The Wrong Sister

by Fiona Palmer

Genres: General Fiction; Siblings; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Sometimes, your heart knows the truth even before you do. The new page-turning family drama from one of Australia's most popular storytellers.

As she approaches thirty, dedicated nurse Ellen Sutton's life is how she wants it - well, almost. Her younger sister, Carrie, seems to have it all sorted though: a successful hair business, a devoted new boyfriend and a rosy future together. Even Ellen's brother, Bodhi, is settled with his petite, super-chill chef girlfriend, Ingrid. So why does Ellen suddenly give up her career and family for the red dust and toil of an outback cattle station? She's never run from anything before - it's new territory in more ways than one.

But Ellen can't run forever. And a family camping trip to Western Australia's beautiful Karijini country brings the three women together once again.

This trip won't be the dream camping holiday for any of them. But one way or another, it will show them the truth. The Wrong Sister is a heartfelt story about dreams, the importance of family and finding your true self.

'A heart-wrenching drama set in the picturesque Karijini country by one of Australia's favourite storytellers' Who Weekly

Praise for the bestselling novels of Fiona Palmer:

'Delves deep into themes of secret affairs, hidden identities and untold truths' Who Weekly

'The Long Weekend delivers to readers the perfect chance to escape from their own lives, if just for a few hours' Books+Publishing

'Fiona Palmer is a writer who demonstrates great facility for storytelling, for swiftly moving a plot along. She writes relatable characters' Living Arts Canberra

'Gripping' Take 5 Monthly

Release date: November 30, 2022

Publisher: Hachette Australia

Print pages: 336

Sample

ELLEN SUTTON SQUINTED UP AT THE CRYSTAL-CLEAR SKY, the sun shooting shards of light like a polished chandelier. Above, the thrum of Ashley’s small aeroplane echoed across the empty horizon but she struggled to spot it in the endless pale blue. She craned her head out the open window of the little red bull buggy just as she hit a crab hole, smacking her skull into the doorframe. ‘Bastard,’ she grunted through gritted teeth, wishing she could rub her head, but both hands were needed on the steering wheel. It would have been worse if her messy blonde bun hadn’t acted as padding.

A twiggy shrub appeared, one too big to drive over. Ellen gave a split-second jerk on the wheel and then another as she cut a path through the scrub like a pinball on the Indiana Jones machine she used to play at the Bowling Arcade as a kid. She never could beat her older brother’s score. A flash hit her eyes, light reflecting off metal as Ashley flew low over the treetops hunting for more beasts to her right. The loud rumble of his plane gave her goosebumps. She wondered what it would be like to swoop low looking for cattle. Was it just work for Ashley or was it exhilarating? Ellen needed excitement and hard work to keep her mind from wandering down the dark path she’d been trying to avoid. Unsuccessfully. At least the flies kept her busy. With a wave she shooed the buzzing mass gathering at the corners of her mouth, chasing moisture in the bone-dry air.

It wasn’t the gazillion flies or the intense heat. It wasn’t the red dirt, crimson as if blood had soaked the soil, nor was it the sparse bushes – the only visible green until you came upon a small pocket of grass where the cattle liked to graze. It wasn’t any of these things that made her feel so far from home.

It was the isolation. She had gone from Albany – crammed full of retirees and tourists – to this mammoth cattle station just out from Mount Magnet in Western Australia, with less people than she could count on both hands. And yet when she’d left Albany, she’d felt alone, trapped in her own internal prison. Her family and friends were pushing in the walls on her cell with each passing day, not that they realised nor understood. Even though the isolation made Albany feel like a world away, it was that same isolation which felt like freedom.

Escaping to Challa Station felt like a move to Mars. Disconnection was what she’d been seeking, and she’d certainly found it. About 600 kilometres north-east of Perth and 206,000 hectares in total size, Challa was truly remote. And yet Ellen wasn’t alone here. Especially with the mustering crew Ashley and Debbie had on now, plus there were over a thousand head of Santa Gertrudis-Droughtmaster cattle, with hides the colour of burnt caramel and cute faces she just wanted to smoosh with kisses. More so the gorgeous calves, so full of life and antics. They reminded her of her own cow, Carla, the most awesome pet a kid could have, and seeing these guys made her heart ache for a much simpler time in her life.

And just when she felt like she was starting to find some sort of calm and peace to work through her feelings, this impending family trip to Karijini was about to ruin it all. Why couldn’t they just all stay in Albany?

