Authors: Inga Simpson
Nest (32 page)
‘Hey, that’s great. Your mum must be pleased.’
‘We didn’t really think I’d get into both.’
‘It’s fantastic, Henry.’
He shoved cake in his mouth and washed it down with milky sweet tea.
She touched the sketchbook he had brought with him. ‘Have you been doing some drawing?’
‘A comic strip,’ he said, his mouth still gluggy with cake.
‘Let’s see it, then.’
He flipped the cover open. The title page featured a boy and girl either side of a gnarly tree.
The Black Forest
.
‘The title was Dad’s idea,’ he said. ‘There’s a fire, but they save the town.’
Jen turned the book around to flip through the pages. ‘This is really good, you know. Your ink work is great. And I like the trees here,’ she said. The girl’s face was a little like Caitlin’s, though more elfin. And the boy a taller, squarer-jawed version of Henry.
‘I haven’t quite finished it,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure about the ending.’
‘It will come,’ she said. ‘More cake?’ She stood.
Henry pointed at the portrait behind her. ‘She looks good there,’ he said.
‘It’s the only wall long enough.’ She placed the cake in front of him. ‘Tuck in,’ she said. ‘I have something for you.’ She fetched the parcel from behind the laundry door. ‘A good luck present for high school,’ she said.
‘Thanks!’ He ripped off the paper but stopped when he caught a glimpse of the robins. ‘No one bought it?’
She laughed. ‘It was never for sale. It’s yours.’
‘Thank you.’ He stood and leaned towards her for an awkward hug. ‘But it had a sold sticker on it, at the gallery.’
‘I put that there,’ she said. ‘When you weren’t looking.’
‘Sneaky.’
Maureen had said several people had asked about the piece, and
Flightless Bird,
including the city fellow who had bought
Bird Man,
hoping she would change her mind and let him have the pair.
‘Good cake.’
‘Thanks.’
Henry nodded at the birdbaths. A king parrot pair; one bath each. For a moment, it looked as if the female was going
to step into the water, but then she dipped her beak and drank. And dipped again.
‘Nearly,’ Henry said.
Kay pulled into the drive. Henry’s shoulders dropped, and Jen had to subdue a fluttering in her chest.
She followed him up to the car, focusing on the sun on her face, the breeze shifting her hair. He threw his bag in the back and climbed in next to his mother, still holding the robins.
‘Look,’ he said, holding up the picture.
‘That’s very generous of you, Jen.’
‘Great news about school,’ Jen said, through the open window.
Kay smiled. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ She patted Henry on the back. ‘He’s done well,’ she said. ‘You’ve been a great influence on him, Jen. Thank you.’
‘Henry is very talented. And a good worker.’
Henry raised his hand in a peace sign. ‘Later.’
‘Good luck, Henry,’ she said. ‘Drop in sometime and tell me how you’re going.’
She turned her back on the car reversing out of the drive and away onto the road, the crunch as it hit tar and then faded away.
The afternoon light was softening, the sun slipping behind the mountain. She stopped at the top of the steps. A pair of black cockatoos swooped low and close, right across the clearing. The slim trunks gathered in a little closer. Her robins chirped and piped their evening song.
J
en took another tray of sedges from the back of the ute and headed down to the creek bed. They were replanting along the banks, where they had removed lantana over the last year.
Within her section, she worked her way downhill, leaving the softer soil for last. It was a process: removing a trowelful of soil, squeezing the punnet and freeing the sedge upside down, fingers either side of the plant stem, before righting it and burying it again.
Something flew overhead, and green-thighed frogs quacked, like little ducks.
Lil came around with her backpack-mounted reservoir, watering in the new plants. ‘Nice job there, Jen.’
Jen smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘Not sure why I’m bothering,’ Lil said. ‘It’s going to rain.’
Jen looked up at the sky. ‘Really?’
‘It’s a world unto its own in here.’ It was true. They were in a kind of hollow, the water and undergrowth absorbing sound, and the canopy shutting out the sky. The creek deepened and widened to cup a pretty waterhole, reflecting green.
‘I love it,’ Jen said. ‘Best project we’ve done. Well, I’ve done, anyway.’
