The Party Line by Sue Orr

dad I’m sorry I made him cry.’
     
    Her favourite job on the farm was feeding calves, and, now, her parents were going to pay her to do it. It didn’t take her long to work out why — if she was being paid, she couldn’t miss a feed. And if she couldn’t miss a feed, she’d have hardly any time to spend with Gabrielle. She looked at her smirking mother and said Fine and thought I’ll fix you .
    On the first morning, Gabrielle rode up the driveway on a bike,swerving around the puddles. Her white Beatle boots were whizzing round fast, she wore really bright green tights. It was hard to see what else she had on because of her raincoat. It was the mysterious purple colour of oil spilled in a puddle of rainwater.
    ‘I wasn’t sure what to wear,’ Gabrielle said, getting off the bike.
    Nickie wanted to say that she had just the right outfit on for feeding calves. But those boots would be wrecked in seconds and the calves would try to suck at the beautiful jacket and Gabrielle would never want to come back and help, who could blame her, and Nickie’d be feeding calves on her own.
    ‘Um,’ Nickie said. ‘Wait there.’
     
    They walked over to the shed, Gabrielle in Nickie’s clothes. Nickie explained how you had to put your fingers in the mouths of the smallest, skinniest calves and lead them, sucking, to the teats on the feeding machine. You had to make sure the shyest calves didn’t miss out on the milk. Nickie asked why Gabrielle hadn’t fed calves before. Gabrielle just shrugged her shoulders.
    When they were nearly finished Mr Janssen came out of the shed. He said something to Mrs Janssen in Dutch; they were both looking at the calves. Mr Janssen grabbed one of the smallest calves and picked it up. He carried it like a baby out through the gate and along the tanker track to the calf pen on the side of the road. Mrs Janssen picked up another skinny calf and followed him.
    ‘Where are they going?’ Gabrielle asked.
    ‘To the bobby calf pen,’ Nickie said.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘They get picked up by the bobby calf truck.’
    ‘Where do they go?’
    ‘I don’t know, to some guy called Bobby, maybe.’
    They cleaned out the calf feeder and helped Mrs Janssen put the calves in the paddock next to the yard, then headed home. Nickie said hot chocolate was a good idea. She hoped that if her parents saw Gabrielle while she was in farm clothes and not one of her usual outfits, they might get over their weirdness about her.
    There were good smells coming from the kitchen.
    ‘Mum, this is Gabrielle,’ Nickie said. Please don’t be embarrassing. Please.
    ‘We’ve already met, haven’t we, Gabrielle?’ Joy was smiling. ‘Remember?’ When you first arrived? The night we brought the food round?’
    Gabrielle laughed and Nickie held her breath. One of her mother’s best tricks — being really nice to get information. It was like watching a cat sneak up on a whole lot of sparrows. One of them would die, you just couldn’t tell until the last minute which one it would be.
    ‘Oh yeah. That’s right, thanks for the food. It was yum. And very much appreciated.’
    Nickie looked closely at her mother. Joy smiled and nodded and said that Evelyn was a great cook.
    ‘Can I ask you something, Mrs Walker? About the calves?’ Gabrielle said.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Who’s Bobby?’
    ‘Bobby?’
    ‘Bobby who gets the calves from the side of the road. In the little tin house.’
    Joy laughed. ‘Oh, the bobby calves.’ She was dishing two big plates of eggs and bacon and toast. ‘Bobby’s not a person. I don’t know why they’re called bobby calves, actually. But the calves go to the works. Sit down you two, eat while it’s hot.’
    The cutest, smallest of the calves got killed. Nickie had, her whole farming life, never known. She even helped carry them out to the pen. She’d been carrying them off to be murdered.
    ‘Why?’ she asked Joy. ‘They’re the littlest ones. Why pick on them?’
    ‘We’ve