‘I need you to get here as quick as you can,’ Ashley radioed. ‘There’s a mob of about twenty here. Watch the plane … under my left wing … right now.’

Like a big-eared Santa Gertrudis flicking away flies, Ellen tried hard to shake away her thoughts and planted her foot, her adrenaline notching up as she felt more like a rally driver than a cow herder. Branches slapped the old Suzuki, its body groaning as it rolled and twisted over dormant water courses, the little engine singing its heart out. Thank God her dad had taught her how to four-wheel drive growing up. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together so she didn’t accidentally bite her tongue with all the jolting.

‘El, Gazza, I need you over here now,’ called Ashley.

‘On my way, boss,’ she muttered, driving as fast as she possibly dared through the minefield that was station country. A blur of white appeared on her right; Scott was flogging along in his tiny bull buggy heading for the same location. The rest of the crew were dotted about, managing mobs in other places.

Ahead the ground unexpectedly vanished. Ellen jammed on the brakes just as her front wheels tipped over the edge of the sharp embankment of a dry riverbed. Like a pen seesawing on the edge of a desk, she felt the buggy rock precariously.

Bloody hell, she was driving like she belonged in a Fast and Furious movie. Shoving it into reverse, she made ochre plumes as the wheels spun sending her back to safe flat land.

That was a lucky save.

She rested her head on the steering wheel and sucked in deep hot breaths, but she was still smiling. Adrenaline was as good as any drug.

She glanced around, hoping no one had witnessed her near demise. Lord knew she didn’t need to rack up any more points today, especially after Joel caught her bogged in some sand earlier. That probably got her ten points.

Ellen navigated a better route over the riverbed, selecting a less extreme decline, and that’s when she spotted old Gazza in the light blue buggy, its nose speared into the bottom of the bed like an old fence post.

Snatching up the radio, she gave him a call. ‘You alright, Gazza?’ Her nursing instinct kicked in, imagining the trauma he may have sustained and the steps she’d take to help him.

‘Yeah, I’m fine, El. I managed to stop me head from smacking the steering wheel.’ A deep dry laugh followed. ‘Damn, I was hoping no one would see me.’

‘That looks like fifty points coming your way,’ she teased. ‘Maybe more if you need help getting out.’

Ellen sat idling a hundred metres away, torn between helping Gaz and getting to the cattle. She liked ol’ Gazza. She liked the whole crew. Especially because they didn’t dig into her past; most kept to themselves and just shared a joke every now and then.

‘I’m coming, Gazza, hold tight,’ the radio blared.

Scott’s white rocket shot right across her path, kicking up dust like a passing willy willy, causing her to jump.

‘I’ve got a tow strap. El, you head on to the cattle,’ Scott added.

‘Rogie,’ she replied before putting the buggy into gear and heading to where Ashley had last indicated with his wing tip.

‘Get some photos, Scott – we need proof for tonight,’ Ellen called.

The reward for getting the most points for the day was a lovely satin pink nightie to be worn the next day by the winner … or in this case the biggest loser. Yesterday it was Joel who collected the most by forgetting to take his radio – thirty points; cutting off a mob – ten points and then his tyre rolling past his buggy while he was driving along – forty points. Today Joel had the pink nightie wrapped around his Akubra hat. It didn’t have to literally be worn, just on you at all times. Getting bogged today would have guaranteed her points, but Gazza having to be pulled out of his vertical descent, well, that might just be enough to take the pink nightie.

Three hours later, she’d slowed from the previous fast and furious adrenaline to meander behind a group of cattle. Thinking time. It was the hardest part of mustering for Ellen. Sure, the scenery was nice, cows’ butts excepted, but the sluggish crawl seemed to highlight the heat, flies and the voices in her head.

Voices of her sister, her brother, their partners, her parents, and worst of all, herself. It was almost laughable that she’d come all this way to escape them only to find out that it was herself she needed to escape. If only that was possible.

The rumble of the buggy and the moos of the cattle had a rhythmic warmth that lured her mind into the murky history she was trying to forget and the imminent future that goosepimpled her skin, even in this heat. It made her feel stuck in this moment, afraid to look back and too scared to go forward. How was she supposed to sort her life out in limbo? She couldn’t hide from her family forever, as much as that seemed like the easiest option.

She’d never run from anything in her life before. Oh, there were times she’d wanted to, but she’d stuck it out like a true steadfast Sutton. She’d been accused of spreading herself too thin and being obsessed with making things the very best they could be (just ask her sister). Carrie liked to call it ‘analism’ – perfectionism at its worst. What was wrong with wanting to do something to the best of your abilities? So, she may have rearranged her bedroom countless times until she had it just right, but once she did, it had stayed that way.

