Page 3 of The Dairy Farmer's Daughter

He shuffled past the crowd and tried to remain discreet in a darkened corner. Then he caught a woman squinting at him andknew he had been spotted. She was his mother's age, dressed in a smart black suit with long greying hair, and was walking directly towards him.

"Justin?" She had a kind, sweet voice.

He nodded and gave her his best leave-me-alone smile.

"I'm Nina Montgomery. We spoke on the phone."

He recognised her voice now. The quiet determination she had used to convince him to have a funeral. Justin had wanted to send the body straight to the crematorium, without a service of any kind.

"Oh, hi." He shook her hand, the polite, well-mannered man his mother had raised taking over. "Thank you for doing all this."

"Of course. Everyone deserves a good send-off." She looked at him with eyes full of sympathy. "Now, come sit with us, and I'll let the minister know he can start."

He followed her to the front pew, conscious of people pointing and whispering around him. So much for not being recognised. His mother had warned him what small towns were like; everyone knew everyone and all their business. Justin liked his privacy and hated being the centre of attention. That's why he worked on computers all day. Alone.

"These are my daughters, Greer and Freya, and my husband, Mark," Nina said, pointing to two attractive young women and an older man, who nodded back. They all had warm smiles and friendly faces.

One of the women shifted over so he could sit beside her. He took the spot with a tight smile and sat on the cushioned bench.

The minister started speaking and it struck Justin that he didn't know if Boyd had been a religious man. His father and Barbara had been married in a church in Brisbane, surrounded by her family and friends. Boyd's own parents had died young and his mother had told him that there had been no one else toinvite from his side. His funeral was the opposite, with standing room only and a sombre silent congregation.

All Justin knew of his father was what his mother had told him. His birthday was 12 December; he owned a small dairy farm in Maleny. Barbara had been notified of his death—still named as his next of kin after all these years.

It had taken twenty-six hours before anyone had realised Boyd was missing. He was only found when the farm manager had gone looking for him to help with the afternoon milking.

Boyd Wheeler had died alone.

Justin turned his head to take in the strangers sitting around him. Were all these people Boyd's friends? Had he been able to fill his life with mateship, so he didn't feel the loss of his son and family?

The minister invited Mark Montgomery to deliver the eulogy, and Justin watched as Nina’s husband stood behind the lectern and addressed the congregation.

Mark had a deep voice and a serious face. “Boyd and I were neighbours all our lives. He was a couple of grades above me at Maleny school, and I remember him being a quiet but astute student. He dropped out when he was fifteen to dairy with his dad, who then died a couple of years later. His mother was already gone, so he was on his own."

There was nodding and murmurs from the crowd, as though everyone was pausing to remember Boyd's parents and think about their own.

"He married Barbara in Brisbane, and he brought her here to live. They had one child, a son, Justin."

He felt the stares on the back of his neck and sunk lower in his seat.

Mark continued in his solid, stable voice. “They were happy for a few years, but as often happens, dairying wasn’t the life for Barbara, so she and Justin moved back to the city to be closerto her family. Boyd stayed on and ran the farm faithfully. He employed many locals over the years including Fred, his farm manager, and even the odd European backpacker. Like the rest of us, Boyd endured the ups and downs of the dairy industry, and when others gave up and left the land, he held onto his farm and cows, because that was the kind of bloke Boyd was."

Justin looked down at the picture again. His father had lived simply and quietly. If he was lonely, it was his own damn fault. If he had wanted to be in his son's life, he could have been. Justin and Barbara would have found a place for him in their lives. Barbara had called and written often over the years.

But Boyd had never answered their calls or letters. He had never come to visit or asked them to visit him.

But he had never even tried.

"Boyd was a steadfast part of the community. His loss is our loss. He will be missed." The church choir started singing as Mark returned to the pew.

He paused briefly to shake Justin's hand. "If you need anything, just ask us. Everyone here knew and liked Boyd."

"Thank you," Justin said. "I appreciate that."

Another sermon was read and then four men, including Mark, hoisted the coffin off the table and walked slowly down the aisle. “Amazing Grace” played through the speakers, and Justin felt emotion rise within him.

A warm hand slipped into his and he turned to see Freya, the blonde daughter, beside him. She squeezed his hand and encouraged him to walk behind the coffin. Stepping out into the sunshine, he was grateful for the clean air after the thick atmosphere in the chapel. He watched as the casket was carefully loaded into the hearse.

"He's going to the crematorium," Freya whispered near his ear. "Do you want to go?"

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