Northern Heat

by Helene Young

  Conor had known the minute he’d stopped for Danny Parnell that trouble had found him again.

  Conor had run all his annoyance out by the time he motored back to the Veritas. He tied the dinghy off and ducked down the stairs. His mobile phone showed one missed call.

  ‘And just the man I need to talk to,’ he murmured, hitting redial. Noah, the community policeman who’d pulled Conor from his sinking yacht off Banksia Cove, answered on the third ring.

  ‘Noah, mate.’

  ‘Hey, Conor. I got your email about the outdoor courts. Are you serious?’

  ‘Never joke about money. Did you get a quote?’

  ‘It’ll be close to a hundred grand!’

  ‘Seriously, send me a quote. There are funds available.’

  ‘Conor, what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve had a spectacular couple of weeks on the stock market. I’ll send you some paperwork.’

  ‘Paperwork?’

  ‘Yeah. You talked a lot of sense when I was in Banksia Cove. I’ve set up a trust account that distributes income to a couple of children’s charities. Banksia Cove’s a deserving recipient.’

  ‘Really?’ Noah sounded wary.

  ‘It’s all above-board. The taxman knows about every cent earned. It’s my money and I’m spending it the way I want.’

  ‘You’ve gone troppo?’

  Conor laughed. ‘The thought of playing Santa at the Christmas party must have gone to my head.’

  ‘Right.’

  Noah was silent and for a moment Conor wondered if the phone line had dropped out.

  ‘I think you’ve already paid your dues, Conor. Don’t be too hard on yourself.’

  His words caught Conor by surprise, but he should have expected that Noah would see it for what it was.

  ‘We could call it Rosie’s Park. It would mean something then,’ Conor said.

  ‘We could. Let’s cross that bridge later, mate. Send me the forms. See what we can organise. You are still coming to the wedding, aren’t you? Darcy says you haven’t RSVP’d yet.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll be there.’

  ‘You want to bring a friend?’

  Conor almost laughed. ‘I’ll let you know. Maybe.’ An image of Kristy Dark smiling at his lame jokes filled his mind. ‘Maybe,’ he repeated.

  ‘Great. We’d like that.’

  ‘Okay, better go. Enjoy your Christmas and regards to Darcy.’

  ‘Always. Take care, mate.’ Noah disconnected, leaving Conor staring into space. When had Kristy Dark in her unbecoming clothes set up camp in his thoughts? Why would he even assume she was interested in anyone, let alone him?

  The answer was in the way she talked to him, as an equal. There was something liberating about being taken on face value for who he was. Not even Bill had been that open-minded. But with Kristy? He saw no judgement in her eyes, just a becoming blush in her cheeks.

  Where would it all lead? The longer he stayed, the more likely he was to summon up his courage and ask her out for a drink. Or maybe a sail. She’d only have to turn those laser-blue eyes on him and smile and he’d be putty in her hands. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  6

  Kristy woke to the grey light filtering through the long lace curtains. The ornate rose around the hanging lamp was a smudge on the wide boards high above her. She lay on her back, listening to the comforting sounds of a bush orchestra tuning up. A wave of crickets chimed in as the birdsong reached a crescendo. The wedge-tailed eagle added a high top note, keening as it circled. It sounded like a lament for its missing mate. Kristy felt its pain.

  Somewhere in the house she heard a cough, phlegmy and thick. The antibiotics were starting to work, but it was clear her father needed a rest. Unfortunately, Craig wasn’t going to stop because his wife and daughter suggested it. His favourite saying for so many years had been, ‘You’re a long time dead.’ Meg used to roll her eyes. Now she looked pained and sad, but her husband refused to change his ways.

  After Finn and then Tyler’s deaths, some of Kristy’s good friends, uncertain how to react, chose silence. Others turned up with home-cooked meals, meaningful cards, flowers. Some didn’t know when to leave, but at least they’d been there for her, trying to understand the unfathomable.

