by Cathryn Hein
After her mother’s death, her father and Tess had hidden the truth from Sophie, using terms such as ‘tragedy’ and ‘accident’ to describe something indescribable. And then, when the word ‘suicide’ somehow slipped through the web of her family’s insularity, the horror of learning the truth was followed by years of thinking that her mother had committed that appalling act because of her. That she must have been a terrible child, that her mother hadn’t loved her. A belief reinforced by her father’s coldness and lack of affection toward his only child.
Sophie didn’t blame her father for her mother’s death. Her illness made her do what she did, but she still hadn’t forgiven him for treating a confused and grieving teenager like a monster. She never would.
‘Do you need a strapper tomorrow?’ asked Tess in a placatory tone, as if she knew she’d overstepped the mark.
‘No. I’m fine on my own. I’m only taking Buck. Will you be right to keep an eye on the heifers?’
‘Of course I will. I’m not completely useless, you know.’
But given her aunt’s problem, on that point, Sophie could never be too sure.
After the misery of Saturday’s weather, Sunday dawned frosty and sparkling before turning bright with the rising sun. Knowing Buck preferred Chuck’s company while travelling, Sophie unloaded the lone horse after the hour-long trip to Beachport with some trepidation, but his mood appeared as favourable as the day. To her astonishment and relief, he stood calmly next to the float and accepted her fussing with uncharacteristic equanimity.
His good mood continued through the dressage, as he pranced around the ring and completed the complex series of movements with look-at-me bounciness, leaving Sophie slapping his neck in delight and racing for the scoreboard to see how they’d fared. His performance placed them second behind long-time competitor Michelle Vickers and her talented up-and-coming mare, The Debutante. But to Sophie’s surprise, The Debutante floundered on the cross-country course, running-out when Michelle attempted to take a tight apex jump over its corner, adding twenty penalties to her score, and leaving the lead open for Buck.
He didn’t let Sophie down. Buck cruised around the cross-country course at speed, hurtling over the jumps as though they barely existed, and leaving Sophie ecstatic as he thundered through the finish line under time and with a penalty-free round behind him. Now all they had to do was complete the showjumping course clear and they’d win.
‘Bad luck about Deb,’ said Sophie as she joined Michelle while they waited for their turn in the showjumping.
Michelle shrugged her narrow shoulders, as philosophical as always. ‘My fault. It was a tight fence and I should have taken more care.’ She reached out a skinny arm to scratch Buck’s mane. Michelle was tall and model-thin, confounding Sophie as to how she had the strength to ride. Everything about her appeared angular, from her pointed nose to her bony hips, but she possessed a good-humoured personality that belied her sharp looks, and Sophie enjoyed her company. Out of all the riders she knew, Michelle was the closest thing she had to a friend.
‘Buck went well,’ said Michelle with a smile.
‘I know, but the day’s not over yet. I just hope he doesn’t do what he did to me at Naracoorte,’ Sophie replied, remembering the humiliation of her last event when Buck, irritated that Sophie had gone off with Chuck and left him with an empty water bucket, had descended into an equine sulk of epic proportions. Her confidence soaring after a clean cross-country round with Chuck, who was in second place, Sophie had mounted Buck and entered the showjumping ring unaware of his foul mood. She blithely saluted the judges, gathered up the reins and then proceeded to plough through every jump. She cantered through the finish flags red-faced and furious, only to have Buck live up to his name by dumping her neatly in front of the judges’ box, and then stand regarding her with a ‘that’ll teach you to be smug’ look on his face.
For appearance’s sake, Sophie had laughed it off, but inside she had seethed. If he did it to her again, she swore she’d sell him. But it was an empty threat. Vanaheim was like a horsey black hole. Once you went in, you never came out. No matter how badly her horses behaved, she couldn’t bear to part with them. A fact she sometimes suspected Buck knew.
