Turtle Reef

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Quinn rode over. ‘You wouldn’t get away with it now,’ he said. ‘Too much red tape, but divers and fishermen love it. Should see the barracuda out on the bar.’ He whistled long and low through remarkably even teeth. ‘My father caught one almost two metres long there once.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see it all,’ said Zoe. ‘Do you think we’ll find some dugongs today?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Bridget. ‘And dolphins and turtles as well. We’ll go for a dive, and later I’ll take you through the terms of reference for our current research project. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds wonderful. Thank you.’ Zoe took another look around at the million-dollar view and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. And to think she’d wanted to stay in bed this morning. What a fool!

  CHAPTER 5

  The ride home was a great success. Zoe even managed a short canter without losing her balance. By the time they reached the stables, her renewed enthusiasm for riding knew no bounds. Quinn swung lazily from his horse and came over to take charge of Cobber.

  ‘No.’ Zoe slid awkwardly to the ground. ‘I want to put him away myself. I need to learn.’

  ‘Come on up to the house when you’re ready, Zoe,’ said Bridget. ‘We can have lunch and head off to the centre together afterwards.’

  ‘I’d love to, thanks.’

  Bridget gracefully dismounted and swept off her helmet. How did she do it? Over two hours riding in the wind and sun, and barely a hair out of place. Zoe ran a hand over her own cropped head. Quinn, attentive as always, was at Bridget’s side in a flash. ‘I’ll take Duchess for you, sweetheart.’ She threw him the reins. They certainly made a handsome couple. It must be nice for them to not have Josh hanging around for once. As fond as they obviously were of him, he did monopolise a lot of Bridget’s time.

  ‘What do I do with Cobber?’ she asked Quinn after Bridget had headed for the house.

  ‘First, tie him up and take off his saddle and bridle. They go in the tack room over there. Then hose him down.’

  Zoe watched as Quinn took off Yarraman’s bridle and slipped a rope halter over his head. He clipped on a leading rein and tied it to a piece of baling twine looped along the hitching rail that ran the length of the stable verandah.

  ‘Why do you tie it to string?’

  ‘If the horse panics and pulls back, the twine will break before the halter does.’ Zoe nodded and copied him. When she looked up, he was watching her. ‘You’ll want to use a quick-release knot there.’ He came over to show her how. ‘Now you try.’ She got the knot right on the first try and he nodded approval. ‘You did well today,’ he said. ‘Feel free to ride Cobber whenever you want. He’s as good as yours.’

  Zoe stroked the gelding’s soft brown nose. ‘Thank you. That’s brilliant.’

  Using Yarraman and Duchess as examples, Quinn showed her how to remove the saddle and bridle, how to hose the horses down, starting at the legs, and how to dry them with a sweat scraper. Lastly, he brushed out their manes until they lay against the animals’ necks like curtains of heavy silk. ‘Bridget likes me to do this.’ He looked a little embarrassed. ‘You don’t really have to.’

  ‘They’re such beautiful animals,’ said Zoe. ‘I can understand why she wants them to look their best.’

  ‘If Bridget wants it done, that’s good enough for me.’ A simple comment that spoke volumes. How would it feel to have a man love her the way Quinn loved Bridget? She’d never had that. She’d never had anything approaching that. A sudden sadness came over her, and she turned away so that Quinn couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Will you be okay putting Cobber away? He can’t be turned out with the others. He’s already too fat and might founder on the lush spring grass.’

  She forced a smile. ‘Founder?’

  ‘A hoof inflammation from too much rich feed. It can cripple them. Put him in that last loosebox instead. Throw him some lucerne if you like; that’s the leafy green hay in the feed shed. Not too much though. I’ve got to put these horses away in the paddock.’

  ‘Go ahead. I can manage,’ said Zoe, though she wished he’d stay.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ Quinn headed off with the two horses in tow, while Zoe hosed Cobber down. No point feeling sorry for herself. The day was far too beautiful, the sun far too bright, the air too fragrant with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. It was getting hot, and the plump little bay enjoyed his soaking, leaning into the stream of water and making her laugh by drinking from the end of the hose. By the end of it she was almost as wet as her horse.

