Finch, page 8
And this pleasant sort of chap is a bully who uses kids for slave labour. But she couldn’t say that, of course. She took a dripping dinner plate from Mum and wiped the soapsuds off it. “So how do you think we’ll go with our crop, Dad?”
“Fingers crossed,” Dad put his arm around Audrey’s shoulders, “our crop is looking pretty good. Better than I expected, in fact. Really not bad at all.”
*
Friday morning dawned hot and sultry. A strange yellowish light made the vines look greener than ever. Two large rectangular metal bins had been set up beside the vineyard, ready to take the crop.
It turned out that Doris Schultz’s niece couldn’t come because she had to make an emergency visit to the dentist. But Doris herself, and Kylie and Darryl Longmore, turned up at the vineyard on the dot of seven o’clock. Doris, a tiny energetic woman in a grey tracksuit and a cotton bonnet, was clearly the most experienced picker in this little group. She sized up her patch, grabbed a couple of plastic buckets and started work immediately.
Chloe and Audrey stood watching, and Dad hovered around Doris, not sure what to do, yet trying to look as if he was in charge.
“You can be the bucket boy,” Doris said to him helpfully. “Empty out the full ones into the big bin, and bring back the empties. That way we don’t have to keep lugging buckets all over the place. It’s like an assembly line, y’know?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Dad. “Ah – it’s actually my first harvest. I’m going to be a bit slow to start with, until I get the hang of it.”
Doris stood back, a bunch of grapes in one hand, a pair of secateurs in the other, and looked him up and down. “Don’t worry, it’s not that hard. And you’re a big strong boy, so you’ll do fine. Maybe you can get a few grapes picked as well. Just don’t let us pickers down. We don’t want to be scouting around for an empty bucket while you’re off somewhere else.”
“Isn’t it funny to hear someone talking to Dad like that?” Chloe whispered to Audrey. “It’s like he’s a little kid.”
“To Doris he probably is a little kid,” Audrey whispered back. “She would’ve been picking grapes before he was born.”
Chloe giggled. “I wish we could stay and watch.”
But now Mum was running up, waving at them and yelling, “Audrey! Chloe! Come on you two, get a move on!” And in the usual chaos of eating breakfast, finding homework, packing bags and working out the day’s program, the harvest was soon forgotten.
CHAPTER 14
When Chloe and Audrey came home from school, later than usual because Chloe had tennis practice, the grape pickers were still toiling away.
Dad came over to meet the car as Mum pulled up in the driveway. His face and arms looked sunburned. When he took off his hat, he revealed a line of dirt and sweat on his forehead.
“Nice hat hair, Dad,” laughed Chloe, patting his head with her tennis racquet.
“Thanks for noticing, Princess,” said Dad. He turned to Mum. “Doris and the others are knocking off in a few minutes, and we’ve still got about a quarter of the vineyard to be picked.”
“I’d say you’ve done well,” remarked Mum. “Are the bins full?”
“One is. The other’s about a third full, I guess.”
“Can’t you ask the pickers to stay on and finish the job?”
“I don’t think so. They’ve been going for nearly ten hours straight, with only half an hour off for lunch. That Doris is amazing – she picks two buckets to Kylie’s one, and about six to each one of mine. I’ve never felt so useless in my life. But we’ve all reached our limit, and even Doris is ready to go home now. Trouble is, no one can come in to pick tomorrow – they’ve all got other things lined up – and according to the weather forecast there’s a storm brewing.”
“Does that matter? You’ll just need to cover the bins so the rain doesn’t get in.”
Dad took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “It could be a lot worse than that. They say there’s going to be a massive hailstorm. Hail could strip the bunches, and at the very least there’d be split skins and other damage.” He stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Then again, the storm could simply blow away. We’ll see how things shape up tomorrow.”
After Dad had paid off the pickers, he came in for a late cup of tea. “Phwoar!” he said. “That’s the most strenuous thing I’ve done in a while. Could’ve done with you kids to carry the buckets – I was racing around like a blue-arsed fly trying to keep up with everyone and get my own rows picked.” He looked hopefully at Audrey and Chloe. “D’you think you two might give me a hand tomorrow? I’m going to get on with the picking on my own. It’s too big a risk to leave everything till Monday.”
