‘But you couldn’t.’
‘What?’
‘Since the stroke you’ve had trouble coming to terms with your condition and your capabilities. You’ve never accepted you have deficiencies that stop you, Paige.’
‘Is that so?’ Paige wondered how she was managing to speak at all.
‘Why can’t you be happy doing the job of mother and wife?’
Oh. My. God.
Was she hearing right? Who was this man? How had she lived with someone for so many years and not known who he really was? How could he have lived with her all this time and not known her—not remembered that Paige had been just as driven to succeed?
Paige terminated the call without another word, let the phone drop to the grass where she sat, and buried her face into cupped palms, sobbing alone in a paddock where no one except the crotchety old horse would see or hear her—and not even it would notice her if she was to believe what Sharni had told her about being deaf and probably a bit blind.
Something tickled the back of Paige’s neck making her flinch and flick with her hand. Most likely a fly, she figured, considering there were about 10,000 per square metre out here. Still she sat, eyes shut, unprepared to go back to the house and face Alice until she’d calmed down. With her eyes closed she could imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere relaxing, somewhere not too hot, but warm . . .
Warm like the unfamiliar puff of air that made Paige brush the back of her hand over one tear-streaked cheek, then the other. She opened her eyes, and the slow realisation that she was staring up the twitching nostrils of a horse squeezed every aching muscle in her body tight. A sigh locked halfway and sat heavy on her chest as she wondered how the hell she was going to get up from the kneeling position at all, never mind with a cranky horse bearing down on her. Her gaze inched up and paused. The tartan coat the horse wore was old and torn in several places, enough to spot some unusual markings on the body underneath.
‘Okay, horsey,’ she whispered. ‘Gooood horsey.’ The horse lowered its head further, the velvety-soft underside of its muzzle resting on Paige’s bare right shoulder. Two big eyes, eerily pale, stared back through holes in the fly mesh facemask. Under the forelock, smack-bang between those piercing eyes, she could make out speckled markings. The six oval-shaped spots a little larger than sultanas were black on the predominantly white coat. What made the markings even more special was the silvery-grey ring of hair that outlined each one. ‘You really are a work of art.’
You really are also a little too close for comfort.
Careful not to startle the creature, Paige inched her right hand upwards. When the horse didn’t flinch, she slid her hand higher until she met the solid warmth of the animal’s neck, her fingers tangling in the coarse, unkempt mane. The beast shifted, nudged her, snorting nostrils exploring the length of Paige’s torso before venturing back to her hair, knocking the recovered hat clear off her head.
‘Hey, watch it, cheeky,’ she giggled, all fear giving way to a burst of endorphins. ‘I like that hat.’
‘Well, looky there,’ said a familiar male voice that unfortunately startled the horse. ‘Cow wrangling one day, horse whispering the next. Is there no end to your talents?’
‘Shhh!’ Paige sat rigid, held a silencing finger to her lips and called back in a forced hush. ‘The horse is whispering to me. And no, I haven’t been watching too many reruns of Mr Ed on the TV.’
‘Okaaay, whatever you say.’ Aiden climbed the fence and the horse, back on guard, eyed the intrusion warily.
‘Come on, it’s okay, girl. He’s a good one,’ Paige said, clucking her tongue in the hope the mare stayed.
‘Thanks for the endorsement.’
‘Yeah, well, stop where you are and talk from there.’
‘I didn’t think anything could budge that old nag. Don’t think I’ve seen her leave the far corner of the paddock. How did you manage that?’
‘Secret women’s business, so none of your beeswax,’ she quipped, the childish jargon making her sound like a giddy schoolgirl.
‘You’ve been listening to Sharni’s horse mumbo jumbo.’
‘I’m not so sure it is mumbo jumbo.’
Clearly the horse had had enough, or Aiden’s encroachment was too much. She snorted a couple of times and stepped away, slowly wandering back to her comfort zone in the furthest corner of the paddock under the cluster of shade trees.
‘Sorry to spoil the moment.’
‘So you should be. But time I got up and out of—Ooh, ouch!’ A jolt of crippling pain ricocheted through Paige’s bad leg. If not for Aiden grabbing her she might have dropped back to the ground.
