The Amber Trail (4 page)

“
He made a few
average beers in the early years, and quite a lot of bad ones. It
wasn’t until he spent some time researching the craft on travels
through Europe and Asia that he developed the knowledge, and found
the right
ingredients
, to create a beer that wasn’t just
good, but absolutely world class. The new brewery that you see
behind you is testament to his skill and hard work. Buckley’s
Chance is fast becoming Australia’s most applauded and awarded
craft beer, and will soon be sold in every state. I hope every time
we drink a Buckley’s Chance in the years to come, we stop and
remember who Shaun was, and what he left behind.” He turned to
Dig’s mother and smiled weakly. She raised her bottle up at him
with her lips pressed thin.

“
If everyone could
please lift their drinks, I’d like to raise a toast.” He held his
bottle up. “To Shaun,” he said. “We’ll miss him like
hell.”

“
To Shaun,” the crowd
answered.

Dig’s grandfather returned to the
crowd.

Frank Lincroft, the family
accountant, appeared at Dig’s side. A sheen of sweat covered his
bald head and his glasses had slipped down his nose. “How’re you
holding up Dig?”

Dig shrugged. “Okay I think. It’s
a lot to take in.”  

“
Well, we’re all here
for you if you need anything.”

“
Cheers,
Frank.”

Frank bit at his lip. “Do you
have a second to talk?”

Dig nodded.

Frank grabbed Dig’s arm and
pulled him away from the crowd. “I hate to bring this up now,”
Frank said. “But have you had any thoughts on what will happen to
the brewery from here on in?”

Dig glanced over to where his
brother was standing against the railing. He held a glowing
cigarette and leaned against a post; his eyelids were heavy with
whisky. “I guess we’ll try to pick it up next week. Don’t know how
we’ll organise it yet though.”

Frank nodded. “Good.” He took a
sip of beer. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are you with the
brewing side of things? I know your father kept that pretty close
to his chest.”

Dig shrugged. “I’ve helped him
out enough to know how to do it.”

Frank leaned in close and
whispered. “And what about these secret ingredients he imported
from India? You got a handle on that? He wouldn't even tell me what
they were...”

“
Yeah, we know about
them.”

Frank nodded again. “Great,” he
said. “Because, well, I don’t want to alarm you, but your father
built the new brewery on the promise of some pretty large
contracts, and the building itself is mortgaged heavily against the
house.” Frank met Dig’s gaze. “It would be a good idea to get the
brewery moving again as
soon as possible
, or your mother
might just lose the family business and the family
home.”

Dig looked across to his mother
as she spoke to his grandfather by the kitchen door. Her
shoulders were stooped and a smear of mascara ran away from the
corner of her eye.

“
I hope I haven’t
said anything out of place,” Frank said. “But, well, out of you and
your brother, I think you’re the one with the best chance of
getting things back on track.”

Dig took a deep breath. “Thanks
for letting me know.”

“
No
problem.”

“
Everyone!” Dig's
brother slurred from the step above the crowd. He lifted a tumbler
of whisky into the air, and a slosh of liquid spilled over the
side. “Get yer’ drinks up again.”  

The crowd hushed and sporadically
raised their drinks.

“
To a great man, my
dad.” Jake lifted his glass to his mouth and tipped it
back.

“
Hear hear,” a deep
voice answered from the rear of the group. The crowd murmured in
agreement.  

Jake swallowed and his lips
thinned. “Just wish I could’ve been there that day. I wouldn’t have
let you die.”

Silence filled the air, and Dig
frowned. A flush rose into his cheeks. “What’s that supposed to
mean?” he said.

Dig’s mother stepped forward. “It
doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a little upset.” She hooked her
arm around Jake’s shoulders and herded him back toward his position
on the railing.

Jake shrugged her away and caught
his balance against a table. “Of course I meant it!” he mumbled.
“Dad was allergic to wasps. Why the hell didn’t he—”

“
Shut it!” his mother
snapped, and Jake’s mouth hung open.

Dig clenched his teeth and
glanced around him. His neighbour dropped his eyes as he met Dig’s
gaze. Someone coughed at the back of the group.

Dig’s shoulders tensed as he
turned back to his mother. “No. Let him speak,” he said. “I’d like
to hear his opinion.”

His mother shook her head. “I
really don’t think—”

“
Are you saying Dad’s
death could have been avoided?”  

Jake pushed a hand into his
pocket. He suddenly seemed very interested in the cubes of ice in
his empty glass, swirling them around in a circular
rhythm.

Dig’s forehead creased. “What are
you saying Jake?”

Jake blinked, then finally lifted
his head and gave a shrug. “You should’ve told Dad to take the
needle,” he said. “He’d be alive if you had.” He reached behind him
for the bottle of whisky and poured himself another helping, then
replaced the bottle firmly on the wooden balustrade with a thunk.
The cousins whispered to each other beside him.

Dig stared at his brother,
breathing heavily. His vision doubled as tears welled in his eyes.
His hands balled into fists and his nails dug into his palms. He
wanted to shout. He wanted to fight. He wanted to punch his
brother’s nose so hard it bent halfway across his face.

But most of all, he wanted to get
away.

The crowd parted as he stumbled
toward the back steps. A tear tracked down his cheek and he wiped
at it roughly with the back of his hand.  

“
Dig, wait!” his
mother called after him.

He dropped down the steps into
the backyard and cut around the corner of the house, then stopped
abruptly as he nearly walked headlong into a standing
ladder.

His heart sank as he recognised
it. It was the same ladder his father had set up the week before,
unmoved since the accident. Dig looked up to the gutter line, then
stepped onto the first rung and began to climb. The ladder wobbled
in his grasp.

