The Farmer’s Wife. Rachael Treasure

deeper. Maybe some teasing to cheer her? Sol thought.

      ‘I see you’re a little more clothed than last time I saw you,’ he said as he set the box down on the kitchen bench. ‘Get any business last night? How’s the hangover? As bad as the tan?’

      ‘Leave her alone, Sol,’ barked Yazzie.

      He shrugged and began unpacking all the contents of the box onto the island bench.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Yazzie said, irritated. ‘Do you have to do that now, Sol, honey? We’re having a very important girls’ chat.’

      He cast her a dark look with his intense brown eyes. ‘I’m sure it’s infinitely important. Earth shattering in fact.’ Sol steadily laid out flour, eggs, vanilla essence and an array of cookbooks.

      ‘Sol,’ Yazzie growled.

      ‘Shush!’ he said loudly so that Rebecca started, her nerves frayed. ‘I’m on a mission to make a “Man Cake” for the Home Industries section at the Bendoorin Show. I saw a poster at the store.’

      ‘You have got to be kidding,’ Yazzie said. ‘Spare me.’ She put her head in her hands.

      ‘The theme of the show is Prime Lamb, so my plan is to work in and around that theme,’ Sol said. ‘There is a comedian who promotes Aussie meat who will be judge of the cake competition. It’s the first of its kind.’ He waved his arms around as if conducting an orchestra.

      Bec frowned, momentarily distracted from her plight with Charlie and slightly annoyed by the arrogant man who had burst into the room. No matter how good-looking he was or how endearing his Spanish accent, he still spoke to his wife far too haughtily — and was he serious about the cake cooking? How insensitive and rude! Couldn’t he see that she was distressed? Could he do nothing but think of himself and bang on about baking cakes? She concluded Yazzie was married to an arsehole, and all men — no matter what nationality — could be selfish and thick at the worst possible times.

      ‘You do know the show isn’t until October,’ Bec said coldly.

      ‘Yes, of course I know, but I want to perfect it now,’ he said with a theatrical sweep of his hand.

      Yazzie let out a frustrated scream while Bec thought, what a pansy! A piccolo-playing pansy!

      ‘He’s always like this, Rebecca! Mr Pedantic Pants!’ Yazzie turned to him. ‘Just because you didn’t get your orchestra gig doesn’t mean you can slip back into being Mr Slack-arse-I-do-bugger-all around here other than bake cakes for shows. That’s bent! You’re bent! There’s a tonne of work to be done out there. Dad would be livid. Get out of my kitchen.’

      ‘Your kitchen? Shut up, Ms Vocal Velocity. I briefed the staff this morning before I left for town. You seem to forget I’m the one with the jetlag. You are the one with the hangover.’ He cast another dark gaze at her and Yazzie poked her tongue out at him like a child.

      Rebecca shut her eyes, not wanting to witness the strain in other people’s relationships. Yazzie picked up on Bec’s discomfort and dropped her tone to one of gentleness. ‘Please be nice, Sol. Rebecca’s not had a good day.’

      ‘You make your bed, you lie in eet,’ he said, his accent thickening with his theatrics.

      Rebecca knew Sol was referring to her hangover, but she felt a twinge of deep upset. She had made her bed. She had tried so very hard to create a life on the farm with Charlie. But nothing seemed to work. She had tried to be everything to everyone. A good daughter to her father as his body shut down with illness. A good daughter to her mother, even though she was always absent. A good mum to her boys, tending to their every need with as much grace as she could muster. A good wife to Charlie.

      Even when the boys had been tiny babies, she had still summoned all her mental and physical strength to both work the farm and put a meal on the table. She had strived to be a good workman beside Charlie in the paddocks, despite the internal drag of depression within her. She had mixed memories of those times, some of them fond, some of them forlorn, of having to pull up in the paddock or the yard to breastfeed the baby or change a nappy or both, either on the seat of the ute or on a blanket that picked up thistles from the barren paddocks. Sometimes she felt strong and empowered like women of the ages who had worked in the fields, but other times she felt completely uncherished and used up.

      There were days when all she wanted to do was fall to her knees and cry with exhaustion. She had been everything to everyone, but nothing to herself. And it had all come to nothing. Or at least not nothing. It had all come to a ten-second vision of Charlie humping into a bare and moaning woman via an iPhone. It was Rebecca who felt stripped bare. Punished as a witness.

      At that moment bickering between the boys could be heard coming from the courtyard. Rebecca groaned and stood up.

      ‘Leave it to me,’ Yazzie said. ‘I’ll fix them. Now, Sol, please get out of the kitchen. I’m not used to having you in here, hulking about with icing sugar and food colouring. It’s just plain wrong. And take Rebecca with you. Give her a tour. Cheer her up for me.’

      ‘But the information night at the pub with Andrew is on soon,’ Sol protested, ‘and I’ve only just got in.’

      Bec glanced at Sol. So he knew Andrew Travis? The fact startled her. They were so unalike. From different worlds.

      ‘There’s time,’ Yazzie said, glancing at the clock. ‘Rebecca can come with us. You were going, weren’t you, Bec?’

      Bec shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I can. Not now —’

      ‘Rubbish,’ Yazzie interrupted. ‘I have a plan. After your tour, give me thirty minutes and I’ll transform you into a diva to die for. Charlie won’t know what’s hit him when he walks into the pub. If he’s cheating on you, then he deserves to be shown what he’s so carelessly destroying and throwing away.’

      Rebecca glanced at Sol, who was still busy unpacking his ‘Man Cake’ ingredients, his dark eyebrows pulled down over his broody eyes in a frown. Should he also know all her business? ‘I really better get going,’ she said, trying to block any more involvement with the Stantons, regretting the fact she’d come here. ‘The information night starts at six-thirty and I have to get the boys’ dinner. It’s almost five now!’

      ‘Stay,’ Yazzie implored. ‘I insist.’

      Bec looked at the other woman’s pleading blue eyes. She noticed they were not only filled with compassion but also, perhaps, a hint of loneliness. It was too late. She had a brand-new friend. Yazzie was now heavily involved in the grubby secrets of her life. And so too was Sol Stanton, whether she liked it or not.

      ‘Why go back to him right now? Give yourself some space and time for reflection. I’ll fix the kids something. After Sol’s shown you around, you can go have a soothing bath and then I’ll do your hair and makeup. I’ll pick out a dress for you to wear.’

      ‘A dress? To the pub? The Dingo Trapper?’

      ‘Yes! A dress. Oh, there’s strategy in what I do!’ Yazzie said. ‘We’ll show him. Beauty, if used correctly, is strength. And strong you shall be. Sol, don’t just stand there. Take her for a tour. Get her mind back to the place where it should be.’

      Sol set down the packet of flour and looked at both women, unimpressed. Just when Bec thought he would refuse, he abruptly said, ‘OK. Follow me.’

      As uninviting as his tone was, Rebecca followed in the wake of his expensive cologne.

      ‘You have a way of cheering up ladies, don’t you, Sol?’ Yazzie called after him in a voice that sounded a little too sarcastic for Rebecca’s liking. Not at all wanting a farm tour, but not knowing what else to do, she followed him meekly.

       Ten

      Sol