Riding the Storm

by Heather Graves

  ‘You go on then, Ryan.’ She smiled serenely and patted his hand, making him wonder if it had been a mistake to let her take two of her sedative pills instead of the usual one. ‘I’ll be OK. I’ll just sit here with Tinka and wait till your father gets home.’

  Ryan didn’t know what to say. Although Peter’s funeral had taken place some months ago now, Joanne was still in denial concerning his death. She refused to believe he wasn’t away on some errand in town. Her short-term memory was already failing and, as Doctor Richards predicted, she was going downhill fast. Only in her mid-forties, she was already losing her grip on reality, reverting to childhood. Her closest companion was Tinka, the little Italian greyhound who was sitting beside her now, pressing against her legs. Tinka, who had sense enough to shiver in apprehension, aware of the storm that was on its way.

  Ryan smiled at the little dog, which looked back at him with trusting eyes. He still hadn’t found a way to tell Joanne that Tinka wouldn’t be allowed into the Evacuation Centre. The woman in charge there had been adamant when the question was raised.

  ‘Of course you can’t bring a dog,’ she snapped. ‘This refuge is only for people. It will be crowded enough as it is without the stink of animals, too. You and your mother should get here as soon as you can.’ The woman’s voice trembled and Ryan sensed she was holding herself together with some effort. ‘And do hurry! The latest reports say the storm is headed for Canesville directly. You’re right in the path of it.’

  Ryan knew then it would be useless to say that his mother’s security depended on that little dog. Her sanity even. Somehow, he’d have to get Joanne into the ute without Tinka, then make an excuse to run back and shut the little dog in with the fowls. He couldn’t think what else to do. All hell would break loose when Joanne realized the little dog had been left behind. He could only hope she wouldn’t try to get out of the car.

  Joanne dithered, taking an age to locate her purse, and then she said she couldn’t find Tinka’s lead. This was when Ryan knew it was too late to go anywhere. The winds were already rising and it would be fatal to be caught out of doors. They must resort to plan B, taking the portable radio into the bathroom and hiding themselves under mattresses for protection. Hopefully, the old weatherboard home could withstand the storm and the torrential rain and floods that must follow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Joanne complained as she watched her son strip the beds and stagger with the mattresses, forcing them into the bathroom. ‘I thought you said we had to leave now?’

  ‘Too late.’ He was grunting with the effort of heaving the two queen-sized mattresses through the narrow doorway, one after the other. After that, he gathered as many blankets and pillows as he could find. It all proved to be a tight fit, which was no bad thing. ‘We’re stopping here after all.’

  ‘Be careful with my mattress. It’s almost new,’ Joanne complained. ‘And it’ll be too hot. We could suffocate in there.’

  Ignoring her string of complaints, Ryan grabbed some bottles of water, packets of biscuits and the bags that had been packed to go to the Evacuation Centre. He had boiled a kettle earlier and filled a thermos flask with hot tea. Also he checked the strongest flashlight and located some spare batteries. The electricity could be off for some time.

  ‘Right. That ought to see us through in the short term.’ He smiled brightly at his mother to reassure her. ‘In you go then, with Tinka. We’ll be nice and snug.’

  ‘I don’t want to. It’ll be awfully cramped and I won’t be able to breathe,’ Joanne grumbled as she stood in the doorway to the bathroom, watching as Ryan bolted the back door. ‘And I still think we should wait for your father.’

  ‘Mum, will you stop it?’ Finally Ryan’s nerve snapped. ‘Stop torturing yourself and me. Get it through your head that Dad’s not coming back. He died months ago.’

  ‘What a wicked thing to say!’ Before he realized what she would do, she stepped forward and slapped him across the face with the full force of her arm behind it. ‘You know where he is. Away at the show. Getting new equipment for the farm.’

  ‘The show?’ Ryan massaged his flaming cheek. ‘You think so, really? At this time of year?’

