by Cathryn Hein
‘So I’ve noticed.’ He cleared his throat and indicated her head. ‘You have helmet hair.’
Tash swiped at her hair self-consciously. She probably looked a fright. Another good reason for him not to stay. ‘I guess that answers your question then, doesn’t it? Is that all? Because I need a shower.’
‘Need someone to wash your back?’
So shocked was Tash by the question that her eyes bulged and her neck thrust forward like a tortoise. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. Sorry. Forget it.’ He stood, patting his pockets as though looking for something, avoiding her gaze. ‘Bad joke. Didn’t mean it. I’ll go.’
‘Okay,’ said Tash, still goggling. ‘Good idea.’
Her mind was going nuts. With a single sentence he’d gone from being normal Patrick to Patrick-in-the-shower with soapy, wandering hands. Which was crazy. Of course he hadn’t meant it. Patrick had Maddy, and Tash was, well, Tash. His slightly tubby, unglamorous childhood friend from up the road and not the sort of girl someone like Patrick would share a shower with. Ceci yes, Tash no.
Yet something didn’t click right. There’d been a hint of longing in his tone, she was sure of it. It wasn’t possible, was it? Surely not, but the more she absorbed his embarrassment—the flush creeping up his neck, the hunch of his body, the continually shifting eyes, like a man desperate to hide what they contained—the more the idea niggled that it mightn’t have been a joke at all.
Bloody hell.
He turned, took a step and stopped. His shoulders rose and fell, like a man hauling in air. Casting over his shoulder, he finally made eye contact. ‘I seem to be screwing up a lot lately. Must be the weather.’ His mouth turned crooked. ‘I meant it though. About being sorry.’
She nodded. It was all she could manage.
He smiled briefly, then lifted his hand in a wave and nodded towards it to make sure she noticed.
Tash let him take three steps before her voice returned. ‘Did they …’ She cleared her throat of its awful squeak, her own cheeks reddening. ‘Did they give you a refund?’
‘For the helmet? Yeah.’
‘Good.’ And it was. Helmets weren’t cheap and she would have hated knowing he’d wasted money on her like that.
He scratched his chin on his shoulder, watching her. A handsome man with blue eyes full of what? Hope of an easy lay?
Tash bit her lip. She didn’t think Patrick was like that but who knew what he was like these days? Perhaps he did think she’d jump into bed with him. Perhaps, though, he was just lonely. From what the Handrecks and her parents had told her, Patrick’s life revolved around the farm and Maddy, and the few close mates who cared enough to tolerate his sorrow.
The idea tugged at her heart. That her own life was blessed with happiness made it worse. Tash mightn’t be willing to help him in the way he wanted—if sex was what he did want—but she could share food and fun and friendship. It wasn’t much, but it might soften a few of the hard lines that had etched their way around his eyes and mouth.
‘I have a couple of friends coming over from Melbourne next weekend.’ She breathed in, wondering what kind of idiot mistake she was about to make, and ploughed on. ‘Good excuse for a party. I thought I might invite a few locals over for a drink and some food Saturday night.’ It was her turn to smile crookedly. ‘Maybe you’d like to come?’
Chapter 14
Patrick stared at her. An invitation? To a party? After what he’d said, the fool he’d made of himself?
‘I’ll be filming,’ Tash continued, her words rushing out in a breathy stream, ‘so you’ll have to sign a release form but it’s nothing to worry about. Just a legal thing to say that you’ve given permission for me to use your image. You don’t have to sign but it helps. Otherwise I’ll have to edit you out and that’s not always easy. Editing is really time consuming, even with good software …’ She trailed off, cheeks flushing rose pink, avoiding his gaze.
Maddy used to comment that Tash didn’t believe in her own prettiness. Patrick hadn’t thought much of it—by the time he was having those kinds of conversations with Maddy he was too caught up in their love, with keeping the amazing, frightening, encompassing feel of it alive forever. But Tash was pretty, even with helmet hair and dust sticking to her skin.
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘Yeah. I’ll be there. Thanks for asking me.’