When he reached the top he
hoisted himself to the roof. The tiles were hard and jagged against
his knees through the thin fabric of his suit pants. He crawled
toward the chimney, then stopped beside the patch of fresh tiles
that he and his father had placed the week before. He sat on the
apex of the roof, and pulled his knees close to his
body.

On the horizon, grey clouds
tracked above the blanket of green trees. His gaze fixed on the
waterhole.

Man I love the view up
here,
his father had said the week before. Dig pursed his lips
and wiped the tears from his cheeks. An emptiness hung in his chest
like a heavy weight.

His thoughts turned to his
brother, and he slowly shook his head. Jake had always been an
arsehole, but his words on the deck were inexcusable. How could he
even bring himself to look at Jake again, let alone work with him
to rebuild the family business?

A fluttering sound filled the
air, and he turned to see a small multicoloured bird land on the
top of the chimney beside a partially concealed nest. It lowered a
grub into the twittering beak of a new hatchling, before preening
itself and gliding away toward the deck.

A buzzing hum followed, and an
insect rose over the line of the gutter toward him, dancing circles
in the prevailing wind. It paused above him. Dig’s breath caught in
his throat.

It was a wasp.

The creature’s
dark eyes were ringed with a sick yellow. A blur of wings
supported
a bloated abdomen of black and
yellow stripes, hanging heavily from its upper
body.

Dig glared at the wasp. The
insect represented everything that had gone wrong over the past
week—the catalyst that had set the chain of bad events into action.
Blood pounded in his ears.

“
Piss off,” Dig
shouted, and swatted his hand at it. It ducked away in the breeze
before darting back, shrill and angry. The buzzing was louder now,
and it zigzagged through the air toward him.

“
I said piss off!
It’s all your bloody fault!” He leaned forward with the action of
an overhand tennis smash, concentrating all his energy into the
strike.

He hit it hard, a satisfying
thump against the centre of his palm. The wasp buffeted downward,
bounced off a roof tile and disappeared over the line of the
gutter.

“
That’s right.” Dig
lifted his chin. “And don’t come back.” He dropped back to his
rear, pulled his knees toward him, and took a few deep
breaths.

A burning spear of pain shot
through his right elbow. He turned to see the wasp perched on his
suit, its stinger piercing the fabric.   

Dig frantically swiped at the
insect with the back of his hand—throwing it into the air. He
dropped to his knees and crawled quickly to the gutter. When he
reached the ladder he hoisted his body over the edge and climbed
down, two rungs at a time.

He hit the ground and jogged
across the driveway—heading for the office located in the corner of
the brewery. He pulled opened the door, jumped inside, and swung it
firmly shut behind him.

After flicking a switch on the
wall, an overhead bank of fluorescent lights flashed once, twice,
then powered into a bright glow. Dig searched the stale air around
him, sure that the wasp would be circling there, tormenting him.
But there was nothing.

The office was a small room,
dominated by a timber desk wedged tight against the wall. Papers
and folders were strewn across the surface, and an old desktop
computer sat in one corner. A faded calendar hung above the desk,
marked up in blue pen with stock delivery dates and meetings. A
black roller chair with cracked padding sat in the middle of the
room. This space was his father’s domain, and as Dig dropped into
the seat it squealed in protest.

He peeled off his suit jacket and
placed it on the desk, then rolled up his shirt sleeve and studied
his arm. The sting mark was clearly visible, a throbbing pink
volcano just below the point of his elbow. Now he’d seen it, he
became more aware of the pain—a hot pulsing needle of
discomfort.

“
What next?” he said
to the room, and leaned back in the seat, nursing his elbow,
waiting for the pain to subside.   

A strange flush of heat rose
through his upper body and into his neck. Goose bumps broke out
across his arms—making his hairs stand on end.

He released the top two buttons
on his shirt, and flapped the collar. His midriff suddenly itched,
and he scratched at it through the fabric. When that brought little
relief, he pulled the tail of his shirt out from his pants, and
found his stomach was covered in blotchy patches of
pink.

“
No.”

The flush of heat was in his head
now, a constricting squeeze between his temples. He took a deep
breath, but it caught it his lungs and he bent forward into a bout
of coughing. He was alarmed that his lungs felt like they were at
half capacity.

He looked back to his elbow, and
saw that it had swollen further, a wide throbbing Michelin man arm
from elbow to wrist.

“
Crap!”

He stood up, and his vision began
to swim. He reached down for the arm of the chair and held on until
the room returned to focus.

After a moment, he pushed through
the door, back out into the light. The sun seemed extraordinarily
bright, and he shielded his eyes as he shuffled across the driveway
to the main house. He turned the corner using the brickwork for
support, and lumbered up the back steps to the deck.

Two elderly women stopped their
conversation and watched him as he climbed the steps, before Dig’s
mother spotted him and marched over. “Dig!” she said. “Where’d you
go?”

“
Mum,” he said,
panting. “Did Dad...have any more of those needles?” He pulled up
his shirt to reveal his arm, now a swollen pink mass from wrist to
elbow. “I think...I’m allergic too.”

His mother raised her hand to her
mouth, and her eyes widened. “A wasp?”  

Dig nodded.

“
Quickly.” She
grabbed his good arm and dragged him through the crowd; eyes
followed them as they passed through. When they entered the house
she pushed him onto the couch. “Wait.” She disappeared into the
hallway and returned a short time later holding an Epinephrine
needle. “Here,” she said. “In the—”

“
Thigh,” Dig finished
for her, and grabbed the needle. He fumbled with the catch, placed
it over his leg, and pressed it down.  

He felt a brief twinge as it
pierced his skin and entered the muscle. Soon after, a burning
sensation spread through the flesh. He wanted to pull away, but he
gritted his teeth and forced himself to leave it in place. His
heart rate and breathing increased, and a tingling sensation washed
up through his body and took seat in his scalp.