White Gum Creek

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  ‘You got a new van?’ Pathetic but at least it was better that standing there like a dumbstruck fool.

  ‘Oh, that old thing. I picked it up second-hand a while ago, don’t use it that often. Don’t know what possessed me to get it. It was a pretty sweet deal, but…’ Peter’s sentence died away for a second. Then Nick noticed a gleam in his eyes. ‘Do you want to buy it? Mates rates, I promise.’

  Nick shook his head and a slight smile flickered across his face. Peter was always opportunistic; he could never walk past a bargain. It was comforting to see that some things never change.

  ‘Nah, I’m right. The ute and the tractor are about all I need.’

  ‘Well if you change your mind, you know where I am.’ He stepped back to let Nick in the door. ‘Nice flowers by the way.’

  Nick held up the bunch of pink and orange gerberas so Peter could get a better look. ‘Thanks—I hope Lana likes them.’

  Peter glanced at Nick’s hand. ‘Did something happen to your ring?’

  Nick blew out a breath as he looked down at his finger where his wedding ring used to sit. ‘No, I just couldn’t keep looking at it—it hurt too much. I’ve put it in the nightstand—I can’t get rid of it but I can’t look at it either. Is that wrong?’

  ‘No, it’s not. I understand.’ Peter put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Things will get better with time—you have to believe that. Right, well, Mum’s really looking forward to catching up with you. We’re down in the kitchen. You remember where that is?’

  It was too late to run. As Nick followed Peter into the kitchen, he saw Sophie’s mum sitting at the table. She was thinner than he remembered but otherwise she hadn’t changed. It was jarring to have her turn and look at him; there was something about the way she held her head and the expression that reminded him so much of his wife. For a moment Nick found it hard to breathe.

  He handed her the bunch of flowers—or would have, if he could just let go of his death grip around the cellophane.

  ‘Oh, Nick, they’re lovely,’ Lana said as she stood up and walked over and took his hands in hers. ‘I’m so happy that you’re here. It’s been far too long. Here, let me look at you. You’ve lost weight…Have you been looking after yourself?’

  ‘I’m alright. Sorry I haven’t been around.’

  ‘I understand, dear, I really do. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.’ She led him to the table. ‘Come and sit down and we’ll have a cup of tea.’

  Nick was soon flanked by both the Telfords. Sophie’s mother had always been welcoming and it wasn’t fair that he felt this way, but he couldn’t help it. After Sophie’s death, Lana had visited him time and time again. She’d been kind and told him that it was a dreadful accident that had taken Sophie from them, and that he wasn’t to blame. Nick had heard the words, but everything had been too raw for them to sink in. Over the last few months he’d begun to realise what an amazing thing Lana had said. Her only daughter had died and there she had been trying to give comfort to Nick. It was the main reason he’d come today: to tell Lana just how much her visits had meant.

  Silence settled over the kitchen and Nick tried desperately to think of something to say. Small talk was never his forte, but this was a whole other level of discomfort.

  ‘So Peter, how are Heather and the kids?’

  Nick latched on to the question and ran with it. Better to say something, anything, rather than endure these bloody silences.

  ‘Good. The boys are doing well at school and Heather’s just the same as ever. The kids are almost eleven, nine and seven now.’

  ‘As old as that,’ Nick said with a shake of his head. ‘Last time I saw them they were so little. Aaron was barely more than a baby.’

  ‘Well, time flies and we haven’t seen you since—’

  ‘Peter why don’t you put the kettle on and I’ll grab a couple of photos of the boys to show Nick,’ Lana said as she rose to her feet.

