by Cathryn Hein
Callie sank back into the bed and stared into the darkness. ‘Right.’
‘I’m sorry. After we spoke I thought, you know, that you and that bloke you met—’
‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Oh.’ Anna sounded on the edge of tears. ‘I’m so sorry, but you seemed so happy.’
‘Yeah, I was.’
‘Don’t worry. You will be again.’
They talked for a little longer, making arrangements that only made Callie feel worse. Finally, she rang off and rolled onto her side. As sleep at last lapped, Callie whispered a final prayer, wishing for the future Anna was so certain could be hers. Fearing that, without Matt and Glenmore, it might never come.
Twenty-five
Callie woke at five in a tangle of sheets and a greasy layer of sweat. She rubbed her face and lay back for a few seconds, recalling the events of the previous day. The leaden ache that had weighted her heart yesterday returned at the thought of Glenmore. A memory and love-filled home now relegated to nothing more than another profitable parcel of land in some developer’s business plan.
And then there was Matt.
She cupped her hand over her eyes as if it would shield her from more pain but there was no keeping him at bay. Callie didn’t know which hurt most: his deal with Wal or his relationship with Hope.
Why hadn’t he mentioned it? He’d known Hope, loved her, and yet he’d said nothing. They could have talked about her, remembered all that she was, learned new things, good things, and savoured old ones. How comforting it would have been to hear from him that Hope had known love too before she died. The heart-filling, wondrous type Callie thought she’d found herself before it all went wrong.
Maybe Matt had answers to some of Callie’s questions about Hope. Perhaps he knew why her sister changed the way she did. Perhaps he was even the cause.
Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the whole rotten mess.
Callie released a bark of irony-heavy laughter and tossed off the sheets. The day was creeping awake. She needed to get to Glenmore, pack the last of her things, lead Morton to Kelso and leave. Get in, clean up and get out, just as she planned from the start.
Showered and packed, she padded downstairs to a kitchen already aromatic with brewing coffee.
‘We heard you moving around,’ her dad said as he kissed her good morning.
Callie crossed to her mother at the bench and kissed her too, the gesture strange but also liberating. As if, out of all the mistakes, she’d also achieved something good.
Over breakfast, Callie filled her parents in on her plans. She would leave for Glenmore after breakfast, finish the last of her chores and head north to Airlie. The flat needed to be sorted, the furniture she’d left behind either sold or put into storage until she made other arrangements. Of her plans after that she made no mention. Not out of residual wariness, but because she simply didn’t know what they were. It wasn’t important. Where to settle she could decide on the way, let the vast Australian landscape call her to a new home.
The one thing she knew for certain was that wherever she landed this time, it’d be for good. Callie’s days of running were over.
She left at seven, promising to be in touch. The embraces she shared with her mum and dad felt more real than she’d ever remembered; love made more poignant by the lingering memory of another farewell eight years earlier, and regret for the wasted years that followed.
Pausing only to top up with fuel at Geelong, Callie drove to Glenmore’s gate, her eyes filling as she spied the house and its half-scraped walls. The idea of renting it out had always been an excuse. She understood now that had she not learned of Matt’s betrayal she would have stayed, keeping the house and home paddock, satisfying at least part of Nanna’s wishes. The rest she would have sold. As much as she loved the land, Callie wasn’t a farmer, and regardless of how her parents felt, Callie needed to give a piece of her heart for Hope. If not for penance then for at least her own peace. The foundation provided a wonderful drug-education service, the money would ensure its future.
Callie reversed so the ute’s tail faced the back path. Glenmore’s buyers had accepted her condition to take it fully furnished, and though she’d managed to clear the house of most things bar the essentials, there was still a ute-load awaiting collection and disposal.
Leaving her belongings in the passenger well, she got out, taking a moment to gaze across the hayed-off countryside. A rising northerly tugged at the summer blonde grass of Glenmore’s ungrazed paddocks. Over the next few months, provided nature was kind, the land would see summer yield to an autumn break and a carpet of green. In a perfect world, the rains would restart the farming cycle. Autumn drop calves would gaze cutely from under their mother’s legs. Lambs would cavort and the land would be vibrant with industry as local farmers prepared new pastures and hay crops.
