Cross My Heart

by Pamela Cook

  ‘Are you coming?’

  She turned her head to the side, towards the sound. Grace was already out, her voice muffled through the closed door of the car.

  Tess nodded. It was enough of an answer to satisfy Grace, who skipped away towards the stables. Now she just needed to swing her legs out, get herself vertical and mobile.

  Mitch spoke to Grace and then waved to Tess, watching her long after he’d dropped his hand. This was it. Time was up. Her arm moved towards the door. She pulled at the handle, a stream of cool air greeting her as she swivelled around, placed both feet on the ground and stared down at her newly polished RM Williams boots. She was perfectly prepared. On the outside. As long as she could fake her way through the session and not let her guard down everything would be fine. After all, she’d had years’ worth of practice.

  Grace made a beeline for Whisky, who stuck her head through the railing and was enjoying an ear scratch. Those two had really bonded, which was probably what this stuff was all about: you make a connection with an animal, so you get an endorphin rush and whammo, you feel better. Grace bent forward and rubbed her nose against the horse’s muzzle. Chemical reaction or not, it seemed to be working, at least for Grace.

  Mitch was still there, waiting. ‘Hi.’ Her voice sounded normal. A good start. ‘How are you doing?’ He eyed her carefully as he handed her a small black notebook, the same one Grace had been recording her thoughts in after each session.

  ‘Thanks.’ She could always use it for shopping lists. Taking the path of least resistance was the order of the day.

  ‘You guys ready?’ Max called out to them from the stable entrance. ‘We’re going to start inside, then come out and do some work with the horses.’

  Mitch moved to head in, Grace jumping in front and beating him to the door.

  Smile. Say as little as possible. Play along.

  ‘You joining us?’ Mitch had stopped and turned around to face her.

  Tess smiled. ‘Of course.’

  Grace was already seated, her journal open on her knees. Max and Mitch occupied the other two chairs, leaving hers ready and waiting. She pulled it slightly outside the circle and sat, then loosened the scarf wrapped in layers around her neck.

  ‘Tess,’ Max started, ‘thanks so much for being here with us. We’re really happy you’ve agreed to join in on the learning with Grace. I know it’s only five days since your last session, but we’d like to start off with a few reminders about how things work.’ Her voice droned on, running through the confidential nature of the sessions, inviting the two of them to be open to the experience and the possibility that strong emotions could be stirred. Sessions, she had said. Plural. There was some mention of team building and then a second voice cut in.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to share with us from your journal, Grace?’

  Focus. Listen.

  Without any hesitation, Grace opened her notebook and began to read.

  ‘I love Whisky. I love the way she smells and the way she licks my hand but doesn’t bite. When we did the exercise where I walked around the arena and she followed me, it made me feel happy. Like she wanted to be with me. Like she loved me. Doing the obstacle course was fun. My favourite part was when we zig-zagged through the cones and then Whisky stopped right next to me at the end. I was really sad when I had to leave. I can’t wait to go back again.’ She looked up at Mitch, beaming.

  ‘That’s great, Grace. Thanks for sharing with us.’

  ‘So, Tess …’ Max again. ‘What are you hoping to gain from coming along today?’

  Her cheeks burned as she stared at an L-shaped crack in the concrete. Why was it so stuffy in here? Grace’s head was turned in her direction. As long as she kept it simple all would be well. She forced herself to look up and Mitch gave her an encouraging smile.

  ‘I’m hoping we—Grace and I—can become closer.’ Her voice was steady, with no sign of the quivering jellyfish beneath the surface. ‘And that she might feel more comfortable confiding in me.’ Was that right? Or should she be using second person, talking directly to Grace? She turned sideways in her chair. Made sure she caught Grace’s eye. ‘Or at least that you could talk to me more. Trust me.’

  Mitch nodded. ‘Great. I’ll be directing you through a series of exercises with the horses. Try not to rush through them, take your time and remember that you’re in this together, so as much as possible try to work as partners, with each other and with the horses.’ He paused. ‘Any questions?’