  At last the meaning of his words sank in and she clasped both hands to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. Being forced to remember the truth knocked all the fight out of her and she allowed Ryan to push her into the bathroom and make her comfortable on a beanbag with the mattress tucked around and over her, Tinka at her feet. ‘Oh, my poor Peter,’ she murmured through trembling lips. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum.’ Ryan hugged her, feeling mean for forcing her to remember when he knew how emotionally fragile she was. But he was scared, too, and his patience had been tried to the limit. ‘We’ll be all right. We just have to get through tonight.’

  Already the wind was howling through the trees, ripping off branches and shredding the leaves. There was a lot of banging outside as anything not tied down out of doors was getting blown around. It sounded as if a giant had lost his temper out there. The rain clattered on the tin roof, making it impossible to speak, which was no bad thing. Ryan pulled the mattresses closer as the wind screamed around the house like an angry demon. He couldn’t be sure how long it went on but it felt like forever until, just as suddenly as it had started, all the noise stopped, followed by an equally eerie silence.

  ‘There, what did I tell you?’ Joanne gave a nervous giggle as she pushed the mattress aside and struggled to her feet. ‘It’s over, thank God, and the house still standing. I must let Tinka out, she’ll want to pee.’

  ‘Mum, wait, the storm’s not over yet. It’s only quiet because we’re in the eye.’

  But she was already urging the little dog towards the back door. She drew back the bolt and opened it before Ryan could stop her. He expected it to be torn from its hinges and his mother whirled aside by the force of the storm. Instead, all was quiet and still out there.

  Tinka rushed outside and squatted quickly. She understood that she shouldn’t waste time. She finished what she needed to do and ran back to Ryan, tongue lolling. Absent-mindedly, he patted her.

  But Joanne was in no hurry to come in and remained staring up at the sky in wonderment, arms outstretched. ‘Oh, Ryan, do look at the sky, how clear the night is. I’ve never seen so many stars. It’s as if you can look right through them all to see God in his heaven.’

  ‘Mum, please come back inside. The storm isn’t over yet.’

  ‘Don’t be such an old woman, Ryan. You worry too much. It’s just as I said – a big ole fuss about nothing. People give in to panic too easily.’

  Ryan thought this a bit rich, coming from a woman who had a screaming fit if she saw a big spider, but said nothing, relieved to draw her back into the house.

  The wind was already building from another direction this time and it wasn’t long before the storm was raging again, ten times worse than before. The wind screamed around them, venting its fury with a sound like several freight trains on a collision course. Then there was a loud noise like a bomb going off as if some flying debris had punched a hole in the other side of the house. Joanne was crying in earnest now, finally believing that they were in serious trouble.

  ‘What are we to do? We’ll be killed,’ she wailed, clasping Tinka to her bosom as the little dog whimpered, her whole body trembling with fear.

  ‘Stay put. We’re as safe in here as we’d be anywhere.’ Ryan wanted to sound calm and reassuring but he wasn’t sure Joanne could hear him over the fury of the cyclone. He was beginning to think the house might be torn from its stumps, leaving them vulnerable to the intensity of the storm. Exposed to the elements, they would face certain death.

  Finally, although it was still pouring with rain, the winds gradually dropped and, against all odds, Joanne fell asleep. In the early hours of the morning, Ryan switched on the radio in the hope of hearing some news. It took a while to come through, none of it good. Throughout the district, there had been massive
damage to property and all the banana plantations and cane fields were laid waste. Farmers would have to start all over again. Miraculously, so far there was no news that anyone had been killed. Although there were strict instructions coming through on the radio that no one should venture out of doors, Joanne refused to stay put in the bathroom and, when it had been quiet for some time, they both went outside to assess the damage to the house. Even before seeing the full extent of it, Ryan knew they wouldn’t be able to live there as it was.

  Great holes had been punched in the far side and half the roof had been torn away. Sheets of corrugated iron lay scattered all over the yard and what had once been Ryan’s vegetable garden was drowning in rain and mud. Their livelihood was no more. The shed that had housed the chickens had completely disappeared, along with the occupants; just a few feathers remained.

  ‘Mum! Come back to the house!’ Ryan called from the doorway, trying to stop her, but she was already running towards the empty space, her fist in her mouth.

