by Cathryn Hein
Easily – because when it really counted, Callie had proved far from super.
‘You must have work back at Amberton,’ she said, deliberately keeping her voice neutral. ‘And Lyndall and Kate will be here shortly to see Morton.’
‘Callie.’
‘I think I have an idea of what I need to do here.’ She gave a brittle smile, the sort of short, insincere twitch she loathed receiving from other people but the only expression she could manage at that moment. ‘I probably need to do bucketloads more but as you said, I can’t do everything.’
Matt studied her, his mouth thin, gaze penetrating. She held it, determined to pretend nothing was amiss when it was patently obvious she’d calcified the amiable atmosphere with her regrets.
‘Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?’ he asked finally.
‘Depends on the tide.’
‘Fishing. Of course. How could I forget?’
She cocked a finger at him. ‘Not just any fishing. Day-off fishing. The best kind.’
‘You’ll let me know?’
Callie nodded, although she wasn’t entirely sure she would. She needed to mull, rearrange her thoughts back where they belonged. Focus on the task she’d arrived so determined to complete seven days ago. Think of Hope.
Hauling in a breath, she headed pointedly for Matt’s car, leaving him to follow.
He’d parked near the house, on the weed-savaged crushed limestone apron separating the backyard from the shed. Though dusty, the car’s newness emphasised Glenmore’s disrepair. Callie stood a short distance from it, reflected heat from the duco and limestone radiating around her body as she waited for Matt to catch up. He hadn’t immediately followed, no doubt vexed by her sudden change of attitude. Good. If he thought her fickle and difficult, it might give him cause to back off.
But no annoyance registered in his tone when he arrived, hands in pockets and wearing a thoughtful countenance, merely inquiry.
‘Lyndall’s Morton’s old owner, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. Although I’m hoping she’ll take him back once she regains her confidence.’
‘Wal mentioned she was pretty scared of the horse.’
‘She’ll come good,’ said Callie with more conviction than she felt. ‘Kate’s determined to help her overcome her fear.’
‘Do you mind if I stay for a bit?’ He shrugged when Callie eyed him. ‘Maybe having a man around might help.’
Callie’s jaw tightened. She wanted to refuse but she also suspected Matt might be onto something. Lyndall might feel safer knowing he was close. And Matt possessed an easygoing kindness that might help the frightened teenager to relax. The way things were progressing, Callie and Kate needed all the help they could get. No matter what they tried, Lyndall’s fear remained.
Any answer was saved by the drone of a car. Seconds later, the Sorianos’ Range Rover eased into the drive and pulled up alongside Matt’s ute.
With Honk safely locked in his run, Callie and Kate sat in the shade near the house water tank watching Lyndall as she chatted easily with Matt. On first introduction, when Lyndall’s gaze had widened at the sight of Matt’s scar, he’d simply apologised for looking a bit freakish before explaining that he’d been injured by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. The teenager’s mouth had dropped in astonishment, curiosity burning across her face, but Lyndall was too well mannered to give into her urges and probe – a fact Callie couldn’t help feeling mildly annoyed about.
From then on the pair settled into a surprising rapport, Lyndall helping to corral Honk while Callie fetched Morton, the teenager breaking into giggles when the extremely put-out goose managed to land a good peck on Matt’s backside. When he’d asked to take Morton from her, Callie had passed the horse over without argument. Now Matt stood in the liquidambar’s shade, Morton tethered to his hand at the end of a long rope and happily cropping the lawn, while Lyndall hovered deeper in the shadows, still nervous but looking far less anxious than she had during any of her previous visits.
‘Matt seems nice,’ said Kate, reaching down to pour some more iced water from the jug Callie had made up.
‘He is.’
‘Pity about that scar.’
Callie frowned, pondering the statement. Half the time she didn’t notice Matt’s scar. It was simply a part of him, another facial feature like his straight nose and pleasantly formed mouth.
Girlish conspiracy pinking her cheeks, Kate leaned closer. ‘Nice body, though.’
‘And there I was thinking you were a happily married woman.’
