On the Hooves of Horses

by Emma Taylor

  To find out more about this book or contact the author, please visit:

  www.vividpublishing.com.au/onthehoovesofhorses

  Copyright © 2015 Emma Taylor

  ISBN: 978-1-925341-89-8 (eBook)

  EPUB Edition

  Published by Vivid Publishing

  P.O. Box 948, Fremantle Western Australia 6959

  www.vividpublishing.com.au

  eBook conversion and distribution by Fontaine Publishing Group, Australia

  www.fontaine.com.au

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Subjects include: Lessons to learn, new beginnings, self-discovery, love, angst.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Connect with the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Do you have any regrets? Would you do things differently even if you had the chance? Do we have the ability to change our life course? Or is it set in stone, no matter what we do to try and alter it? After all, we are born and we will die. But who decides the start, the end and all that’s in between? I do have regrets, but they are not what you think. I regret not telling my sister every day that I loved her. I regret not being aware of what she was going through. And I regret the last day of her life. Her path was her path. Decided by her? Decided by God? Decided by fate? I had no control over that day. I was on my path, but I just wish I had paid more attention. That, I could control. That was my biggest regret. For everything bad that happens, I have to believe that something good will be born. I have to believe that there is good.

  I awoke startled. My tired 19 year old body jolted upright. The face staring back at me from the mirror in the cabin of the overnight ferry was a mix of exhaustion and sadness. Beads of sweat were dripping down my slightly freckled cheeks. My hair was stringy with moisture and my eyes were puffy. They cried a thousand tears, yet showed no sign of surrender. It had only been six months since my sister, Haylie had died. The pain and torment was as raw now as it was the day she and her boyfriend Sebastian committed suicide.

  We entered into this world on the 11th of February 1992 together. Well actually nine minutes apart and although Haylie physically left this world last October, being her identical twin, I feel my mind and soul went with her. I’m like an empty shell. Hollow. I guess that’s why my parents, Thom and Louise, thought a move interstate would help. I can’t see how it’s going to stop the nightmares. For them or for me. I am a constant reminder for them. I look like my sister, I sound like my sister and for me, well, I am my sister.

  “Jayde, honey…” my Mum said softly.

  “We’re about to dock. Make sure you don’t leave anything behind.”

  “Except for the shame and embarrassment of Haylie’s death, right? We can leave that behind can’t we?” Oh wow, I just say that out loud.

  “Jayde, please don’t be like that. Haylie’s accident was hard on us too.” she said. “Your father is doing all he can to keep this family afloat.” I sunk deeper into my own body. I was still half asleep. I have been uprooted from my home, my friends, and my work, everything that was familiar to me. But to be fair though, I haven’t been able to find comfort in anything familiar for the last six months. What’s familiar about death? How can life be normal when half of my soul is missing?

  “It’s not just you Jayde, who’s hanging by a thread.”

  I watched as my Mum’s eyes became misty. Her gaze trailed off into the distance, which was now a hustle of movement. She quickly wiped away a lonesome stray tear when my father came into view.

  “Are you ready ladies? Ready to start a new adventure in Tasmania?” I’m not sure if it was the bitter, fresh Tasmanian air or the lack of human contact on the boat over, but I found my dad to be overly enthusiastic. We still had another four hours drive to our destination. Four more hours of just the three of us. Four more hours for me to think about Haylie and how it used to be. Four more hours of listening to Mum and Dad pretending to be normal. At least when we arrive in Orford, I can be alone in my room. I feel alone anyway, my parents are just props for the next four hours. I do have to admit, it was a nice feeling to be back on dry land. There was something about the ocean that always made me feel sad. Maybe not sad, but more like empty. Yeah, empty. That pretty much sums up how I’ve felt for the last six months. I can still vividly remember the day when Dad told me that Haylie was dead. My beautiful, big sister. It’s funny really, I can’t remember the last conversation we had or the last time I hugged her, but I remember that day. How I wish it were the other way around. The air in my body was sucked out of me faster than a bullet train. It just gushed out from the pits of my soul and made it virtually impossible to breathe. I collapsed to the ground like I was searching for something. Answers perhaps? Why would my Dad say such a thing? He must have it wrong. Not Haylie. Not my confident and happy big sister. Maybe I was searching for the air I so desperately needed. Along with those unanswered questions, I searched for reasoning. Does a reason justify a death though? And why the hell couldn’t I remember the last conversation I had with her? I hear stories of people saying the last time they saw their loved one, they unknowingly had an extra long hug or almost spiritual expressions of love, or a lingering look. But I had nothing. No final farewell. No weird twin premonition. Nothing. Nothing at all. I didn’t understand why she committed suicide then, and I still don’t now, but I do hope that one day I will. Hope is a remarkable thing to have, especially under the circumstances.

