by Kylie Ladd
It was all over before she knew it. Rachael sat for a moment as the dust she’d thrown up slowly drifted back down to earth, then turned off the engine. Nothing hurt. That was good. She hadn’t actually collided with anything herself; she was just jolted a little where the seatbelt had grabbed her. Rachael snatched up her phone. Please let it be Gia, she thought, but the text on the screen was from Matt. Hey there, pretty quiet here. Hope your day’s gone well xx.
Oh, it’s been great, she thought, with a sigh. She got out of the car and walked to the rear of the vehicle, wincing as she surveyed the damage. One panel, two—and the bumper bar lopsided, as if it had suffered a stroke. Damn. The tyres and the wheel rims were intact, though, so the car should still be OK to drive. She turned to climb back into her seat, rebuking herself. She shouldn’t have looked at her phone.
Rachael knew the moment she finally arrived at pony club to find Gia standing by the gate that Charlie wasn’t back. Their eyes met, and Gia slowly shook her head. Rachael parked the car and sat there for a moment, staring at her hands balled up in her lap, wondering if she needed to call Matt. Then she took a deep breath and got out.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked Gia without preamble.
Gia’s face was drawn. ‘Hannah’s still out. Maybe if we wait for her—’ she started to say before she was cut off by the thudding of hooves and Hannah cantering into the car park. She pulled her horse up alongside Rachael. Its flanks were heaving and there were flecks of lather caught in its mane like pearls. ‘I couldn’t find her,’ Hannah gasped, glancing between Gia and Rachael. ‘I’m so sorry. I looked and looked, but I was scared that if I stayed out much longer I’d get lost.’ Behind her, darkness was falling, shadows advancing across the hills like an army.
Cardiopulminary resuscitation. It kicked in, the monthly CPR training. Like everyone else in his crew, Matt bitched and moaned when the sessions rolled around, but doing it so regularly meant that once you were at a fire or an accident, knee-deep in chaos with a motionless body going grey in front of you, you didn’t stop to think about how to place your hands or how many compressions you had to do before you started the breaths, you just got in there and did them.
It had been the same with Rachael’s phone call. From the moment she had rung him, sobbing that Charlie had gone out on a ride and not come back, Matt’s mind had snapped straight into protocol. Searches weren’t something firies were often engaged in, but he’d been trained for this. He knew what to do. First, collect some spotlights from work, because it was getting dark and they’d need them in the bush. Also one of the first aid kits, in case Charlie was injured when they found her. He’d need a four-wheel drive, so they could access the fire tracks. He didn’t own one, but Richo, who was also on, did, and within two minutes the keys were in Matt’s pocket. Richo offered to come with him and Matt was tempted, but taking two of the crew wouldn’t fly with their boss. He’d swing by home and pick up Dan instead. Also some blankets and as many torches as he could find. As he climbed into Richo’s Land Cruiser he wondered if he should call ahead and tell Dan to make some sandwiches, but scotched the idea. They weren’t going to be out there that long. They could get something to eat on the drive back to town.
Dan didn’t say much in the car. Dan never said much. Usually Matt was cool with that, but for some reason tonight it irked him. Matt wanted to talk, he wanted to be distracted, not just stare at the white lines as they disappeared under the car, willing himself not to think about Charlie. If he thought too much about Charlie he’d be no use to anyone. His only hope to stay focussed, to get the job done as efficiently as he could, was to take her out of it altogether, to pretend—if he had to think about running a search—that it was someone else’s child he would be searching for. Some stranger whom he’d never met and didn’t care about.
‘What about the Blues this year?’ he asked Dan, who was gazing out the window into the darkness. ‘D’you reckon we’re any chance?’
Dan’s smile when he turned to him was weak. ‘Dunno. Hope so.’
