by Di Morrissey
‘Good one, Dad,’ said Tango tersely as he hurried after Jenni.
TR sat looking down at his plate as Queenie looked at Dingo. ‘Pass the port,’ said Dingo and Queenie handed him the bottle.
Tango found Jenni sitting in the darkness on the verandah. She brushed tears from her cheek as she heard his footsteps. He sat down beside her.
‘You okay? Don’t let him upset you. He’s still pretty tense.’
‘I know. I was just a bit taken aback. And embarrassed,’ she sniffed.
‘He’ll apologise, I’m sure. And nobody took much notice.’ Tango found her hand and squeezed it. They sat in silence for a moment as Tango played with her fingers. Then he asked, ‘What did Dad mean when he said he didn’t think you’d want him to get his memory back?’
‘I guess he figures if he remembers everything, he’ll remember that he loves Queenie and not me.’
‘And that would upset you?’ asked Tango.
Jenni gently withdrew her hand. ‘Let’s not talk about it now, Tango. You know I’m fond of TR. Of you both,’ she added with a catch in her voice. ‘This is very confusing.’
Tango drew her to her feet. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen and scrounge some more of Millie’s dessert.’
And together they both added, ‘And a cup of tea!’ Laughing, they walked along the verandah where long yellow patches of light from the windows shone across the darkened lawns.
The following morning Dingo was loading his gear into the utility truck. Jim was driving him into Longreach to the airport. Dingo had done the rounds saying goodbye and he’d gone out earlier that morning to make a special trip to the cottage where Snowy lived.
‘Hey, Snow, I’m off,’ he called at the front door.
Snowy walked stiffly toward Dingo and, as if on cue, the two men pulled their worn bush hats from their heads at the same moment. The two elderly white-haired men shook hands, Dingo rested his free hand on top of their clasped hands. They looked deep and steadily into each other’s eyes. No words were spoken. They were two men from different cultures and backgrounds yet they shared a deep love of the bush and the land, of this place and this family. They were men who had made their own way in the world. One had made a fortune, the other possessed very few material belongings, yet they had a common strength of values and belief in the spirit of the land.
‘Look after Tingulla, Snowy.’
‘I’ll always do that, boss.’
Dingo looked at the old Aborigine and knew Snowy would always be there — in the rocks and trees and wind.
Snowy flashed his gap-toothed smile. ‘Good huntin’ over there in the west.’
‘I do my best, Snow. Never know what I’ll get up to next.’ Dingo turned back to the house, going to the kitchen to farewell the others.
As Dingo threw the last bag into the back of the Toyota, TR came limping up, leaning on his walking cane. Dingo took his hand and slapped him on the back, ‘Anytime you want a break . . . let me rephrase that . . . any time you want to escape all these doting women and help with a new scheme I’m working on, come over and stay with me. You’ve been promising for years.’
TR smiled. ‘I might just surprise you. Thanks for all your help, Dingo. Is that the lot?’
‘Yep I reckon so. I travel light,’ said Dingo. ‘Here come the mob to see me off.’
Queenie and Tango strolled over followed by Jenni and Millie, who was busily organising Jim’s trip to town. Dingo said his farewells then turned to Queenie and gave her a hug. ‘You just live for each moment, luv,’ he whispered in her ear.
As the vehicle disappeared down the drive, a gloom seemed to settle over the group. Tango dispelled it with an invitation that turned attention in his direction. ‘Hey, Jenni, before you start work, come and have a game of tennis with me.’
Jenni glanced at TR who nodded. ‘Go ahead, I’m going to have a shower and tidy up a bit. I’ll see you later.’
‘Be careful in the shower, TR. Sit on the plastic chair,’ advised Jenni protectively.
‘Hey, he’s a grown up,’ interjected Tango. ‘Come on, Jenni, I’m off tomorrow, this is your last chance.’ He took her hand and ran off in the direction of the tennis court.
‘I’m going to see if there’s any more tea and toast left, I rushed breakfast,’ Queenie announced with forced brightness.
