The Memories We Hide

by jodi Gibson

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ Laura asked, wiping the trickle of sweat from under her nose. Her fingernails were thick with black dirt, and slight callouses were beginning to appear on her palms. It felt good to be grubby for a change. So very different from her clean, respectable life in the city. Luke would almost fall into fits of laughter if he could see her now.

  ‘I reckon!’

  She kicked off her muddy boots and headed inside, returning with two plastic cups filled with orange juice. They sat down on the back step, Laura relieved to have her legs stretched out in front of her rather than squatted down in the garden.

  Tom slurped on his juice and wiped his chin with the back of his hand as it trickled downward. ‘So, you regret not going to uni?’

  Laura sighed gently. She’d wanted to study law, but as her final year of school progressed, her grades dropped, and even before Ryan, she doubted she’d get the marks. Then, after she fled to the city and wound up at the beautician’s, life just carried on.

  ‘Laura?’ Tom pulled her back to the present.

  ‘Sorry? No, I guess not.’ She shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of juice. ‘I don't think it would've been for me, anyway.’

  Tom nodded.

  ‘How’s Bessie?’ Laura asked, hoping to break the silence.

  ‘Bessie? She died a few years back.’

  Laura’s mouth gaped when she realized how stupid she was. Bessie, Tom’s beloved golden retriever who followed him everywhere, would have been a very old dog by now. Of course she would have passed. ‘Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Of course.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘She was a good dog.’

  Laura could see his eyes glistening. ‘She sure was. Did you get another dog?’

  ‘I thought about it. Just never got around to it. Anyway, the farm Kelpies keep me company enough.’

  ‘How is farm life? Still loving it?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘It has its days, but yeah.’

  ‘I couldn’t imagine you anywhere else.’

  ‘That's all I'm good for, I guess.’ Tom’s tone hardened ever so slightly.

  ‘Hey, I didn't mean that. I know how much you love that place. And you’re doing something you love. I mean, how many people can actually say that?’ Laura said, trying to make amends. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

  ‘It's all you ever saw me as though.’

  Laura paused, processing her response. It was true. That’s what she saw Tom as. But it wasn’t a bad thing to her. He was just Tom—loveable, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly Tom. But she felt awful looking at him now, not only for making him feel small, but for the way they’d parted. No words. No explanation. He deserved so much more, yet it was a guilt Laura was still not ready to face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, placing her half-empty cup on the ground. ‘Sorry for turning my back on you like I did.’

  ‘I know you are, Lauz.’

  The breeze had picked up again, sending the grass clippings scattering from the top of the organics bin. The sun was now a shadowy circle behind the gray clouds, which looked like they were threatening to break open again at any moment. The gloom matched the queasiness in Laura’s stomach. She never thought she'd feel awkward around Tom, but time had built a wall between them that she wasn’t sure how to knock down.

  ‘I've missed you round here, Laura,’ Tom said, tapping his foot up and down. ‘When you left …’

  ‘Don't.’ Laura held up her hand to stop more words escaping his mouth. She wasn't ready to go back there. She wasn't sure if she ever would be ready.

  ‘I know you don't want to talk about it, but maybe you need to. I need to,’ Tom said, his eyes burning into her.

  Laura stared down at the cracked concrete beneath her feet. The cracks were worn and tired, like a road map weary from being folded too many times. Just like her thoughts.

  Tom was right. She'd spent so much energy mentally searching for answers and then suppressing every emotion, pretending that part of her life never happened. That that Laura never existed. She was lost and running for all these years. Maybe it was time to stop. If only facing the truth wasn't so hard.

  ‘You’re right. I do. Mum made me promise I’d, you know, get closure or something,’ she said, wrapping invisible quotation marks around the words. ‘But, I’m not ready yet. I will be. I just need to sort everything out with Mum.’

  ‘I get it. One thing at a time.’

  At that moment, the clouds decided to release fat raindrops, and the wind whipped up and sent the side gate crashing closed. Laura and Tom bolted for the back door, covering their heads.

  The rain sounded like golf balls on the tin roof as they tumbled inside to the back TV room.

  ‘Bloody rain,’ Tom sighed.