Michelle regarded her with sympathy. ‘Yes, he definitely gets it over you sometimes but I can see why you stick with him. He’s got talent. So are you taking them both to Lake Ackerman?’ she asked, referring to a major one-day event held across the border in Victoria over the Anzac Day long weekend.
‘All going well.’ Sophie winced as in the ring a delicate-looking rose-grey horse skidded to a halt and brought a big oxer crashing down.
‘Apparently it’s Jamie Howard’s twenty-first birthday that weekend and he’s organised a bit of a party at the Commercial Hotel on the Saturday night. You should come.’
‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘You don’t need to be. It’s automatic.’ When Sophie didn’t answer, Michelle added, ‘They’re not all monsters, you know.’
Sophie looked at her in astonishment. ‘I never thought anyone was.’
‘So why not join in for once?’
She swallowed. Why not? She loved the horsey scene but when it came to socialising her scars ran deep, and her habit of keeping to herself was a difficult one to break. Even after all this time she found it hard to trust people, no matter how kind they were to her.
‘I’ll see.’
The look on Michelle’s face told her that she knew Sophie wouldn’t come.
With the competitors competing in reverse order, from last to first, Sophie had to wait for all the other riders to complete their rounds before she entered the ring. Despite her rattling nerves, Buck remained calm as she warmed him up, staying nicely on the bit and listening to her leg aids. As she rode toward the judges’ box she experienced a flurry of hope that her contrary horse would jump clear and win.
She saluted, gathered up the reins and eased Buck into a tight canter. ‘Come on, Buck, my boy. Let’s show them what you’re made of.’ And with that instruction she urged him through the start toward the first fence.
Buck leapt over the opening four jumps as easily as he had the cross-country course, approaching each with his ears pricked and head up. With space at a premium, the course designer had created a tight layout, with several twists and turns, requiring careful riding for the horse to keep its balance.
On landing, she let him take a stride to steady before shifting her weight and giving the aid to switch his leading leg. Eyes focused ahead, she directed him around a sharp turn and lined him up for a series of related fences running down the long side of the arena. A quick adjustment of his stride and he was placed for takeoff at the exact place she wanted, leaving him with a perfect four strides to the second spread fence and another three to the final pink and white gate. Buck cleared the first two fences without a rattle, and motored at pace toward the gate, five strides away. As soon as he landed, she gave another aid to change leg and direction before lowering her weight deep in the saddle and driving him toward a maximum height and width oxer. With a haughty shake of his head, he sailed over.
Two more simple fences followed, with neither posing a problem for Buck. Not letting her concentration lapse for a moment, Sophie held him collected through the last turn. Only a double, both elements maximum height and separated by two strides, stood between Buck, the finishing line and victory. Positioning the horse perfectly at the first upright fence was crucial. Take off too early and Buck would struggle to reach the second oxer comfortably, which would then put him at risk of a run-out or dropping a pole.
Sophie had walked the course with care, measuring strides between fences and working out where she’d need to tighten Buck or give him more rein. But as he came off the turn and saw the finish, Buck charged forward in excitement, his stride lengthening. Sophie checked him, expecting him to fight and put in at least another long stride, but to her dismay he came to hand immediately, muddling her split-second calcul
ation. Though she tried to correct him, they approached the fence out of stride, forcing Buck to put in a little hop and take off close to the base. With a grunt he heaved himself up, Sophie urging him on with her seat and hands. He cleared the top rail and landed cleanly but came down so tight on the other side he was left no choice but to try and insert three short strides in a space designed for two.
As soon as took off, Sophie knew they were gone. They were simply too close. The front rail of the oxer fell with a clatter, the back rail falling almost immediately after. Buck cantered through the finish line snorting and tossing his head while Sophie shook her own in disappointment. In her heart, though, she couldn’t help but feel elated by his performance. Buck had done his best.
Things were looking up.
