by Cathryn Hein
‘Brooke’s inside with Billy. It’ll take me a while to bury Pod, and I don’t want her leaving the house until it’s done. She doesn’t need to see this.’
Nancy placed a warm hand on his arm. ‘I’ll take care of her.’
‘Thanks.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I appreciate it. See if you can’t get her to sleep. She hasn’t had any proper rest since last Friday night.’
‘Neither have you, by the looks of it.’
‘I’ll be all right. Just make sure she is.’
Nancy appraised him for a moment, her wrinkled mouth pursing. ‘You’re in love with her.’
He didn’t see the point of denial. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad. Does she know?’
He shook his head and glanced at Poddy, now at peace and out of pain.
She patted his arm again. ‘I hope you get a chance to tell her soon. When it’ll give her joy.’
‘Will it?’
Nancy smiled. ‘Oh, I think so. But we have to get her through this first.’ She sobered and crouched by Poddy’s head, placing her age-spotted hand on his cheek. ‘Goodbye, Poddy. You were a good horse. We’ll all miss you.’ She sniffed and rose, and with a final nod at Lachie, hastened across to the cottage.
The morning passed slowly. Lachie rang Greg, who kindly offered to drive the loader over after milking and give him a hand with the burial, explaining it’d take two of them anyway. To fill in time, Lachie dealt with the other horses. Sod misbehaved all the way to his paddock, skittering and shaking his head, spooking at everything and nothing. Robert and Elly were also nervous, but it was Venus who almost brought Lachie undone. She wouldn’t stop crying out for Poddy. Swinging her shaggy head left and right, hunting for her friend, bunting Lachie’s arm and looking at him with frowny eyes as though asking what he’d done with Poddy. Even when he let her in with Robert and Elly she stayed at the gate, whinnying hysterically and staring plaintively back up the lane toward the barn. Lachie walked away breathing hard through his nose, each high-pitched call shooting another spike down his back.
He cleaned the yards, making lists in his head of what else he needed to do, imagining ways he could comfort Brooke, knowing none would help. Greg’s arrival gave him respite from his introspection, but only for while. Thoughts of Brooke remained close, his unease alongside.
With Poddy buried, he dealt with the barn, taking care to not leave any trace of Poddy’s demise. As per Tony’s instructions, he removed all the wood shavings from the stable, and scrubbed the walls and floor with disinfectant and left it to dry. Though he suspected Poddy’s rug was salvageable, he carried it to the incinerator at the back of the orchard and burnt it anyway. Lachie doused the halter and brushes in disinfectant and left them the sun, adding a reminder to his list to put them away at the end of the day.
Filthy, sweaty, but satisfied he’d done all he could, he walked slowly to the cottage, stopping on the verandah to rub Billy’s head and thank him for being good to Brooke. The little dog seemed more subdued than usual, as though he too sensed the sorrow the day had brought.
‘She’s asleep,’ whispered Nancy in the kitchen. ‘But you go wash up and I’ll sort you out some lunch.’
He paused by the spare room. The door hung ajar but not wide enough for him to see inside. He placed his hand on it, hesitant. He should leave her to sleep. Brooke was exhausted and grieving. She didn’t need him right now.
After this morning, she might never need him.
The thought left him sinking.
He pushed on the door and stepped into the room. She lay curled on top of the bed with her back to him, a crocheted rug over her legs, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. As he stepped closer her hand moved and reached out for him. He took it and sat down next to her, stroking her hair.
‘Lie with me,’ she whispered.
Though his clothes were stained and his hands dirt-encrusted, he did as he was told, stretching out behind her, his body spooning her contours, arm circling her belly. He listened to her breathing slow as she settled, and felt his own fall into rhythm as he relaxed. Perhaps later, when she’d had time to think, she’d remember what he’d done, but right now, with her warm and small in his arms, with his heart beating against her back, Lachie savoured the small grace she’d offered, and loved her even more.
Footsteps halted in the hall, then the door creaked quietly shut and he was alone with Brooke. Gradually, like her, he fell asleep.
