Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns
Chapter One
Six weeks later
‘Well, Cecil, we’re home sweet home,’ Henri said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel as she drove past the welcome sign on the outskirts of Bunyip Bay, almost four weeks earlier than planned. She’d nearly come home a few weeks ago but hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion, and besides, she wasn’t sure she could stand any longer than a month living with her mother.
It was years since she’d officially been a resident of this town, but her mum’s family were founding members, having farmed in the district since the mid 1800s when they’d immigrated from a tiny town in Cornwall. Bunyip Bay was where Henri had spent her childhood until heading to Perth to boarding school at age thirteen. This was where her siblings and most of her friends still resided, and her answer when anyone asked where she came from. She’d adored growing up here, chasing her dad and brothers around the farm until she was old enough to muck in and help, and she’d hated her years at boarding school in the city. Not just because a lot of the girls only cared about make-up and fashion—two things Henri had no interest in whatsoever—but because she missed her dad, the aromas of the farm and the feel of the sand between her toes. Bunyip Bay was in her blood and, as she unwound her window and smelled the fresh salty scents of the nearby ocean, she felt some of the tension she’d been carrying the last few weeks start to ease.
Maybe her boss was right … maybe she did simply need a break, some time back home before she started her next contract. Some quality time in the ocean. Aside from flying, there was nothing quite as therapeutic for Henri as swimming and surfing. Of course she’d stopped at other beaches on her journey west, but she couldn’t wait to take a dip in her favourite bit of the ocean.
There was just one even more important stop first.
Driving on through the main street lined with dusty four-wheel drives and even dirtier dual-cab utes, Henri smiled at the familiar sights. The IGA, the Community Resource Centre, the medical centre, primary school, the old Memorial Hall, the bowling club, her best friend Frankie’s café and the iconic pub at the top of the hill where she’d spent many an errant night in her late teens, were all almost exactly the same as they’d always been. It was only The Ag Store that was new and shiny. Henri’s sister Tilley and her husband owned Bunyip Bay’s ag and hardware supplies, a business they’d literally built from the ground up after the old owners lost everything in an arson attack.
Even though it was only the very beginning of December, the festive spirit was already well and truly on display in the main street. There were Christmas decorations strung across the road, and koalas, kangaroos and, of course, bunyips wearing Christmas hats sat at the top of almost every lamp post. The shops had gone all out as well. Outside the front of The Ag Store stood a massive blow-up Santa Claus wearing red and green board shorts and an Akubra with corks hanging off it.
The Palace was the only building not decked out to the nines, but if Henri recalled correctly, the publican never bothered with such frippery, much to the frustration of certain people in town.
She continued on and then turned right, driving only another hundred metres or so before she came upon the local cemetery. It was barely ten o’clock but already the December sun had a bite, so Henri parked Cecil under an old gum tree, grabbed her cap off the passenger seat and started towards the entrance.
As a kid, she’d loved playing here with her siblings and friends while her parents had business in town. They’d spent many an hour making up stories about the bodies under the ground, scaring each other senseless, but back then she hadn’t actually been close to anyone buried here.
Now she felt differently as she walked over the uneven ground to her father’s resting place. Now, the cemetery felt sacred, much more so than anywhere else—even church—had ever felt.
‘Hey, Dad. How’s tricks?’ she said, pausing in front of his grave and using the saying that had always been his.
The black marble headstone was shiny and polished, much newer than many of the others, and there were fresh grevilleas and Geraldton wax from Bungara Springs in the ceramic vase at the base, indicating that her mother had been here very recently. Henri wondered how often she came. There were also a couple of Matchbox cars that she guessed had been left—accidentally or on purpose, she wasn’t sure—by one of her nieces or nephews.
She didn’t have anything to leave, but she knew her dad wouldn’t care. He’d always said her presence at Christmas was far more important than any presents.
Until his heart attack four years ago, coming home for Christmas had always been the highlight of her year, but although the farm ticked on with her mother and brothers at the helm, the place didn’t feel the same now that he was gone. Henri and her dad had been two peas in a pod, sharing a love of aircraft, vintage cars and the ocean. They just got each other, whereas she and her mum only ever seemed to get at each other.
This was the first time in four years she’d be back for more than a few days, but at least it would give her a chance to properly catch up with her family and Frankie.