  Her normally taciturn father believed grief had to be talked about or it’d fester. Tough love. In contrast, Meg was ever the diplomat, dispensing comfort around her kitchen table with a few well-chosen words. Like so many country women, she helped out at their church, and read to the kids at the local primary school, which involved a two-hour round trip. The Country Women’s Association couldn’t function without women like her.

  Kristy knew Abby would be in good hands. In the six days they’d been here, Abby had schooled Misty Grey under her grandfather’s watchful eye in the cool of the early mornings. Late afternoons were spent at the shrunken swimming hole, splashing in the cool water or relaxing in the shade of a spreading fig, planted a century ago by Craig’s great-grandfather. And at night the smell of baking filled the house.

  Kristy had enjoyed being on horseback again herself, inspecting the boundaries with her father before lunch, checking for cattle stranded in the muddy bogs that used to be waterholes. Everywhere she looked were the signs of a long dry. If the wet season didn’t come soon, her parents would be in real trouble. They’d destocked all but their best breeders and their prize bull. It would take time to build the herd up again, but with the long paddock already stressed there was little point in droving the cattle south on the stock routes in search of feed. Her father had seen the writing on the wall at the end of last summer. He’d managed to get a reasonable price. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

  Roll on the wet season. Even a cyclone would be welcome if it meant the sun’s fierce burn was shaded by clouds and the countryside was awash with rain. One year, Kristy had come home from boarding school as the Easter lilies bloomed to find the stand of scarlet gums, which had guarded the entrance to Ruby Downs long before the gates had been installed, lying in a pile of splintered branches. The main machinery shed gaped open to the world, with two of its sides missing and the sunlight streaming through a patchwork of corrugated iron. Her dad was philosophical. ‘Could have been the roof off the house, love. Nothing Mother Nature and a bit of hard work can’t repair. Glad you two kids won’t have this life.’

  She’d found out later they’d lost several hundred head of prime beef cattle when the river broke its banks and the terrified beasts pushed down a fence, escaping into the wrong paddock. The muddy waters had swept them away in a tangle of legs. A year later her older brother, Lex, had left for Sydney University, shaking the dust from his shiny R. M. boots as he headed to a glittering career as a lawyer. Somehow, though, the bush had caught up with him. He’d fallen for a cattleman’s daughter and now managed a property out Longreach way.

  Ironic that their parents had done everything in their power to send their kids to the city, but like homing pigeons, they’d found their way back to the bush.

  It wasn’t getting any easier for her parents. Kristy had been sceptical when they turned Ruby Downs into a homestay station but their laconic humour and laidback pace had struck a chord with their guests, who arrived in new four-wheel drives, towing flash caravans. Eighteen months ago, when she returned with Abby after Tyler’s death, she’d rolled up her sleeves and acted as an unpaid housekeeper. She might not have been up to talking to the guests, but the wide-open spaces and the gentle rhythm of life had done what throwing herself into hospital work in Brisbane couldn’t. She and Abby had healed, day by day. By Christmas time that year, with Abby reaching the end of the School of the Air curriculum, Kristy had made the decision to go back to work. She’d found solace in Cooktown, and somewhere safe to raise her daughter. The past year had flown by.

  In the room next door she heard Abby stir. In Cooktown, Abby had attitude and a sense of entitlement, a testiness that had mother and daughter at
loggerheads some days. Out here she blossomed, filled out in all the right places, and she laughed. A lot. The two stockmen who lived on the property had known her since she was a baby. They indulged her, teased her and kept her safe. Kristy couldn’t ask for more.

  The door to her room swung open with a tired creak and Abby peered around it, her hair mussed from sleep, her eyes watery.

  ‘Mum?’ she whispered.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Abby.’ Kristy lifted her head and smiled at her. Which Abby was it going to be?

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mum,’ she threw herself on the bed, wrapping her arms around her mother, burrowing her head in the pillow. Kristy breathed in the sweetness of shampoo in her hair, the soft strands tickling her nose as her daughter wriggled deeper. She revelled in the closeness. It was becoming more rare.

  ‘Do you think they’re watching us?’ Abby asked, her voice muffled.

  Kristy smoothed her daughter’s hair, so similar to her own, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tremble in her hand. ‘I’m sure they are. They probably have their own presents and a great big Christmas lunch planned.’