‘I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look.’
Using Kate’s observation as an excuse, Callie indulged in a long perv at Matt. Kate was right, he did have a nice body. Fit, masculine without being brawny, and definitely a candidate for Anna’s crocodile-wrestling fantasy. She’d noticed before, of course. Callie was as appreciative of a well-developed male as the next woman, but with him her admiration seemed deeper, more complex. And that, more than anything, made it dangerous.
His words filtered toward them. ‘Hurt like crazy but there were others worse off than me.’
Realising the subject, Callie tuned in.
‘What did you do?’ asked Lyndall, voice breathy with wonder.
‘Went to help. Which wasn’t easy because we were being shot at.’
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘Terrified, but you can’t let that control you.’ He shrugged. ‘My mates needed help. So I kept going.’
Lyndall didn’t say anything for a moment. Callie held her breath, caught by Matt’s words, a strange feeling in her belly.
‘You never went back after though, did you? I mean, after you were better. That’s why you’re here.’
‘As a matter of fact, I did.’
Lyndall’s eyes bugged out.
‘Once I was patched up and better I went back for another tour.’
‘But why?’
He reached up and wrapped his palm around a branch. ‘I didn’t want my time there to be defined by that one incident. It wasn’t all shooting and bombs. There was mateship, loyalty, the feeling we were doing something right. It’s beautiful there, too. Not like here but in a weird way. Sort of ancient.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Hard to explain.’ He let go of the branch. ‘The main thing was that I sorted it all out in my head properly so that when I discharged I knew I had my life right. That I had something to aim for and didn’t have to worry about the shit stuff dragging me down because I’d settled it for good.’
Lyndall focused back on Morton. ‘I wish I was brave like you.’
‘I wasn’t brave, Lyndall. Just determined. You are too. I can see it in the way you look at Phantom.’ He tilted his head. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
She nodded, front teeth dug into her bottom lip, on the verge of tears.
‘Then you can be determined too. For him.’
‘How?’ The crack in her voice was heartbreaking.
‘By taking a step.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Come on. You can do it. You’ve a soldier protecting you.’
Mouth thin and tight, Lyndall glanced from Matt to Morton and back again. Kate leaned forward, silently urging her daughter on. Finally, with a last glance at her mother, who nodded in encouragement, Lyndall reached out for Matt’s hand. Grasping it tightly, she took the step she needed.
‘Good girl,’ said Matt. ‘I knew you could do it.’
A wobbly smile eased Lyndall’s lips.
A proud choke rose in Callie’s throat. She glanced at Kate. The other woman had her fingertips pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening.
Turning back to Matt, Callie caught his triumphant wink and grinned, but victory proved short lived. Sensing his mistress, Morton jerked his head up, a happy whicker rumbling in his chest as he headed purposefully toward the shade and Lyndall. With a whine of distress, Lyndall wrenched free from Matt, scampering back into the shadows with her hands clutched against her chest and eyes bright with frightened, hopeless tears.<
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Kate’s head dropped in disappointment. Callie leaned across to touch her shoulder but she too could feel the weight of their failure.
To Matt’s credit, he kept at it, far longer than Callie would have had the patience for, but other than a few tentative steps toward Morton, Lyndall never returned to Matt’s side. After an hour he led Morton back to the paddock, Lyndall trailing at a distance, before once more taking up her vigil behind the safety of the gate.
‘It’s no good,’ said Kate, slumping back in her seat as Matt freed Honk from his run.
Callie secretly agreed but didn’t want to say so. Her own hopes needed to be kept up. ‘She made it closer than she has before.’
‘And then shot off like a mouse the moment Phan lifted his head.’
Casting wary looks over his shoulder at Honk, Matt returned to the water tank.
‘Sorry, the ice has all melted,’ said Callie, passing him a drink.
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s wet.’ He finished the glass and refilled it from the last in the jug, taking a smaller sip before addressing Kate. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.’
‘That’s okay. You tried.’ She sighed and stared toward her daughter. ‘I wish I knew what to do.’
