Rocking Horse Hill

by Cathryn Hein

  He turned back to his drink, stared at the fire and brooded, his thoughts as dark as Em’s leftover stout.

  Five

  Thursday dawned wet again. The wind had dropped, allowing the clouds to hang, bloated and grey, casting shadows on the damp soil. After an unsettled night, Em rose early to let the chooks and Chelsea out. The stubbornly broody hen she’d nicknamed Miss Buddha for her ability to sit in the same spot for hours warming non-existent eggs, squabbled and pecked as Em lifted her off her nest and carried her out of the coop. Muffy hung on her heels, her tail-wagging joy at a new day, lighting her gorgeous black eyes.

  Em trudged out to check on Lod, Kicki and Cutie, hands deep in her pockets, breath pluming in the cold. The donkeys’ escape remained an enigma, the only explanation that Em had somehow left the gate unlatched, despite her certainty she hadn’t.

  The day suited her mood, and not even the bunts and bustle of Kicki and Cutie cheered her. She stayed near their fence, absently fondling their tall ears and soft muzzles, while her mind tracked elsewhere.

  It was twelve kilometres from Levenham to Rocking Horse Hill and last night Em had cursed her stupidity for every one of them. From the moment she recognised Josh in the shop she’d been flustered. The chance she’d longed for, had sometimes dreamed about, was hers to take. And she’d done so, giving the apology that had been aching inside her for years, trying to assuage the shame she’d carried since her teens, and admitted to no one except Jasmine and Teagan.

  What had she hoped for? That he’d thank her for the revelation? How dumb could she get? Of course he wouldn’t. If anything, he’d earned the right to his anger. She’d made her peace and now it was time to move on.

  Except all she’d wanted to do was stare at Josh. At those treacle-­coloured eyes. At the straight fringe that still flopped across his forehead and parted slightly on the right thanks to a mild cowlick that as a teenager she had thought so cute, but which now seemed edged with allure. At the closely cropped beard that chased around his jaw and across his top lip in a seductive stubble. At the utter jaw-clenching sexiness of him that seemed more powerful now in maturity than it had ever been in early adulthood.

  Every gram of self control had gone into remaining aloof and unaffected, until her head began to throb with the effort. In the end it had seemed safer to leave him stranded with two barely touched pints of Guinness and contemplation in his turned-down gaze.

  It was hard for her to imagine now but there was a time when she’d thought Josh wasn’t good enough for her. That her Wallace genes made her different and special and above his love. Above his love. What a ridiculous idea. It was his love that had made her special, not her name, or privilege, but that most precious of human emotions.

  A hot wash of shame coursed through her as she remembered the day she’d made up her mind to dump him. He’d been invited to Camrick for one of Uncle James’s parties. The Jacobses were coming, along with other important families and players in the district. Stephen hadn’t been backward with his interest and Em had been flattered. He was an attractive boy, Em’s age, but with a farm lad’s muscled development and his mother’s sharp features. He was also a local footy star. Not in the border league, where Josh played, but in the main district competition, and there’d been gossip about scouts and recruitment to an Adelaide side.

  Josh had arrived at Camrick in his chain-store clothes: neat, handsome and nervous. With Em at Rocking Horse Hill, with his friends, anywhere else, he had confidence. But at Camrick, surrounded by people who had likely never set foot on his side of town, with its public housing, disadvantage and poor reputation, he’d floundered. And Em, her insides buzzing with the looks Stephen Jacobs kept shooting her, had done nothing to help. All she’d done was compare and found Josh wanting.

  Then she’d betrayed him in the worst possible way.

  How immature she’d been. How selfish. And how cruel to the man whose only fault was to adore her.

  Muffy bunted her leg, drawing Em back to reality. Her hands were stiff and stinging from the frigid gate top. She blew hot breath on her palms and rubbed them together, eyeing the congested sky before dropping her gaze to Rocking Horse Hill, the one perfect constant in her life. The place to which she’d always been faithful, which she loved unwaveringly. And it didn’t notice or care. It just was.

  Trust Mother Nature to smack her with irony.

  Of course drinks with Josh turned into a farce. How could they have expected anything different?