Queenie took a fresh pot of tea and a New Woman magazine onto the verandah. It was a peaceful morning, the sun had burned off the dew from the grass, magpies were fighting over scraps Ruthie had scattered for them. Queenie sipped her tea, reflecting on what Dingo had said — live for the moment. How lucky she was really . . . to be in such a beautiful place at this moment in time. Her children were well and happy and TR, if not restored to her in heart and spirit, was mending physically. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift in this brief pocket of contentment as the faint thud of tennis balls and laughter from Tango and Jenni drifted up from the tennis court.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Saskia was working on Toffee’s training programme in between running the trail rides for the now officially opened and functioning Harmony Hill. The retreat had had a low-key opening with invited press, health and tourism officials, and influential celebrities known to be interested and sympathetic to an alternative holiday concept.
Feedback from the guests was glowing. Some had been to similar retreats in places like Big Sur in California, but most agreed that nowhere else offered the diversity, beauty and specialised care that Harmony Hill did.
As yet there hadn’t been much general publicity; Colin wanted to keep a low profile and target their specific market. As a result, speculation around the small farms and the local village as to what went on at Harmony Hill had ranged from drug-induced sex orgies to it being a secret cover for an organised-crime ring. However, quite by chance, Saskia had become a floating public relations representative when she began visiting some of the local farmers, trying to find the ideal training ground for Toffee. She had ridden to the farms and explained she was giving the horse a bit of a workout, asking if she could cross their properties from time to time. Over chats with the farmers and their wives, the gossip soon spread that Saskia was from the famous Tingulla station and was taking on a problem racehorse, and in the process they learned exactly what Harmony Hill was all about. Most of the stolid farm people shook their heads or laughed openly at the idea of paying good money for things they took for granted, and some suggested they could offer guests the extra incentive of helping with their milking or fixing a few farm fences to relieve stress.
After a few days’ searching, Saskia had finally found what she was looking for — a farmer, Angus Wellburn, who had a decent size herd of quiet cattle. Saskia asked permission to work the cattle with Toffee and when she told him of her experience mustering and working at Tingulla, Angus had been only too happy to let her move his stock from one paddock to another.
‘I used to be in the racing game. That’s a fine looking horse,’ he had commented. ‘Not your average looking stockhorse, that’s for sure. But go ahead and exercise him if you want, luv.’
In a gentle fashion Saskia began working Toffee like a stockhorse. She rubbed his neck as she saddled him, explaining what she had in mind. ‘You see, Toff, you get nervous in a race when other horses bunch around you or touch you. You’re a loner, and we’re going to overcome that.’
The first time she had taken him into the paddock where the cattle were, the big bay racehorse had become highly disturbed and Saskia had a hard time keeping him in check. She rode slowly round in circles, working her way steadily closer to the herd of grazing cattle, who took no notice of the horse. She then let Toffee stand and watch the cattle for five minutes before turning to leave the field.
Her lessons with the horse never lasted more than twenty minutes as she regarded him as a child with a limited attention span, but she always went back to her lesson the next day. Horses learned by habit and undoing a bad habit was difficult, but Saskia had
come to understand this horse’s nature and she persevered in short sessions where the tussle of wills became less and the trust and bond between them grew.
By the third day Toffee had poked quietly along behind the cattle as Saskia gradually closed the gap between them. By the end of a week he was less threatened and had even chased up a stray or two. In addition to working with the cattle Saskia was also working on his problem with bends. She had found the perfect strip of smooth ground on the flat stretch along the river where they galloped flat tack before the track swerved in a big sweeping bend following the river. Further along was an almost right-angle bend that doubled back up the hill. She worked Toffee along this, feeling him get out of stride and throw his legs and start to drift wide around the bends, pulling up in the process. So Saskia slowed him up, easing him into the bend and sprinting out of it. Over the weeks she raced from each direction so he got used to a left-hand, as well as a right-hand, curve.
