The Way Back
Page 1
PRAISE FOR
KYLIE LADD
Mothers and Daughters
‘If you enjoy closely drawn stories with the complexities and puzzles of female relationships at their core, you’ll appreciate this.’ Adelaide Review
‘Can you trust your friends? Are you satisfied in your marriage? Do you have a clue what’s going on in the mind of your lovely teenager—or BFF? The novel offers lots of touchpoints for midlife mums.’ Sunday Age
‘This is one book my daughter and I might well read from different viewpoints. Hilarious, emotional, full of tension, bitchiness, drunken confessions, bad behaviour, panic attacks, first-time sex and teenage pregnancies—there really isn’t very much that isn’t covered in this no-holds-barred look at a mother-daughter holiday. Six mothers, six teenage daughters, taking time out at an Aboriginal community mission north of Broome. A candid and entertaining read.’ Newcastle Herald
‘Ladd understands the complex relationships between women—and family—incredibly well.’ Adelaide Advertiser
‘Kylie is a writer of great empathy; that quality is at the heart of her novels, I think. And it’s deeply attractive. Empathy is one of the reasons we read; to enter other lives, other people’s heads, and find out what it’s like to be them. And when we experience things through the perspectives of characters we can identify with, those characters give us a valuable window onto other experiences … Something Mothers and Daughters does especially well is to look at complexities of various kinds, and try to understand them.’ Jo Case, The Wheeler Centre
‘… one of my most anticipated reads this year … I felt like I knew these people. Each character had a fully fleshed out personality and backstory. It all felt so real. Something which is hard to achieve with big a cast of characters in such a brief novel. This is contemporary Australian fiction at its best … beautiful, strong and thoroughly enjoyable.’ The Unfinished Bookshelf
‘Mothers and Daughters is an affirmation of the ideal of female community: the interpersonal tensions, betrayals, insecurities and individual crises are transcended by the idea of friends helping each other out. Ladd does this with great skill. She excels in the creation of emotional arcs that engage the reader … This is a feel-good story, but one that doesn’t lose sight of imperfection as it delivers warmth.’ Weekend Australian
Into My Arms
‘Ladd offers insightful observations about the challenges and conundrums humans confront …’ Adelaide Advertiser
‘Into My Arms is a searing love story and gripping family drama—a shocking, haunting novel in the tradition of Jodi Picoult and Caroline Overington.’ Mamamia
‘Into My Arms is a haunting look at relationships with a surprise that will shock you.’ Mamamia
Last Summer
‘Vivid characters as recognisable as your own family and friends, facing the challenges that affect us all, make this a very human read.’ Better Homes and Gardens
‘Intelligent, sophisticated and deeply Australian.’ Caroline Overington, author of The One Who Got Away
‘… an absorbing and compelling tale about the fragility of human relationships, and how we can never know with certainty what the future holds and, when it arrives, how we will react.’ Good Reading
‘… riveting … presents a vivid snapshot of contemporary suburban Australia and how we live now.’ News Mail
‘In a poignant, intelligent, believable and acutely observed tale Ladd delves into her characters’ imperfections without judging them or poking fun, and she tells us things about ourselves.’ Adelaide Advertiser
‘… a stunning exploration of loss, life, families and friendships … begins with a punch and within the first few pages I had laughed, cried and held my breath as I read on. The pace never falters and I found the writing and storyline literally breathtaking … written so beautifully and honestly.’ Writing Out Loud
‘An insightful, natural storyteller.’ The Australian Women’s Weekly
‘It is clear on reading Last Summer, though, that Ladd is an artist, first and foremost. Her ability to reproduce the phrasing of a liar, to provide meaning with an action left half done, to describe the slow and painful progress of someone attempting to clamber over the ramparts of a wounded heart, these cannot be reduced to her professional interest in human psychology. We must conclude that an artist’s instinct and craft is at work here, too.’ Booktopia
After the Fall
‘… a subtle, moving and perceptive story of love, loss and hope.’ The Sydney Morning Herald
‘I loved After the Fall. I absolutely devoured it … Kylie’s writing is so beautifully descriptive, capturing emotions and moments in a few delicious phrases. And her characters are so real, so vividly drawn in all their complexities, that re-reading the novel seemed to be a re-visiting of old friends.’ Kerri Sackville, MamaMia
‘A fascinating dissection of infidelity told from the point of view of two couples. Voyeuristic in its storytelling, After the Fall is a gripping insight into the anatomy of an affair, in the tradition of Anita Shreve, Josephine Hart and Anne Tyler.’ Maitland Mercury
‘Ladd illustrates just what makes human interactions so difficult.’ Oz Baby Boomers
‘An engrossing dissection of an illicit affair … the reader is swept along by the intensity of the characters’ emotions. A fascinating insight … riveting.’ Townsville Bulletin
‘A dissection of deceit and the heady days of new love.’ Bayside Bulletin
‘Starting an affair is like falling—there’s the initial thrilling sense of plunging, followed by out-of-control plummeting, and, inevitably, pain. That’s how author Kylie Ladd describes it in this story of a friendship between two couples that ends in an affair. Told from the perspective of each person, the book has a deliciously voyeuristic feel that will have you hooked.’ Cosmopolitan
‘This gripping novel examines the nitty-gritty of the affair and how it affects each person involved. From gentle Cary, who was hoping to start a family with Kate, to Cressida, coping with her dying father and her husband’s infidelity, to playboy Luke and indecisive Kate, all four react in very different ways. I found it hard to put this book down, and it stayed with me long after I had finished it … five stars.’ NZ Girl
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kylie Ladd is a novelist and freelance writer. She has published four novels: After the Fall, Last Summer, which was highly commended in the FAW Christina Stead Award for fiction, Into My Arms, chosen as one of Get Reading’s ‘50 books you can’t put down’ for 2013, and Mothers and Daughters. Kylie holds a PhD in neuropsychology and lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children.