Lil tucked her white hair behind her ears. ‘Waterways are the most satisfying, I reckon. This one was small enough to get perfect.’
‘How’s your mother?’
‘Crazy as ever,’ she said. ‘But you were right. Putting her in the home was the best thing I ever did. For the both of us.’
The others were starting to pack up, whacking the soil from their trays and stacking them on the back of the ute.
‘I’m glad it’s working out,’ Jen said. She could feel, now, that the air temperature had dropped, and the low cloud cover had brought down a kind of hush – a feeling of expectation. ‘I’d better get these last ones in.’
‘I’ll fetch the mulch,’ Lil said.
The soil was loose and dark, perfect for receiving new seedlings. Jen alternated tussock rush and tall flat sedge, edging back towards the water.
‘How’s your place going?’ Lil said.
‘Slowly,’ Jen said. ‘I’m considering dedicating my life to lantana.’
‘Are we helping you with the replanting?’
‘Some. And I got the grant. Three hundred seedlings.’
‘That’s great!’
Jen smiled. ‘Well, I have you to thank. I wouldn’t have found the right words.’ She patted down the last rush, waited while Lil watered it in, and then began piling up the mulch around it.
‘Give me a yell when you’re ready to start planting.’
‘I will.’ Lil would have clever ideas about where to place things – and Jen could use the help.
It started to rain, big drops far apart spotting Lil’s shirt. Jen got to her feet, stiff from so much up and down, particularly the down.
Lil grinned. ‘Told you.’
They watched the rain pocking the pool’s surface, sending up silver teats. For once, the weather’s sense of timing was spot on. It was all Lil, she was the regeneration guru; even the rain fell in line.
‘You coming, Lil?’ Mitch said. ‘It’s going to bucket down.’ Dan, in the back of the dual-cab, was winding up the windows.
‘I can give you a lift home if you’d like,’ Jen said.
‘Thanks.’ Lil waved the men off and Mitch reversed up the lane, leaving them alone with the slap and splash of the water.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lil said. The waterhole was rimmed with rushes and sedges, not a weed in sight. The creek swelled upstream.
Their hair was plastered to their heads, their shirts already wet through.
‘Let’s swim,’ Lil said. ‘We’re soaked anyway.’ She slipped out of her clogs, peeled off her shorts, shirt and skin-tone undies and bra, and ran down the bank naked, throwing herself in the water with a shriek.
Jen stood in the rain, beside the pile of discarded clothes. She pulled off her boots and socks, struggled out of her jeans and unbuttoned her top.
‘Come on! It’s gorgeous,’ Lil said.
Jen slipped and slid down the slope into the water, laughing and splashing.
T
hanks to Bernadette Foley, Kate Stevens and Elizabeth Cowell for nurturing the best-shaped
Nest
from my manuscript; Emma Kelly, for the gorgeous illustration and Christa Moffitt for the cover design; Anna Egelstaff and my extended Hachette family, for giving my books (and me) the support an author dreams of; Nike Sulway, who knows more than anyone where this story came from, for valuable first draft feedback; Barbara Simpson, whose support makes it possible for me to continue to write; Ellen van Neerven, for the line on
page 142
, and the conversation that flowed from it.
Jen’s ‘treebed’ and accompanying wilderness memory is taken from true accounts of wild tree climbing as described in Richard Preston’s
The Wild Trees.
Inga Simpson has a PhD in Creative Writing from the Queensland University of Technology and a Masters in Literature from the University of New South Wales. Before turning to creative writing, Inga had a career as a professional writer, including stints for federal parliament and the Commonwealth Ombudsman. Inga is currently researching Australian nature writing as part of a PhD in Literature at the University of Queensland. Inga’s first novel,
Mr Wigg,
was published to critical acclaim.
Nest
is her second novel.
Published in Australia and New Zealand in 2014
by Hachette Australia
(an imprint of Hachette Australia Pty Limited)
Level 17, 207 Kent Street, Sydney NSW 2000
Copyright © Inga Simpson 2014
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the
Copyright Act 1968,
no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the National Library of Australia.
978 0 7336 3234 1
978 0 7336 3249 5 (ebook edition)
Cover design by Christabella Designs
Cover illustration by Emma Kelly