‘Good idea.’
It’s Friday, my final day on the road with Cassie. Last night we stayed at a town in the mountains where the Macquarie River begins its journey north. This morning, we’ve hiked three hours down a track to photograph the river. The air is alive with birdcalls. The water gurgles as it tumbles over rocks. The sky above us is a washed-out turquoise blue.
‘It’s lovely,’ I say, ‘but I have to get back.’
‘What? You don’t like my driving?’
‘Your driving is great.’ Cassie is almost as sensitive to my anxieties on the road as Matts, and she’s been kind in other ways as well. The controversy with the deposit box has been in the papers all week, but she hasn’t mentioned it since I told her I’d rather not talk about it.
She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I was teasing you, Sapphie. You’ll be missing your home.’
‘And Tumbleweed and my horses.’
I’ve also missed Matts—more than I would ever have thought possible. Does ‘more’ mean a long-term commitment? How many risks am I prepared to take?
Cassie picks up her hat. ‘You called Mrs Hargreaves last night, didn’t you? But not Matts?’
The cockatoos, screeching and squawking, lift in unison and fly from the tree. ‘I’d spoken to him the night before last.’
‘When I wanted to leave you in peace, you blocked the door.’
‘It was after ten by the time he got mobile reception, and you were wearing a nightie. You could have frozen to death outside. Anyway, we only talked about the wetlands. It wasn’t a private conversation.’
‘I’ve never heard a more stilted one.’
I scrape the heels of my boots down the bank, making two shallow channels. ‘We’ll have dinner together when he’s back from Canberra.’
She laughs. ‘Finally an acknowledgement. What’s going on with you two?’
‘It’s a very long story.’
She bends to retie her laces. ‘Dot points will do.’
I rest my chin on my knees. ‘Matts and I knew each other when we were growing up. I hadn’t seen him for over eight years but then he turned up in Horseshoe.’
‘You became reacquainted?’
‘I like him … a lot. But I don’t know what will happen. We’re very different. I’m local and he’s global.’
‘You have a common interest in the environment.’
‘You like him too, don’t you?’
She laughs. ‘He’s so Finnish. Never has a man used so few words so darned attractively. You could do worse.’
‘You sound like Ma. He’s good-looking, eligible and smart. Is that all it takes?’
‘It’s not a bad start. And don’t forget, you happen to share those attributes.’
I stand and brush dirt from my jeans. ‘You live happily on your own. Why do I need something different?’
When she holds out her hands, I pull her to her feet. ‘How old are you now?’ she asks.
‘Almost twenty-eight.’
‘By your age, I’d ruled family life out. I don’t think you have.’
Serious little children with dark hair that lightens in sunshine.
‘Maybe not.’
‘You not only chose teaching as a career, you spend weekends with the region’s delinquents. Despite your own childhood, and it can’t have been an easy one or you’d never have been placed with the Hargreaves, you love children. You’d have to.’
‘I’d like my own children, but I have to be careful.’
‘In what way?’
I’m in love with him, but…
‘I want to end up where I should have started out in the first place.’
‘If that means what I think it does …’ She smiles as she touches my arm. ‘You’ll get what you want, Sapphie. I’m certain of it.’
We’re still two hours away from the car when we see a dark shape on the track. The path is narrow, winding between a steep and heavily treed slope on one side, and a tall sandstone cliff on the other. Cassie, walking in front of me, breaks into a run.
‘Oh my god!’
A man, a climber with a harness and helmet, lies on his side. ‘Help me,’ he moans. ‘My leg.’
The man’s tibia, the main bone in the lower leg, is not only broken but has pushed through the skin. Red-rust blood stains his leg from his knee to his ankle and seeps into the ground. His face is whiter than white.
Cassie kneels next to him and takes off her backpack. She runs her hands over his upper body. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Damien.’
‘My name’s Cassie,’ she says. ‘And Sapphie’s here too. We’ll get help. You’re going to be fine.’
I take out my phone. ‘There’s no reception.’
