Together they make a blistering run, both time and method score near enough to perfect. The crowd respond in kind, rising to their feet, cheering and stomping. It is unfortunate the old grandstand tilts at one end and sends much of the crowd sprawling in the dust amid beer cans and curses. Nothing can dampen the joy Mallory feels as they career around the arena on their victory lap, having restored the dignity of all. The crew from Frazers Run hang on the arena rails, whistling and waving their hats in delirious circles.
Big Bill, who’s driven up for the day in his Land Cruiser, swallows down an antibiotic with a warm wash of beer. As his ringers line up by the podium to collect the winning trophy, he decides there and then that he’ll keep young Mallory on for another year. Grinning from ear to ear, he phones Kev to pass on the miraculous win, and then accepts the envious congratulations of his peers before elbowing his way towards the bar.
Back at Frazers, Kev hangs up the phone and walks out onto the verandah, shaking his head at the news. He leans heavily on his crutches, so distracted that the heeler asleep by the step escapes his notice. Suddenly he is halfway headlong down, too late to save his newly mended break from snapping with a crack, making the guilty dog flatten its ears and dive under the house.
*
Mallory, Rory and the others load up the horses, pack their gear in the truck and wearily turn homeward while, unknown to them, capricious trade winds inexplicably ease their grip on the sea currents. In Brazil, half a world away, an El Niño system begins warming the surface water, causing moisture to build ominously in the swirling air. In the crisp early evening of the Kimberley, Rory and Mallory happily relive every second of that magic ride as the breeze blows the smell of Frazer country through the window of the cab.
‘You know what?’ Rory smiles to himself.
‘What?’ Mallory manages to respond through a mouth full of Chiko Roll, a greenish smear of horse dung on his cheekbone.
‘I reckon our luck’s changed.’
‘I told ya before, mate. There’s no such thing as luck.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Rory looks shyly out the window at the edge of his world. ‘Still reckon it was a lucky day for Frazers when you turned up.’
‘That mean I can wear me Driza-Bone again?’
‘Not bloody likely!’
Thousands of miles away, much too far for anyone to be concerned about yet, conditions out at sea line themselves up for a tropical blow the like of which hasn’t hit the Kimberley coast in living memory.
Horses
I’m not going out there.
Sometimes not knowing is a whole lot better than knowing. Knowing can’t be taken back, can’t be changed. We learnt that two years ago when the police turned up over breakfast. We’d been eating toast, drinking the awful coffee Suse had made. Laughing about how Mum and Dad must have had such a good time at the dance that they hadn’t even made it home. Dad would do that, when he’d had a bit to drink, sleep it off in the car, come home next morning, stiff and cursing. Mum would be furious. Suse said how awful it was to think about what they might have done in the front of that car over the years.
I had still been wiping the coffee off my chin when I answered the door, and there they were, the cops. We knew them. We know everyone around here. It took one look at their faces to realise what had gone down. Knowing, it’s a bad thing sometimes. One bad corner, one oncoming truck. That was it. We were orphans, nothing was very funny after that.
Dad wouldn’t have known when he tied our names up in partnership in the farm what was going to happen. He wouldn’t have known when he let his life insurance lapse. He wouldn’t have known when he signed off on buying the north paddocks and contracted for the harvester. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have done it.
But as those awful first days without them dragged by, we came to understand our situation. There was a mountain of debt, and only Suse and me to pay it. I wanted to sell up. I don’t mind admitting it, there’s no shame in good sense. Suse wouldn’t hear of it. It’s the family place, she said, always had been, and it wasn’t going to be us who walked out. I reminded her it wouldn’t be long before she was married and gone, then it would just be me carrying the load, and I didn’t think I had it in me.
‘We’ll see about that,’ she’d said.
Next thing I knew, the engagement was off. She wouldn’t talk about it. Bob tried for a time to talk her around, but she wouldn’t talk to him either. It seemed even he couldn’t break through the wall she built around her. They’d been a couple since high school and he was devastated, angry in the end. Last spring, we went to the wrong wedding, Suse stiff-backed and determined to attend. The way Bob looked at her as he walked down that aisle with someone else just about broke me.