First published in 2017
Copyright © Kylie Ladd 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Email: info@allenandunwin.com
Web: www.allenandunwin.com
Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia
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Print ISBN 978 1 76029 713 8
eBook ISBN 978 1 76063 908 2
&nb
sp; For Eloise, who should have been my classmate.
CONTENTS
BEFORE
DURING
AFTER
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ALSO BY KYLIE LADD
BEFORE
Tic Tac shifted beneath her, blowing slightly. He didn’t know why they’d stopped. Charlie wasn’t completely sure herself. They usually cantered here, where the trail ran along an open ridge before descending once more into bushland; she would spur him on and lean forward on his neck, his pewter mane tickling her nose. This time, though, as the trees petered out and the sun broke through the clouds to illuminate the path ahead of them, Charlie found herself easing him back. Partly it was because of Ivy, who had fallen behind. Gia, who ran the pony club, was always banging on about it: they were to stick together, to watch out for one another. Duchess was slower than Tic Tac, not that Ivy would ever admit that. Ivy admitted nothing, least of all that her own mount, a rangy stock horse her parents had given her for Christmas, could be in any way inferior to a pony leased through the local club.
‘You’re alright, though, aren’t you, Ticcy?’ Charlie stood up in her stirrups and stretched to scratch between his ears. The grey nickered and tossed his head. It was the only sound in the world. No birds, no wind, just the landscape holding its breath as the sky lifted and the trail unfurled before them, golden in the afternoon light.
It was perfect, everything was perfect, and this was why she had stopped, Charlie realised. Because she wanted to absorb the moment, inhale it, hold onto it forever. She would never forget it, she promised herself: the heat rising from Tic Tac’s flanks, the hills around her bathed in sunshine, even the way her pony stood with one ear pricked forward and the other turned back, awaiting her signal. She patted his neck, the saddle creaking beneath her. For years she’d begged her parents for a horse, begged and pleaded and bargained and nagged, and finally she had one. Not quite her horse, admittedly, but close enough. The pony club still owned him and had first dibs for their learn-to-ride program on Tuesday afternoons and Saturday mornings, but apart from that he was hers. Hers to catch, hers to groom and feed and care for, hers to ride out over the paddocks and into the bush whenever she liked, as long as she had another rider with her. For the first week after the lease had been signed she hadn’t even done that. It had been enough just to be with him, to quietly stand in his stall, one hand on his withers while he nosed in her pockets for a sugar cube, the air around them rich with the scents of hay and horses and leather polish.
Gia had come across them like that one day. Charlie had expected her to scoff—Gia was always scoffing at them, at their messy Hunter knots, at the way Ivy bounced in a canter—but she’d put down the bucket she was carrying and smiled.
‘He likes that,’ she’d said. ‘He likes company. It’s hard to bring some of the others in in the morning—they see me coming with the halter and they’re off—but not Tic Tac. Sometimes he’s even standing by the fence, waiting. I don’t need an apple or anything.’
‘I know,’ Charlie had replied shyly. You didn’t usually talk to Gia, you just did what she said. ‘When I lead him out to the paddock after pony club I shut the gate and he just stays there, or he looks back at me over his shoulder as if he’s trying to get me to change my mind.’
Gia laughed. ‘Yeah, he does. Tic Tac’s quiet, but he’s not stupid. He knows what’s going on. You’re a good match, you two. He was my first thought when your mum approached me about the lease, but I wouldn’t have agreed to it for just anyone.’ She picked up the bucket, water sloshing out of it onto her boots. ‘I’m glad you’re riding him,’ she’d said as she walked away.
It was the closest Gia had ever come to giving her a compliment. Usually she only gave orders. Charlie had joined the pony club when she was nine, and had wanted to quit it almost immediately, so terrified had she been of Gia. There was just so much of her: big hands, big hair, big voice. Gia was as tall as Charlie’s father, and so strongly built that the first time she’d helped Charlie onto a horse she’d given her such a boost that Charlie had almost sailed straight over the other side and onto the ground. Gia had stood there, her large breasts shaking with laughter, while Charlie clung on grimly upside down. Still, Charlie thought, she’d learned to mount pretty quickly after that. She’d learned a lot from Gia in the past four years—about stable care, dressage, and to always put her pony’s needs before her own. Every horse in the club trusted her and would do as she asked. She’d also learned that Gia was fair, and that she’d only yell at stupidity, not ignorance.
