business.’
‘Tell her the rest,’ Garth interrupted.
‘That’s wool from our best wethers. We keep them shedded, feed them specially. It’s not enough the wool being fine, it’s got to be bright and strong and clean to get those fancy prices. The rest of the flock isn’t that good, nor the Southdown crosses.’
‘So there are different flocks?’ Mary was surprised at this but remembered the sheep she’d seen when she’d arrived, with their brown faces and legs; they must have been the Southdowns.
‘That’s right. Different grades, different quality. There’s the ewes, they’re graded, too. The culls are mated with Southdowns for fat lambs. The best ram lambs are left entire and either sold off or we keep the best, as long as they conform to the Downe type. We sell ewes, too. We’ll be taking a truckload up to Perth for the Show, end of September.’
Cec stirred sugar into his tea and lifted the cup for a long sip. Janet seemed to take this as a signal that he’d finished talking about sheep, and went on with her own investigations.
‘And tell me, Mary, do you have a family?’
‘I’ve got a younger brother. My parents live in Queensland.’
‘Yes? And what about …’ Janet left the question dangling.
Mary let the pause grow. ‘Oh, do you mean am I married? Well, I was.’ She watched the look of concern cross Janet’s features as she anticipated the dreaded word divorce . ‘But my husband …’ She was taking an unseemly delight in teasing Janet, and lowered her voice to a level that implied the direst tragedy. ‘My husband, Roy, was killed.’
Janet gasped and drew back as if to isolate herself from such barbarity. Everyone else was silent, waiting to hear the story: this was better than television. ‘Oh, my dear! What …’
‘Oh, it wasn’t some horrible crime,’ Mary explained, looking down while she carefully broke a piece off her cake with her fork, ‘though if you believe that war’s a crime then I suppose it was. Roy was a soldier, with the UN Peacekeepers in Afghanistan. He was blown up by a roadside bomb.’ She made a wry face. ‘Soldiers get killed. No use complaining when it happens to you.’ She raised the fork to her mouth. The cake was a classic sponge, light, eggy and not too sweet; luscious with jam and cream.
‘Oh,’ Janet said, ‘you’re very hard.’
‘No, I’m not hard.’ Mary had had enough of people telling her how she ought to be feeling. Surely it was nobody’s business but her own. ‘Of course it was a shock. But I’ve had to get over it. Life goes on.’
Janet hadn’t finished. ‘But doesn’t the Army give you a pension?’
Mary was familiar with this reaction. ‘Yes, they do. But I enjoy working, so I do. Roy didn’t like me having a job, but when he was away on postings I used to do temp work in hotels. When he was at home, I studied.’
Janet was taking this in. ‘Fancy,’ was the best that she could manage, but disapproval was writ large upon her face.
‘So you’re a widow?’ Gloria said, just to be sure.
‘That’s right.’
‘But you’ll be marrying again?’
Mary gave her a smile; she was used to this question, too. ‘I’m in no mad rush. I don’t know anyone I’d think of marrying; and, really, I like my new autonomy too much to want to give it up.’
‘Fancy!’ Janet said again.
Mary wondered if she was one of those married women who was deeply distrustful of any woman who was single — and didn’t have two heads — as if she might conceive a passion for their own husbands and lure them away. Mary glanced at Cec. As if!
‘But don’t you get sick of moving around?’ Gloria said.
‘It’s what I’m used to. My father was in the Army, too, and we lived all over the place.’ She didn’t intend to tell them more than this; Janet was having enough trouble as it was. Mary took one of the muffins: it was apple and cinnamon, probably out of a packet, but none the worse for that, and Gloria had put a
‘Tell her the rest,’ Garth interrupted.
‘That’s wool from our best wethers. We keep them shedded, feed them specially. It’s not enough the wool being fine, it’s got to be bright and strong and clean to get those fancy prices. The rest of the flock isn’t that good, nor the Southdown crosses.’
‘So there are different flocks?’ Mary was surprised at this but remembered the sheep she’d seen when she’d arrived, with their brown faces and legs; they must have been the Southdowns.
‘That’s right. Different grades, different quality. There’s the ewes, they’re graded, too. The culls are mated with Southdowns for fat lambs. The best ram lambs are left entire and either sold off or we keep the best, as long as they conform to the Downe type. We sell ewes, too. We’ll be taking a truckload up to Perth for the Show, end of September.’
Cec stirred sugar into his tea and lifted the cup for a long sip. Janet seemed to take this as a signal that he’d finished talking about sheep, and went on with her own investigations.
‘And tell me, Mary, do you have a family?’
‘I’ve got a younger brother. My parents live in Queensland.’
‘Yes? And what about …’ Janet left the question dangling.
Mary let the pause grow. ‘Oh, do you mean am I married? Well, I was.’ She watched the look of concern cross Janet’s features as she anticipated the dreaded word divorce . ‘But my husband …’ She was taking an unseemly delight in teasing Janet, and lowered her voice to a level that implied the direst tragedy. ‘My husband, Roy, was killed.’
Janet gasped and drew back as if to isolate herself from such barbarity. Everyone else was silent, waiting to hear the story: this was better than television. ‘Oh, my dear! What …’
‘Oh, it wasn’t some horrible crime,’ Mary explained, looking down while she carefully broke a piece off her cake with her fork, ‘though if you believe that war’s a crime then I suppose it was. Roy was a soldier, with the UN Peacekeepers in Afghanistan. He was blown up by a roadside bomb.’ She made a wry face. ‘Soldiers get killed. No use complaining when it happens to you.’ She raised the fork to her mouth. The cake was a classic sponge, light, eggy and not too sweet; luscious with jam and cream.
‘Oh,’ Janet said, ‘you’re very hard.’
‘No, I’m not hard.’ Mary had had enough of people telling her how she ought to be feeling. Surely it was nobody’s business but her own. ‘Of course it was a shock. But I’ve had to get over it. Life goes on.’
Janet hadn’t finished. ‘But doesn’t the Army give you a pension?’
Mary was familiar with this reaction. ‘Yes, they do. But I enjoy working, so I do. Roy didn’t like me having a job, but when he was away on postings I used to do temp work in hotels. When he was at home, I studied.’
Janet was taking this in. ‘Fancy,’ was the best that she could manage, but disapproval was writ large upon her face.
‘So you’re a widow?’ Gloria said, just to be sure.
‘That’s right.’
‘But you’ll be marrying again?’
Mary gave her a smile; she was used to this question, too. ‘I’m in no mad rush. I don’t know anyone I’d think of marrying; and, really, I like my new autonomy too much to want to give it up.’
‘Fancy!’ Janet said again.
Mary wondered if she was one of those married women who was deeply distrustful of any woman who was single — and didn’t have two heads — as if she might conceive a passion for their own husbands and lure them away. Mary glanced at Cec. As if!
‘But don’t you get sick of moving around?’ Gloria said.
‘It’s what I’m used to. My father was in the Army, too, and we lived all over the place.’ She didn’t intend to tell them more than this; Janet was having enough trouble as it was. Mary took one of the muffins: it was apple and cinnamon, probably out of a packet, but none the worse for that, and Gloria had put a
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