Suse only worked harder. Hell, we both did. I’d never realised how much Mum and Dad did until there was just the two of us. There was no money to hire help, after making interest payments and paying the endless bills. No money for anything. At first, the neighbours had come around, done stuff to help out. Casseroles turned up on the front door, guys would show up for shearing, but it tailed off soon enough. Suse had so much pride, sometimes she just seemed rude to people. Knowing her like I do, I could see her haughty attitude was all she had to stop the glitter in her eyes turn into something like falling apart. People gradually stopped coming around. I didn’t blame them. I didn’t want to be around her much either sometimes.
The past few years, I’ve shovelled so much shit I can taste it in my food. Shorn sheep, fixed broken-down stuff, it was never enough. We got a crop in that first year but the weather was against us. Didn’t even get enough to cover the expenses. The bank got pretty twitchy towards the end of the season. Suse talked them around. She’s good at that. Sometimes even I believed what she was saying. She’s older than me by two years, so I guess I’ve always followed her lead, always trusted her. She’s been there for me, all my life.
I used to hear her walking around at night after I’d gone to bed. Up and down, up and down, the old boards creaking. In the morning, she’d be gone. I could always find her out with the horses. She could talk to them like she couldn’t anyone else. I don’t know what she told them. She’d look up as I came through the fence and could usually raise a smile. Something about their company stilled her demons. She would list out the day’s chores for me like everything was all right, like we weren’t in a leaking boat, drowning under the weight of our debts.
The horses were left over from better days. Cost Dad a fortune back when there’d been good years. Suse had competed on them all over the state at one time. The prize money never covered the cost of the competition, but she was just magic on those mares. Money hadn’t been such an issue then.
Val Carmichael had been after them for years, used to come sniffing around at events, trying to get Suse to sell them. It got worse after things got bad. She could smell our desperation, I reckon. Some afternoons she’d turn up at the yards when Suse was mucking out the stables, pestering her to sell. She never understood that a good horse didn’t change a crap rider, thought cruelty could get her over the line. Her own horses threw their heads up whenever she came near them. They had a look in their eyes, hate and fear brewed up inside.
One day last year, she’d been around again, and Suse gave her an earful. ‘I’d rather they were dead than end up with that bitch.’ She’d meant it too.
‘It isn’t going to come to that.’
She just looked at me.
We did all right this season. The crop was a good one, the weather with us. It looked like we might just be able to pull this off. Suse started to laugh a bit again. Though the way her hands had turned rough and the old clothes she always wore rankled. First payment, I was going to take her into town to get herself some clothes and a hairdo, all that girl stuff. And no more rabbits! Last winter we ate so much rabbit, the smell of it started to make me sick. ‘It’s free. Just eat it, Dodo. You didn’t have to shoot it.’ A great shot, Suse. I could get any old piece of equipm
ent to go, always had a hankering to be a mechanic, but I couldn’t shoot the way Suse could. One-shot Suse we called her. Dad would hoot with laughter ’cause he never thought a girl should be able to shoot like that, neither did Mum but in a different way.
Last night, we were playing cards at the table when this noise made us sit up sudden. ‘What’s that?’ Suse said. But she knew, like I knew. It was the worst sound. Hail. Two days before we were going to get that bastard big harvester out of its fancy debt-ridden shed. ‘It’ll be all right, won’t last long,’ I said. But it went on and on. After a while, it seemed louder than before on the tin roof, though it probably wasn’t really. It drummed in our ears, hurt somewhere way inside. We couldn’t look at each other, just stared out the sliding door at those balls of ice dancing all over the ground.
‘Looks pretty cool.’
The look in her eyes when she turned shut me up real quick. ‘We’ll have to sell the horses. There’s nothing else left worth anything.’