‘I think it’s been a while since I sat like a lanky teenager for any length of time.’
‘How long have you been out here?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know the time.’
Aiden didn’t consult his watch, instead looking briefly towards the sun. ‘Closing in on coffee o’clock’. Then he looked back at Paige, his head tipped to one side with an inquiring squint.
Did something tell him she’d been crying?
‘If you don’t mind me stating the obvious . . .’ he said.
‘I look like crap, right?’
‘Your words, not mine,’ he smiled. ‘But if you need to talk . . . I’m free. In fact, I’m cheap as. We can talk if something’s bothering you.’
‘Got any other ideas? Something fun?’
‘Got a crop of sweet potatoes to dig up—well overdue, too.’
Paige laughed. ‘You’re on your own there. I can hardly walk. Maybe tomorrow. I’d best be going. See you later.’
Alice was rocking back and forth in a chunky wooden chair, fanning her face with the pocketsize Sudoku magazine that accompanied her everywhere. At home, the woman never wasted a minute of her day. ‘They’re all so precious,’ she would tell Paige. Unfortunately, this sleepy town with its energy-zapping heat forced Alice to sit for extended periods, exacerbating her bad mood.
‘Did you know there are kangaroos out the back?’ Paige announced. ‘I can’t wait to tell Matilda.’
Alice smiled. ‘You used to call them Skippies when you were her age.’
‘As in Skippy the Bush Kangaroo?’ Paige paused, looked at Alice. ‘Did I watch a lot of television when I was young?’
‘Not particularly. Why?’ Alice eyed her curiously over the rim of her teacup, steam momentarily fogging the metal-framed reading glasses.
‘What about more recently?’
‘What on earth makes you ask?’
‘Robert said I do. He said I’ve lost the ability to differentiate between reality and fantasy. Of course, I said it wouldn’t hurt him to tune in occasionally. He might learn reality TV shows are about the only thing on the television these days,’ Paige said. ‘Besides, so what if every kangaroo is a Skippy and Banjo looks like Mr Magoo.’
Alice guffawed, driving her heels into the wooden boards, forcing the rocker to stop abruptly, her teacup rattling against the saucer and spilling hot liquid over the cup’s edges. She looked up, her mouth and eyes making big round ‘O’s. ‘Oh, my, yes, now that you mention it . . .’
Paige felt better having made Alice laugh. ‘Don’t repeat that in front of Matilda or Liam,’ she warned, knowing too well how six and seven year olds had an inbuilt repeat button to replay everything they heard, and at the worst possible time so as to ensure maximum embarrassment for all parties concerned. ‘Speaking of the little minx . . .’
‘With Liam, of course, and Sharni has them both. Mati wanted to go with her to feed the sheep down the road. They won’t be long.’
Paige walked over and wrapped her arms around Alice’s shoulders from behind. She nuzzled her neck, lingering over the English Lavender cologne she couldn’t detect, but knowing Alice would have dabbed a generous amount of Nancy’s favourite at the base of both ears this morning—every morning. A big bottle from the discount pharmacy had once set Paige’s pocket money back as little as $5.9
9. One bottle for every birthday. How Paige longed to lose herself in the memory scent of her mother just one more time.
‘I’m sorry about earlier, Alice.’ Paige kissed the greying cushion of hair on top of Alice’s head. ‘I love you. A couple of days—please?’
‘I guess a couple of days won’t do any harm. Perhaps I need more tea. I’ll go pop the kettle on.’ She patted Paige’s arms still around her neck, a signal it was time to let go. ‘Must be scone time. Seems I’ve lost my little helper this morning. Too many new and exciting things to do.’
