The Country Girl

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘You know, you’d have a lot more success if you didn’t slobber on it so much.’

  Coco tilted her head, then deliberately eyed the ball for a good few seconds before looking up as if to say ‘Well?’

  Tash rolled her eyes and delivered the ball a hefty kick, sending Coco off in delighted chase. Before the dog could return, she slid open the screen of the sunroom and entered, pausing to lever off her elastic-sided boots and line them up with the rest of the impressive collection. After dumping her socks on top, she padded into the kitchen, trailing fingers over the big hardwood table’s scrubbed surface as she passed. The soft murmur of the television filtered from the lounge. Tash flicked the kettle switch and gazed for a moment out the window, and sighed happily.

  Wandering her parents’ property had been one of the best things so far about coming home. Every walk had Tash breathing deep lungfuls of air and hugging herself with joy as the sounds of the country sang in her ears and the breeze and sun blessed her skin. With each step memories resurfaced: racing her older brother Matt on their motorbikes, the dogs galloping behind with their pink tongues flapping; watching the comical gambols of newborn lambs and calves; skies so blue and sunsets so colourful and nights so starry they seemed impossible, like Van Goghs made real; riding her sweet bay mare Bubbles around the paddocks and roads with Maddy Handreck, discussing life with adolescent intensity, their conversations profound and steeped with importance, only for them to end up long forgotten and, in one case, deeply regretted.

  There were new things too, things Tash had once taken for granted but which now struck her afresh. Like the slowly crumbling remnants of the farm’s original house, and the way the empty windows of the abandoned limestone cottage seemed to observe the dry paddocks with lonely eyes. Yesterday, taken with how its stark walls and shadows contrasted against the clear sky, Tash had tagged and uploaded a photo of it to her accounts with a comment about wishing walls could talk and how rich the land was with stories.

  It was wonderful to walk, wonderful to have proper quiet time. She’d become too accustomed to the constant noise of the city and forgotten what silence was like. Except Castlereagh wasn’t really silent. There was the wind through the trees and grass, the lows of cattle, the bleats of sheep, the carols and calls of swamp and other birds. Insects hummed and whirred and buzzed, and the grass occasionally rustled with creatures scuttling to safety from Coco.

  The kettle flicked off, jolting her from her thoughts and reminding her she hadn’t prepared a pot. She could hear her mum at the door, talking nonsense to Coco.

  By rights Tash should have been at the Poppy Flat supervising, but the space was so small she’d only get in the way and the workmen seemed to know what they were doing. The kitchen was poorly equipped but she’d been savvy enough to negotiate a new stove and rangehood as part of a sponsorship deal. Fitting them had required minor renovations that Tash had arranged through a local company and her pa had overseen a few weeks before. Once the stove was installed, she would have space for the large stainless-steel laboratory bench on casters she’d serendipitously discovered in a second-hand furniture store and planned to use as her main work surface. With light streaming through the sliding glass doors and a new kitchen skylight, it would be near perfect.

  For filming, that was. As a living space the flat lacked the soul of the main house. It didn’t have a tape measure glued to the pantry doorjamb with Tash’s and Matt’s heights marked off at every age. It didn’t have silly school-made craft items proudly displayed on the sill above the kitchen sink or a fridge patterned with faded photos and reminders of local events. There was no two-way radio on the end of the bench, or calendar from the local ag supplies hanging on the wall. And it didn’t have the worn timber table that had witnessed the preparation of thousands of meals and treats, and an unfathomable number of cups of tea, and around which every Ranger family drama and joy had played out.

  Time and a few touches would fix that though. Creating homeliness was one of Tash’s talents.

  ‘Did you get the shots you needed?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Yep.’ Tash raided the pantry for the container of brownies she’d made the day before. It had been a strange experience, not cooking to camera, and wonderfully nostalgic, reminding her of the times she’d shared with her nan before she passed away, learning to sift, cream, beat, roll, chop, bake, roast, and every other country cook skill. Her mum was a fair cook, but it had never been a passion like it was for Tash and her nan. Together the two had made kitchen magic, leaving Tash permanently connecting food with generosity, fun and, most of all, love.

