Bestselling Australian rural author Fleur McDonald wrote this original Christmas story exclusively for The Weekly.
As Kia plans her mother’s funeral six days before Christmas, the prodigal son returns. Will the spirit of the season heal old family wounds?
Kia was putting the finishing touches to the casket spray when two things happened.
The first was the security buzzer on her front gate three kilometres away sounded in a loud screech. The second was the phone rang.
Kia already knew who was driving towards the homestead. She didn’t know the number displayed on the screen of her mobile.
“Hello?”
A voice as unfamiliar as the number.
“Is that Kia Jackson?”
“Yes.” Her hands worked the long stems of the bottlebrush flowers into the wreath wire. When she’d cut the flowers this morning, they had been bowed heavily towards the ground as if burdened by their own beauty. Sparkles of dew touched the tips of the soft red spikes and gently fell to the ground as Kia had snipped them from the tree.
Bottlebrushes were her mother’s favourite flowers. They were nature’s Christmas decorations. Like the tinsel adorning the gum tree she had in the corner of the lounge room. Bright and festive. Although Kia was not feeling festive. Only six days until Christmas. Her mother’s funeral was in an hour.
“My name is Hunter King. I work for a repossession company called King Retrievals.”
With the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, Kia continued to work. “How can I help?”
“I’d like to confirm your address is …” he reeled off her address as the dogs set up a round of barking.
A white sedan that would be useless against hitting a kangaroo or cow out here parked under the huge gum tree next to the tennis court. Kia put down the bottlebrushes and walked to the window to watch the visitor.
Opening the door, he brushed dust from his suit pants and looked around uncomfortably. The open landscape, its soil baking in the morning heat, was foreign to him. Where Kia found comfort in the golden crops and sheep grazing in the paddocks, this man didn’t. She didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wished he wasn’t visiting her farm. Her home.
“Why do you need that confirmed?” she asked.
“A truck is on the way to repossess your John Deere header. Payments are 12 months behind, and the finance firm needs to recover their costs.”
“What?”
The man knocked on the door and started slightly as he saw her behind the glass, looking at him. Kia motioned him inside. Hesitating at the doorstep, he swallowed before stepping through.
Bottlebrushes covered the kitchen table. He picked one up and ran his fingers over the flower, his face awash with memories.
Kia never had claimed to be a florist – her skills were as a farmer – but her mum had loved these flowers and wanted the ones from the trees in her garden on top of her coffin. Kia had promised she would do her best.
“I assure you, I haven’t got the wrong number.” Hunter’s voice was haughty. “No payments have been made since December last year. We are only half an hour from your farm. Can you confirm the header is at this address? Hello? Are you there?” he asked.
The man inside her home had now moved to the windowsill, where sympathy cards were displayed. He read them one by one, while Kia fought herself not to tell him to put them down.
“Ms Jackson, are you there?”
Kia refocused. “Yes, sorry.” Suddenly fury burst through her. “Not today.” She told him. “You are not coming today. Today is my mother’s funeral and I need time to find out what is going on …”
He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. Kia spun around and gave him her back.
“Unfortunately, the company has been waiting for the money for too long. Really, today is a courtesy call. Thanks for your time.”
The phone went dead.
Still holding the phone to her ear, Kia stole a few extra moments to gather herself, then slowly returned it to her pocket. Her fingers itched to claw the emotion out of her chest. Not once had her mum said they couldn’t make the payments on the header. Maybe it was a scam call.
Kia took three deep breaths in and out, calming breaths that had got her through the last six days, since her mum had died. Calming breaths which had helped her make the phone calls to family members and now calming breaths to speak to her brother, who she hadn’t seen in 10 years.
Then she turned to face him.
“Hello, Kia.” Phillip spoke first.
“Hi, Phil.”
They held each other’s eyes for only a moment and their gazes slid away.
“I’m sorry to hear about Mum.”
“Are you?” Back at the table now, Kia’s fingers took comfort from the scratchy stems and soft flowers.
“Of course.” He adjusted his tie and suit jacket.
“Bit hot for that clobber.”
The sun had risen with the normal summer sting, heating the already scorched landscape. Kangaroos were asleep under the bushes, the sheep camped along the fence lines and in any piece of shade they could find, while the grain heads of the crops ripened further with every beat. Crops that were supposed to provide money to sustain her and the farm into next year. If the header was repossessed, she had no way of harvesting the grain. Inside her chest, emotions scratched deeper. That call was a scam, and she had more important things to think about.
Phillip sat down on the couch and crossed his legs.
“It’ll be over 40 degrees at the cemetery,” Kia told him. “There’s no shade. You’ll get heat stroke. Have you forgotten how powerful the sun is up here?”
The Flinders Ranges in summer were hot, desolate and dry. Hard, yet so beautiful. Kia and her mum had often sat on the verandah after a day of work and watched the ranges change from blue to pink to dusk to a deep purple as the sun slipped below the horizon.
“I’m not going to Mum’s funeral,” Phillip told her.
Kia’s head snapped up. “Why not? Why are you here then?”. She crossed her arms and faced him, fear flickering through her stomach.
“Why are you here?”
Phillip looked at her long and hard. “You and I both know that would be hypocritical. Mum and I haven’t spoken in 10 years. We had nothing left to say.”
