by Cathryn Hein
‘We’ll help.’
She shook her head and, noticing Kate wringing her hands, straightened to rub the distraught woman’s upper arm. ‘It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘I didn’t think to look!’
‘Please don’t blame yourself. It was an accident. One of those things.’ She turned to Lyndall. ‘Are you all right?’ The teenager nodded, although her face was as pale as her mother’s. Callie focused again on Kate. ‘Will you be okay to drive home? You’ve both had a bit of a shock.’
‘I shouldn’t leave you.’
‘I’m fine, Kate, really. And Matt will be here any minute.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Callie squeezed her arm. ‘Go on. Look after Lyndall.’
Though reluctant, and continually casting Callie puzzled looks as if confused by her calm, the Sorianos finally departed, Kate hunched over the wheel like an old woman.
As soon as the car was out of sight, Callie set to work with the burial. She wasn’t going to wait for Matt and his sympathy. She didn’t want him to see the fear she could barely contain – or her resignation. He’d only start trying to reassure her again.
But she knew. Oh, how she knew.
The time for prevarication was over.
Twenty-one
Callie buried Patch out of sight in the tough dirt behind the machinery shed with nothing to mark his grave. Though she’d raised a hefty sweat digging, the bone chill remained. Her back teeth ached from the tight clench of her jaw, and her cheeks stung with windburn from the morning’s fishing expedition. Even her muscles, which should have been loose from exertion, felt stiff. She couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder – at the yard, paddocks and forest – as if she feared fate had turned human and stalked the landscape. Each time she saw nothing, but her ears didn’t miss the sad whistle of tree whispers and wind.
On her return to the house she discovered two texts: the first was from Anna, asking when she was next free to Skype; the second, her voicemail, which led to a message from her father, asking how she was, wanting her to call. Callie dumped the phone back on the table, messages unanswered. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, not even Matt, but any moment he’d land on her doorstep with his sexy smile and wandering hands and she had to be prepared. Lack of courage meant she’d stretched this too far, and made a difficult situation so confused every solution seemed wrong. No longer. Tomorrow she would decide once and for all and act, and as selfish as it was, she wanted one last night of happiness with him. One last night imagining what her life could be like if the world turned differently.
And deep down, where her heart beat strongest with longing, Callie wanted him to sway her. To wrap her in that coat and fill her so full of his warmth that it cancelled all the cold and doubt. She wanted to wake tomorrow loaded with the strength to say that the right path was the one where she walked with peace and love instead of guilt.
She halted by the china cabinet where the broken statuettes lay cushioned in tissue. Poor Beauty with his broken legs and chipped coat. The once proudly strutting toreador with his snapped off head. Picking up Beauty, Callie fiddled with fitting the pieces back, somehow hopeful that, like her and Matt, he could be saved. But the damage was too great and her heart was too sore. She didn’t want either statuette now anyway. Their message hurt too much.
She gathered the pieces with shaky hands, folded the tissue around the statuettes’ ruined bodies, and took them to the bin, kicking the lid up with her foot. For a heartbeat she hesitated, then she clenched her teeth and opened her palms. The clunk as they hit the bottom sent a shiver along her back. Jaw still tight, Callie closed the lid and headed for the shower.
Two minutes later, naked and frantic, Callie raced back into the kitchen and exhumed the bodies, releasing a long, relieved breath when unwrapping the tissue revealed no further damage.
Things might be looking bleak but she wasn’t ready to lose hope yet.
‘Where’s Patch?’ asked Matt, frowning at the door.
Callie stopped stirring the pasta sauce she had simmering and wiped her hands on a tea towel. Of course he’d noticed Patch’s absence, she was stupid to think he wouldn’t. The puppy was always scratching at the back door, whining to come in and play. Tonight there was only wind.
She leaned her back against the sink, fingers curled hard around the steel edge. ‘There was an accident. My fault. I forgot to call for him when Kate and Lyndall were leaving. He must have been chasing a butterfly or something and didn’t see the car. By the time I reached him, he was already gone.’