  ‘I thought you’d be glad for it?’ Laura said.

  ‘Not as much as they’re predicting. The ground is as hard as a rock, and it’s got nowhere to go. Too much rain in a small window will set us on flood watch.’

  Thankful for the change of subject, Laura glanced around the room. It was next on her list. ‘Want to help me pack up some boxes?’ she said, raising her voice over the rain. ‘If you have time, that is.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not.’

  ‘I can't believe how much stuff Mum has in here,’ Laura said, pulling old notebooks, dried-up pens, and hand-scribbled scraps of paper out of the desk drawer. Old electricity bills, rates notices, and even some of Laura's old school reports had already been purged into a box to be thrown into the recycling bin.

  Tom was tending to the timber bookcase, loading old Mills & Boon paperbacks into another box and sorting through the myriad VHS tapes and DVDs now covered in thick dust, untouched for years.

  ‘Hey,’ Tom said. ‘Remember this one? Man, I loved this movie.’

  Tom was holding up a DVD of The Dark Knight. Christian Bale’s eyes peered from behind the dark façade of his Batman costume out through the cracked plastic cover.

  ‘Oh god, yes! How could I forget!’ Laura threw her head back. ‘You used to make me watch it over and over again!’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘I thought you loved it?’

  ‘I only watched it for Heath Ledger, you know?’

  Tom instantaneously broke into his best Joker impression. Hands stretched out, eyes and mouth wide, doing his best imitation of Heath Ledger’s husky cackle.

  ‘That is THE worst impression ever!’ She laughed. The knot in her stomach began to slacken, and for a moment it almost felt like old times.

  ‘Okay, so I’m no Heath Ledger,’ Tom replied, ‘but I’m keeping this DVD!’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Laura said as she dug her hand into the back of the desk drawer, grappling with a tin and pulling it out. It was an old shortbread tin, the kind you found on the supermarket shelves at Christmas. She gently pried off the lid, the buttery smell of Danish shortbread still faintly lingering. Laura’s brow furrowed as she peered inside at the yellowed newspaper clippings. She flicked through them, picking up one announcing her birth and then another—her father's death notice. There was a picture from the Banyula Times of Laura grinning from ear to ear, holding up a picture of a pink cow that she'd entered in the local agricultural show coloring competition. She smiled as she remembered winning the seven-and-under age category: two tickets to see the local theater company's stage production of Annie.

  Laura rifled toward the bottom of the tin when another clipping caught her eye. This one wasn't as discolored. November 8, 2009 was the date printed on the mast. Laura leaned back on the roller chair and unfolded it, the paper soft under her fingers.

  ‘Community in Shock as Teen Found Dead on Train Tracks’ was the heading in bold black ink. And as much as she wanted to shove it back in the tin and throw it all in the rubbish pile, Laura couldn't take her eyes off it. She began to read.

  Police believe the body hit by a train on the Smythe Street railway tracks in the early hours of Sunday morning is that of a local teenage boy. Although the teen’s name has not yet been released, police
have stated that the 18-year-old male was one of the revelers at an end-of-year-twelve party that got out of hand the previous evening.

  ‘What you got there?’ Tom said as he moved toward Laura. ‘Oh god.’ He reached down to grab it from her, but Laura pulled it away.

  ‘No, Tom. I need to …’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘Why, Lauz? You don't need to read it.’

  She pulled out more clippings, all about Ryan's death. Another caught her interest. ‘Teen's Death Not Straightforward.’

  ‘Not straightforward?’ she said, continuing to read aloud with Tom crouched down beside her.

  Although first thought a shocking accident, the death of local teenager Ryan Taylor is still a mystery as police remain tight-lipped on the theories behind the tragedy.

  ‘We need to rule out every possibility before making a statement,’ said Senior Detective Roy Makin yesterday afternoon.

  ‘I don't understand,’ Laura said, brow furrowed. Tom rose to his feet, avoiding her eyes. ‘Tom? What does it mean?’

  ‘I don't know. It was all such a blur. You know that.’

  ‘What were they alluding to? That he was,’ she had to force the word out, ‘murdered?’

