Rocking Horse Hill

by Cathryn Hein

  Shooting Em a mutinous look, Granny B harrumphed and stalked from the room, leaving mother and daughter to share a smile.

  ‘Mother’s not taking it well.’

  ‘You know Gran, she’s not one for change.’

  ‘No,’ said Adrienne. ‘But change is part of life.’ She passed her sample on to Felicity. ‘What do you think?’

  Felicity threw up her hands. ‘You’re asking the wrong person. I can barely coordinate my clothes.’

  ‘Sure,’ teased Em. ‘That’s why you’re looking as stunning as Mum tonight.’

  Both women wore their hair piled up in messy but flattering buns, loose wisps curling becomingly around their foreheads and cheeks, the style exposing the creamy skin of their necks. They both wore cotton shirts with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the fine bones of their forearms; Adrienne’s shirt a rich autumn orange-brown that brightened her face, Felicity’s a cobalt blue that matched her pale colouring and highlighted her eyes. A stylised horse logo was embroidered on one of the chest pockets, an expensive brand that Em recognised as one of her mother’s favourites.

  ‘That colour suits you,’ she said. ‘Matches your eyes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Felicity brushed her palm down the sleeve of her shirt. ‘I’ve never had clothes of this quality before. They feel so different.’

  ‘Best get used to it,’ said Adrienne. ‘You’re a Wallace now. A lot of things will be different.’

  Em regarded her carpet sample. Perhaps when they had a moment alone she should chat to her mother about getting ahead of herself. It was wonderful Digby was engaged but he’d been in that situation before, with Cait. And what a mess that had turned into, leaving Digby emotionally burned and Em worried that he’d end up rattling around Camrick alone, a man who possessed everything he could want except love.

  ‘You look tired,’ said Adrienne.

  Self-consciously, Em touched the puffy flesh under her eyes. ‘It’s nothing. A bad night’s sleep.’

  Her mother pushed the booklet aside and leaned forward. ‘Everything okay?’

  For a brief moment Em considered telling her about Josh, then changed her mind. She was being silly. Two nights without hearing from him meant nothing.

  Except a disappointed ache in her chest that refused to ease.

  She dropped her hand and chose another sample. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  Adrienne regarded Em for a moment longer, before selecting a sample herself. ‘I was thinking of this one. The colour’s called raffia.’ She ran her palm over the surface as Em had done and passed it across. ‘It’s a bit shaggier than I wanted but I can’t help liking the way it feels.’

  The carpet did feel lush. It would be delicious to walk on, and quiet. As for practicality, Em wasn’t so sure. ‘It’s nice.’

  ‘It’s also the most expensive.’

  ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  Adrienne laughed. Her expensive taste was a family joke. But that taste also made her one of the most stylish women Em knew. It was something in the way she held herself. The way her shirts hung neatly and always tucked, her trousers unwrinkled. Her jewellery always golden, with no hint of tarnish, her diamonds fiery with refracted light. Even when windblown her hair was lovely in its messy dishevelment.

  Em had once heard someone describe it as old-money beauty, as if such a look could only be bought. But it was far more than that. Adrienne’s appearance was borne from attention to detail, and a grace and charm that came from within.

  Felicity rose to check on dinner. Em followed her to the stove, grabbing a teaspoon from the drawer as she passed. She dipped it into the simmering soup and brought it to her mouth, blowing a few times before tasting.

  The mix of vegetables, herbs and pulses was delicious and comforting. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘I can’t take the credit. It’s your mum’s recipe. I just chopped and stirred.’

  ‘There’s more to it than chopping and stirring,’ said Adrienne, joining them to dip her own spoon in. ‘Cooking takes passion.’ She blew and tasted. ‘Couldn’t have done better myself. It’ll be even nicer in the summer, when Em has tomatoes.’

  ‘Assuming I can keep Kicki and Cutie out of the garden. Speaking of which,’ she said, addressing Felicity, ‘when’s that fiancé of yours going to bring you out to the hill?’

  ‘How about this Saturday?’ asked a deep voice behind them.