Sharni was treading the sloping paddock that separated the main homestead garden from the smaller cottage compound, two excited children following close behind, giggling and exaggerating her limp. The open space certainly made the Turners’ tiny patch of green at home paltry by comparison. Paige, the career woman, had not been into gardens, and yet after her stroke Alice and Robert had talked her into supervising a garden makeover. Everyone seemed so desperate to keep her occupied that Paige finally relented. But before the first tradesperson had been seconded, and before they’d turned the ceremonial first sod, Robert had hijacked the project to insist on a bigger gazebo, a deeper plunge spa, a taller water feature. Twelve months later, after every neighbour had oooh’d and ahhh’d appropriately over the extravagant end product, the novelty had worn off for Robert, while Paige failed to find joy in the formality of the design. She’d wanted a secret garden with character and cosy nooks, a place of discovery to attract birds and bees and questions from Mati about lazy lizards, busy ants and clever spiders spinning intricate webs. Instead, Matilda was banned from the spa area, warned off the water feature, and her plastic swing set and cubby house relocated to Nana Alice’s yard. At least the unused gazebo provided spiders with shelter from the rain—until Robert the exterminator got fed up with walking through inconveniently positioned webs.
But the homestead’s garden Paige had examined earlier in the compound close to the main house was lovely, in spite of the overgrown flowerbeds and weed-infested lawn. It was the sort of garden she’d enjoy maintaining, one with hidden treasures, a variety of trees, ample flowerbeds bringing abundant birdlife, and intricate stonework cobbled together with cement edging. Arbours and arched structures made from rusted horseshoes, each painstakingly welded together, were scattered arbitrarily, each shouldering a snarl of creeping vines. Although a long way from regal in its current condition, Paige thought the property and its gardens might have been quite the showpiece once.
The trio helped each other over the post-and-rail fence that had been reinforced with small mesh wire that, according to Sharni during their first orientation tour, kept the critters out and the kids in. ‘Or the other way around,’ she’d chuckled.
Liam charged ahead, playing make-believe soldiers and feigning a gruesome death in front of Paige where she sat, perched on the steps to lace her jogging shoes, at the same time noticing how totally impractical her daughter’s tiny pink plastic clogs were for a country adventure.
Paige would do something about that when she was in town doing something about the aluminium teapot.
‘Ready for an adventure?’ Paige asked as Mati caught up and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. Paige breathed in, closing her eyes to imagine the smell of hair in need of a wash.
Nothing.
‘Where?’ Mati pulled back as far as her little arms allowed, expectant eyes wide with excitement.
‘You’ll see. But first, grab your hairbrush for Mum.’ There were burrs that needed disentangling.
‘Morning, Paige, sleep well after your life-saving adventures yesterday?’ Sharni bashed the dust from one of two vinyl recliners that lived permanently on the cottage’s porch and flopped down. As she pushed back, the force of the spring-loaded footrest knocked several cakes of mud from the tread of her boots.
‘I slept too well,’ Page returned. ‘And I woke to discover every muscle in my body hurting. The biggest adventure for me back home is battling the Westfield car park on a Saturday. So today I thought I’d take Mati exploring by car.’
‘Liam too?’ Matilda asked, dropping her hairbrush on Paige’s lap and wedging her hips between her mother’s knees.
‘Yes, Liam too—if it’s okay with his mum. Now, stop fidgeting for two more . . .’
‘Yesss,’ Matilda hissed when Sharni’s nod indicated the affirmative. ‘Let’s go, Liam.’
‘Okay, off you go,’ Paige patted her daughter’s bottom. The burrs would have to wait. ‘Unless of course you want to see the kangaroos out back—if they’re still there.’
‘Skippieees!’ Mati squealed, jumping up and hopping about, her new best mate joining in, clucking kangaroo-style.
‘I’ll show you, Mati, but you have to do what I say. They’re not toys,’ said a grown-up Liam. ‘They’re wild animals, you know?’
‘Can I, Mum?’ Matilda asked.
‘You listen to Liam. And be quick if you want Nana Alice’s scones hot.’
‘Race ya,’ the boy called, already ahead.
‘Not too close, you hear me?’ Paige called, flinching and sucking in sharply as one of her daughter’s inappropriate pink clogs slipped, making her stumble. ‘And slow down . . .’ But the warning was blown away on the breeze.
‘I might have some shoes Mati can use,’ Sharni offered. ‘Liam’s feet grow out of them every six months. His old ones will fit her. And you will be needing a hat.’
Paige looked at the leather stockman’s hat Sharni thrust in her direction.
‘Thanks, but I already have a hat.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve seen you in it. Thought a UFO had landed in the horse paddocks.’