‘You look deep in thought, El?’

The voice had come from the radio, but she glanced around, realising the buggies had grouped closer together as a few mobs of cattle had joined up and were keeping a now bigger herd contained as they moved them to the designated collection point. Nearby, a small Suzuki idled along, a handsome silver fox smiling at her. His tanned face was like a map of the ground with worn creases and marks, the years having taken their toll, and yet he was nonetheless stunning. Mick was twelve years her senior, not that it was an issue when a man looked that good. And he had kept her warm on more than one occasion (like the nights weren’t hot enough already) but they both knew what this was. He was here until mustering was over, and Ellen

… well, she was selfishly using him to forget.

Her heart may as well be the red sand beneath the hundreds of hooves, trampled to dust. It felt like there was nothing left of it; the fact it still kept her alive was almost a miracle.

‘You been thinking about me?’ Mick yelled out as he drove closer, one eye still on the cattle out front.

‘Always, Mick,’ she replied with a smile. Ellen played his game – after all, Mick was the Panadol for her headache. In those moments with him, her mind was silent. And silence was golden.

They stopped their buggies, giving the cattle room to move along. Mick waited until she glanced at him before pointing his finger at her, then to himself and to his watch with a suggestive wink.

Ellen nodded her reply. One last roll in the hay tonight before she left. Why not? After all, she was a single 28-year-old with no ties, no commitments … no life!

It’s funny the change time can make. A year ago, Ellen’s life looked much different. Cool days, hospital shifts, coffee down the main street and family catch-ups; the hope of an exciting future. Now it was heat, flies, working herself to distraction, taking every day, every minute and every step as it came. Uncertainty was the new normal.

Coloured blurs of more buggies appeared around her as they collected together like flies over a dead carcass, directing the cattle into the yards set up to hold them.

Time moved quicker from here, the meandering thoughts pushed aside as they penned and drafted the cattle before loading them onto the nearby truck. By this time Ashley had landed his plane on the nearby strip and joined them.

A few jokes were thrown about as they worked, but they kept the main banter for the shed after they were done. The sooner they were out of the flies, heat and dust, the better.

The first beer to hit the throat was like heavy rains after a drought, pooling into scorched earth. Ellen had gained quite a taste for beer since coming to work on the station. No gin and tonic or wine, just a crisp cold beer earned through sweat, which made it all the more sweeter.

‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ said Gazza, cracking open his beer and dropping down onto one of the many plastic chairs in a wonky circle in the workshop.

‘Well, I for one, am super glad you took a nosedive, Gaz.’

His bushy possum-tail eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re mean, El!’

‘Haha, for good reason, Gaz.’ Joel sat in the chair beside her, causing it to squeak. ‘About an hour before your circus act, El got bogged. I thought the nightie would be hers for sure, until you didn’t watch where you were going.’

Gazza dropped his head. ‘Ah shit. Glad I could help, El,’ he said unenthusiastically. ‘I can’t believe you’ve managed to miss out on the pink slip all mustering. Damn.’

‘El flies under the radar,’ said Mick with a grin. He plucked his trucker hat off, wiped his brow with his sleeve and tucked his hat back on his head before taking a seat.

El sat quietly, a smile tugging at her lips as she listened to their banter.

‘Surely she has to beat mine.’ Gazza’s deep rumble, like it was coming from the bottom of a gravel pit, boomed around the shed. ‘Getting bogged, rookie mistake.’ His rotund belly shook with another round of laughter.

‘No, I got out by myself,’ El protested proudly.

Joel laughed. ‘She was rocking the buggy like crazy. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’

Ashley was near the whiteboard tallying up points as the crew called them out. ‘Paul, you get ten points for upsetting the cook. Pulling the cucumber out of the salad and throwing it away is wasteful.’

‘It’s spewcumber,’ he grumbled. ‘Not fit for human consumption.’

El chuckled. It wasn’t often she could laugh for real these days.

They continued to banter back and forth, mentioning more points to allocate, taking digs at each other and discussing the breakdowns.

Feet aching, she crossed her legs. The heavy, steel-capped boots, red with dust and wafting of cow poo, were nothing like her hospital trainers. Ellen didn’t know if she could go back to nursing just yet. Hopefully the saying was true and time healed all wounds. Seemed a funny sentiment for a nurse – shouldn’t she be the one healing the wounds?

‘El?’

