A Bloody Good Man

Dutchie opened the gate and sauntered back to my ute. He put his hand on my leg. I had to fight back tears. There was nothing pleasant about this, nothing exciting. I'll come clean and admit I'd fantasized about other men during my marriage, but it had always just been a bit of fantasy, something to daydream about during otherwise boring periods of my day or week. I'd never wanted it.

We flirted more and more as we drove into the property. It was gross, if you want the honesty. Gross, disgusting, stomach-turning, and yet it left him with no doubts whatsoever that any advances he might choose to make would be accepted.

He kissed me before we got out of the car. A big, gulping, demanding kiss. No love, no romance, just rough, brutal, lust.

'Not in the car,' I whispered.

'Should we go to your house?'

'No. No, the shed will be fine.'

Part of me was flabbergasted at how easily he'd gone from giving a few, sleazy comments about Gunther to agreeing to have sex with me. It was just like wham, bam, thank-you ma'am.

We got out of the car. I found myself focussing on the practicalities. How would we do it? Should I fake an orgasm? How would I tell Brett? How would Brett react when he found out?

I walked over to the shed, my mind racing so fast that I didn't hear the trail bike. It was only when the rider - Gunther - was about fifty metres behind us that I turned around. I glanced guiltily at Dutchie and saw that he was unashamedly annoyed at Gunther's arrival.

'Hey,' my younger farmhand called out, kicking down the stand and swinging off in his usual long-legged, casual fashion. 'Something was left in the spray tank on Monday arvo and I can't find any boom spray cleaner.'

I hadn't left anything in the spray tank on Monday. I knew damn well Gunther hadn't either, but he was at least doing Dutchie the courtesy of not throwing him under the bus.

'Oh shit,' I replied. 'I had a new carton arrive last week. It should be in the shed.'

'I can't find it,' he said. 'Sorry.'

'How about you have another look, mate?' Dutchie suggested.

The two men exchanged a long, heavy stare. Gunther had a reputation for being the town's hopeless, not-an-aggressive-bone-in-his-body, loser pothead, someone gentle but not worthy of any respect or even attention, and not once had I seen his hackles raised. Not until that day, that moment, when he seemed to see something in Dutchie that I couldn't quite pick.

Neither men broke the stare. I grew anxious, nervous. This was very out-of-character behaviour for Gunther and as with most situations that are loaded with uncertainty and tension, I wanted it to end.

'I'll go back and get it with you,' I told Gunther.

Gunther nodded. 'That sounds like a good idea, Hailey.'

~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at my farm, I asked Gunther what on earth his issue was with Dutchie.

'I don't like him,' he said simply. 'He has a reputation.'

'You can't judge him based on gossip. This is a small town. People get bored.'

Gunther squirmed. 'It's not just gossip. You should be careful.'

'Are you going to give me the details?'

He didn't respond.

'Would you give the details to my husband?' I prodded.

Gunther only looked more uncomfortable. I saw he was embarrassed, and upset by the tone of my voice, and was torn between wanting to demand information and apologising for being so brusque.

'Gunther,' I said as emotionlessly as possible. 'He's going to be here for the next two or three months. You're going to have to figure out how to work with him.'

Gunther nodded and kicked the ground. 'Yeah, sure.'

'I'm serious.'

'Yeah, I know. And I need this job. I'll make it work.'

'Okay,' I said, relieved. 'I'll go back and help Dutchie.'

'Okay.'

~~~~~~~~

I went back to my parent's farm. I had sex with Dutchie. He used a condom, and when I said he didn't need to, he said 'you could never be too careful'. So, in the end, it was all for nought. Which makes what happened next even worse.

~~~~~~~~

Thursday was okay. Friday was, too. It was Friday night and into Saturday when the ugliness started raising it's ugly head.

Dutchie, figuring I'd put out once and would be keen for more, had asked for round two on Thursday. I'd declined him. He'd asked again on Friday, and I'd brushed him aside. He got a bit aggressive, asking what my problem was, and I'd made up a lie about having my period before going back to my house to cry.

On Friday night, two things happened; Dutchie went to the pub, and my brother Paul showed up at my house. I was unaware of what Dutchie was doing, drinking and saying, and I'd been unaware my brother was on his way until he knocked on my door.