‘Oh, angel.’ He crossed the room to hold her. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded into his chest. ‘Bit upset.’
‘I can imagine.’ He cupped her face and studied her expression, and his honest worry made tears prick. ‘You know it doesn’t mean anything.’
‘I know.’
‘You sure?’
‘It was an accident, Matt.’ Callie struggled to hold his gaze but she had to. A lie was less hurtful than her real feelings and her future wasn’t set in stone yet. She could still decide to stay. ‘I’m more worried about Kate. Poor thing was beside herself and for it to happen after she’d given me the Phan collage was really unfair. She and Lyndall were so happy I liked it.’ She twisted her head to kiss his palm. ‘I need to put the water on for the pasta.’
‘Where is he? I’ll go bury him while you finish.’
‘I’ve already done it.’
‘Fucking hell, Callie, you should have waited.’
She lit the gas for the water and concentrated on stirring the sauce, her back to him.
‘What for? I’m not that squeamish.’
‘It’s not about being squeamish.’ He wrapped arms around her belly and pressed his lips to her neck. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed I want to look after you. Makes me feel manly.’
‘You’ve already proven your manliness.’ Relieved to be on safer ground she curled in his arms until she faced him. ‘Multiple times.’
She played with the bottom button of his polo shirt, her favourite green one that matched his eyes. During their first few meetings he hadn’t cared how he appeared – torn clothes, unshaven, grease, sweat and dirt crusted – now he always took care. Matt Hawkins was a man who didn’t need to tell her how he felt. He showed it in everything he did.
Tugging on the button, Callie presented him with one of her seductive looks. ‘You could prove it again if you liked.’
‘What about dinner?’
‘I can put the pasta on to cook or you can take me to bed. I guess it all depends on what you’re hungrier for.’
He answered as she’d hoped – by reaching behind her, turning off the gas and, clasping her hand firmly, marching her straight to the bedroom.
An hour later Callie led Matt back out, fingers loosely joined with his. He’d been gentle and loving, letting her escape, just for a while, the sadness and worry that had settled like a leaden raincloud on her life.
A dawdling summer sunset cast the kitchen in a glorious orange glow. Elvis glittered above the sink. Even the lino sparkled, and for a few beats, Callie had the fanciful notion Glenmore was calling her. That this moment, this spangled beauty, was its way of asking her to think again, to look hard at what she would be giving up. A glance at the china cabinet and Beauty’s broken body culled the idea from her mind.
Except, as she caught Matt’s loving gaze and the way the light framed his hair like a golden halo, a glimmer of optimism remained.
‘Why don’t we crack that champagne?’ she said and then frowned. ‘Or is that too weird after what happened today?’
Matt was already opening the fridge. ‘Not weird. Call it celebrating his life.’ He extracted the bottle and returned to her side, kissing her temple before opening an overhead cupboard and retrieving some wine glasses which he regarded dubiously. He shrugged and placed them on the bench. ‘They’ll do.’
Callie glanced out the window.
Toward the east, the forest blazed with rays from the setting sun. Long shadows from the house, water tank, shed and liquidambar stretched toward the paddocks as though reaching to snatch the last warmth from the day. Yearning gripped and tugged. How could she leave this place, with all its memories?
Except memory was the very thing demanding she leave.
She plucked the glasses from the bench. ‘Let’s drink it outside.’
‘You’ll be cold.’
‘I have you to keep me warm.’
Matt moved the chairs from the liquidambar’s shade to the western wall of the house so they could make the most of the dying sun, placing the arms so close they touched. A small thing but an act that made her yearning tug even harder. It was the little things Matt did that made him the man he was. The way he cared and acted selflessly, even in bed when she teased him to straining point.
‘I’m the barmaid,’ she said, attempting to take the bottle from him.
He swung it out of her reach. ‘All the more reason for me to do it. Everyone’s entitled to a break, even barmaids who wear hot nurses’ shoes.’