  She smiled down at Muffy. ‘Probably just as well, hey, Muff-muff?’

  Some things couldn’t be set straight, even with heartfelt apologies. She’d cheated on Josh, humiliated him. It was a wonder he’d even given her the time of day, let alone asked her out for a drink.

  Muffy waved her tail, her mouth open in what Em liked to kid herself was a canine grin, but was probably nothing of the sort. Her heart swelled a little.

  Dog love. Uncomplicated and pure and more than enough for now.

  But that didn’t stop her thinking about Josh.

  *

  Despite reprimanding herself for it, Em spent the remainder of the week hoping every tinkle of the shop’s bell would signal Josh’s arrival. The new window display was proving worth the effort, attracting shoppers and compliments but, annoyingly, no Josh. By Friday afternoon she’d given up, convinced it was for the best anyway.

  Distraction caused her penmanship to suffer further. G. K. Chesterton’s rousing prose offered no respite and her calligraphy remained imperfect. She tried working on an illumination to begin the Harp of Alfred, but even that part of Chesterton’s epic, with its chest-swelling declarations of defiance and bravery, failed to inspire her. When the shop was quiet, she procrastinated on the Internet, or listlessly made pencil sketches in the hope she could force her creativity into action.

  Respite came in the form of her grandmother, heavily powdered and lacquered, and looking like a fifties haute couture model in a sable swing coat and cream wool knee-length pencil skirt.

  ‘You need to be careful someone doesn’t throw paint on you,’ said Em, indicating the coat.

  ‘It’s vintage Chloé,’ said Granny B, as if that made a difference.

  ‘Still a dead animal.’

  ‘Quite, as was last evening’s steak.’

  Em hid a smile. Her grandmother was one of a kind. ‘How are preparations going?’

  To celebrate Digby’s engagement and welcome Felicity, Adrienne had decided to host a small drinks party at Camrick that evening. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, concocted over dinner on Tuesday night. Digby had attempted to talk her out of it, saying both he and Felicity wanted to keep things quiet, but Adrienne loved to entertain and the party was going ahead.

  ‘Very well. Although your mother is doing too much, as usual.’

  ‘Felicity’s helping?’

  ‘She is.’

  Em stared at her sketchpad. The harps, swords and armour she’d drawn turned to scribbles as a surge of jealousy hit.

  ‘Making herself quite invaluable, in fact.’

  Em brushed aside her thoughts and studied her grandmother. ‘Do I detect a hint of disapproval?’

  Granny B gave an enigmatic smile. ‘Just an observation. Now, are you going to offer me a cup of tea? Then you can tell me all about your little tête-à-tête at the Arms with a certain rather hunky ex-boyfriend.’

  ‘How the hell —’

  ‘I have my ways.’ Abruptly her focus shifted to the door, her mouth curving. ‘Ah, speaking of hunks.’

  Em followed Granny B’s gaze, her heart somersaulting as she recognised Josh’s outline against the glass. He pushed inside, the bell at last ringing for the customer she’d longed for.

  ‘Granny B,’ he said, grinning and striding over in work boots and a pair of blue drill pants, the collar of his matching shirt neatly folded over a woollen jumper the same syrup-brown as his eyes.

  Granny B stretched out her hand and allowed Josh to shake it.
‘Joshua. You’re looking well, although rather in need of a shave. Nice to have you back in town. Must be a great comfort to your poor mother. How is she, by the way?’

  ‘She’s doing okay. Has her good days and bad.’ He threw a sideways look at Em before returning to Granny B. ‘You’re looking pretty fit.’

  ‘Indeed I am.’ Granny B slid her gaze between Josh and Em, a sly smile curling her mouth. ‘Emily was just about to make me a cup of tea. Perhaps you’d like to join us?’

  ‘Sure. Sounds good.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Em, escaping through the storeroom’s beaded curtain. Safe around the corner, she leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed, while her head cursed Granny B’s presence and her heart thumped a nervous tattoo at Josh’s.

  She eavesdropped as she waited for the kettle. Talk of Josh’s family, his sisters and dad, before Granny B moved on to his plans for the future, causing Em’s body to still and her ears to sharpen.

