by Cathryn Hein
‘So Peter Taylor said. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still love the horse.’
‘Maggie left him for you, you hear. You!’
‘No, Nanna left him for a purpose. Maybe that purpose was to help Lyndall.’ She patted his arm as she hid her distress at his words behind a rigid smile. ‘I really have to go.’
Smile still determinedly fixed, she headed to the door.
‘He was meant to make you happy again,’ Wal called loudly, causing both the nurse and her patient to look up. ‘Him and Glenmore. Maggie wanted you to see that here was where you belonged. The one place where you always felt at home. You really going to spit that back in her face? The woman who loved you, who left you – not her son, you! – the most precious thing she owned?’
Wal’s words were like a horse kick to the heart. That wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Callie halted and wheeled around, holding her crumbling mask in place though sheer willpower. She would not cry in front of Wal, or the nurse, or anyone in this rotten place. Her plans were right.
‘I’m sorry for Nanna, I really am. But I have to do this.’
For several long seconds Wal’s brown eyes held hers, until he finally turned his head away in dismissal, his contempt so thick it coated her skin.
‘Then God help poor Maggie.’
Seven
Callie kept her back straight all the way down the hospital corridor. Despite the soothing pastel decor and quiet vinyl flooring, tension twanged inside her like an overstretched rubber band. The urge to bolt was huge, and controlling it gave her normal athletic gait a jerky, almost robotic edge. She held every muscle clenched, like a boxer expecting a blow, but with no idea from where it would come. Close to the exit she passed a nurse and managed a closed-mouth smile, but the teeth behind it were locked together with almost painful intensity.
The automatic doors slid open, heat pummelling her body in a wave. Callie lengthened her stride, crossing the sticky asphalt carpark to the Jumbuk with eyes straight ahead. She didn’t want to look back. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to give in to the awful fear and shame crawling inside her.
Only when she was safe in the confines of the ute with the air conditioner blasting did she claw her hands around the steering wheel, rest her forehead against its edge, and allow herself the choked sobs she’d been holding in so hard.
She’d known from the moment Wal handed her Morton that the horse was somehow a ploy to get her to stay, yet Callie had jammed that knowledge in the secret crevices of her mind where she hid all the other issues she never wanted to face, and ignored the message. If she didn’t think too much, if she stayed focused on her goal, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge her grandmother’s wishes. But now there was no escape. Wal had made them real.
Callie pulled her head up and swiped at her eyes, breathing deeply, forcing calm through her veins. She stared through the windscreen at the manicured parkland surrounding Dargate Hospital and saw a landscape that mirrored her emotions. Heat had caused the grass to curl and turn dull, the vibrant green now tinged with grey. Even the decades-old oak trees appeared timorous under the weight of the impossibly huge sky.
She mulled over Wal’s words, her brow furrowing deeper with every thought. Yes, Callie’s time at Glenmore was the most joy filled of her life but that didn’t mean she could be happy there again. Too much time had passed, too many familial ties unravelled. Her sister had died. Selling Glenmore would not only help ease her guilt over Hope, it would help Callie make peace with her parents. Yet how the hell was she meant to reconcile that with Nanna’s wishes?
Callie chewed her lip, thinking about Hope, how she never quite felt the same about Glenmore as Callie did. She couldn’t have, or Hope wouldn’t have stopped wanting to come to the farm. It was boring, she complained. Nanna and Poppy were too strict.
There was a time when Hope was perfectly content to spend her time swimming or surfing at MacLeans Bay, or disappearing into the forest to wander the trails. Animal spotting, she called it. Being one with nature. A term that had made everyone roll their eyes and tease, and call her the household hippie. Then at seventeen that stopped, along with the swimming and surfing. Hope wanted to stay in Melbourne, seek urban adventure with her city friends. Suddenly her skirts became shorter, her tops tighter; the modern classic look she’d assimilated from Mum bastardised and cheapened. Make-up marred her clear skin. Secrecy became Hope’s byword. Questions were answered in monosyllables, her mascaraed eyes never meeting anyone’s. Men looked. A lot. And Callie noticed how much Hope liked it. How she played for it. Calllie remembered the arguments that caused, between Hope and her parents, Hope and her sister. Regretful arguments; their legacy another layer to her guilt.