  ‘My little friends! Who has stolen our chickens? Where have they gone?’

  There weren’t many big trees on the property. Some time ago when things were tight, Peter had sold a big cedar to a furniture maker, leaving just a few eucalypts, not known for their stability at the best of times. One was already down, the roots torn from the ground, and Joanne was standing quite close to the other one.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crack like a big gun going off and a huge branch fell, giving Ryan no time to shout a warning. He could only stare as it settled over the spot where Joanne had been standing just a moment before. For a moment or so, like a fool, he wondered where she’d gone. It was only when Tinka raised her head and started to howl that he realized she had been crushed underneath it. She wouldn’t have known what hit her. Blood was already starting to pool, mingling with the rain and mud on the ground. And, even before he screwed up the courage to take a closer look, he knew there was no possibility his mother could have survived.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT LOOKED AS if Joanne’s funeral would be poorly attended. The little town was still reeling from the devastation left in the wake of the cyclone. Many local people were crowded in with relatives and friends as their own homes had been damaged or destroyed. Among this number was Ryan, who now had to deal with much more than the loss of his mother. The roof had been torn off the house, leaving it exposed to the elements, and his once flourishing market garden had been reduced to a mess of broken plants and mud, his livelihood gone. And, worst of all, Sprite appeared to have taken fright and run away.

  Aside from the money Robert had paid for Tommy and which Ryan was trying to leave untouched, there was just enough left from their dwindling resources to pay for Joanne’s funeral. Needing to find a positive somewhere, he allowed himself to hope that after all the misery he had suffered, as well as the loss of his parents, Robert might now relent sufficiently to let him buy the horse back. Slim as it was, he had to believe in this possibility or the future looked bleak indeed.

  Rebuilding the house was another matter entirely. Had Joanne survived, he would have been obliged to forget about Tommy and spend whatever money they had on repairing their home. It was no surprise to find that his parents had no household or building insurance to cover these needs. Concerned only with the well-being of his horses and uninterested in practical matters or keeping proper accounts, Peter had allowed the household policies to lapse. In any case, there were usually clauses somewhere in the fine print to protect the company against ‘natural disasters’ such as this. Acts of God, they liked to call them – more like Acts of the Devil, Ryan thought.

  On top of everything else, he had the added heartbreak of losing Sprite. Although the solid brick stable block had survived the storm, all the doors had been blown off their hinges and the terrified horse had run off. Following advice he had gleaned from the internet, he had hung a strap with his mobile phone number and address around the horse’s neck but after several days of fruitless enquiries, he had been forced to give up hope. In any case, without the means to recharge it, his mobile had turned itself off. He needed to find someone with power to get it started again.

  It occurred to him that he had no one but himself to think about now and experienced a measure of guilty relief about this.

  Mike’s father invited him to come and stay while he made up his mind what to do. Glen Harrison had turned up as soon as the roads were clear, finding Ryan in the process of moving what he could salvage into the empty stable block to create a makeshift home for himself.

  Glen stared around, appalled by the thought of anyone attempting to carry on under such conditions.

  ‘You can’t possibly live out here, lad, it’s quite primitive. You’ll catch your death.’

  ‘I can’t leave, Mr Harrison. Sprite has been missing since the night of the storm and I have to wait and see if she can make her way back.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mike’s father stared at the ground for a moment, knowing he was about to heap more bad news on a lad who had already suffered enough. ‘We found the bodies of several horses caught in the river; it was moving too rapidly for them to swim and they must have drowned.’

  ‘That’s OK. If there was more than one horse, it wouldn’t be Sprite. She was alone.’

  ‘No.’ Glen hesitated before going on. ‘It was almost washed out but the remains of your notice was still tied around her neck, caught in the debris. We could see she was a thoroughbred rather than an ordinary pony but they had to bury her along with the others – it couldn’t wait.’

  This last news was too much for Ryan, who broke into painful, gasping tears. ‘S-sorry,’ he said, fighting to gain control as the older man awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. ‘But – but, poor Sprite – after everything else – it’s too much.’ He had to stop, his throat tightening with renewed grief.

