Promises

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘Really? And why would that be?’

  ‘You’re too young to remember, but it was a nasty business that with his old man. People said he might have been in on it too. You don’t want to end up tarred with the same brush.’

  ‘You know what, David?’ said Sophie, not bothering to hide her dislike. ‘People talk too much – about things they know absolutely nothing about.' David’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t care. It served him right for treating her like an idiot. She’d probably pay for her rudeness, though. The Chinese whispers would start with the pony club fraternity and finish in her father’s ear. Then there’d be trouble.

  Sophie laid a bet with herself on how long it would take her father to ring. She gave him until the following evening, but this time she wasn’t going to take his criticism. And she certainly wasn’t going to listen to his talk of her never considering his position. With the exception of a disastrous attempt at rebellion in her early teens, of which she was still deeply ashamed, Sophie had spent her life trying to please him. She treated everyone from her teachers to the local supermarket checkout girls with polite respect. Just like her father wanted.

  Everything she did, she did with dogged determination, believing that one day her efforts would be recognised, that every top cattle price, every bountiful hay crop, every trophy, blue ribbon or equestrian accolade she earned would warm her father’s cold heart a little bit more. But still no words of praise passed his lips, and she was beginning to realise they never would. A realisation that made her not only sad, but increasingly resentful.

  As the truck rattled down the drive, the condemned horses called out to their kin, but Hakea Lodge’s animals paid them little attention, as though fearing acknowledgement would endanger their own lives. Silence settled back over the yard, with only the whistle of the wind and scuttle of fallen leaves to break the quiet. As hope for some faded, life for others went on.

  Sophie walked back to Aaron.

  He handed her Costa Motza’s lead. ‘I take it he’s yours.’

  She smiled and scratched Costa Motza under the chin. ’Oh, well. I always wanted to own a racehorse. So do I have to sign anything?’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, surely there’s some contract when you hire a trainer.’

  The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched. ‘You want me to train him?’

  ‘Well, der,’ said Sophie, rolling her eyes. ‘Of course I do. I can’t do it, can I? I don’t have a licence.’

  ‘You do realise he probably won’t win anything.’

  She grinned at him. ‘O ye of little faith. With me riding his exercise, of course he’ll win something.’

  Aaron shook his head and Sophie could see he was trying not to laugh. She liked it when he was happy. In her limited experience, smiles from Aaron Laidlaw were rarities. She felt like he’d given her something precious, a little treasure, just for her.

  ‘I don’t mean to put a dampener on things, or doubt your ability as an exercise rider, but as lovely an animal as Costa Motza is, he’s not a racehorse’s backside.’

  Sophie grabbed Costa Motza by the halter and shook it. ‘You hear that? Your own trainer thinks you’re a dud.’ She kissed the horse’s nose. ‘But we’ll show him, won’t we? You’re going to win the Harrington Gold Cup.’

  ‘Um, Sophie. You do realise that’s a race for stayers, and Costa Motza’s a sprinter – and not a very good one at that.’

  ‘Maybe that’s been his problem all along. He’s been in the wrong class.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt it, but if you want to waste money on the horse, I’m not going to argue.’

  Sophie winked at him. ‘At least you’ve got that part of the trainer-owner relationship righ.’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t bet on it, Sophie. Don’t bet on it.’

  ‘Speaking of money,’ she said, feeling her cheeks redden. She didn’t want to bring it up, but if Aaron really was to be Costa Motza’s trainer, the subject of payment had to be discussed. ‘I don’t suppose we can do some sort of a deal with the fees?’

  Aaron stared at her.

  In her embarrassment, Sophie’s words came out in a rush.

  ‘I actually don’t have a lot of money. Not cash money of my own, anyway, because Vanaheim’s held in trust until I turn twenty-five. I only draw a wage from the farm and it’s not a huge amount. And I know you probably think I’m loaded because of all the gear I have and everything, but Dad buys most of that, even though I don’t ask for it, because he thinks it makes up for not being here.’

  ‘Soph.’