'Hi,' Paul said. 'Sorry about the lack of notice. Coming here was a spur of the moment decision, but I managed to get a flight into Wellcamp. Five hundred bucks return. What a fucking joke, right? But at least it saves me having to drive out here from Brisbane.'

'Did you get a hire car?'

'Sure did.'

I held the door open. 'Come in. Brett's away for work.'

'So I heard. Monica's filled me in.'

I groaned. 'And I suppose she's filled you in on our recent discussion?'

'She has, and that's why I'm here,' he said frankly. 'Hailey, let me put my bags down, get us both a drink, and then we'll talk. I'm not here to have a shot at you. I just want to clear the air.'

'I'll get the Bundy.'

'Still able to have a drink, are we? I would have thought you'd be knocked up by now.'

He was by far from the first to have made that sort of comment. 'No, no, no babies. Just put your bags in the spare room. Yeah, there. The bed's made up.'

Paul dumped his bags in the entry of the room. 'Thanks sis.'

We went to the kitchen. I retrieved glasses, ice, rum and Coke No Sugar. Brett wouldn't touch anything with artificial sweeteners, but Paul was weight conscious. He was still in good shape. As I poured us drinks I asked him about his partner, his job and his house. All were good, he told me, everything was kicking along just fine. He had no issues with the world.

'But you have an issue with me,' I said, flopping into a seat and taking a sip of rum and Coke. 'Enough of an issue to drop half a grand and waste a weekend coming to see me, rather than ringing me.'

'It's not you,' he corrected. 'It's... us... us kids. This whole fucking situation, Hailey, with Monica being on her arse broke, and you acting all blasé about selling the farm at whatever bloody speed you feel like.'

'It's not a townhouse in Box Hill, Paul. You don't just list it and start getting offers an hour later.'

'I appreciate that, but you could try being sensitive to Mon's situation.'

'Because I can't for the life of me understand how one woman can go through as much money as she does, and I'm sick of bearing the brunt of her shitty financial decisions,' I pointed out. 'If Monica thinks she can do a better job of marketing the farm, tell her to do it.'

'She has two kids, and a husband who's out of work injured. Yeah, sure, she's not the greatest with money, but jeez, you could at least try and understand her. Instead, you carry on like a damn champagne socialist with your organic hobby farm...'

'...it's a proper farm, Paul, not a hobby one.'

'Fine, whatever, it's a proper farm,' he agreed. He met my eye. 'But let's face it, Hailey, you've had a pretty blessed run of life. Right time, right place, right advice, it all came together for you. All I'm saying - all I'm asking - is that maybe you should try and make the peace with Monica. See if you can give her a bit of her share of the estate early. You're the executor of the will. You can do it. I'll sign anything you need me to sign.'

I sat back, drinking my rum, mulling over what he'd said.

'Is that how you see this?' I asked. 'That I'm being unfair?'

'Not intentionally,' he corrected. 'But I am saying that sometimes it seems that you're angry with Monica and I for not coming back home to help out Mum and Dad.'

'Well, that's true,' I admitted. 'I am angry.'

I wasn't angry with Paul, nor close to losing my temper. I was just sad and embarrassed, because I could see the truth of what he was saying, and if I were to be completely honest with myself, I absolutely had been a bit of a bitch to my sister.

'I'll contact her tomorrow,' I said. 'I'll sort something out.'

'Thanks.'

'No... no, I'm sorry. Really.'

Paul finished his drink and reached for the bottle of rum. 'If I could turn back the hands of time, I'd go and see you when Mum and Dad started pressuring us all to move back home. I'd tell you not to go back.'

'If I hadn't have come back, I wouldn't have met my husband.'

'You would have found another one.'

'I like the one I have.'

Paul shrugged. 'You never would have looked twice at him in Sydney. You just grew desperate. Don't get me wrong; I like him well enough, but you came out here and your standards dropped. You took what was on offer. That's the problem with this town, though. It wears you down.'

'It's not so bad.'

'Yes it is,' he replied bluntly. 'It is. This town is made up of the two percent with lots of money, the twenty percent with some of it, and the seventy-eight percent who are varying degrees of dead on their arse broke. And the seventy-eight percent will put up and shut up, so long as the churches and the politicians are there to remind them that the real villains are Muslims and people from the city and gays. I used to feel sorry for them. Now all I can hope is that you sell your farm and move somewhere reasonable - damn, move to Brisbane if you have to - and I never have to come back.'

