Season of Shadow and Light

by Jenn J. McLeod

  Coming home to the country had required a clean slate. He’d kicked things off by starting on the outside, tidying himself up a bit and shaving his head for a charity event Sharni had arranged. In spite of egghead quips from pub patrons, the close shave had stayed throughout the summer. It was cool, hygienic in a kitchen, and definitely DIY, especially as Aiden had done his share of sheep shearing in his youth. Over winter, to compensate for his lack of head hair, as well as detract from the neck tattoo he cursed every day, he’d sported a bushy beard. Within a few months, and after a less than subtle hint from Banjo about scaring the customers, he’d shaved the oddly ginger whiskers, maintaining both his beard and head as a scratchy stubble.

  Toughening up on the inside had not been so easy. Aiden wasn’t tough. Aiden was angry: there was a difference. Like Sharni, he managed a brave face, and only thanks to his cousin’s quick wit did Aiden find himself laughing a little more often these days. His young cousin also happened to be very good at breaking horses. Sharni and her horses were a partnership, a balanced relationship with equal input from each side. That sure was a long way from the punishment and force method Rene had used to whip Aiden into shape. As opposed to traditional methods, natural horsemanship focused on desired behaviours being broken into as many small steps as possible so the animal responded positively, each step satisfactorily completed before training progressed. The idea was never to break a horse’s spirit; such methodology was clearly confined to the loves of Aiden’s life with his spirit broken too many times. First Rory broke his teenage heart before leaving town unannounced. More recently, not content with just his heart, Rene had to break his balls and drain his bank account dry. And, of course, there was finding out as a boy that his mother’s own happiness had taken priority over parenthood.

  If Aiden had learned anything it was how his father felt all those years ago when, as if out of the blue, his mother had decided marriage, the slowness of life in the country, his father—or any combination thereof, depending on which gossip he’d listened to as a youngster—was no longer right for her. Just like his father hadn’t seen it coming, neither had Aiden eighteen years later when Rory up and left, or more recently when Rene decided he wasn’t worth loving either. As if all that hurt and humiliation wasn’t bad enough, yet another betrayal had him living up to his Irish name—Aiden, born of fire. Adding a deceptive mate by the name of Richard Highbrough to the volatile mix of Rene’s ruse was like a cup of kero on a camp fire.

  Whoosh!

  Sure was one hell of a way to cauterise a bleeding heart. The thieving twosome had left Aiden as good as castrated, which is exactly what a smiling Sharni was softly threatening the uncooperative stallion with in the paddock right now, not that the horse knew under such gentle hands.

  Twenty-three year old Sharni was a contradiction in every way. A brazen beauty, different to other kids, she was treated differently as a result. Other than that, Aiden knew only the basics about his cousin’s past; how she’d slid along a self-destructive path as a teenager, desperate to escape small town life and the taunts from local kids at a time when different made life difficult. What eventuated was Sharni testing her own mortality with alcohol and drugs. Barely fifteen, she hooked up with a young man she met at Saddleton races and they ran off to Tamworth so he could chase his dream of being the next Lee Kernaghan. The result of that rebellion was Liam, now a seven-year-old bundle of energy. Shades of anger and disappointment still lingered beneath the surface of the carefree young mum; Aiden recognised hurt when he saw it these days and it drew him to her. Both were sad souls wondering where they went wrong and keen to do more with their lives than simply make do. Aiden saw the signs when he looked deep into Sharni’s very big and beautiful eyes—the green colour every bit as dramatic as Aiden’s bluebottle blue. He saw the same signs when he looked at himself in the mirror. Having Liam had helped Sharni settle down, or so Aiden guessed given the boy seemed to be having the same effect on him.

  Coming home to the country wasn’t only about Aiden’s dwindling finances. In Sydney, he’d been hitting the bottle to soothe an anger that, at times, verged on physical violence—inflicted on property rather than people. An official restraining order and a verbal warning had been the kick he’d needed. No need for the smash of a gavel. The booming baritone voice of the local magistrate drove the message home that day.