Even now, thoughts of that time still left Callie feeling confused. She loved Hope, looked up to her. Her sister was beautiful, sporty, fun. People adored her. Sometimes Callie even wanted to be her, but she wanted to be at Glenmore too. And this new, rebellious, boundary-stretching Hope frightened her.
Then Callie learned about her drug experiments.
According to Hope, everyone did it; it made nightclubs fun. Callie wouldn’t know because she was too young, too country and staid, like Nanna and Poppy. So Callie begged to be shown.
And oh, how she was shown.
One of the papers speculated that Hope was flaunting her coolness, taking more risks than normal because her sister was there. Though her parents tried to protect Callie from the media onslaught, she saw the article and took it as the truth. Not only did Hope die because Callie hadn’t known what to do when she collapsed, her sister might not have swallowed those pills at all if Callie hadn’t begged to tag along.
Nanna had it wrong. The farm had to be sold.
Maybe in the end Hope didn’t care much about the farm but Callie did, which made this sacrifice right. Hope was dead, but the foundation created in her name lived. Callie couldn’t give her parents their daughter back, but she could give them this cherished part of herself.
And with it would come forgiveness.
Equilibrium restored, Callie started the car only to yelp in fright as a tap sounded against the window. A chaotic-haired woman with a cherubic baby on her hip grinned at her. When Callie frowned and blinked the woman made a rapid ‘wind down the window’ motion. Finally recognising Deborah Graney, Callie forced a smile and obliged.
‘Deb, good to see you.’ She smiled dutifully at the dribbling baby and reached out to tickle his arm. ‘Hello, you must be Jarrod. Aren’t you cute?’
‘Well, aren’t you going to get out so I can give you a hug?’
Given her mood and the weather, a hug was the last thing Callie wanted but Deb had always been the tactile type. Callie received a warm, if rather squashed and baby-scented embrace, parting to find herself being eyed by two identical girls, each blessed with the same gorgeously curly hair as their mother.
‘You two must be Maddy and Flora. Hello.’
The girls smiled shyly without speaking.
‘The terrible twins. Literally.’ Deb gave them an indulgent glance before boosting Jarrod back up her hip and regarding Callie once more. Her smile dropped and she leaned close.
‘Oh, Callie, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Honest.’ At Deb’s disbelieving expression she sighed inwardly. Even Callie’s well-practised mask couldn’t hide red eyes but at least a half-lie could hide the truth. ‘Remembering Nanna, that’s all.’
‘It’s always hard losing someone you love.’
Something Callie didn’t need reminding of, but she nodded obligingly in response. Deb always was kind hearted, which was part of the reason her horses got away with their naughtiness.
‘Anyway, I feel like I owe you a big apology. Anthony told me you were back. I should have been in touch, organised to catch up for coffee, but between Wal and this lot it completely slipped my mind.’
‘That’s okay. I’ve been busy too. You look great by the way. Motherhood suits you.’
‘Motherhood exhausts me, you mean.’ Nose screwing up, Deb surveyed the carpark. ‘God, it’s baking out here. Are you free? We could chat in the cafe. Catch up.’
‘I’d love to, but I have a whole heap of things to sort.’ She grimaced. ‘And I need to find a job.’
Deb cocked her head to one side. ‘What sort?’
‘Just bar work. Something casual.’
‘Try the Royal. Ask for Doug Phelan. He might have something.’
‘Thanks. I will.’
Deb smiled at her. ‘I’ll call you, okay?’
‘Sure.’
Deb regarded her twins. ‘Come on, you two. Time to see what sort of chaos your gramps has caused today.’
Callie retreated to the cool of the car, grateful for the break Deb had given her from her thoughts and glad to see her old pony club acquaintance so content. Deb was a nice girl. She deserved a good life.
She left the carpark, turning toward the centre of town instead of the shortcut around it. The Royal was on the Glenmore side of Dargate, at the far end of Patterson Street. Querying the pubs on this side of town first would save doubling up if Deb’s tip proved unfruitful.