I refilled my glass with rum and Coke. There was no point arguing with Paul about our hometown. He hated it with a passion, and tarred everyone with the same brush he accused the locals of tarring him with. It wasn't so black and white.

Paul had obviously run out of venom, because he changed the subject and asked about Brett. I was brief in my answer, torn between irritation at my sibling for saying I'd settled for him, and still-simmering anger with my husband for letting his own fears and prejudices about proper sperm donors pushing me to sleep with someone I found reprehensible.

My brother stayed the night. We both slept late. I only awoke when I heard someone knocking at the door and, assuming it to be Brett, raced to the front door.

It was Gunther.

'Sorry,' he apologised. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'No, no, come in. Just give me a second to get dressed.'

I went to my bedroom and dressed as quickly and quietly as I could. Paul was still fast asleep when I went back at the entryway, in yesterday's jeans and a tee. I felt a lot better now that my boobs were secured. I didn't have huge boobs, but they weren't small either and the nipples always seemed to poke out.

'Sorry,' Gunther apologised once more. 'I just wanted to speak to you about this week. I shouldn't have, you know, reacted to Dutchie the way I did. I should have cut him more slack. And I, uh, I really need this job because no one else is hiring right now and I want you to know I won't do it again.'

Maybe Paul had had a point when he referred to me as a champagne socialist. It had been a good fifteen years since money had ever been an issue. I'd never lain awake stressing about losing my job, and I'd certainly never visited someone on my day off to apologise for a trifling issue.

'Gunther, I can't tell you how little I care about you not liking him,' I replied firmly. 'Brett liked him, Brett hired him, and you and I just need to figure out how to work with him. All I can hope is that in the next week or two someone offers him a better job and he pisses off.'

Gunther visibly relaxed. 'Cool, that's awesome,' he said. 'And I know I pissed you off by insinuating he had a reputation, and you asked what the details were, but it was kinda embarrassing to say anything. The rumour going around is that he tries to seduce men's wives, and then either blackmails the wife, or goes to the husband and claims his wife has sexually harassed him and he'll be hiring a lawyer. Someone generally gives him money.'

I nearly died.

'Are you kidding?' I asked.

'No. I mean, that's why I didn't want to say anything, right? Because it's, like, suggesting you'd sleep with him.'

'In his dreams,' I lied.

Gunther grinned cheekily. 'In all of ours, right? Well, I should get out of here. Sorry for waking you, and I'll see you on Monday.'

~~~~~~~~

What I was blissfully ignorant of at that point was that Dutchie had gone to his hometown Friday afternoon and headed to his local pub. After getting on the piss, he boasted to a few mates that his new boss's wife was so desperate for some cock he'd already managed to get lucky several times.

News like that always travels fast, and before Brett was half an hour from home that afternoon, he'd already received two phone calls and an anonymous text advising him that I was cheating on him. I was still completely in the dark as to the rumours because after a late, lazy breakfast, Paul and I had conference called Monica and had a frank discussion about everyone's financial state and their need to access cash. Mum and Dad had left cash reserves of over two hundred thousand, so we agreed we'd each take fifty thousand, and leave the remainder to cover Dutchie's wages and any losses the farm might incur.

Brett was keen to talk the second he arrived, but he hadn't realised Paul was here, and it was only when my husband walked in the door that I realised I'd forgotten to text him and let him know.

'Paul's come around to help sort out Mum and Dad's estate,' I explained.

Brett turned to Paul. 'Mate, I'll be blunt; I need you to go. Now. Hailey and I have some urgent things we need to discuss.'

'I'll go and stay in Mum and Dad's old house,' Paul offered.

'No,' Brett said.

'Brett,' I started anxiously. 'What's wrong?'

My husband stared at me. 'I can't tell you right now. I need your brother to go. Call him a taxi. I'll pay the fare. I'll pay for a last minute flight to Melbourne. I just need him to leave.'

Panic flooded my system. 'Why?' I asked.

Paul sighed, obviously annoyed by my husband's unusual show of drama. 'How about I just go out for a few hours? Have lunch? Remember the dark old days?'

'Sounds good,' I agreed as quickly as I could. 'Thanks Paul.'

'No problems, Hailey,' my brother said. 'Glad to see equality has reached the point where straights are just as dramatic as us gays.'

Brett didn't bite at the barb, and I refused to incite or encourage a spat between the two men, so I settled for keeping my mouth shut.

Brett paced around the kitchen for the whole two minutes it took Paul to collect his wallet and phone, put on his shoes and brush his hair. Paul isn't overly fussy when it comes to dressing; he's always neat and tidy, without being over the top, but the way Brett glared and humphed, you'd have thought Paul was preening for a night out at Mardi Gras.

My husband waited until Paul had not only exited the door, but driven off the property, before telling me about the rumours.

I stared at him in complete shock as the implications set in.

'Is it true?' Brett asked.

'Yes. He used a condom, though, so no chances of babies,' I replied matter-of-factly. Sometimes, in the biggest times of crisis, it's easiest to stick to the facts. No emotion, because emotion doesn't help things. Emotion doesn't help a single fucking thing. 'And you can cut that bullshit look off your face, mate, because you're the one who told me to sleep with him, so you're the one who's going to have to sort it out. There's work to be done on the farm, and I'm going out to get it done.'

