Two Weeks 'til Christmas

by Laura Greaves

  ‘Claire!’ Scotty said, sounding genuinely happy to see her. ‘I didn’t expect to see you out tonight. I just finished work and thought I’d stop in for a quick one. Are you here with Vanessa and Gus?’

  ‘Uh, no. Actually, I’m —’

  ‘Wait. You don’t have a drink,’ Scotty cut in, pointing at Claire’s empty hands. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a glass of wine on the way.’

  ‘Oh?’ Scotty turned and scanned the punters at the bar. When he didn’t see anybody he could identify as an obvious drinking buddy, he turned back to Claire, his face creased with confusion. ‘Who are you here with?’

  Claire felt a twinge of guilt, but silently rebuked herself. Just relax. She had nothing to feel guilty about.

  ‘Um, Jared. Jared Miller?’ As if Scotty wouldn’t know who she was talking about.

  ‘Ah! Wedding business. But come on, Claire, you don’t need to spend your Friday night vetting the DJ’s playlist.’ There was a beat of silence, then Scotty frowned. ‘But didn’t you talk to Jared about the wedding music yesterday?’

  He was still standing while she sat and Claire felt cowed by his towering presence. ‘I did, yeah. This isn’t about the wedding.’

  She watched as comprehension dawned. ‘Are you on a date with Jared Miller?’ Scotty’s tone was disbelieving, and Claire had to admit that it stung. Was the possibility that she was on a date really so preposterous?

  The guilty feeling in her stomach was abruptly replaced by a spark of irritation. She stared at him with all the defiance she could muster. ‘I don’t think that’s really any of your business, Scotty,’ she said crisply. ‘Do I need your permission to come to the pub on a Friday night?’

  His astonishment was still writ large on his face. Scotty slowly shook his head, as though he was struggling to process what she’d said. ‘I just . . .’ he began. ‘I didn’t realise you were looking to meet somebody.’

  As if Scotty had poured petrol on a campfire, the annoyance flickering inside Claire suddenly flared into a full-scale blaze. She stood up and leaned as close to him as she dared.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be looking to meet someone, Scotty?’ she hissed. ‘I’m twenty-eight years old. Everyone I know is either married or getting married or having babies or whatever. Am I supposed to help you plan your wedding and then just disappear back to Sydney, alone? Don’t I get to think about my future, too?’

  Scotty took a step back, aghast. Claire understood his surprise – she was pretty shocked herself at the words that had just tumbled out of her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say those things. She wasn’t aware she even thought those things.

  Scotty’s expression grew stony. ‘Of course you do, Claire,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ve only ever wanted you to think about your future, remember? For a long time I thought I might be part of it.’

  She glared at him, completely lost for words. He was throwing her rejection of his marriage proposal in her face. Now. After eight years. Little more than a week before his wedding to someone else.

  ‘How dare you,’ Claire said eventually, her voice a whisper. ‘That is so unfair.’

  Jared suddenly appeared at Claire’s side and handed her a condensation-covered glass of wine. He didn’t seem to notice that the tension between her and Scotty was thicker than the sea air on a humid summer’s night.

  ‘Hey, man,’ Jared said, clapping Scotty on the back. ‘Changed your mind about letting me put N.W.A on the wedding playlist?’

  Scotty didn’t acknowledge Jared’s quip. ‘Have a good night,’ he said gruffly, and stalked away.

  Claire sagged into her chair, her legs shaky. She took a fortifying gulp of her wine.

  ‘Are you okay? That looked heavy,’ Jared said, sitting beside her. His face was the picture of concern and Claire felt a wave of affection for him. Jared was sweet and uncomplicated – and more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. Why couldn’t she have fallen for someone like him all those years ago, instead of someone who constantly pushed and challenged her, and arrogantly assumed he knew what was best for her?

  She plastered on the brightest smile she could muster. ‘I’m great,’ she said. ‘I think maybe Scotty and I are a little stressed out, what with the wedding so close.’

  Jared chuckled and sipped his beer. ‘And you’re just the helper,’ he said. ‘Imagine how you’d feel if you were the bride.’