“You haven’t spoken to me in 10 years either and yet here you are.” Putting her hands on her hips, Kia stood tall.
“Look, Kia, this rift was never with you.” He stood up and paced the edge of the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Do you remember how we used to ride our bikes to the dam? I’d carry the yabby nets on the back and you’d take the bait.” He gave a slight smile. “We’d spend hours down there, just to catch a bucketful. Then we’d cook them up on the barbecue.”
Kia let herself smile. “Yeah, I remember.”
“And what about Christmas pageants – decorating our bikes with coloured crepe paper and wind it through the spokes on the wheel. Mum used to make Dad get off the header and take us to those pageants, just so we could sit on Santa’s knee.” His brow crinkled. “I remember punching some kid, what was his name? The one who pushed you off my bike at the Christmas pageant in town and broke your arm.”
“Matt Delta,” Kia answered.
Phil laughed, although it sounded awkward. “He always liked you, right from primary school. Wonder where he is now.”
“On the way over from his farm,” Kia said. “We’ve been together eight years.”
Phil laughed loudly, then sobered. “So,” he said. “Harvest is here, so is Christmas. And Mum’s funeral. Kind of ironic she died at the busiest time of the year, isn’t it?”
A slight nod. “Mum wanted these flowers on her coffin, so there wasn’t any other time to die.” She repeated her earlier question. “Why are you here, Phil? If you’re not coming to her funeral. Do you want …” Swallowing, Kia tried again. “Do you want something from the farm?”
Phil walked over to the Christmas tree and reached out to one of the baubles. The one which had his name on it. “You still use this?”
“Every year.”
“Why?”
Kia left the table and went to stand next to him. “Because I missed you. Because I didn’t want to ever forget.”
“My fight was never with you, Kia. Why did taking a gap year and wanting to travel make Mum and Dad say I couldn’t come back here?”
Kia bristled. “Hold on, you were never interested in farming, Phil. This wasn’t your gig.”
“Not correct.” Phil was standing still, his arms tense at his side. “The dirt of this place is ingrained under my fingernails, just as it is under yours.”
Kia didn’t want to hurt her brother anymore, but he’d asked why. “It wasn’t the gap year that was ever the problem.”
Pain crisscrossed his features. “Thought as much. Is it for you?”
Kia thought back over their childhood. He’d helped muster stock, the same way as she had, and worked in the shearing shed while she’d worked in the yards. As they’d grown older, they’d pinched sneaky beers from the shearing cutouts and shared them down at the creek.
The door flung open before she could answer.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Matt asked as he indicated behind him. “Oh, g’day Phil, good to see you made it.” Matt stuck out his hand towards Phil, blowing Kia a kiss.
Kia ran to the window and looked out. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a truck over at the shed and they look like they’re about to load the header on. You didn’t tell me it had broken down.”
“It bloody hasn’t. Someone rang and said they were repossessing it. I don’t know …” Her voice cracked.
Then a shudder of realisation. “Oh no, Matt! Were those repayments supposed to come out of the bank account that was frozen when Dad died last year? Probate hasn’t been issued so maybe …”
Matt nodded. “I’ll go talk to them,” he said, and kissed her before he disappeared into the heat.
The door reopened quickly. “Sorry, Phil,” Matt said. “I’ll catch up with you later. Welcome home.” He paused. “This is your home.”
Phil swallowed. “Thanks, Matt. Your words are very kind.”
Matt gave him the thumbs up and disappeared.
“Look, Kia,” Phil turned to his sister. “You’ve got a bit on, so I’ll be brief. I’ve come to say goodbye. I’m moving. Overseas. With my partner. Ben’s family is from England and his dad has cancer. We want to spend some time with them. Before we can’t. I thought it best to tell you face to face.” He looked at his watch. “And I have to go. Our flight leaves tonight. The move was all arranged before Mum died.”
Kia didn’t know what to say. She would never tell him how her mum had banned Kia from speaking to her brother. How she’d threatened to sell the farm if Kia tried to contact Phil. Could she tell him she’d kept an eye on him through social media and friends for all this time?
Tears pricked at Kia’s eyes. How to heal 10 years in 10 minutes?
She put out her hands. “Can we be family again?”
Relief spread over Phil’s face. Instead of taking her hands, he folded her against his chest and kissed her head. “We’ll be better than that. We’ll be friends. I’ve got to go.”
When Phil left this time, it wasn’t in a haze of fury, it was with comfort and joy. Kia had found her brother again and he had found her.
Matt came inside, holding an envelope, looking concerned. “They’ve unloaded the header,” he said. “The driver of the truck gave me this.”
“Looks like a Christmas card,” she said, taking it. Then seeing the writing, she drew in a breath.
She pulled out the card.
“I saw the truck at the service station in town,” Phil had written. “We got talking and they asked for directions to the farm. I said to follow me because I was going there … Then I realised what they were doing. Kia, I’ve paid the balance for the header. Happy Christmas, sis.”
Fleur McDonald’s Christmas story previously appeared in The Australian Women’s Weekly magazine. Subscribe so you never miss an issue.
Fleur McDonald’s new book, Out in Nowhere, Allen & Unwin, is out now.