~~~~~~~~

Paul arrived home three hours' later. I'd stuck true to my word and had gone out to do some work. I was in more than one pickle. There was no fucking way Dutchie was coming back, and it would be a hard slog for Gunther and me to manage two farms on our own.

It was late spring and the weather, though not yet hot, was warm enough to encourage weeds to grow in the dam. Every house or farm or apartment has it's own particular problem, one curse that continues to plague it, and at my farm, it was water weeds. The problem was exacerbated because everything that the chemical sales reps said would work, wasn't - you guessed it - organic.

I was down at the dam with a special rake, pulling out weeds and loading them into the back of my Gator, a piece of equipment I bought for no reason other than I thought it was fucking adorable, but gets a ton of use. I'd just returned from my third trip to dump off a load of weeds when Paul called to ask where I was.

I gave him my directions and ten minutes later he was standing alongside the dam.

'I'm kind of scared to go back to your house,' he remarked, taking the rake from me and attempting to drag in some water hyacinth. 'I was just as scared of staying in town. I got asked if I was here to take you away. As rumour has it, you've been sleeping with the hired help.'

'That's the rumour,' I agreed.

Paul snorted and leant against the rake. 'I actually laughed. You? Banging some sleazy fly-in from two towns yonder? Give me a break.'

I stared into the distance. 'It's true. I did.'

'Are you kidding?'

'No. Regrettably I'm not.'

'Christ. And I take it Brett knows about it, and that's why he wanted me out of the house?'

'Yep.'

'Why?'

'Because my idiot husband decided he wanted us to have children and he can't have any. He hired Dutchie because he was known for sleeping with men's wives, and he told me to seduce him. So, I did.'

Paul let out a long, low, whistle. 'Shit.'

My sibling resumed attacking aquatic plants with a level of skill one wouldn't ordinarily expect of a man who works in insurance. The tray of the Gator was soon full, and I told him I was going to take the weeds to the general 'pile of shit' pile and would be back in a few minutes.

While I was tipping off the greenery, my phone rang. It was Brett, wanting to know where I was. I was angry at him, furious for not actually providing any meaningful support, so I told him I was down at the dam with Paul and hung up.

It's hard the first time someone lets you down. Until then, I'd had a lot of faith in Brett. I'd thought he was someone who genuinely had my back, and who knew how to sort out any problem, and the realisation that he was just human, and as fallible as any other man, was quite devastating. I was holding on, but only just. I needed Paul to go home, I needed Brett to go back to work, and I needed some time to process the consequences of what I'd done with Dutchie, and what Dutchie had said about it.

My phone dinged. It was Brett, texting to say he'd meet me at the dam.

'I'll come and pick you up,' I responded. 'You've been drinking. I can hear it in your voice.'

Brett didn't argue. I went to the house and he climbed into the Gator with me. He felt so physically close, and yet so emotionally distant. I wanted him to hug me, kiss me and tell me it was better, but instead he was drunk, restless and angry.

I took him down to the dam. Paul took one look at him and asked him what his plan of attack was.

'Find Dutchie and kill him,' Brett replied.

'I thought you'd say that,' Paul said, staring into the distance. 'That's why I thought I'd give you some advice. Fire Dutchie, but don't say anything to anybody in town about why or how or what went on between him and Hailey. Don't respond. If you don't respond, the gossip dies out, and sooner or later, everyone will agree Dutchie was a lying bastard and you were right to stand by your wife.'

'You really reckon that's the right thing to do?' Brett asked.