  Zoe scraped the excess water from his coat and brushed out his mane the way Quinn had shown her. ‘Got to keep you looking beautiful for Miss Bridget.’ When she’d finished, Cobber’s black mane lay neat and shining along his glossy bay neck. Zoe had a childish urge to tie ribbons in it. ‘You have better hair than I do.’ Her new minimalist hairstyle was practical though. Cool and no fuss. Quick to dry after a dive. Who cared if she looked like a sexless boy? There was nobody in Kiawa she was trying to impress in that way.

  ‘We’re done. You can snooze away what’s left of the morning in your stall.’ The loud crashing sound came from behind the stable again. What was that? Cobber whinnied and danced about on the end of his rope. Zoe led him around the back to take a look.

  In a yard behind the building stood a beautiful black mare. Taller than Cobber, but far more dainty in build. Her heart-shaped white star was perfectly formed, as if an artist had painted it on her forehead. She was bashing the galvanised iron side of the stable with an angry forefoot. The mare stopped when she saw Zoe, big brown eyes fringed with dark lashes, staring out from under a flowing forelock. Towering Moreton Bay figs shaded the yard, but still her coat was sleek with sweat. She let out a series of frantic neighs and paced the fence, flared nostrils showing crimson.

  Cobber whinnied in answer and dragged Zoe closer. He pranced like a two-year-old, rubbed his nose against the mare’s neck and made deep romantic noises in the back of his throat. Zoe was intrigued. ‘Are you flirting, Cobber?’ The pretty mare was clearly thankful for the company, although she gave him a couple of warning nips when he got too fresh.

  ‘Hello there, black beauty,’ said Zoe. ‘What are you doing back here all by yourself?’

  She hauled Cobber away and put him in the loosebox with some hay. Then she went back to the yard and approached the mare with an outstretched hand. Zoe was rewarded with a bowed head and a soft snuffling nose on her fingers. She slipped through the rails and ran a hand down the mare’s shoulder, marvelling at her silken skin, laced with a fine network of veins, the noble arch of her neck and the extravagant, high carriage of her tail when she moved. Zoe couldn’t stop staring. She’d never seen anything so lovely in her life.

  ‘Would you like some hay too?’

  The mare snorted and tossed her finely chiselled head, as if to say Yes, please. Soon she was taking the choicest lucerne leaves from Zoe’s hand, and accepting scratches behind her neat, black ears. Zoe slipped from the yard and gathered up some fresh grass. The mare nickered and followed her up and down the rails. Zoe fed her a few handfuls, then patiently stroked her until she could run a hand over her rump and down her legs. She found a soft brush in the stable and groomed her dusty coat. She picked burrs from her tangled mane.

  Time slipped by. When Zoe looked at her watch, it was past twelve o’clock. ‘Oh no. I’ve got to go.’ Impulsively she kissed the mare on her black velvet muzzle, before ducking from the yard and running to her little cottage. Lonely neighs followed her as she departed.

  Zoe arrived at the main house as the family was sitting down for lunch. As usual Bridget had put on a spread, Chinese food this time. Zoe helped herself to some fried rice. Delicious. At this rate, she just might marry Bridget herself.

  ‘You’ve been a while,’ said Quinn. ‘Did you have any problems putting Cobber away? I was about to come looking.’

  ‘No problems,’ said Zoe. ‘He was good as gold. What’s the
name of that black mare behind the stables?’

  ‘Aisha,’ said Josh as he helped himself to a prawn dumpling. ‘I love Aisha.’

  ‘I can understand why. She’s absolutely beautiful. Aisha’s an Arabic word, right? Why is she kept by herself?’

  ‘Quinn doesn’t like her stirring up the other horses,’ said Bridget. ‘And yes, Aisha is Arabic for life.’

  ‘She’s Arabian then? I thought black Arabian horses were rare?’

  ‘They are,’ said Josh. ‘She’s special, like me, isn’t she, Quinn?’

  A shadow fell across Quinn’s face. ‘Don’t anybody go messing with that horse,’ he said. ‘She’s not right in the head.’

  ‘Well, of course she’s not,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s lonely. Anyone would go a bit mad being locked up on their own like that.’

  Quinn shoved his chair back and abruptly left the table.