Colin was oblivious to her work with Toffee. He had become preoccupied with paperwork and had locked himself in the office. He spent long hours on the phone and was always rushing off for meetings with Alfredo and his associates. That suited Saskia just fine — she wanted to keep her work with Toffee quiet, hoping it would be a welcome surprise later on. She was also getting very attached to the horse and when she had asked about him, Colin had been very abrupt. ‘I don’t know, or care,’ he said. ‘George says he’s not good enough for our needs.’
Saskia couldn’t quite figure her uncle out; sometimes he was dismissive, other times she caught him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom, which sent shivers up her spine. Other times he went out of his way to be charming and referred to their close family bond, frequently trying to persuade her to go over to the Gold Coast and to go out on the town with what he called the junior jetset, but she always declined, preferring her own friends. Besides, she was far too busy with Toffee to worry about socialising. Every spare moment she had was spent with the horse or planning new ways to improve his training. Saskia had a new passion, and everything else took second place.
Queenie crossed from the library to the sunroom and stopped as TR came slowly towards her, moving cautiously and leaning heavily on his walking stick.
‘Hey that’s great, TR. Have you given away the crutches?’
‘Not completely, I feel a bit insecure with just this cane. I was going to have another go at the stairs. God, listen to me. This must sound crazy to you. Getting up and down that staircase is a major achievement for me.’
‘No, it doesn’t sound crazy. I’m really proud of your progress,’ said Queenie gently. ‘Come on, I’ll go upstairs with you.’
‘No,’ said TR quickly, ‘I want to do it on my own. Jenni told me I have to get used to not having a backstop.’
Queenie managed a smile. ‘All right. I’ll watch for a minute.’ Then impulsively she said, ‘TR, do you want to move back upstairs? To our room?’ It was madness to her that TR was sleeping downstairs whilst she lay all alone in the big old bed they’d once shared.
TR had his back to her, holding onto the bannister, about to put a foot on the first stair. His voice was muffled. ‘I don’t think so.’
Queenie moved around in front of him. ‘TR, I miss you. I’m lonely. We need each other. Even if you don’t remember it, we are very close and loving. Don’t you want to at least try?’
‘I’m uncomfortable in bed, sleeping with someone else would be a problem,’ he muttered.
‘TR, we’re going to have to face this hurdle at some stage. Think of me as a woman you’ve just met . . . Don’t you find me a bit appealing?’ Queenie said it lightly, but her heart was tight and constricted in her chest.
TR gazed at her, looking into her emerald eyes so filled with love and devotion. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Queenie . . . but it just seems strange. I can’t explain it, I don’t understand why, but I’m finding you and me . . . hard to deal with.’
‘But not so Jenni?’ said Queenie bitterly.
‘Jenni has nothing to do with this,’ said TR quickly. That’s different.’
‘How is it different, TR?’ asked Queenie in a still voice. ‘Why is Jenni easier to deal with than me?’
‘She doesn’t put any pressure on me. Even though you don’t mean to, I just feel you’re forcing me to be someone I don’t know.’ TR looked frustrated and upset.
‘All right, TR, forget it. We’ll just leave things as they are and take it day by day.’ She turned and walked away, trying not to show the hurt and pain she felt.
‘I think that’s the best way . . . for the moment,’ said TR to her back.
That afternoon, as they walked in the garden, TR told Jenni of his conversation with Queenie and tried to apologise for his behaviour towards her at dinner. It was a subject that caused them both pain and embarrassment, but he pressed on. ‘The idea of making love scares me. I’m afraid of the pain in my hip and leg and I feel you expect so much from me, Queenie too. If there was a stranger I could just hop into bed with as an experiment, it’d be much easier. God, does that sound terrible?’ he asked.
Jenni shook her head. ‘No, it’s perfectly understandable. I can understand Queenie’s frustration though, you’re a very sexy man, TR, and I bet you’re a great lover!’ She said it in her usual teasing banter, but they both were aware that an invitation hung in the air.
Before he could respond, TR stumbled slightly. ‘Damn this bloody leg,’ he exclaimed angrily, throwing his cane away in frustration and frightening off a butcher bird on a nearby shrub.
‘Well, now you’ll have to walk on your own.’ Jenni hurried over to the shrub and picked up the cane and held it out to TR. ‘Come and get it.’