  ‘It all depends,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to convince Dad to go into partnership with me. Build custom furniture. I’ve developed a strong client base over the last five years – just working as a hobby mainly, doing favours, that sort of thing. But the last couple of years brought some lucrative commissions. It’s time to take it to the next level. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Mum getting sick brought it all to a head.’

  ‘And your father? Is he keen? I’d imagine he rather would be. Many fathers dream of working with their sons.’

  ‘He’s cautious. Thinking about it. He’s been with Flanagan’s for over thirty years now. It’s hard to change.’

  ‘I wish you all the best. Now, what are your plans for this evening?’

  ‘Nothing much. Hanging around the footy club probably, talking tactics with the boys. We’re playing Mount Pitt tomorrow. Grudge match of the season. God knows how I got conned into it. I haven’t played for three years.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage. But perhaps you could forgo the club for a drinks party at Camrick to celebrate Digby’s engagement?’

  Em tried not to groan. Surely her grandmother remembered the last time Josh was at Camrick? After all, she was the one who’d pinched Em’s arm that night and ordered her to behave decently instead of acting like a trollop. A directive Em had ignored.

  There was a long pause before Josh answered. ‘Sure. What time?’

  ‘Six, for six-thirty. Casual attire. Jeans will be fine.’ Granny B’s voice rose. ‘For goodness’ sake, Emily, are you picking those tea leaves?’

  Em carried the tea out, addressing Granny B as she pushed through the curtain. ‘I thought you had your hospital auxiliary meeting this afternoon.’

  ‘Not until later. Besides, it’s much more entertaining here.’

  Em narrowed her eyes as Josh raised his hand to smother a smile. How nice. She was the butt of both their teasing now.

  She handed a mug to each of them.

  Josh blew on his tea and took a sip, eyeing her over the rim. ‘You remembered.’

  ‘Yes.’ Aware of Granny B’s oppressive scrutiny, she held his gaze but didn’t comment further. She had remembered. She hadn’t even had to think. The addition of milk and one sugar to his mug was as familiar as the straight black of Granny B’s preference. She remembered a lot about him. His habit of running his shortened fingers through his hair, making his cowlick flare worse. The way he cocked his eyebrows when amused. Even his favourite football team.

  ‘So what brings you into the shop, Joshua?’

  ‘Mum’s filled the notebooks Em gave her. I’ve come to get some more.’

  ‘I should serve Josh,’ Em said pointedly, tossing Granny B a ‘Do you mind?’ look that was promptly ignored.

  ‘Indeed you should. Bad business not to.’ Granny B pointed her chin towards the shelves. ‘Rather nice, this collection. All those colours, and that display of yours is garnering quite a lot of comment. Even Barry McClintoff mentioned it to me.’

  Josh raised his eyebrows at Em. ‘Praise from the mayor. It must be good.’

  ‘It’s nice to add colour to the street,’ she replied, keeping her voice mild. Stepping from behind the counter, she gestured to the shelves. ‘Perhaps you’d like to choose the next books?’

  He placed his mug down and followed her across the shop, stopping at the racks of jewel-covered notebooks, so near he broke the boundaries of her personal space.

  He leaned closer. ‘Your grandmother hasn’t changed.’

  ‘No, unfortunately. Now,’ she said, plucking two notebooks from the shelves and holding them up. ‘How about diamond and amethyst, and garnet and onyx?’

  ‘Fine. And this time I’m paying.’

  ‘If you want.’

  She crossed the notebooks over each other and held them in front of her, before glancing again at Granny B. The old lady had moved behind the counter and made herself comfortable on Em’s stool, sketchbook held up as she pretended to inspect drawings. Em wasn’t fooled for a moment. Granny B had no interest in the sketches. Those ears were tuned in like a bat’s.

  ‘Look, about tonight,’ Em said, deliberately turning away from the counter. ‘You don’t have to come.’

  ‘I want to.’

  Warmth began to channel through Em’s insides. She glanced again at Granny B, who, frustrated by their quiet voices, had swivelled the seat around and was now making no effort to hide her interest.

