by Cathryn Hein
He drove home and though it was early, set about sorting the horses. With no Danny to help, the routine would take longer and he needed a distraction from the horror in his head, of Danny’s distorted face and broken body. He worked hard and fast, distributing feeds, mucking out, lunging horses that needed exercise, all the while alert to cars in the lane or the clip-clop of an approaching horse.
Nine o’clock came and went. The next hour dashed by even faster. No matter how many times he looked, the lane remained empty, the horses restful. They dozed with half-closed eyelids, heads low and ears flopped. He wished he could be like them. At peace. He’d always known this would be the outcome, yet somehow he’d kept a fragment of faith burning. As he stood in his kitchen and watched the clock’s minute hand move another notch closer to eleven, the hope he’d nurtured began to die. Finally, it went out.
To escape what wasn’t there and with the vague idea of sorting through Danny’s things, he drove to the flat, slowing as he passed Vanaheim, not seeing Sophie, but all too aware of the void she’d left.
Like Danny himself, the flat reeked of cigarettes and unwashed clothes, but it was surprisingly tidy. The jockey appeared to have collected few possessions in the time he’d lived there. Aaron looked at the cheap furniture, the rattling ancient fridge and the grimy threadbare carpet, and thought what a sad indictment of a man’s life it was.
He wandered toward the bed, his attention caught by an eerie incongruity. Though the rest of the flat looked impoverished, five polished and dusted silver photo frames took pride of place on Danny’s chipped and stained bedside table.
And every single one of them was of Hakea Lodge.
Aaron couldn’t remember Danny taking any photographs even though Aaron himself appeared in two of them. The other three featured his father. He picked up what he guessed was the oldest. Looking ridiculously boyish, Danny grinned at the camera while Rodger Laidlaw smiled down at him, his arm slung around the young jockey’s shoulder.
Aaron sat down on the bed staring at it, all thought of cleaning the flat gone, and quietly mourned a man who he now realised had loved his father. A man who had loved Hakea Lodge as much as he did. They should have been friends, but instead they had ended up hating one another. And now they would never reconcile.
Carefully, he put the photo back in its place and then, for the first time since he was sixteen, he allowed himself to cry for all that he had lost.
By the time he made it home it was past midday. When he saw the empty yard, his breath came out in a shudder. Though he knew it was pointless, there had still been a tiny spark of hope in his heart that Sophie would be there, waiting for him.
You should have told her you loved her.
But then, he should have done a lot of things.
He felt another stupid surge of hope as he opened the back door, but there was no note from her on the kitchen table, and no message on the answering machine. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. As it had appeared all morning, the screen remained blank. Desolate, he tossed it on the table.
It was time for the fool’s fantasy to end. Sophie wasn’t coming. Then again, he’d known that all along.
He made himself a sandwich, but found he couldn’t eat it. He tried to read the paper instead, but the words kept turning backwards, as though he’d suddenly developed dyslexia. He tossed the paper aside and tipped his tea down the sink. Through the kitchen window, he spied the jaundiced lawn he’d planted to replace his mother’s garden. Despite a lack of care, it had grown. He decided then he’d get the mower out and cut it.
Anything to take his mind off Sophie.
Lawn mowing only killed an hour, so he went in search of other jobs. He settled on cleaning out the feed room. It was a mess – a result of too many hours spent mooning over Sophie when he should have been paying attention to the yard.
He filled all the feed buckets with soapy water, scrubbed them out, and left them in the sun to dry. Then he laid out a tarp in the yard and hauled sacks of oats, corn and chaff onto it. He washed down the steel racks where he kept veterinary supplies, dusted the contents and replaced them neatly on the shelves. He folded empty chaff bags into stacks and tied them in bundles ready for recycling, then spent a sneeze-filled hour dusting cobwebs and sweeping the floor, swearing when Hakea Lodge’s overstuffed resident carpet python frightened yet another year off his life.
