Chapter 17

I pulled onto the verge just past Mungalla.

"Are you okay?"

Patrick nodded. His eyes were red.

"Sad about not seeing the nungungi again?"

"And the station, too."

"Yes. Many changes. For many people, life goes on placidly, without storms or changes. Our lives, yours, Sarah's, Mum's, mine seem to thrive on change. But it doesn't ever get easy or even painless. But that's what life is."

He nodded.

"Back to the station?"

"Yes." I drove back.

It was really nice to turn into the drive, even though I was aware that it would be but a few times more. But it had been home till I went to the uni and had been my security place. But now there was Weena and Patrick and Sarah. Mum and Dad would move and all that would remain of Mitchell would be Jacky and his new family and memories. I wondered what Weena and Mum had been doing and how Dad had done with the solicitor. I pulled up at the side of the house.

"If you want, you can tell me about the nungungi. Not right now. When you're ready."

"Thank you."

"Now go see how Weena and your sister are."

He ran up the steps and into the house. I followed him and found Dad in the kitchen with a stack of paper and a cup of coffee.

"Hey."

"How'd it go?"

"Pretty well. He was crying on the way home. The number of changes hit him. He's only six. Losing the station and the nungungi at the same time was too much. But he'll be okay. Wait till he sees the rocking horse."

Dad laughed.

"And how was your meeting with the solicitor?"

"Fine. Just fine." He patted the papers. "He'll be back Wednesday morning and we should have everything signed and sealed before Jacky gets here. We'll see what the surveyor ends up with tomorrow."

I got myself coffee and sat down. "I'm not even certain what a surveyor does these days. I'm sure they don't carry a theodolite and a two-metre pole. Is his name Ferdinand Rudolf Hassler? Is he Swiss?"

"Is that a joke?"

"Sorry. Hassler was a Swiss hired by Thomas Jefferson to survey the US."

"Oh. I knew we shouldn't send you to the uni. No, I expect it's largely electronic; most likely GPS and laser. He'll probably take a dozen readings and then the rest is calculation."

"I wonder. We'll see. By the way, do you have packing materials?"

"Not yet."

"Have you got a mover?"

"Oh, yes. Chinchilla Movers."

"Do they have cartons and such?"

"I suppose so."

"Give me their number; I'll phone."

I called and introduced myself. I asked about packing materials and they were very helpful. It turned out they had a van that would be in Roma tomorrow (Tuesday) by noon. I asked for 100 cartons and two rolls of corrugated paper. They told me where the van would be; I told them I'd be there with a cheque — they could subsequently deduct that from the removal amount.

"You made that easy," Dad said. "That's why they made you an admin."

"Right. I sit on my fat bum and arrange for others to work. Can I take the ute in the morning?"

"Of course."

"What have the girls been at?"

"They were upstairs from about nine till noon, then lunch, then Sarah had a nap and Mum and Weena went out to the barn. They got back a few hours ago. Brace yourself."

I laughed. "I will. Weena's a packrat."

There was a noise on the stairs and Patrick appeared. "Dad, dad..."

"Yes?"

"Can I have the horse?"

"The one you were riding? Where would we keep him?"

"No-o-o! The rocking horse. There's a rocking horse! Can I have the rocking horse?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to try it out. If I've outgrown it, I guess you can." Dad was choking, holding back his laughter.

"Da-a-ad!" He was bright red.

"Of course, Patrick. It's yours. Your grandmother asked me days ago whether you'd want it. Remember what we were talking about. Good changes and bad changes."

"Thank you. It's wonderful. Can we refinish it?"

"We could sand it and repaint it and then varnish it."

"No. Just that stuff like glass. I want to keep it old."

"No problem. We'll get a tin of polyurethane and give it two coats."

"Great!" And he was gone back up the stairs.

"See, you solved another problem," dad said.