by Pamela Cook
Even in her near-comatose state, the word ‘library’ livened Grace up. She climbed out of bed, pulled on some clothes and took herself out to the car where she sat facing the passenger window, fingers resting on the doorhandle as if she might pull on it if she needed a quick escape. Her face was a whiter shade of pale than usual and her angel’s kiss more like an angry welt. There was no point in trying to jolly her out of her mood, so Tess pressed the button on the CD player and let the soothing sounds of yoga music fill the cavernous space of the car. The ambient notes meandered, and she mentally worked through each part of her body bit by bit, releasing the tension, just as she would in an actual class. By the time she reached the Weerilla Library, she was as relaxed as she could be while still remaining vertical and alert enough to drive.
Grace headed inside and disappeared into the children’s section, leaving Tess at the front desk to enquire about using the internet.
‘No problem.’ The librarian smiled and led the way to the computer. ‘Great to see young Grace again. So sad. You’re her guardian, are you?’
The soft hairs on Tess’s forearms stood to attention, like anemone tentacles on predator alert. Warning, warning. Sticky beak about. She smiled brightly down at the woman, who was a good bit shorter than her, and waited for her antennae to settle. ‘Yes. I am.’
‘How lovely.’ The librarian peered at the screen, scrunching up her face as if she was in pain. ‘I really need to go for an eye test. My husband says I’ll go blind if I keep squinting, but between you and me he’s the one in danger of going blind and it’s got nothing to do with needing glasses.’ Behind her hand, she gave a conspiratorial giggle.
Tess forced her mouth into a brief smile but let it die just as quickly. She had no desire to hear about this woman’s husband’s masturbatory habits.
‘There, that should get you going.’ The librarian stood upright again and gave a single clap of her hands, like a kindergarten teacher trying to get the attention of her class. ‘Is it the papers you’re wanting?’ She batted her thickly lined lashes in Tess’s direction. ‘Like poor Skye?’
‘Papers?’
‘Newspapers. The Sydney and Melbourne ones. She’d sometimes spend hours in here scanning through them. Catching up on the news, I expect, since she didn’t have a TV or computer of her own. I kind of get not having a computer, expensive as they are, but no tellie?’ The librarian’s expression morphed into one of utter horror. ‘How could you survive without one? Especially living all the way out of town like she did. And on her own, well, with Grace.’ Finally, she came up for air. ‘Anyway, she must have been right into the news. She even photocopied bits of the papers sometimes.’
Tess nodded, more to herself than to the woman. So this was where Skye came to get access to information, where she found out what he was doing. ‘Did she ever look up other sites that you know of?’
‘Other sites?’
‘You know, like family archives for instance.’ What else would she access to keep track of him? ‘Facebook. Or Linked In?’
The librarian’s face reddened. She glanced over her shoulder and then back again, lowering her voice to a hush. ‘Well, I’m not in the habit of spying on people while they use the computers, just to make sure, you know, but Skye sometimes forgot to close down the screen when she was finished and, well, I did notice that there was often one man’s name she was always googling.’ She pinched her elbows against her sides as she leaned forward. ‘It happened a few times so I remember his name, Neil …’
Tess’s hand flew upwards into a stop sign. She’d heard enough. ‘I’m sure that was Ms Whittaker’s business and nobody else’s.’
The woman’s cheeks shone like a pair of tomatoes left out to spoil in the summer sun. It was mean, flipping the blame when Tess had encouraged the conversation, but the librarian was revealing way too much.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ Mouth pinched, the librarian spun around on her ballet flats and scurried back to her desk.
Tess pushed the unwanted information to the back of her mind and focused on why she had come. The link Eleanor had emailed was ready and waiting. One click and a page packed with images of horses filled the screen. Riding them may not be her thing, but they certainly were magnificent creatures—glossy black manes, thick necks, a sense of power in their very being. The ‘Home’ page was all about their innate sensitivity, their historic relationship with humans and their ability to tune in to emotions. Much easier to read through all the information here than trying to run her computer from her phone back at the house. She shifted over to the ‘Learning’ tab. Learning from horses? Really? Group and individual sessions were available. And yes, they did deal with trauma and grief. The contact page gave the address—only half an hour’s drive away—and a number to call.
She stared across to the reading section where Grace was seated, a pile of books stacked up by her feet. Every rational cell in her brain was screaming for her to close the page and go find Parenting for Dummies on the shelf. But Eleanor herself had recommended it and the proximity of the place was a bonus. And something else was going on inside her, like a mouse nibbling at a piece of cheese, telling her to give it a try. There was no harm in giving them a call. She typed the number into her phone, did a quick check of the rest of her inbox and closed the computer as soon as the urge to respond to all the work messages had her fingers itching. She’d notified all her clients before leaving Sydney that she would be unavailable for the next month and Claudia had reported just this morning that all was under control. Today was about helping Grace.
The librarian gave a jittery smile from behind the desk as Tess approached. Poor thing. She wasn’t really that obnoxious and she was most likely starved of company locked away in this place all day with nothing to look forward to going home to but a wanking husband. No wonder she devoured her customers’ computer leftovers to make her day more savoury. Grace appeared with most of her book selection clamped under one arm and a single tome clutched to her chest. One by one she placed them on the counter and waited for them to be processed.
