August, Year 12

Tony knocked on the door early one Sunday morning and Gab opened up.

“Hey, Tony!” she said.

“Hey Gabby,” he greeted her jovially. “I’m heading down to the creek to do some planting. Want to join me? Figured you might need a break from all that study!”

“Oh yeah, sure!” said Gab, pleased. She liked helping Tony on the farm. Gina and Gab had moved into Tony’s granny flat when Gab was six weeks old and had been there ever since. Tony and Gina had been at school together—the same high school Gab was at now—and their mothers had been best friends. When Gab was little, she used to imagine Tony proposing to her mum. She had been captivated by the idea of them getting married and would fantasise about it in bed at night to help her get to sleep, though she never in a million years would have told anyone. With a couple more years up her sleeve now though, Gab realised that that just wasn’t the relationship the two of them had. Tony was doing a favour for a long-time peer whom he felt empathy for and, in a sense, was paying homage to his generous mother and her friendships. Gab wasn’t even sure she’d call her mum and Tony friends, though they were in a way. But it was hard for anyone to enjoy Gina’s company when she was so unpredictable, so moody.

Tony did a good job of looking out for them, like filling up the chest freezer with beef every year. So, Gab was glad to be able to help Tony on the property when she could, and he enjoyed her company. She was a smart and helpful kid, he thought, who found herself in tough circumstances and needed to cop a break sometimes. Every year since she’d been eight, Tony sold Gab a young steer at a price appropriate to her budget. When the steers went to market, she’d make a decent profit from her fattened beast. Tony would always deliver the cash with a grin, talking with Gab about current market prices and the outlook for the coming year.

They lived on challenging and beautiful country with unpredictable rains and long dry patches in between. The more moisture they could store in the soil, the better. Moisture meant increased biodiversity, greater health. Healthier soil meant more nutritious grass, and more nutritious grass mean happier, healthier steers. Vegetation also lowered surface temperatures; but they had to think carefully about the locations of planting and the choices of plants, because bushfires were a very real threat too.

This year, Gab had been studying sustainable land management in her agriculture unit at school, and she had been filling Tony in on everything she’d learned. He took on her advice and enjoyed discussing land management strategies with her. With a ute-load of local native plants recently sourced, today they were going to begin revegetating the creek-bed to prevent further erosion.

“Tony?” asked Gab, with a sudden flash of curiosity as the two of them unloaded their tools from the ute, “when did you buy this farm?” They were getting ready to dig holes for the new plants along the creek-bed.

“Ah! Well, a long time ago now,” said Tony, leaned on his shovel. “How old are you, love?”

“Seventeen.”

“You and your mum moved into the granny flat when you were only a few weeks old. Feels like yesterday. You were a tiny little thing, with big bright eyes. I’d been here two years then. So I guess that makes it nineteen years since I bought the place.”

“Oh! I always thought you’d grown up here!”

“Me? Nah. My parents ran the post office in town.” He resumed digging.

“Ha, really?”

“Yeah. We lived above the shop. Then, I moved to Sydney when I was eighteen. Needed a change.”

“That’s a long way away.”

“Yeah, was a long way—but that was what I wanted. Travelled by train. Decided to study accounting at uni of all things. My dad had been a doctor before taking on the post office and made sure I did well in school. He’d moved here from Melbourne looking for a change of pace, but I’m not sure he found it!”

“So did you work in Sydney after you finished uni?”

“Yeah, I worked at an accounting firm for a couple of years.”

“Did you like it?”

“Well, I learned a lot. I could find my way around the city. Met some interesting folk. I also watched how the business was run and learned that it’s better to own up to your mistakes then hide ‘em.”

“Did you make mistakes?” Gab got on her knees and began taking plants out of their black plastic pots and teasing out the roots.

Tony laughed. “Oh yeah, plenty. The client is always right, Gab, even when they’re not!” He paused. “I kinda missed being out here though. The space. The stars. The trees.”

“So you bought this property and moved back to Wattle Gully?” Gab smoothed the soil the chocolate lilies she’d just planted.

“Well, I put a deposit down on it. I’d been talking to a mate in town, Jim Stafford; you know him? He makes those iron junk sculptures.”

“Oh yeah, I know him.”