‘It’s only been a few days,’ said Callie. ‘It’ll take time to build her confidence again.’
Kate rubbed a hand over her hair, the blonde even darker today because of the heat and her sweat. ‘I know. But school holidays will be over soon and then what will we do? And you can’t stick around forever.’
Callie shifted her gaze to the old swing rope before looking away. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘I think it’s his size.’ Matt looked from Callie to Kate. ‘As much as she loves him, he’s too intimidating. If we had something smaller, like a pony, she might find it less frightening. It’d get her used to being around horses again but without the same association with danger that Morton seems to have. One of those really quiet ponies you can stick a baby on might do the trick.’
Callie smiled wryly. ‘The original Phantom would have been perfect. He wasn’t much bigger than a pony and completely bombproof. Never mind.’ She reached for the empty water jug and stood.
‘Don’t worry,’ Matt said to Kate as the pair took the hint and followed Callie’s lead. ‘We’ll sort her out. I’ll track us down a pony. Wal’s bound to know of one.’
‘That’s really kind, but you don’t have to.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Matt smiled at her before settling his green gaze on Callie. ‘Besides, I never was one to walk away from a challenge.’
Twelve
Matt picked up his iPhone, checked the screen and when it didn’t provide the assurance he sought, tossed it back onto Amberton’s pine kitchen table. He opened the fridge then closed it again before wandering to the oven and opening its door. A tray of neatly cut chat potatoes sat inside, wafting a delicious herby scent from the fresh rosemary he’d tossed them in, their skins crisp and brown. Letting the oven door close, Matt leaned his bum against the bench and glanced at his watch. Ten past seven. She should have been here by now.
He crossed his arms and legs and scowled at his phone, then scratched at his scar and tapped his foot on the lino as more seconds ran by. His gaze flitted to the door, hearing tuned to the unbroken country quiet. Finally he dropped his arms and straightened.
‘Fuck it.’
Ten minutes later the potatoes were in a foil-covered bowl. The green salad he’d prepared was in a Tupperware container on ice in an Esky along with two properly aged rib-eye steaks, half-a-dozen beers and the carefully chosen bottle of rosé Matt had picked up that morning from the bottle shop. Packed in a plastic tub in the back of the ute next to the Esky was Wal’s butane-fired camping stove, a cast-iron skillet, plates, cutlery, plastic tumblers and a pair of Dargate Rural Traders stubby holders.
Despite his gut telling him it was a waste of time, Matt journeyed the short distance to Glenmore. The metallic bronze tailgate of Callie’s ute glittered from the shed but a quick yell through the back door of the house remained unanswered. He checked the home paddock, Honk strutting and tooting in frustration from behind the wire wall of his run as Matt passed. Morton stood at the far fence, staring southward toward MacLeans Bay.
Matt’s shoulders slumped a little. He had to face it, Callie really had stood him up to go fishing.
He eyed Honk, tossing up whether to cut his losses and head back to Amberton for a night of beer drinking in front of the day–night limited over cricket broadcast. Like any bloke with brains would do.
‘Fuck it,’ he said for the second time. He’d cooked for her. She could bloody well eat it.
Though plenty of daylight remained, the sun was beginning to lower as Matt drove down the firebreak, its rays shooting white, orange and gold flickers through the trees like a kaleidoscopic fireball. The track rose as it crossed into coastal dunes and the forest began to thin. Stringybark and tea-tree gave way to coastal wattle, grasses and succulent, purple-flowering pigface. Matt wound down the window and breathed in the smell of ocean and seaweed as the tide churned in counterpoint to the Amarok’s diesel chug.
He manoeuvred the ute over the final boggy dune and nosed onto the beach proper, leaning forward, hunting the coastline for Callie as he bumped toward firmer sand. Matt spotted her a few hundred metres to the east, tide lapping her ankles, fishing rod tucked against her belly, one hand gripped around its handle. A light breeze billowed her unbuttoned white shirt, whipping the tails like a flag end and exposing the blue and white stripes of her singlet.