‘Ha ha! Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘Nuh!’ Sharni wiggled her single Ugg boot. ‘I could get used to being a lady of leisure. I was going to check in, see if I could be of any use, but Mum insisted on doing the early shift—and you don’t argue with Honey if you know what’s good for you.’
‘So I understand.’
‘As that leaves me with nothing to do for the moment I can be your personal stylist.’
Paige laughed. ‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘I’m serious. Your hat reminds me of that tragic Andie McDowell character out of Four Weddings and a Funeral. Carrie, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s you being serious?’
‘Not at all. Serious would be me saying ditch the floppy white sunshade. Trash it or donate it, preferably to some homeless person in the city who needs a big one to keep their shopping cart of junk under cover as well. To be on the safe side, you’d better make it a homeless person with bad eyesight so they don’t see their reflection in a shop window and drop dead from laughter. So, here, take the Akubra, will you?’
With a smile, Paige snatched the hat Sharni wiggled in front of her face and strutted along the veranda with an exaggerated sashay of her hips, shimmying the shirt off one shoulder and striking a pose. ‘Miranda Kerr, eat your heart out.’
Sharni smiled before closing her lips around two fingers to wolf whistle. At the same time, a whinnying horse made them both look up. Making slow progress along the dirt track that doubled as a driveway to the rear of the main house was a man leading a horse.
Aiden! Paige self-consciously rearranged her clothing and slunk into a chair, waiting until he was out of sight.
‘That bloke’s got a fit of the guilts, I reckon,’ Sharni said.
‘Guilts?’
‘Since coming home he’s hardly shown any interest in his old horse. But something’s making him pay attention. I figured it was Rebel,’ she winked. ‘Spending some time together can’t hurt either of them. Might even be a good thing. Settle each other down, you know?’
‘Oh?’ Paige wondered if her ‘oh’ made her sound appropriately interested or plain inquisitive. ‘How’s that?’
‘Like I was telling you the other day . . . Best bloody therapy you can get—a horse.’
‘Hello, Sharni, dear. I didn’t know you were h
ere,’ Alice said from the doorway, a plate of hot scones in one hand. ‘I’ve made Matilda’s special tea and a real one for me. Can I get you a cup? Kettle’s hot.’
‘No. Thanks, Alice. Just a scone.’
‘Help yourself, dear.’
‘Sharni, tell Alice what you were telling me the other day—about horses for therapy.’
‘Hang on.’ Sharni shoved an entire half scone in her mouth and spent the time it took to chew and swallow bending down to pick something off the heel of her boot with a thumbnail. She examined whatever the matter was briefly, sniffed it, frowned, then flicked the offending speck over the railing to the dirt. ‘Yum! Nice scones, Alice,’ she mumbled through the second half, before brushing her palms together. She slumped against the seat back, like a single scone had managed to overload that tiny tummy of hers, and repeated her explanation. ‘Most animals, horses included, have a kind of sixth sense, only in a horse it’s even stronger. Some will even know what you’re feeling before you do. And I can tell you from experience, they know when you’re trying to cover up something: anger, frustration, sadness, especially fear.’
Alice looked genuinely interested, easing herself into an adjacent chair and offloading the Sudoku magazine under her arm onto the slatted wood table. She slid the two teacups and saucers to one side, careful to leave room for Mati’s Barbie-themed puzzle book. Paige thought her daughter mimicking her nana’s tea and Suduko ritual was kind of cute, albeit in a scary way, especially when she parroted one of Alice’s many chestnuts, like, ‘You know, Mum, if you don’t use it, you lose it.’
Sharni’s monologue continued. ‘Humans have a tendency to suppress their emotions. It’s no wonder given we were always told when growing up ‘Don’t be scared.’ ‘Don’t cry.’ ‘Don’t feel this.’ ‘Don’t feel that.’ The only trouble with that is we are still scared, sad, stressed—whatever—and a horse will pick up on those emotions. But the minute the person recognises their feelings and actually acknowledges or addresses it in some way, the horse will respond.’
‘Better out than in, I always say,’ Alice added. ‘Isn’t that right, Paige?’
Season of Shadow and Light Page 16