  With the tea brewed, Tash and her mum settled at the table. They added milk and sugar, took sips and leaned back, smiling at their mirrored mannerisms. Tash even looked like her mum, which was not a bad thing. With her short wavy hair, fine features and English rose complexion, Tash had always thought her mum resembled her namesake Queen Elizabeth when she was young. But where her mum was as long and lean as her husband, Tash was cherubic and short like her beloved nan.

  Tash’s phone pinged. She checked it and smiled. ‘From Ceci, asking how things are going.’ She tapped a swift message back and pinched an edge off her brownie.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her to come to visit.’

  ‘I will.’ Tash sucked on her fingers. She’d have to make the brownie to camera, perhaps with a local variation of some sort. ‘Once I’ve settled in.’

  ‘And Thom?’ asked Liz, raising an eyebrow.

  Tash’s cheeks flushed. There was something truly embarrassing about your mother knowing you’d had sex. And ill-advised drunk sex with your next-door neighbour at that. ‘I’m sure he’d enjoy a trip too.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Her mum eyed her with a slight smile for a moment and to Tash’s relief changed the subject. ‘So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?’

  ‘Keep an eye on the flat, I suppose. Think about the garden. Write up some blog ideas. I have a radio interview at 2 pm but that won’t take long.’

  ‘You could go and see Maddy.’

  Tash kept her reaction neutral. ‘I should really be here. In case the workmen want to show me anything.

  ‘I can fill in. You’ve been home four days. You should probably visit.’

  She probably should. Trouble was, she didn’t want to.

  Tash focused on her brownie, tossing up whether it was time to reveal the truth about her and Maddy’s friendship, and quickly quashed the idea. She sighed inwardly. What did it matter now? Plus Nicola and Grant had always been kind, and it wouldn’t hurt her to say hello and offer a bit of company for a while.

  She hated it though, the hypocrisy. It crawled over her skin like a nasty insect. If only Tash hadn’t let their stupid argument fester for so long, but Maddy had always been impetuous, even reckless, and Tash had wanted to teach her a lesson, unaware that same recklessness would nearly cost Maddy her life a couple of months later.

  Now their rift was frozen in time, and it was Tash who had to live with the shame of her own hurtfulness.

  ‘Tash?’

  She glanced up to find Liz frowning at her. ‘Yes, sorry. Lost in thought for a moment. A lot on my plate.’ Swallowing her guilt, she forced a smile. At least this time, with the workers, she had an excuse not to linger. ‘I’ll take some brownies. Maddy always liked them.’

  Chapter 4

  The sorrow hanging over Springbank seemed to have seeped into the land. Tash slowed and scanned the paddocks. The sold-off acreage was dotted with glossy red-and-white Herefords, heads down in the thick grass, but the land surrounding the Handrecks’ house was empty. While nothing looked truly neglected, it exuded an air that to Tash’s mind was something akin to defeat.

  Perhaps it was her own dour mood making Tash gloomy. Yet, as she turned into the drive and noticed the grass and weeds strangling the agapanthus beds that ran alongside, the dust-covered machinery in the shed and the cars that hadn’t seen a powerwasher for months, she couldn’t shake the idea that the
Handrecks had given up on Springbank.

  She bent her head, hunting out the left-hand passenger window for Khan, but he was most likely hiding down in the gully where the grass was more lush. A shame. Other than Nicola and Grant, Khan was one of the few genuine pleasures Springbank offered. He’d always been a lovely horse. Classy, with a pretty, slightly dished nose and an effortlessly floaty gait that spoke of good breeding. Maddy had chosen him as a four year old, eleven, maybe twelve years ago, and Tash still remembered the jealousy she’d experienced on first seeing Maddy with her prize. Tash’s Bubbles was a darling—sturdy, reliable, prone to fat—but compared to sleek Khan she looked like a carthorse. Tash had adored her though. With her silly antics and mischievous mind, Bubbles was sweet and fun and made her laugh, and unlike Maddy, who dreamed of blue ribbons, trophies and accolades, Tash had no ambition in the horse world. The year Tash went to uni, Bubbles had been passed on to another local girl to love.

  Nicola was already at the door when she pulled up. Her arms were open for Tash the moment she alighted, and Tash fell into them gladly. The Handrecks had been a part of her life forever, and if anyone deserved a hug it was Nicola.