Cassie grimaces. ‘We lost it hours ago.’
‘How is he really?’ I whisper.
Not good, she mouths.
I kneel on Damien’s other side as Cassie pushes up his shorts and wraps her jacket around his leg.
‘Can I take off his helmet?’
‘Try not to move him as you do it.’
His eyelids flicker. He’s only young, maybe early twenties. He moans again. He passes out.
‘He must’ve have been here for hours,’ Cassie says. ‘He’s cold, the blood …’
I touch his arm. ‘He’s gone so still.’ I take off my jacket and lay it over his chest.
Cassie looks around. ‘Shit.’
There’s still plenty of light, but the sun is lower than it was, the tree cover is dense and the shadows are darkening. The cliff is around fifteen metres tall, but I glimpse a railing at the top.
‘The road’s up there somewhere. He probably abseiled from the carpark.’ I stand to take a better look. Midway down the cliff is a narrow ledge. Beneath it, the cliff slopes sharply inwards. ‘His rope might have snagged.’
Cassie takes Damien’s wrist and feels for his pulse. She frowns as she checks the pulse at his throat. ‘It’s slowing.’
I unlace my boots. ‘Right, then.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Running flat out, it’ll take well over an hour to get to the road.’ I tug off my boots and stuff them in my backpack as I face the cliff. ‘I can climb much quicker.’
‘Without all your gear?’
I carefully study the wall. Further along the path from where the climber fell, the cliff is vertical, but only for four or five metres. There are pockets and outcrops, footholds and edges. Above the vertical section is what looks like an ironstone seam that bisects the sandstone. If I can follow the crevice the seam has created, it’d get me much higher, to the trees where the angle of the cliff eases off. I should be able to scramble up the incline from there. It’s a bit risky, but …
I glance at Damien, lying so still. ‘I don’t see why not.’
I haven’t climbed a natural rock wall for a couple of months at least. I stretch out my hands, my arms and shoulders, willing them to loosen up quickly. I lean my hands against the cliff and warm up my Achilles and hamstrings as I picture where I’ll place my hands and feet.
‘Please take care, Sapphie.’
I smile reassuringly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
I’m unfamiliar with this climb, but the techniques for an outdoor climb are similar to those I teach the kids who climb at the youth centre. Hips close to the wall. Rely on your legs and rest your arms. Keep your balance and find a rhythm. Three points of contact when you can. By the time I reach the seam, I’m sweaty and dirty with aching fingers and a scrape on my elbow.
I wedge a foot between the ironstone and sandstone. I find a ridge for one hand and a crack for the other. Following the crevice is easier and quicker than climbing the cliff, but two metres from the trees I dislodge a clump of dirt and my foot slips off the edge.
I don’t watch the scatter of stones tumble, but I hear Cassie swear and call out. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking twelve more steps before clinging onto a tree branch and swinging to the ground at the top of the cliff. My legs
give out and I sit, relatively secure in a tangle of tree roots.
‘I’m fine, Cassie!’
My sock is shredded, exposing a rough and bloodied scrape across the inside of my foot. I press remnants of sock against the skin. The scratches aren’t too deep, but extend across the arch to my toes. To keep my balance on the steeply sloping ground, I loop an arm around a root as I take my boots from my bag, prying the laces open as wide as they’ll go. My eyes water when the roughness of the leather scrapes against my skin.
It’s only as I bend over my boot to tie the lace that I notice my hands. A scraped knuckle and two nails split to the quick. My little finger is sore and stiff.
It could be worse.
I’m no use to Damien if I get lost, so I create a route through the undergrowth of ferns and grasses, spiked bushes and fallen branches, in a direct line to the road. I put my hands on my knees and draw breath before following the railing to the layby. Cassie’s car is there, as is a beaten-up Subaru. I look at my phone again, holding it up as if that might make a difference. Still no reception.
But I’ve already worked out what I have to do. Cassie has hidden her key between the back bumper and tow bar of her car all week. I find it immediately, open the doors, sit behind the wheel and push back the seat. I check my phone again.