  Tess shook her head. The less talking the better.

  He stood and led them out, then handed them a brush each. ‘We’ll start with the grooming exercise. Grace, repeat what we did last time and see if Whisky wants to work with you again. She may decide not to today.’ Grace’s face fell. ‘But chances are she will.’ She perked up again and headed into the arena.

  Tess took the brush she was offered and opened the gate. ‘So do I just pick a horse?’

  ‘This isn’t so much about picking a horse as you and the horse choosing to work with each other.’ He rested his hand on her arm. ‘And there’s no hurry, Tess. Take your time.’

  Grace was circling the horses slowly, one by one, eyes averted, as she’d done the last two times. This would be a piece of cake. Walk around, find a horse, brush it, go home. The smaller chestnut was her target, but it would be better to delay it, to make the choice look more impromptu. The huge black horse flicked an ear in her direction. Apparently, he’d been a stallion until recently. He might have lost his manhood, but everything about him exuded power. Strength. A shiver skipped across her scalp. She swallowed, chasing it away. She passed Grace, already teamed up with Whisky, who stood with head lowered so her mane could be brushed. The chestnut Tess had in mind was standing in the middle of the arena. No point prolonging the inevitable. She picked up her pace a little and approached the smaller gelding. The horse turned its head briefly, gave a sniff then edged away, playing hard to get. Tess took a step closer, but as she reached out a hand towards the horse’s withers a hot breath fell across her neck. She froze. What was happening?

  ‘It’s okay, Tess,’ a voice called gently, ‘he’s just letting you know he’s there.’ Mitch was speaking from somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t turn around. ‘Just relax.’

  For a few long seconds, she let her eyes fall shut. She loosened her grip on the brush, let her hand fall from the chestnut’s neck and tried to stay calm. She wasn’t alone. Mitch was here. She opened her eyes again to see her chosen horse walking away, but the warm air continued to coat her cheek. One stuttering centimetre at a time she turned her neck, forcing her eyes to follow. The tall gelding’s rubbery lips touched her face.

  ‘He’s giving you an invitation.’

  An invitation?

  The horse’s face was so close to hers she could see the damp recesses of his nostrils vibrating. She willed herself to move, but every muscle in her body was rigid, as if his breath had turned her to stone. She wanted to run—would he chase her? Would he trample her? Pin her down? Put a knife to her throat and slit her from ear to ear. He’d said he would kill them both if they told. Her parents would never see her again. Jean would never see Skye again. They’d be gone and nobody would ever know what happened to them. His rancid, rum-drenched breath spilled over her again, mixed with the sickly musk of his aftershave. Her stomach lurched. Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh God, she was going to be sick. She curled into a ball, barely upright.

  ‘Tess.’ He was calling to her. How did he know her name? It was hot, too hot under all these blankets, but she couldn’t throw them off.

  ‘Tess, it’s me, it’s Mitch.’

  Mitch?

  She dropped her hand. Pulled herself up to meet his cool green eyes. It was daylight. They were outside. At Affinity.

  He rested a hand on her arm. ‘You’re alright.’

  She gulped down a mouthful of air.

  ‘Are you okay to keep going?’

  A few metres away Grace wa
s watching her closely, even as she brushed Whisky’s tail, a curious glint in her eye. She had no way of knowing what had just happened, that Tess’s worst nightmare had materialised the minute the horse had sought her out. Had something similar happened to Grace in her sessions? Had the memory of finding her mother, cold and stiff in her bed, been dragged out for her to confront? Mitch had already backed away, leaving her to make the decision for herself.

  The black horse was standing by her side, calm and waiting. She raised her hand and placed it against his neck. Warm muscle, a velvet-soft coat. Here and now. Real and grounding. She ran her fingers along his spine. He blinked, long lashes feathering the sharp bones of his cheeks, and rolled his tongue around inside his mouth before reaching out and licking her, once, on the arm. She took a small step back so she could lift the brush she still held in her hand. Brush, hand, brush, hand. She alternated one and then the other over the horse’s body, moving from one section to the next, drawing on his quiet strength, completely absorbed in what she was doing, her mind-numbing fear dissolving.

