by Janet Gover
‘Mitch. It is so good to see you!’
‘Kayla. It’s been a while.’ Mitch swung down from his horse and enveloped Kayla in a bear hug. He held her for several seconds before releasing her.
‘Hello, Liz.’
‘Mitch.’
‘That settles it. I have definitely changed my mind!’ Ken said as he hurried over.
‘What? You don’t want to use Willowbrook?’ Kayla asked.
‘Of course I do. It’s perfect. But I’ve changed my mind about bringing up a couple of male models. I’m going to use him instead.’ He waved a hand at Mitch, indicating his height, his lean, well-muscled body, his worn work clothes and the hat that now dangled from his right hand. ‘You are just perfect, darling!’
He wasn’t perfect, Liz thought. His face was lined from hard work under the harsh Australian sun. Like hers, his hands were rough. His hair had always had a mind of its own, sticking out at strange angles despite being damp with sweat and flattened by his hat. No. He was far from perfect. He might have been once, when he was younger—when they were both younger—but not any more. He had been responsible for too much pain and heartbreak. They both had … and her parents had died because of it.
Ken was still studying Mitch. He snapped a couple of photos and then looked at the images in the camera’s view screen.
‘Yes. Perfect.’
Mitch frowned. ‘Liz? Kayla? What’s this all about?’
‘You have been discovered, you gorgeous man,’ Ken enthused. ‘A couple of months from now, every woman in this country will be in love with you. And half the men too.’ He winked broadly.
That was more than Liz could take. She turned her attention to Deimos, who had been moving restlessly since Mitch and his horse had crossed the creek. She flung the reins over his head and mounted. As she slipped into the saddle, the colt squealed and rose in a half-rear. Liz tightened her legs around his ribs and pushed him back onto all fours before turning him towards home. As she forced the colt on, she heard Ken’s even more excited voice.
‘Oh, yes! That horse and this man. This shoot is going to be awesome!’
CHAPTER
16
The Tamworth Show is in full swing. The site is alive with colour and movement and noise. In sideshow alley, teenagers are eating Dagwood Dogs, the tomato sauce dripping from the hot battered sausages onto their fingers. They’re holding hands as they scare themselves silly on gravity-defying rides and stealing kisses in the darkness. In the exhibition halls, everything from embroidery to woodwork and cooking is on display and the competitors are viewing the judges’ decisions with a mixture of glee, disappointment and annoyance. But the heart of any agricultural show is the ring, where horses and cattle take centre stage. And in this place, the horse is king.
Judging of the junior riding events is almost over. Competition is fierce. After all, every little girl dreams of owning a pony. Every young boy wants to grow up to be a stockman or a jockey. This is a stepping stone to those dreams. Kayla is sitting still and straight on Ginger’s back. She has been awake since before the sun came up, brushing the pony’s long tail and shining coat. This year, she has done all the preparation herself, twisting the neat plaits along his neck, painting his hooves black. And all her hard work is about to be rewarded. This morning, Ginger won his pony hack class. Now he’s in the running for champion pony hack.
When the judges call her forward, she straightens her back just a little more. In the crowd, her mum and dad and sister are watching. Mitch is here too. She has to do well.
She closes her legs firmly on Ginger’s sides and sends him trotting in a figure eight. She has listened carefully to the judge’s instructions, and now follows those instructions to the letter. Ginger is the perfect pony. He behaves beautifully and, a few minutes later, the purple Champion Pony ribbon is placed around his neck.
Kayla’s heart is almost exploding with pride. She can’t keep the huge smile from her face. But then, no one expects her to. Little girls are allowed to be proud of their beautiful ponies. She leads the other competitors in the victory lap of the horse ring. She hears her name, and Ginger’s name too, announced over the speakers. It’s a big ring, and it takes a long time to get to the gate, but that doesn’t matter. People are clapping and a couple of times she hears a school friend shouting her name. It’s nice to win. Everyone loves you when you win.
She slows Ginger to a walk as she nears the gate, her eyes scanning the crowd there. She sees her mother, waving and smiling. The steward opens the gate. She rides Ginger through then jumps off. She wraps her arms around the pony’s neck and hugs him, her heart full of love for her very best friend. A moment later Kath is there, smiling and hugging her.
‘You did so well, Kayla. That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.’
‘Thanks, Mum. Ginger was so good, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was, darling. You were both very, very good.’
There are tears in her mother’s eyes. But her youngest daughter is used to that. Mum always cries when her daughters do well at shows. Kayla looks around for the one person she really wanted to impress.
‘Dad’s at the other ring,’ Kath says. ‘The working hunter classes have started. He went to watch Liz. Come on, let’s take Ginger back to the truck then we can go and watch too.’
It wasn’t her father Kayla was looking for, but she can’t tell her mother that. She hides her disappointment, but follows Kath to their truck. Her father has taught her that the horse’s welfare must come first. Ginger’s work is finished for the day, so she settles him in with a hay net and kisses him on the nose.
Her friend Jen appears, running.
