Salt Rain by Sarah Armstrong Page A

her some of the recipes but Julia suspected that she had changed a few key measurements, because they never turned out quite right. If Mae had asked, she would have been given the correct recipe. No-one ever denied that Mae was the favourite.
    When their father came back from the hospital after the accident, still drugged, he couldn’t believe that Mae had run away while he had been gone, and he kept asking for her. ‘What do you mean she’s not here? That’s crazy.’ It was when he came off the medication that he got angry and forbade them to speak of her. Years later, just before he finally died, Julia would wake in the night to his ramblings and sometimes stood at his bedroom door, listening. ‘Mae, Mae, sweetheart,’ he said in a voice that gripped her heart. He fought death all the way, railing at it in his sleep, rearing up in bed, his thin arms flailing.
    She went to the chook house for another egg and saw Allie coming up the paddock, the wind pressing her dress against her body. She was smaller than Mae, but had her same loose-limbed walk, as if she was gliding across the ground. Julia called to her, ‘Come and grab these for me, will you?’
    Allie held out her skirt for the eggs that Julia passed through the wire door.
    ‘I’m baking a trial lemon sponge pudding, to be sure I get it right for your birthday. Can’t think of the last time I made it.’
    Allie nodded. ‘We used to have it lots. Usually on Sundays.’
    Julia reached into a straw-filled nesting box. ‘Have you been at Saul’s?’
    ‘Yeah.’ Allie lifted a still-warm egg to her cheek.
    ‘So he knows you were there?’
    ‘Yes, of course he does.’ She widened her eyes at Julia.
    ‘What do you talk about?’
    ‘Why do you want to know?’
    ‘Just curious,’ Julia felt her face reddening. She flicked dried chicken shit from an egg. ‘You’re not hassling him, are you?’
    Allie glared at her. ‘No!’
    ‘Just lay off a bit, huh? Don’t go there every day. He’s got his own life, you know.’
    Allie spun around and let the eggs fall from her skirt as she stalked across the yard to the house.
    Julia looked at the glistening mess of yolks on the ground and leaned back against the door to the chook pen. She fixed her eyes on the birds pecking for grain in their muddy yard, their beaks and combs bright and glossy. Then she bent the wire catch shut and pushed her finger into the sharp end until a pearl of blood came.
    For months Mae had lain in the bed beside Julia’s, keeping it to herself. The morning that it all came out, Mae wouldn’t get out of bed to do the milking. She lay still and silent when her father lifted the top sheet off her.
    ‘Come on, Mae. No games this morning, please.’ He folded the sheet into a neat square while he waited.
    Julia watched through almost-shut eyes, the overhead light blinding.
    Mae rolled over. ‘I’m sick, Dad.’
    He reached down and pulled her up by her arm. Instead of gathering herself and getting up like she usually did, Mae let her body swing out from her father’s grip. The sleeve of her yellow nightie caught on the bedpost and ripped. She started to cry, which shocked Julia more than the way her father suddenly dropped Mae to the floor.
    ‘Fine.’ He pointed at Julia, ‘You can help with the milking, then. It’s about time you pulled your weight. Helping your mother is not enough.’
    From where she lay in bed, Julia looked up at him and at her mother who had appeared in the doorway, a questioning look on her face. Her mother stopped tying her apron. ‘Mae? What’s wrong sweetheart?’
    ‘Nothing. Nothing. I’m getting up,’ Mae’s voice was shaky with tears and she got onto her knees. Julia wanted her to stand up and not stay there on all fours like a dog.
    Julia went out onto the verandah and stepped into her gumboots. Mae appeared and followed her father down the steps. He unchained the dog and the two of them walked across the dark yard as they did every morning.
    Julia