A Boy in the Hand is Worth Two in the Head

Chapter 6

Mr. Doherty appeared to have won the jackpot. As per Mum’s demands, I’d asked him if I could have the four days off that surrounded Ritsy’s birthday. Instead of being disappointed that he’d have to call in Benny, he looked ecstatic.

“You’ll be in Easton then?” he confirmed. I nodded.

“We may end up going out for tea or such, but that’s where I'll be staying, I suppose.” He looked so excited I was surprised he didn’t clap his hands together.

“Would you do me an enormous favour then?” he begged, his hands pressed together. I must have looked confused, because he finally had sat down across from me. “The cattle market is going to be on that weekend, and I need someone there to choose the cows for this season. I would be more than happy to pay you for the whole day’s work, and it’s only for one hour on the Thursday and confirmation on the Friday, just a couple of towns over. You’d technically still be doing work, and you’d get paid just the same, but only working just over an hour. Please?” he rushed out.

I paused, a smile creeping onto my face. “So I wouldn’t have to catch up my lost two days of work then?” He shook his head vehemently.

“You’d get your normal weekend, your normal pay, normal everything.” I grinned. It was perfect. “Only thing is, either Will or myself have to sign for the cattle, because he’ll be of age by then. You won’t be old enough, but I don’t trust that boy’s sense of judgement in choosing the right cows for us,” he chuckled. “As much as I love the fool, he couldn’t spot potential from a mile. Sure, tell him to do anything he could have been taught, but his intuition is shot through.” I agreed. Will wouldn’t know a lemon of a car from a wonderful piece of metal, one of the reasons his ute was terrible.

“So I can go then?” I confirmed. Mr. Doherty was always one to mince words, and I was never too sure when it came to him.

“Can you go? I’m practically begging you to go,” he laughed. “Of course you can Eb, pick me some good ones,” he added sternly.

I flashed him a quick smile. “Always.”

He began to think I supposed, because his eyes drifted to a corner of the ceiling where I knew he counted the cracks when he was anxious. He had a nervous habit of over-reacting, so his GP had told him to count things to distract him a couple of years ago, and it had stuck, or so I was told.

My feet raced nimbly up the stairs. For once I actually had an excuse to wake the sleeping beauty on a Sunday, rather than just being cruel. Turning his doorknob only a fraction, I creaked his door open just enough for me to slip through, into his darkened room. So much potential for evil, I realised, and I froze for a minute, deciding how I would wake him. I was amazed that he hadn’t given up and just started setting his alarm every week like the other days; I’d woken him up almost every Sunday for almost nine months straight now. Then again, I think he’d figured I’d just wake him up even earlier; he was probably right.

I settled for the ever typical, but always funny, jumping on top of his bed, before smothering him until he moved.

Sneaking over to his bed, I expertly dodged the chair in my way, and felt my way up his quilt, letting my feet wobble dangerous on the edge. I nudged my feet around the lump caused by his, before jumped down hard on the empty space. I heard a quick intake of air, and I got in a few more jumps before I felt a hand snaking around my ankles, so I collapsed my knees and landed on top of him, much to his protests. I heard him grunt in pain, and I winced, knowing I’d kneed him in the chest again. Last time I’d done that I’d left a bruise.

He groaned. “As always, what a lovely morning,” he croaked. I could hear the sleepiness in his voice, but knew he hated wasting his day. I was doing him a favour, and he’d never complained to date, except for the time I’d set his alarm clock for three. He’d only gone to bed just under two hours before, and he’d been out drinking with his friend from school who had been in the area for the weekend. He’d grumbled about it the whole week, even though I’d told him it was his own fault for telling me I wouldn’t have the balls to wake him up again that early after the first time, when Mr. Doherty had needed him. Since then, I had only missed a few weeks here and there, when one of us wasn’t on the farm, and I always got him back the next morning, ten minutes before he had to be up.