Except the world wasn’t perfect. A few months would probably see the paddocks dotted with surveyors’ flags. Perhaps a sign would face Thiedeke Road, advertising the coming development, urging buyers to secure their smallholdings in the face of brisk demand. Within a year the first houses would begin to grow. Hobby animals, driveways and thick, decorative fences would appear. In two years the area would be unrecognisable.
Thank god she wouldn’t be around to witness the change.
Two steps past the water tank, taking full advantage of her distraction, Honk unleashed his ambush. Huge, furious and hissing, he attacked in a flurry of wing beats and beak darts. Callie squawked, only to have Honk respond louder and longer with an outraged squawk of his own. Yelping as a wing bashed her thigh, she scooted to the other side of the tank before ducking sideways to take refuge behind the liquidambar’s trunk.
‘Who let you out?’
But Honk was already strutting off, beak lifted triumphantly heavenward, tootling his victory to the sky. Callie waited until he was well past the clothesline before coming out of hiding. She frowned toward his run, positive she’d left Honk’s enclosure securely latched. No wonder the goose was cranky. He’d probably had no sleep for fear of foxes.
Unless Matt was back and had been over.
Matt. She didn’t want to think about him, or all the text and phone messages she’d deleted. Or the soreness in her heart that refused to ease.
Throwing a last wary look Honk’s way, she set her jaw and marched toward the house, only to be halted this time by a ute appearing in the lane stretching from the eastern boundary of the property.
Her stomach lurched as she recognised Wal’s old LandCruiser. Wal she could handle, but Matt would be too much. No point hiding. Whoever it was would have already spied her ute.
She waited at the edge of the yard, relieved when the car came close enough for her to recognise Wal’s gnarled face peering through the windscreen. Instead of stopping, he continued to the front gate and, in an impressive parallel park, jammed the LandCruiser sideways between the entrance’s two strainer posts.
After climbing carefully out of the cabin, Wal dumped a broad-brimmed hat on his speckled head, walked stiffly to the ute’s tray, tugged a director’s chair from the back, and snapped it open. Next came a plastic storage box from which poked what looked like the lid of an old thermos, which he placed alongside the chair. Finally, he lifted down a wriggling Dash and placed him on the ground with a head pat, Dolly leaping after them. With a last inspection of his amenities, followed by a satisfied nod, he settled his backside into the chair.
Callie pursed her lips. So the stubborn old fool wanted to block her leaving. Fine. Other exits off Glenmore existed and with only one Wal, he couldn’t cover them all. Let him sit there and stew in his obstinate juices. Her plans were set. She would be leaving whether Wal liked it or not.
*
Callie carried the last box to the back of her ute and jammed it into place. The tray sat low over the wheels from the weight of its cargo. The journey back to Airlie would be slow, but time wasn’t an issue. A fortnight remained on the Airlie flat�
�s lease. She could wander around if she wanted, indulge in some blue sky thinking time.
Throwing Wal a speculative look, she ducked back into the laundry for Morton’s halter and lead, experiencing a pang of guilt for what she was about to do. No matter what her grandmother hoped, Morton was never Callie’s horse, he was Lyndall’s. He belonged at Kelso with the girl who adored him.
A polite person would have called to relay her plans but Callie couldn’t risk Kate saying no. Besides, phoning would entail turning on her phone and Callie had no intention of doing that until she was long gone.
Aware of Wal’s scrutiny, she spent some time rubbing Morton’s face and ears, ordering the horse to be good to Lyndall, before leading him out of his paddock toward the gate. Wal remained in his chair, a mug in his hand, Dolly and Dash standing guard nearby.
Callie halted a metre away and held his gaze. ‘Can you please move your ute? I need to walk Morton to Kelso.’
‘No.’
She drew in a long breath, ordering herself to remain calm. ‘Please, Wal. I’ve a long journey ahead. I can’t afford to wait around for you to get sick of this game and leave.’