Hakea Lodge was quiet when Sophie pulled in on Monday morning. She sat in the Range Rover, peering through the windscreen and wondering where to find Aaron. Rugged horses hung their heads over the rails of their yards and stared at her with curiosity. Like Vanaheim, Hakea Lodge was arranged in a quadrangle, with a wide-verandahed limestone cottage set back from the road, utility and feed rooms at right angles, and two whitewashed stables opposite. Sand-filled open yards, fitted with three-sided corrugated iron shelters and backed by aging pines, extended from the stables to the east, ending with a lunging ring dug into a sandy slope. But where Vanaheim sparkled with colour and care, Hakea Lodge, though scrupulously clean, drooped with tiredness. An effort had been made here and there – a painted horseshoe on the feed-room door, a camellia planted in an old wine barrel by the stable – but overall, the yard had the melancholy appearance of a place doing it tough.
Sophie walked up the stairs to Aaron’s back door, excited at the prospect of taking Rowdy home. Before she could knock, the door opened.
‘Hi,’ said Aaron, stepping onto the verandah. ‘I’ve just made a cuppa. Do you want one?’
‘I’d love one, thanks. Knowing Justin, he’ll be late, ‘she said, referring to the vet she’d booked to inspect Rowdy and make sure he was sound. She waited for Aaron to wave her inside, but he remained where he was, looking grim. Unease slithered up her spine and spread across her neck in a rash of goosebumps.
‘Rowdy’s all right, isn’t he? Don’t tell me something’s happened to him? Oh, God. I knew I should’ve stayed.’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. Rowdy’s fine.’
‘Well, what then? Something’s up, I can tell by your face.’
‘Look, Soph, there’s been a change of plan. Rowdy’s not for sale.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry.’
Sophie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Is this some sort of joke?’
He shook his head.
‘But you promised. You specifically said that if he ran last, I could buy him. You can’t get much more last than falling.’
Aaron spoke with infuriating calm. ‘He would’ve won if it wasn’t for the fall.’
‘You don’t know that!’
‘Come on, Sophie. You saw him. He would’ve bolted home. That horse proved himself talented enough to win the Springbank Cup.’
Fury made Sophie tremble. She wanted to stamp on his foot, or kick him in the shins until he was left hopping on one leg from the pain. It had never occurred to her that he would renege on the deal.
‘I should’ve known you’d never keep your word. My father’s right. You Laidlaws are nothing but cheats.’ She glared at him and then stomped down the stairs and across the yard to her car, slapping her hand against the aluminium side of the horse float as she passed. At the sudden noise, the yard came alive with the snorts and clatter of startled horses.
‘Sophie!’
She ignored him and climbed into the Range Rover. He banged on the driver’s side window, yelling at her to open up. She started the engine, staring straight ahead, so angry her head felt like it was about to burst. Aaron opened the rear door and slid along the bench seat.
Sophie whipped around to glare at him. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get out of my car.’
‘I’m not proud of what I’m doing, Soph, but the yard needs winners to keep going. That’s why I can’t sell him.’
‘Well, I wasn’t exactly taking him for free, was I?’ She pulled an envelope from her shirt pocket and waved it at him. ’Five grand’s hardly nothing.’
‘It’s not just the money,’ said Aaron softly. ‘Winners attract owners and quality horses, and I need more if Hakea Lodge is going to survive. And if there’s one thing I care about, it’s that. If that means I have to break our deal, then I’m sorry.’
Sophie felt her anger evaporate and resignation settle in its place. She’d have to look for another horse. Rowdy’s days as a steeplechaser weren’t over yet. ‘I just had my heart set on him, that’s all.’
He gripped her shoulder. ‘I know. There’ll be others. You’ll see.’
Sophie stared at her hands. She’d been so excited, and now she felt miserable. He was right, of course. There would be other horses, but not like Rowdy. He was special. He would have made her a champion. People would have noticed her, loved her even. Patted her on the back and told her how good she was, how talented, how proud they were.
‘I’d better call Justin,’ she said. She dug around in the console for her mobile phone. ‘How’s Danny?’
