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Stacey glanced at the eggs, brushing off my thanks.
“Still have some layers even in this heat. Bessie, Anne and Margaret are carrying the flock for eggs.” The three Sussex hens were named after the British Royal Family; Bessie being the boss of the coop.
“Give them an iceberg lettuce. Or half a watermelon. Or both.”
Stacey’s smile faded. “I know what to do when it’s hot.”
I cringed. Every time I tried to show my family I hadn’t forgotten how the farm ran, I sounded like I was lecturing.
“Great. Good.” My cheeks burned again. “Of course you do.”
Stacey grunted. Ryan saved us both.
“Stace might be getting clearance to go back on active duty with the Rural Fire Brigade.”
Stacey cut him a look to stop talking and he did.
“That’s great news Stacey! Getting back into that is something you always wanted to do!”
“Don’t get any hopes up.” She glared at the phone. “Nothing’s certain.”
Didn’t I know it? My stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Stuart again after what we had done. What I had instigated.
“Oh Ryan, you said you got more chook food but the bag is almost empty,” Stacey said to Ryan. “We need some more when you go into Ballydoon today.”
“But I bought that bag literally two days ago,” Ryan protested. “We shouldn’t need any more.”
“Well, it’s nearly empty.” She turned back to me, with a quick smile. “Gotta go. Eggs, work. See you ‘Manda.” She left before I could say goodbye.
I found myself staring at the Gallanach requisitions again.New chook food, gone in two days, need more…
Ryan swivelled the phone back to him.
“You haven’t sent me the farm’s tax files for this year yet.” I said.
“You sure? I mean, you’re busy and all that over there.”
“Ryan, I practically beg you every year to send me them.”
“Don’t want to heap it on you, sis.”
No one in my family cared about numbers like I did. I helped Dad do the farm accounts when I was in high school where Accounting and Maths were my favourite subjects. But Dad did the books as a matter of necessity; he didn’t see the beauty of how data told a story like I did.
“It’s no trouble. I love doing it.”
Ryan made a face that told me exactly what he thought of that: I was bonkers.
Not many people think of filling in a spreadsheet as storytelling but every number in every cell describes how someone made a purchase to satisfy a need. Some needs are fraudulent. Some needs are desperate, illegal. Some needs are lies. Sometimes, spreadsheets tell how you cracked the success for your business. And I loved searching for those stories, and recounting them to the client.
But, to most people, it was boring.
“It keeps me connected to the farm, even if I’m over here.”
Ryan gave me a soft smile. “Yeah, sure. I’ll email the files to you. Thanks, Henny.”
My phone buzzed with a message.
“I should let you all go,” I mumbled.