At the sound of the car she turned. The tatty fishing hat she favoured shadowed her face, the two blonde plaits sprouting from beneath the hat bouncing against the ballooned back of her shirt.
Matt decided against driving to where Callie had left her tackle box, choosing to park further away on the steadier sand. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt her to walk to him – she was the one who’d stood him up.
Within minutes he was settled on the picnic rug, beer in hand, the hiss and spit of grilling steaks joining with the foamy roll of the incoming tide. After the swelter of Amberton, the beach, with its scented breeze and dazzling light, was glorious. As much as it hurt his ego, he couldn’t blame Callie for coming here.
He stared up the beach. Another woman and he probably would have taken the hint and backed off but for some reason with Callie he couldn’t. Maybe he just wanted sex. It’d been a while and she was an attractive girl, except it was more than that and he knew it. She had a narcotic effect on him, buzzing him with feel-good sensation, and his body demanded more.
He took a suck of beer and swivelled away to flip the steaks. When he turned back, Callie was wandering toward him, rod in one hand, tackle box in the other, and the sun throwing tawny rays over her body.
‘Hi,’ she said, stopping in front of him.
‘Hey.’
She indicated the steaks. ‘They smell good.’
‘They do, but I’m not sure you deserve any.’
‘What can I say? The tide was right.’ Her mouth curved a little. ‘You were warned.’
‘True.’
‘So you’re angry?’
He studied her a moment. Maybe she wanted him to be. ‘Nah. The beach is a better place for dinner anyway.’ He tilted his head at the Esky. ‘Beer in there if you want.’
Matt poked at the steaks while she dumped her gear and rummaged for the beer. At the hiss of the opening bottle he shuffled over, making room for her on the rug. Taking the hint, she sat beside him, crossing her legs and accepting his proffered stubby cooler with a smile of thanks.
‘Catch anything?’
‘No. But I didn’t really expect to.’ She squinted up the beach. ‘It’s quiet.’
‘Everyone’s back at work.’ Matt waved his tongs at the sea. ‘No surf either.’
‘I like it like this. It’s peaceful.’ She angled her face toward him. ‘Good day?’
‘Not bad.’
&nb
sp; ‘How’s Wal? He didn’t look well when I called in.’
‘No. Poor bugger’s managed to score himself a bladder infection.’
Alarm widened her eyes. ‘Will he be all right?’
‘He’ll be fine. It’s not serious and they’re good at the hospital.’
Although that didn’t stop Matt worrying. The antibiotics were fighting the infection but Wal remained in pain, despite his steadfast refusal to admit it. Plus Matt didn’t know what was happening about the will Tony had foisted on his uncle, which bothered him almost as much as Wal’s bladder infection. When he probed during his morning visit, the old man refused to discuss it. Matt didn’t like thinking about him upset and hospital wasn’t a great environment for contemplating a subject as sensitive as mortality.
He pressed his tongs into the steaks, assessing their springiness.
‘Can I help?’ she asked as he began to arrange the salad and potato bowls.
‘Nope. Got it all under control.’ He loaded her plate with a steak, its caramelised surface sleek with juice, and passed it over. ‘I hope you like it medium.’
‘Medium’s perfect, thanks.’
‘Help yourself to spuds and salad. Spuds are probably a bit cold though.’
‘My fault.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.’ Matt reached into the cooler. ‘I have wine if you want. Some rosé.’
‘Sounds good.’
Other than Callie praising his cooking, they didn’t talk much over dinner. Seagulls and tide noise filled the space, familiar sounds that made the quiet more comfortable than awkward. When they finished, Callie took the plates and cutlery to the water to rinse them off while Matt packed up the burner and bowls. He half expected her to grab her things and head for home but she settled back down on the rug with her arms wrapped around her shins and her chin on her knees.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said, mesmerised by a sea that glittered as though sprinkled with gold and copper confetti.
‘Very.’
‘Sunset comes too fast in the tropics. One minute it’s bright sunshine and the next it’s all moon but here . . .’ Callie smiled and shook her head. ‘It’s like some great god has spread a billion diamonds across the sea.’
