Early May 65

I listened to the house, its sounds, its story. The building was quite old. I had gleamed as much from Michael and Jim. 'Sparkie', Mikes nickname for Paul, had redecorated the whole place -top to bottom. The timber floor boards had remained and they held a thousand tales from smelly feet. The lights had a zillion tidbits on all the faces that walked by and...... if only the walls beneath the new wallpaper could talk.

It was no good; I had to pee. I gave it a bloody good shot. I lay perfectly still trying to wait until Paul had left before getting out of bed but my bladder was screaming and he was still home, the kitchen cupboards opened and closed attesting to the fact. The sounds currently, well they really made me strain, taps turning on and off, water running. I think the faucet was in on the game! It sloshed and spluttered in a concerted effort to get me to relieve right there where I lay! 

I wasn't frightened of anything.

Big angry bull- nope.

Brown snake- nope.

Poisonous spiders- hell no.

But Paul....

But Paul had built walls in a matter of moments. Walls I could see in his eyes, walls I could hear in the guarded way he spoke. Walls when his mates tried to talk to me.

His eyes followed me as I walked into the second bathroom. We weren't sharing, so that was a bonus. Arms crossed, analysing me from my sock covered toes to the beanie on my head.

It was supposed to be summer; it was flipping freezing!

In England, the sun was weak like mother's favourite way to take tea instead of how I really liked it. Hot and scorching like father's favourite scotch. The sun sulked behind clouds more often than not. Now don't get me wrong, I like the reprieve from excessive heat but for weeks on end.... NO!

It made me sulk...

It made me sulk for summers in deep crystal-clear pools. For sweat trickling down my back as I rode out to check water troughs. For watermelon- seeing who could spit the seeds the furthest- a competition that was loads of laughs and fun between Melvin and myself. He always won.

I missed fighting with flies at the screen door for goodness' sake!

But the flowers in the forest and parks here were pretty. The bluebells, the robins on the low branches and the cute squirrel in the higher ones. Lush green forever, not a dry blade of grass in sight. The cattle would be in heaven and dad wouldn't need to break every-one's back with hand feeding in the worst times- the drought.

"Does England have droughts?" I inquired.

"What are you banging on about?"

"Droughts"

"I suppose. Why are you still here?"

"I live here now. Well, for the time being... til I get the farm back"

'You should go back to Aussstraliaaaa" I'm sure he's being catty, but oh well too bad, I'll roll with the happiness that words are being directed at me.

"I should" I smiled, with a hopefully yearning of that particular wish, at him. We were having a real live conversation! "...But I can't, unfortunately. Not til I get all those damn wombats hands off the title deed and sue the arse end off the local politician. Bloody snakes all of 'em"

"Charming"

Paul turned on his heel after he made sure I saw the disdain on his face.

"Hey! Wait up!"

"What? I'm late.... Why are you here? I'm not falling for this bloody rot of you being a sister or bloody daughter or whatever tripe you have slopped into my father's head. And... I'm not falling in luvvv with you-"

"Yuck. That's rank mate-"

"Da, that's my father to you, hasn't money. So, you can't sponge anything off him. Nor Mike!"

He turned on the bottom step as I flew down the stairs after him. He makes me lose control like no one else. He's being so unyielding. Not taking anything Jim says. Not accepting we are brother and sister. I see he is so charming with everyone else but not me. Blood-shot eyes I have from him. From letting silent tears fall for him.

A sliver of want and hate and wonder flashes across his face and then it's gone. His head shakes away everything that may have been flourishing... Thoughts that this, us- me, isn't a scam or fraud or charlatan come to perch... that I could be someone to him.

I rip the stupid bloody beanie off my head and toss it in disgust. I hate that he won't give me one measly inch. Won't listen, won't try. Because I'd be an awesome bloody sister. I'd fix up his gardens and get some chooks in for fresh eggs. I could love him, like a sister loves a brother. I'm silly, I know; most siblings fight like cats and dogs, but we wouldn't because time should have given us patience and grown up family ways.

"Paul, please, a few minutes...."

"I'm going out. I suggest you do the same..... To the nearest airport"

***

Grrrrrrrrr! I have three days here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the slow poke legal fella to come back from a trip to Spain. Spain! Gee, they get paid too much.