Matt sighed to himself. Of course Dan didn’t know. Dan couldn’t give a shit about football. Matt had tried—he’d bought him a navy Carlton beanie and scarf and taken him to every game one long, frustrating season when Dan was six—but it hadn’t made an impact. Dan simply wasn’t interested in the game and had spent the whole four quarters staring at the sky or asking for snacks. It had killed Matt at first. He’d never told her, but when Rachael was pregnant he’d prayed for a boy. He wasn’t religious, but he’d prayed for a boy he could take to the footy, like his dad had taken him. Someone to exclaim with over the screamers and the dropped marks, to celebrate with after the one-point win or trudge back to the car beside on the afternoons that they weren’t good enough. And Dan had arrived and his heart had soared, but Dan simply wasn’t into footy. Matt had made his peace with it now. You had kids expecting, somehow, that they were going to be a carbon copy of you, were going to have the same interests, hold the same opinions, but of course that wasn’t true. They owed you nothing. On the contrary, it was you who did the owing, to protect them and look after them and love them just the same whether they were the next Jesaulenko or couldn’t pick Chris Judd out of a line up.
‘Do you think Charlie’s OK, Dad?’
In the half-light of the cab Dan’s eyes were anxious. Matt’s stomach clenched, and the irritation he’d been feeling drained away. How often, lately, had he seen that look? Dan just home from school and disappearing into his room; Dan at the dinner table, staring at his plate, barely talking while Charlie chattered on and on. It killed him, that look. It cut Matt to the core that there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Of course she is, mate,’ he said. ‘You know what our Charlie-girl’s like. She’s just gone into a dream and got herself lost. We’ll sort it out.’
But sorting it out wasn’t as easy as Matt had hoped. For a start, it had been almost impossible to find pony club. He had been there before, but never at night, and it turned out the club had precious few exterior lights.
‘We don’t usually need them,’ Gia had apologised when they finally arrived, which had made Matt even more worried than he already was. Gia never apologised. Then there was Rachael, who begged to come with him in the search for Charlie. She just about had to be peeled off him, finger by finger, like a child on the first day of school, when Matt and Gia insisted she shouldn’t.
‘You need to stay here,’ he told her. ‘Someone has to, in case she turns up, and I need to take Gia with me because she knows the land.’
‘I do, too.’ A slim girl of around fifteen or sixteen stepped forward from the gloom of Gia’s office. ‘I’m Hannah,’ she said. ‘I teach pony club. I’ve already been out searching for Charlie. I can show you where I looked, and where I didn’t.’
Matt nodded at her. ‘OK, then. Thanks. Dan, what about you stay with Mum?’
Dan shook his head. ‘I want to go with you. The more eyes the better. And if Charlie’s had a fall or she’s knocked out or something I can help you carry her.’ He glanced over at Rachael. ‘If. But she’s probably fine.’
Matt turned to his wife. ‘And she’ll want to see you if she gets back here while we’re out, so just sit tight, OK? I’ve got my phone. You’ve got yours. I’ll call you if we have any news, or you call me.’
Within half an hour Matt realised the task was hopeless. It was a cloudy night and Gia, in the passenger seat, struggled to find the fire tracks in the dark. Every rustle they heard was a rabbit or a possum or simply the wind. From the back seat, Dan and Hannah hung out the windows of the Land Cruiser, each holding a spotlight, but no matter where they shone them, the beams were swiftly swallowed up by the unrelenting night.
Matt stopped the car beside a burned-out eucalypt and brought a hand to his throat. His t-shirt was too tight, and he pulled it away. ‘How big is this area?’
‘Difficult to say,’ Gia replied. ‘It’s huge. I couldn’t guess.’
‘Try,’ Ma
tt barked. Something was swelling in his chest, inflating, shutting down his breathing. Fear. He swallowed hard, willing it away.
‘Twenty thousand square k, maybe? Thirty?’
Matt looked at her. ‘That’s massive. And you let kids ride out here, all alone?’
Gia shifted in her seat. ‘Only with your signed permission. Or Rachael’s, I think, in your case. But there’s never been a problem. It’s safe.’ She paused, then added, ‘Usually.’
Matt didn’t respond. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled triple zero.