Angry and annoyed with himself, and embarrassed at revealing his feelings to Jenni, TR glared at her, measuring the ten metres that separated them. Defiantly he grasped his bad leg around the thigh and lifted it in front of him, placing it on the ground, taking a step. He paused; then, without using his hands, dragged his bad leg and took another step. Suddenly discovering he could move forward in this awkward, robotlike gait, TR began to close the gap between them.
Jenni stayed still, watching him intently, a smile playing around her mouth and her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Go for it, TR. You can do it. I’m not going to help you this time. Come on, come on.’
Biting his lip, TR edged forward, covering the distance despite the pains that shot up his leg and hip. At the end he stumbled and fell into Jenni’s arms.
She hugged him tightly. ‘Well done, TR. I knew you could do it.’ She pulled back and looked up into his face where a pleased expression had replaced his anger. ‘You’re walking, TR. You’re on your own now.’ She kissed him gently on the cheek, and still holding onto her, he hugged her tightly.
‘Yes, Jenni, I’m on my own now,’ he murmured into her soft blonde hair. He felt the tears on her cheeks, but he didn’t know whether they were tears of sadness or joy.
Late in the day Queenie found TR reading in the sunroom. She was friendly but businesslike, trying to forget the episode on the stairs that morning. ‘TR, I’m going into town tonight for a community meeting with other woolgrowers, the head of the meatworks, the council members and our new fellmongery manager, and any other interested parties . . . Would you like to come along?’
‘Is this to put the final proposal to the town?’
‘Yes. I’m not expecting any opposition; in fact, everyone sees it as a positive move, but we want to inform the community of what’s involved.’
‘So the fellmongery is going to be attached to the old tannery? I thought Tango said that was no longer in use.’
Queenie sat beside him on the sofa. ‘It’s not really. The tannery has practically come to a standstill but it can be easily set up again and can be expanded to suit our needs. We will have to update the waste-water disposal system. We have to reassure everyone that thanks to the new techniques there won’t be chemicals going into the ground, water suppl
y or sewerage. And on the positive side we will hopefully be able to start employing local people as the business grows. In fact, I had it in mind that eventually, if it becomes big enough and we can encourage others to follow us, we could make it a public company so others can share in the dream.’
‘Sounds good. Okay, I’ll come. What time are we leaving?’
‘Soonish. I was planning on having a bite to eat in town before the meeting,’ she said shyly.
‘Great, I’d like to have a look around town.’
Queenie winced — she could tell he was just making an effort to be nice to her.
Jim and Millie were working together in the vegetable garden in the cool of the day’s end when Queenie found them. ‘I’m going into that meeting tonight, Millie, so don’t worry about dinner. Um, TR’s coming with me.’
‘You takin’ Jenni? She might like to look around the bright lights of Longreach,’ suggested Jim.
Millie nudged him. ‘No, she’s busy. Doin’ somethin’ for me.’
‘She is? What?’ asked Jim in surprise.
‘You’ll see,’ improvised Millie. ‘You get along, love, we’ll be right,’ said Millie.
Queenie grinned at her and left. Good old Millie, she thought.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ asked Jim.
‘Haven’t you ever heard three’s a crowd,’ declared Millie in exasperation. ‘Honestly, you men. And where’s Snowy, I haven’t set eyes on him for ages,’ said Millie, quickly changing the subject.
‘Ruthie said he and Ernie have gone walkabout for a bit.’
Millie nodded and handed Jim a bucket of new potatoes they’d dug up. ‘Here, take these up to the house. And don’ you mention nothin’ to Jenni ‘bout Queenie and TR going away t’night.’
TR and Queenie were sitting in the restaurant at the Jumbuck Motel. Husband and wife faced one another demurely across the table, like a couple on a blind date. Gradually, away from prying eyes — Jenni’s especially — they began to relax and enjoy each other’s company. For the first time TR talked in detail about his stay in the hospital and he made Queenie laugh with stories of the nurses and patients. He talked about young Dennis the jockey and how glad he was Tango had taken him on at Guneda.