  Felicity dumped the pot lid on the sink and flung herself at Digby. Adrienne and Em looked on in amusement as the pair kissed as though they’d been apart for months instead of hours.

  Em couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her brother so confident. In a few weeks, Felicity had restored what Cait had sucked away. Their love radiated heat through the kitchen, making Em acutely aware of how uncertain her relationship with Josh was. They’d had a one-night stand, caved into their attraction. They had fun and great sex, but that was no guarantee of anything deeper as Josh’s lack of contact had proven.

  She swapped her teaspoon for a wooden one and gave the pot an unnecessary stir. What did she expect? She’d cheated on him, humiliated him. Impossible things to forget. Perhaps impossible to forgive, too.

  ‘Is Saturday okay?’ said Digby. ‘We could stay for dinner. I’ll pick out something decent from the cellar for you.’

  ‘You and Josh, and Digby and Felicity,’ said Adrienne.

  Em made a noise that committed her to nothing.

  ‘Good that you and Josh are getting back together,’ said Digby, not registering his sister’s response. ‘He’s a top bloke.’

  ‘We’re not.’ Em caught his raised eyebrows and backtracked. She didn’t want her family speculating about something she understood little herself. ‘It’s early days. Anyway, about Saturday. I have the shop in the morning and a few chores to do, then I want to take Lod for a ride, but any time after that would be fine, say about three? That should give you enough time to look around and climb the crater while there’s still light.’ She clapped her hands, eager to move off the topic in case someone brought Josh up again. ‘Right, who’s up for a pre-dinner drink?’

  Digby raided the fridge for a beer and wine for his mother and Em. Felicity filled the kettle for tea and turned it on before moving back to Digby’s side.

  ‘I’ll sort it,’ said Em, when the water had boiled. She listened to their chatter as the tea brewed, thinking how much Felicity had changed since her arrival. The shyness had disappeared completely, along with the little girl ponytails and daggy clothes. Even her speech was changing, the way she enunciated her words. Not Granny B posh, but with a subtle affectation.

  Em carried the tea over. ‘Careful, it’s hot.’

  ‘Yes.’ A strange enigmatic smile flitted across Felicity’s face and then died. ‘Scalds can be very painful.’

  Em frowned. The statement was innocent enough, a simple observation, but that expression? That was very odd. Almost triumphant.

  Felicity caught her puzzlement. ‘I worked in a kitchen once.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now Em was even more confused. ‘But I thought you couldn’t cook.’

  Felicity’s eyes widened with an emotion that seemed akin to panic. ‘I —’

  ‘It was an industrial place,’ said Digby, cupping her shoulders. ‘Not exactly cooking.’ He held Felicity’s gaze, the pair exchanging a secret message. ‘More like throwing mixes into vats, wasn’t it, Flick?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, more like that.’ She took a quick sip of tea that must have burned but caused no reaction. ‘You look very nice tonight, Em. I like your jacket.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Em, bemused by the sudden change of topic and the weirdness of the conversation. It was as though she’d stumbled into the centre of some private joke, except this one didn’t seem remotely funny. ‘I bought it from Campbells. They’re our local country outfitter. Been in business nearly a hundred years. You should get Mum to take you there one day.’

  ‘We’ll go tomorrow,’ said Adrienne. ‘You’ll need boots for t
he farm.’

  ‘The farm!’ Felicity was suddenly all joy. ‘I can’t wait for Saturday. It’s going to be such fun.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Granny B from the doorway. But her eyes were on Em instead of Felicity, and filled with something Em couldn’t interpret. ‘I’m sure it will be.’

  Em blinked and reached for her glass of wine. Whatever peculiar disorder had infected her family, she wasn’t in the mood for it. She had more than enough worries in her life right now without playing nurse. The most nagging of which possessed hands capable of moulding female flesh into something exquisite as easily as he did with wood, yet for some reason lacked the dexterity to dial a simple phone number.

  Ten

  ‘Sit down, Karen,’ said Josh, but his sister continued her march, the fabric of her red T-shirt stretched tight over her wonderfully round, seven-months-pregnant belly.