‘Huh?’ She glanced up and realised Joel was speaking to her.

‘I said are you all set to leave tomorrow?’

She nodded because her mouth refused to lie for her.

If Joel detected the uncertainty in her expression, he didn’t mention it, but his eyes crinkled as he studied her warily. Poor kid had been nothing but nice, the whole crew had, and yet Ellen had remained quite reserved throughout her time at the station.

Joel suddenly grinned. ‘You’ll love Karijini. Magic spot.’

‘So I hear.’ It was only for a few days and yet Ellen felt like she was about to drive off the edge of the earth. The eight hundred odd kilometres there didn’t worry her – she’d done over nine hundred to get to Challa from Albany. But it was what awaited her that felt like a big black hole. And that blackness had her churning with a queasy feeling that needed more than Mylanta to cure.

Think of the positives!

Scrunching her fists, she focused. The silver lining would be seeing her brother propose to Ingrid, who she loved like a sister. This whole trip was his idea. Bodhi wanted his sisters’ help in making his proposal magical, and who was she to deny him that request?

Bodhi and Ingrid deserved their fairy tale and Ellen would make sure it went off without a hitch. This was not something she could leave up to her sister. Even Bodhi had admitted that.

‘El, I need you. Carrie lacks attention to the small details, actually any details, and I need this day to be perfect. Please!’

Ellen had reluctantly called her sister and planned it down to the colour of the confetti, leaving strict instructions on what to bring.

‘God, you’re not even here and you’re still bossy,’ Carrie had said. ‘I promise I won’t forget a thing. I’ll have Fin remind me. Probably a good thing you’re not here, you’d probably spill the beans to Ingi.’

‘I would not.’

‘You’ve always been too honest, sis,’ she’d said and laughed. ‘You and Bodhi are terrible.’

Was that the real reason Ellen had moved to Challa Station? Maybe Carrie was right, and she couldn’t trust herself. Honesty had always been part of her moral compass; now that it was broken, she felt lost in the wilderness. Or should that be lost in the lower Murchison region?

Ellen gave Joel a half-hearted smile. ‘I’m sure I’ll love it, I’m just not sure I’m ready for the family reunion.’

HER ARSE WAS NUMB. SHE LITERALLY COULDN’T FEEL IT. Carrie Sutton lifted her feet onto the dash, her toes pressed up against the glass.

‘You know how dangerous that is, right?’

Carrie groaned. ‘You sound like my sister. It’s fine, I trust you won’t crash. You’re the most conscientious driver I know. Besides, it’s not like this poxy campervan can do dangerous speeds. Hell, it can’t even get to a hundred.’ This trip was bloody long enough let alone crawling along at snail speed. Her numb butt was protesting as much as her bored brain.

‘It’s not me I’m worried about. What if someone else runs into us? You’ve seen how many accidents there are along this road. You might want to have babies one day so having your femur smashed through your uterus won’t help.’

Carrie grimaced, not from the picture he painted but the word ‘babies’.

Fin held onto the steering wheel with two hands, ever so safety conscious. How that managed to irritate her, she wasn’t sure. Couldn’t he look just a little more relaxed, like rest his elbow on the open window? Oh yeah, because the aircon didn’t work over eighty, they had to travel with the windows down just to avoid being boiled like prawns. So her ears hurt, her hair was a mess, and they had to almost shout at each other to be heard. But she’d rather have no aircon than make this trip any slower. I’ll have fucking grey hair by the time we get there!

‘I’m not that fussed on babies. No great loss. I’ll just get a dog.’

Fin risked a quick glance away from the road. He was living on the edge.

‘You don’t mean that?’ he asked.

How could a man look so damn sexy and yet be so vanilla on the inside? Don’t speed, don’t be reckless, don’t colour outside the lines … Living with Fin wasn’t the roller-coaster ride his image would suggest. He’d attracted her with his cool hipster vibe, the styled short back and sides with that long straight top that flopped over in a delicious way. He usually sported a beard but had trimmed it knowing the heat they were heading into. But the short stubble worked for him. Hell, everything worked for him. From the little black circle earrings he wore, to the beanies and fedora hats, everything suited him. Carrie couldn’t wear a hat without looking mother-of-the-bride horrible. And what was the point of styling your hair if you were just going to jam a hat on your head?

‘I do! I can’t see myself having kids anytime soon. I’m far too young,’ she scoffed.

Fin snorted. ‘Babe, you’re twenty-seven. My mum had a seven-year-old by that age.’

