by Cathryn Hein
That was the trouble with unrequited love, the risk of humiliation was huge, and while Tash was perfectly happy to make a goose of herself for the sake of her business, she wasn’t about to have her heart smashed in front of all her friends. Or worse, have them feel sorry for her because she’d been dumb enough to fall for a man so far beyond her reach he was practically interplanetary.
Well, maybe not interplanetary, but certainly intercontinental.
Ceci appeared at her shoulder and peered at the screen. She glanced up at the yard and back at the screen, and puckered her perfectly glossed pink lips. ‘How do you do that?’
Tash shrugged and made a final filter adjustment, before moving on to an auxiliary camera for a last-minute double check. There were three cameras in all, each set to capture different angles, although the second wasn’t as high quality and the third was her phone. Footage from the phone was mainly used for stills and mood shots, plus Tash had learned the hard way to have back-up. ‘Garden-variety talent, my darling friend. Garden-variety talent.’
Ceci shook her head. The sleek blonde bob she was currently sporting was so sharp it threatened to cut her off at the jaw. ‘There is nothing garden-variety about your talent.’ She grabbed Tash’s upper arm and squeezed tight. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’
Tash blinked as her eyes suddenly prickled and her throat thickened. ‘I’m going to miss you, too.’ She gave her a get-over-it nudge that was more for herself than Ceci. The last thing she needed was puffy eyes and a snotty nose. ‘But it’s not forever. Only a year, eighteen months.’
‘It won’t be. People love that whole escape to the country thing. They won’t be able to resist. You’ll grow even more famous and never come home.’
It was weird to hear Ceci call Prahran home. No matter where Tash lived, the home of her soul would always be Castlereagh. Her parents’ farm near Emu Springs in the borderlands of far western Victoria was as much a part of her as the blood that flowed in her veins. ‘I doubt it. The country bliss thing is just another of those trends, like quinoa. Kale. Salted caramel.’ She screwed up her nose as she hunted for another trendy food.
‘Bottarga.’
Tash laughed. ‘Exactly. Like bottarga. People will get sick of it and move on. My job is to milk it for all it’s worth while I can.’ And secure herself a future as a professional food writer while she was at it.
Other food bloggers found fame and longevity thanks to television reality cooking shows that manipulated their images and took all their rights, raised them up and sometimes let them fall, which was fine. For others. Tash was made of different stuff. Her ambition was no smaller, but she was determined that any success would be on her own terms, or not at all.
She hooked her arm through Ceci’s. ‘Come on. Time to party for the camera.’
Eight of her closest Melbourne friends were here, crammed onto the terrace, their laughter loud and vibrant. The sky had the amazing colour wash of an almost-done sunset—peach, apricot, deep indigo. Strategically placed tea lights cast the area in a soft glow. Tash’s pot-plant garden, so carefully nurtured over the last few years and in full summer leaf and fruit, softened the hard edges of what was a stale, modern yard. Tomatoes rose high on their stakes, lush fruit heavy and shiny, while cucumbers, capsicums and eggplants dangled like baubles. Pots of herbs formed decorative clusters, and an espaliered lemon tree spread its branches like an anatomy sculpture.
But it was Tash’s friends who created the aspirational tableau she was after. A milling, laughing, drink-sipping crowd of glamorous twenty-somethings enjoying themselves and each other’s company. Follow The Urban Ranger, it said, and this could be yours too. And easily, as Tash had demonstrated in the videos and still shots she’d produced earlier that day of herself mixing up the retro punch her friends were sipping, and the canapés they’d soon be eating.
Depositing Ceci with Thom, Tash moved into position and poured herself a glass of punch from the bowl she’d set up on the Moroccan-inspired tile-and-wrought-iron garden table she’d picked up from a garage sale for next to nothing eight months earlier, and had filmed herself cleaning and repairing. She deliberately lifted the ladle high, pouring the punch so that the last of the sun caught the glittery stream and an attractive foam formed in the glass. Done, she set the spoon down, and with a broad smile and wink raised a toast to the camera, before turning to mingle.