  That was the hardest day of my life. There wasn’t anything in particular or even unusual that warned me of the horror that lay ahead. It was just another day, or so I had thought. The beautiful Spring day when I woke to sun beaming through the windows. The regular noise and hustle of the weekend, living in suburbia. I was the first to leave the house for the day. I was going to a fundraiser at our surf club for a local boy who had been hurt in a recent boating accident. I donated two pieces of my work. A framed photograph of the early rising fisherman heading out to sea for the day and the other was a sketch of the rock cliff that surrounded the waters in question. Just after noon though, the clouds descended upon me. Forcing me to accept life without my other half. Haylie had been my constant, my anchor. Now she was gone. Both Mum and Dad were there when it happened. They tried desperately to stop Haylie and Seb. How terrifying for them to witness such an ordeal. That moment is forever tainted in horror. Horror for Haylie, for my parents and for me. I was sickened and shattered and overwhelmingly lost on that day. Six months later and I still feel the same.

  ONE

  ‘Welcome to Orford…home of fisheries Tasmania’

  Finally we arrived. The drive wasn’t that bad. It was actually quite beautiful. There is a peacefulness about Tasmania. Rolling hills and open spaces. Parts of the journey on land were straight and solemn. That’s when I missed her terribly. Others had more twists and turns than the corkscrew roller coaster at Sea World. But it was all beautiful. And different. Perhaps that is why it is so beautiful. One m
inute we were driving through suburbia and the next through historic towns, followed by farm houses, a nature reserve and then coastal serenity. Who knew countryside could vary so much in such a short space of time?

  “So this is how the other half live, hey?” I tried my attempt at humour.

  “Give it a chance, Jayde,” Dad piped.

  “Don’t shoot me down, Dad. I’m here, aren’t I? I need this change just as much as you do.”

  He looked in his rear view mirror and smiled at me. It was a genuine smile. One I hadn’t seen for about six months. But there was still sadness in his eyes. I knew how much pain I felt over the loss of Haylie and I knew my parents were feeling pain for her too, but I never realised that they probably felt pain over the loss of me as well. I didn’t have to come down to Tasmania. I was financially able to support myself, but perhaps not emotionally able to, yet. I love my parents deeply and I know that they couldn’t bear to be separated from both of their children right now. So I guess the move was for them just as much as it was for me.

  In the distance there were a few people idling on the corner. My Dad slowed the car and wound down the window to ask for directions. The cold air rushed in through the open space and found all of my exposed skin and attached itself. It wasn’t even winter yet! My God, how on earth was I supposed to live here? Try and stay positive, Jayde.

  “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Parkville Road?!” My Dad called out to a bunch of teenagers lingering on a corner which appears to be, but hopefully isn’t, the main street. I glanced out over the town. I could see a post office that still had the original shop front of 1945. There was a hair salon that advertised perms and sets, a BBQ chicken shop that was so run down and dirty, it looked like it housed the chickens out the back. I could see a butcher shop and a wood work shop, which actually appeared to be quite interesting from what I could see. Coming from Queensland, our local souvenirs ranged between sand, coloured sand and anything made with seashells. Sand and seashells. Coral use to be in the equation too until it became environmentally incorrect.