‘Right. Good. That’s sorted then.’ She pointed at the flat. ‘I’d better get on. Things to organise.’
She bustled towards the sliding door. Patrick’s gaze slid over her body, lingering on its hourglass sweep and the way her breeches cupped the mounds of her bum. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch and he clenched his fists against the wrongness of it.
As if asking if he could soap her back wasn’t humiliating enough. It wasn’t the asking so much as her horror at the suggestion, which was fair enough. He was engaged to her best friend. But the thought of Tash in the shower had connected his mouth to his jocks, bypassing his brain.
His thoughts had already been drifting that way, thanks to catching her dancing and singing in the garden. She was sunshine to his darkness and the sudden need to get close, to touch some of her light, had poured out of him like sweat. He’d driven on quickly but the need had lodged. Then it had turned to sex.
Not that that was new—Patrick was a healthy man after all, plus it felt like forever since he’d last done it. What disturbed him was that he was thinking about sex specifically with Tash. A lot. Next thing he knew he was back at Wiruna, fetching the washed containers and driving back to Castlereagh. For what, he didn’t know. To touch a bit of her sunshine? Fat chance of that. Tash had regarded him like a cockroach she’d discovered in her cupboard. Which had only made him act like even more of a tool with that clumsy cover-up and stupid wave.
He waited until she slid the door closed before returning to his ute. Tash’s containers were stacked on the passenger seat. He stood with the door open, undecided. He glanced at the flat. There was a little window he assumed belonged to the bathroom, slid ajar to let out steam. He tapped his fingers, debating, and heard the unmistakable pound of a shower.
She’d be naked by now, waiting for the water to get to the right temperature, luscious and golden skinned.
Patrick looked at the containers.
The order came on a breath. ‘Don’t.’
She wasn’t interested and neither was he. It was a thing, that’s all. A weakness. He’d get over it.
With a last glance at the window, he lowered himself into the car.
‘Where have you been?’ asked his dad when Patrick wandered into the shed. They were servicing the old seed drill, ready for their autumn renovation program. Patrick wanted to replace it with a modern model, one with easy calibration and better depth control. His dad said it had done them well and was determined to make it last another year.
‘Checking on Khan.’
Derek grunted. Patrick’s ‘moment’ with Khan was now common knowledge, as was his soreness about the Handrecks passing the horse along to Tash. Castlereagh Road wasn’t a place where you could keep secrets.
‘How’s Tash going with him?’
‘House on fire.’
Derek made another tyne adjustment. ‘Best thing for everyone.’
Patrick didn’t answer. He was sick of hearing those words. ‘I’m going to check the ewes in paddock nine.’
Derek stood and wiped his hands on a rag. Patrick and his dad were alike—same athletic build, same dark hair and blue eyes. Derek had been a champion footballer in his time, winning the league’s Best and Fairest twice. Everyone claimed Patrick had been on track to win his first the year Maddy had her accident. He’d missed the rest of that season and it was only at the urging of the Handrecks and his mate Clipper that he played the next year. Whether he’d put his name down this year was still undecided. These days Patrick felt so weary in his bones it was as if his dad was the younger man.
�
��Your mother and I had a chat last night.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘We were thinking a holiday might do you good. One of those cruises everyone seems to go on. Been a while since you had a break.’ When Patrick remained silent he went on. ‘Footy training’ll be starting soon, then the break and calving. Good a time as any to get away. Your mum and I can manage.’
He knew his parents meant well, that they were worried about him and what his life had shrunk to, but this was his choice. ‘Not really my thing, cruises.’
‘Only a suggestion. Plenty of other things you could do. Bali. Everyone goes there. For fun.’ Derek’s gaze turned meaningful.
They both understood that fun wasn’t what he meant. Out of the country no one would know what Patrick got up to, no one would know if he cheated on Maddy.
‘Your passport’s still valid, isn’t it?’
‘I’d have to check.’ It would be. He’d organised one three years earlier to travel to New Zealand with Maddy, when she’d made the trans-Tasman eventing team.
‘It’d do you good, Pat.’