When it was all done, he made up the evening feeds and distributed them to the horses. As they ate, he mucked out the yards, then, struck by a money-making idea, spent another hour shovelling horse manure into empty corn sacks. He’d advertise them for sale in the local paper. Gardeners loved that sort of stuff.
As Aaron had intended, by the time he trudged toward the house, he was exhausted. Weariness seeped through his bones, cramped his strained muscles, stung his bloodshot eyes, but it couldn’t mask the ache he felt for Sophie. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took it outside, but not to his customary verandah step. Instead, he walked to the front of the house and sat in his filthy clothes on the porch, staring at the road, waiting for a car that would never come.
Tomorrow would be another hard day. Alone, it would take all morning to muck out, feed and work the horses. Then, in preparation for the arrival of his new charges, he’d spend the afternoon clearing out the soiled sand of Pollyanna’s and Costa Motza’s yards and replacing it with fresh fill. Back-breaking work. Exactly what he needed.
He finished his beer and watched the sun drop slowly in the evening sky, trying not to think of Sophie. It was over. He had to be strong, like her, and let it go. She hadn’t come. She wasn’t going to come. He had to accept it.
But still he waited, and it was only when true darkness fell, when he couldn’t see the road any more, that he finally gave up and, with slow, tired steps, walked into the house.
A hot shower made him clean, but he didn’t feel any better. He stared at his stubbly reflection and thought how old he looked, as though time had carved fissures in his face when he wasn’t looking. He knew it was fatigue, but he sensed there was something else too. Heartache, he supposed. Regret.
He shaved, hoping that might make him feel more human, knowing he was kidding himself, but he found it helped a little, so he brushed his teeth as well, applied deodorant, combed his hair. He looked at himself again and smiled wryly.
Add a clean pressed shirt, some nice jeans and polished boots, and he’d be ready for a night out on the town, chasing girls with Josh. Perhaps one day, he might even be up for that again. Sometime in the distant future when he’d finally recovered from loving Sophie.
He shook his head. Who was he kidding? By the time that day arrived, he’d be stuck chatting up the old biddies in his nursing home.
He wrapped a towel round his hips and wandered out into the kitchen to where he’d left his clothes warming by the stove. Three steps in, he stopped, shocked.
Standing by the sink with that shy smile curving her mouth, and her grey eyes huge with hope and longing, was Sophie.
Twenty-eight
Sophie gazed at Aaron, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t. He just stared with wide eyes. Neither of them moved. As the seconds passed, the silence began to thrum.
And then it began to hurt.
Her smile slipped. She crossed her arms, lifted her thumb to her mouth intending to gnaw on the nail, but then dropped it.
‘I came this morning,’ she said, her voice betraying her anguish. ‘But you weren’t home.’
She’d wanted to come first thing, as she’d said she would, but the long, restless night convinced her she needed time to probe her feelings. Her choice affected Aaron’s life as much as hers, and for his sake as well as her own, she wanted to be sure. So she’d turned to the friend she could rely on most, who’d been with her through the worst and best, whose affection and loyalty was unquestioned.
Chuck had quivered with delight at being saddled again. The moment she mounted, he broke into a jog, snatching at his bit, eager
to be off. Sophie let him have his head, laughing as he put in several happy pigroots, and rode him out to Vanaheim’s highest point. Sensing her need for calm, Chuck had stood quietly while she stared into the distance toward Harrington cemetery, and there she’d thought about her mother, her father, about Tess and Carol. About forgiveness and what it meant. Whether love could really bury the past. Then, though she still had no answers, she’d turned Chuck down the hill and they’d ridden along the stock lane to the gate of the lowest paddock and gazed across at Hakea Lodge.
In the morning glow, the land looked magical. Mist lay thick in the hollows, curling around the landscape like an ethereal fleece. Stroking Chuck’s neck, she explained to him all that had happened. Telling him her fears and doubts. How she wanted to be certain that in a day, a week, a month’s time, she’d still be able to hold forgiveness and understanding in her heart.