  I guess we’re in the bush now, although it’s not really bush land in the traditional sense. Orford is coastal, but, unless the temperature reaches 20 degrees plus, you can’t claim a beach title. Well, that’s this Queenslander’s thoughts. Bush meets coastline. So that particular shop, I might just find of interest. Which now brings us back to the corner that our car is idling on. Spanning the entire corner is a cafe. A trendy one at that. There is hope. Phew, I thought to myself, I can’t actually see a chemist or a supermarket, or a police station or even a petrol station. There must be more to this somnolent town. A relieved smile began to twitch in the corners of my mouth.

  “Yer, jus kip gon ar the wa.”

  Oh, God, was that a reply? My twitchy smile turned to grimace.

  “What was that, Dad? Was that even English?” I blurted.

  “Thank-you. Much appreciated.”

  “Jayde, please,” he said, not taking his eyes from the road.

  “Oh come on, Dad. Seriously, Louise, back me on this one.” I said tapping mum on the shoulder. She stifled a laugh and said, “Our daughter does have a fair point there, Thom. I’m still trying to decipher what he said.”

  Dad kept driving for another 15 minutes or so. I ended using google maps to find the street. When I could that is. My reception kept fading. Yet another reminder life has changed. The bitumen turned into a damp, dirt road with native trees lining the path. Even though the windows in the car were firmly closed now, I could smell the freshness of the pine trees permeate throughout the interior. Clean, fresh, innate.

  There was a dampness too. Not a musty, mouldy dampness. More delicate and recent. The forest looked thick, dense, not much sign of life. Human life anyway. I’m very aware of Australia’s bush inhabitants. Plenty of creepy crawlies in there. Spiders, insects, snakes, no thank-you! I’ll leave them alone and hopefully they will extend me the same courtesy. It seemed to take ages to get to our destination. Perhaps because I’ve been seated in the back of our family car for far too long. Dad turned the wheel too quickly and we ended up off the path. Birds flew from the dense bushland and scattered throughout the tree tops and beyond, offended from being disturbed from their resting place. The car had come to a screeching halt amongst some ferns and low lying scrub. Something in the distance caught my eye.

  “Sorry, loves.” He said. But I wasn’t listening. I was fixated beyond our existence at that precise moment. Through the scrub, through the bushland, I could make out a silhouette of a dwelling. I’m assuming this abode was what we were to call home. It attracted my eye because it was neglected and shrouded with over grown creepers. It looked a little old fashioned and it was enchanting. It felt right. “I love it!” I exclaimed.

  “Jayde, there’s no need for that, you can’t really even see it.”

  “No, but I love it. I think it’s amazing.” My parents were silent. They glanced at each other with a rather pitiful look. I just smiled.

  That smile perhaps wasn’t quite as wide and content as it had been in the car once I had entered the house. It’s not that I was overly enthusiastic beforehand, it’s just that it needed a lot of work. A heck of a lot of work. “Bit, overly, optimistic, honey?” Mum stammered.

  “Optimistic? No I would say challenged, but…inspired.” I searched for the right word. Hmmm. Yes, inspired.

  * * *

  I woke gasping for air. A red, hot burning sensation went straight down to the pit of my stomach. My empty, hollow, sad stomach. “It never eases, Haylie,” I whispered. I missed my sister more than yesterday. I cried for her harder than last week and I felt a loneliness that was so foreign to me, yet it never seemed to dissipate. You would think that I would be used to that feeling by now. My dreams of Haylie were so vivid and so regular. Walking with her, beside me, is mostly what my nocturnal images played. We never touched each other and we never spoke to each other. Haylie just had a look of forlorn sadness, with no eye contact. My dreams were both comforting and torturous. She was still my sister and so real but I couldn’t laugh with her, hug her, share stories with her. She was dead and I was alive. And now awake. The morning brought hope of a promising day. Tired and confused from the night before, I had to blink hard to see sun piercing through the treetops into my bedroom window. Wow, I thought to myself, I really did have rose coloured glasses on yesterday. This place was filthy. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed the years of dirt and grime because yesterday was so overcast or perhaps I was just trying to be a little too optimistic, as Mum would have it. Either way, the sun was shining and I had a full day of labour ahead of me. For the first time in over six months, I actually felt like I had a purpose. It was nice to feel something other than overwhelming grief. I opened my bedroom door to the next chapter of life.