  Tears choked the older woman’s voice. ‘I can’t believe you’re home for good.’

  ‘Not quite for good,’ said Tash, giving her another squeeze before letting go. ‘But a year at least.’

  Nicola waved that off. ‘A year? You wait. Six months and you won’t be able to even dream of leaving. Oh, look at me!’ She sniffed and swiped under her eyes with the tips of her fingers. ‘Silly old thing.’

  Tash was looking and what she saw made her stomach tighten. In the months since she’d last visited Nicola had aged. Her once easy-to-smile mouth was drawn, the area under her eyes puffy, and there were fine streaks of grey in her dark hair. Her skin had the desiccated, crêpey texture of someone who never used moisturiser. It couldn’t have been from too much sun. Nicola was too pale for that.

  Unnerved, Tash opened the back door of her car to fetch the brownies, but really to compose herself. A few breaths and she could turn back to Nicola with a smile. ‘I brought afternoon tea. Brownies.’

  ‘Maddy’s favourite.’ Nicola took them and patted her arm. ‘You’re a good friend.’

  Which only made Tash feel an even worse fraud than she already was.

  The Handrecks’ kitchen was as Tash remembered, homely like her parents’. There were knick-knacks and photos, and a row of Bakelite canisters that were so old they were trendy and would have fetched a nice price in a city vintage shop. But there were also things that didn’t belong. Bottles of sterilising solution for Maddy’s medical equipment. Bibs and cloths in piles. A plastic packet of adult nappies.

  The sight of them shot a strange lurching feeling through Tash’s body—a sort of fear crossed with denial. She believed in life, freedom, joy. She didn’t want to see these things, didn’t want to be reminded of human fragility.

  She concentrated instead on the myriad photos attached with magnets to the front of the fridge. ‘Chelsea’s kids are growing like weeds.’

  ‘They are.’ Nicola joined Tash, pointing out her grandchildren with deep pride. ‘That’s Liam, he’s six now. Avery, who’s four, and baby Elijah who’s eighteen months.’ They were rosy children. The sort you knew from a glance were deeply loved. ‘You know she’s pregnant again?’

  ‘Really? God.’

  ‘No more after this one though. Chelsea’s put her foot down.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame her. Three would be exhausting enough, but four? Yikes.’

  Nicola’s expression faltered as she traced her finger over Chelsea’s smiling face. ‘I wish I could be there for her more. Not to worry.’ Her hand dropped and she quickly returned to the kettle, hiding her pain with fuss.

  The flash of anguish, stoically hidden, made Tash’s heart ache. The emotional strain of Maddy’s accident and care was bad enough without adding guilt over her eldest daughter to it. But what was there to do? It wasn’t as though Chelsea lived around the corner. Her home was Queensland’s Sunshine Coast, where her town planner husband had a good job with a local council. Their young family made travelling home difficult and, according to Tash’s mum, funding cuts had further limited the availability of local respite care for Maddy, which made it equally hard for the Handrecks to travel.

  ‘I’m sure Chelsea understands,’ said Tash, wishing she could offer more comfort. She glanced around. ‘Is Grant home?’

  ‘Outside moving Khan. He’ll be in shortly. Why don’t you go and say hello to Maddy. She’ll be excited to see you.’

  Tash doubted that. ‘You don’t need me to help?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You go through.’

  Tash smiled and nodded, only to sober completely the moment she turned her back. She hated this on so many levels. The gut-wrenching pity she felt for Maddy and those left to care for her. The heartache of broken human potential. The ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ feeling that seeing Maddy always engendered. Her own remorse. It made Tash want to sprint outside to where the sun shone and life thrived, and gulp great lungfuls of air.

  The French doors were open and a soft breeze kept the room thankfully fresh. Maddy was on her bed, dressed in a pair of pale pink cotton pyjamas, facing the patio and garden, her curled spine to the door. A knot of hair had formed at the back of her head where she’d worked it against the pillow before rolling to her side. Tash crossed to stand in front of her and gazed down.

