Outback Dreams by Rachael Johns

Forrester’s Rock fifteen minutes later, she’d have been forgiven for thinking a tornado had whirled through over the weekend. Her dad and brother were nowhere to be seen, but they’d left their mark in every nook and cranny. On the way from the front door through to her bedroom, she began Operation Clean-up, stooping to collect empty soft drink cans, Mars Bar wrappers and socks that were so far gone they should have been incinerated.
    As she tossed all her loot in the kitchen bin, her heart rate accelerated for reasons entirely different from why it had spiked in Monty’s house. Dishes were piled skyscraper-high in the sink, and the cereal bowls were still on the table. She flung her backpack on the floor, shoved her sleeves up to her elbows and turned the tap on full blast.
    Who do they think I am? Cinder-bloody-rella?
    It hadn’t always been this way. When her mum was alive, they’d all been expected to pull their weight, but somehow, in the months after she’d died, the routine of helping each other had slowly slipped beyond repair. Faith had become the go-to girl for cooking and cleaning. The cooking she actually enjoyed, but no one liked being treated like a slave.
    When the sink was full of soapy water, she clicked her iPod into the dock in the lounge room and switched it to shuffle. Cleaning could be almost bearable with her favourite tunes turned up loud, and she hoped today they’d help drown out her grumpiness. As she washed the dishes and polished the kitchen so it sparkled, while she ran the vacuum cleaner round the house, opened the windows to air the joint, threw a load of washing on and mopped the hard floors, she vowed that her home life was going to change.
    â€˜There.’ Three hours later, hands on her hips, she stood back and assessed her work. The house looked fabulous, and she felt good about what she’d achieved, but knowing her “housemates” would barely notice—never mind thank her—dampened the joy. She’d tried not to think too much about Monty while she’d worked, but now she glanced at her watch. It was almost midday—which accounted for the racket her empty belly was making—and his appointment was scheduled for just after lunch. She bit her lip, hoping like crazy he got the loan.
    The vacuum and other cleaning supplies tucked away in the laundry, Faith headed for the fridge. She pulled a loaf of bread out of the freezer and was about to defrost the lot for sandwiches when she thought again.
    Already anticipating the look on her dad and Ryan’s faces, she smiled and proceeded to make herself the best darn sandwich ever. She grated every type of vegetable she could find, sliced some ham and cheese and then threw it all together to form something she probably wouldn’t be able to get her mouth around. She set her lunch on a plate, grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and laid them both on the table, before quickly tidying her mess. At the last moment, just before her bum landed on the chair, she decided she wouldn’t throw them totally in the deep end.
    Retrieving the still mostly frozen loaf of bread, the margarine, the ham and cheese, she put them in a row on the bench. There. Let them make their own gourmet lunch.
    As she sat and took the first mouth-watering bite, she contemplated her fundraising pledge. She’d need to talk to the Shire about using the Memorial Hall, or maybe someone’s shearing shed would work better. Then there’d be sponsors to solicit, catering to organise, tickets to print, invitations, prizes—everyone loved prizes at things like this—decorations, and she should contact the charity soon and discuss her plans with them. Not to mention set a date. Her mind whirled with ideas. Not wanting to forget a single one, she left her sandwich and went to the study, where she located an old roll of butcher’s paper that had been there since she and Ryan were kids and liked