  ‘I bloody won’t sit down!’

  Across the table, Sally smiled wryly. Since Karen had heard the news about their mum she’d been in a state, pacing the narrow space between the window and Sally’s dining table, sleek brunette bob whipping with each about-turn, lasering her narrowed eyes between her two siblings as if this was their fault.

  Josh had already faced remonstrations from them for keeping the news to himself for almost three days. Aware their anger came only from distress and guilt, Josh had let it slide. He’d contacted them both Sunday afternoon, wanting to arrange a meeting, but between Karen’s busy life and Sally’s frantic one with Cameron and the boys, scheduling hadn’t been easy. Wednesday was the earliest they were all free.

  He could have pressed harder, revealed the urgency of the matter, but Josh wanted to make his own gentle approaches to his mum. His failure had left him no choice but to divulge what his mum hadn’t wanted them to know.

  Karen slapped her palms against the Tasmanian blackwood table, a beautifully crafted wedding present for Sally and Cam from their dad, now bearing the blemishes of much use. ‘What the fuck is she thinking?’

  ‘Hey!’ Sally jerked her head towards the lounge. Though the glass double doors were closed, the room wasn’t soundproof. Comic Loony Tunes music filtered through, occasional spills of canned laughter mocking the pressure-cooker atmosphere of the dining room. Normally Sally hated using the television as a babysitter for Jack and Cooper, but this was an emergency. That she even raised her voice revealed how tense this had made them.

  Josh went to pick up his cup of coffee and put it back down again. A slick had formed on the surface where the milk had cooled. They’d all forgotten their drinks the moment he explained, as calmly as he could, the events of the previous few days – his father’s revelation and tears, his own clumsy attempt to talk to his mum, the sense of hurt and betrayal he’d recognised in her face and, worse, her determination.

  ‘Sit down, Karen,’ he said, and this time Josh made it an order.

  Finally she huffed and sat. Placing her hand on the shelf of her belly, she turned towards the window and the raw day beyond, her eyes filming with held-back tears. ‘Why can’t she see that a breast means nothing compared to how much we love her?’

  Josh dropped his head. He’d wondered that himself a thousand times and still had no answer. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think she’s worried about how Dad will feel about her afterwards?’ said Sally. ‘Sexually, I mean.’ She glanced from Karen to Josh and back again. Where Karen was all planes and corners, Sally was curves and cloudy-haired softness. Both were attractive, like their mother, but in opposite, individual ways. Personality-wise, Sally tended to be the calmer, more sensible of the two and Josh listened carefully as she explained. ‘You know what men are like with breasts.’

  Karen regarded her own chest. ‘As if I need reminding. Davey loves mine at the moment. Reckons they’re huge.’

  ‘You wait until you start breastfeeding and he clocks the size of your nipples. He won’t be able to leave them alone.’

  ‘Won’t they be too sore?’ asked Karen, frowning.

  Sally shrugged. ‘Depends.’

  Josh shifted, trying to look unaffected by the conversation when the whole thing made him want to clap his hands over his ears and say la-la-la, loudly. He didn’t mind a good nipple himself. As long as they weren’t his sisters’.

  Sally caught his discomfort. ‘Sorry. Girl talk.’

  ‘Bit off topic, too.’

  ‘It’s not, though,’ said Karen. ‘What if it’s all to do with her sense of womanhood. How do we counteract that?’

  Sally’s gaze shifted towards the glass doors, her heart-shaped face edged with anguish. ‘Show her all that she has to live for.’

  Josh ran his forefinger over one of the table’s blemishes; the curve of the dent was suggestive of a spoon banged by a child. He’d tried the grandchildren angle too. It had been one of his first parries. But it hadn’t worked. Michelle’s expression had twisted at the mention of Cooper and Jack, even more so at the mention of Karen’s unborn baby, but her mind wasn’t changed.

  His inability to fathom why was costing him sleep and sanity. For his dad it must be even worse, especially if, as Karen suggested, Michelle was holding back on the operation for him.

