Reg leapt to his feet, hands braced around his mouth. “Let’s go, cutter giiiiiiirls!” He sat down. “They’re tight today.” The South Cairns Cutters Women’s team season started on thesecond Saturday morning in April, two and a half weeks from now.
Nev had to agree. This was the tail end of pre-season, so the players were physically in peak form. During the season each team fielded eighteen players with six substitutes. Tonight the team ran a practice match, shirts versus skins, ten to a side with four players waiting to sub in from the bench. Ronnie was running striker for the shirts, full forward, front and center, closest to the opposing team’s goal. The other woman playing full forward tonight was also tall.
They watched Ron kick a goal, score six points. Nev clapped.
Reg jumped up, cheered. “That’s my girl! Go Brum!” On the field Ron turned and waved at her dad while she jogged.
AFL was unique in that the teams played on an oval. It was a high-speed game, chaotic and violent. Players passed the ball with their feet or their fists.
After Ron’s goal the teams reset. The ruck was the tallest player on the team, and a striker could roll into a ruck easily from the forward line. She and the ruck from the other side ran at the ball tossed in the air, jumping up to knock it down. Ron just edged it over the other ruck’s hand, and the game continued, ball in play, runners hurtling down the pitch.
Nev watched, amazed. She had never had stamina like that. Every woman on the team had been the best player on her highschool team. They were all-stars.
She sent a prayer of thanks to whatever god had designed polyester footy shorts and footy players’ thighs.
Ron wasn’t wearing a black captain’s armband tonight—older players than her would have seniority—but she scored the most goals: three, and tied for the most goal assists: two.
By Nev’s maths, that made Dainty the MVP.
The night before Nev’s annual flight to Kigali, Ron lingered late after band practice, in no hurry to leave, perhaps because she had nowhere to go, watching footy in the living room while Nev tried to avoid thinking about Rwanda by instead psyching herself up to do something else vulnerable that scared her. Distract and redirect. Look over here, not over there—one of the first horse training lessons Kazi had taught her. She took a long breath, then forced it out between pursed lips. She could do this. She had done harder things.
“Dain’y. I want you to see something.”
She showed Ron the mortgage payment, tax bill, most recent farm account statement and the letter from the insurance company denying her claim on the water-damaged hay.
“You do the maths. Tell me what it means.”
Ron went into the office with a calculator. Half an hour later she returned. Nev watched her. Ron carried herself differently. Something about her had changed.
A quote popped into Nev’s head,Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s...
She apologized. “I should have been able to fix this. This was my job.” This was way above Ron’s pay grade, but of course the kicker was that Nev didn’t draw a salary.
“How long have you been supporting the farm with your personal money?”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“I know you didn’t,” Ron said gently, using her mum voice. Nev had overheard Ron use that patient tone with Rainbow when the girl accidentally broke something and then hid it out of fear of getting caught. “How much time do we have?”
That was decidedly not the mum voice. She preferred it over the mum voice. It was like a warm cup of tea. It sent shivers down her spine.
“How much have I got left? It’s all there. It’s all in the farm.”
Ron rubbed her lower lip, but looked determined, like she had made a decision. “In the morning I’ll go to the insurance place and talk to our agent. I’ll get him to fix this.”
“Good luck with that.”
“There’s a climate change disaster relief grant for farmers I heard about on the radio. You’ll apply for that. The national graziers’ association has an emergency fund, also. We’ll apply for everything.”
“Right.”
“You won’t like this,” Ron said, “but how much are you spending on this trip?”
Nev blinked.
Silence dragged.
Nev left the room, stood alone in the dark kitchen. She had created a monster.It’s alive!You can take the cat out of the box, but you can’t put it back in. Now Ron would start noticing things, changing things. She would notice that Nev was an alcoholic, notice Nev still lived in 1994. The thought of being discovered frightened her, but it was also exhilarating.
