‘Please.’ Ned was hanging on the counter. Holding himself up.

She hesitated again. Looked at her colleagues. Eventually gave him a swift nod, then strode to a telephone at the rear of the room, cheque in hand.

As he waited, Ned began to see the gentleman as he truly was: a sly conman. A thief. And he realised that for this to be true, Ned had played the role of victim—an unsavvy rural fool. He rocked on his heels, and began to count the violence he’d committed against the valley’s rabbits all summer. Catalogued the wounds, measured the blood. Imagined re-enacting all of it upon the gentleman’s whisky-rinsed body.

The teller returned, smiling. She’d spoken to the manager of the branch where the cheque had been drawn. There were sufficient means to ensure that the cheque would be cleared. It was certain.

Ned felt like he might fall down again, like he had on the road. He thanked the teller, asked her to deposit the money into his father’s account and stumbled out into the sunlight.

~

When Ned told Maggie that the money had gone through, she softened. Began treating him the way she had at breakfast: gentle, stilted, ashamed. She made tea, told him how sorry she was about the boat. Told him she admired what he’d done. That while the money wasn’t enough, he had been right: it would help, somewhat. He shouldn’t have done it, she said. He had earned that boat. She and their father had been so impressed, so proud. He should at least have talked it over with her. But the money would help.

For the next week she trod lightly around him, as if he was recovering from an illness. Asking him he how he was, offering to make him food. He didn’t want food, he nearly shouted. The bread was hard and the potatoes soft. He wanted something to do, something to love. He had no rabbits to hunt, no quoll to hide and heal, no boat to revive and sail. Nowhere to push his imagination, nothing to dream of, nothing but the golden planks of savaged timber that floated into his mind whenever he was able to sleep. Nowhere to turn his thoughts from reality. No hiding from the orchard’s problems. No distraction from the letter that would eventually come from the army, the one they knew was inevitable. It’s been months, he wanted to shout at Maggie. He was cut loose from the anchors he’d been dropping all summer. He’d never felt so brotherless.

~