A needle in a haystack. That was what it was bloody well going to be, a bloody needle in a bloody haystack. Sergeant Terry Blackwell took another swallow of his chocolate Big M. The guys at the station liked to rib him about his Big Ms, said it was a kids’ drink, and did he want a bag of mixed lollies to go with it, but Terry just ignored them. Even after thirty years in the force he’d never developed a taste for coffee, and that wasn’t going to change now. He’d latched on to the Big Ms the first time he was rostered on a night shift. He’d figured that the sugar would keep him awake just as well as caffeine would, and he’d been right. And, anyway, coffee made your breath stink, and that wasn’t a good look when you were interviewing members of the public, which he’d be doing quite a lot of today.
He’d already spoken with the parents, of course, poor buggers—the mother’s eyes huge in her pale face, the father’s grip firm when he’d shaken Terry’s hand. He’d liked the dad. He warmed to people who shook his hand. Surprisingly few did in his job. Terry checked his notes. Matt, that’s right. This Matt bloke was clearly as frightened as the mother, but he’d stood up and looked Terry in the eye when Terry entered the room; he’d held out his hand and thanked Terry for coming. He was keeping it together. You had to respect that.
Terry took another swig of Big M and checked his watch. It was a bit before six. The sun would be up soon, and then they could get started. He hadn’t been on duty when the alarm had first been raised around ten or eleven the night before, but the emergency services operator had dispatched the call to him, anyway. That was what happened when you were the only sergeant at a tiny station, and it was probably just as well. The new constable on the night desk would have shat himself if he’d had to organise anything. Terry yawned. He’d rung the guy who’d made the call—Matt, the missing girl’s father—but it was quickly apparent that there was no point heading out to meet him just yet. It was the middle of the night, or almost, and if he had to search the area of bushland he thought it was he’d need a team, plenty of manpower, maybe the SES, all of which took time to round up. Besides, the girl was just late back. She’d probably had a fight with her friend and was sulking, wanting to scare her. Worst case scenario, she’d fallen off her horse and hit her head, was lying unconscious under a tree somewhere, but even if so there was little chance of finding her before it was light. So he took down the details, reassured the parents and told them to sit tight, because she’d probably be back any minute; that he’d make some calls, get a team together and be there first thing on Sunday. Which he’d done, and then gone to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the missing girl’s mother. His own kids were grown up now, but he knew how much Shell still fretted over them, how she worried about if they were eating right or looking after themselves or if they’d done their tax returns. It would kill her if one went missing. Him too. He’d tossed and turned for a while, trying not to think about it, but in the end he’d given up, laid one hand on Shell’s sleeping back in a silent farewell, pulled on his boots and driven out to the pony club. He’d arrived about four and spoken with the parents and the pony club woman in the latter’s cluttered office, then sent them all off to their cars or the stables, wherever they could possibly catch an hour’s sleep, though he didn’t like their chances. After that he’d pored over the map he’d brought with him, planning the day ahead, but what he saw made his heart sink. Ridges, valleys and bush, so much bush. So many places to get lost. Why the hell had she been out there by herself? Bloody needle. Bloody haystack.
Giddy up horsey but the horsey wouldn’t giddy up even now that the girl was off it and he was leading it back it just kept stopping and dragging its leg and sometimes making a neigh. When it kept making the neigh he put his hands around its mouth to stop it so no one heard and for a second it was nice and quiet and it felt like velvet, all warm and just a bit wet, like Blue’s nose too, but then the horse tossed its head and he felt its mouth move and he let go in case it bit him. But he still didn’t want it to neigh because someone might hear. He couldn’t keep it but if he just let it go in the bush around his place it might stick around because of the girl and someone might find it and then start asking him questions. It would be good to have a horse though. He liked walking but for a change it might be nice to ride. But he didn’t know how to ride and he might fall off and he didn’t know what to give a horse to eat anyway except grass so it had to go back. And because of the girl so no one would find her and maybe he could keep her.