Carrie rolled her eyes. ‘That was way back then. Now mid-thirties is the norm.’ She certainly wasn’t going to consider it for at least five years. Maybe then she’d feel differently about screaming newborns.

Her dark chocolate waves cascaded over her chest, making her black singlet feel like a jumper. She’d kill for an icy pole. She didn’t want to put her hair up considering it had taken fifteen minutes to do this morning at that caravan park with its dodgy bathroom lights. It probably looked like a rat’s nest now, thanks to having the windows down. God, why did she bother.

‘What about marriage?’

The question took her by surprise. ‘Marriage?’ Why the hell would he bring up that? The word made her feel suddenly carsick.

‘Yeah. With your brother about to pop the question, have you ever thought about it?’

‘Shit, Fin, we’ve only been going out eight months.’

‘I’m not saying we get married now, I’m just asking if that’s where you see us heading.’

He said it casually, but Carrie could tell by the tight strands of muscle at his neck that he was deeply invested in her answer. Staring ahead, she watched the massive blue tub on the truck in front being escorted by a team of pilot vehicles. It didn’t matter; they’d never pass it, they could barely keep up with the oversized vehicle.

‘Carrie?’

With a big sigh she turned to him. ‘I don’t know. I can’t say I’ve given it much thought. I prefer to live day by day. You know that. Why bring it up now?’

Sweat oozed from her pores and she felt queasy. God, was he going to propose? Carrie rubbed at her eyes and then instantly regretted it; half her make-up was on her fingers and she’d probably smeared the rest. Damn heat.

‘I just thought maybe we should discuss our relationship,’ he said. ‘Lately, I feel like we just glide along because it’s comfortable, not because we want a future together.’

‘What are you saying, Fin?’ Her voice rose an octave or two. By the look on his face, it was the latter.

‘I don’t know. Maybe we should … break up?’

Her eyebrows twisted out of shape. ‘Are you saying if we’re not going to get married, you want to break up?’

Fin seemed cool and calm. Had he been thinking about this a bit? Did he really not want to be with her? But worse was her own confusion over what scared her more – a break-up or marriage?

‘I just don’t want to invest in a relationship that won’t end in marriage and kids,’ he said. ‘You know how I feel about starting a family – you said once you want those things too?’

His intense eyes held her gaze for a split second before returning to the road.

‘Yeah, maybe. But like … way, way into the future.’ Carrie realised then that she was not ready for that step, that level of commitment, not with Fin, maybe not with anyone. Or did that just mean Fin wasn’t the one for her? ‘I’m not ready yet, Fin. I’m busy with work and don’t have time for a child.’ He opened his mouth, but she cut in quickly. ‘And before you ask, I can’t give you a time or date either. I just don’t know. Can you be happy with that?’

To give up her scissors and make-up brushes for nappies and bottles? Not yet, thank you very much!

Damn her brother for deciding to get married. It was his fault she was going through this squeamish conversation with Fin.

And damn Bodhi for becoming great mates with Fin. Of course Fin would be feeling left out, a little jealous even. Hopefully when they got back home and everything returned to normal, he’d be fine with how things were for a bit longer.

Fin stared ahead, focused, while the soft skin on the side of his head pulsed. Was he weighing it all up? Should they break up? Carrie wasn’t sure what she wanted.

‘So that’s a no to breaking up?’ he finally muttered.

Carrie crawled across to the driver’s side and kissed him, and before he could protest she moved her lips to his ear and down along his neck. ‘It’s a no,’ she murmured between kisses. Then she pressed her hand between his legs, gently rubbing.

‘Um, Carrie … what … um … whoo … oh.’

His words faded away as she undid the button and zipper of his denim shorts.

‘I’m bored,’ she said before wetting her lips.

‘Jesus,’ Fin puffed. ‘I’m relieved this old campervan can’t go any faster.’

‘Do not pull over,’ she demanded. ‘I’m not making this trip any longer.’

‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said between moans.

He pulled the van over, ever cautious, but it only made Carrie work quicker.

‘You can’t always use sex to get what you want.’

But that was the last thing he said on the matter because in truth, Carrie had been using it to get her way for a while. She cared about Fin, he made her feel safe and protected. He loved her like no other man had and he turned her on, always. But was that enough to stay with someone? Was she too scared to shake up her life because if you took away Fin and the salon … what did she have left? Who was she really?

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ she exclaimed afterwards. ‘That only chewed up five minutes. How much longer?’ She pouted. ‘This place better be worth it. Why couldn’t Bodhi have p. . .