  The purity of her skin was astonishing—without a blemish, laugh line or sunspot, and almost alabaster from her closeted existence. Where Nicola was fading, her daughter appeared to be blooming, becoming younger. The unfairness of it would have galled if not for Maddy’s state. No one deserved to be like this. No one.

  ‘Hello, Mad. How’s things?’

  Maddy’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes didn’t focus, her mouth formed no words. Tash hadn’t expected any different.

  She regarded the outdoors. ‘Turned out a great day now that it’s cleared. The garden’s looking nice. Those impatiens are pretty.’ She studied Maddy once more. Nothing. ‘Did your mum tell you I’m home for a while? The Urban Ranger’s going rural. For a year or so anyway, just until I get all I need for a cookbook I’ve been contracted to write. I’m moving into the Poppy Flat. Workers are there today installing new appliances. Should be good when it’s finished.’

  She could hear the rattle of crockery from the kitchen. Nicola would be through with their coffees shortly. Tash lowered her voice. ‘Your mum looks really tired, Mad. Tired and sad. I hope she’s okay.’

  A surge of guilt had her biting her lip and moving quickly away before she could add anything else. Heaping blame wouldn’t help anyone, and who knew what Maddy could understand. Perhaps she heard everything. Perhaps somewhere, hidden inside, there was a mind that still functioned, a heart that still felt. Tash didn’t think so. In all her visits, through the six months Maddy spent in hospital and in the eighteen since she’d come home, Tash had seen nothing to suggest that.

  Nicola appeared at the doorway, tray braced in her hands. ‘Why don’t we enjoy this outside? It’s shady enough on the patio.’ She nodded towards the doors, and the green plastic outdoor setting on the pavers. ‘Here’s Grant. That man could sniff cake a mile off.’

  Tash grinned at the lanky man walking down the path, halter and lead in his hand, and was rewarded with a smile just as wide. On first look at least, he hadn’t changed. They shared a hug and kiss that was filled with genuine warmth.

  ‘How’s our little celebrity?’ he asked. ‘Glad to be home?’

  ‘I am, actually. Ridiculously so.’

  Nicola invited Tash to sit while she doled out coffee and brownies.

  ‘These look good,’ said Grant. He took a bite of a brownie, eyebrows shooting up as he chewed. ‘Taste good too. Ever thought of becoming a celebrity chef?’

  Tash laughed. ‘Only if it comes with riches.’

  Nicola pi
cked up a plate and spoon. ‘You two hop in and chat while I give some of this to Maddy.’

  Tash watched her as she took the plate inside and, pulling over a stool on wheels, proceeded to spoon small quantities of brownie into Maddy’s mouth, chatting to her all the time. Tash glanced at Grant, who smiled wryly back.

  ‘How are things, really?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, you know. The same.’

  She reached across to squeeze his hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He closed his own over the top and pressed momentarily before letting go. ‘Don’t be. We’re doing all right.’

  Tash didn’t believe it. Now that she could inspect him close up, the strain was evident. Like Nicola, Grant wore his stress and worry on his skin. Blue eyes that were once sky bright now seemed rheumy and tired. These were people the same age as her own parents, in late middle age, yet suffering had turned them so much older.

  Tash sipped her coffee and searched for something to say. ‘You were moving Khan?’ She looked past him to the paddock where the horse could usually be found, and frowned when she still couldn’t spot him. ‘Is he near?’

  Grant’s gaze flicked to his wife and back to Tash. ‘He’s in the swamp paddock. We shift him from the house in the afternoons. He upsets Patrick.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tash had no idea what to make of that. ‘Patrick still visits then?’

  ‘Every afternoon,’ said Nicola, overhearing. She wiped Maddy’s mouth with a cloth then rose and carried the half-eaten brownie back to the table. Maddy made an inarticulate noise, as though reacting to the mention of Patrick or to her mother leaving, but neither Grant or Nicola seemed to fuss. It must have been one of her involuntary sounds.

  Grant rubbed his face. ‘Poor lad still acts like they’re engaged.’

  ‘Well, they are.’ Nicola twitched a smile. ‘Technically.’

  ‘We know he’s trying to do the right thing,’ said Grant, ignoring his wife, ‘but it’s not. Not for him. He’s young, his whole life’s ahead. He shouldn’t be wasting it here.’