Fifty metres from the Commercial Hotel, Callie slid into a parking space, keeping the engine running as she checked her hair and face in the mirror. Her eyes remained slightly puffy and her tanned skin a shade paler than normal, but she’d pass. Publicans liked good-looking bar staff but experience was what really counted, and Callie possessed an overload of that.
Despite her credentials, she lucked out at the Commercial and again at the Imperial, although both kept her CV, promising to call if anything came up. At the Royal, her fortunes changed. Following Deb’s suggestion, she asked for Doug and was led out the back to where a weathered-looking man with wide ears and a seen-it-all-before expression eyed her up and down before taking her CV and disappearing into his office. Ten minutes later he returned, this time with a smile on his face and a roster in his hand, and Callie had enough shifts to keep herself afloat. And little spare time to dwell on the costs of her decision.
Control, determination, activity – these were the things to help her hold it together.
With another chore ticked off, Callie headed out of town, driving slowly down Thiedeke Road as she hunted for the house Peter Taylor described. She didn’t need to search hard. With its massive white rendered walls and two large columns propping up an ostentatious front portico, the Sorianos’ property was impossible to miss. Even the gate consisted of two curved rendered brick wings. An engraved brass plate pinned to one wall declared the property ‘Kelso’.
Callie indicated and turned, noting the empty timber-fenced paddocks either side of the drive. A green plastic feed tub sat near the gate of the right-hand paddock, the ground around it barren and compacted. A loop of baling twine remained knotted around the rail supporting the strainer post, ready for a leadrope to be threaded through – an old trick to prevent horses injuring themselves or breaking tack if they pulled back – but no grazing horse raised its head to eye her, and Callie’s heart squeezed a little at the absence.
The drive widened into a neat gravel carriage circle, the centre decorated with a pretty fountain of a woman pouring water from a bucket into a lily-covered pond, her legs brushed by drooping fern fronds. Shade from the house made the area appear an oasis in the summer-burnt countryside.
As the Jumbuk crunched to a halt a very slim girl, around thirteen years of age, with razor cut black hair and a sulky expression, opened the front door. She leaned against the door edge, eyeing the Jumbuk with disdain as a Siamese cat wound round her legs and trotted purposefully to the end of the house before disappearing around the corner. Callie alighted and crossed to the portico, smiling through her sympathy for a girl she understood only too well.
‘You must be Lyndall.’ She held out her hand. ‘My name’s Callie Reynolds.’
Lyndall’s gaze hesitated on Callie’s tattoo, then politeness took over and she took Callie’s hand in a brief limp grip. ‘Hello.’
‘I think I have an old friend of yours. A horse called Phantom.’
The sulk disappeared in an instant, replaced with eagerness and hope. ‘You have Phan? How is he? Is he okay?’
‘He’s great. I’ve only had him a few days but he’s in good health. Eating himself silly, in fact. He’s a sweet horse. You must miss him.’
Lyndall nodded, lips flattened firmly together in a way Callie recognised, and she wished she could hug the teenager close and tell her that she could have her horse back right now if she wanted. But things were never so simple.
The front door widened, revealing a worried-looking dark blonde woman with the same slender build as her daughter. Though her smile was polite, Callie noted the way she moved behind Lyndall and placed both hands protectively on her daughter’s shoulders.
‘Hello. Can I help you?’
Callie stuck out her hand. ‘Callie Reynolds. I was in at Taylor’s earlier. Peter told me about Lyndall, so I thought I’d drop by and say hello.’
‘Callie bought Phantom,’ said Lyndall.
‘Ahh.’ Introducing herself as Kate, the woman reached across to shake Callie’s hand, before returning to her proprietary stance behind her daughter, fingers nervously working the ends of Lyndall’s dark hair. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine. Stuffing himself with cocksfoot and clover.’ Callie looked at Lyndall. ‘I didn’t buy him. My grandmother left him to me in her will.’
‘Oh. So you don’t ride?’
‘I used to but I haven’t been on a horse for years.’ She flicked a glance at Kate before regarding Lyndall once more. ‘Peter told me how much you loved him. I was wondering if you’d like to come and say hello.’
