The Party Line by Sue Orr Read Free Book Online Page A

camaraderie and a barely repressed anger at the world. The change was as sudden as a skid of black cloud across the face of the sun.
    Ian saw how the sinews in Jack’s neck swelled and pumped the rage around his body. He tried to make sense of the man, tried to guess why Jack had hired him — hired anyone — when his hatred of his land was so obvious. Ian watched this mesmerising spectacle and reminded himself that the cost of hiring a sharemilker was expensive. The fact that Jack had hired one who knew very little about farming was not something Ian wanted to draw attention to.
     
    He and Bridie had rented an old cottage on a farm in Silverdale years ago, after Bridie first got sick. They didn’t know it was cancer then.
    They got the house cheap, in return for doing odd jobs for thecouple who owned it. He did milk the herd — a week at a time, now and again, while the farmer was away on holiday — but you couldn’t call that real farming. He had a job in Orewa, labouring at a wood yard. That’s where he learned to build a fence.
    In those first few days after Bridie died, he spent every waking moment fighting the urge to get in the truck and drive away. It wasn’t just the grief, although that’s how everyone saw it. He wanted to get away from Gabrielle.
    She was a living, miniature version of Bridie: her face, the way she tilted her chin and looked skywards before saying what she thought about things. It was possible to adore and despise the most precious person left in his life. Finding this out was terrifying and debilitating in equal measures.
    One hellish morning he found himself sitting in the car, watching the sun come up. Gabrielle was still asleep inside. He couldn’t remember leaving the house. But he was dressed, and there were random items of his clothing and shoes spread across the back seat. Only his stuff. Nothing of Gabrielle’s. And the key was in the ignition. His hand shook as he took the key out.
    Back inside, he searched frantically for the newspaper. He turned to the situations vacant at the back. There was an advertisement in the farming section for a twenty-nine per cent sharemilker job in Fenward. Where that was, he had no idea. There was a number, so he rang it.
    ‘Jack Gilbert,’ a man said.
    ‘I’m ringing about the sharemilking job,’ he said.
    ‘Who am I speaking to?’
    ‘Ian Baxter. I’m ringing from Silverdale.’
    ‘You’re farming up there?’
    ‘I’m on a farm, yes.’
    ‘What are you on?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘What contract are you on now?’
    Ian swallowed. ‘Twenty-nine per cent,’ he lied.
    ‘Well that’s all I’m offering, you know.’
    ‘I saw that.’
    Silence.
    ‘So why aren’t you looking for thirty-nine per cent?’ Jack Gilbert asked.
    Ian waited, unsure of what to say.
    ‘Are you still there?’
    ‘Yes. Sorry … I’d been hoping for thirty-nine per cent, but I’ve … I’ve left it a bit late. There’s not much around now.’
    ‘No, there’s not, is there?’
    Both of them waited for the other to speak.
    ‘Why so late to look for something new?’
    His voice was flat and cool. Ian knew what Jack Gilbert was thinking. That he’d applied for other jobs and been turned down. That he was desperate.
    ‘I’ve, um … my wife’s just died. Things haven’t … I’m thinking now we probably need a new start. My daughter and I.’
    The silence was longer this time.
    ‘Have you got references?’
    ‘Yes. I can post them down to you … get them away tomorrow, if you like?’
    ‘You do that, Ian. Put your phone number on the back of the envelope. I’ll have a look at them and we can take it from there.’
    ‘Alright,’ Ian said. ‘What’s your address?’ He scribbled it down on a piece of paper.
    ‘Ian,’ said Jack. ‘Are you still there?’
    ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘We’ll see how we go,’ said Jack Gilbert, and hung up.
    Ian wrote himself two references. In one of them, he spoke of his