  ‘Restraint is a quality worth developing, sir,’ he’d said. ‘I suggest you develop some before it’s too late.’

  ‘Bloody restraint.’ Aiden was spitting the word on his way out of the courthouse when a cop blocked his exit. It was the same one who’d questioned his whereabouts in connection with damage to property three weeks earlier. So what if that property happened to be the smashed windscreen of the shiny new-model Mercedes at 72 Oceanview Drive, recently registered to ex-mate Richard Highbrough? To issue the restraining order, the copper had tracked Aiden to the scummy café where the tight-arse owner was currently paying him less than the award wage.

  Yes, Aiden was angry all right.

  ‘Shit, what now?’ he’d mumbled, stopping to the left of the courthouse entrance in a fug of second-hand cigarette smoke. Aiden tried looking the cop in the eyes, but it was difficult with the top half of the man’s face shadowed by a police-issue peaked cap. Aiden waited for a Don’t-go-leaving-town quip, or some other command probably a little less TV cop and a bit more real-life. Instead, the policeman told him, ‘If I were you I’d get as far away from here as you can and start over.’ The guy’s exact words at the time, however, were a little more colourful. According to one of Aiden’s best mates, what the copper had really meant was, ‘Best ‘piss off and make yourself scarce’.

  After court Aiden had met his lawyer friend with the South London accent for a beer at Finnigan’s pub in The Rocks.

  ‘What can I tell you, ’cept I’ve seen this sorta crap a million times, yeah? And I seen what it does to a person. I’m not taking sides here, mate, and if I was a betting man—which I’m not, on account of I value my life too much should the missus catch me even dabbling—I’d bet the two of ’em are gagging for you to step over the line again and do something equally stupid.’ He shook his head. ‘You trashed their car?’ he said, incredulously.

  ‘My bloody car. It was our money.’

  ‘Well, as it stands, they’re the clean potatoes and you’re the chump, yeah?’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ Aiden rolled his eyes, a half-smile directed at his friend of ten years.

  ‘Bear with me, mate. I’m trying to share my substantial experience of dealing with pissants. You doing the wrong thing will simply justify in their minds that what they did to you wasn’t so bad after all and that you deserved what you got. Get my drift?’

  ‘I got nothing, so not really following you. Another beer might add clarity. Your shout.’

  Following the break-up with Rene, Aiden had been in a state of disbelief, grieving the loss of his life, his dreams—his bank balance. Shock and denial were all part of the grieving process, according to people who knew about such things, only somewhere in the midst of all the disbelief, Aiden had skipped both the pain and guilt stages and barrelled headlong into anger.

  Booze had helped.

  Deep down, a part of him was still there, wary of women—especially single mothers—and determined to avoid a relationship, although . . .

  Possibly a little less wary and determined after yesterday, and right now more than slightly interested in signs of life from the little cottage.

  11

  Paige

  Paige had found a new level of pain when she awoke, her body shattered after the cow wrangling adventures, her brain weary with her daughter’s bedtime inquisition about where sheep and horses and cows came from. Then there was everything else Matilda’s explorations with Nana Alice that day had uncovered. A long, hot shower this morning would help relax Paige’s aching muscles, but the sign stuck to the bathroom mirror reminded her: Don’t linger too long in the sho
wer and on the toilet cistern: If it’s yellow let it mellow. If it’s brown flush it down.

  She groaned, fighting an odd dizzy sensation. ‘Environmentally responsible, yes, but surely with all this rain . . .’ Still, her conscience wouldn’t let her spend any longer than necessary. Yesterday’s shower to wash the clumps of caked mud from her hair had undoubtedly wasted enough.

  Dinner last night had been a reheated meal Sharni had prepared earlier, before her horse fall. The casserole-type thing full of vegetables and beans had no meat, which after Matilda’s announcement at the table was a good thing.

  ‘I want to be a vegie-train like Liam,’ she’d announced.

  By bedtime the girl was insisting her mother tell her another cow story. Paige had opted for Hey Diddle Diddle’s cow jumping over the moon escapades, especially since cows had been the day’s big topic and she had little left to say about them. By the time the dish had run away with the spoon, Mati’s eyes were closed.