Fifteen minutes later, Tash was back checking the footage, frowning as the perfectionist in her caught a few things that could have been done better. Not to worry. She could edit those out and it was too late for a retake. The light had gone and her friends were getting restless.
She clapped her hands to get their attention and spread her arms, smiling proudly. ‘You were all stars!’
‘Thank fuck for that,’ said Thom, downing his punch and heading to the kitchen for the esky full of icy beers Tash had organised for them. Ceci did the same, only it was a bottle of sauvignon blanc she was chasing.
Tash laughed as others followed suit. ‘It wasn’t that bad!’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Thom and took a slug of beer, his entire body sagging in a silent ‘ah’. ‘But even you have to admit it was a bit unmanly.’
Tash poked her tongue out.
Ceci paused to kiss her cheek, bottle neck clawed in a death grip. ‘It was lovely. But a girl cannot live on sunset punch alone.’
‘Philistine.’
Ceci poked her tongue out in return, then poured her wine and took it and an unlit cigarette back out onto the terrace.
‘Stay near the fence,’ yelled Tash after her. She hated it when smoke drifted into the house.
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Tash shook her head. Why someone as beautiful as Ceci would want to smoke was beyond her. Not only smoke, but drink to excess. Tash enjoyed a drink too, but her face wasn’t her business in the same way Ceci’s was. Sure, Tash had to look good, being on camera three times a week, but it was a part of her brand that she looked like an everyday girl people could relate to. Softly rounded, enormously cheerful, pink-cheeked and a little bit silly, but a whiz in the kitchen and garden, handy with tools, and slightly wondrous of the world. The country girl determined to live her values in the city.
And now Tash was going to take it back to where it began: Castlereagh.
She detached the main camera from its tripod and carted it to the lounge where she’d set up her makeshift office, then returned for the other camera and her phone. The townhouse was tiny, one bedroom with a main living area and kitchen cum laundry that opened onto a paved terrace. Anything bigger would have been beyond her budget, but it had been enough space to create her small but rapidly growing business.
Not that that had been deliberate. The Urban Ranger enterprise had been more accidental than anything—a media studies project that somehow had taken on a life of its own. Now, after three years, Tash still didn’t have a degree, but she certainly had a career. One she took very seriously, even more so now she had substantial sponsorship and a cookbook deal that would see her take her first steps offline and into the mainstream media.
Settling at her desk, Tash knuckled down to work, ear half-cocked towards her friends who were becoming more raucous by the minute. Fortunately, she’d become pals with her neighbours on either side from the moment she moved in. Ceci and Thom were both lively, glamorous in their own ways, and had proved invaluable in the success of her business. Thom lent his skills as a website designer and computer programmer. Ceci worked at an upmarket cosmetics counter and occasionally modelled, and had patiently taught Tash how to apply make-up so it appeared she wasn’t wearing any, along with how to pose to show herself at her best. Both also adored being featured as extras in her videos and happily played the role of on-screen tasters and testers of her creations.
She would miss both of them terribly and had been flattered by their pleas to stay, but Tash was also aware that behind the entreaties lurked other, more selfish agendas. Thom was generous and fun
and thought his minor video stardom a huge lark, but Tash’s move would cost him access to Ceci, who he had a raging crush on. Thom was convinced that she wouldn’t look twice at a computer nerd like him, no matter how hipster cool. But Tash’s mutual friendship at least kept him in Ceci’s orbit, which was better than nothing.
Ceci, on the other hand, hungered for fame—hence the shortening of Cecilia to media-friendly, Euro-chic ‘Ceci’ in preparation. Tash might not yet be a household name but her celebrity was growing, and Ceci was happy to sashay on her coat-tails in the hope of being talent-spotted and catapulted into the stardom and riches of a young media darling. Once there, she would cement her hold through smarts, of which she had plenty.
With the stills uploaded and tagged, and the video backed up for editing in the morning, Tash leaned back and stretched. And caught the eye of the man who’d wandered into the room.
‘Hey,’ said Brandon.