Chloe looked at Audrey. “Sure, I guess.”
Audrey looked at Mum. “Okay with you, Mum?”
“I suppose so. I didn’t want you skipping school, that’s all. What you do on Saturday is your own business.”
*
By the time Saturday morning dawned, everyone was feeling anxious and unsettled. Dad had gone out to start picking as soon as it was light. Audrey could see him from the kitchen window, his head in its straw hat bobbing along the rows.
When she went outside to feed her finches, she realised that the heat and humidity were even worse than they’d been yesterday. The finches were cheeping quietly, sitting high on their perches in the deep shade of the roof. There was no other sound, and the silence was eerie. The sky was blue, but grey-and-white clouds were boiling up menacingly on the horizon.
She went back inside. Chloe was lying on the sofa in the living room, watching cartoons on television. Audrey walked up to the TV and switched it off.
Chloe sat up indignantly. “I was watching that!”
“Come on, Chlo. Dad’s all on his own out there.”
“It’s too hot!” moaned Chloe. But she slid off the sofa immediately. “Let’s go.”
“Hats,” said Mum, walking past with an armful of clothes to be washed. “And sunscreen.”
Chloe ran to her bedroom for her orange Sportsgirl beach hat, and when Audrey got the big bottle of SPF50 from the bathroom cupboard, she cheerfully rubbed the white lotion on her face and arms and legs. “It’s like going to the beach,” she said, giving the bottle back to Audrey. “I wish we were going to the beach.”
Audrey put sunscreen on her nose. “This’ll be heaps more fun.”
*
In fact, as Chloe reminded Audrey afterwards, it wasn’t fun at all, but hard work. The vineyard wasn’t large, but when you were standing at the beginning of the rows of vines, they seemed to go on forever.
Dad organised Chloe to do the bucket run, and Audrey to pick. They were picking on the far side of the vineyard, and it was a long walk to the bins, so emptying the filled buckets and replacing them with empties was a full-time job.
“Right, Audrey,” said Dad, “this section of three rows can be your patch. I’ve nearly finished my rows, and then I’ll start on the three above you. I reckon that works best, rather than us doing row by row. Suit you?”
Audrey nodded. “Sure.” She pulled on a pair of too-big gardening gloves and started on her first row. The grapes hung heavily, fat, purple-bloomed, already warm from the sun – dozens of them on each vine. Mostly they were easy to see; sometimes they were partly hidden beneath the leaves. Snip, snip, snip. One by one the bunches plopped into the bucket. Within a few minutes it was full, and Audrey grabbed the next empty bucket in the line. Snip, snip, snip. The secateur blades flashed.
“Ouch!” There was a cut in the finger of Audrey’s left glove, and blood was already seeping into the fabric. She pulled off the glove to inspect her wound. “Dad!”
Dad rounded the end of the row and ran up to her. “Did you hurt yourself? Those secateurs are razor-sharp.” He dug in his pocket for a box of bandaids, and stuck one on Audrey’s damaged finger. “Not that I should talk. I’ve cut myself three times so far.” He hugged her, quickly. “Be more careful, now, won’t you?”
Surprisingly, the finger didn’t really hurt, although the cut was quite deep. Audrey started to pick again, beginning at the top of the vine and then working her way down. Each plant was trellised on two wires. The grapes on the lower trellis wire hung almost down to the ground, and before long Audrey found that her back was beginning to ache. Sweat ran down her face and into her eyes, and annoying little flies floated around her head and settled on her nose and lips. Reddish juice mingled with the blood on her left glove. There was a heady, winy smell of ripe grapes.
Chloe raced up and down the rows, carrying the full buckets away and hurling empties back down the line. Beneath her hat her face was scarlet.
It took Audrey nearly an hour to finish her first row. Two more to go, and that was just for starters. She’d pulled off the gloves – they were so big that she worked more quickly without them – and inside its now filthy bandaid her cut finger had started to throb. Dad had almost finished his three rows. He was picking an entire row in around forty minutes. It was a speed Audrey was sure she’d never reach.