  Abby sniffed. ‘I miss Finn.’

  Kristy frowned at Abby’s choice of words. ‘I miss them too, sweetheart.’

  ‘Will it always be just the two of us?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know.’

  ‘Don’t you want a husband again?’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’ Kristy shifted her weight, trying to see her daughter’s face, but a curtain of glossy hair hid Abby’s expression.

  ‘Aren’t you lonely?’

  ‘No,’ Kristy said, wondering where this was going. ‘I’ve got you and Grandma and Grandpa. Friends as well.’

  ‘But . . . don’t you think about it? About doing it. You know.’

  Kristy did her best to keep her face composed. She’d sat her daughter down for the sex education talk after the first day Sissy came for a visit and it was apparent she was thirteen going on eighteen. Kristy shuddered to think how much Abby gleaned from teen magazines, which both girls devoured at every opportunity. But that talk had been about birth control, about not being pressured to do something against her will. This conversation was on a very different scale. Kristy chose her words carefully.

  ‘I’m perfectly happy with the two of us. Work’s crazy busy and school always has something on. I don’t see how we’d fit anyone else into our world.’

  ‘Is it because Dad was always angry?’

  Kristy couldn’t stop her sharp intake of breath. She’d done everything in her power to make life normal for her daughter, but after that terrible day when they’d lost Finn, even she hadn’t been able to placate Tyler. He’d hauled the reins in more tightly. Kristy fought hard to keep her job, her independence, but he battered her with words when no one else could hear. The civilised veneer disappeared behind closed doors. The man she married, the man she thought she’d loved, became a stranger. She lost count of the nights she’d sat clutching a wine glass, wondering how she could walk out the door. How many nights she’d lain awake, rigid and furious, listening to her husband snore. Tears fed his rage, and she refused to give him that reward. But the cost to her was enormous. By morning Kristy’s mask was back in place and she was a grieving mother and physician with a loving, devoted husband. Only she knew how deep the scars ran.

  She remembered being naive and fresh out of uni, doing an internship at a sprawling Brisbane hospital, watching the body language between a well-dressed couple, the woman’s arm in a sling as she stood behind her husband. He signed the paperwork for his ‘clumsy little wife’ with a flourish. As he’d sailed through the doors, his wife trailing in his wake, the senior nurse had cleared his throat. ‘Arsehole. Either hit her or pushed her.’

  Kristy had turned to him, surprised. ‘Really?’

  ‘You think blokes covered in tatts wearing singlets and thongs have a monopoly on that stuff?’ He jerked his head at the departing couple. ‘He’s the worst kind of hypocrite. Probably donates to a dozen charities, sits on the school’s P & C, and beats the crap out of the wife and kids if they defy him.’

  He’d left her wide-eyed and shaken. She’d learnt the hard way what he’d meant and she wasn’t going to admit that to her daughter now.

  ‘Your dad was sad after Finn died. He held himself responsible.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He blamed you.’ There was a pause. ‘And me.’

  ‘No.’ Kristy shook her head. It would be easy to allow her daughter to blame Tyler, but the truth was more complex. ‘Sit up, Abby.’ She plumped the pillows and hauled her daughter upright. Christmas was supposed to be about family so maybe it was appropriate to have this discussion now. ‘Abby, you know your dad was looking after you both. It certainly wasn’t your fault that Finn got out through the gate. Your dad and I both share the responsibility. If I hadn’t been on the phone I would have noticed him.’

  ‘But Dad knew you were working.’

  ‘I was gone a lot longer than I expected. I should have told him.’

  ‘He should have been watching instead of talking to that lady in the tiny bikini.’

  Kristy’s heart thudded. ‘Your dad talked to everyone.’

  ‘Yeah, but she was gross. She needed to wear more clothes.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Abs. Your dad and I both should have kept a better eye on Finn.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I still say it was his fault and I know he blamed you. I used to lie awake at night and listen to him.’