  An awful silence fell across the room. Zoe felt her face burning. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Zoe. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

  Bridget frowned. ‘Will you help me in the kitchen for a minute?’ Josh stood up, but she waved him back down. ‘I want to talk to Zoe.’

  Bridget closed the door behind them, leaned against one of the benches and tapped her long fingernails against the granite surface. ‘You couldn’t have known – but talking about that horse hits a raw nerve with Quinn.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Quinn’s father bought Aisha’s mother, a mare named Shiva, for Josh on his twelfth birthday. That was three years ago. Shiva was a champion endurance horse, and Josh was the junior Queensland titleholder, riding against kids up to three years older. Aisha was just a foal at foot back then.’

  ‘Endurance riding?’ The same quick sadness Zoe had felt in the stables washed over her again. She wanted to hear the rest of the story, but could tell she wasn’t going to like it. ‘That sounds like a tough sport.’

  ‘It is. Long-distance riding against the clock.’ Bridget lowered her voice. ‘Josh and Shiva were leading the field in the Warabong Challenge when a kangaroo jumped out right in front of them. Shiva reared and Josh went into a tree.’

  ‘Is that how . . .?’

  Bridget nodded. ‘Fractured skull and a massive bleed in the brain. Josh was in an induced coma for weeks.’ She glanced at the door and lowered her voice. ‘His father shot Shiva. He wanted to shoot Aisha too, but Quinn wouldn’t let him. She was just a baby after all, and he knew how devastated Josh would be if he woke up to find both of his horses dead.’

  ‘What a terrible story.’ Zoe spotted Quinn through the window, striding away from the house with Captain trotting after him.

  ‘Last year Quinn leased Aisha out to someone to break in as a dressage horse,’ said Bridget. ‘The woman did all the wrong things. Tied Aisha’s head down to force a correct carriage. Left her for days in tight side-reins and called it mouthing. Hobbled her when she resisted. Quinn found out what was happening and took the mare back, but by then she’d been branded as uncontrollable and was bucking people off. Little wonder, considering what she’d been through. Josh was thrilled to have Aisha home, but Quinn’s got it in his head that she’s dangerous, that she’s got bad blood. He’s terrified Josh will get hurt again and won’t let him anywhere near her. I think he feels bad that he didn’t let his father shoot her, along with her mother.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Zoe. ‘Quinn absolutely did the right thing. You can’t blame the horse for any of this.’

  ‘No,’ said Bridget. ‘But he’s got a point about Aisha being dangerous. I had a go at retraining her myself and got nowhere. She’s terrified of the bit, bucks and has no brakes.’

  The kitchen door opened and Josh came in, his face troubled.

  ‘Ah,’ Bridget said, ‘Great. Let’s get the dining room set up. Quinn’s got a special meeting of the Canegrowers’ Association this afternoon, and we’ll need more chairs. And then’ – she turned to Zoe – ‘we’ll get out to that reef.’

  CHAPTER 6

  As Quinn headed down towards the lake with Captain at his heels, Aisha’s unwelcome neighs rang out from the stable yard. Today was the first time anybody had mentioned that horse’s name for a very long time. Well, it wouldn’t do any good for Zoe to plead her case. His mind had been made up long ago. The mare was dangerous, a threat to everybody’s safety. There was plenty of truth in that, enough to justify him placing her out of bounds. But it wasn’t the full story, not by a long shot.

  Aisha neighed again, a haunting, lonely cry. Quinn put his hands over his ears, unwilling to hear, trying to block out the wave of unwanted sympathy he still felt for the mare. He wasn’t a cruel man. He knew she was neglected and starved for attention. The problem was, in his mind she was inextricably linked to Josh’s accident. He couldn’t help it. The mere thought of Aisha transported him back to the time when his brother’s life had changed forever. To the time when a terrible argument between Quinn and his father had forever ruined their relationship.

  He and Dad at the hospital, hollow with worry and grief. Barely eating or sleeping, never leaving Josh’s side. Except when he went into surgery to have a hole drilled into his skull. Quinn could see it like it was yesterday: his little brother lying in ICU, covered in wires and tubes, looking so pale, so frail. A ventilator making his chest rise and fall in an eerily natural way. But there was nothing natural about it. Switch off that monstrous machine and Josh would die.