Nothing.
My heart is racing. My chest is tight. I feel nauseous. And all of that is related to adrenaline. Which is all related to fear. I have to push past the anxiety. I fasten my belt, turn on the ignition, release the handbrake and put the car into gear. I check my mirrors, indicate left and pull out onto the road.
Ambulance and paramedics. Fire and rescue officers. Police. Helicopter.
Damien is airlifted to Sydney for surgery. Not long afterwards, the rescue team winch Cassie up the cliff. I drove safely to the top of the hill, but once I’d called for help I didn’t think I should push my luck by driving back down again. I left her car where it was and ran down the incline to the carpark.
‘Could you give us a lift to Cassie’s car?’ I ask the police officer. ‘It’s only two or three kilometres.’
He grunts. ‘How about to a hospital?’
I try not to hobble so much. ‘I think my foot has swollen up. Other than that, it’s—’
‘I’ll escort you to the Emergency Department.’ He puts his hands on his hips. ‘Bathurst or Dubbo?’
‘Thank you, Constable.’ Cassie firmly takes my arm. ‘We’ll follow you to Dubbo.’
From: Cassie
To: Sapphie, Chambers, Luke, Gus, Matts
You might have heard the news reports. Sapphie is sore but comfortable at Dubbo Base Hospital ED.
My arms and legs, protected by my shirt and pants, have minor scratches. The scrapes on my hands and elbow have been thoroughly cleaned and neatly patched with tape. We’ve been in the Emergency Department for a couple of hours, me on a bed and Cassie on a chair close by. Whenever a nurse or doctor pushes aside the curtain, Cassie starts and her eyes spring open.
‘You’re exhausted,’ I say once again. ‘I’m worried about you. Please go home.’
She points to my foot, raised high on a pillow. ‘They won’t let you leave until you have an X-ray.’
‘If I’d broken a bone or if it was fractured, the pain would be much worse. It’s a few superficial cuts and a minor sprain, I’m sure of it. I’ve promised Pa Hargreaves I’ll call him after the X-ray. He’s waiting by the phone and he’ll pick me up.’
The curtain pulls aside. ‘I’ll stay with her.’
Cassie looks up but I don’t need to.
When he was pushed from the wharf and cut his chin, I gave him my blue cotton hat to press against his wound and we went to the hospital together.
Two stitches down, four stitches across.
CHAPTER
36
It’s only been four days, but his face is much more tanned than it was. He has a series of faint scratches on the side of his face, as if a tree branch has swiped him. His sleeves are rolled up. He has bites on his arms. His boots are muddy. His clothes are dusty.
‘Sapphie.’
He walks past Cassie’s chair to the bed. He lowers his head and kisses my mouth. He looks from one of my hands to the other. Two fingers on my right hand are taped together so he takes the left one. I squeeze his hand tightly as he runs his fingers over my knuckles. He glances at my foot.
‘The Emergency Department?’ he says quietly. ‘What the fuck?’
‘I thought you were going to Canberra.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ll get you home first.’
One hour and two X-rays later, a young nurse with hazel eyes and sea-green eyeliner patches the broken skin on the inside of my foot and straps it up. She insists on pushing me in a wheelchair to the patient pick-up area. ‘You’ll have plenty of opportunities to hop next week.’
When Matts’s car, filthy with mud and spattered with bugs, appears around the bend, I hold onto the arm of the chair and stand. ‘Thank you very much,’ I say to the nurse.
As I limp slowly to the kerb, Matts slams the door and strides around the car. ‘I asked you to wait.’
‘My foot is bruised, not broken. I’m fine to—’
‘Kissa,’ he mutters, holding my arm as I climb up to the seat. ‘Shut up.’ He hands me my seatbelt before shutting the door.
I’m fastening my belt when he gets behind the wheel. He glances at me. And then he jumps out of the car.
When he opens my door again, I twist in my seat and face him. ‘Matts? What’s the—’
He steps onto the running board and leans against my legs. My hair, pulled into a ponytail for the hundredth time today, sits untidily over my shoulder. He runs the strands through his fingers and smooths out the tangles. His jaw is clenched. His eyes are dark.