Maybe it would. Maybe it would get Tash out of his head. But it wouldn’t get Maddy out. He’d spend the entire trip feeling like shit and worrying about her. And Grant and Nicola.
‘I can’t.’
‘Pat …’ His dad was about to start on one of his ‘talks’.
Patrick turned on him. ‘What would you do, Dad? What would you do if this was Mum? Would you go off to Bali, get hammered and shag some girl? Would you think it was all right because no one would know?’
‘Your mother and I are married. You and Maddy never were.’
‘What difference does it make? So we didn’t have the church and the dress and all that shit. I still made the commitment. It still matters.’
‘What about us?’ Derek thumped his own chest, his blue eyes turning suspiciously rheumy and his voice hoarse. ‘What about us who have to watch you throw your life away on a vegetable.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Patrick was storming now. That’s what people called her behind his back, behind the Handrecks’ backs—a vegetable. He hated it. It was a disgusting way to describe someone, like they weren’t human but a deformed plant of no worth, good only for tossing aside to rot.
He turned away, both fists gripped in his hair, trying to stop himself from bellowing in pain and frustration and fury.
Inside, somewhere, in the undamaged parts of her brain, the Maddy of his heart still existed. She might not ever emerge again. The odds, as he’d been told so many times, were against it. But as long as she lived, his commitment remained alive and valid. Patrick might be a conflicted mess, and he sure as hell wasn’t perfect or free from shame, but he wasn’t a man who walked away from an oath.
A firm hand landed on his shoulder and shook it a little. Man comfort. Dad love. ‘No one will think badly of you if you let her go. I won’t. Your mother won’t, and neither will the Handrecks.’
‘What about me, Dad? How am I supposed to live with it?’
‘You will.’ Another little shoulder shake, this time of reassurance. ‘You’re young, resilient. You’ll find someone else.’
Derek was right. The odds were Patrick would recover, would fall in love with someone else. That didn’t make it right. His throat felt thick and infected with sorrow and want and confusion. ‘And Maddy?’
‘It’s hard to take, I know, but you need to realise she’s lost to you. To all of us.’
He shook his head, not wanting to accept what was happening to him—what had happened. The dark, hollow thing he’d been experiencing lately had a name: the death of love. Against the warmth of the day the revelation felt cold. He stared at the sky, electric blue and throbbing with vibrancy, but its radiant reflection was like ice on his skin.
Patrick had known it would happen. He was even amazed his feelings had lasted this long, stayed this intense, but the last few months they’d been fading fast and he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. His attempt to shoot Khan had been a symptom of his anger at losing his love for Maddy. He already blamed the horse for her condition. Why not blame him for that too?
Love had gone—there was no denying it—but his promise, his bond, remained.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘Pat, come on.’
He forced himself to ease from his dad’s grip rather than jerk away. ‘I can’t.’
‘What about a break then? A trip away somewhere? You don’t have to,’ Derek’s face reddened a little, ‘you know.’
‘I know.’ Patrick forced a weak smile for his dad’s benefit, anything to prove he was okay. That his failure wasn’t breaking him into a million fragments. That he hadn’t worked out what it meant for the future, that he might never work it out. ‘I can’t go anywhere anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Tash is throwing a party. I’m invited.’
Chapter 15
‘Patrick’s been dropping around a bit,’ said Liz.
It was said casually. Too casually. Lobbed into the conversation while Tash was sautéing onions and more of Pa’s capsicums for Chicken Piperade, and her mum was inspecting the fridge calendar.
‘Mmm,’ Tash said, concentrating hard on stirring her pot.
The observation was true. Patrick had called round twice since the previous Friday—the day Tash had labelled in her mind Soap Joke Day. He’d come on Sunday morning to return her plastic containers, and again on Monday afternoon, while she was saddling Khan up for a jaunt. Sunday had been a brief drop and go, probably because he’d caught Tash outside in her sunflower yellow shortie pyjamas, slurping coffee, warming her feet on a recumbent Coco, and slaving over her laptop in the fresh morning air. She had bed hair and was braless, which meant she’d spent the entirety of his visit with one hand smoothing her head while the opposite arm was slammed across her chest to hide her pointed nipples.
