by Cathryn Hein
He placed Billy on the passenger seat. Every breath seemed obstructed, struggling to get past the rock of loss lodged in his chest. ‘I guess it’s time.’
She nodded, biting her lip, holding everything in like he was. She placed her hand on his shirt and closed her fist, tugging the cloth. ‘You take care.’
‘I will.’ He stroked his thumb over her trembling mouth. ‘I have to go.’
Aching, he placed a brief tender kiss on her lips and forced himself into the car. Delaying wouldn’t change anything, and they’d said all they could.
He reversed slowly, watching Brooke as she wandered across the yard to Sod. He kept watching as he changed gear, as he rolled forwards, as he passed, and in the rear-vision mirror as the ute crawled down the drive.
She stood straight-shouldered, head up. She’d be all right, in time. They both would.
And then he saw her grip her wrist.
He braked hard, dumping Billy to the floor. Leaving the engine running, he threw a quick apology to Billy before leaping out and running back to Brooke.
‘Don’t,’ he said, tugging her fingers from her wrist and closing his big hands around her small ones. ‘You don’t need this any more. You’re better than some cheap internet trick.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘I know, but I have to. And you’ll get through this, just as you’ve made it through everything else. There’s a great future out there waiting for you.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Do something for me?’
‘What?’
‘Every time you think you need to rub your wrist, think of this.’ With the last word, he kissed his way down her face, over her eyelids, across her cheeks, until he reached her soft, pliant mouth. He put everything into it, heart, soul, his dreams, his love, his loss, giving her everything he owned, everything she’d need to be strong, to be all he knew she could be.
He backed away. ‘No more wrist pressing. Promise?’
She smiled, damp-eyed, flush-cheeked and beautiful. ‘Promise.’
‘Good,’ he said, satisfied, and glad he’d stopped, despite the urgency to leave. The memory of that kiss, the way she looked now, would sustain him for the years it’d take to get over her. He returned her smile. ‘See you next lifetime.’
This time when he put the ute into gear, he kept driving.
Twenty
Brooke sat in the grassy space between Poddy’s and Oddy’s graves, hugging her knees. In the distance, as they had for millennia, the Valley’s bordering dusty sandstone hills maintained their ancient vigil over a land ripe with spring pastures and crops. Closer in, on her neighbours’ properties, tractors rolled around paddocks, Friesians grazed, bright white newborn lambs cavorted spindly-legged near their mothers, and the river kept its flow, moving on, as she should.
As she never could.
Over the last two days, since Lachie’s departure, she’d come often to this place to think, sometimes talking aloud to her boys, telling them all she felt, all her regrets, all the dreams she still wanted to come true. But most of all she fretted over whether Lachie was okay. While he had still looked as dark-lashed handsome as ever during his visit, even in the sunshine his gold-flecked eyes had appeared shadowed, his mouth slightly turned down, his strong body slowed by fatigue. Not by much, but enough that she’d noticed.
Except during his kiss. There’d been no fatigue in that.
She touched her fingers to her mouth, remembering, and dropped them as a blue car turned into Kingston Downs’ entrance. She tracked its path, amused when it stopped at the end of the drive, near the turn-off to the dairy, as though the driver were unsure whether to try for there or the cottage. The visitor chose neither, parking instead alongside the barn near the yards.
Her mother stepped out and, shading her eyes against the sun, cast around. Brooke sighed. She’d known this was coming. Ariel had been trying to talk to her since Poddy’s death. On the few occasions Brooke succumbed to answering her calls, she could barely manage monosyllabic replies. Even talking to Angus came hard. Although each day found her a little better, Poddy’s loss, now topped with that of Lachie, had left her too raw for sharing confidences. Andrew and Chloe had tried their best to be supportive, telling her that it was okay to let it all out, but Brooke didn’t want to talk about her pain, or how shredded with grief she sometimes felt. Her emotions, especially those relating to Lachie, were too precious to be anything but private.
And she couldn’t risk showing any signs of weakness, especially in front of her family, in case it plunged her into another cycle of well-meaning intervention.