‘And that one?’
Grace put the last book down and slid it across to the librarian. Tess did a double take at the title. Another classic story she remembered well, although the cover had been updated since she was a kid. A white horse galloping across a moonlit field, the title etched in foil lettering across the cover: The Silver Brumby. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe that rodent gnawing away at her insides was her instinct, the one Eleanor had told her to follow, like the Pied Piper but in reverse.
Maybe this whole equine-assisted-learning thing wasn’t so irrational after all.
Head in her book, Grace took zero notice of where they were going, so there was no need to explain the alternative route once they left the library. The woman at the horse place had been surprisingly friendly when Tess snuck in a phone call on the way out to the car, keeping far enough behind Grace not to be overheard. Within minutes Tess had plugged the address into her phone and they were on their way for a quick reconnaissance-style visit. It wasn’t like the two of them had anything better to do. Sitting around the house wasn’t very stimulating, and certainly wasn’t doing anything for Grace’s social skills.
The countryside rolled by as they headed further west, the ribbon of road rolling out between a patchwork of paddocks, sections of bush and the odd farmhouse. The recent rain seemed to have had an almost instant effect on the winter grass, which was springing to life before her eyes, although still with a distinctly straw-like tinge. There was absolutely something peaceful about being away from the city. As much as she loved the colour and movement and noise that went with living in Sydney, the rural lifestyle had its perks. Skye had taken it to an extreme, but there was a lot to be said for the quiet life and the therapeutic effect of so much space and sky. The half-hour trip disappeared as she drove and soon they stopped outside a set of gates.
Grace’s head popped up as the engine idled and Tess opened the car door.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting the gate.’ She followed Grace’s gaze to the foal poking its nose through the rails of the fence. ‘Unless you’d like to?’
A smile flickered across the girl’s lips. Within seconds she unbuckled her seatbelt and jumped out. A chocolate-coloured horse, an almost identical but larger version of the foal, sauntered over to the fence to where Grace was giving the baby a scratch behind the ears.
Tess rolled down the passenger window. ‘So are you getting that gate?’
Grace nodded, did the job and waited for Tess to drive through before she closed it again. When she hopped back into the car her whole demeanour was different: her posture upright, eyes alert as she peered through the windscreen. On either side of the driveway, behind neat white fences, horses of a variety of sizes and colours grazed on carpets of green grass. Straight ahead sat a white weatherboard farmhouse with a broad wraparound verandah, four chimneys topping its corrugated roof and beautiful leadlight glass decorating its windows. This was some property. Tess followed the curve of the road to the left and parked outside a fancy-looking stable block. An enormous dog was stretched out on the gravel, basking in the midday sun. At the sound of the car it hauled itself to its feet, gave a couple of lazy barks and then ambled over, wagging its tail. More sheep than dog, its eyes were hidden by a mop of shaggy hair. Grace couldn’t get to it quick enough. The mutt wriggled his entire body as if he was belly dancing, making a low grumbling noise. Tess couldn’t stifle her laugh. ‘I think he likes that.’
‘He’ll take as much of it as you can give.’ A stocky woman in a blue button-down shirt, an Affinity logo on the pocket, appeared from inside the stables. She stretched out her hand in greeting. ‘Hi, I’m Max. You must be Tess.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ She returned the vigorous shake with what she hoped was a strong grip. ‘Was it you I spoke to on the phone?’
‘Sure was. My full name’s Maxine, but I prefer the short version.’ She rested her hands on her hips and nodded in the direction of the dog, currently being held in a death grip. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘This is Grace.’
‘Hi, Grace.’ Max whipped off her cap, gathered the scattered pieces of her auburn hair into her hand and pulled it back into a neat ponytail. ‘That beast there is Jed.’
‘He’s big.’ Jed reached almost to Grace’s armpit.
‘He certainly is. We think he’s got a bit of wolfhound in him and probably some retriever. Other than that he’s a mystery, but a gentle one. Would you like to meet some of the horses?’
Completely unfazed by not being filled in on why they were here, Grace nodded eagerly. So far, so good.
‘We’ve just moved a few of them into the top paddock, so you’re in luck. Not far to walk.’ Max strode off like a Scout leader guiding her charges on a new adventure, Grace close on her heels along with new friend Jed, and Tess bringing up the rear. Tiny pebbles crunched beneath their feet as they passed the outbuildings at the back of the house, cut through a large undercover arena, then slipped through a gate into a grassed yard where three horses were grazing.
Max bent down so she was at eye level with Grace. ‘Would you like to pat one?’
Eyes wide, Grace gave her signature nod. Jed stayed close as they approached a black-and-white horse with feathery legs. It lifted its head to reveal a pair of ice-blue eyes.
Tess gave an audible inhale. It was like an exotic supermodel version of a horse.
‘Pretty, isn’t she?’ The voice, coming from her left, belonged to a bear of a man leaning against the fence, watching them all. His face hadn’t seen a razor for a few days and salty flecks were scattered through the stubble on his chin.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
He dipped his chin and plucked at the front panels of his shirt with both hands as if to check, before fixing Tess with a smug grin. ‘Last time I looked.’
