Trouble in Nirvana (7 page)

Tom took the mugs to the table. “No.” He sat down. “If you’ve been in the wars you need to recover and that way is as good if not better than many others. Booze, pills, or dope, for example.”

“Really? I thought you’d turn your nose up at alternative type therapies.”

“Why? Because I’m a farmer?” His grey eyes studied her over the rim of his mug. He was no hayseed that was for sure. Primrose’s neck prickled uncomfortably.

“No because of your attitude the whole time I’ve been here.”

Tom straightened his shoulders. “I think I’ve been very neighbourly.”

And she was being very bitchy. Again. “You have. Absolutely you have, but you’ve made your opinion of the commune very clear.”

“Aah, yes, Nirvana. But what goes on here doesn’t necessarily resemble the best in alternative methods in farming or in health care. A place like this tends to attract the lunatic fringe element. Fern’s all right. She’s very kind. And Danny won’t have anything to do with drugs.” He sipped his tea and changed the subject before she could steer him toward the land deal. “What did the doc say about Nirupam?”

“She’s lacking in iron and calcium and something else plus she’s a bit underweight. If she won’t eat meat she has to make sure she gets enough protein and iron in her diet. He gave her some diet plans and multivitamin supplements.”

“Good.”

“Nirupam told him she wants to have the baby at home. There’s a midwife who covers this area. Ellie Fletcher. She’ll come and see Nirupam and tell us what we need to have ready. I don’t think it’s a good idea at all. What if something goes wrong?”

“Did he say anything might go wrong?”

“No.”

“Ellie’s delivered lots of locals. She’ll look after Nirupam.”

“We heard the baby’s heartbeat. It was so exciting! I wish Danny had come.” Both in tears, clutching hands and beaming at each other like idiots. A wondrous moment. “I’m so envious.”

“Do you want children?”

“Oh, yes, lots of babies. Maybe one day.” She flicked him a tiny smile but his expression was unexpectedly solemn, almost sad. He didn’t speak for a long moment, then said, “I’m glad Nirupam’s doing well. I like her.”

Primrose studied the dregs of her tea. Did he like her, too? She hadn’t made a good impression so far. In the ensuing silence she looked up and discovered Tom studying her. Flustered, she said, “Tell me about you, Tom.”

“Not much to tell.” He plonked his mug on the table. “I farm the place next door. Been there seven years.”

“What crops do you grow?” A reasonable question to ask a farmer. She couldn’t ask him anything personal, like did he have a girlfriend? What did he do for entertainment? The things she really wanted to know all of a sudden.

He leaned forward eagerly and began telling her what she’d asked. After several minutes of mind boggling facts he finished with, “I’m developing a sustainable method of living, minimising carbon-based energy sources by using solar panels and wind turbines, and agriculture that doesn’t rely on chemical fertilisers and pest control. I’m focussing on truffles at the moment. They’re a niche market, could be very profitable if they’re successful but I have a variety of crops which do well in this area and I’m part of a larger nationwide study run by the CSIRO. Climate change is forcing these changes upon us. All of us. Adapt or die. Water management is crucial.”

Here was her opportunity. Ask the question nagging away at the back of her mind. “Is that why you
insisted
Danny sell you his river land? So
you’d
have plenty of water?” As soon as the words left her mouth she knew the emphasis was excessive, the accusation of wrongdoing implicit in the phrasing.

He swallowed tea and put his mug down with precise care. “I don’t know what you’re implying but it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Not more beneficial to some than others?”

“In what way?” His voice was deadly calm. The grey eyes never left hers. Steely now. Primrose’s mind groped for facts. They were scanty. Mostly based on Kurt’s ravings and Danny’s vaguely defensive comments.

“Doesn’t the commune need water frontage too?”

“They have the creek. They don’t irrigate much and they have two dams. Haven’t you noticed?”

She hadn’t. But seeing as she’d begun she may as well finish. “What about the price?”

“What
about
the price?”

“Was it fair?”

“We thought so. And Danny and I are the only ones involved.” Blank faced, daring her to keep blundering on. “And I’ve made him an offer for his thirty acre block, too.”

“You’re buying more land?” Surprise shot up Primrose’s spine like an electric current. Why hadn’t Danny mentioned it?