After checking the barn, the cottage and the dairy, Ariel finally spotted Brooke. She climbed the slope, elegant as always in a pair of dark denim skinny jeans, long brown leather boots and a crisp white shirt with a fashionable leopard-print silk scarf knotted at her throat. Her hair, perfectly styled, curled around a face that, for once, reflected her age. Despite careful makeup, today every one of Ariel Kingston’s fifty years showed.
Remorse, so close these days, stabbed pointed fingers into Brooke.
‘Hi, Mum.’ She patted a clear space beside her, next to Oddy’s native sarsaparilla-coated grave, now cascading with violet flowers. ‘Take a seat. Just mind the bees.’
Ariel sat, copying Brooke’s leg-hugging pose. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she inhaled a deep draught of the clean country air. ‘Ahh, that’s better.’ Smiling, she surveyed the view. ‘It’s pretty up here.’
‘Very. Especially on a day like today.’
Niceties over, Ariel tilted her head to the side and contemplated her daughter. ‘So how are you, Brookie?’
Brooke thought on the answer for a moment. ‘Not bad, considering.’
‘I’m sorry about Poddy. He was a good horse. I know how much you loved him.’
Instinctively, Brooke lowered a hand to his grave. Tiny weeds had formed a soft green blanket over its surface. She hadn’t yet decided what to plant in his honour. Maybe a white-flowering ground rose. Something pure; special, like him.
‘I made a mistake, Brooke. I’m sorry.’
Surprised, she studied Ariel, absorbing the new lines around her mother’s mouth, the guilt-tugged eyes.
‘I was so worried about you,’ her mother continued. ‘We all were. You changed so much after the accident. All that life and spark suddenly gone. And that thing with your wrist.’ Ariel’s brown eyes filled. ‘You turned me inside out with worry. I just wanted you home where I could look after you. But you never liked Sydney, not even as a little girl. You always ran here when you were hurt or worried. Never to me.’ She bit her lip. ‘I always hated that.’
Brooke dropped her head, awash with shame.
Ariel released a tremulous sigh. ‘I should have listened to Angus. He understood, but he’s always understood you better than I have.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘For not being like me?’ Ariel squeezed her arm, her smile watery but sincere. ‘Don’t be. We love you just the way you are. Except for that haircut.’ She brushed her hand over Brooke’s ratty, half grown-out hair. ‘You should grow it back long again.’
‘I’m trying to, but it seems to be taking forever. Chloe offered to do hair extensions but I told her false tails were for show ponies. And that’s one thing I’m definitely not.’
They shared a smile and Brooke sensed the first splicing together of the ravaged ends of their relationship. In time, the knots would knit smooth, and maybe even new ends would form and meet and join, bonding them stronger. Making up for the past.
‘Brooke,’ said Ariel after a while, her fingers twisting. ‘There’s something else you should understand, something I’m not very proud of.’
Curious and nervous, she waited for her mother to continue.
‘I’ve come to realise my motivations for getting you home weren’t entirely selfless. I was desperately worried, certainly, but I also thought that with you at home, you could take over some of the responsibili
ties I have.’ She sighed deeply, a heartfelt, weary sound Brooke had never heard her mother make before. ‘I’m so tired of promoting the yard, being a fashion ambassador, having to charm people I don’t even like.
‘I love you all dearly, but I’m more than Christopher’s wife. More than Angus, Mark and Brooke’s mother. I’m Ariel Kingston, and I have passions and dreams like everyone else. Passions and dreams I’ve forsaken for too long.’
‘So what do you want to do?’ asked Brooke, then realised she already knew the answer. ‘You want to paint.’
‘Yes.’ Ariel clutched at Brooke’s hand, emphasising her words with finger squeezes. ‘I love it. I really do. An artist is what I want to be, not a walking advertisement for some company.’
‘So follow your dream.’
Letting go, she turned to gaze into the distance. ‘It’s not that easy.’
‘No, you’re right. Of course it’s not. I’m sorry. With all that’s happened I keep forgetting how much trouble the yard’s in.’ At her mother’s quizzical expression Brooke shrugged. ‘Mark told me. He said we might have to sell Kingston Downs.’