Lachie woke to a shake of his shoulder. Nancy leaned over him, her finger to her mouth, then gestured towards the door before disappearing from view. Careful not to disturb Brooke, he propped himself up and drank her in. She lay curled in his arm, soft, smooth-browed and deeply asleep, free for a short while from the pain. Resisting the urge to place a kiss on her slightly parted mouth, he instead set about extracting himself with as little disruption as possible, covering her with the rug before padding out into the hall and closing the door behind him.
He squinted at his watch, cursed at the time, and hurried to the kitchen. He’d been asleep for over three hours. Too long when so much work still lay ahead.
‘Bad weather’s coming,’ said Nancy, handing him a ham and cheese sandwich. ‘You need to get the horses in. I’ll stay until you’re done but I need to get home too.’ She wrung her hands. ‘My ladies get upset in storms.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad enough for a weather warning.’
‘I’ll be quick.’
Gripping the sandwich in his teeth, he headed outside, checking the sky as he pulled on his boots. He recognised the build up of dark clouds to the west. As the weather intensified, the Valley would funnel the storm eastwards, dropping patches of heavy rain. They could be in for a wild night.
He led Venus in with Robert and placed them side by side in the yards, hoping the big calm horse would offer comfort to the upset pony, but the moment he released her, she turned her face to the barn and whinnied plaintively. Taking pity, he took a moment to scruff her mane and fondle her ears, but Venus remained disconsolate. Only when he brought her evening feed did she give up her vigil and bury her nose in the trough.
With Brooke’s horses and the sheds secure, and his rounds of the racehorses complete, Lachie returned to the cottage, sending a relieved Nancy home to her flock and settling in to listen to the storm and wait for Brooke to wake. He made phone calls, reassuring Chloe and Angus that Brooke was fine but grieving and exhausted, asking them to pass on the message. They could talk to her tomorrow. Tonight, Brooke needed sleep and space.
Darkness had long fallen by the time Brooke padded out of the bedroom. As she entered, he rose from his seat at the kitchen table. Her eyes were bleary, red and swollen, her hair messy, her movements sluggish. She pulled out a chair and sat, staring at nothing.
‘I’d hoped it was a dream. I’d hoped —’
He reached across and tangled his fingers in hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too.’
‘Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? Glass of red wine? Something to eat?’
‘I don’t know.’ She frowned and rubbed her brow. ‘Maybe some wine.’
He squeezed her hand and rose to open a bottle. She needed to eat but he wouldn’t force it. In a moment, when she was more awake, he’d heat one of Nancy’s casseroles and hope the smell would rouse her hunger.
A blast of rain hit the window as he passed her a glass, followed by another squall that rattled the eaves. He watched the rain splatter and slide down the kitchen window. Neither of them was going anywhere in this, and a couple of glasses of red wouldn’t hurt either of them. Bottle and glasses hooked in one hand, he rounded the end of the table, kicking the door snake snug against the draught as he passed.
He paused to touch Brooke’s upper arm. ‘Come into the lounge. It’s warmer there.’
He stoked the fire, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the edge of the couch staring into her wine glass as if she couldn’t decide whether to drink or cry. He wished he
knew what to say.
‘Do you know how this all started?’ she asked, looking up. ‘With a stupid bet, that’s how.’
Recognising she wanted to talk, he hooked the poker in its rack, replaced the shield, and waited. The fire crackled and snapped, throwing heat onto his back.
‘We were at the Ardellan Show,’ she said hollowly. ‘Everything was normal. Then Andrew made a bet that if he beat me in the C-grade jump-off I’d have to kiss him.’
Andrew. He should have known.
‘Just another bet, no different from a hundred others we’d made. Except it was. And I knew it. I’d sensed it for months but didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. I thought we could go on pretending it was all a joke.’ She shook her head. ‘How stupid I was.’
Rain hit the house in sheets, loud, insistent.
‘I thought I’d win. But I lost.’ She bit her lip and raised shiny eyes to the ceiling. ‘God, how I lost.’
‘Then what happened?’ he asked when her lapse into silence showed no sign of ending.