Paul's fancy car is missing on two cylinders. It snorts and bucks as he tries to drive off quick smart from all the girls at the gate... that is to say after he smiles and makes conversation with them- strangers! He has more time for conversations with strangers than me! No- I won't, I am not bloody crying like a girl. Stop it. My heart hurts... and my head. And the only thing to do is work it off. I need a task. Good hard slog. Honest to goodness hard work.

There's nothing here to do, the kitchen had two plates in the sink and I've made short work of washing and drying those. His washing is now done. White t-shirts and boxers. Paisley trousers and soft suede maroon ones too. I even washed them separately to stop the white shirts colouring. I am that grand a sister.

I ironed, I folded, I placed piles of clean fresh smelling laundry on the end of his bed.

Cracking my knuckles behind my head, I stretch as I languish at the kitchen table and finally... finally; the sun starts to peep out. Well, that's a definite plus.

His garden is shocking toward the back wall.

There's a wall, for a fence, I've never seen a wall for a fence before. Cattle won't get through that sucker like they do the barbed wire.

A tree has lost a huge limb, laid lost below, covered in weeds and an old bicycle with flat tyres has been slung over the wall at some stage. A washboard is sat in the apex of some of the branches. I might as well work...

**

"What's going on here?" John stands with hands on hips watching me trundle the push mower back to the little tiny garden shed at the side of the house. "He's employed you then"

"John. Com' on, lets run through that tune upstairs"

"Hold your lyrics Macca, aren't you going to say hello to your-"

"No"

"But she mowed your lawn"

"And cleaned up the back garden" I add as I shove my hanky in my front pocket. I was sweating up a storm which I thought would be highly unlikely seeing as the weather was overcast and cool.

"Oh, you have too. Cor Macca, come look. She's cleaned up the whole back garden an' all"

"Leave the help to it then"

"Don't be prissy man" John turned about from telling Paul off, who is stood somewhere in the kitchen's recess behind him, and smirks a joke to me "Golly luv, if he actually pays you... Well then... wonders will never cease!"

I giggle and take the axe from behind the door of the shed. Licking my finger, I feel if it's sharp or not.

Nope- dull as the Mayor of Normanton.

"Gotta vice?" I ask wandering back toward John.

"Cigarettes- but only two pack a day"

"Not a bad habit vice. A vice, vice- like in a tool shed- vice"

"Paul? You have plenty of vices, don't you ....................."

"No"

"A grinder?"

"Well, that lass in Hamburg was pretty twisted in the sack"

"John........." Paul hollers, in a not so thrilled way.

"That's pretty hilarious" Standing on the bottom step of his patio thingo area I listen to Paul in the background as John navigates his eyes between the two of us.

"It wasn't at the time, there were three other fellows in the room watching"

"Oh my god!"

"That's what she said- loudly!"

"John! Music. Upstairs. New Album... Now!"

"Hang on. Did you have a grinder, Paul? For real now.... not a female one" John throws back over his shoulder. He is loving this. The grumbles of Paul, the thought of me antagonising his cool-headed mate.

"No!"

"Oh, ok then.... A file!? A big sucker not a pissy nail file for your fingernails" John grinned maniacally wide and rolled his eyeballs for good measure. He has been very nice, even if he was slow closing my window.

Paul was silent. John spun about and yelled again.

"Paul?"

"What!?!"

"Do you have a big nail file for our Theresa?"

"No!"

John steps over the threshold and into the pale sunlight. Cigarette forgotten in his fingers by his side. He runs an eye over me, sweating on a cool day. Moleskins clinging to my thighs. He is an eagle; a critical analyst of the female form, I can feel the judgement. It's all good. He holds my gaze and sighs.

"Don't get him any angrier at me, please John. I'm trying to do something nice not get him even more upset with me"

"'fraid I blew that one out of the water, my luv" John ran a finger over the axe "Ouch! Tis sharp lass!"

"Guess it'll do..."

"Bloody headless chickens! What in the world do you want to cut!?... Guess it'll do?.....Bloody Australian women"

"Hey!"

"Well Terri, it's ruddy sharp-"

"John!!" Paul must be upstairs. Not waiting for John or me now.

"Coming dearrr. Bye my luv, remember to give the poor chickens their last rites. And I like a mild chicken curry, not overly hot. The old tums a bit touch-"

"John!!"

"All right, keep your eyelashes on Macca!"

"Bye luv"

"Bye John"

*

"She's a good kid that"

"Just come on upstairs" Hands on hips, Paul watches John ascend the staircase.

"Paul...."