Ariel’s lips pursed. ‘Did he now?’
‘It’s okay, Mum. If it has to be sold it has to be sold. He’s right. Even with the hay crops it’s a drag on the yard.’ She swallowed, her throat rough with the thought of losing her beloved home.
Ariel gripped her arm, hard. ‘Brooke, listen to me. We would never sell Kingston Downs. Never. We wouldn’t do that to you.’
‘But Mark —’
‘Mark is being Mark. We’ve hit a rough patch. It happens. We’ll get through it just like we got through the last rough patch. You don’t need to worry. Kingston Downs is safe. It’ll always be safe.’
The relief of hearing Ariel’s words filled Brooke’s eyes with tears. Over these past weeks she’d tried to ignore the threat of losing Kingston Downs. She didn’t have the energy for it. Poddy and Lachie had sapped her emotions, but deep within her heart the fear of more loss lingered, preventing her from healing properly. Now, with her mother’s promise, she could look forward, regenerate, conquer her issues. Find herself again.
Life would be almost perfect.
Almost.
‘Did he tell you he’s going to be a father?’ Ariel’s mouth lifted in a wistful smile.
‘Who? Mark? You’re joking!’
Her mother nodded. ‘That’s another reason he’s been so stressed lately. Apparently his girlfriend’s family isn’t thrilled with the idea.’
‘I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.’ Now Brooke thought of it, she had sensed a change in him in the last few months, but she had too many of her own problems to dwell on it.
‘Neither did we until last week. Chris and I had dinner with Mark and Nayla last night. Lovely girl, beautiful eyes. Her family are Lebanese and run a restaurant in Coogee near Mark’s apartment building. Nayla works there, which is where he met her. Love at first sight, apparently.’
‘Are they going to get married?’
‘I imagine so. Nayla’s parents are putting a lot of pressure on them, and they adore one another. You can see it in their eyes, the way they touch. It’s so romantic.’
Romance. Adoration. Touching. The words tumbled through Brooke’s heart, igniting a flare of envy. If the world were right, these were things she and Lachie should be sharing.
‘You and Lachie became close,’ said Ariel, hitting home in the way only mothers can.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. He’s gone home.’ She stood and began brushing dirt off her jeans. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to my new horse, Robert. He’s a sweetheart.’
Ariel made no further mention of Lachie but Brooke was well aware of her interest. No matter how Brooke tried to avoid it, his name kept popping out as she showed Ariel around Kingston Downs. Even during lunch, when they ate around the dairy’s pine table instead of at the cottage, Lachie’s presence echoed. With each mention, Ariel’s mouth would twitch, as though suppressing a knowing smile.
‘Thanks for coming, Mum,’ she said as they stood by Ariel’s car late in the afternoon. ‘It should have been me doing the apologising. I was horrible to you after Poddy was bitten, but I couldn’t stop thinking that if I was here —’
‘You were upset.’
‘Yes, but I shouldn’t have laid any blame on you.’ Brooke leaned her bum against the rear door and stared past the dairy towards the hill. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just one of those shitty bad-luck things, like Lachie’s dad getting cancer.’
‘You miss him.’
‘Poddy? Desperately.’
‘I meant Lachie, Brooke.’
Brooke looked away, clamping her mouth against the ache.
Ariel slung her arm around Brooke’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘If it’s meant to be, you’ll find a way to be together.’
‘How, when he’s at Delamere and I’m here? Time to just move on.’ She smiled to cover her despair. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve an appointment with a counsellor next month. She specialises in the sort of thing I’ve been through.’
‘I’m glad.’ Ariel stroked her hair. ‘It was never going to sort itself out on its own, even for someone of your determination.’
‘So what about you? What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. What I always do, I suppose. Carry on, keep smiling. It’s what we Kingstons are good at. Anyway, if Mark and Nayla decide to marry I’ll be too busy organising a wedding to worry, and then there’ll be the baby.’ Her face softened. ‘I’m really looking forward to that.’
‘They might produce the little girl you’ve always wanted.’
