Leave a Light On by Athena Law
Macca McFarlane’s attention was so caught by the ruckus in Main Street that he forgot to drain the last dregs from his beer glass.
‘What in flaming heck?’ muttered Macca, dropping a hand to comfort his dog, who had shrunk under the table. Sitting outside the Great George hotel with Tom, his best mate of six decades, Macca narrowed his eyes at the glamorous convoy of spotless vehicles rolling past. A blonde lady with red lipstick waved to pedestrians from the window of a shiny 4WD, and a black camera stuck out the back of another.
Joyce stood on the kerb waving madly with her beer-damp tea towel.
‘You star struck, Joycey?’ Tom jeered, resulting in a swat around his head from the towel.
‘Don’t be a stick in the mud you two, a bit of attention can’t hurt our little town, just you see.’ Joyce gathered up their glasses, but Macca was still shaking his head.
‘But what’s it all in aid of?’
Joyce laughed. ‘It’s that show, the farmer wants a wife business – didn’t you know that young Smithie has gone and got himself on it?’
‘Well, I never.’ Macca ran a broad hand over his age-spotted scalp before jamming on his stained Akubra. ‘Why would he be wanting to go do a thing like that for?’
* * *
Macca McFarlane bumped his ute up the long gravel driveway, tufts of long dry grass brushing the sides. A startled hare bounced away into the paddock and Bonnie his one-eyed collie whined to be let free, to chase the bobbing bottom into the dusk.
‘It’s a bit late, old girl.’ Macca ruffled her thick fur. ‘You’re no good in the dark now, remember. I’ll make us some tea.’
The farmhouse sat squat and dark at the end of the driveway.
Forgot to leave a light on again. Macca berated himself. And I’ll bet the bloody fire’s gone out.
He was right. The scent of woodsmoke lingered in the air but the rooms were chilled, the house dim and quiet. Macca lifted Bonnie carefully onto the single kitchen stool.
‘You stay there my girl and I’ll get the chops on. I know you would have preferred a bit of that Peter Rabbit outside, sorry love.’ He chattered on amiably as he banged the pots and pans around.
‘Can you believe it though – a telly show being filmed all the way out here?’
The phone jangled on the wall, causing him to drop the tongs. Macca answered in his customary, abrupt way.
‘Yes? Oh, hello love. No, just making tea for me and Bonnie.’ Macca tucked the receiver under his ear so he could speak to his daughter while tipping frozen peas clinking into the pot.
‘Uh huh, Tom and I saw them today, the whole crew. Yes, your mum would have enjoyed it. Not sure she’d be able to fathom Smithie would be old enough to get himself a wife, last time she saw him he was in short pants, God rest her.’
Macca began to mash the potatoes.
‘I’m alright, Bonnie and I like the peace and quiet. We’ll see you at Christmas. Yes, I’ll watch the darn show … on the thing you gave me? Okay then. Bye love.’
The ‘thing’ was a new iPad, gifted by his daughter and pre-loaded with apps so Macca was able to watch all the documentaries he adored.
As Macca sat with his dinner at one end of the long timber table, he glanced down at Bonnie lying at his feet gnawing her chop. The room was silent, save for the soft crunch of teeth on gristle. Sighing, Macca retrieved the iPad from the drawer of the nearby hutch and set it up in front of him.
He tapped on a few colourful icons, scrolling around impatiently before finding the right one.
Farmer Wants A Wife! Coming Soon! It promised in bright flashing letters.
REAL LIFE! REAL LOVE! REAL STORIES! Sign up here!
Macca forked peas and mash into his mouth with one hand while typing in his details with the other. A laborious job but if he needed to register to watch the darned show when it began airing then so be it.
‘Now, what should you and me do tonight?’ he asked Bonnie. ‘Classical music? A jigsaw? Look for the nice penguin show on here?’ He tapped the iPad. ‘No, not in the mood for penguins? Let’s go and count us some stars.’
He dropped his plate into the sink, shrugged on his overcoat, and carried Bonnie to the couch on the front verandah.
They sat there for an hour, staring out at the universe, Macca stroking Bonnie’s silky greying fur as her breathing turned slow and deep.
‘Not yet,’ he whispered to her. ‘Don’t leave me yet … you’ll be okay. How bouts I catch you a little hare tomorrow?’
* * *
Over the next two weeks Macca McFarlane caught Bonnie several hares, and although her single eye grew cloudy and her limbs stiff, she was content to go to the pub every afternoon and snooze in front of the fire each night.
One evening the phone jangled on the wall.
‘Yes? Is that you, love? Oh, okay, who did you say it was?’
Macca stood up schoolboy straight in the middle of his kitchen, unused to speaking to strangers, even over the phone.
‘You’re calling from where?’ He ran his hand over the smooth dome of his head, bewildered.
‘Well, I never. I thought I was just signing up to watch the blimmin’ thing when it started! Let me get this straight, you’re asking if this old coot wants to discuss going on the telly, for the next season, to look for a wife? Well, I’ll be blowed.’
In the thick silence Bonnie raised her head from the fireside rug and whined a question.
Macca McFarlane looked at the long empty table. He shook his head and said, ‘Young lady, my answer is … maybe.’