A lone crow perched atop a slanting headstone a few metres away squawked as if Henri was interrupting his peace. But aside from the bird and the rustling leaves of trees that were almost as slanted as the headstone—thanks to the famous local wind—the cemetery was deserted, and for that she was grateful.
Dropping down to the ground beside her father’s grave, she crossed her legs and poured out her heart as if he were actually sitting here beside her. She told him everything. From her brush with death up in the Kimberleys to what had happened when she’d first climbed back in an aircraft almost two weeks later.
‘I feel so stupid, so frustrated,’ she confessed, picking up a nearby rock and ditching it hard. Many times over the last six weeks she’d felt like throwing or even punching something!
Henri had this weird feeling that if her dad were still alive, she wouldn’t be in this predicament because she’d have called him the minute she realised there was a problem and he’d have calmed her, talked her round. She hadn’t called her mother because she knew exactly what she’d have said. She’d never wanted Henri to become an agricultural pilot in the first place.
‘What do you think I should do, Dad?’
Of course, there wasn’t a reply, but she sat there listening to the wind and the occasional squawk from the crow until finally her sobs subsided. Then, she pushed to her feet, dusted the dirt, leaves and little gum-seeds from her shorts and started back towards Cecil.
‘Oh my God!’ shrieked her best friend when Henri stepped into Frankie’s Café over an hour later, her ponytail still wet from what she’d intended to be only a five-minute swim, tops.
Heads looked up from all the tables and Henri recognised most of them.
Seated right beside the door was sweet old Dolce Abbott, who’d owned the newsagency when Henri was little and always gave her lollies when her dad popped in for the paper. Henri had thought she looked like one of the Golden Girls and that she was ancient back then, but she still looked exactly the same. Also at her table was the not-so-sweet Eileen Brady, her hair purple-rinsed and her expression pinched. Eileen had taught her Sunday School until Henri told her parents she’d run away from home if they made her go even one more time. It wasn’t that she had anything against the content—some Bible stories were ripe with blood and gore—it was the delivery that made her want to set the church on fire. Eileen not only had a talent for making anything mind-numbingly boring but also spent at least half of every lesson telling the children they were full of sin.
‘What the hell are you doing here?!’ Frankie dashed around the counter and enveloped Henri in a massive hug. ‘Karen thought she saw Cecil pass through town an hour ago, but I said it must be another bright orange Kombi because I thought you weren’t coming home until just before Christmas.’
That was the one problem with having such a distinctive vehicle—it was hard to fade into the background. But Henri wouldn’t change her faithful Kombi van for anything, even if he did have a terrible habit of breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, she usually had the skills to fix him.
‘Change of plans,’ she said, willing fresh tears to take a hike. Hard-nosed Henrietta Forward didn’t cry—well, not in public anyway—and doing so here would be like putting a massive neon sign on her head alerting everyone to the fact that something was wrong.
Of course, she’d tell Frankie about her problem at some stage, but not now with the likes of Eileen Brady sipping her tea and eating scones and cream, just waiting for something she could turn into gossip.
‘Why are you wet?’ Frankie asked.
As she pulled back to take a proper look at Henri, it was hard not to miss the sparkly diamond on her ring finger. After years of being single like Henri, a journalist-slash-farmer from Mingenew had walked into her café and swept Frankie off her feet. Although he worked at the radio station in Geraldton, he now lived in Bunyip Bay and had apparently taken over the running of the Bunyip News from Susan O’Neil. Henri had only met Logan twice but he seemed like a good bloke and she was happy for her friend.
‘I’ve been at the beach,’ she said, surprised Frankie couldn’t smell the salt on her.
‘You went for a swim before you came and saw me?’
Henri shrugged. ‘Priorities. But I’m seeing you before Mum, Tilley and the boys.’
Frankie nodded her approval. ‘Do they know you’re coming?’
‘Nope. Thought I’d surprise them, although no doubt they’ll hear about it before I get back to Bungara.’ She glanced in the direction of Eileen Brady, who was definitely listening to their conversation. ‘Anyway, what’s been going on around here?’
‘Oh my God, so much. You got time for a drink and we’ll fill you in?’
‘We?’
Frankie gestured to a table in the corner where two women were sitting. ‘You remember Ruby, and you’ve met Stella before too, haven’t you?’
