Celia should have taken the hint from Sheena’s defensive tone and left it there, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘You headed somewhere in particular?’

  ‘You need to know for some reason?’

  ‘No reason. I just wondered . . .’

  ‘Does it make a difference to the job here?’

  ‘Not at all. Just curious, I guess.’

  ‘So, why does it matter to you?’

  ‘It doesn’t. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s none of my —’

  ‘We’re not gonna rob you or anything,’ Sheena snapped back. But a second later, she retracted her fangs and attempted a more matter-of-fact tone. ‘Kieran and me want to earn some money and then move on.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I know my brother comes across a bit weird.’

  ‘Brother?’ queried Celia.

  ‘Well, half-brother. I mean, if you got a problem with us being here . . .’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s not . . . Sorry, I thought you and Kieran were together.’

  ‘Together together? A couple? Kieran’s eighteen. I’m twenty-seven.’

  ‘God, sorry, Sheena,’ said Celia, laughing. ‘I figured you must like younger men.’

  ‘Uh, no.’

  ‘Sorry. My mistake. He’s your little brother. Good-o. Anyway, I’ll leave you guys in peace now. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.’

  ‘Thanks. Yeah. Thanks,’ mumbled Sheena. Then she bunged on a cheerful voice. ‘We really appreciate you giving us this work and, y’know, the food and the place to stay and that. Oh – what time do you want us to start tomorrow?’

  ‘Soon as there’s enough light to see the fruit. Five okay?’

  ‘Five’s okay.’

  ‘I can honk the horn on the ute as a wake-up call at quarter to,’ offered Celia.

  ‘Sounds good.’

  By the time Celia walked back to the house, Zoe had finished cleaning up their dinner things. She was leaning against the kitchen bench, rolling a tumbler full of ice cubes back and forth across her forehead.

  Celia laughed. ‘First stinking-hot day knocks you round, doesn’t it.’

  ‘Definitely. I’m trying this new method to cool my brain down.’

  ‘Give us a go.’

  Zoe leaned over to hold the icy glass against her mother’s temple.

  ‘Yeah, that’s good. That works.’

  Zoe filled another tumbler with ice cubes and handed it to Celia.

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

  The two of them flopped against the bench side by side, letting the ice cubes draw some of the heat out of their skin.

  ‘Hey,’ said Celia eventually. ‘She’s a prickly customer, Sheena.’

  ‘Bit old for the guy, isn’t she?’

  ‘Ah, see, we were wrong about them. They’re half-brother and -sister.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Zoe, nodding slowly. ‘That fits.’

  ‘Hope I haven’t made a mistake having them here.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’

  Celia immediately heard the sharper edge in Zoe’s voice and felt the conversational ground shift. This was how it could be between them these days – flipping, sometimes with dizzying speed, from a warm and companionable moment to a tense confrontation in which Celia was always, apparently, the unreasonable one.

  ‘Well,’ said Celia, ‘I just think Kieran and Sheena seem sort of . . .’

  ‘What, you’re into judging them already?’

  ‘No. No. Well, a bit, maybe.’

  ‘More than a bit,’ pronounced Zoe with the slightly self- righteous tone that always made Celia spring to defend her position.

  ‘It’s a matter of trying to read people. That’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do.’

  Zoe rolled her eyes, gearing up to debate this further. But Celia didn’t have the energy right now to wrestle with her daughter’s judgemental attitude about her supposedly judgemental attitude. They were both ragged after a day of hard work with the added stress about the picking team.

  ‘Come and watch some rubbish on the telly with me,’ Celia suggested. ‘Just for the fifteen minutes before I sink into a co
ma.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Zoe, and her expression softened. Maybe she wasn’t up for a tense exchange right now, either. ‘But I get to choose what rubbish we watch.’

  ‘Deal.’

  They’d already missed the ABC TV news bulletin, which Celia watched from time to time to maintain some idea of what was happening in the world. As a young woman she’d prided herself on being informed about global events, but these days she found it daunting to fill her head with so many distressing stories – massacres in Lebanon, earthquakes in Guatemala, riots in Soweto, nuclear-weapon tests, hijacked planes, IRA bombs. Here, in their house, on this farm, it was easy to feel very far away from all of that, but Celia realised she should make some effort to stay aware of events beyond this place.

  She brought two bowls of caramel ice cream through to the sitting room, where Zoe was flipping the channel knob on the TV set. There was a choice of On the Buses, a rerun episode of Matlock Police or the second half of an old movie involving women in crinolines, which they figured was the best option.

  Celia didn’t care what they watched – she was happy just to sit with her daughter. Zoe stretched out on the old floral sofa and put her feet on Celia’s lap. They ate ice cream and let the prattle of the movie characters wash over them.

  Celia noticed Zoe staring out the window for a moment and asked, ‘What are you thinking about?’

  Zoe smiled and shrugged. When she was little, she’d been such a chatty child, sharing all her thoughts, fantasies and opinions with Roza, Joe, her aunt Freya, and especially with her mother.

  For years, here in this house, it had been just the two of them. As Zoe grew older, she had fallen into the role of Celia’s companion, discussing plans and social arrangements and jobs that needed doing, developing their own private jokes and verbal shorthand and tacit understandings, always attuned to each other’s moods.

  Celia had been aware this was happening and she was wary of her child taking on an inappropriate emotional burden. As a corrective, she’d been conscientious about ensuring Zoe had plenty of time with little-kid activities. Celia had constantly taken readings, checking herself against the families they knew, regular families. But it was so hard to know what really went on in other households, what mechanisms hummed along in other people’s lives. And Celia and Zoe’s circumstance could never be regular. They could only do their best. Zoe had always seemed playful, never solemn or weighed down. And if she was also a very responsible kid who confided in her mother, that was a good thing, surely.