  Claire knew it wasn’t a criticism, but Jared’s words felt like a slap. She was just the helper. If only she could figure out how to help herself.

  Scotty sat at the bar and glowered. He should have just left, should have gone home and drank alone like the sad case he was. Did it count as drinking alone if you had a three-legged dog for company?

  But he stayed at the pub. It was better to be around people, he figured. Around friends. Mates he’d known forever, who wouldn’t remind him how gutless he was. Maybe he would text Nina and ask her to meet him for dinner after she finished teaching her sunset yoga class on the beach. He’d barely seen her all week and he felt the need to check in, to make sure they were still on the same page with all this wedding stuff.

  It was loud in the pub, but every now and then Claire’s mellifluous laugh would drift above the racket. He’d chosen a seat at the far end of the bar, with his back to Claire and Jared so he didn’t have to watch them on their date. But he could still feel her there. He always sensed her, wherever she was, even when there were hundreds of kilometres and years of silence between them. She was like a thought he couldn’t articulate or a moment he couldn’t forget.

  More like a nightmare I can’t forget.

  But that was unfair. Scotty didn’t want to forget Claire, though his life would certainly be easier right now if he had. She had hurt him once, sure. But he figured he had deserved it, trying to run her life the way he had. He’d tried to play Mr Fixit when what he should have done was just hold her hand while she figured it out for herself.

  He never should have asked her to marry him back then – and he definitely shouldn’t have alluded to it tonight. What was he thinking? Claire lugged around enough shame about her past with her. Scotty felt sick that he’d added to it. What he’d said to Claire had been straight-up cruel.

  He heard her laugh again and his head throbbed. Seriously, Jared Miller? He was a nice enough bloke, but he was no match for Claire. Jared was fun – easygoing and straightforward, what you saw was what you got. Claire had hidden depths, layers that Scotty had barely begun to peel back. She was fiercely intelligent, complex, fragile.

  No, not fragile. Scotty caught himself. He’d made that mistake before. Claire was no weakling. She was as tough as a Mallee bull. She just didn’t know it.

  If anyone was weak in this scenario, it was him.

  What could Claire possibly see in Jared? Scotty knew many girls liked that salt-crusted surfer-dude vibe he had going on, but Claire wasn’t the type to fall for looks alone – that she’d ever been with Scotty was proof of that. Still, even Jared was punching above his weight with Claire. She was classically beautiful, like a painting, with her pale skin, smattering of freckles and dark curls. When he’d walked into the pub and seen her sitting on that sofa in those tiny shorts, Scotty couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d felt heat pooling deep within him. Something stirred in a place that had no business being stirred by a woman who was not his fiancée.

  But it was all a moot point. Claire was with Jared, and he had to admit she was probably a better match with him – at least aesthetically speaking – than she had ever been with Scotty. He was no stranger to punching above his weight himself. He knew he was no oil painting. It was yet another reason he couldn’t quite believe Nina had agreed to marry him.

  He drained his beer and signalled to the barman for another, his fourth. He had to stop thinking – about Claire and Jared, Nina, the wedding. Maybe getting off his face would help him switch off his brain.

  But before he could take anot
her sip, Scotty’s phone rang. His brother’s name flashed up on the screen. He smiled. He could always count on Chris for a solid night out.

  ‘Little brother,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’re doing, stop it now and get your arse to the pub. I’ve decided you’re throwing me a buck’s show.’

  But Chris’s voice was panicked. ‘Mate, we’ve got a problem at Cape Ashe,’ he said. ‘It’s Autumn.’

  Scotty’s head cleared, the effects of the three beers he’d downed dissipating in an instant. ‘The foal?’ She wasn’t due for another month, but horses were always getting themselves into trouble – especially pregnant ones.

  ‘I dunno,’ Chris replied. ‘She’s been off her food all day. Now she’s really struggling to breathe. She’s making a bloody terrible noise.’

  ‘Have you taken her temperature? Does she feel hot?’ It wasn’t a particularly warm day, but with Autumn’s recent malignant hyperthermia diagnosis, heat stroke was an ever-present threat.