Classic smartarse. He’d seemed pretty meek when they’d met at Jules’s place. ‘I find it a little unsettling, to be honest.’ She pointed at the horse Grace was now patting. ‘The eyes, I mean.’
He shrugged. ‘Everyone has their own idea of beauty, I guess.’ He stood and walked towards her, taking up the same position on the fence. Max handed Grace a brush and showed her how to groom the horse. It was weird just standing and watching, but Tess had no desire to join in. She crossed her arms. Sitting next to someone and not saying a word seemed weird, too, so small talk was the only alternative. ‘This is a gorgeous place you have.’
‘Now that we do agree on.’ He spoke quietly as he watched Grace move from horse to horse alongside Max.
What was his name? Clearly, it started with M—Michael? Mark?
‘So is Grace your daughter? I was a bit confused about that the last time we met.’
‘Well, she’s my, um … foster-daughter.’ One day she’d get used to the description. She pulled her coat tighter against the chill of the afternoon wind. ‘Her mother died recently. Grace has taken it hard, as you’d expect. I took her to see a psychologist when we were in Sydney, but it didn’t help much, then we came back here. It’s been difficult … I don’t have kids and I’m not really sure how to handle things.’
The man kept his focus on the horses and didn’t respond.
‘I explained the situation to your wife and she said she might be able to help.’
He swivelled towards her. ‘You explained it to my wife?’
‘Yes.’ She tipped her head in the woman’s direction. ‘To Max.’
He shook his head and made a chuckling noise.
‘I’m sorry?’ He had a way of making her feel like a total idiot, a way that completely got her back up. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d made a joke.’
‘Max isn’t my wife.’ He leaned a little closer as if he was letting her in on a secret. ‘She’s my sister.’
Turned out she actually was the idiot here. ‘Oh my God, I didn’t realise, I just presumed …’ Now it was her turn to laugh. Awkwardly. ‘On the website it just said M & M Farmer and …’ She waved her hands around, gesticulating wildly. The Italian blood always came to the fore when she was under pressure. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. Easy mistake.’ He pointed to where Max and Grace were now grooming a caramel-coloured horse with a blonde mane and tail. ‘She seems pretty comfortable with them. Has she had any experience with horses before?’
‘I wish I knew.’
Her vague reply was met with an equally vague expression.
‘I agreed years ago to be her guardian, but I hadn’t seen her for a long time before this happened, so I don’t really know much about her, what she likes or doesn’t like. She does have a cat, though, and she loves it to bits.’
He nodded, watching Grace all the while.
‘So, how does this therapy thing actually work?’
‘It’s not therapy and it’s not an instant cure, if that’s what you’re looking for.’
Did she say she wanted an instant cure? What was with this guy? One minute he was laughing and making jokes, the next he was being all prickly. Well, she had plenty of thorns herself. ‘No. It’s not.’
He pushed himself up off the fence and moved a couple of steps closer. ‘Look, I’m sorry. We get people coming here who want us to solve all their problems without putting in the work, but that’s not what we’re all about.’
‘Well, that’s not me.’
‘Max filled me in after you spoke to her on the phone. If you—and Grace—decide you want to come back, we’ll work out a program where the two of you interact with the horses in different ways. We don’t have anything much scheduled right now, so we could start as soon as you want.’
Hang on. Was she hearing things? ‘Did you say the both of us?’
‘Since you’re part of the massive changes Grace is going through, it would be good for the two of you to connect. The horses will help you do that.’
‘Ah, I don’t think so.’ She shifted slightly so she could meet his eyes a
nd calm the butterflies battering against the walls of her stomach. ‘Look, I’m not really an animal person. It’s Grace who needs the help with her grieving. That’s why we’re here.’
He held her gaze before staring down at his boots and shaking his head. ‘So you’re not really that serious about helping her.’ He raised his eyebrows, turned and walked away, disappearing back into the shadows of the stable.
What the fuck? Her head was about to explode. Who the hell did he think he was talking to her like that? Not that it mattered. Max was clearly the one who would be doing the counselling, or whatever they called it here. He was probably the roustabout, here to keep the fences upright and the stables clean. Oh wait, no, he was a shoeing person. Spent his days cleaning the muck out of horses’ feet and banging bits of metal onto their hooves. So his opinion counted for zilch. Shaking off his criticism, she headed over to where Grace was now grooming the third horse, a smaller chestnut.
Max turned to her. ‘She’s not scared of them at all. That’s a great start.’
‘So do you think you’ll be able to help?’
‘Definitely. Although Mitch is the primary practitioner here. I’m still an apprentice.’
Mitch. That was his name. Tess looked over to the stable block, but there was no sign of the man who had just given her what for.
The look on her face must have said it all. Max put a hand on her arm. ‘It’s okay. He knows what he’s doing. He’s worked with horses since he was a kid. He got into the assisted-learning work a few years back by accident when a friend of ours brought her autistic son over. Mitch worked wonders with him and loved it, so he put himself through his first course. Word got around. Now he does almost as much of that as he does breaking and training.’