Heartland

by Cathryn Hein

  Wal sucked his lips in so hard his mouth nearly vanished in a wave of wrinkles.

  ‘That’d be right. Go on, run and hide again. Leave poor Phantom here to rot like you did the first one.’

  That stung. Badly. Callie clenched her jaw against the hurt, her words emerging like bricks. ‘I didn’t run and hide.’

  Wal made a disgusted pfft noise. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I was sixteen. I had no way of getting here!’

  ‘Ever heard of a bus?’

  She threw her arms up, startling Phantom, who snorted and shuffled a few steps back. ‘It was too hard! I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘No, but your sister could’ve stopped her carry-on. Broke Maggie’s and Tom’s hearts, not seeing you girls.’

  Callie held up the flat of her hand, indicating no more, anger fizzing at the attack on Hope. Her sister was off-limits. To everyone. ‘You leave Hope out of this.’

  ‘Bit hard when she was the cause. Bloody city people with their discos and drugs.’ Ignoring Callie’s narrowed eyes and barely stoppered fury, Wal turned his back and secured the tailgate. As he finished, Phantom stepped forward to nudge him in the shoulder. Wal gave the horse an affectionate pat. ‘You be good for the missy now or she’s likely to send you to the knackers.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. I’d never do that and you know it.’

  He pointed a stumpy finger at her. ‘The only thing I know for sure is that the missy I taught to ride wouldn’t have run away from what she loved, but you did.’ His hand dropped. ‘Don’t forget to lock up Honk at night or the foxes’ll get him like they did the chooks. And wash out his water bowl. Geese need clean water like any other animal.’

  As the last of his words left Wal’s mouth the subject in question waddled around the opposite side of the float. Spying trespassers, Honk immediately stormed into a flurry of wing flapping and outraged honking. Phantom skittered in shock before his flight instinct kicked in. Intent only on escape, he barrelled forward, knocking Wal against the end of the float and sending the old man’s head crunching hard against the sharp steel corner of the tailgate.

  Wal’s legs collapsed, dropping him into the horse’s panicked path. Callie lunged to protect him only to collide with Phantom’s shoulder, the impact catapulting her to the ground. Even more frightened, Phantom surged ahead, almost falling to his knees as his front hoof caught on Wal’s hip, before regaining his balance and clattering away toward the house paddock.

  Callie scrabbled to her hands and knees and stared at Wal’s crumpled, still body.

  ‘Wal?’

  Silence returned to the farm. Even Honk seemed shocked by the chaos he’d caused.

  Stomach a frozen knot, Callie crawled to Wal’s side, breathing hard as memories of that terrible night with Hope crowded in.

  ‘Wal?’ She took his hand and rubbed it, willing him to groan, to move, to do anything. ‘Wal, please.’

  A cockatoo screeched across the hot sky like an echoed scream from the past.

  But just as in Callie’s nightmare with Hope, the old man didn’t respond.

  Four

  Matt strode down Dargate Hospital’s main hall toward Wal’s ward. He’d only been here once before – twelve years earlier when Tony broke his wrist falling from the flying fox they’d secretly rigged by Amberton’s creek – but nothing much had changed. The walls were still a soothing pale blue, the floor well-scrubbed grey lino. Although updated, photographs of Dargate’s great and good added cheerful colour to the bland interior. He even recognised the kindly voiced nurse who directed him to his great uncle. She recognised him, too, smiling secretly at Matt’s surprised blinks before patting his shoulder and sending him on his way.

  He wondered how she stripped time like that, taking him from mature adult to teenage boy in a glance. There were days when he stared in the mirror barely recognising himself, and it wasn’t just the ugly scar zigzagging his face. Age and sun exposure had weathered his once clear, flush-cheeked boyishness. His dark hair, for so long kept buzz cut, now reached the collar of his polo shirt. Stubble decorated his formerly clean-shaven jaw. But the biggest change was in his expression. Amberton had made him smile again.

  Except he wasn’t smiling now.

  Fucking Tony. So they’d had a bit of a row in the pub. That didn’t mean his cousin could take all afternoon to alert him about Wal. Tony had his mobile number. He was just being a prick.