  Mati’s squeals of delight were the complete opposite this morning to Alice’s silence, the sullen mood a sure sign that Paige remained in her bad books for reasons yet to be determined.

  ‘You look terrible,’ Alice said when Paige slumped on the kitchen chair, her arms folding on the speckled laminate table to cushion her forehead.

  ‘Good morning to you, too,’ Paige mumbled into her arms. ‘Have you seen my hat, Alice? My hat has gone walkabout without me.’

  ‘Why the urgency for a hat?’

  ‘Because if I don’t get out and breathe fresh air into this body I may seize up.’

  Alice’s answer floated out on a sigh. ‘On the hook by the door with the rest of them.’ Then she shoved a piece of toast under Paige’s nose. ‘Eat first.’

  Paige had trouble lifting her head and could barely lift her arms. What made Alice think she could get food up to her mouth? But knowing the woman would not give up until she ate, Paige managed a small corner of toast.

  ‘You could’ve really hurt yourself rescuing that cow yesterday.’

  ‘You mean this isn’t real pain?’ A half-snort, half-laugh was all she could muster without discomfort.

  Alice’s expression didn’t budge. ‘That man was an idiot for putting you in danger. For goodness’ sake, it was just a cow. What were you thinking? ‘

  The bristling along Paige’s spine forced her upright, while the mouthful of peanut butter sticking to the roof of her mouth forced her to swallow hard. ‘Well, Alice, what I was thinking while staring into big brown eyes pleading for help was that I, too, might become a vegie-train and never eat another steak as long as I live. Besides, the rescue attempt was my idea, not Aiden’s. No need to get all worked up.’

  ‘I am not worked up. You need to be more careful. You have a daughter to care for and . . . and your heart and head are—’

  ‘My heart is in good shape.’ She avoided mentioning Robert had put her ticker to the test recently. ‘As for my head, you might be right. My brain hasn’t been too good of late.’

  ‘What does that mean? Are those dizzy spells back? You said your blood pressure was high the other day.’

  ‘Relax, Alice, I’m talking about my brain’s ability to think beyond writing grocery lists. I believe I may have even smelled cow yesterday.’

  Alice’s mood lifted. ‘You did?’

  ‘Maybe. Probably not. But my thinking is definitely clearer out here. Must be the air—more oxygen, less smog. Did you see the sky last night? Have you ever seen so many stars? Rescuing a cow is the most productive thing I’ve done in ages. I achieved something other than three meals on the table every day and a clean house.’

  ‘That’s all very good, Paige, but putting food on the table and looking after our families is what we do.’ With that Alice madly buttered more toast. ‘Being a good mother requires stability and security, a sense of routine, not flitting around the countryside with a child.’

  ‘I’m not flitting and there’s nothing unstable about taking a family holiday. And sometimes that routine you talk about can feel a lot like a rut. Now, what’s this angry Alice thing about? Am I in trouble?’ Paige didn’t have to wait for the answer. Alice’s face as she glanced over her shoulder told her.

  Despite legs of lead, Paige hoisted her body up, steadying herself briefly with one hand on the table before attempting to walk.

  ‘Sweet Alice,’ she said, draping both arms around the woman’s shoulders from behind. ‘You’ve been a wonderful mother. Even when Mum was alive you were always the one there for me. And that’s okay, because Nancy was . . . Well, what I mean is, we each handle motherhood in our own way. Some even surprise us. Sharni’s the perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover. Have you seen her with Liam? That’s someone born for the role.’

  ‘I’m not sure a plaited rat’s tail and an eyebrow stud on a seven-year-old boy would get her any mother of the year awards.’

  Paige ignored the remark, ending her hug with a peck on Alice’s cheek. ‘Well, other than not being able to move a muscle this morning, it’s been a long time since I felt anything close to this sense of peace and freedom. If only my body didn’t hurt so much.’ Paige groaned and surrendered to the chair again. ‘Everyone’s so accommodating and friendly. There’s such a homely atmosphere to the town. How can forty-eight hours make such a difference to the way I feel about everything?’