Tic Tac fidgeted beneath her, impatient to be off again. ‘Ssssh,’ said Charlie. ‘We have to wait for Ivy.’
It had all started with the birthday party of a friend. She couldn’t even remember who it was now, but it had been in grade two and there had been a bouncy castle, a pink cake with a Barbie on top and a bored teenager hauling a reluctant Shetland pony around the perimeter of a suburban backyard. Charlie had been looking forward to the bouncy castle, but once she’d waited her turn for the pony, once she’d clambered on and felt how high she was and the roll of its gait beneath her she was hooked. She got off when the teenager told her to, then went to the back of the line and waited to get on again, over and over and over while all the pink cake was eaten and the castle slowly deflated in the twilight. When she got home all she could talk about was the Shetland.
She hadn’t realised it at the time, but she’d been lucky that her parents had found her one of the few pony clubs that offered a program for riders without horses. Most clubs, she learned, were for people who already owned a horse. Every Saturday afternoon, however, the riders without horses program gave those who weren’t so lucky a chance not only to learn how to ride, but to experience everything else that went with it: catching and grooming and saddling a horse, mucking out its stall, feeding it and rugging it up again afterwards. Charlie had attended for four years now, never missing a week apart from the time she’d had chicken pox, gradually working her way up from the beginner group being bossed about by Gia to the second-highest level. Her instructor this year was Hannah, who at sixteen was only a few years older than Charlie herself. Charlie hoped that one day she’d be an instructor too. She’d be firm, like Gia, but friendly, like Hannah, and whenever she imagined it she was riding Tic Tac, though she knew in her heart that she’d have outgrown him by then. She reached down to pat his neck again, to reassure him—and herself—that that day was still some time away. It was why her mum and dad would only lease her a horse, not buy one: because she’d get too big for it, or it would get sick or go lame, and they didn’t want to take the risk. Really, Charlie knew, it was because they couldn’t afford to. They didn’t have the money to splash around like Ivy’s parents.
A dragonfly alighted on Tic Tac’s rump and he flicked his tail at it, sending it on its way. Charlie watched as it rose into the sky, wings glinting in the sunlight, then started. An old man was standing in the bush about twenty metres from the track, silently observing her. It was difficult to see him, his long khaki coat blending into the trees, but she was sure he hadn’t been there when she and Tic Tac had stopped. Why was he wearing a coat, anyway? It was much too warm for that.
‘Hello,’ she called out. ‘I didn’t see you. Are you lost?’
It was rare to come across anyone all the way out here. There were no roads, only makeshift bridle paths winding their way through the eucalypts.
‘Hello,’ he replied. His voice creaked like an old gate, rusty with disuse.
‘Are you lost?’ Charlie asked again. The man shook his head but continued to stare at her, his eyes on the tumble of hair hanging over her shoulder. Charlie flicked it back and returned his gaze. It was odd, how he’d just materialised like that, as if he’d been dropped there by a spaceship. She would have thought that she’d have heard him coming, or that Tic Tac would at least. Not much got past Tic Tac. The pony sensed her apprehension and whinnied softly, both grey ears ba
ck. ‘It’s OK, Ticcy,’ Charlie soothed. Maybe the old man was some sort of tramp, or he was homeless. He was certainly dirty, as if he’d been sleeping rough, and in that case he probably needed some food. She should tell Gia about him, see if Gia knew anything or could do something to help, though of course the park was so big it would probably be hard to find him again.
‘Are you OK?’ she began, but just then there was the thunder of hooves at her back and Ivy flew past on Duchess, whooping loudly.
‘Come on, slow coach. Bet I can beat you home!’
Charlie gathered her reins and flicked them across Tic Tac’s neck. He leapt forward, not needing to be asked twice, immediately breaking into a gallop. Charlie grabbed the front of the saddle and glanced behind her as they took off after Ivy. The man was still watching her.
Rachael squinted at the clock on the dashboard, swerving slightly. 4.55 pm. Damn. Pony club was still at least 20 minutes away. She was going to be late. Not that Charlie would care—Charlie would be quite happy to be left there all weekend—but Gia would be sure to raise an eyebrow and mutter something under her breath. Gia always did. The only time Rachael ever saw her smile was when she was talking to one of the horses. She was practically part-horse herself, with those long teeth and her heavy haunches, the jodhpurs that always looked a size too small. That’s enough, Rachael chided herself. She was being cruel. Worse, small-minded. It was a habit she seemed to fall into every time she was stressed, a defence mechanism, maybe, a way of distracting herself from her own inadequacies. Lord knows, there were enough to be distracted from.
Dan, for a start. Rachael sighed. Why was it that she couldn’t talk to her own son? She talked to people all the time—she negotiated, she listened, she found solutions. It was an important, even central, part of her job. As curator of the Children’s Gallery at the Melbourne Museum she was responsible for keeping the exhibits interesting, relevant and exciting, but to do that she had to sell them to the decision-makers first. She had to talk to sponsors, the Museum board, her own direct boss; she had to communicate her ideas over and over and over again. She was used to that—she was good at it. So why was it that she suddenly clammed up every time she came near Dan?