The cork released with a satisfying pop. Callie held the glasses as Matt poured, loving the way the sun turned the hairs on his arms coppery.
‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked, setting the bottle on the concrete path and sitting down.
Callie passed him a glass. ‘You.’
‘That’s all right then. For a moment I thought you were laughing at my technique.’ He pressed his glass against hers. ‘To Patch. He was a good dog.’
Callie swallowed, and forced herself to act unconcerned when the mention of Patch’s name brought the afternoon’s despair back. ‘Patch.’ Toast and champagne sip over, Callie sat back to stare across the lawn, trying not to think of Patch’s wriggly soft body and happy gaze. ‘I suppose I should call in on Wal tomorrow and tell him.’
‘I will if you like.’ Matt reached for her hand and squeezed. ‘Don’t stress. He’s been around a long time. He knows stuff like this happens.’
She remained quiet, content to watch the changing colours of the land and absorb its sounds and smells. The air was loud with bird clamour as they settled for the night and the whirs of insects on the hunt for a mate. Pasture and forest scents mingled, occasionally spiced with the smell of horse dung and Honk’s enclosure.
As if on cue, the goose sauntered around the corner of the house and across the lawn, releasing a churlish trumpet as he passed in unsubtle reminder that this was his territory. Callie followed his progress with a small smile. In one way, the goose was the cause of all this. Without Honk she would have been long gone but the goose and his cranky ambushes had started something. Love, thanks to a mad goose. Hope would have laughed herself stupid over that. Instead of sadness, the idea felt somehow warming.
She turned to Matt. ‘Let’s go inside. I want to eat and then I want to do things to you.’
‘Things?’
‘Yes. Lots of things.’
He rose and tucked the champagne bottle carefully under his arm so he could keep hold of her his glass as well as her hand. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’
Despite exhaustion, Callie couldn’t sleep. She laid awake listening to Matt’s breathing, his occasional mutters, the sound of his closeness. No matter which way he slept, he always seemed to be holding her. A palm on her hip or below her breast, his fingers tangled in hers. She loved it most when he curled over her, stubbled chin digging pleasantly into her collarbone, his arm across her chest and his heart beating strongly against her back.
With the curtains closed, only a sliver of light entered the room and she had to stare closely to make out the handsome profile of his face, marred by a scar that she’d grown so used to that she barely noticed it.
He woke early, stretching noisily before rolling over to kiss her.
‘Good morning, angel.’
‘Good morning, attractive, capable man.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Bad night’s sleep?’
‘Not as good as yours. You were like a snuffly baby.’
Smiling lazily, he curved a hand around her breast. ‘That’s because I had something warm and soft to cuddle up to.’
‘I had something hard.’
The lazy smile widened to a provocative grin. ‘And getting harder.’
Callie broke into giggles as he tickled and teased her into liquid excitement until passion took over. She closed her eyes as their bodies joined, holding him with a ferocity that bordered on desperation.
‘Fuck,’ he panted, as Callie arched beneath him, fingers digging deep into his flexed bum. She stayed that way until the last of her trembles subsided, lids hooded as she sank back into the mattress. Matt rested a moment before kissing his way to her mouth and pressed his forehead against hers, eyes gleaming. ‘And you wonder why I can’t get enough of you.’
She traced a finger over the muscles of his back. ‘I thought you cared more about love than sex.’
‘That wasn’t just sex.’ He kissed her nose and rolled aside to cradle her close. ‘What are you up to today?’
She snuggled against him. ‘I need to go into town. Sort a few things. Then work, I suppose.’
‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘You’re only away one night.’
‘Ahh, but that’s one night with you I’ll never make up.’
As they embraced and snuggled, a new day bloomed across the room, threading through the curtains and illuminating the weave of their bodies around the sheets and each other. Callie fixed on the creeping light, willing it to stop, but its path remained inexorable. Dawn touched his arm, his shoulder, his neck and face before sliding across to burnish her own skin. Callie closed her eyes against its bright hurt and rested her head on Matt’s chest. She had to accept it now. The night was over.