As she spoke, the sun rose higher and warmed the countryside, and the mist turned cobwebby, as though a thousand spiders had cast their silk during the night. Slowly it burned away, exposing the yard and Aaron’s house.
Revealing the truth of where her heart and her future lay.
Smiling, she’d gathered the reins, kicked Chuck into a canter and, ignoring the startled whinnies of Buck and Costa Motza as they passed, ridden straight to Hakea Lodge.
Only to find the place deserted and the kitchen, when she walked inside, as quiet as it was right now.
Unnerved by Aaron’s silence, she raised her thumb again and gnawed at the nail. Still he said nothing. He just stared at her with eyes that expressed nothing but disbelief and something else she couldn’t fathom. Something that sent fear crawling between her shoulderblades. Something terrible.
‘Danny’s dead,’ he said.
She couldn’t help the rush of relief or the sigh that emerged from her mouth. She understood now. Aaron’s heart was in turmoil, torn between guilt and relief. She still had hope.
Danny’s death – any death – was tragic but she had loathed the jockey as much as he had hated her. He had threatened her, attacked her on her own property. Sophie refused to feign sorrow.
‘How?’
‘Drunk. Lost control of his bike. Hit a tree.’
‘Forgive me if I can’t find any words of sympathy.’
He nodded. He stood on the other side of the kitchen staring at her, bare-chested, with only a towel hugging his hips. Once more, silence throbbed between them.
Droplets of water sparkled on Aaron’s shoulders where they had fallen from his wet hair. Except for the tan that covered his forearms and ranged halfway up his biceps his skin was pale, coloured only by a dark-blond sprinkling of hair that rose up his belly and then spread lightly across his chest. Although Sophie had pressed against his body, she saw he was far more muscled that she had realised. Not body-builder six-pack muscled, but firm and fit-looking, with shoulders and arms that made her think of protection and safety and all-encompassing love.
‘Why didnt you wait or come back?’ he asked suddenly, and the cracked edge in his voice told her the answer was important, that his next move depended on it.
Her eyes prickled with tears. The dismay she’d felt at finding Hakea Lodge empty hadn’t left her all day, no matter how many times she’d tried to convince herself Aaron’s absence wasn’t deliberate. Nor could she shake the memory of his leaving Vanaheim the day before. She’d thought she’d seen love in his eyes. She’d thought she knew the truth. Yet he had left without answering her question, without admitting what he felt.
Perhaps it was because he couldn‘t.
It was that fear that had stopped her from waiting, had kept her from returning, trapped her immobile with uncertainty until her deep, desperate need had finally driven her back to his door. Back to the man she loved but could still lose.
And now it had come down to this.
She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself – a pathetic shield against the rejection she still feared would come.
‘I thought you were hiding from me. That you didn’t want me to come.’ She stared at him, willing him to understand. ‘I thought I had it wrong again. That maybe you didn’t care about me at all.’
‘Oh, Soph. You know that’s not true.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No.’
She chewed at her bottom lip. This wasn’t how she wanted it to go. She’d imagined some stupid romantic falling into arms and passionate kisses and declarations of love. But this was awkward and tense and she didn’t know how it would end. She didn’t know if he was going to accept her forgiveness, when his acceptance was the very thing her heart craved. She loved him and that feeling would never stop, no matter what he believed.
‘I wanted you to come, Sophie,’ he said quietly. ‘I hoped and prayed for it, but I never thought you would. I thought you’d —’ He stopped and looked at the ceiling, his eyes shining.
‘You thought I’d wake up and all that love I had would have turned into hate.’
He nodded.
‘It hasn’t. It never will. I still love you. I can’t stop.’
He ran his hand through his half-dry hair, sending it sticking up at angles.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I want to, Soph. More than anything, I want to.’
Hope sent a warm flush through her breast. She had to ask. She had to find out for sure. More than ever, she needed the truth.