“Time for a break,” said Dad, when they’d been working for two hours. At the side of the vineyard, in the shade of a big gum tree, were the old tartan picnic rug and the esky. Dad spread the rug over the dry, prickly grass, and Audrey opened the esky and brought out three big bottles of iced water.
Chloe flung herself back on the rug. “Dad, I’m dying!”
Dad allowed them ten minutes. They drank their water and looked out over the vineyard. Even the birds were silent today, and in the breathless air the plastic hawk scarers hung motionless in their places, scaring nothing.
“I don’t want to do this,” Audrey said to herself. “It’s hot and sticky, and my back hurts, and my finger hurts, and my brain hurts.” She thought of the house with its cooling fan, the appeal of non-strenuous activities like watching TV, reading a book, eating ice cream …
“I must say I don’t like the look of that weather,” Dad said.
The sky directly above them was still a brilliant blue, but to the west, over the sea, it was now grey. A deep, livid purple-grey.
Dad put the half-empty water bottles back in the esky. “That cold front’s coming in fast,” he said, “so who knows how much time we’ve got left. Let’s get moving.”
Audrey picked now without even thinking about what she was doing. She moved steadily down the row, trying to ignore her aching back and the pain of her cut finger.
“Can you speed things up a bit, Audrey?” yelled Dad. “We’re not going to make it unless we go faster than this. And where the hell’s Chloe? I’ve run out of buckets.”
Audrey straightened up. She could see her sister under the gum tree, probably getting another drink from the esky. “Chloe!” she shouted. “We need buckets!”
Chloe waved at her and came racing back, two empty buckets in each hand. “Sorry.”
Audrey picked up a bucket and moved to the next vine. “We’ve got to work faster, Dad says. You haven’t got time to do your own thing whenever you feel like it.” She wiped sweat from her eyes. “We could really do with another pair of hands.”
Chloe gave her a smug little look. “Well, you might just get them,” she said.
“What? Are you going to pick and do the bucket run? Not likely. You can hardly keep up with us as it is. Oh, I know. You’ve asked Freddy.”
“Just you wait,” said Chloe.
CHAPTER 15
Snip, snip, snip. Snip, snip, snip. One by one, but so slowly, the buckets filled with dark purple grapes. Hordes of tiny brown grasshoppers leaped out of the dried grass below the vines with small clicking sounds. A sulphur-crested cockatoo screeched noisily from a gum tree. Cacatua galerita. The words lodged in Audrey’s tired brain and repeated themselves, over and over. She started to pick to the rhythm: Caca – snip – tua – drop; gale – snip – rita – drop. Another bucket full. A breeze wafted over the vines. Audrey felt its coolness on her face.
A shout made her look up. Three people were walking up the hill. Mavis. A man Audrey didn’t recognise. And Mum. Mum? Chloe was running towards them. Audrey put her secateurs on a post, marking her spot, and followed. Dad was already there.
“You know I can’t pick,” said Mum. “But I can at least help Chloe pass out the buckets or something.”
“Caroline, that’s fantastic,” said Dad. “Anything you do will be a huge help. Mavis! This is a surprise! And Bill – I thought you’d be flat out with your own vintage.”
“Finished yesterday,” said the man called Bill. “When I got the call from Mavis I reckoned you could do with a bit of help. These your kids? G’day, I’m Bill Brewer, got the place next to yours.”
Audrey stared at him, open-mouthed. Bill Brewer? The whole image of the person she’d built up in her head fell to pieces and vanished. This man looked so ordinary! Dark, thinning hair. A typical farmer’s face, tanned and weather-beaten, unshaven. Deep laughter crinkles around the eyes. The only unexpected thing about him was a small gold earring. Was this really the man who’d bullied Finch and sunk his boot into poor little Snowy’s ribs?
Audrey realised that she was gawping. She closed her mouth. Then she opened it again. “Hi,” she muttered.
Dad didn’t notice Audrey’s embarrassment. “Did you say you had a call from Mavis, Bill?”
“Yeah. I always do what Mavis tells me.” He winked at Mavis. “After all, she is my aunty.”
“Mavis is your aunty?” said Audrey. She was so shocked that for a moment it didn’t register that she was actually speaking to Finch’s Uncle Bill, pig man, kicker of dogs.
