*      *      *

“Cheer up, Ern,” this is meant to be a party, not a wake,” said Bear Ross slapping his best friend encouragingly on the back as Ernie Singleton stood in one corner staring glumly around at the assemblage of friends and neighbours who filled his lounge room at his Merridale sheep station, sixty kilometres from Harpertown.

Ernie did his best to smile, without much luck.   He always felt uncomfortable among large gatherings, but now more so than ever, as he watched his mother, Victoria, and Samantha Frankland seated together on a sofa across the room from him.   Although unable to overhear their conversation, he suspected that the two women were discussing his on-again-off-again relationship with Samantha’s daughter, Rowena.

*      *      *

Sensing the reason for Ernie’s disquietude, Bear slipped a glass of Carlton Draught beer into his hand and said, “Don’t worry, marriage isn’t as bad as some people make out.   And if Sam and Vikkie have decided that you’re going to marry Rowie, then there’s no point fighting it.   I’ve never known either of those two to lose an argument yet!”

“It’s not that I’ve got anything against marrying Rowie,” said Ernie, looking across pensively to where the beautiful honey-blonde sat on the sofa beside her redheaded mother.   As Rowena looked up at him sadly, obviously dismayed by his recent treatment of her, Ernie hurriedly looked away.

Hearing the sound of car tyres on the gravel path leading from Donaldson’s Road to the farmhouse, Bear said, “That must be Brian and co.”   And the two men headed out into the hallway to open the front door for the Hornes.

Seeing Brian’s aquamarine HR Holden Premier parked beside Gloria Ulverstone’s pale yellow Morris Minor near the wire-mesh fence round the farmhouse yard, they started out onto the front porch to look for the Hornes when they heard the voice of Helen Horne from behind them.   “Tricked you,” she said walking up the corridor from the kitchen to give Ernie a birthday peck on the cheek, “we came in the back way.”

“Here you go, lad,” said Clem Horne, a big, burly country type, handing Ernie a brightly wrapped present.