Decision day was here.
‘Matt?’
‘Yes, angel?’
But she couldn’t find the words. She wasn’t sure which ones were the truth.
When she remained silent, Matt tucked his finger under her chin and tilted her head so he could see her face. For a long moment he studied her, then a smile began to tug. His gaze softened as though he could hear the silent words in her head, the ‘I love you’ she wanted to say but couldn’t. Slowly, he bent to kiss her.
Something powerful and elemental swamped Callie. An inner strength that had been there all along, hidden below her need for penance and the irrational idea that her life wasn’t her own to enjoy. An inner strength now fortified by that most special of human emotions.
And for the first time since her arrival at Glenmore, Callie knew that the choice she made today would be the right one.
Twenty-two
Dargate was bustling with pay-day shoppers by the time Callie arrived in town. Thursday was sale day at the livestock exchange, and utes and four-wheel drives hogged the parking spaces along Patterson Street. Farmers sauntered the footpaths, peering in shop windows with their fingers tucked into their pockets, creating knots in the pedestrian flow as they caught up with friends and acquaintances. Callie smiled at them as she strode up Patterson Street toward her bank. Every one of them reminded her of Matt, their wives a future she could reach for.
‘Callie!’
Callie looked up to find Deb Graney pushing a stroller rapidly toward her, one hand on the handle, the other linked to her skipping, mop-haired girls. She smiled as Deb halted in front of her, pinked-cheeked and puffing, palms on the heads of the twins as they settled in by her sides.
‘Hey, Deb. How’s things?’ Callie crouched down to the twins. ‘How’s that puppy of yours?’
‘In big trouble,’ said Deb as Callie straightened. ‘He keeps digging holes in the lawn. Anthony’s going mad.’
‘He’ll grow out of it.’
‘Who? Anthony or the pup?’ They shared a grin until suddenly Deb’s good humour faltered. She glanced around with a pensive expression, a hand returning to the stroller’s rubbe
r handle and twisting it. ‘Listen, do you have a minute? I really need to talk to you.’
‘Bit tricky right now. I have to get to the bank and then work.’
Deb touched her arm lightly. ‘It’s about Matt Hawkins.’
The way Deb said his name, the way she regarded her, had Callie’s stomach knotting, and she experienced an infantile urge to slap her hands over her ears. Instead she settled her expression into polite enquiry.
‘What about Matt?’
Deb glanced around and frowned. Patterson Street’s footpath wasn’t wide and they’d halted in front of a souvenir shop with display racks of postcards out the front. Pedestrian traffic snarled around them. ‘Look, I really don’t want to do this here. Come around the corner.’
Callie didn’t want to do this either, whatever this was. Her good mood was already evaporating. She pointed past the newsagent’s. ‘I really need to get to the bank.’
‘Please. This is important.’
An unpleasant sense of prescience told Callie to refuse and walk away, but Deb remained insistent. She trailed Deb and the girls as they pushed through to the back street carpark, halting in the sparse shade of a red flowering bottlebrush on a concrete bay at the perimeter. Heat from the surrounding asphalt and cars wove around their bodies.
‘What is it, Deb? I really don’t have long.’ Callie pulled her phone from her pocket and deliberately checked the time.
Deb’s fists tightened around the handles of the pusher as though priming herself. ‘I know this is none of my business and Anthony said not to say anything, but what he’s doing isn’t fair.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Matt.’
Alarm rattled Callie’s insides. ‘What about Matt?’
‘He made a deal with Wal. For Amberton. Anthony and I only learned of it yesterday. I know a lot of the staff and patients at the hospital.’ She spoke in staccato bursts. ‘I bumped into Sally McPherson. We got talking about Wal and she told me what she heard. I didn’t believe her but she said Arthur Metcalf heard it too. I rang Anthony and he said to check. So I did. Arthur confirmed it and he has no reason to lie. He’s too close to death for games.’