She took a long slug of wine, and rolled the glass bowl between her palms. ‘He came to the trailer. We had dinner, wine, talked about the horses. Andrew tidied.’ She looked at Lachie. ‘And then he wanted me to pay up.’
The way she said it made Lachie want to punch something. Carefully, before his clenched fist snapped the stem, he placed his wine glass on the carpet, forcing his expression to neutral.
‘It wasn’t right.’ She took another slug of wine and reached for the bottle, the neck rattling against the rim as she poured. ‘I had to push him away. He said he loved me. That he couldn’t wait any more.’ A tear dribbled down her cheek. ‘I should have known. The signs were there but I kidded myself they were illusions, just him mucking around, and he always had these glamorous girlfriends who were nothing like me. And he never said. Not once.
‘I didn’t sleep well that night. I was tired and upset and the next day I couldn’t concentrate. Poddy and Oddy were lovely, but Sod dumped me in the warm-up ring and by the time I came to leave I was so sore and exhausted I couldn’t think straight. I was okay until we neared home and then —’ She stopped, losing focus as she disappeared into her memories.
Lachie moved fast. He didn’t want Brooke going there. Kneeling in front of her he prised the wine glass from her grip and set it aside before taking her hands in his. ‘Hey. Look at me. It was an accident. No one to blame. Just an accident.’
She came back, liquid eyes trailing his face. ‘A stupid bet, Lachie. One stupid, childish bet and all I love gets stolen from me.’
‘Not all. You still have Sod.’
She released an unsteady half laugh and, pulling her hands from his, wiped at her wet cheeks. ‘Yeah, I still have Sod.’
‘And Robert and Elly and Venus.’ And him, Lachie longed to add, but now wasn’t the time. ‘And Kingston Downs.’
Her expression dropped. ‘Perhaps not for much longer. Mark says we might have to sell.’
‘They won’t do that to you, Brooke.’
‘They mightn’t have a choice.’
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ She smiled and touched his face. ‘Thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘For being here. Looking after me. For … for Poddy.’
He stared at his hands, balanced on her knees, thumbs rubbing the surface of her jeans. ‘I was worried you’d blame me.’
She frowned. ‘Blame you? No. Never. You did what I couldn’t do. What I should have done from the start instead of putting him through all that. I could never blame you for destroying him. I thank you for it.’
He raised his head and met her eyes, and Lachie felt the pull, that incredible yearning to touch her. To gather her to him, press his mouth to hers and breathe her in. But tonight of all nights, he had to resist. She was too vulnerable.
He pulled his hands away from her knees and rose. ‘How about I heat us up something for dinner?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Ahh, but you haven’t smelled what Nancy made yet.’
She ate little, stirring hunks of meat and vegetables around her plate, pausing often to take a sip of wine. When Lachie carefully suggested maybe she’d had enough to drink she fobbed him off, telling him it’d help her sleep. He hoped it would, but he also worried what the alcohol would do to her dreams. She’d endured enough nightmares.
They watched television after dinner, another crime show featuring a robbery gone wrong, but Brooke’s blank stare told him her concentration lay inward, in a place he longed to touch. Three-quarters of the way through the show she rose, stating she was going to bed. Lachie gave her half an hour to settle before checking, and found her curled under the thick blankets, wet-cheeked but thankfully asleep. Fatigue wearying his bones, he trudged to his room and lay on the bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, listening to the creaking, rain-swollen timbers of the cottage as wind tugged at its frame.
Wishing himself beside her again.
Lachie woke shivering and blinking into the darkness. He raked a hand over his face, trying to orient himself. Easing his legs over the edge of the bed he realised he’d fallen asleep still wearing his filthy work clothes. In all the worry about Brooke, he hadn’t thought to shower.
He glanced at his bedside digital clock. At least it was only eleven and not the middle of the night. With half a bottle of wine under her belt, Brooke should sleep through the noise of the old pipes. Stripping off his shirt and socks, he headed for the bathroom, sneaking a look in on Brooke as he passed.
The bed was empty.
‘Brooke?’ He checked the bathroom and the toilet, continuing to call out to her.