  “Morning baby girl.”

  “Dad?” I rubbed my eyes. Somewhere from above my father’s voice bellowed. “Here.” He said, head poking out from the ceiling. “I’m just putting some things away in the roof and some under the stairs and some in the dining room. Some everywhere, I guess. We sure do have a lot of stuff. The transit guys just keep bringing it in.”

  “Our stuff’s here?” I perked up. We only bought the bare essentials on our trip down and I missed my creature comforts. My art work, my books, my photos. Not to mention different clothes other than these I have worn to death. Not that I really had a lot of climate appropriate clothes. Mental note to self: shop at earliest convenience for suitable attire for my new life in exile.

  “Yes, dear, but don’t jump the gun. We’re cleaning this house top to bottom before the painters arrive. Mother’s orders. All our belongings are—and will remain in the living area until the house is cleaned, painted and cleaned again.” My father looked down at me like he did when I was four years old and had just eaten the last cookie.

  “Got it.” More of a statement than a question, yet he still waited for a reply. “Hmm, yeah.” I rolled my eyes as I turned away.

/>   I found Mum chatting away to an elderly man in white overalls at the front door. He was wrinkled and his face was harsh like he spent most of his life in the elements, however you could tell he was fitter than most men half his age. His hands were waving around as he talked to Mum, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. He had an urgency in his movements. Despite the weariness on his face, you could see that he still had a zest for life.

  “Oh, morning Jayde. This is Ross, the painter.” She motioned toward him. I nodded and smiled politely.

  “I gathered he was the painter Mum…the brushes kind of gave it away and the overalls with paint splatter all over them.”

  Ross winked at me as Mum let my comment fly out through the open door.

  “Where do you want these ones Mrs Miller? It’s the last of them.” A young, man wearing dark blue Hard Yakka trousers asked as he manouvered his trolley in and around the space where we all were. I knew they were Hard Yakka brand because the logo was printed on the back pocket. The back right hand pocket to be precise. Hmmm, things might just improve for me around here.

  “Let me see…those can just be left near the stairs, please and that one on top can just be left here thank you.” Mum directed.

  “No worries.” The transit worker smiled.

  “Jayde,” Mum cleared her throat. “The cleaning supplies are on the bench in the kitchen.” She was monotone.

  “Do you mind if I make myself a coffee first? I didn’t sleep very…”

  “Of course not sweetie.” Aah, the sweetness and light.

  “Perhaps Ross and his partner would like a morning caffeine hit, too.”

  “Never touch the stuff myself love, but I know Reed would love one. Do you mind? He’s just outside preparing now.”

  I stepped out into the first day of my new life. I could feel the cold rising from the path beneath my feet. Cobblestone with green foliage that I instantly recognised as baby’s breath, winding its way as an unkempt border. Not that I know the first thing about plants, but this is a really common foliage used in bouquets. And this I learned from my grade 3 teacher, Mrs Chesterman, who adored the plant. Funny, I can’t remember the last conversation with Haylie, but I remember that dear old Mrs Chesterman loved baby breath and pink carnations. The day was fresh and I could feel my lungs open up as I breathed in the pure air. Sights, smells, everything seemed heightened without Haylie around. Raw. Open. Or maybe that was just how I felt about me. Sensitive and exposed. I took the steps slowly as they looked a little bit frosty and therefore slippery. I didn’t want to render myself useless by tripping and hurting myself with so much to do. Or did I? Tempting. Mum had a knack of reeling everyone into her plans. At times, even making you believe it was all your idea in the first place. A very clever woman, my mum.