  The minutes ticked by as Nick sat and looked at pictures of his barely recognisable nephews. He said all the right things, and part of him felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t spent any time with them. Time and life had moved on, but not for Nick. He had been bound to Winters Hill, caught up in the memory of what his life had been. Perhaps it had been the boys who had helped both Peter and Lana cope with the loss of Sophie. They had little John, Cal and Aaron to focus on, whereas Nick had nothing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he told himself. People had tried to reach out and help him, but he’d pushed them all aside. It had been his choice. Yes, the pain of losing Sophie and their unborn son had been devastating, but after a time it had been Nick who had chosen to step away from the world. His parents had come over to support him along with his younger sister, Janey. They stayed at Winters Hill and took over organising the funeral because Nick couldn’t. They were planning on staying longer, especially his mum but Nick wouldn’t let them. He was barely functioning as it was and the constant pity in his family’s eyes didn’t help nor the fact that they kept trying to hug him. Whatever wisp of strength Nick managed to maintain was easily undone and he knew that if he was going to survive he needed to cultivate it. He withdrew into himself and put up as many barriers as he could. His family tried to reach out, to get him to quit Winters Hill and return home with them, but Nick wouldn’t go. His dad said that it wasn’t healthy cutting himself off from the world and maybe he needed to talk to a professional about how he felt. The more they tried to help, the more he pushed them away until finally they stopped. Now, Nick called them every few months just to check in and he hadn’t seen them in over a year.

  Nick tried to engage in the conversation but he failed. He mentioned that he was going to start fixing up the farm because he’d let it go over the past few years. That was probably the wrong thing to say because everyone at the table knew why. Then he told them about how his sheds kept getting sprayed in graffiti, but the whole thing spiralled into a death roll when Peter asked what they had been tagging. Lana tried chatting about the weather and the farm and her wonderful grandchildren, but it was punctuated with long silences and awkward glances.

  After about forty minutes, Nick had to get the hell out of there. It was all too much. The walls felt like they were closing in. He thanked Lana for the tea and bolted as quickly as he could. But she trailed him to the front door.

  ‘Nick, I know this was difficult, but you’re always welcome here,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Lana, I appreciate it. And I wanted to thank you for your support just after we lost Sophie. What you said meant a lot to me.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘That you didn’t blame me and I shouldn’t blame myself. You meant it, didn’t you?’

  He hated that his voice faltered, but he had to know.

  She took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Yes, I meant it. You didn’t light the fire, Nick, and you didn’t force Sophie to go into the stable. I know in my heart you did everything you could to save her.’

  ‘How?’

  She reached up and touched the side of his cheek.

  ‘The burns. You ran into a burning stable. You loved her, and even though you may not think so, you were a hero that day.’

  A lump formed at the back of Nick’s throat.

  ‘Thanks, Lana,’ he mumbled. ‘That means the world to me, but I wasn’t a hero. Bye for now.’

  ‘Yes, you were, and maybe one day you’ll realise it. Goodbye, Nick. Take care of yourself.’

  He hurried to the car. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Lana had wandered out to the verandah. She raised her hand and waved before she turned and walked back inside the house. Nick sat there for a moment, staring out across the paddock to the old tyre swing as he played Lana’s words over in his head. The lump in his throat grew and his vision began to blur as hot bitter tears tracked down his face. For the first time since Sophie’s death, he cried. He tried to pull in a shuddering breath as waves of guilt, bitterness, forgiveness and release crashed over him
. He swallowed hard and wiped his face with the back of his hand before turning on the ignition and heading home.

  ***

  Nick reached for the bottle of scotch. It took a couple of attempts, but he got there in the end. He was drunk—well, at least pretty damn close to being drunk. If he applied himself, there was a good chance he would get there. Normally he wasn’t a big drinker, but today had been an abnormally shitty day and he’d do nearly anything to erase it. He took another swig. The scotch warmed him and gave him a comfortable sort of buzz, but it still wasn’t enough to make him forget. Facing his past today had been disastrous.

  Guilt and hollowness had followed him all the way home. He tried to think about something else as he threw himself into cutting up a tonne of wood, but it didn’t help. Sophie was with him through the rest of the day, never letting him go. She was there, her presence in every inch of the farm—she was bound to Winters Hill, just as he was.