Tom replied quietly, “He’s
selling
more of his land.”

“Why?”

“Ask him.”

“Do the others know?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t told anyone. Except you.” He raised one eyebrow slightly and murmured, “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

That startled her even more than the initial remark. “Why not?”

“Danny asked me not to broadcast the news but he didn’t exactly ask me to keep it secret. Will
you
?” He leaned forward slightly, emphasising the question.

Primrose hesitated. Wasn’t everyone supposed to take part in decision making on the commune? Why hadn’t Danny discussed this with the others? No-one had mentioned it, not even Nirupam. Did she know?

Tom’s eyes bored into hers. “I’ll ask Danny about it,” she said. “How many acres will he have left?”

He relaxed against the back of his chair. “Seventy. Plenty for what they do here.”

She frowned at the scorn. “Mess around, you mean?”

He smiled the lopsided smile but it didn’t linger. “I didn’t say it, you did.”

Primrose sat uncomprehending. Her brain thrashed the information about like a tumble dryer. Danny must be really short of money and despite all his protestations about not being part of the capitalist system he was selling land. Or was that why he was selling? Was he offloading possessions? And if he was, was Tom taking advantage of some predicament her brother was in? Did he know more than he was letting on?

“How much are you paying?”

“None of your business.” The tone was polite but the smile had gone, replaced by a narrowing of the eyes.

“It is my business. I’m a joint owner.”

“Really!” That shook some of the smugness from him.

“Yes, really.”

“Doesn’t he need your approval to sell?”

“No. When we inherited it we agreed he would live here and run it as a commune. I never imagined he’d start selling bits off without telling me.”

“Well he has. You’ll have to take it up with him. It’s not my problem.”

Primrose gritted her teeth. Another “not my problem” from Mr. Fairbrother. “Have you signed on it yet?”

“No.” Crisp, succinct and clearly not willing to discuss it. “Why?”

“I’m going to make sure Danny knows exactly what he’s doing before he does any deal, this time. And I’m going to make quite sure we aren’t being ripped off.”

“By me, you mean?” The eyes pinioned her again. Primrose stared right back. She wasn’t the pushover Danny was, and the sooner Tom Fairbrother realised it the better.

“Yes.”

“Know all about land prices, do you?”

“I can find out.”

Tom stood up. His voice came taut with fury but unlike Kurt he didn’t yell, which made his sudden anger more chilling. “You do that. Thanks for the tea. I’ll be going now before I’m accused of anything else, but as you’ve been here all of four days I suggest you talk to your brother and get your facts straight before you start interfering.”

Primrose swallowed the lump in her throat. She groped helplessly for words to apologise to this man she barely knew and who had done nothing but treat her with friendly helpfulness. More so than the people she was living with. More than the brother she was protecting with such vehemence. A brother she hadn’t ever been close to and hadn’t seen for six years. A brother with secrets.

“Who are you?” The piping, belligerent voice came from the doorway. Hot- faced and humiliated under the weight of Tom’s disgust Primrose twisted round to see a plump little ginger-haired boy staring at them. Mojo. By the look on his freckled face she’d just gained another disapproving acquaintance.

“I’m Primrose, Danny’s sister, and this is Tom from next door.” She couldn’t bring herself to face Tom, couldn’t bear to see his disdain.

“I know. Hello, Tom.”

From the corner of her vision Tom lifted a hand in greeting. “G’day, Mojo.”

Mojo ventured into the kitchen, eyeing her with suspicion. “Is there any breakfast?”

Primrose’s brain grappled with the change of gear, grabbing for an intelligent answer. “Does your Mum make it for you?”

“Anyone does. Mum or Nirupam. You can boil my egg. You’re here.”

Primrose glanced at Tom. He’d started moving toward the door but stopped to listen to the exchange with the hint of a familiar smirk on his otherwise stern face.

“There aren’t any eggs,” she said. “They haven’t been collected yet.”

“If I’m not here Nirupam does it.” Mojo frowned. “Mum said she needs rest now so you should have.”

“But you
are
here and I’ve been painting. Why don’t you collect the eggs? Isn’t it your job?” She accompanied the suggestion with what she hoped was a friendly smile although the muscles barely worked.