  ‘Her temp’s up, but I don’t think it’s heat stroke. She doesn’t have any of the other symptoms of it. Can you get up here, bro?’

  Scotty opened his mouth to say ‘of course’ but stopped. The best-case scenario was that Autumn would need to be transported to the clinic for treatment. Chris’s call had sobered him up, but he knew he’d drunk too much to drive the narrow country roads to Cape Ashe Stud in the gathering darkness, much less tow a horse float back into town.

  And worst case? Autumn could need emergency surgery in situ. Scotty couldn’t operate on his brother’s pregnant mare with three beers in his system – not legally and definitely not ethically.

  ‘Mate, I can’t do it,’ he said. ‘I’m three beers in.’

  A stream of expletives issued from Chris’s end of the line. ‘What can we do, Scotty? She’s in a really bad way. Can you call one of the other vets?’

  Scotty groaned. He employed two other vets at the clinic, both part-time. Charlie had already flown to Tasmania to spend Christmas with his family and it was Eleanor’s day off. On any other evening, he knew he could call her and she’d drop everything to help, but her husband was away on a golfing trip and she was flying solo with their four kids.

  The nearest vet hospital besides his was at Alison Bay. Even if he could get hold of them after hours, they were at least a half-hour’s drive away. If Autumn was in respiratory distress, she may not have that much time.

  Claire’s giggle floated above the dull roar in the pub once more. Of course. He hadn’t seen Claire or Jared come back to the bar for more drinks, so she couldn’t have finished her first glass of wine. It wasn’t ideal – stone-cold sober was ideal – but it was his only option.

  ‘Try to keep her calm and cool. We don’t want the MH flaring up on top of whatever else is going on,’ Scotty instructed his brother. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

  Scotty left his untouched beer and hurried across the bar to the sofa where Claire and Jared still sat talking, their heads close together. Jared’s hand rested across the back of the sofa, nearly touching Claire’s shoulders, and Scotty had to fight the urge to slap it away.

  Claire looked up in surprise when Scotty loomed before her. ‘How many drinks have you had?’ he said.

  A look of undisguised disgust crossed her face. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Steady on, Scotty,’ Jared said, a note of warning in his voice.

  ‘Just tell me,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  Claire sighed and held up her wineglass. It was still half full. ‘Just this one. Okay, Dad?’

  Scotty nodded. ‘Great. Come with me.’ He held out his hand.

  Neither Claire nor Jared moved. They just stared at him, dumbfounded. Finally, Jared said, ‘I think it’s time for you to go, mate.’

  ‘Please, Claire,’ Scotty said. ‘It’s my brother’s horse – you remember Autumn?’

  ‘Malignant hyperthermia,’ she said. Jared looked at her like she was speaking Swahili.

  ‘Yeah, but this is something else. Airway, from what Chris said. She needs to be seen right now, but . . .’

  Claire frowned. ‘But what?’

  ‘I’ve had too much to drink. I shouldn’t drive, and even if I did I definitely can’t operate on her, if it comes to that. You’re the horse guru. Will you help?’

  Claire got immediately to her feet and turned to Jared. ‘I’m so sorry, Jared. I treated Autumn in Sydney last week. I can’t not help her.’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, rising to stand beside her. ‘I completely understand. Go do your thing.’

  She gave him a quick hug. ‘I’ve had a really good time catching up. I’ll call you, okay?’

  Jared smiled. ‘Make sure you do.’

  Claire turned to Scotty and held out her hand. ‘Keys.’

  Scotty fished them out of his pocket and handed them over. ‘We’ll need to stop at the clinic to get my instruments,’ he said.

  ‘No, we’ll need to stop at Vanessa’s house to get my instruments.’

  ‘You brought your instruments on holiday?’ He stared at her, amazed.