  Matt turned the corner, glancing into the main waiting room as he passed. A tanned, athletic-looking blonde woman stood with her forehead pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, but she wasn’t admiring the room’s walled garden. Her eyes were closed, her lips compressed, her arms wrapped tight around her body.

  A body that turned Matt’s feet leaden.

  Hope.

  But it couldn’t be. Hope was dead, yet he’d know that jawline, those cheekbones, that small, slightly pointed nose anywhere. Sensing his scrutiny, the blonde twisted her head to the side and regarded him with red-rimmed blue eyes. Alike, but definitely not Hope.

  ‘Supercallie,’ he said without thinking.

  She frowned as if she hadn’t quite heard right. Fuck. Supercallie was Hope’s special name for her sister. Matt shouldn’t have known it. Needing to cover up, he headed toward her, hand extended.

  ‘Callie. Good to see you.’

  She took his hand, the frown turning to puzzlement. Unlike the nurse, she didn’t recognise him, but that was no surprise. Their acquaintance had been limited to brief encounters at Wal’s or on the sandy trail leading to the broad, seaweed-strewn sweep of MacLeans Bay. It was her sister he’d spent all his holidays with.

  ‘It’s Matt. Matthew Hawkins. Wal’s great nephew.’

  As soon as he mentioned Wal, her eyes widened. Grabbing the sleeve of his shirt she launched into a series of rapid fire questions.

  ‘How is he? Is he conscious? I followed the ambulance but they wouldn’t let me into emergency, and now no one will tell me what’s happening. He’s okay, isn’t he? It’s just a bump, isn’t it? A bit of concussion?’ Her blue eyes, so like Hope’s, widened even further as she misinterpreted his slow response. ‘Oh, my god.’ One hand went to her mouth as the other stretched behind her for a chair. She collapsed onto the vinyl, fingers fluttering above trembling lips. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  He’d never heard anyone sound so broken. Weird, given as far as he knew neither she nor her family had set foot in Dargate in years. What would Callie Reynolds care about the old boy?

  A lot, by the look of things.

  Matt crouched in front of her. ‘Hey, shh. It’s all right. Wal’s fine. Fractured hip, sore head, but fine.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘He’s a tough old bugger. It’d take a lot more than a knock from a horse to take him out.’

  She breathed out hard and leaned her head back, blinking at the ceiling, hands gripping the chair arms, and he noticed that the bracelet around her right wrist wasn’t a bracelet at all, but an ornate tattoo. He studied it, his stomach curling with sorrow as he recognised the letters. Thinking how much worse it must be for Callie. For him, Hope was a bittersweet memory from which he’d moved on – the girl who’d broken his heart and later died in shocking circumstances. But for the underage sister who’d reportedly found her dying on a nightclub floor, forgetting wasn’t an option.

  For several heartbeats, Callie didn’t say anything, then she focused on him and it was as though a different person had slipped inside her body. Colour returned to her face. Her mouth lost its tightness. Her shoulders and arms loosened, her body easing free of tension, face settling into bland politeness, as if her previous distress had never occurred.

  ‘I should have realised nothing could crack that hard head of his,’ she said, a smile in her voice. ‘Can I see him?’

  He shook his head. ‘The nurse said family only. He’s only just come out of surgery. Tomorrow you should be right.’

  She cast a wistful look toward the door. ‘Tomorrow. There goes my fast getaway.’ />
  ‘Short visit then?’

  ‘Very. I wouldn’t be here at all except the house needs clearing out. Once that’s done and Glenmore’s on the market, I’ll be off. My grandmother died,’ she added unnecessarily. ‘She left me the farm.’ Shaking her head, she gave a half laugh. ‘A farm, a mad goose and a horse.’

  She wanted to put Glenmore on the market? Matt didn’t get it. Hope always said her sister loved the farm. That she was obsessed with the place, counting down the days between visits, phoning daily to check on her horse. Tagging Glenmore as ‘home’ instead of their suburban Melbourne address. Why would she want to sell a place she loved so much?

  Callie’s tattoo flashed vivid blue as she raised her hand to tuck a wayward tress of sun-bleached hair behind her ear, explaining everything.

  ‘Right. It’s for the foundation.’

  The amusement in her eyes turned dull. ‘It’s for a lot of things.’