Aware her top had probably ridden up and exposed an unflattering sliver of belly, Tash quickly dropped her arms. ‘Hi,’ she squeaked. Hi was pathetic. Squeaky was pathetic. She was pathetic.
Brandon took a languid suck of beer and Tash couldn’t help her gaze following his muscled arms and locking on his mouth. An almost painful ache squeezed her chest as she realised that with her move home any chance of her ever sampling that mouth was probably over.
‘All done?’ he asked.
She smiled brightly and stood, shuffling things around her desk unnecessarily. ‘Nearly.’
Tash stopped shuffling as he wandered closer, her mouth suddenly so dry she needed a drink. Her wretched heart was thumping, and all she wanted to do was ease up on tippy-toes and kiss that beer-flavoured mouth of his and then drag him off to bed and stuff everyone else.
Instead she swallowed and tried not to hyperventilate as Brandon slunk so close she could feel the heat off his arms brushing hers.
He traced fingers up and down the edge of her desk. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Uh huh.’ She swallowed again. ‘Yep, sure. Go for it.’
Oh, hell. Now she was babbling. Tash moved the video camera to a shelf, her phone to her pocket.
‘Do you think …’ He lifted his beautiful hazel eyes to hers. They were worried, almost sorrowful looking, as if he was terrified she would say no. Tash’s heart pounded as she held her breath. ‘… if I asked Ceci out she’d say yes?’
Her mouth had already been half forming her own yes when she realised it wasn’t her name he’d uttered. Disappointment floored her, but three years of living in Ceci’s perfect shadow had made her a pro at hiding her feelings. Brandon had no idea of her secret crush, or of how much he’d just hurt her with those words.
Tash took sanctuary in her laptop. Moving the curser, clicking mouse buttons. Already the party stills were attracting attention. Lots of thumbs-ups and comments. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
He ducked his head in that sheepish way she adored. ‘She hasn’t mentioned me at all?’
Tash kept clicking, counting the likes, shares and responses, anything to stop herself looking directly at Brandon. Or thumping him one. Not classy, but it might make her feel better. ‘Once or twice.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment, clearly hoping she’d elaborate. ‘Anything good?’
‘Look,’ said Tash, closing the laptop cover with more force than she should have. ‘I can’t tell you. It’s the girl-code. You want to know what she’ll say? Ask her.’
He stepped back, hands up. ‘Jeez, sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. Just thought I’d try and get the low-down before I made an arse of myself.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tash, turning away to pick up a pen from the floor. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Sorry for dreaming things, for hoping she might be in with a chance. She placed the pen on her diary and stared at the closed laptop. She could feel Brandon frowning at her in confusion.
‘You okay?’
She nodded, too emotional to speak.
‘Right. I’ll …’ He lifted his thumb towards the door then did the smart thing and bolted.
For a long while Tash stayed bent over the desk as she kicked the toe of her sandal savagely into the carpet. In the virtual world she had hundreds of admirers, thousands of them. More. It was thanks to them she’d scored the book deal that would see her head home.
Yet the one thing she secretly craved beyond business success remained out of her reach. In the hands of the beautiful people.
Well, stiff. She was a beautiful person too. Maybe not outside, but where it really counted. If Brandon couldn’t see that then too bad. Someone else would one day. Until then, she’d have the time of her life.
Four hours later, Ceci said yes to Brandon’s offer to come home with him. Tash and Thom looked at each other, shrugged, then proceeded to get drunk together on leftover punch and sick on canapés that had been left out in the open too long.
As was the remit of The Urban Ranger, Tash live-filmed her state the morning after, laughing hoarsely at her stupidity and swearing ‘never agains’ to the camera while cheerily whipping up high-calorie hangover food in her pyjamas. Signing off with a breezy ‘See you in the country!’ she staggered back to bed and an equally hungover but thoroughly satisfied Thom, leaving the post to collect a frenzy of hits, likes and comments as Tash’s fans realised she’d prepared plates of Welsh rarebit for two.