  Claire shrugged. ‘A girl never knows when she might need a scalpel. Now let’s go.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Claire knew the way to Cape Ashe Stud like the back of her hand. She’d made the journey from town or from Thorne Hill more times than she could count, first on her bike and later, when Scotty got his learner driver’s licence, in the turquoise Mazda 121 his parents had bought him. He’d been so embarrassed by that car, but Claire had loved it. To her it had represented freedom – from her parents’ increasingly volatile marriage, from their objections to her deepening relationship with Scotty and from the looming threat of boarding school. She had often persuaded him to take to the open road, just the two of them, even though he was supposed to have a fully licensed driver in the car whenever he was behind the wheel. She’d been a bad influence on him from the start.

  Now, she was in Scotty’s car again, but this time it was the hulking black four-wheel drive she’d seen the day he brought Autumn to the clinic in Sydney. Claire had protested when he’d insisted she drive the beast – she was much more comfortable in her little hatchback – but Scotty was over the limit and if the mare needed treatment at his clinic, Claire’s car wasn’t up to towing the float.

  And so she bounced down the slim dirt lanes in the dwindling light and took the precariously tight bends as fast as she dared behind the wheel of an unwieldy vehicle that made her feel small and out of control.

  Or maybe it was Scotty who made her feel that way. He sat in grim silence, but Claire could see he was doing the jaw-clenching thing again. His brooding presence made her stomach knot. The idea that he could possibly be angry with her was galling. He had ruined her evening with Jared and was dragging her to the middle of nowhere to treat a pregnant horse that might not even survive until she got there. And now he wasn’t even going to speak to her? Where did this guy get off?

  ‘Don’t even worry about this, Scotty,’ she said when the tension in the car finally got too much. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You can thank me later.’

  He looked at her, surprised, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘Huh?’

  Claire let out an exasperated breath. ‘I’m doing you a favour here,’ she said. ‘I was having a really nice time with Jared, but I dropped everything to come and help you. And you’re sitting there scowling and grinding your teeth like I’ve done something wrong.’

  Was it her imagination, or did Scotty bristle when she mentioned Jared?

  He turned to stare out of the window. Finally he sighed and said, ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘I know I haven’t,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t need you to absolve me, thanks very much.’

  Scotty fell silent again as the car’s headlights illuminated a carved timber sign hanging on a post-and-rail fence. Cape Ashe Stud. In spite of her annoyance, Claire smiled. That sign had been there for at least twenty years,
changing only with the addition of a threadbare Christmas wreath every December. Such a humble advertisement for one of the most renowned horse studs in the country. It was typical of the Shannon family’s approach to their business. They were in it for the love of horses, not the money or the kudos, though they’d earned plenty of both over the years.

  Claire swung the four-wheel drive onto the gravel driveway and sped past the main house, where Chris now lived with his family, to the stables beyond. The huge pine tree in the front garden was hung with twinkling Christmas lights, just as it had been every year when she was a teenager.

  In fact, every light on the property seemed to be blazing. Chris had even switched on the floodlights in the exercise arena adjacent to the stables. She could see Scotty’s little brother – now a strapping man himself – rushing in and out of a stall as she approached.

  She shuddered. With no streetlights or road noise, nights in the hinterland were almost eerily dark and silent. There was something about seeing a building brightly illuminated against an onyx sky, sensing frenetic activity when there should have been stillness, that Claire found deeply unsettling. Growing up, she had loved the quiet of the country, that feeling of splendid isolation. But tonight, Cape Ashe Stud looked to her like a foreboding island in the middle of a churning, black sea.

  Chris approached the car as Claire pulled up next to the stables. She rolled down the tinted window and his jaw dropped.

  ‘Claire!’ he said. ‘Of course. I should have known Scotty would rope you in. Thank you so much. You made it in record time. Haven’t forgotten the way here after all these years, eh?’

  ‘Hey, Chris,’ she said. ‘I’m happy to help. Where’s Autumn?’ She opened the car door and stepped out. As she turned to close it, she shot Scotty a pointed look. At least one of the Shannon brothers remembered his manners, she said with her eyes.

  ‘This way,’ Chris said and hurried towards the stall she’d seen him emerge from moments ago.

  Claire opened the back door and grabbed her instrument box. Scotty still hadn’t moved from the passenger seat. ‘Are you coming?’ she said.