An Ill Wind by Margaret Hickey

Author:Margaret Hickey [Hickey, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House UK
Published: 2025-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

In Broker Court, Belinda was half relieved to see that Reg was on his way out just as she arrived, watched over, as ever, by the Raz matriarch from next door. Belinda waited while Reg climbed into his ancient ute. An esky was already placed in the back tray, and Reg threw in a swag effortlessly without dislodging the fag from his lower lip.

‘Heading down to the river, too much noise in town,’ he explained, local newspaper tucked under his arm.

Belinda understood what he meant. The town was buzzing with excitement after the incident at the silo.

‘Down the river?’ she asked.

Reg used to do this sometimes, head off for a day or two. He had a place he liked to camp at, not too far away. It was down from Alan Crowe’s house – near the turbines but further along, where there was flattened grass, plenty of shade, and the shallow rippling river.

‘Yep.’

‘How long?’

‘Just a night.’

‘You going to be okay, with your prostate?’

‘Easier to piss outside than in a toilet.’

‘What’ll you eat?’

‘Got some chops. Bit of bread.’

An unpleasant thought crossed Belinda’s mind. ‘Dad, is this about the dogs? I know about the debt and Geordie’s offer, but please tell me you’re not in any serious trouble.’

There had been a couple of frightening episodes in the past, when big men involved in dog racing came banging on the door, demanding money. One time, Reg was even taken away in a car and returned two hours later, bruised but defiant. She looked at the state of her childhood home and wondered, not for the first time, if gambling was one of the reasons it had never been updated or sold.

‘Fuck, no. Just got to get out for a bit. And I told Geordie to piss off. I don’t want him paying my debts.’

‘Well, he can’t pay them now,’ Belinda said, and there was a long, heavy silence.

‘Whatever,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t give a fuck.’

Belinda resisted the urge to argue. She took a deep breath, forced herself to calm down.

‘Heard about Doug at the silo?’ And Will, she wanted to add.

Reg spat out the remainder of his cigarette and stamped on it with his boot. His legs were a pair of dehydrated twiggy sticks, but the man’s stance was firm.

‘Will you go and visit him?’ she asked.

‘Doug won’t want visitors,’ Reg snarled. ‘He’ll want to be back on the farm. I’ll see him then.’

Belinda couldn’t help herself. ‘Did you hear about what Will did?’ She tipped her head.

‘Fucken idiot! Could’ve killed himself.’ And without further ado, Reg climbed into the front seat of his ute and drove off.

‘Well, goodbye to you too,’ Belinda muttered with bitterness. ‘Have a nice time, you skinny old prick.’

On the way back to the station, Belinda stopped at the butcher’s and bought a kilo of sausages. She’d had a sudden hankering for curried sausages and wondered whether it could be pregnancy cravings. Were they even a real thing? Who knew, but the curried sausages had seemed a vital, pressing thing.

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