“Well, kind of. Don’t ask me to figure it out right now, we’ve got work to do.” He scanned the sky. “Looks nasty up there.”
“Just point us in the right direction, Ian,” said Mavis. “G’day Audrey, Chloe.” She was wearing a green plastic apron covered with pictures of seahorses. It looked as if it had been cut from an old shower curtain. Her red baseball cap was pulled down firmly over her white hair. “Haven’t picked for a while,” she admitted, “but many hands make light work, eh?”
“You did this, didn’t you?” Audrey said to Chloe as they all walked back up the hill to the vineyard. There was a new feeling of lightness in the air, in spite of the threatening sky.
“Yeah, Dad left his mobile in the esky. I saw it when we got our drinks. I texted Mum and asked her if she could please help, we were desperate, and she said she’d phone Mavis, cause Mavis offered to give us a hand earlier, remember? And Mavis must’ve phoned Mr Brewer.” She did a little skip, looking pleased with herself. “Good plan, hey? I’m glad I saw Dad’s mobile. He never would’ve asked Mum. He would’ve just gone on trying to give himself a heart attack.”
“Excellent plan, Chlo.” Looking at her, Audrey wondered at her little sister. Chloe was always so confident, so sure of herself. She worked out what to do, and then she did it. Finch was the same. They’d get on really well, she thought. I wonder if they’ll ever meet? I wish Finch didn’t have to be a secret. I’d like everyone to know about him.
She started picking again, and found to her surprise that she didn’t feel tired any more. It was amazing what a difference it made to know that she and Dad weren’t struggling through the last twenty-odd rows all by themselves.
Mavis was already halfway down her row. Audrey watched her, trying to work out how Mavis could pick so quickly. She hardly seemed to bend and stretch at all, and she reached for the grape bunches as if she knew exactly where they’d be waiting for her.
Further up the vineyard Bill Brewer was also working steadily and swiftly. He and Mavis encouraged and teased each other, turning the picking into a friendly competition. He doesn’t seem to be such a bad guy, Audrey thought. But no – Finch wouldn’t have lied about him. She hardened her heart again. “Pig man,” she said fiercely to herself. “I wish I could tell Dad, and then Dad could – I don’t know – report him to the police or something. He shouldn’t get away with what he’s done.” She checked the vine she’d just picked, found two bunches of grapes she’d missed, and groaned.
Half an hour later, distant thunder started to rumble. Lightning cracked and sizzled. Audrey turned at the strainer post that marked the end of her row and stood for a moment, easing her tired shoulders. After the next flash of lightning she started to count. There were only a few seconds between lightning and thunder – the storm was getting close. Not much time left. She counted the rows still to be picked. Four! Could they make it?
Another lightning flash, and then a deafening thunderclap. Dad straightened up like a jack-in-the-box and waved his arms. “We’ve got one row each, and then we’re done. It’s us against the weather. Let’s go!”
This must be how a horse feels at the end of a race, thought Audrey. The ache in her back had returned, and she’d snipped another finger, this time taking off half a fingernail. Her arms were scratched from elbow to wrist. No longer able to bend, she now picked grapes from the lower wires on her knees, and her jeans were filthy with grape juice and dirt. She was more tired than she’d ever been in her life, but a huge feeling of excitement and anticipation was driving her on. “Nearly there,” she told herself. “Only ten more vines. Nine … Eight … Seven …”
Snip, snip, snip …
Done!
“Buckets, Chlo!”
Chloe rushed up to her and together they struggled down to the big steel bins, each carrying two overflowing buckets. Mavis and Bill Brewer were carrying their last buckets down too, and Mum was already helping Dad with the tarpaulin bin covers. As Audrey reached up to empty the first of her buckets, lightning lit up the whole sky.
“Quick!” shouted Dad. “Chuck the grapes in, and let’s get these tarps on!”
The sky held its breath for that moment. And then, slowly at first, and then faster, the rain came.
CHAPTER 16
“Run!” shouted Chloe. She was dancing with excitement, eyes shining, hair hanging around her face in wet tendrils. Dad snatched up the esky and the rug, and they all made a dash for the house. Mavis ripped off her shower-curtain apron and held it over Mum and herself as they jogged together down the hill.