"Look John if she wants to bloody mow she can bloody mow I don't give a rat's arse what the broad does"

"You're bloody stubborn. You have a ready-made sister out there and you're fighting the feel-"

"I don't have feelings for her!"

"That's obvious" John murmured as Paul spun and marched off higher still. John trudged onwards and upwards like he had to go into battle. But not over countries. Over music... and over Theresa.

Jim had left well alone, likely hoping the two would work it out like adults and become loving siblings. But wishful thinking wasn't a lick on James Paul McCartney's stubborn streak and him jumping feet first into the idea that Terri was a charlatan, out to get his gold records and his pounds, was bound to happen.

Paul rounded on John as he made his way into the music room, another smoke lit and the match waved about to douse the flame. "She'll be gone as soon as she gets the hint I'm onto her"

"Why don't you make a move on her. See if she's willing in that department, then you'll know she's a mixer of the prettiest kind" Grabbing his spare guitar, that sat in the corner for this exact reason- music-ing; John sat on the rug and began strumming "I'd love to see you lose a bit of your over-used John Thomas when you do try though.... That axe would do some damage eh!" John heckled and slapped his hand on his thigh "Whack! Bloody hell, I'd be all right. Still have eight inches left of mine but you... I'd make friends with her so you still had something left to shag with" John held his hands out in front of him, guitar flung in his lap, figuring the distances of his massive member and Pauls teeny one; after Terri lopped them off.

The weighty axe wielded skyward and on return to earth, the log was spilt with a dull hollow thump.

Easy, like butter, the timber would burn as easy as it spilt. Thankfully, the axe could handle the lumber supplied and Theresa would have the pile spilt and stacked in place, in no time. A log was placed on a much larger ring of wood and Terri let the axe do all the work, swinging the hefty implement with feet apart, eyes on the prize. And it drops once more with a th-wack.

Lost she was. In thoughts of home... sweeping herself away on a tide of memories to 'chilly' Aussie winters.

Where the potbelly stove would be stood centre stage in the stark living room with the stove door cracked open, with a warm blaze of flames licking the wood she had fed it, hot tea in her hand and a book read quietly in the dead of the night.

And barbies and campfires and people telling tall yarns and making gawd- awful jokes, drinking billy tea that old Melvin had made in the old fruit tin with a crudely fashioned handle made of a piece of fencing wire... Boiling the water, adding tea leaves then lifting it off the fire with a long stick and then, with a gloved hand, swinging it round and round in a windmill fashion with one arm to steep the tea. What a sight to see. And old Mel singing always, at the top of his voice; about drovers and jumbucks, and reciting Banjo Patterson's poetry too. For all and sundry around the camp. His deep baritone pulling you into stories and moments and tales of long ago.

And of course, winter meant parents to cuddle on the sofa. And to please too.... Cause when her daddy praised her it was the most glorious feeling inside.

That she could do. That she could make or create or fix.

And when he drizzled golden syrup or treacle over the damper she made and he moaned about the exquisite taste saying it was the best in the land, she beamed and told him not to be silly but she placed his sweet adulation of that oh-so-easy damper in a little pocket near her heart and kept it there safe; Just for moments like these.

Thump Thwack.

Quite therapeutic it was, a cycle of events to get to a conclusion. Lift, swing and drop the weight of the axe into the log, spilt, pieces fall away and repeat.

Thump Thwack Thump Thwack Thump Thwa-

"Would you stop that racket" Paul hollered out the window of the music room way up above "I can't think straight"

John mumbled from the doorway "Can't think bent either"

"Shut it" Paul muttered back as he gazed down upon the girl that came to stay "Why can't she clear off"

"Cause... Paul, she has nowhere else to go. You're the one that thinks she's a fraud, well you wouldn't want her mixing too much with your father -right?"

"Why can't she just leave be and go back to the colonies"

"Has she hurt you?" John countered and watched Paul study Theresa surreptitiously as she continued to sling the axe. "Well?"

"No, of course not"

"Has she tried to flog anything, fence it down the hock shop?"

"No. It's probably stashed under her mattress"

"You're being a fool. Foolish man! I'd break a leg to have another person I could count on. You. You want to toss her out like trash"

Paul frowned and opened the window a touch wider "Stop doing that!" He yelled as she spilt another log in half.

"Stop what? Helping you keep warm in winter?" Theresa yelled back.

"Yes"

"I'll stack it and leave it be then, your majesty" Terri hollered up at him as he leaned out the window, her eyes never leaving her quarry- the firewood. The wood holding her whole attention.