  ‘I could ask the trustees for some money but I doubt they’d give it to me to pay for running a racehorse, but I can do a contra deal with some lucerne hay if you think that would —’

  ‘Sophie!’

  She took a deep breath. Her heart banged hard against her ribs. Humiliated by her outburst, she stared at the ground and dug a hole with her toe in the gravel, wishing she could keep digging until it was big enough for her to hide in.

  Aaron grabbed her hand and tugged. She flopped down next to him on the step and buried her face in her hands. Costa Motza nuzzled at her hair, his breath warm on her scalp.

  ‘Life’s a bit of a mess sometimes,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. I know.’

  Sophie sat up and squeezed her hands between her knees. ‘Sorry. Despite all appearances to the contrary I’m actually not screwed up. At least, not any more. I’m boringly normal usually.’

  For a moment, he didn’t reply and when he spoke, his voice was very quiet. ‘You don’t have to apologise to me, Sophie. Ever.’

  She smiled slightly. ‘Even when I’m being an idiot?’

  He nudged her with his shoulder. ‘Even then.’ He grabbed the empty apple bowl and stood. ‘Do you think you could handle taking Rowdy for a spin?’

  The change of subject was a relief. He hadn’t commented on her situation. She knew they’d have to come back to it, but it would be easier now he knew she didn’t have complete control over her own life. In less than three years’ time, though, things would change. She would stand on her own, mistress of Vanaheim, master of her own destiny.

  And that day would be glorious.

  She stood up to face him. ‘I seemed to handle Psycho okay. I’m sure I can cope with a big sook like Rowdy.’

  ‘Well, you’d better saddle him up before he kicks the wall out of his stable.’ He turned to go into the house and then stopped. ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  He nodded at Costa Motza. ‘Thanks.’

  Rowdy wasn’t the dream ride Sophie had anticipated. The wind tossed rubbish, twigs and uprooted dead weeds across the track for the horse to shy at. With flared nostrils and boggling eyes, Rowdy pranced and skittered, and snorted at every tumbling tangle of mustard weed that crossed his path.

  ‘At least he doesn’t pull like Psycho,’ she said.

  Aaron grinned. ‘No one pulls like Psycho. How were your arms this morning?’

  Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Five centimetres longer than yesterday.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Yeah, when I look like a male body builder.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Aaron. ‘Sexy.’

  ‘Only if you’re gay.’ She peered at him. ‘You aren’t, are you? I mean, I couldn’t care less if you were, but I’m going to be in enough trouble when my dad finds out I’m working here without you being gay as well.’

  ‘Homophobic and a lying, cheating prick. Why aren’t I surprised?’ He shot her an apologetic look. ‘Sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I know you aren’t his biggest fan. You didn’t answer my question though.’

  ‘And what question was that?’

  They reached the turn in the road, the horses jog-trotting as they anticipated the run up the slope ahead. As they entered the firebreak, Sophie heard her ears pop as the wind dropped. The silence felt strange, intimate, like they’d suddenly left a noisy party together for the
quiet comfort of a back room. She looked at Aaron, sitting easily on a pretty, dapple-grey filly called Pollyanna, who was as sweet-natured as she looked. Along with Rowdy, Pollyanna was the only other horse in the yard he owned.

  ‘I asked you if you were gay,’ she said.

  ‘Why? Are you hoping I am?’

  Sophie swallowed. What to answer? Yes, in one way she hoped he was because then she could forget about the odd way he sometimes made her feel. Forget about the flutter of wings in her stomach whenever he smiled, the quickening of her heartbeat when he touched her, the need to act tougher in his presence than she sometimes felt.

  Or should she say no, she hoped he wasn‘t? That she liked the emotions he evoked, that she wanted to experience more of these sensations because it made her feel alive and pushed away the demons that still lurked in the dark recesses of her mind.

  He looked at her, his expression serious. ‘I’m not gay, Sophie. I like women. A lot. But you’re safe with me. I won’t lay a finger on you, I promise.’

  Sophie looked away and into the darkness of the pine forest. Of course he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. For starters, she was a Dixon. She placed her hand on Rowdy’s warm neck, drawing comfort from the animal.