“I slept in. I’ll have toast.”

“Can you work the toaster yourself?”

He glared at her but deigned to admit he could by nodding. “Have you lived on a commune before?”

“No. Have you?”

“Lots. I was born on one in Mullumbimby. Mum says all the adults are my parents and my teachers.” He raided the bread bin and emerged with two slices of bread. Fern couldn’t have studied Kurt very closely.

“Don’t you go to school?”

“No. I can learn much more from my parents and their friends. What can you teach me?”

Manners sprang to mind.

“Primrose plays the flute,” interjected Tom. She flicked him a furious glance, but he was smiling at Mojo.

“You could teach me music.” The plump face regarded her with satisfaction.

“Sorry. I’m not a teacher.” Primrose stood up abruptly and headed for the doorway where Tom stood. If she ever had the great good fortune to have a child it wouldn’t behave like this.

Mojo stuffed two slices into the toaster. “You won’t like it here.”

“Exactly what I think.” Tom spoke up again. “She’s not cut out to live in the country.” Delivered with a large dollop of scorn. “See you later.”

Mojo smiled at him, revealing missing front teeth and becoming quite sweetly childish for an instant instead of the little monster he’d resembled until that moment. “Bye, Tom.”

Seething, Primrose led the way through the house to the front door. “Thanks a lot.”

“What’s your problem?” Tom said behind her.

His question seemed to encompass everything, her whole attitude, not just the exchange with Mojo. She pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the verandah. Heat radiated up from the bare, dry earth outside the thin line of shade provided by the overhang.

“I didn’t come here to teach music.” She brushed away a fly with a furious swipe. “There’s no excuse for doing to your kid what they’re doing. Farming him off on everyone else to educate. Is it legal?” It came out sounding too vicious. “Alienating him from society as well as preventing his education. Can he read and add up?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’d never do that to a child of my own. He wouldn’t have any friends.”

Tom placed his hand on her arm. “Calm down. I’m sure they love him.”

Primrose dragged in a breath of rapidly heating air. She flashed him a sort of smile, conscious of the pressure on her skin, his touch warm, firm. Loving Mojo wasn’t enough. Parents owed their children more.

“I guess so. I don’t know them.” A tiny squeeze and his fingers slid away to brush a fly from her hair. “Kurt thinks he’s a genius.”

A weak laugh covered the unexpected flutter of nerves caused by the casually intimate gestures, the unsmiling intensity of his scrutiny.

“Compared to Kurt he probably is.” Tom walked down the steps leading to the yard. His ute waited by the gate with heat waves rippling from the white surface. “You can’t expect everything to be laid on for you. It’s not a holiday resort. It’s a give and take system they work under.”

“I give and they take, so far.”

“Nothing keeping you here.” The patronising mildness of his tone infuriated her.

“You’d be pleased if I left soon, wouldn’t you? You and Mojo.” The sun beat down on their heads, cooking her brain.

“What do you care what I think? And Mojo is seven. He’s a child. But seeing as you’ve asked. No, I don’t think you’ll last long. You’re not the least bit interested in fitting in. I don’t know what miracles you expected from them here, but from my experience personal problems follow you around no matter where you are. And until you admit to yourself
your attitude
may be the cause, you’re stuck with them.”

“But I came here to sort myself out!” Primrose cried. “I know I need to change.”

“Fine! Good luck. But leave me out of it.”

Tom turned on his heel and reached the ute in a couple of long strides. Primrose watched with a curious, hollow ache in her chest as he swung around and accelerated away, leaving a cloud of white dust hanging in the air. Disappointment? Uncertainty? Definite regret for the violently accusing way she’d spoken to him despite a lingering feeling something was being hidden. He had every right to be angry. She’d gone about it all wrong and made another impulsive attack.

Sammy the sheep peeped around the corner but she glared at him so fiercely he didn’t dare venture further.

Why had Tom come over?

Chapter Four

Primrose trailed miserably back inside when Tom roared away. He was the only person she’d made any sort of connection with apart from Nirupam and Nirupam was in the slow, peaceful, self-centred world of late pregnancy. Danny disappeared early every day to work outdoors. They’d never talked easily and he showed no inclination to start now.