  She stared at Tom, whose eyes met hers for the briefest moment and then quickly diverted. He opened his mouth to speak but paused as if considering something of great importance. Then he threw his hands in the air and sighed. ‘I don't know, Laura. It was nine years ago. I guess they were just doing their job. Maybe if you had stayed around—’ He stopped abruptly.

  Laura bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the harshness off his words combine with the heat that flushed across her face. She stuffed the clippings back into the tin and sat it onto the desk.

  ‘You’re right. It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past,’ she said, busying herself in the drawer once more. Tom didn’t move from his standing position next to her. Laura kept tidying.

  ‘I guess I should be going,’ Tom finally said. He picked up his Akubra off the side table and moved toward the back door, adjusting the hat onto his head.

  Laura, still unable to meet his eyes, stuffed some papers into the recycling box. ‘Yeah, sure.’ She shrugged.

  Tom paused at the screen door. ‘I guess I’ll see you around,’ he said as he lifted his hat briefly before disappearing into the rain.

  Laura picked at her nails and stared at the tin sitting innocently on the desk, holding both her favorite memories and her worst. With her heart thumping, she picked up the tin, sat down cross-legged on the floor and spilled the contents in front of her.

  Ryan's olive-skinned face stared back at her from one of the clippings. His sandy fringe half covered his left eye, and the collar on his gray school shirt was twisted. The dimple on his cheek was pronounced as he smiled. The tears welled in Laura’s eyes and then spilled out onto her knees.

  What if it wasn't an accident? What if there was more to it like the police alluded to? Something prickled at Laura's insides. She'd always accepted that his death was nothing more than a tragic accident. After all, that’s what her mum had told her, wasn’t it? But what if there was more to it? The more she thought about it, the more unanswered questions appeared in her mind. Memories she couldn’t piece together.

  She began sorting the articles, putting anything relevant about Ryan aside. After a few minutes, she realized there was nothing left in the tin. She shuffled all the clippings and photos into a pile and scooped them back into the tin, feeling empty and exhausted, but she still couldn't shake the doubt that had entered her mind. Why on earth would the police suspect foul play in the first place?

  Chapter 8

  Tom slogged toward the riverbank, his gum boots sinking into the waterlogged ground. Thunder cracked overhead, another downpour threatening as the clouds swirled above him like black smoke. Tom sighed at the thought of more rain. As much as they needed rain after the dry summer, the entire autumn average in the space of a fortnight wasn’t what he had in mind. The river was nearing its peak, and if the rain kept up, he would have to move the cattle. The last thing he needed was losing them to floodwaters. It had already been a tough year, losing one of his prized bulls to a freak accident over the summer. He still felt sick at the thought of the bull he’d found after a particularly wild summer storm. He couldn’t tell what had happened at first, but on closer inspection and sighting the patch of singed hide, there could only be one conclusion. A lightning strike. The poor bull was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Tom pulled back the heavy branches of a gum tree, revealing the water marker. Eight meters. The high level—the record flood of 1993—was marked at 8.4 meters. He furrowed his brow, wondering how much longer he could put off moving the cattle. It was a pain. He would have to bring most of them up to the paddock closest to the house, away from the river. But the heavily pregnant cows were already there, and he needed to keep them separate, which would mean moving them into the loading paddocks. He scratched his head. The last thing he wanted was to move stock at the last minute though. He made a mental note to get online that night to check the river levels upstream and the forecast. That should give him an idea how fast it was rising, then he could decide what to do.

  He jumped back into the farm Ute and made his way toward the house, Laura’s face springing to his mind as he bumped over the track. He’d been keeping himself busy all day to keep from thinking of her. But whenever his mind wandered, it wandered to Laura. He wished it was easy just to close that chapter of his life, like closing the gate on a paddock. As if nothing had happened. And then maybe he and Laura … He shook his head at his stupid whimsical thoughts.