I thought for a long minute. Let the silence hang. ‘What about selling the harvester?’ We both knew we’d tried that already. No-one had the money, the dealer wasn’t interested. ‘Or the north paddocks?’ Tried that too.
‘The horses will keep us going. They’re still worth good money.’
‘No way.’ I was horrified. ‘No way, Suse.’
‘That’s it. That’s what we have to do.’
I’d been meaning to talk to her anyway. I knew it was the wrong time with that bloody hail drowning us out, but there’s never a good time for some things.
‘Old Stewey’s offered me an apprenticeship. Diesel mechanic.’
She stared at me. ‘I can’t do this on my own, Dodo.’
‘We could sell up, Suse. I know it’s not what you want, but think about it. There’d be enough to set us up in town. I could do the apprenticeship.’ I put my cards down on the table. It was a losing hand. ‘You wouldn’t have to sell the horses, you could have some fun for a change. We both could.’ I wasn’t pleading or anything, it was just the white noise outside that made it sound so.
‘Sell? Dad would wash your mouth out for saying that! What the hell do you think we’ve been doing these past few years?’
I felt a surge of something run through me. ‘Mum would have sold. She wasn’t stupid about things. It’s just a fucking piece of dirt, Suse.’ I kicked over my chair like a kid throwing a tantrum, cards fanning out across the lino. I couldn’t stop. ‘If you weren’t here, I would have sold up straight away and had a fucking life. It’s your farm, Suse. Yours and Dad’s. All it brings everyone else is fucking misery.’
I remembered all the times I’d come across Mum staring out over the paddocks in yet another bad season, the way I’d asked, Mum? She’d put her hand steady on my shoulder as we stood side by side. ‘It’s all right, Dodo, It’s okay.’
Suse was looking down at the table, tears running down her face. ‘Is that how you really feel about it?’ Her voice was tiny, so broken. It made me feel ashamed, and that made me angry all over again, for all the things we couldn’t do, for all the work coming to nothing out there in the paddocks, for all the times I would rather be anywhere than stuck out here.
‘You bet.’ And I went to bed and left her there.
I didn’t sleep for a long time, thought about all she’d done these past years. How she’d put everything aside for the farm, and for me. I thought about going back to apologise, telling her I didn’t mean it. Trouble was, I did. I’d been feeling that way for years and hadn’t been able to say it. I felt bad, but part of me was proud I’d finally said it.
I was sure in the morning we’d talk, that she’d come around to my way of seeing. I thought about the wheat, full and ripe, lying under a bed of killing ice. I heard her pacing through the night. Up and down, up and down, until the regular creak of boards sent me into a messy sleep of despair.
This morning, the air feels still and empty, just a crow out mourning in the paddock. The hail is long gone, and she isn’t here. I know where she’ll be. Out with the bloody horses. The door banging woke me up. Bang. Then silence. Bang. It isn’t the door. Bang. There’s no wind. I put the kettle on, make myself coffee.
It isn’t the door, I can’t help knowing that, but there are only two horses, and I just don’t want to know.
Harbour Lights
‘Sure you don’t want me to come with you? Not too late to find a sitter.’
‘No,’ Tanya said. ‘It’s just a work thing. You’d be bored. I’m only going because I have to.’ She needn’t have worried. Brian had his eyes glued to the television, the remote a gun in his hand.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘A night out with my woman or a night in with my girl? No contest.’
‘You look pretty, Mum.’ Sasha looked up from the floor with a sleepy smile.
‘Thanks, Sash. Not up too late now. See you both.’
‘Have a good time. Drive safe.’ Brian’s voice followed her out into the cold.
In the car, Tanya turned the music up and checked herself in the mirror, wishing she’d had that last hair colour instead of putting it off. The glovebox sprung open, and she slammed it shut automatically. She’d have to get it looked at.
The road wound along the coast and over the estuary bridge. Across the bay, light swam in the still water, reflecting the wealthier waterside areas. As teenagers, they’d cruised through there often enough, faces glued to the windows of the car. She knew the way, even figured she knew the house. Helen and her husband had only been transferred here a few months ago. ‘Sort of a housewarming,’ Helen had said. ‘Bring your partner.’