‘Not my fault,’ he said. ‘Lad ordered me to keep you here until he gets back.’
‘What for? So he can have one last crack at fulfilling your stupid bargain? No thanks.’ She swallowed down her rising upset. Mentioning Matt hurt. ‘All I want is to get the hell out of here.’
Wal took a sip of tea, his hand stroking the pup’s head, carrying on as if what she said or did were of no consequence. He set the mug between his knees and glanced at the sky with narrowed eyes, his nose screwed up. ‘You may as well head back inside. He’ll be a few hours yet.’
‘Go to hell, Wal,’ she said, tugging on Morton’s lead and marching off toward the lane, only to arrive at the loading yards ten minutes later and discover every exit padlocked. A trek to the rarely used far eastern gate found it similarly barred.
With her jaw flexed so hard her back teeth throbbed, Callie tromped Morton back to his paddock, setting him loose with his halter still buckled. Pulling the gate closed, she knotted the lead over the top bar and stalked over to the machinery shed. Somewhere in the junk a bolt cutter existed. And if she couldn’t find a bolt cutter, there were bound to be wire cutters. One way or another, she was getting out.
Concerted digging unearthed wire cutters. Her temper growing fouler by the second, dust and sweat-smothered, Callie stomped back to Glenmore’s gateway.
‘You,’ she said, waggling the cutters at Wal, ‘are a horrible old man.’
Wal merely tilted his head. ‘Make sure you do it properly. Don’t want wire springing back onto the dogs. Bloody dangerous.’
‘The d—’ She shook her head. What was the point? Departing with an irritated growl, she stormed off along the fenceline.
The trouble was Callie had no idea how to go about the task of breaching a barbed wire fence safely. Common sense told her danger existed in snapping wires willy-nilly and she wanted to escape, not kill herself. Or anything else.
Halfway between the gate and the boundary paddock, almost opposite the house, she halted and tugged on the wires of a bay that appeared less taut than the others. The road fence was the oldest on the property, existing in this section only to keep a border in place and stock from wandering in rather than out. Callie could only remember Honk and Phan grazing around the house, occasionally a small mob of sheep and, once, in the far distant past, a scarily horned goat. Never cattle.
Callie released the wire and let a smug smile slide across her mouth. Time and a lack of need for straining had seen the fence tension slacken. With a few hefty pulls, some well-hammered cleats and a bit of snipping, she would have her escape route.
After a quick trip to the shed and another dusty rummage for a hammer, cleats and a thick pair of leather gloves, Callie was back. Mindful of Wal’s warning she took care to secure each wire well, tugging it as hard as she could, then fixing it into the post with three deeply hammered cleats. She continued through the strands, nailing them secure before moving to the bay’s opposite post and repeating the process. Satisfied, she returned to the first post and, leaving enough of an end to twist back on itself, snipped the top wire. Her relieved exhalation when the wire curled safely away sounded harsh in the dozy afternoon.
More snips and wire twists followed until, at last, the fence was down.
As she pulled the wires aside out of danger, Wal hobbled up, Dolly following at his heels, her offspring frollicking behind. Chin jutting, he inspected her work before pausing in the centre of the open bay and pointing. Immediately Dolly parked on her haunches at the spot. He patted her head and with a hand gesture, signalled her to drop. Dog in place, Wal whistled to Dash and made his laborious way back to his seat with his hands in his pockets.
Callie eyed the collie before regarding Wal. Her mouth tightened in as the old man raised his mug in a self-satisfied toast.
She looked back at Dolly and tapped the cutters nervously against her leg. Surely the dog wouldn’t hurt her or Morton? Dolly was a sweet thing and Wal would never hurt a horse. Then again, she’d never thought he’d make stupid deals with Matt. Or turn Glenmore into a prison.
Still, there was only one way to test his mettle. Throwing Wal a ‘stuff you’ look, she stomped off to fetch Morton.
Callie was still over ten metres away when Dolly began to growl a warning. Morton baulked and jerked his head, feet paddling backward, the lead rubbing Callie’s hand as the rope slipped through her grip.