  Kristy had nothing to say to that. The year after Finn died was a living hell. In so many ways, Tyler’s subsequent death had set her free. But that came with another truckload of guilt. It didn’t matter how much she rationalised, how much she understood about the balance of power in a marriage – the anger that was latent in Tyler took over his life after his son’s death. And violence came in many forms.

  Later, when Abby was older, they’d talk about it further. But not now, not that. ‘We should remember your dad the way he was before. Grief affects us all differently.’

  Abby snorted. ‘Finn’s drowning made Grandpa and Grandma sad. It made you work extra hard, but only Dad got mad.’

  ‘It was his way of coping, Abby. We’re all different.’

  ‘I know, but I just wish —’

  ‘We can’t remake our family, Abby. We can only build our future.’

  ‘Or a new family. Plenty of people get married again after divorce. Why not after —’

  ‘They do. Blended families are everywhere.’

  ‘So you should try to look nice. See what’s out there, Mum.’

  Kristy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her daughter sounded like an advert for a dating agency. ‘If only it was that simple, honey.’

  ‘Well, there’s Conor. He always talks to you and he’s cool. And he’s single.’

  Kristy did laugh this time, wishing that wasn’t so close to her own thoughts. ‘And precisely because he’s too cool, he’s out of my league.’

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself.’ Abby sat up and reached across to straighten her mother’s hair. ‘It’s your best feature, you should wear it out more often. Try some eyeliner. It might bring out your eyes.’

  ‘Abby. What is this? Makeover Mum day? You make me sound like a hag.’

  ‘No, you’re not that bad, but Sissy’s mum always looks hot.’

  ‘I’m never going to look like Freya, and Conor’s not what I’d call husband or father material.’

  ‘Because he lives on a boat and only works sometimes? I thought you said we didn’t need all that stuff we had in Brisbane?’

  ‘And we don’t. We’re doing just fine.’

  ‘Yeah, but —’

  ‘Shall we go and see if Mum and Dad are up?’

  ‘They are. Grandma put a sock on the end of my bed. It’s full of stuff for school.’

  ‘Really? She used to do that for us too.’ Kristy followed the conversation off on a tangent.

  ‘There’s something weird
in the toe.’

  ‘That’ll be a walnut.’

  ‘Gross. Why would she do that?’

  ‘Tradition. Her mum used to do it. There’ll be an orange as well.’

  ‘Oh, I thought that was weird, giving me a tennis ball. I thought it must have been for the dogs.’

  ‘Have you ever seen Jess or Laddie chase a ball?’

  Abby screwed up her nose. ‘Nope. I guess not.’

  ‘They’re not pets, you know. They’re an integral part of this station, as valuable as any man.’ Kristy did a fair imitation of her father and Abby giggled. The sound sent a flood of warmth, of love, through Kristy.

  ‘Good point.’ Abby bounced off the bed, her cotton pyjama top riding up her stomach and catching on budding breasts. The pang of loss knifed into Kristy. Her baby girl was a teenager now, hitting puberty and heading on to her own life. Where did that leave her in five years? Alone, with work to keep her company? Maybe Abby was right. Maybe her dad was right. Live a little. What could be the harm in that?

  Christmas morning had been the same in the Dark family for as long as Kristy could remember. It began with a breakfast of thick slices of ham carved off the glazed leg baked the day before. The eggs were fried sunny-side up and the slabs of bread were fresh from a crusty loaf that had cooled overnight. It was lovely to sit and relax, knowing the phone wouldn’t ring with an emergency. There were no time pressures. Lex and his family couldn’t get away from their property because the drought had ripped their feet from under them as well. The house was quieter without them.

  Craig’s teasing hadn’t changed over the years. Kristy listened to Abby’s retorts as she parried with her grandfather. She’d inherited his quick wit. Kristy and her mother exchanged a smile, maternal pride in both of them. Craig had been a champion debater and he’d instilled that love of words in his children. Kristy wasn’t so fond of public speaking, but she was grateful that it had given her the confidence to stand tall when the occasion demanded. Lex had revelled in it and, but for the swift arrow of love, he would probably have gone on to be a top barrister. Instead he looked to be in danger of venturing into politics. That reminded her of Danny Parnell.