  He pulled up to the paddock closest to the house to check on the pregnant cows. There were still three that hadn’t calved. It would be any day now. He jumped out of the Ute and opened the gate. Two of the cows, bellies round and bulging, were gnawing on the green pasture. The other cow was sitting, facing away from Tom, under the shelter of the peppercorn tree in the corner of the paddock. He jogged over, careful not to disturb her. It was his best cow—super fertile, great strength, and calved easily. This year he’d had her inseminated with semen from one of the top sires in the state. Cost him a small fortune, but it would be worth it to continue the strong heritability and improve his herd quality. And that’s what he needed in order to join the certified breeding program.

  The cow jerked her head at his arrival but didn’t get up. He checked her udder. It had enlarged again since earlier that morning, the teats now firm and smooth. He swore it looked ready to burst. ‘Mustn’t be long now, girl,’ he whispered. The cow looked at him with wary eyes. He gently lifted the cow’s tail to inspect the vulva, again enlarged, but it hadn’t changed much over the past twenty-four hours. Her tail was still limp—a sign labor hadn’t started. He’d check on her first thing in the morning.

  Back in the Ute, Tom pulled up at the house and sat down on the grayed wooden porch to take off his mud-soaked boots. Instinctively his arm reached down to pat Bessie, and he shook his head. She'd been gone three years now. He'd wanted to get another dog but couldn't bring himself to, feeling as if he were being disloyal. Good ol’ Bessie; she was a good dog, always there at his heels as he worked around the farm, following him from paddock to paddock or even hitching a ride on the quad bike. Always there each night curled up at his feet. She was his shadow and constant companion for the longest time. It sure was lonely without her.

  Life on the farm was a lonely pursuit, full stop. Out in the paddocks all day or stuck in the drenching yards. Gone at dawn, not back till dusk and smelling of a lovely combination of sweat, manure, and cows. It was hard work, but Tom loved it, although he could understand why others didn’t. Hit and miss too. Good years relied on good weather for successful calving, not to mention premium prices at the sale yards. Yet years of drought or too much rain were becoming all too common. Farm life wasn’t as stable as it was in his grandfather’s or even his dad’s day.

  But as much as Tom loved
it, he was lonely. He’d return home at the end of a long day and wonder what all the hard work was for in the end when he had no one to share it with.

  Tom drew in a deep breath. He missed Bessie almost as much as he'd missed Laura.

  Spending time with her earlier that week made his heart pang with the familiar feelings he'd had all those years ago. Feelings he’d thought were long gone. But seeing her in the flesh—her long wavy hair and porcelain skin—had unlatched the box he’d stuffed those feelings into. And slowly, they leeched out, surfacing once more.

  It was difficult to move on after Laura left. Especially under the circumstances. There was so much she didn’t know. Especially his feelings for her. After all, it was unrequited love, and he had to accept that. His mates had tried to help, dragging him along to every gathering under the sun to find a ‘Missus,’ but no one came close to Laura. And who was he kidding? No one wanted to marry a farmer these days. All the girls hightailed it to the city as soon as they could for a life of high heels and cocktails, not cow pats and mud.

  He rose to his feet and kicked his boots into the wall of the house, sending the farm cat, who'd been waiting for nightfall on the window edge, scurrying around the corner.

  Once inside, Tom switched on the nightly news on the TV in the kitchen. His normal ritual while he cooked dinner, it made him feel less alone with the background noise. And it reminded him of his parents. Their TV was always on at night. The news, Four Corners, then whatever soapie was favored at the time. He glanced at the photo of his mum and dad sitting next to the TV. Their wedding portrait. His mum in a simple white dress and veil, his dad looking like his tie was choking him. They were perfect for each other, and even though they'd been through times of drought, flood, and poor calving seasons, every year they'd stood by each other. That's what he wanted. That sort of honest, loyal love.

  He grabbed a couple of potatoes out of the pantry and began peeling them. It wasn’t easy finding someone who shared his love of the land, and as time went on, finding someone was becoming less and less of a possibility. There were so many single farmers around the district, guys who had taken over their parents' farms. Bachelors. It was hard to find love when you were tied to a property. Sure, there were the odd exceptions, but they were usually childhood sweethearts. You only had to watch reality TV shows like that one a few years back called Farmer Wants a Wife to see how many single farmers there were. All lonely and longing for love. Maybe he'd end up on some TV show looking for love himself.