Chapter 3
Tash angled her phone at Castlereagh Road and swept it north towards Emu Springs before panning back until she faced south. Against the iron-coloured sky, the straight gravel road seemed to disappear into infinity. Earlier there’d been a light shower, and the air smelled of ozone, eucalyptus and shifted dust.
She pursed her lips, wondering if she shouldn’t give it up until the afternoon when the clouds were forecast to be gusted away by a northerly change, and decided against it. The dash of rain had given the grass and trees a rinse, leaving them vivid against the gunmetal backdrop. Tash wasn’t an overly vain person—she couldn’t afford to be, the way she bared herself online—but she cared enough to acknowledge that the duller light was also more flattering to her complexion.
Resetting the camera to selfie mode, she positioned herself near her parents’ front gate and raised the phone to just above head height. After an adjustment, Tash’s face filled the left-hand edge and a scene of rural tranquillity unfolded behind her; vast, serene, and very, very pretty.
‘Welcome to Castlereagh,’ she said, grinning and tilting her head as if to say ‘come on in’. Then she slowly turned to capture her face in profile as she regarded the scene with a deep contented sigh. A few seconds’ more filler and she lowered the camera to review the footage.
Not bad. The gate to her parents’ farm was conveniently located near the top of a rise. From there the landscape sloped gently west, easing down to the distant marshy murkiness of Baron’s Swamp and the rich flatlands of the border district. Before settlement, vast stretches of this low-lying country had been swampland. Drain construction had begun as early as the late 1800s but it wasn’t until the 1950s and ’60s that the real engineering works began. Baron’s remained one of the few swamps left undrained and now, thanks to environmental regulation, it never would be.
Tash had always loved the swamp. The permanent supply of underground water ensured the farm’s western fringe maintained a constant understory of green, even at the peak of summer. Black swans were frequent visitors, and endangered Australasian bitterns could sometimes be spotted in the reeds, frozen in death-still poses to escape detection. Despite the swamp’s rampant black snake population, Tash had spent many happy childhood hours there, adventuring and daydreaming, well drilled in keeping alert for dangerous slithery things. Shingleback and blue-tongue lizards also abounded, along with the occasional swamp rat. Sometimes the frog choir was so loud the water seemed to tremble from the vibration.
The foreground was dominated by her parents’ house, a simple single-storey, three-bedroom home of b
eige brick and tile, with an enclosed rear aluminium-screen extension that faced a well-tended back lawn and rotary clothesline. To the right, separated from the house by a neglected vegetable garden, was Tash’s new residence and workplace. Fondly known as the Poppy Flat, for many years it had been home for her widower grandfather, who’d had it built when he’d given up the main house for his son Peter’s growing family.
Trying a different angle, with a less revealing shot of the house, Tash filmed another welcome message before wandering back down the drive, snapping an iridescent feeding butterfly and friendly black-and-white peewee along the way. Handy images to decorate her social media accounts until The Urban Ranger Goes Country went fully live.
‘Want a cuppa?’ Tash called to her mum, who was at the clothesline, pegging up a load of towels in expectation of the coming change. Coco, her mum’s young chocolate labrador, was parked rump down next to the washing basket, ragged tennis ball held expectantly in her mouth.
Her mum smiled. ‘Must have read my mind.’
On a typical Wednesday, Liz Ranger would be busy at Emu Springs Primary School where she was bursar, a job she’d had for nineteen years and would probably last another nineteen if allowed. Despite Tash assuring her it was unnecessary, Liz had taken the week off to help Tash settle in, but really to spend time with her daughter. It had been too long. When Tash had first moved to the city, she’d made the four-and-a-half-hour drive home at least once a month. She missed the farm, the space and animals, the easiness of Emu Springs and the comfort of people she had known all her life. Then, as she’d settled in to uni and made friends and enjoyed new adventures, once a month became once every six weeks, then every two or three months. Over the last couple of years, with The Urban Ranger demanding more and more of her attention, along with her part-time job as a receptionist at a printing firm, trips home had been relegated to birthdays, Easter and Christmas.
Giving up on her mistress, Coco lolloped over and dropped the ball at her feet. Tash regarded it with a screwed-up nose.