Although her tongue was poking out. Paul could definitely see it. Bloody cheeky git she is.

"Watch it, lady"

Theresa swung around and made to pull her jeans down... And then she did. Well, she started to anyway. Gave him a bloody decent scare, anyway.

"Don't- fuck! Bloody hell. Pull them up you animal-"

"What'd she do?"

"Mooned me"

"God she's perfect"

"You go take her off my hands then"

"And miss out on all this sibling fighting.. not on your hairy backsides life"

"Hey John!" Theresa yelled like she was back on the farm. "Come to the window"

"Do you have your panties down stil-"

"John! Stop it! Stop flaffing with her"

"What!? Entirely rational question seeing how she was apparently mooning you no more than thirty seconds ago Paul"

"John, they're pulled up now. You big prude" Theresa laughed.

"That's a new one for me! Stop hogging the window... pane Macca" John pushed Macca away and leaned out with a smoke, a smile and a half glass of scotch "What?"

"Watch this"

Paul stood behind Lennon but he had a sneaky gander too. He wouldn't admit it, but he had to keep an eye on her. For safety's sake. For security of his property's' sake. For his fathers', and brothers', sake.

And for his own sanity's–Theresa ran a few fingers in a wiggling fashion over her brow like someone he knew a long, long time ago- sake...

With a good figure of eight action Theresa began spinning the axe in front of her. Paul squeezed in beside John and snuck a better look as John hummed in delight. Terri grinned up at Paul and he shrugged. Flinching at the look of indifference Theresa lost her timing, the axe dropped to halfway in her hands; the blade sliced the air close.

"Watch it luv" John panted out rather breathless. She was awesome as she flipped and tossed something he could only pick up and handle like it would attack his foot if he took his eye off it of even a second.

"All good... don't worry! Now ready?!... Keep watching!"

Terri suddenly paused the hypnotic twirl and in a hair's breadth split second grasped the axe as though it was a hatchet, short and light, drew her arm back and pitched the axe at the side of the shed.

Well, John and Paul thought that was where it was careening toward but it missed by a mile and sailed between the shed and window at the corner of the house and snapped hard into the trunk of the tree beyond. "Ta-dah!!" she waved her hands about and bent over for the lone applause as John whistled and clapped out the window. "Thank-you. Thank-you. Next showing is at nine!" Theresa spruiked in jest.

In less than a minute Paul was stood beside the axe inspecting the tree. He had to put a foot on the tree and strain hard to dislodge the axe. When he eventually pulled it out, he admonished the performer. "You damaged the tree, you hooligan" He then threw the blade down on the neat pile of chopped wood.

"It'll mend"

"That's not the point Ther- Terri esa- you! It's not the point!"

"I'm sorry"

"I- Well" He had been smarting for a fight. She with her axe preforming tricks and being an overall nuisance by just being her. She should be as aggravated with him as he was with her, but she gave in to him. Let him be angry and yield to him at the very first turn. "Don't do it again" He frowned at the trunk of the tree, it wasn't a problem, it would grow back but she did it.

If Mike, John, Richy, George or anyone else had done it he would have laughed and most likely had a go himself. 

But her... 

He didn't want to laugh or condone her actions because she was damn well up to something that he had to figure out before his dad, Mike or even himself got hurt. Because she would hurt them for sure if she was something to do with them, because anyone that was special, like who Da thought she was, went away.

This Aussie, already purported to wanting to return to the other side of the world as soon as she could.

So not liking or loving or accepting.... made the eventual departure easy.

The venom he dolled made it easier to not like, or think wishes came true. And venom and walls erected made it easier to not think or hope mothers could be returned from the heavens in a different form, shape or vessel. Venom would see her gone before precious emotions were burnt to cinders.

And it would hold him firm before it conjured tears for 'what could have beens'... were lost.

Glossary:

Damper- basically a bread but made with no yeast. Flour, water or milk, a little butter and salt. Made into a dough. I remember ramming a hand full on a stick at camp and holding it over the campfire and turning it slowly to cook then dipping it in golden syrup (Light Treacle) - yum.

Billy Tea- Boiled water in a can/tin with loose black tea. Some campers swing the whole thing around with one arm like a windmill to steep the tea. Awesome to watch. (Comedy clip below)

Barbies- Barbeques/ Barbecues.

Potbelly Stove- a small round enclosed fireplace with a slightly larger 'belly' for the actual firewood.