‘I already have the little girl I always wanted.’
‘Who smells of horse.’
‘Ahh, but it’s a nice smell. Why do you think I married your father?’
They laughed and Brooke turned to hug her tightly. ‘I’m so sorry I’ve been awful.’
‘You haven’t, and anyway, I’m the one who’s sorry for being selfish.’ She patted Brooke’s back. ‘Please don’t be a stranger to us. I know you don’t like to leave here but we love seeing you. And I promise no more lunches with owners, make-overs or dress-ups.’
‘No more Audrey Hepburn outfits?’
‘No more Audrey Hepburn outfits.’
‘It’s a deal then.’
As Brooke stood in the yard waving her mother farewell, she experienced a kind of peace, as though life really was moving on. It had been the toughest year of her life, but she was making it through. Slowly, admittedly, but getting there.
All she needed was to fill the hollow Lachie left.
Brooke sat in Chloe’s salon draped in a black protective cape, staring at her tired face. Chloe whipped around on her castored stool, snipping at Brooke’s ragged mess of a hairdo, humming to the stereo as she worked.
Five weeks had passed since Lachie left, and the spring hay season was leaving Brooke as exhausted as it always did. When she wasn’t worrying about the weather and moving irrigation, she was on the tractor, trying to time mowing, raking and baling in an effort to produce the perfect bale. And when she wasn’t on the tractor she was walking windrows, scrunching the cut lucerne in her hands, listening for the special crackle and breaking of the stems that would tell her the hay was ready, just as her pop had taught her. Too wet and she risked mouldy bales and overheating stacks. Too desiccated and she’d lose precious leaves. As a precaution, she’d even resorted to drying lucerne in the dairy’s microwave oven to calculate moisture content. With so few racehorses spelling on the property, the farm’s worth was now measured purely by its lucerne production. She had to get it right.
Five weeks. Funny how she continued to measure the days that way, as though there might be some end to Lachie’s absence. She couldn’t even bring herself to move back into the cottage, just in case. The dairy held memories – his kindness when she was sick, his jack-of-all-trades skill – but the cottage’s r
ooms fairly vibrated with emotion, none more so than the main bedroom. She dropped her eyes to the black cape, reminiscing. Aching.
‘Thinking of Lachie again?’ asked Chloe, halting her snips.
Brooke looked up and smiled wanly. ‘Sorry. Seems to be a habit these days.’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘Last night. Only briefly, though.’
Too briefly, as if he found talking to her difficult. A rapid update on how he was, how his father and family were faring. A quiet query about how Brooke was coping on the farm, her progress with the counsellor, an expression of pride when she admitted her slow but steady improvement. And every word, every breath, misted with their unuttered yearning for each other.
Chloe slid a strip of damp hair through her fingers and levelled the ends with two efficient clips. ‘How’s his dad?’
‘Fading.’
‘Must be so sad for him.’
‘Yes,’ said Brooke, remembering the anguish in Lachie’s voice as he’d described his father’s deterioration. The way he wished he had more time to make up for the lost years. How he regretted his hotheadedness. She tried to tell him not to fret, to make the most of the time he had left, but his regrets ran deep, and no words could smooth the fissures.
‘I wish he’d stayed,’ said Chloe, looking over Brooke’s shoulder and pursing her lips slightly as she tugged on the sides of Brooke’s hair, comparing the trimmed lengths by feel.
The bright salon lights highlighted the gold threads developing in the brown, the result of too much time spent in the October sun. After much discussion, Brooke and Chloe had finally agreed on a shaggy bob until she had more hair to style. Brooke longed for enough hair to scrape it back into a ponytail but the pixie cut was taking forever to grow out, and hell would freeze over before she’d resort to extensions.
‘You liked him,’ said Brooke with a squirm of jealousy.
‘I did, but not in the way you think.’ Chloe sighed and wheeled her chair to the front, laid her hands in her lap, fingers tense around her scissors, and held her sapphire gaze straight. ‘I never really wanted to sleep with him, Brooke. For starters he’s not my type, but even early on, it was pretty obvious that he was only interested in you.’