  ‘Ryan, I know you can’t think past your mother’s funeral but in the short term you’re coming to stay with us. I know Mike would want us to look after you.’

  ‘It’s good of you, Mr Harrison, but I’ll stay here. I’d rather not be a burden to anyone.’ Really, Ryan wanted to stay where he was, retaining his independence and making his own decisions. He didn’t want to be ‘taken over’ by Mike’s father.

  ‘You won’t be a burden. You’ll be most welcome.’

  ‘But what about Mrs – um – she might not like it?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about Fiona – I’ll square things with her.’ Glen clapped the young man on the shoulder, heartily enough to make him wince. ‘Go on. Pick up a few essentials and come with me now.’

  ‘I don’t have much to bring – only Tinka, Mum’s little dog. Bit miserable, I’m afraid, as she doesn’t know what’s happening. She was very much Mum’s dog.’

  ‘Fiona’s marvellous with dogs. She’ll take care of it.’

  Ryan attempted a smile, wondering if Fiona would mind living up to all these promises being made on her behalf. He didn’t have to wonder for long.

  On arrival at the Harrisons’ place, he could see they’d been lucky. Somehow Glen’s property had been spared the worst of the storm. A couple of pool boys were already scooping the leaves and debris from the pool and hosing down the loungers which had been tossed around by the storm. A team of gardeners had been employed to clear up the wreckage, setting the flower beds to rights. Inside, the house was very much as Ryan remembered it; he could see no evidence of storm damage. Since the property had its own generator in case of emergency, they had suffered no loss of facilities at all.

  They came in to the family room to find Fiona in the midst of a conversation on her mobile phone. She waved briefly to Glen and gave him a tight smile before she continued.

  ‘Yes, I do see where you’re coming from, Mr Mayor. Glen does have a home largely untouched by storm damage. And you should know we’re doing our bit. We’ve already taken in the Lanigan boy so there’s no way we can take in any more orphans of the storm.’

  Ryan experienced a
flash of annoyance that she was making him the excuse for not accommodating anyone else. On top of that, she spoke of him as if he were a helpless child when, in fact, he had taken care of his mother since his father died and, if Mike’s father hadn’t insisted, he would much rather have stayed at home.

  She listened to what the mayor was saying and Ryan could see she was becoming irritated, two spots of colour appearing high on her cheekbones. ‘Yes, indeed. We might well have enough room and beds to accommodate six more people but we just don’t have the facilities or the manpower to look after them. Selfishness doesn’t come into it.’

  The mayor must have had a lot more to say on the subject of selfishness but Fiona withdrew from the conversation, cutting him short. ‘I’m sorry but things are extremely hectic here at present. Trust me. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can offer you something more.’

  The mayor wasn’t prepared to let it go at that; Fiona’s dark eyes flashed and her nostrils flared as she listened to further criticism. To Ryan, she seemed a dragon lady indeed.

  ‘I said I’ll get back to you.’ She ground out the words. ‘And I’m not in the habit of lying.’ Her expression softened as she caught sight of Tinka, who was cringing in Ryan’s arms, daunted to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings.

  ‘Oh, what a sweet little dog. Come to me, darling.’ She held out her hands as Tinka scrabbled to reach her. ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘It’s Tinka,’ Ryan murmured, irritated that the little dog should transfer her affections so easily. ‘She was my mother’s dog.’

  ‘Poor sweetheart.’ Fiona dropped a kiss on her head, receiving a good licking in return. It occurred to Ryan that Fiona had far more compassion for this little bereaved animal than for any human being left destitute after the storm.

  He knew it was unwise to make snap judgements but he disliked the woman intensely, although he had not met her before. Dressed in tennis clothes that showed off her elegant, spray-tanned legs and well-toned body, she looked as if she had suffered no hardship from the storm. Her glamour was stranded in the late eighties with a mane of brittle, blonde hair teased out of existence and heavily lacquered to keep it in place. She wore a luminous pink lipstick that might have flattered her as a teenager but now only emphasized her thin lips and her eyelids were painted a startling, electric blue, the sparse lashes liberally coated with mascara to match.