  ‘It’ll give me a chance to catch up with Dig. Meet this fiancée of his.’

  Her mood plummeted. ‘Oh. Of course.’

  Josh studied her face, his molasses gaze sweeping from eyes to mouth and back again. ‘You thought I had another reason?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  A lazy grin spread across his face, shooting Em’s heart rate back into orbit.

  Flustered, but determined not to show it, she waved the notebooks. ‘Right. I’d better wrap these for you.’

  He took them from her, his fingers gently brushing hers. ‘No need. Just let me pay and I’ll leave you to it.’

  On their return to the counter, Granny B’s shrewd gaze flicked from Em’s hot face to Josh’s amused countenance, taking in everything.

  Em accepted Josh’s money, careful not to touch his fingers. Her skin was still tingling where he’d touched her, her insides buzzing at the thought of this evening. The intent behind that slow, all-too-aware grin.

  ‘You’re leaving, Joshua? I’ll follow you out.’ Granny B turned to Em. ‘Thank you for the tea.’ She indicated the sketchbook. ‘Not up to your usual standard. Must have something more interesting on your mind.’ Leaving Em fuming, she linked her arm with Josh’s and began to lead him away.

  Josh cast a helpless look over his shoulder, before giving in to the inevitable.

  ‘Now, Joshua, dear,’ said Granny B as she strode to the door. ‘Take some advice from a clever old lady and do something about that dreadful stubble. Our Emily – as I’m sure you know from experience – ­has rather delicate skin. . .’

  The door closed, silencing Granny B.

  Em watched them stroll away, then shrank onto her stool, buried her blazing face into her hands and prayed for rescue from her demanding, too-smart grandmother.

  Six

  Josh arrived at Camrick fifteen minutes late. His five-minute drop by the footy club had blown out, thanks to Gerrinton’s captain and coach. Their nerves over the following day’s grudge match saw them poring over match-ups and regaling anyone who’d listen with war stories about previous games.

  Josh left them still fretting over players and positions. He’d have loved to stay, kicked back with a couple of light beers and talked footy all night. The clubrooms were small but cosy, the walls decked with gold-embossed honour boards and cabinets full of trophies. The musty mud smell only country football clubs seemed to possess was comforting and familiar. But he’d told Granny B he’d be at Digby’s drinks party, and Josh wasn’t the sort to not keep his word.

  Or show
cowardice.

  He parked in front of the stables, next to an old tray-top farm ute, and regarded Camrick for a moment. He should hate the place but for some reason he didn’t. It was just a big old house now and, thanks to his job, he’d been in bigger and better ones, from old-money estates to modern architect-designed piles. Mansions owned by people who’d done a hell of a lot more to earn their wealth than be born. And this time round he didn’t have to impress anyone within its walls. His heart was safe.

  Outside the comfort of the car, the wind sliced through his sports jacket. Josh tilted against the weather and made his way to the front porch. The heavy door swung open before he could raise his hand to the polished brass rapper.

  Em stood with one hand on the door edge, the other hanging by her side, looking casually beautiful and leggy in long high-heeled brown boots over dark skinny jeans, and a soft angora jumper that all but invited him to stroke it. ‘You made it.’

  Her tone was too neutral to determine if she was happy about it or not.

  ‘Thought I was going to chicken out?’

  She touched her temple, held her fingers there for a second before scraping a lock of escaped hair behind her ear. The rest was knotted in an elegant bundle at the base of her neck, exposing her fine features. Unlike in the shop, she wore make-up. Her eyes were lined with smoky eye shadow and dark mascara that made her eyes look huge and gold-flecked under the soft light. ‘I can’t imagine you chickening out of anything.’

  ‘It can happen. But not tonight.’ He stepped inside and paused close to her, gaze sliding to her mouth and quickly back up again. ‘Sorry I’m late. I made the mistake of dropping by the club and got held up.’

  She gave nothing of what she was thinking away as she indicated for him to follow her. Josh scratched at his stubble as he watched her walk, her back held straight, wondering why he found her haughtiness so damn sexy. But he always had. It was like a drug. Except now it held even more allure because he had first-hand experience of the passion buried behind that controlled facade.