‘Aaron, do you love me?’
He gazed at her, blue eyes fathomless but warm, and growing warmer with every beat of her buoyant heart.
She waited, her breath suspended, her mind tumbling between uncertainty and the promise she saw in his expression. The promise of a future overflowing with love.
Then he crossed the room and cupped warm hands around her face. He smiled tenderly, and her heart floated out of her chest, hovering above them like a love-filled balloon. The truth was hers at last, gifted in a single smile like a luminous pearl. A treasure just for her.
‘I’m crazy about you, Soph. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Inside. Outside. All over.’
A teardrop swelled in her eye, fat and hot. ‘Do you mean it?’
He nodded and gently kissed the corner of her eye, capturing the tear before it fell. ‘Yeah. I mean it. I’ve always meant it.’
And then, even more slowly, copying the moves he had made all those months ago in the feed room, he brushed his delicious lips over her eyelids, before tracking his way toward her mouth in a dozen delicate kisses.
For a brief second, she fretted he was going to stop. That he was going to pull away and rub his hands through his hair and tell her he’d made a terrible mistake. But his lips stayed where they were, moving softly against her skin as he gave voice to a sentiment that came from the very depths of his heart.
Tm sorry, Sophie. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you so much. I’m sorry for everything.'
‘I know you are. But it doesn’t matter any more. I love you and that’s all that counts.’
He pulled away slightly to look at her with eyes desperate for reassurance. ‘Promise me it’s okay, Soph. Promise me you want this. Promise me —’ His voice choked.
‘That I forgive you?’
He nodded.
‘I promise you all that and more.’
Arms that spoke of strength and safety hauled her against his bare chest and she knew this was the place she belonged, in his arms, hearing his heart pound. Feeling his lips moving in her hair as he whispered the words she had once doubted she would ever hear.
‘I love you, Soph. You make everything bright and beautiful and give me happiness and hope.’
‘And I love you.’ She pushed away from his chest and gazed up at him, her mouth twitching with a grin that wanted to beam out like the sun. ‘But if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to explode.’
He laughed and then in one swift movement his mouth was on hers, kissing her with exquisite, heart-twisting tenderness. A tendernes
s that soon gave way to passion as Sophie melted against him.
‘I’ll never fail you again, Soph. I promise,’ he whispered, abandoning her mouth to kiss his way across her face and down her neck, as if he didn’t want to leave a single patch of her skin unblessed. ‘Never.’
But the promise was unnecessary.
It was something she knew already.
Sophie half-opened an eye. Aaron was propped against the pillow with his head in his hand staring at her. She smiled.
‘How long have you been looking at me like that?’
‘About an hour,’ he replied, then leaned over and kissed her. ‘Good morning.’
‘And good morning to you.’
She rolled to her side. He reached out and brushed his index finger over the nub of her nipple, sending a delicious thrill to her groin. Her breath caught. Excitement flared in Aaron’s eyes. He stroked again and she closed her eyes, her mouth parted as she concentrated on the rush of feeling.
‘Christ, you’re beautiful,’ he said, before pressing his mouth against hers.
The night before, he’d made love to her like she’d always dreamed he would. With infinite desire and breathtaking care. His own pleasure had come second to hers, so much so that she’d had to ask him to stop, to let her to explore and learn and delight in his body. To allow her the thrill of giving.
And when they’d finished, drowsy, at peace and wrapped in love, he’d laid his head on her chest and listened to her heartbeat with closed eyes as she’d stroked his hair and floated on a cloud of pure bliss, knowing this would be hers forever. But most of all, knowing he was healing, one perfect kiss at a time.
He broke the kiss to say, ‘I love you.’
She grinned and pulled him on top of her. ‘And I adore you. You snored, by the way.’
‘I was happy. That’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months.’
‘Good. I hope it’s the first of many.’
They smiled at one another and Sophie felt so full of love she could burst, but then Aaron sobered.