‘Hey, shh,’ she said, trying to soothe the horse. ‘It’s just Dolly. She won’t hurt you. She’s a good dog.’
But as Callie coaxed Morton forward, it became clear that Dolly wasn’t about to disobey her master. The growls became more menacing. The dog’s hackles spiked. Callie shifted her grip higher up the lead as Morton danced in agitation.
‘Stop it, Dolly. Sit.’
Dolly ignored her, instead casting a glance Wal’s way. Teeth bared, she lunged forward, barking nastily. Pain streaked Callie’s palm as friction from the slithering lead caused her skin to burn. Biting against the agony, she tried to keep her grip but Morton was in a panic. With a last wrench he was free, tearing back across the yard toward the open gate of the home paddock, almost bowling over Honk and sending the goose into a frenzy of trumpets.
Dolly immediately quietened and sank back to her belly, regarding Callie with her head tilted.
Silence settled back over Glenmore. Callie stared at the sky, swallowing hard to hold back frustrated tears. Her palm felt scorched, matching the prickly fire in her throat and eyes. She breathed hard through her mouth, fighting against a threatening sob and her conscience whispering to just give up, mining inner reserves of strength that had seen her survive the eight years since Hope’s death. And would help her survive beyond.
Trembling but under control, she walked toward Wal. He’d set down his mug and was using a thick plait of rope to play fetch with Dash.
‘Why?’
‘You need to talk to the lad.’
‘I have nothing to say to him.’
The pup dropped the rope into Wal’s hand. A praise and a pat and Wal threw it again.
‘He has plenty to say to you.’
‘He can talk all he likes. I’m not staying.’ She paused, then hit him with the dealbreaker: ‘I’ve sold the farm.’
Wal waited for Dash to return and scoot off on another chase before speaking again. ‘So I heard.’
Callie crossed her arms and placed the curl of her hand against her mouth. Why wasn’t he berating her? Where was the lecture about Nanna?
‘You don’t seem very upset about the news.’
‘Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.’ His eyes turned watery. ‘Poor bloody Maggie. She deserved better.’
She did. So did Poppy, but there was nothing Callie could do to change things now.
‘Please, Wal. Let me take Morton to Kelso and then let me go. I don’t want
to be here any more.’
No matter how she pleaded, Wal remained steadfast. Unless she was willing to call the police or crash the tractor though his blockade, Callie wasn’t going anywhere.
Twenty-six
Matt rubbed his hand down the leg of his jeans and placed it back on the wheel as the little car shifted on the gravel. For the umpteenth time he wished he had his ute but the Amarok remained at Dargate airport where he’d left it yesterday, and he wasn’t about to waste precious minutes driving to the other side of town to collect it.
He’d squandered too much time as it was. Perth, Adelaide and now – thanks to a delay that caused him to miss his connecting flight to Dargate and spend five hours on the road in the hatchback he’d rented at Adelaide Airport – he was nearly home.
Home. Glenmore might technically be his now but without Callie it was simply a property, a ‘commercial interest’ as his mother had so charmingly described it.
He wiped his other hand free of sweat. Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. Not even before his first patrol had his heart hammered this badly, but that was an adventure. This was his life.
Amberton’s burgundy gates came and went. Paddocks gave way to forest. His foot turned leaden, accelerating the little car as anxiety shot his thoughts into chaos. Please let her be there. Please let Wal have kept her safe. Please let her listen, just enough for her to know the deal never existed, that his love wasn’t conditional on anything, not even his biggest dream.
Forest cut back to farmland. Matt edged forward as Glenmore appeared, lonely against the backdrop of empty paddocks. He searched for Callie, for her golden hair and athletic body and blue-eyed smile, glimpsing instead only the bulky white of Wal’s ute blocking the gate.
He braked and changed down a gear, frowning as he passed Dolly sitting in an opening in the fenceline. As the view opened up, Matt’s focus shifted to the yard. A glimmer of bronze had him releasing a long, relieved breath. Callie’s ute was backed up to the house. She was still here. He had a chance.