Henri barely had time to reply before her friend deposited her in a seat alongside them. More greetings were exchanged, and Henri asked Frankie after her older sister Simone, who’d remarried and moved to Mingenew a year or so ago.
‘Oh, she’s fab—loving living on a farm, and the girls are doing well too.’
‘That’s great. Hopefully I’ll actually get a chance to catch up with her now I’m home for a while.’ Henri nodded to the paperwork on the table that included various drawings of some kind of creature. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘We’re looking at submissions from sculptors to try and decide who to commission for the Big Bunyip.’
‘The Big what?’ It sounded vaguely familiar. Her mum had probably mentioned it during one of their obligatory Sunday check-ins, but the truth was Henri usually switched off after the first couple of minutes.
‘We’re organising the creation and installation of a Big Bunyip when you come into town from the south,’ Stella explained, rubbing her hand over her enormous pregnant bump. Henri probably should have asked when she was due, but the moment had passed.
‘What about the Bunyip statue in the park?’ She remembered when it was erected—her whole primary school had trekked down to the park for the unveiling and there’d even been a TV person from Geraldton. It had been very exciting for her eightyear-old self.
Ruby laughed. ‘We’re planning something much bigger than that. You know, like Wagin has the giant ram and Wyndham a big croc?’
Henri nodded; having travelled all around Australia for work, she was well aware of the many big things their country was famous for.
‘We want something that will really put Bunyip Bay on the map,’ Stella explained.
‘Aren’t we already on the map?’ The caravan park had looked pretty full when Henri passed it coming into town, and the beach was already busy, even though school holidays hadn’t started yet.
‘The truth is,’ Stella began with a sheepish smile, ‘my daughter read a library book about Australia’s Big Things and decided the bunyip in the park isn’t big enough.’
‘And,’ Frankie said, ‘when Heidi wants something—especially something as crazy and wonderful as a ridiculously massive bunyip—Heidi gets it.’
Stella beamed. ‘These two really do spoil her. I keep telling them they need to have their own babies to overindulge.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ Ruby said with a wink, ‘Drew and I are working very hard on doing just that. In fact, I’m hoping he isn’t home too late tonight so we can work some more.’
Oh God. The last thing Henri wanted to talk about was making babies. ‘Sounds like this project is going to be pretty pricey. Are you guys organising a fundraiser?’
Such events were frequent around here—cake stalls, sausage sizzles, quiz and bingo nights, the annual Undies Run, locally published cookbooks … there was always something happening. If there was one thing the residents of Bunyip Bay excelled at it was raising money.
Ruby shook her head as she reached for her mug. ‘No need. We received an anonymous donation just last week.’
Before anyone could say any more, the door of the café opened and a loud voice pierced the air.
‘I don’t believe it. Rosemary said Cecil was outside the café, but I had to come see with my own eyes.’ Henri’s sister, Tilley, dressed in her Ag Store uniform of black shorts and a bright red polo shirt, yanked her out of her seat and pulled her into a hug. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Surprise!’ Henri faux-smiled as she disentangled herself from Tilley’s arms.
‘Mum is going to lose her mind when she sees you. Are you home till Christmas or …’ She shook her head and glared at Henri. ‘This better not be a quick trip to tell us you’re working for Christmas. You know how hard Mum finds the festive season without Dad, if you’re not going to be here—’
Henri held up a hand. ‘Relax. I’m here till the day after Boxing Day.’ Hopefully by then she’d have her head straight again, because if not … No, that wasn’t worth thinking about. ‘I thought I might be able to lend Andrew and Callum a hand on the farm. They’re still harvesting, aren’t they?’
Tilley nodded. ‘Yeah, but they’re almost done. Don’t worry, I’m sure Mum will find plenty of jobs for you to do, and failing that, you can always come hang out at the shop.’
By ‘hang out’, Henri was pretty sure her sister meant free labour.
‘Speaking of Mum, I should probably head out to the farm before the bush telegraph alerts her to my arrival.’ She turned back to Ruby and Stella. ‘Lovely to see you both again. Good luck with the bunyip.’
‘Thanks,’ they said in unison.
‘I’ll call you,’ Henri told Frankie, giving her another hug. ‘I want to hear all your wedding plans.’
Frankie grinned. ‘Excellent. Chat soon.’