He wouldn’t tell Tony about her. Tony wouldn’t like it, but who cared about Tony and what he thought? Tony never came anyway so it didn’t matter if the girl was at the house because Tony hadn’t come back to the house since he moved out. How long ago was that? Two years? He couldn’t remember but that wasn’t unusual because there was a lot he couldn’t remember and sometimes it felt like his remembering was getting even worse. He remembered before the accident OK. Not the day it happened or anything like that but stuff from when he was little, like going to school and the time Tony dinked him and Col had put his feet in the wheel by mistake and they had both fallen off and Tony had yelled at him. Stuff like that. Tony had really yelled but when he told their mum she said he shouldn’t do a dink anyway. If he tried really really hard he could even remember the garage where he went to work just before the accident and how it smelled like oil and Armor All and that smell you get when you buy hot chips and at first it makes you really hungry but when you’ve had the chips it’s still there and it makes you not want to have them again. He hadn’t had chips in a long time, not the hot ones, not since Tony had met Robyn and moved out because Tony used to buy the chips. It would be good to have chips again but then he’d have to go into a shop and talk to someone and get the money right and that was hard and made him nervous. It was better to go to Woolworths and just choose what he wanted and give them the card that his money was on, the money from the accident, even though Woolworths didn’t have hot chips.
The horse had started to graze and he pulled its head up. They had to get on before it was too dark to find his way home again but the horse didn’t want to go so he broke off a twig from a tree and hit it with that. That made the horse go. Giddy up horsey, don’t you stop, just let your feet go clippety-clop. That was a song his mum used to sing when he was little but also after the accident when she was trying to teach him how to speak again. She was good, his mum. He missed her. Also his dad, but his dad had been gone for longer, years and years ago now. They’d muddled through, him and his mum. That was what she used to say when she gave him a cup of tea or his dinner, We muddle through, don’t we Col? and they did. It was nice living with Mum, and then Tony moved back home because Diane threw him out and he didn’t have anywhere else to go but later he met Robyn and then he did. He didn’t really miss Tony because Tony had the TV up really loud all the time and at night he got drunk and yelled at Col and called him stupid so it was better not to have him there, except sometimes it wasn’t because Col didn’t really like living all by himself. It was too quiet and he had no one to talk to. He talked to Blue but Blue just wagged his tail and ran off to sniff things. It would be good to have a real person to talk to now.
In the last light on the horizon Col recognised three silver gums in a row together just up ahead. They were nearly there. The sides of the horse heaved and it had begun to pant. Col felt a bit guilty. There was no water around here. He should have given it a drink before they left
but he wasn’t good at thinking of things like that. They’d walked pretty fast too but at least the horse didn’t have to walk all the way back again like he did so it wasn’t too badly off. He looked at the gum trees again. That was where he’d been standing the first time he’d seen the girls. Four of them, riding together, laughing and calling to each other, flicking their hair around. He’d never had much to do with kids, which was sad because he would have liked some. He would have been a good dad. His mum had said so. He called out to the girls but he must have surprised them because they galloped off and after that he just sat among the trees and watched whenever a group went by. It was a long way to walk to watch people ride past him, two or three hours, but that was OK. Walking made him feel good, calm and happy, and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.
Then one day one of the girls had called hello to him. He’d been so surprised he could hardly speak but it didn’t matter because then she went off in a race with another girl. She had a friendly face and her hair was so pretty. He came back the next day hoping he would see her again, then the next and the next and the next until she finally showed up, which was yesterday. Col frowned. He’d just wanted to touch her hair. It was so long and wavy and it looked so soft, like the special blanket his mother used to put over him when he was home from school with a tummy ache. She’d brought it into the hospital after his accident and the nurses put it on him and it made him feel better because it smelled like his home except one day he woke up and it wasn’t there and the nurses looked but no one could find it. He still thought about that blanket. He just wanted to stroke her hair to see if it felt the same but she got all mad at him and hurt him so he pushed her. She didn’t have to hurt him. It was her fault, not his.