  ‘You’ve managed to fit a lot into forty-eight hours, my dear.’

  ‘And what a lovely change that’s been.’

  Alice was pouring hot water into a battered aluminium teapot that looked more like a metal soccer ball. Paige made a mental note to find a healthier alternative. She’d call into the church with the Op Shop signboard out the front in the hope of finding a safer teapot—a china one, perhaps.

  ‘In Sydney, Alice, I see the same woman dropping her son at school, same time every day. We smile at each other while we juggle umbrellas in the rain and make redundant remarks like “Gosh, sure is wet” as we rush past each other. Then we get back into our cars and drive home to our monster houses, hit the button on the automatic garage door and let it gobble us up inside its impenetrable, climate-controlled belly. I can’t tell you when I last stepped outside at night to star gaze.’

  There had been such amazing clarity in the sky last night, in contrast to Alice’s confusing anger this morning.

  ‘Oh, Paige, listen to yourself.’ Alice tut-tutted. ‘I’m not happy about any of this.’

  ‘Any of what? What’s not to be happy about? We’re having a holiday.’ Paige was finding it difficult to keep the intonation in her voice at her usual pitch. ‘I admit things haven’t gone entirely to plan and that we’ve had to improvise a little, but getting away from what’s normal is part of the fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ There was a loud thud as Alice slammed the bag of flour on the kitchen bench. ‘Stuck in a small town with small-minded people is not my idea of fun, and it most certainly was not the plan.’

  ‘Small-minded people?’

  ‘I’m not unpacking our bags,’ Alice said, dodging Paige’s questioning completely. ‘I want us ready to go as soon as the road back to Sydney is cleared.’

  ‘No!’ Paige said, grimacing through the pain as her body stiffened. She didn’t understand where this cross version of Alice was coming from. The most tolerant woman she knew, the one who’d suffered lack of acceptance all her life and despised labelling people, wasn’t normally one to judge or stereotype.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Alice returned, the chill in the air unmistakeable. Maybe that was the cold air rushing out of the fridge, the door to which remained as wide as Alice’s eyes at that moment.

  ‘The word is pretty self-explanatory. No, I don’t want to go.’ Paige could dig her heels in better than any two year old having a temper tantrum mid-grocery aisle. The reality was she was used to Alice’s loving and gentle persuasions controlling her and her daughter’s existence, although sometimes her reward-for-good-behaviour model seemed all too familiar. No matte
r how well concealed or lovingly applied, Alice had a way of manipulating situations and people, not unlike a couple of the physical therapists Paige had encountered. Maybe it was a health professional trait. Sometimes Paige would feel the pressure to comply and perform, like a horse either avoiding the whip or keen to release the pressure of the spur and bit. And should she dare question things, like this morning, Alice’s expression would tell her she was being stubborn, difficult or naughty. On a positive note, Paige thought while slipping the dog at her feet the remainder of her toast, at least Toto was a good boy, largely due to Alice’s training when he was a puppy.

  There was no teaching an old dog new tricks and Paige had to accept Alice wasn’t going to change. After everything the woman had done—still did—she deserved respect and understanding. In the latter years of Nancy’s life, Alice had taken on everything to do with the house, the budget, Nancy’s care, Paige’s upbringing—everything. She’d mended clothes, and Bean, helped with homework, fixed scraped knees, and loved Paige in the way any mother would. This morning, the brave, doting, tolerant woman—the often sad, sole provider for most of Paige’s life—seemed to be having trouble curtailing her annoyance, especially with Paige standing her ground.

  ‘We won’t be moving on until it’s safe to do so and to be honest, Alice, when and where we go next—home or not—isn’t your call alone. I appreciate your feelings, and that the situation is not ideal, but I’m out here for a purpose and I haven’t achieved that yet, unless you count rescuing a cow.’ The joke didn’t register a blip on the thin, flat-lining lips that pinched tighter at Paige’s stubborn stance.

  ‘What you told me last night, Paige . . . You’re not still thinking about waving your mother’s photograph around a strange town, are you?’