  And something inside her, shifting.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Grace was standing beside her. How long had she been there? The flashback was so shocking, the movement of the brush over the horse’s coat so mesmerising, she had lost all sense of time and place. She glanced up to see Mitch, a short distance away. His expression was neutral, but he was there. Not quite sure if she’d be able to speak, she gave Grace a nod and returned to her task, moving to the other side to create some room. As they worked quietly together Grace began to hum. ‘Baby Elephant Walk’. Tess shook her head, smiling and joining in, humming along until the horse was gleaming from head to toe and the grin on Grace’s face reached from ear to ear.

  And then something occurred to her. ‘I don’t even know your name.’ She addressed the animal as if he was a person and might actually answer.

  ‘Samson,’ Grace piped up. ‘His name is Samson.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Somehow in the last twenty minutes, or however long it had been since the memory had forced its way so brutally into her consciousness, the tension inside her had eased. It was there, hovering in the shadows, but focusing on the horse’s strong, solid presence and the repetitive motion of the grooming had brought her out of her head and back to the present. Back to herself.

  ‘You two have stolen my thunder.’ Mitch walked over and joined them. ‘The next task I was going to give you was doing a grooming session together, but it looks like you already have that under control.’

  ‘So what else can we do?’ Grace was absolutely glowing.

  Had she actually grown in the last half-hour?

  ‘Well, if you both feel up to it …’ He looked at Tess, waited for her nod. ‘I’ve set up an obstacle course at the end of the arena. The idea is for the two of you to work together with one of the horses, guiding them through the poles and around the cones.’

  ‘That’s easy.’ Grace moved off towards the course, a series of parallel poles set out in formation, two orange witch’s hats at the farthest end.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Mitch took a step forward to block her path. ‘There’s a catch. Two, in fact. First catch is you can’t use a lead rope or head stall, the horse will be at liberty.’

  Grace squinted at Mitch, then back at the two horses who were both completely chilled, heads turned towards the human trio, as if they too were listening to what was required.

  ‘And the second catch?’ Although Tess was still a little shaky, she wasn’t going to let Grace down. Not having a lead rope could be a challenge, but you could always grab them by the neck and push them around if worse came to worst.

  He smirked, as if he’d read her mind. ‘You can’t touch the horses. And you can’t communicate verbally with each other.’

  Wasn’t improving communication the whole point of Grace and her being here together? And now he was telling them not to talk.

  ‘Can we use our hands and stuff?’ The cogs in Grace’s mind were ticking over. Tess could practically see them spinning.

  ‘Hands, bodies, you can use the carrot sticks—those orange sticks with the strings on them—to direct them, too. But the idea is that you work with each other to get the horses to where you want them to be, which is on the other side of those cones.’

  How hard could it be to get a horse to walk over and through a few poles?

  ‘Can we start with Whisky?’ Grace was obviously not daunted by the challenge.

  ‘So, do we lead her up there to the starting point, like grab her by the neck or something?’

  Mitch gave his trademark smartarse grin. ‘Start from where you are, doing it the way I outlined.’ He walked back to the other side of the arena and hoisted himself up to sit on the fence, his dusty boots resting against the bottom rail, arms folded.

  Tess sighed. They were on their own. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.’

  Grace pivoted on one foot to face Whisky. She meant business. Eyeballing the horse, she started off and took a few steps before looking back. Whisky snorted, standing her ground. Unperturbed, Grace walked to the side of the mare, raised her hands and began to wave them in the air. It was met with a slight turn of the head and shuffling of feet but nothing more.

  This was supposed to be a team effort, yet Tess was stumped.

  In previous sessions, when she’d observed rather than participated, the horse had begun to follow Grace after the grooming. Maybe she just wanted some TLC before being ordered around. ‘How about—’

  Grace pressed a finger to her lips.