  ‘It’s not that you aren’t pretty.’

  She glanced at him, checking his sincerity. No one ever called her pretty. She was plain little Sophie. Always had been, always would be.

  He studied her for a moment, and Sophie squirmed under his scrutiny, positive he was searching for words to moderate his statement without hurting her feelings.

  ‘You don’t think so, do you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Well, you are,’ he said quietly. ‘And don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not.’

  Sophie stared at him, hoping he wasn’t making fun of her. She didn’t think she could stand it if he were. They weren’t just neighbours any more, they were friends. And even if he sometimes acted weird, and looked at her with secrets hidden behind his eyes, she knew he liked her. She’d made him smile.

  ‘I bet your mum told you that you were beautiful all the time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Christ, I’m sorry.’

  When she looked at him, he had turned away and was staring into the forest on the opposite side of the track. Was he thinking about Fiona Dixon?

  An awful thought struck her. What if Aaron had been in love with her mother? He’d been a teenager when she died, with rampaging hormones and thoughts of women and sex no doubt constantly running through his brain. And he’d once before commented on her mother’s attractiveness. Maybe he missed her too.

  Sophie realised she felt jealous of her own mother. A woman who’d been dead for ten years. No doubt about it, Tess was right. She was screwed up. She kicked Rowdy and let him have his head, as if she could gallop away from her terrible thoughts and leave them behind on the sandy track to be blown away like dust.

  Aaron caught up and cantered alongside, but they didn’t speak again until they reached Dixon Road. Rowdy had settled and his long, loping stride helped Sophie control her wayward mind.

  At the corner, Aaron halted Pollyanna. Sophie pulled Rowdy to a stop and waited for him to speak. She focused on Vanaheim, counting cattle she already knew the number of, trying to remain impassive in case her face gave away the awful truth.

  ‘Sophie, can I say something?’

  She nodded, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a long breath and let it out.

  ‘I know the situation’s not ideal, and it’s not what I wanted, but we’re stuck with each other now.’

  ‘Aaron ——’

  He held up his hand. ‘Just let me finish. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, and over the last day or so I’ve managed to say some pretty stupid things, and I’m sorry. If the mention of your father or your mother upsets you, then I won’t talk about them.’

  ‘Were you in love with her?’ The words tumbled from her mouth. Irretrievable. Shameful. She squeezed her eyes shut. How much more of an embarrassment was she going to make of herself?

  He blinked, then opened his mouth and shut it again, frowning. ‘Did you just ask me if I was in love with your mother?’

  She nodded, and at first his face simply registered disbelief, but then it changed, taking on a sadness that made her throat burn, as if his sorrow was somehow contagious.

  ‘No, Sophie, I wasn’t in love with your mother. I was a stupid, selfish teenage boy. I didn’t know how to love anyone.’

  ‘Least of all a Dixon,’ said Sophie, her heart sinking.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said bleakly. ‘Least of all a Dixon.’

  Five

  Sophie was wrong. It took less than half a day for word to reach her father. He called, but neither Vanaheim’s house phone nor Sophie’s mobile rang. Instead, Ian Dixon rang his faithful attack dog.

  Sophie had just finished working Buck in the all-weather riding arena and was walking him back to the stables when her aunt turned up. In typical contemptuous Tess fashion, she brought her old Toyota to a halt by disengaging the clutch and letting the ute coast into a fencepost, as if brakes were too precious to waste on something as pedestrian as stopping a vehicle. Sophie gritted her teeth. It was all right for Tess, she wasn’t the one who’d have to get the crowbar and strainer out to fix the post. Sophie had a good mind to change every fence post on the farm to concrete.

  Tess picked her way across manure-strewn pasture toward her, but stopped a few metres short. She wasn’t Buck’s greatest fan and Sophie knew the feeling was mutual. Buck disliked Tess intensely, which was probably another reason Sophie persevered with him when deep down she suspected she and the horse weren’t suited.

  ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend, hey, Buck,’ Sophie murmured, stroking his neck as he propped and peered goggle-eyed at Tess.