‘Don’t ever shut up,’ he finally says. ‘I want you to talk.’
I put my hands on his chest and feel for his heartbeat, then speak through a yawn. ‘I’m a bit tired for talking.’
He leans across me and checks my belt. ‘Horseshoe.’
It’s almost midnight. There are no other cars in the hospital laneway, but before we turn onto the side road, I glance at Matts. He pulls over and switches on the hazards. He carefully takes my hand.
‘Cassie said you drove her car.’
‘I had to.’
‘The climber had a transfusion on the track.’
‘He’s only twenty-one.’ My voice breaks.
‘You saved him.’
‘Could Mum have been saved?’
I don’t know where the words come from. I’m not sure he does either, because he stills before lifting our hands. His eyes stay on mine as he kisses the base of my thumb.
‘Not that night.’
‘She would have been scared when she saw the headlights.’
‘Not for long, Sapphie.’
I’m sitting in a car with my seatbelt done up. But when I close my eyes, for the first time in months, I don’t see an image of my mother, cheeks wet with tears and stained with mascara, staring back.
She’s wearing a royal blue dress with apple red buttons and sitting on a bench in a park in Buenos Aires. Matts and I are probably too old to be on the swings, but we’re swinging so high that our feet touch the sky. I think it’s spring or early summer because there are fresh green leaves on the deciduous trees and scented yellow flowers on the rosebushes. One of the flowers drops to the ground and Mum picks it up. The inner petals are soft and velvety; the outer petals are faded and dry.
Perfect imperfection.
‘Sapphie?’ Matts squeezes my hand and puts it back in my lap. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Yes.’
He puts the car into gear and pulls out. The indicator clicks when we turn onto the highway. As the car accelerates into darkness, I lean against the headrest. My eyes flutter closed.
‘Yes.’
‘Sapphie.’ I’m in the car but the engine is off and my door is open. Matts st
ands next to me and unclips my belt. ‘We’re at the schoolhouse.’
‘I must have gone to sleep.’ My head is filled with clouds of cotton wool. When I rest my face on his chest, he winds an arm around me and pulls me close. I yawn and close my eyes again. ‘This is nice.’ I sniff. ‘You smell of mud.’
‘You smell of hospital.’ He rubs his cheek on my head. ‘Should I carry you?’
‘Let’s stay here.’
The flyscreen door creaks on its hinges. ‘Bob!’ Ma Hargreaves calls out. ‘They’re home.’
I lift my head. Blink. ‘Still asleep.’
‘Do I carry you?’
‘No, thank you.’ When I shuffle to the edge of the seat, my hands are stiff and clumsy. My foot doesn’t want to come with me. I shift position, lose my balance and pitch forward.
Matts grasps me by the waist and hauls me back to the seat. He turns me and lifts, putting one arm under my shoulder blades and another behind my knees. ‘I’ll carry you.’
As soon as Matts steps over the threshold, Tumbleweed stalks out of the kitchen and wipes his brindle stripes against his legs.
‘Bring her through here, love,’ Ma Hargreaves says. ‘I’ll put her to bed.’
Matts sits me carefully on the end of the bed, making sure I’m steady before letting me go.
‘Ma?’ I yawn. ‘I want to have a shower, but I’m not allowed to wet my foot.’
‘Where do you keep your plastic bags?’
‘I don’t have any.’
She looks concerned for a moment. ‘Bob will work something out.’
When Pa finds a roll of bubble wrap in his van, I wind it around my foot, prop myself against the wall in the shower, soap my body and wash my hair. My cream silk pyjamas are laid out on the bed when I come out of the bathroom. I sit on the end of the bed where Matts put me earlier, and button up the short-sleeved top. Through the closed door, I hear every word.
‘Sapphie should stay with us,’ Pa says.
‘No, Bob,’ Ma says. ‘She’ll want to sleep in her own bed.’
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