  Oh yeah, no talking. She reached down and picked up the two brushes, and walked over to the horse, wriggling her eyebrows at Grace. They worked together, grooming Whisky in the same way they’d done with Samson, taking their time. Being quiet and slow around the horses really did have a languid effect on both groomer and horse. After what must have been a good ten minutes, Grace angled her head towards the other end of the arena, pointed at Tess and then at the horse’s rump. She was actually taking charge, working out how to get the nag to move!

  Tess raised one arm, directing from behind. Somewhere, sometime she’d heard that horses had excellent peripheral vision, so hopefully Whisky would respond. She kept urging the horse forward and then, as if it had been her idea all along, the mare took one step and then another until she was following Grace to the other end of the arena. Stopping on the right-hand side of the poles, Grace lifted an arm to block Whisky from walking too far. The mare stopped in front of the parallel poles laid out on the ground and Tess positioned herself on the other side. Carrot stick in hand, Grace walked back a little and swung the string at the horse’s backside without letting it connect. Unfazed, Whisky ambled through the poles. Tess ran to where they formed an L shape and blocked the exit, directing the horse around the corner. Grace bobbed up and down, bubbling with excitement, her hands scrunched into fists as if she was jumping a skipping rope.

  Tess stifled a shriek. No point in breaking the rules now. There were a few more poles to work around, but they were almost there. Bit by bit they guided Whisky over the rest of the course, keeping each other in sight, signalling with hand gestures and body movements and finally getting her across the finish line between the orange cones.

  ‘Yay!’ Grace shouted. ‘We did it, we did it.’ She ran across and threw her arms around Tess’s waist, holding tight.

  Tess pulled her in, squeezing back just as hard, breathing in the absolute triumph of the moment. The rancid odour lurking in her memory receded as she rested her cheek on Grace’s head. All she could smell was the peachy scent of freshly washed hair, the primal smell of horse and the unexpected, intoxicating scent of happiness.

  By the time they turned to head back to the stables, a wave of exhaustion enveloped Tess, the excitement of working with Grace and her earlier unanticipated reaction to Samson drowning her in a backwash of emotional fatigue.

  She collapsed into the chair beside Grace.

  ‘You bot
h did brilliantly out there.’ Max was full of praise, with no mention of Tess’s meltdown.

  ‘I know! How good were we?’ Grace was so puffed up with pride she was in danger of exploding.

  Tess leaned sideways and bumped her shoulder against Grace’s. ‘You were amazing. Thank you for showing me what to do.’

  ‘How did you find the experience, Tess?’ Mitch drew her attention back to the circle. ‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’

  Dissecting her reaction was not something she could do right now.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No. I’m just happy that we got to work together.’

  ‘Can we do it again next time?’ Grace chirped.

  ‘If you want to do another session together,’ Mitch paused, watching for her reaction. She gave an ever-so-slight nod of her head. As difficult as it had been, there was also something liberating about the process, like a valve inside her chest had been opened and half a lifetime of pent-up emotion had been released. ‘There are a few great trust and team-building exercises we could do, to expand on what you did today.’

  Grace turned to her. ‘Can we?’

  There was no way Tess could deny the obvious bonding that had taken place between the two of them. Coming back and working together would be good for them both. And in the meantime, she could work on her own issues in private. She smiled. ‘That would be great.’

  Mitch nodded, but the narrowing of his eyes and the straight, thin line of his mouth made it clear he wasn’t completely convinced.

  Country quiet was so different to city quiet. In Sydney, even when she’d lived in the depths of suburbia, there was always some kind of noise—a pimped-up 1975 Torana doing a burnout at the traffic lights, a Qantas jumbo thundering through the clouds when surely it must be past curfew, a dog yapping at a guy in fluoro lycra squeezing in a late-night jog. Living in Surry Hills, Tess had heard all this and much, much more. But out here, it wasn’t the noise that kept her awake. It was the silence. The ear-ringing, deafening quiet of living kilometres away from other people, away from roads and cars, away from any form of actual civilisation.