  ‘But she’s not dying, is she?’ countered Karen. ‘The surgery’s precautionary, isn’t it? I don’t know about you but I don’t want to go in there treating her like she’s already on death’s door.’

  ‘They didn’t get all the cells, Karen. The surgical margins weren’t clear, which is as good as saying it’s still there. And don’t forget she’s HER2-positive,’ said Sally, reminding Karen of the result they’d all feared hearing after the first biopsy. HER2-positive cancers tended to be more aggressive thanks to a gene mutation in the cells, leading to a tough, protracted fight. ‘How long before it spreads again? It’s probably on the move now. And the longer it remains untreated the higher the risk of it developing into secondary cancer.’

  Secondary cancer meant surviving with the disease, not combating it. It meant their mum’s liver, bones, everything, was at risk. It meant their mum’s life. And in a close family like theirs, it meant their lives were snared too.

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked Sally, looking at Josh.

  Josh scraped his palm down his tired face. ‘We talk to her. Gently. We don’t want Mum feeling like she’s under siege, from us or anyone. So this stays in the family.’ He looked hard at his sisters, neither of whom seemed impressed by the idea.

  ‘But her friends. Margie. Dale.’

  ‘No, Josh’s right,’ Sally said reluctantly. ‘Once this gets out we’ll have everyone on the doorstep.’

  ‘Gang up and she’ll only dig her heels in more. Remember the episode with the apricot tree?’

  Karen rolled her eyes at the memory. The tree was infected with a soil-borne fungus and needed to come down. ‘Over my dead body!’ their mum had said. No amount of argument could convince her, not from Dad, the tree surgeon, or Digby Wallace-Jones, who’d been called in to consult as a favour to Josh. The apricot tree was part of the orchard Michelle planted after she and Tom married. The first tree in their first and only house. A tree with meaning, she claimed. And so it remained, barely producing fruit, losing limbs as each affected branch was removed, for three more years. Time in which the original could have been cut down, burned, the soil treated and a new tree planted on resistant rootstock, almost ready for its first crop. Eventually the inevitable happened. The tree couldn’t respond any further to her loving attention and died. The space where it existed still remained. A tribute, although to what no one was really sure.

  Karen crossed her arms. ‘What about Dad?’

  ‘His job is to keep doing what he’s doing. Telling her he loves her no matter what.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the hospital,’ said Sally. ‘Get the number of that counsellor they talked about. Maybe check out the library too. There’ll be books on this sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ll check out the Internet,’ said Karen. ‘There’s
probably a stack of blogs and forums on the topic. Josh?’

  Josh looked at his hands, at the spaces where his fingers should have been, remembering the day his dad discovered him collapsed in the workshop, moaning and faint as blood spread over the concrete. The speed with which he’d acted, stripping off his shirt and binding his son’s hand and arm before carrying him into the house and calling triple-0. How he’d cradled Josh as they waited, promising him it would be all right. How there was no need to be frightened. Dad was there. Dad would always be there.

  He blinked at the sting in his eyes and pushed back his chair. ‘I’ve said my bit. I’m not going to push it any more unless you need me to. But the best weapon we have is Dad, and right now he’s not coping, no matter what show he puts on. My priority is to take care of him.’

  And repay a little of what he owed.

  Plate of toasted crumpets and tea in hand, Josh settled down at kitchen table’s far end, where early sunshine warmed the seat and lit the front page of the local paper that his dad had left behind.

  He took a bite of honeyed crumpet, eyeing his mum as he chewed. She looked better this morning. Though her face lacked its pre-diagnosis brightness, she didn’t wince as much when she moved. It was the lymph gland removal that seemed the most painful. The way she had to keep her arm out and away from the healing wound. Josh tried not to think about what it would be like if she had her entire breast removed. The pain, both physical and psychological.

  Yesterday, as he’d driven from Sally’s, he’d tried to consider the loss from her perspective, and could only come up with the comparison that it’d be like losing a testicle. The thought had left him wiping sweat from his palms onto his jeans and shifting uncomfortably, but rallied at least some sympathy for her feelings. Sympathy but not understanding, and definitely not acceptance.