Tilley saw Henri out to Cecil, nattering the whole way about what was going on with the business, James, and their daughter Macy. She didn’t once ask if there was a reason Henri was home early, and Henri didn’t know if she was happy or annoyed about that. Weren’t big sisters supposed to be confidantes? Although they’d shared a bedroom growing up, the ten-year age gap meant they had never been close—not in the way Frankie and Simone were anyway.
‘I wish I could come out and see Mum’s face when you arrive,’ Tilley said as Henri climbed into the van. ‘But I’m bringing Macy out after school to ride her horse, so we’ll catch up then.’
‘Bye.’ Henri pulled Cecil’s door shut, snapped on her seatbelt and started towards home.
Ten minutes later, she slowed the van as the sign for Bungara Springs loomed on the side of the road and felt a familiar rush of love as she turned down their long gravel driveway. She jumped out and collected the mail from the mailbox her granddad had made from an old Esky, then smiled as she bumped over the cattle grid and scanned the flat, dry earth on either side. Leftover canola stalks poked forlornly out of the ground, indicating that these front paddocks had already been harvested. Although she spent most of her time in rural areas, there was nothing quite like this area. This farm. The place where she’d grown up. Tilley said their brothers were almost finished harvesting, but at least Henri would be able to help with the clean-up and machinery servicing.
Further on, she saw a harvester in the distance and some cattle in one of the home paddocks. She passed the sheds, where she’d spent many a freezing cold winter and sweltering summer day helping her parents, and then finally came upon the homestead, where her mum now lived alone. Callum, Andrew and their young families lived in other houses on the property, far enough away that Fiona couldn’t live in their pockets but close enough that she was available for babysitting at short notice.
A couple of brown kangaroos were grazing under an old gum tree just outside the fence that surrounded the house garden, but they bounded away as Cecil noisily approached.
Henri had barely emerged from the van, when she heard her mum’s voice and looked up to see her hurrying towards her.
‘Good golly, is that really you, Henrietta?’
‘Hey, Mum. Hope you don’t mind an early visitor.’
‘Are you crazy?’ She threw her arms around Henri, almost knocking her off balance. ‘This is the best surprise I’ve had all year. You’re still staying for Christmas, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Well, then, let’s get you inside and settled.’
Henri grabbed her luggage and followed her mother inside, swallowing at the sight of her dad’s boots still sitting by the front door, his beloved dogs Max and Muriel resting on either side. She bent to pat the old girls, who once would have run out to greet her when they’d heard the van but were now tired and content to laze around.
‘So, what’s brought you home so early?’ her mum asked as they sat down in the big country kitchen with a cup of tea a few minutes later. The dining table felt enormous with only the two of them. ‘I thought you were working in the Riverina till mid-December?’
A lump formed in Henri’s throat and she took a sip of her drink before replying. Should she tell her mother the truth?
‘I … They … they overbooked pilots and I wasn’t needed, so I thought I’d come home and see if I could be any help here.’
‘Well, there’s always plenty of things to do on the farm—I can definitely use you in the garden—but we’ll make sure you’ll get some time for some fun too. And you’re not the only one who’s just come home.’ She grinned over the top of her teacup, clearly wanting Henri to bite.
When she didn’t, she added, ‘Mark Morgan has finally retired and is home to take over the family farm.’
Mark had been in Henri’s year at school and unable to hold down a conversation if it wasn’t about football; he had been snapped up by Essendon at eighteen.
‘Apparently, he’s nursing a broken heart because his WAM decided not to come with him.’
‘WAM?’
Her mother nodded knowingly. ‘It’s what the partners of footballers are called.’
Henri snorted and covered her mouth so as not to spit tea all over the tablecloth. ‘I think you mean WAGs.’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘The important thing is that he’s single again and so are you.’
Oh my God. Henri hadn’t been home five minutes and it had started already. She took a deep breath.
‘Mum, I wouldn’t date Mark Morgan if he was the last man on earth. He was arrogant at school and from what I hear he’s only got worse.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t listen to everything you hear,’ her mother said snootily and took another sip of her tea. ‘But never mind, there are plenty more eligible bachelors in town. Wait till you meet the new pastor!’
Not wanting to start an argument with her mother this early in her stay, Henri forced a smile, downed the dregs of her tea and then headed outside to find her brothers.