‘Not good. He’ll be out of action for a fair while.’ Aaron sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t afford to hire another stable jockey. It’ll cost a small fortune just to get one for trackwork.’
Sophie stopped scrolling through her list of contacts and twisted around in the seat to face him. ‘I can help. I can’t do trackwork, but I can do your fitness training.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t afford to pay you.’
‘You won’t have to. We’ll make a deal.’
He regarded her with suspicion. ‘What sort of deal?’
‘I’ll help you here, but at the end of the jumps season, you sell me Rowdy for the five thousand we originally agreed on.’
He didn’t say anything, just stared out over the yard.
‘Come on, Aaron. It’s a good deal. We both get what we want.’
He turned back to her. ‘What about your horses? ‘
‘You’ll only need me in the mornings. I can work them in the afternoons. The only time you’ll have to do without me is when there’s a competition, and I’m turning the horses out at the end of April, so I can’t see it being a problem.’
‘You trust me enough to sell you Rowdy at the end?’
Sophie grinned, knowing she had her deal. ‘Don’t be daft. This time, I’m going to get it in writing.’
Three
Aaron swore as water shuddered through Hakea Lodge’s aging pipes. He twisted off the tap and stared out of the kitchen window at his mother’s overgrown and tangled vegetable garden. Ten years she’d been gone and yet some plants still survived, as though her spirit lingered, like a shadow that kept him from ever enjoying the warmth of the sun.
Pumpkin seemed to dominate everything, but thistles, marshmallow and the brown stalks of frostbitten mint were putting up a fight. Against the limestone-block fence that separated the garden from the yard and sheltered it from the prevailing wind, a warped row of tomato stakes stuck out at angles, like a giant’s version of the children’s game Pick Up Sticks. In the centre of the plot, slowly losing its battle against time and neglect, stood a solitary thorned Lisbon lemon tree, its fruit speckled with brown olive scale and dusted with sooty mould. An allegorical Hakea Lodge – still standing, still enduring, but crying out for attention.
Aaron tried the tap again, this time letting the water run until the air cleared the pipe. He filled the kettle and put it on the hotplate of the kitchen’s combustion stove, and stood by the oven warming himself.
On the table sat Sophie’s agreement. She’d worked fast, dropping the envelope around Tuesday lunchtime with a cheery smile, confident he’d sign. He�
��d read it twice and still didn’t completely understand it. The solicitor’s torturous language made his head swim. When Sophie had said she wanted the agreement in writing, he wasn’t expecting a contract written in legalese.
We highly recommend you seek independent legal advice regarding this matter.
As if he could afford a solicitor. He could barely afford the vet. Or the farrier. Or the feed supplier.
The solicitor had covered everything, from how Rowdy’s future winnings would be distributed to what would happen in the event Hakea Lodge became insolvent. From Aaron’s understanding, ownership of Rowdy transferred to Sophie the moment he signed the contract. A peppercorn lease arrangement allowed him to race the horse and keep the majority of his winnings. If Hakea Lodge went under, he couldn’t even sell Rowdy to keep the yard afloat, although Sophie’s five thousand would be released from the solicitor’s escrow account. Too bad if the horse was winning everything in sight. But then, if Rowdy was winning, he’d have owners knocking on his door and Hakea Lodge wouldn’t be in financial difficulty.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and then dug his knuckles hard into his forehead. He should have known better than to deal with a Dixon. They had caused him and his father nothing but trouble.
But he owed Sophie. More than he hoped she would ever know.
At eight the following morning, Sophie’s Range Rover pulled up like a sleek, expensive show pony alongside Aaron’s world-weary carthorse of a Land Cruiser. Aaron stood on the verandah with a cup of tea in his hands, watching her. He’d called her Tuesday evening to say he’d signed and then spent a sleepless night worrying about her presence in the yard. Whether she could handle the horses. Whether she would be able to handle him.
He took a sip of tea, using the mug to cover his smile when he saw her outfit. Slip a black riding coat on her and she’d look set for a day’s hunting in the English countryside.