Anxiety rising, he dashed to the kitchen. Nothing. Then he spied the angled draught snake, pushed out of alignment by the swing of the door.
‘Shit!’
He ran to his room, yanked on a jumper and sprinted barefoot back to the kitchen. He wrenched open the door, sending it crashing into the wall. Alerted by the noise, Billy barked and skittered to the edge of the verandah, white body quivering in anticipation.
‘Where the fuck’d she go, Billy?’ he asked the dog as he pulled on his freezing boots. He suspected he already knew the answer.
Boots on, he ran out into the yard, splashing through puddles, Billy yapping at his feet. Rain pattered his shoulders and plastered his hair. He scanned the yards. The horses eyed him, ears swivelling, alert. Sod whickered then tossed his head in alarm as Lachie sped past and yanked the barn door open. The interior was black, smelling of disinfectant and woodchips, noisy with rain on metal and empty. Leaving the door open, he sprinted down the track to the dairy and charged inside. No Brooke.
Which left only one other place.
Water channels furrowed the track up the rise, the surface torn from the heavy wheels of the front-end loader, and eroding further in the storm. As he ran along the track edge, the wet and slippery grass tangling with his legs, the rain intensified. Fear shot adrenaline down his legs. He pushed harder, slipping and stumbling, blind to his safety. Thinking only of Brooke. Billy galloped ahead, a white streak in the unlit night.
Halfway to the top he saw her. She laid face down on the muddy surface of Poddy’s grave, arms splayed like a crucifix, hugging him through the soil. Lachie pushed on, the stiff backs of his boots blistering his heels, his fear and relief giving way to anger.
He slid to her side and grabbed her shoulders, rolling her out of the mud, the urge to shake her enormous. ‘Are you fucking nuts?’
‘I want him back!’
‘You can’t have him. He’s dead, Brooke. Dead!’ His anger, so hot when running, dissolved as he took her shivery, stricken form. Wrapping his arms around her mud-smeared body, he hugged her to him. ‘And you’re alive. Alive and precious. I know you want him back. I know you miss him, but lying here won’t change the fact he’s gone.’ He cupped her anguished face as rain sheeted over them. ‘Don’t spoil
his memory like this. He deserves better. You both do.’
Fat tears welled and spilled down her face, merging with the rain. ‘It’s my fault he suffered,’ she sobbed. ‘I should have been stronger. Listened to Tony. But I was selfish. I couldn’t bear to lose him. And I made his last days miserable.’
‘No. His last days were spent with you. They could never be miserable. You did what you did because you loved him. No one can blame you for that.’
A flash erupted in the distance. He glanced upwards, listening for the rumble, counting the seconds. Close. Too close.
‘We need to go.’ He forced her to her feet. He couldn’t carry her, not in these conditions. Grieving or not, she’d have to run.
They stumbled and slid their way to the base, Lachie keeping a tight hold on Brooke’s hand, worrying she might run back to Poddy. Back on the main track he broke into a jog, pulling her along. Another lightning flash crashed through the sky, the resulting thunder even closer. The noise seemed to snap her out of her torpor. She increased her pace, sprinting with him towards the cottage.
At the verandah he released her hand. Safe under shelter they bent forwards, hands on knees, sucking in breaths.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, panting. ‘But I needed to see him. I had to apologise. It felt so important.’
‘You could have done it in the morning.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
He straightened, still breathing hard. She was soaked, her thin clothes clinging to her body, hair pasted to her scalp. Lips trembling with cold, her face smeared with dark mud.
‘Come on,’ he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s get you inside before you catch pneumonia.’
She glanced down at Billy, wet, quivery, head swinging between them. ‘And Billy. Poor thing’s freezing.’ Without waiting for an answer she scooped him up, the dog’s tongue flicking at her face as he tried to kiss his thanks.
Inside, Lachie plucked Billy from her arms and ordered her to the shower. After restoking the fire, he raided the linen cupboard for an old towel before settling in front of the blaze to rub the dog dry. Worried Brooke might tell him off if he dumped Billy back out into the night, Lachie fetched the terrier’s raised bed and blanket from outside and set it up in the corner of the lounge.