Lyndall raised pleading eyes to her mother, who regarded her pensively.
‘He’s out at Glenmore. It’s a property only five or so kilometres from here, not far from Becketts Landing. I could take you out and drop you back.’ Noticing Kate’s hesitation, Callie suddenly realised how odd her proposal must seem – a stranger asking to take her daughter away. ‘Or you could follow me out if that would work better.’
‘Can we, Mum? Just for a while? I really want to see him.’
Kate stroked her daughter’s hair and Callie saw the love there. And the worry. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’
‘Please, Mum.’ Lyndall’s eyes began to pool, hands twisting around each other. ‘For five minutes. Just to say hello.’
Callie waited, hoping for the young girl’s sake that her mother would give in.
‘Please.’
After a few more moments’ hesitation Kate relented. ‘Sure.’ She addressed Callie. ‘When would be a good time?’
Relieved, Callie exhaled a slow breath and smiled. ‘How about now?’
Kate followed in a teal-coloured Range Rover, which left Callie pondering their purchase of Morton. People of means usually bought press-button show ponies or been-there-done-that all-rounders that cost many thousands of dollars. Even when Callie was riding it wasn’t unusual for an experienced pony club horse to sell for over five grand. If Peter Taylor’s adverts were any indication, prices now were even higher. How the Sorianos ended up with one of Maurie Cavendish’s saleyard specials was a mystery, but they wouldn’t be the first to be suckered in by the smooth-talking horse trader’s banter. The man was renowned for it.
‘Watch out for Honk,’ warned Callie, pointing to the madly complaining goose as Lyndall and Kate followed her across Glenmore’s yard to the house paddock. ‘He’s getting seriously cranky in his old age.’
‘They’re meant to be wonderful guard dogs,’ said Kate, smiling as Honk gave another outraged trumpet.
‘They are. Although in Honk’s case, only during the day. I can’t leave him out at night because of the foxes.’
Lyndall cast Honk a dubious look. ‘Does he bite?’
‘He does.’ Callie halted to point at the dark bruise on her thigh. ‘And it hurt
s, but if you keep out of his way he’s all right.’
Kate gave her daughter a quick shoulder hug. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine.’ She addressed Callie again. ‘So this was your grandmother’s farm?’
‘Yes. She died six weeks ago.’
‘So you’ll be living here now?’
‘Only until it’s sold.’ Callie smiled tightly. ‘Home for me is Airlie Beach.’
Lyndall threw her a worried look. ‘Does that mean you’ll be taking Phantom with you?’
‘No. My plan is sell him. Although if I can find the right home I’d be happy to give him away.’
Morton was nose down toward the rear of the paddock, concentrating on developing his grass belly, when Callie arrived at the gate. Using the technique Poppy patiently taught her as a little girl, she curled her thumb and forefinger, placed them in her mouth and blew. A satisfyingly piercing whistle emerged, quickly echoed by yet another nasal grump from Honk and a softer, more welcoming noise from Morton.
Callie glanced at Lyndall. A delighted glow spread across the young girl’s face, her brown eyes turning dewy as she watched her former mount hurry toward them, but instead of approaching, Lyndall remained a good metre away from the gate. Callie passed a querying look at Kate, who gave a subtle shake of her head.
As Morton neared, Callie opened the gate, making sure to latch it behind her so the young girl didn’t panic. Showing off, Morton indulged in a happy pigroot and head toss before halting by Callie and, nostrils flared, used his long nose to bunt her in the upper arm and head.
Eyes enormous, Lyndall took a step backwards as horror turned her voice squeaky. ‘What’s happened to his face?’
Callie stroked Morton’s nose, trying to keep her expression benign, while inside she cursed herself for not remembering the warts. ‘He didn’t have any grass warts when you had him?’
At the mention of warts, Lyndall looked even more appalled. ‘No!’
‘They’re not uncommon, especially with young horses,’ Callie explained matter-of-factly. ‘And don’t worry about catching them off him. They’re not contagious for humans. He’s perfectly safe.’