  Quinn stopped, crouched down, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, hoping the swarms of dots might obliterate the dreadful images. It didn’t work. It never worked, and the memories came swirling back.

  After hovering for days, they’d finally been chased off by an ICU nurse. She took his father aside. ‘Go home, Mr Cooper, have some sleep. Let the doctors get on with their job.’ They drove back to Swallowdale in silence – exhausted and powerless to comfort each other, separated by a gulf of sorrow.

  When they arrived home Dad went inside and came out with the rifle. ‘I’m shooting Shiva’s filly as well.’

  Quinn’s reaction was instant and unequivocal. He placed himself squarely on the path in front of his father. ‘No, you’re not.’ Dad’s face turned redder and redder, and a throbbing vein in his neck looked like it might burst. ‘You shot her mother,’ said Quinn. ‘That’s revenge enough. Stacking tragedy on top of tragedy won’t help Josh.’

  ‘It’ll help me,’ said Dad. ‘Now get out of my way!’ He waved the rifle around wildly, and tried to push past.

  Quinn didn’t think it through; there wasn’t time. All he knew was that he had to stop his father. He had to protect that foal. For the sake of Josh and for the sake of fairness and compassion, he would not allow another heartbreak into their lives.

  Quinn threw his weight onto his right foot. Grabbing the stock of the rifle with his left hand, he shoved it aside. A gathering force moved from his swivelling hips to his powerful right arm as he cocked it back, squared his fist and took aim at Dad’s jaw. The unexpected blow sent him crashing to the ground. Quinn stood for a few moments, rifle in hand, gazing down at the unconscious figure of his father. He stooped to check that his pulse was steady and strong. He pulled off his own shirt, folded it and placed it beneath his father’s head. Then he ran down to the yards, loaded Aisha onto a float, and drove the frightened weanling north for two hours to an agistment farm outside of Gladstone.

  Quinn had returned to find his father drinking whisky out on the verandah. The two of them never spoke about what happened that night, but their father–son bond was broken. The intimacy had gone out of it: the affection, the playful banter, the careless companionship. Henceforth Marshall Cooper remained guarded and aggrieved, despite Quinn’s constant efforts to fix things, to win him over. Then he died, and it was all too late. And Aisha? Free-spirited young Aisha? Through no fault of her own, the beautiful mare epitomised his ruined relationship with his father.

  He couldn’t explain the feelings Aisha triggered in him to anybody. Not
even to Bridget, although he sometimes suspected that she guessed. It would involve opening himself up in a way unheard of in the Cooper clan. Even before his mother died, they weren’t a family of sharers. And after her death, what little emotional communication they did have vanished altogether. Man up and tough it out had always been his father’s advice, up until Josh’s accident. Afterwards, Quinn would have welcomed even this harsh counsel, but there was none; they barely spoke at all. And when they did, his father confined his comments as far as humanly possible to practical matters.

  Get a grip. No point trawling through ancient history, worrying about things he couldn’t change. Quinn checked his watch. He’d walked further than he meant to, halfway round the lake, and people would be arriving at the house any minute. He shook his head to clear it, and turned back. Bridget would tell him to focus on the positive, and it was sound advice. Like today’s meeting of the Kiawa Canegrowers’ Association. He was looking forward to the gathering, for it concerned PWSY, the one positive thing to come out of Josh’s accident.

  Project We’ll Show You, or PWSY as it was commonly called, had kicked off nine months ago. It was Quinn’s baby. Through traipsing around after Josh to various rehabilitation programs, he’d come across other young people with disabilities. Some of them lived in Kiawa and its hinterland region. Many couldn’t, or wouldn’t, attend mainstream schools, and the nearest special training college was a two-hour drive away. Thanks to their various sets of mental and physical challenges, these kids struggled to find jobs as they grew older. Parents faced a daunting choice. Should they uproot the entire family and head for the city to seek out opportunities for their child? Or should they stay in their community, close to social and family supports, but leave their child’s future in limbo? Individual stories touched him. The mute teenage girl who’d spent an unsuccessful year looking for work, and now refused to leave her house. The poverty-stricken single mother trying to raise four kids and wrestling with her eldest son’s autism at the same time. There but for the grace of God . . . not everybody had the Coopers’ deep pockets.