  He tried exorcising the melancholy by losing himself in mindless work. If he worked hard enough maybe exhaustion could be his escape. Nick chopped the wood with a steady rhythm, never faltering as he brought the axe down on one log at a time, trying to empty his head of all thoughts. But it didn’t work. For a second, as he looked up from the wood pile, sweat dripping down his back, he swore he almost caught a glimpse of Sophie up on the crest of the hill. It rattled him enough to drop the axe and head inside to search for some hard liquor.

  When he’d taken that first swig of scotch, Nick realised he had to pull himself together. There were no such things as ghosts. Logically, he knew that it was just a trick of the light, and the fact that she’d been playing on his mind. If it wasn’t that, then the only possibility was he was spiralling into madness.

  Tabitha eyed him from her favourite spot on the back of the couch.

  ‘Nothing to see here, Tabitha, go back to sleep,’ Nick said as he took another sip. But as he brought down the bottle he realised that the cat was staring intently just above his left shoulder. She was looking through the open door of the caravan to the garden outside. The hairs on the back of Nick’s neck quivered. He spun around, but there was nothing there.

  ‘Jeez, Tab, don’t spook me like that,’ he said as he firmly shut the door. ‘Come on, let’s get your dinner early. That way if I collapse drunk in a corner, at least you’ll have had your supper.’

  To Nick’s relief, Tabitha followed him into the tiny kitchenette.

  As the late afternoon gave way to twilight, Nick decided that getting hammered was the best idea he’d had all day. Yeah, he’d probably regret it tomorrow, but that was tomorrow’s problem. The moon was just beginning to rise when the sound of a car driving up caught his attention. Nick took another swig as heavy footsteps sounded outside.

  ‘Nick? Are you in there? It’s me, Peter. I figured today might have been a bit hard, so I thought I’d just check to see if you were okay?’

  He rapped on the door. Nick hunched down lower. If he was quiet, maybe Peter would just go away. But the knocking became more insistent.

  ‘Are you there?’

  Nick took another drink. Pretending not to be there wasn’t going to work. Maybe he should stop being so bloody juvenile.

  ‘Door’s open,’ he called.

  ‘Why in God’s name are you sitting in the dark?’ Peter said when he walked in. He flicked on the light switch. ‘Oh.’

  Nick squinted in the brightness.

  ‘I’m drinking…Want one?’

  ‘I reckon I’ll pass. What’s up? This isn’t like you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.’

  ‘Nothing like shaking things up a bit. Maybe it’s the new me?’

  Peter sat down and stared at Nick. It was disconcerting; Nick found it hard to meet his gaze.

  ‘Drinking alone in the dark can’t be healthy. I’m sorry, Nick, I would never have invited you to come over to the house if I’d known it would have this effect.’

  Nick shook his head.

  ‘Had to do it eventually. I mean, I had to face Lana sometime. I guess today was just as good as any other.’

  ‘How much have you drunk?’

  ‘Probably not enough because we’re having this conversation.’

  Peter went to take the bottle from Nick.

  ‘Maybe we could get rid of this, then?’

  Nick clutched the bottle to his chest.

  ‘Nah, I reckon it’s fine where it is.’

  ‘I thought I was helping by asking you to come for a visit. I didn’t expect that it would send you off the rails.’

  ‘Too many memories…It doesn’t matter where I am, there are just too many memories,’ Nick said quietly. ‘Can’t escape them, they’re everywhere.’

  ‘You’re meant to remember the good ones. That’s how we keep Sophie alive. Don’t think about the last day, remember all the great days before it.’

  Nick leaned forward and whispered to Peter.

  ‘You want to know something crazy? I’ll tell you, ’cos you won’t get it.’

  ‘Alright, tell me.’

  ‘For a second earlier on, I thought…I thought that I saw Sophie up on the crest of the hill. Crazy, huh?’

  Peter was silent for a minute.

  ‘You can’t go on like this, Nick. She wouldn’t want you to.’

  ‘It’s my fault. I told her to wait in the car, but I should have known that she wouldn’t. I should have got her out of there long before we were in danger. I did this. She’s gone…The baby’s gone…All because of my decision.’

  ‘Nick—stop.’

  ‘No, it’s true. I wish I could go back and relive that day. There’d be so many things that I’d do differently.’