“Well, Jim’s a mate of mine from school and he told me about this property when it came up for sale. It was perfect see, because of the granny flat. My mum and dad were getting too old to run the post office, so they came to live in it while I lived in the main house.” Tony put down his shovel and came to join Gab with the planting.

“But what happened to them? They can’t have been here long before we came.”

“Yeah, true. After they’d been here with me for about a year, my sister Amanda invited them to go down and live with her. She’s down south on the Mornington Peninsula.”

“And they went?” Gab asked.

“Well,” explained Tony, “my dad’s health was going downhill, and he needed to be close to specialists.”

“But what about you?” asked Gab.

“Oh well, it was okay. I made a commitment here and wanted to stick it out, for a minimum of five years.”

“And you’re still here.”

“Yep, I’m still here. And look at the good we’re doin’!” Tony motioned to the plants they’d put in while chatting. “Plus,” he added, “It meant I could offer the granny flat to you and your mum.”

“Tony …” suddenly, Gab wanted to ask him something important; something that her mother had always reprimanded her for asking about; something Gab thought she had always been too shy to ask Tony.

“Tony … do you know anything about my dad?”

Tony paused and looked at her. He wiped his brow with his forearm, leaving a smear of dirt across his head.

“I can’t say I do, love.”

“Oh,” said Gab.

“I’m sorry.” He really meant it.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” Gab apologised. But Tony frowned.

“Now then, what makes you say that? Course you’re allowed to ask!”

Gab shrugged, feeling dumb, staring blankly at the bobbing flower-heads in front of her.

“Has your mum told you anything?” Tony asked. “Anything at all?”

Gab looked up at him and smiled a little; he looked comical with his unperceived dirt smear.

“Nope,” answered Gab. “You’ve got some dirt, Tony … just … there.”

“Oh yeah, I know,” he winked. “I meant for that to happen.” Gab grinned. But her smile faded again.

“You know, when I ask Mum, she gets really upset at me … just for being curious.”

“That’s too bad, love. It’s natural to want to know.” Tony thought back to when Gab was a child, how she’d pepper him with questions. She had no recollection now of having asked him those questions; she thought it was the first time. But it wasn’t and he remembered.

“So, you don’t know who he was?” she concluded.

“No, I don’t. There were plenty of rumours going round after you were born, of course, but they weren’t worth listening to. I figured the best thing to do was just shut up and be useful. Things were what they were. Telling stories about it wasn’t going to help your mum—or you.”

“Sometimes I don’t think about him for ages, Tony. My … dad… I mean.” The title felt awkward for someone who had never been there. “But then sometimes, I want to know so badly. It’s like a hole inside me that’s pulling the rest of me down into it. I want to know who I am.”

“Oh, families are complicated,” sighed Tony. He didn’t know what else to say.

Suddenly Gab spotted something.

“Hey, Tony! Tony! Look!” Gab ran over to where she had seen small movements under a manna gum and Tony followed, navigating carefully around their newly situated plants. Gab bent over with her hands on her knees.

“I think the baby’s still alive!” said Gab, looking closely at a fallen possum, which must have perished only hours earlier. A tiny wriggly face peeped out of its dead mother’s pouch.

“Ohhh, bless,” said Tony, always a sucker for little creatures with big eyes. Gab pulled off her jumper and gradually wedged it under the dead mother possum.

“Come on, little guy,” she urged, gently nudging the baby up and out of the pouch. “You must be pretty thirsty by now.”

Tony and Gab had nursed a few injured creatures in their time, but it had been a while since they’d found an orphaned possum.

“You got a dropper at your place, Gab? You want to take the baby back to the granny flat, or you want me to take it to my place?” Tony asked.

“I’ll take the little guy,” said Gab, peering at the little pink and grey creature. It was bereft of its mother and her heart hurt for it.

“He’ll need to drink during the day while you're at school though,” Tony pointed out.

“You want to possum-sit while I’m there?”

“Yeah, alright. Then you come collect him from me in the evenings and keep him overnight.”

“Sounds like a good custody arrangement,” Gab said, and they laughed.

Jimbo the Possum (as they christened it) grew to its adult size, nourished under their care. During late October, Tony built a new possum box and lodged it in one of the manna gums under which they had found it. That was where they released Jimbo, who was not afraid of them and was often seen clambering along the guttering of Tony’s veranda, stopping in long enough for Tony to give him some apple.