On Monday, to her chagrin, he’d lingered. She’d been looking forward to a good canter, perhaps even a gallop. Between party preparations and filming, then Thom and Ceci’s arrival on Friday night, she wouldn’t get another chance that week. Patrick had made her self-conscious and careful. Tash didn’t want careful, she wanted fun and free.
‘I’m heading to the swamp paddock,’ she’d said, hoping he’d get the hint. Instead Patrick had shrugged and said he’d follow. A hundred other put-off lines cantered around her head as she walked Khan towards the gate. All of them sounded rude, and Tash’s new worry that he might be in need of a friend had kept them unsaid. Patrick looked bad enough—pale, downcast and deeply troubled—without her adding to his misery. ‘I’ll be okay. You don’t have to play school monitor.’
He shrugged. ‘I used to watch Maddy when I could.’
Tash kept her voice gentle. ‘I’m not Maddy, Patrick.’
‘I know.’
He opened the gate for her, stepping back to avoid getting too close to Khan. The horse kept twisting his head, looking at Patrick. The sadness of it sat heavy on Tash. Both horse and human were suffering.
She kept Khan halted while Patrick closed the gate and waited for him to walk alongside. ‘Seriously, I’m fine on my own.’
He squinted towards Springbank. ‘Maddy thought she was too.’ He held up his palm as Tash opened her mouth. ‘Yeah, I know. You’re not her. I get it.’ He smiled. ‘Humour me?’
Tash had been too much of a sucker and too concerned about him to say no.
Liz joined her at the stove now as Tash splashed in a good dollop of sherry over the onions and capsicums, then added a slug of chardonnay.
‘That looks interesting.’ Liz studied Tash’s face. ‘Is Patrick still fretting over you riding Khan?’
‘Yes.’ Tash pulled the lid off a tin of tomatoes as she waited for the pot to come to the boil. She glanced at her mum. ‘It’s more than that though. I think he’s a bit lonely.’
‘No doubt he is. Those two were practically joined at the hip.’
‘But he has other friends. Cl
ipper, Jordan Heeney.’
‘It’s not the same though, is it? Men don’t engage with each other the way women do. He probably sees you as someone he can talk to, like he did with Maddy.’
Tash dumped the tomatoes in the pot, sprinkled hot paprika on top, then ground in salt and pepper. She stirred, contemplating her mother’s comment. ‘I suppose. But we’re so different.’ Although not completely. Both of them had their ambitions. Tash’s had simply been slower to mature.
‘I’m sure he understands that, but you two were best friends. You’re probably the closest thing he has to her. Maybe spending time with you brings her back a little.’
Tash wasn’t so sure about that. Unless it was part of an argument, they’d barely spoken about Maddy. They’d barely spoken about anything except Khan and whether Tash wore her helmet.
Liz leaned in and stroked a strand of hair from Tash’s forehead. ‘What are you really worried about?’
‘Everything. That I’ll make things worse for him. That I’m seeing things that aren’t there.’
Liz frowned. ‘Like what?’
‘Nothing. I’m being dumb.’ She dipped the spoon, blew on the end, and tasted. ‘A touch more paprika.’
With the seasoning adjusted Tash donned mitts and lifted the pot from the stove. The mixture made a satisfying plopping noise as she poured it over the browned chicken pieces. After giving the meat a poke to ensure every joint was submerged, Tash covered the casserole and placed it in the oven.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’d better get this mess cleaned up.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said her mum. ‘You’ve been doing too much.’
‘I don’t mind, and this was part of our deal, remember? To pay my way.’
‘I do, but it didn’t mean you had to do everything. And you pay your way more than enough. Go on.’ Liz made a shooing motion. ‘I’m sure you have things to take care of.’
She did. In two sleeps Thom and Ceci would be here and in three sleeps sixteen people would be arriving for a party, plus Minh with her camera for the Spectator. Not as many guests as Tash had hoped, but understandable given the short notice.