‘Brian’s busy Saturday,’ she’d said, without the grace to blush. ‘Some blokey thing.’
‘Sure. Well, come anyway. It’s nothing too fancy. We can get to know each other better.’
And here she was, driving to the posh side of town.
On the driveway, Tanya fumbled with keys and bag and wrap, glad no-one was around to see her. Music leaked out from the lit windows. Jazz. At their last party, Brian had insisted on playing all the old pub rock he loved so much. Secretly she liked it, danced easily enough on the prickly grass when she’d had a few. It wasn’t like this though, this was different. She hadn’t wanted Brian here, didn’t want this glamorous new boss to know how small-town they were.
When Helen had arrived from head office, Tanya and the other girls rolled their eyes at those impossible shoes and carefully tanned legs. Whispers suggested her husband was some bigwig in mining, lots of cash and a two-week roster. A few days later, Helen had taken Tanya along on a trip on the south-west circuit to drum up extra business. Two heads better than one, and I could use help with directions around these back roads. They discovered on the winding drive how much they had in common. Same age, married same amount of time, same love of coffee.
Tanya had talked about Sasha a lot and Brian not so much after hearing Helen praise her own husband. Cam’s such a go-getter…If there’s something he wants, he goes right out there and grabs it. He likes to win, that’s for sure. Not like Brian, the original Mr Live-and-let-live. After eight years, her husband’s easy-going nature felt like laziness. He had never been ambitious. She wondered what her life would have been like with a go-getter, imagined going to the theatre instead of listening to boozy backyard renditions of ‘Khe Sanh’.
Under the portico, she surreptitiously checked her makeup with her compact before knocking lightly on the half-open door. A flutter of nerves, the sound of conversations already started.
Helen emerged, dressed in something softly golden and fluid, her feet in strappy heels. ‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘Cam’s just organising drinks. Perfect timing.’ She leant in and whispered, ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Helen tucked Tanya’s hand in her elbow and led her towards the lit patio overlooking the bay.
Out on the deck, Tanya was relieved to see she knew a few of the women from school drop-offs and didn’t have to stand alone while Helen went off to find her
husband.
‘He’s all right,’ she was saying in response to a question about the new principal. ‘I think he’s got the school’s best interests at heart.’
‘Tanya! Excuse me, Liesel.’ It was Helen back again. ‘Haven’t introduced these two yet. Cam, meet Tanya. Tanya, this is my husband, Cam.’
Tanya turned.
If he’d thrown a punch to her stomach right then, she couldn’t have been more shocked, more winded. He looked different. Older, polished up and tidy in his casual polo and chinos. He grabbed at her nerveless hand and pumped it up and down, smiling at her, oblivious to her discomfort.
‘Hi there, Tanya. Helen’s told me how much easier you’ve made things for her.’ His eyes were brown, she hadn’t noticed that before. ‘It’s great to move somewhere new and find it’s friendly. We’ve been lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ She sounded stupid, felt stupid. She had always been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Small wavy lines scrabbled at the edge of her vision, the decking felt miles below her. He leant in towards her. She tried not to breathe in, felt she might be sick.
‘I came here once, years ago. Football final,’ he said. ‘Didn’t think much of the place then. Full of bogans, like something out of Deliverance.’ He chuckled. ‘Helen wasn’t keen on moving, but we can make shitloads of money in a couple of years. Couldn’t pass it up. Grab opportunity as it comes along, I say.’
Tanya swallowed hard, pushed down the bile and wiped her sweaty hand on her dress.
‘You lived here long?’ he said.
She stared at him. He didn’t recognise her. Her heart set up an irregular pounding in her chest. He’d been drunk, stinking drunk. All those city guys in their little town. Fresh meat. She and her friends had giggled at their own daring, sitting on the sun-warmed sandstone wall, watching the game. They’d all cheered like mad when the home team brought the trophy down.
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