  ‘I understand,’ Peter said, ‘but you can’t wallow in what should have been. Sophie’s gone, but you have to go on living.’

  ‘Why? It’s my fault…my fault.’ For the second time in one day Nick felt a lump in his throat.

  ‘Come on, you’re drunk and talking shit.’ Peter stood up, grabbed Nick by his arms and dragged him to his feet. ‘You’ve got to move on. It’s what Sophie would have wanted you to do.’

  Nick staggered against Peter. He dropped his voice to a whisper.

  ‘Sometimes I think she’s still here. It’s like she’s just in the next room—weird, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Where we going?’

  ‘I think it’s time you turned in, don’t you?’ Peter said as he tried to manoeuvre Nick towards his bed. ‘You know you’re going to have a rotten hangover in the morning.’

  Nick made a grab for the bottle on the table as Peter went past.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon you’ve had enough of that.’

  Peter half-guided, half-dragged Nick across the van. He got him vaguely lined up next to the bed before letting Nick fall against the mattress.

  ‘Sleep it off,’ Peter said as he chucked a nearby quilt over him.

  ‘Thanks, man. Whoa, the room’s a bit spinny.’

  ‘Try and sleep. I’d say that you’ll feel better in the morning, but I don’t think you will. Hopefully you’ll see things with a little more clarity. You’ve got a life, Nick. You should live it.’

  Nick scoffed.

  ‘What life?’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time that you tried to make one? Now get some rest.’

  Nick didn’t notice when Peter left. He had a vague recollection of the light being turned off but that was about it. He closed his eyes and willed the room to stop spinning. Perhaps this decision to drink wasn’t one of his finest after all. The darkness closed in around him and, in a way, it was almost comforting.

  ***

  Nick knew that something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. The hint could have come from the thumping headache, or the slightly queasy feeling in his stomach. Either way, by the time he forced his eyes open he knew that it wasn’t going to be a stellar sort of day.

  Turning his head carefully, he blinked twice and tried to focus. The blind was s
till pulled back from the small window and Nick realised that the sun was in the wrong place. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was well after midday. Nick tried to sit up, but the movement had his head pounding and his stomach churning. Slowly, he lowered himself back down. He’d known that he’d end up paying for last night, but somehow hadn’t grasped the full consequences of his actions.

  Nick let out a groan as Tabitha bounced on the bed. Perhaps she was just making sure he was still alive, or maybe she had a sadistic streak. Nick kind of thought it was the latter.

  ‘Hey, Tab, just take it easy.’

  She gave him a dirty long stare before launching off the bed. For a second Nick thought his stomach might go with her.

  Beside the bed was a glass of water and a bottle of Paracetamol tablets next to it. Nick figured it must have been Peter who had put them there. Yesterday had been particularly difficult, but Peter had been there for him. There was no denying that he felt a twinge of guilt when it came to the Telfords, especially Peter. For all these years, the guy had been trying to be supportive, but seeing him just made losing Sophie harder to deal with. It wasn’t his fault, Nick knew that—it was just the way it was.

  He thought about it a bit longer and tried to think of some common ground that they shared, other than Sophie. There wasn’t much as far as Nick could see. Peter was quite a few years older. They didn’t share a taste in music, friends, movies or even the way they ran their farms. The only thing that had ever linked them was their mutual love for Sophie.

  Nick’s head thumped and he figured today was not the day for deep thought. In fact, he suspected that barely functioning could be a big ask. He contemplated reaching for the tablets, but it seemed too risky. Moving was a mistake. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and lay still he’d manage to survive the rest of the day.

  Chapter 11

  The whole visit to the Telfords’ had been a write-off and all Nick could now do was try to put it behind him. It took him a couple of days to recover from his self-pity and his hangover, which only went to show that he must be getting old. There had been days when he had been really young and stupid, having just turned eighteen before he’d met Sophie and he’d occasionally wipe himself out during a big evening. And while he may have felt a little worse for wear the next morning, he’d bounce back quickly. Well, apparently, those days were long gone.