  Fuck. Another stupid mistake. What was wrong with him? So she was a hot-looking blonde. Like he hadn’t come across one of those before.

  Rattled by the strength of his attraction, Matt straightened and tilted his head at the exit. ‘I guess I’d best go check on Wal.’

  The dullness eased; life returned to her expression. ‘Of course. Will you tell him I’m glad he’s okay and that I’ll visit tomorrow? Oh, and tell him not to worry about Honk. I won’t forget to lock him up.’

  ‘Will do.’ He paused, hands deep in his pockets, knowing he should walk out right now before he said something else idiotic, but caught by their connection, albeit minor and secret on his part, with Hope. ‘It was good to see you again, Callie.’

  ‘Good to see you, too, Matt.’ She smiled, and for one incredible moment he was fifteen again, facing Hope in awkward teenage silence while she bounced his lovesick heart with a single look. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around.’

  And all Matt could think as he headed back up the hall was that he hoped like hell she did.

  *

  ‘Looks like someone’s been spoiling you,’ Matt said to Wal the following afternoon as he spied the flowers, grapes and ginger ale lined up on Wal’s bedside table. He picked up the glossy hardcover book lying next to the grapes – a biography of the previous year’s Melbourne Cup winner, and the horse’s unconventional rise to fame – and flicked a quick look at the photos in the centre before placing it back down again.

  Wal jerked his head at the table. ‘That’s all the missy’s doing.’

  ‘The missy?’

  ‘Maggie’s granddaughter.’

  ‘So she’s been in already?’

  ‘Spent most of her time trying to convince me to take back Phantom.’

  Matt dragged a plastic chair to the bed and sat down. He glanced across at the ward’s other patient, a shrivelled, elderly man curled up on his side with his blanket pulled up to his ears and whom Wal had identified yesterday as that ‘useless alcoholic Arthur Metcalf’. Though Arthur didn’t appear to be listening in, Matt kept his voice low. A man didn’t have to be a local to understand what rural towns were like.

  ‘I take it Callie’s arrival was what you’ve been waiting for.’ When Wal didn’t answer he went on. ‘It’s no big secret any more. She told me Maggie left her the horse.’

  ‘You been talking to her?’

  ‘I saw her yesterday, remember?’

  Wal avoided his gaze and Matt felt a pang of sympathy. Given Tony’s recent treatment, his uncle probably didn’t want to admit he couldn’t remember much about Phantom bowling him over, or the events thereafter.

  ‘She doesn’t want him, Wal.’ His uncle’s mouth drew in and for a moment Matt thought he saw a glisten of tears in Wal’s old eyes. He placed his hand on the bed near Wal’s. ‘You might have to take him back.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I promised Maggie, that’s why not.’ Wal tried to shift but the pain of his hip stilled him. He threw a filthy look at Matt, as if this were all his fault. ‘When are they going to let me out of this place?’

  ‘Not for a while yet. They get all tense about broken hips in geriatrics.’

  ‘You watch your tongue, lad.’

  ‘Wal, you’re eighty-two. That makes you a geriatric.’

  Wal turned his head away, mouth screwed up so hard his nose almost crumpled into his chin. Matt’s sympathy deepened. The poor old sod couldn’t accept that his body wasn’t the same as it once was.

  ‘Tony came earlier.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Matt didn’t like the way Wal sounded. He leaned forward, watching him closely.

  ‘Looked at me like I was about to drop off the perch. Little shit then had the nerve to ask if I had a will.’

  Matt kept his expression neutral but his fingers curled in anger. Just being a good grandson, like fuck – the only thing motivating his cousin was greed.

  That Amberton was worth a small fortune in the current property climate couldn’t be denied but the point was it was Wal’s place, not Tony’s. Wal loved it and, though he had no real ties, so did Matt. The influence Wal and Amberton had on Matt’s life, on his maturity, was profound. He’d learned to be a man there.

  And he’d loved. Lost just as hard too.

  He dragged a hand across his jaw, clean shaven for the first time in days, thinking yet again of Callie. How she reminded him of Hope but in a more knowing, adult way. So she should. He was a grown heterosexual man and Callie had developed from adolescence as much as he. Impressively so, in her case.

  ‘You finished that fence?’ asked Wal, interrupting his thoughts.

  ‘Just about.’