  Tess stood with her arms crossed over what appeared to be one of her brother’s old flannelette shirts, as though she thought wearing Ian Dixon’s clothes would give her authority. She needn’t have bothered. Tess couldn’t convey authority if she tried. Not with her baggy, bloodshot eyes and trembling hands. The wind whipped rats’ tails of unbrushed grey-streaked brown hair around her head and pushed her too big shirt and ragged jeans against her gaunt frame. Although only in her forties, she looked twenty years older, and so thin one strong gust would see her tumbling end over end like an uprooted weed. There once existed a time when Sophie considered Tess good-looking, like Sophie’s father, but those days had long passed. Alcohol had exacted its toll.

  Sophie went on the offensive. ‘I take it Dad called. Now, why aren’t I surprised? What is it this time?’ She held up her hand. ‘No, don’t answer that. Let me think for a moment. Is it because I was rude to that pig, David Williams, or is it because I bought a racehorse?’

  She cocked her head at her aunt and was surprised to find Tess’s eyes clearer than usual, though still full of the spite that seemed to grow worse each day. Tess had never been motherly, but she’d looked after Sophie well enough, at least until Sophie’s dark years broke their relationship irreparably. Ever since, Tess had been hostile, no matter how much Sophie tried to make up for the pain she’d caused. Now, her aunt seemed to treat every encounter like a battle, and Sophie was beginning to tire of it.

  Tess’s cold, Dixon-grey stare told her this wasn’t going to be a run of the mill telling-off. This was serious. Sophie pressed her legs into Buck’s side, urging him forward and forcing Tess to follow, albeit at a safe distance from Buck’s hindquarters.

  Sammy and Del circled Sophie’s legs when she dismounted in front of the tack room, and she reached down to give them each a pat. Despite their chronic laziness, the heelers always seemed to know when she needed comfort. She removed Buck’s bridle, slipped a halter on him and tied his lead rope to a loop of bailing twine attached to a hitching rail.

  Tess remained silent, but Sophie knew she was using the time to decide tactics. Emotional blackmail wo
uld be the order of the day. Either the ‘think of your father and his position’ argument, or, if Tess really wanted to make a point, she’d fall back on the ‘your mother wouldn’t have liked this’ remonstrance. The latter was pulled out only rarely because it involved mentioning Fiona Dixon’s name, and if there was one thing Sophie knew, it was that Tess did not like talking about her late sister-in-law.

  Sophie tapped Buck’s offside fetlock. Obediently, he lifted his foot so she could pull off the rubber bell boot he wore to protect his heels from overstepping. Still waiting for Tess to speak, she dropped his leg and crouched down to unzip the Velcro fastening of his boot.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got some sort of crush on him,’ said Tess.

  Sophie blinked. That parry was unexpected. She ducked under Buck’s neck to start on his other leg.

  ‘Gigantic crush,’ she said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

  Sophie heard Tess’s sharp breath. Two could play her dirty game and Sophie had a feeling this was about to get very dirty.

  Tess took a step closer, her shirt flapping in the breeze. Buck shuffled his feet.

  ‘Sophie, I’m only telling you this for your own good. Keep away from Aaron Laidlaw. You know how fragile you are, especially when it comes to men.’

  Sophie stilled. She took two long breaths and exhaled slowly. She couldn’t let Tess see how much that barb had stung.

  ‘I was referring to the horse, Tess.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  Sophie carefully placed Buck’s boots in a pile by the hitching post, trying to maintain her temper, but Tess had smelt blood.

  ‘You know what happened last time you got involved with someone unsuitable. We don’t want a repeat of that, do we?’

  ‘That was seven years ago. And what would you care, anyway? You probably still wish I’d done a better job of it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Sophie. That’s just the sort of reaction I’d expect from you. Maybe you ought to go and see that shrink of yours again.’

  Sophie turned her back on Tess and busied herself with running the stirrups up the leathers of Buck’s saddle. Anything to stop herself from screaming, or turning on her aunt and doing something she’d regret. She was not screwed up. There was nothing wrong with her. She’d neither seen nor needed Dr Charlton for over five years.