  Wal grunted. ‘Should’ve had it done by now.’

  ‘Yeah, well, believe it or not, I’ve been more worried about you.’

  ‘Heifers probably need moving.’

  ‘I’ll do it this arvo.’

  They lapsed back into silence, the same as they did over breakfast and dinner at Amberton. Matt picked up the book again and flipped to the title page, surprised to discover Callie had signed it. To the best riding instructor in the country. Get well soon. Callie x.

  He studied her writing. Nothing like Hope’s. Callie’s script was round and loopy. Hope always used print, each letter carefully formed. He’d loved her writing, the little poems she sneaked into his pockets, the cards she sent to him at boarding school, causing him great pride and embarrassment at the same time, and making the long wait for holidays even more agonising. He’d loved everything about her. Or thought he had.

  Looking back he could see it for what it was – complete teenage infatuation, made more intense by its secrecy and always destined to end in heartbreak.

  ‘You should go check on the missy this afternoon,’ Wal announced.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Make sure she’s looking after Honk properly. And Phantom.’

  ‘I’m sure she remembers how to look after a horse, and Honk can take care of himself.’

  Wal grunted. ‘Don’t trust her.’

  ‘To look after Phantom? Come on, she loves horses.’

  ‘Changed, she has.’

  ‘Of course she has. She watched her sister die on a nightclub floor. What did you expect?’

  Wal didn’t answer.

  Perplexed, Matt inspected him. The old boy fairly churned with frustration. His hands were clawed around the top of his blanket. His mouth worked as though trying to suck his teeth out of their sockets, and his eyes were narrowed in that way they did when he was fuming inside.

  Matt replaced the book and leaned forward. ‘All right, what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothin’.’

  ‘Don’t give me that.’

  Wal’s indignation won out against his natural taciturnity. ‘It’s that bloody missy, isn’t it? Selling Glenmore. Ungrateful little wench. And after all Maggie and Tom did for her.’

  Brilliant. Wal was off on another of his rants about things he had no clue about. For a man of such extreme sensitivity to animals his
empathy for humans, bar the occasional insight, was almost non-existent.

  ‘Oh, come on, Wal. You can’t blame her,’ Matt said, irritated. ‘She spent half her childhood there with her sister. She probably sees Hope in every corner, not to mention her grandparents. It’s taken courage for her to even set foot in the place.’

  Wal pointed a shaky finger at Matt, eyes flared with anger. ‘She ran away. Poor Maggie was devastated.’

  ‘And so was everyone else over what happened to Hope! For fuck’s sake, Wal, show a bit of compassion.’

  ‘She should have come home, where she belonged!’

  Any sympathy Matt felt for his uncle evaporated. This was fucked. Wal would never understand what it was like to watch someone you cared about die while everything you did to stop it failed. He shoved back the chair and stood; the scrape of legs on lino was harsh in the sterile room. ‘I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Sit down. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  He regarded Wal steadily. Matt had been ordered around by far more intimidating men than his uncle, and he wasn’t in the army any more. He didn’t have to take anyone’s shit, least of all Wal’s.

  ‘I’ve work to do.’

  ‘Too right you do. Starting with Glenmore.’

  `What’s Glenmore got to do with me?’

  ‘Everything. Now sit!’

  Across the room, Arthur produced a wheezy snuffle and rolled over. Both Matt and Wal watched him, but he seemed to have returned to sleep.

  ‘Sit down, lad,’ Wal said, tone conciliatory. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  Talk? That’d be a first. Matt scratched at his scar, thinking. Despite still wanting to thump the old man, curiosity tugged like an insistent child. What difference would a few minutes make? Decided, Matt lifted the chair back over and perched on the edge. ‘All right. I’m listening.’

  Wal sucked on his lips for a minute, observing his roommate before twisting his head toward Matt. ‘Maggie knew she wasn’t well. Heart problems like Tom. Happens in old people.’ He made ‘old people’ sound like a species he didn’t belong to. ‘She was desperate to contact the missy but the address in Alice Springs that Michael forwarded led nowhere. The missy either didn’t receive her letters or didn’t want to reply. Bar jumping in the car and driving there or hiring one of those detectives, which she couldn’t afford, Maggie had no other way of tracking her down.’