‘You won!’ Jen cries. Ginger flings up his head in alarm as Jen grabs Kayla in a hug. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Kayla allows herself a moment to enjoy the praise, then detaches herself from the hug to settle Ginger. Jen is her very, very best friend, but she knows nothing about horses, and she’s not interested in them any more. She much prefers playing with clothes and dolls. Kayla likes clothes and dolls too, but if she had to choose, her pony would win.
‘Let’s go and find your father.’ Kath leads them to the ringside where Sam is leaning on the top of the fence, watching the event. Mitch is standing beside him, holding a bucket with brushes and hoof black and a cleaning cloth.
Her dad takes his eyes off the ring and grabs her, swinging her high in the air and planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘Well done, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She wriggles a bit and he puts her down. She loves that her dad is proud of her. But she wishes he would stop doing things like that, at least in front of people. It makes her look like a child. And she isn’t. She is nearly nine years old.
Mitch drags his eyes away from the activity in the ring for a moment. ‘Well done, Kayla.’ He smiles and ruffles her hair.
Kayla feels her face starting to colour. She hates that she blushes so easily. She hates that Mitch ruffles her hair, too, but she loves it every time he does. She doesn’t say anything, and when she finally looks up he has turned away and is looking at the competitor in the ring. Of course it’s Lizzie. She’s no longer riding her grey pony, she’s graduated to one of the Willowbrook horses. The gelding is almost too big for her, but that doesn’t matter to Lizzie, who has inherited their father’s touch. And she has courage. She guides the animal through a perfect clear round.
Beside Kayla, her parents and Mitch break into applause.
Lizzie comes trotting over to the fence. ‘I’ve made the jump-off.’
‘Well done, Lizzie. Now walk him around while you wait. Don’t let him cool down.’
‘I know, Dad. I’ve got it.’
‘Go, Lizzie!’ A broad smile stretches across Mitch’s face. Lizzie returns it.
When Lizzie rides her next round, Kayla isn’t looking at the ring. Under her long lashes, she is surreptitiously watching Mitch. She sees the emotions on his face as Lizzie completes another clea
r round. There is admiration in his eyes as her sister collects her winner’s ribbon. During her victory lap, she slows to wave at Mitch. He waves back.
Jen tugs at Kayla’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go and get some fairy floss.’
Kayla doesn’t want to go. Much as she loves her friend, she’d rather stay here. But then she looks up at Mitch. His eyes are fixed on Lizzie and the look on his face is one that Kayla never sees when he looks at her.
She goes in search of fairy floss with his sister.
CHAPTER
17
Why on earth had she let Kayla talk her into this?
Liz stroked Deimos’s nose, speaking to him calmly as, all around them, chaos reigned. At least, it seemed like chaos to Liz. Since early this morning, her beloved Willowbrook had been overrun by strangers. A convoy of vans had deposited more people and equipment than she had ever imagined would be needed to take a few photos. Marquees had suddenly appeared to hold the racks of clothing. A team of hairdressers had set up shop in her outbuildings, helping themselves to both her power and her water. Three very tall, very thin girls were being fussed over by make-up artists and people whose jobs Liz could not even guess at. Ken was darting about with his camera, followed by two assistants draped with chairs and computers and other assorted paraphernalia. In the middle of all the chaos, the sister she barely recognised stood as a voice of calm reason.
Liz had insisted that Kayla be here for the shoot. She had decided that would be almost adequate punishment for daring to suggest it in the first place. But she hadn’t been prepared for what she was seeing: Kayla was totally in her element. When the invaders had arrived, Kayla, dressed in jeans and brown boots that were certainly never meant to be worn while riding a horse, had looked more like a model than the tall, thin girls. She moved with assurance, and it was clear right from the start that she was the one people looked to for leadership.
As she approached, Liz suddenly felt like the lesser sister.
‘We’re going to do the outside shots first,’ Kayla said. ‘We’ll do some around the stables and sheds. Then we’ll move down by the creek crossing.’
‘You’re not taking all this down there?’ Liz’s voice dripped with disgust as she waved a hand to indicate the equipment and the marquees and the people.
‘No,’ Kayla said in the voice of a patient adult soothing a child. ‘Just some of it.’
Ken joined them. ‘Kayla, sweetie, I am going to need power over there, in that grimy corner near the muck heap. It’s so delightfully awful. I love it.’
‘Of course it’s awful,’ Liz snapped. ‘It’s a muck heap. What do you expect? Roses?’
‘No. No.’ Ken waved a hand. ‘Roses would be all wrong. My vision here is for beauty in the midst of ugliness. The clothes are the only things that are beautiful. No roses. No. No.’
Liz wanted to hit him.
‘There are extension cables and power boards in the van,’ Kayla said. ‘Liz, is there still power to the tack room?’
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘There you go, Ken. Come on. I’ll show you.’ Kayla flashed Liz a look as she led the photographer away. ‘We probably won’t need any of the horses for a while. Come on over and watch the shoot if you like. You might find it interesting.’
Liz was tempted to decline. But after a few minutes of watching people cluster near her covered round yard, curiosity got the better of her. Ken was already shooting inside the yard where she had exercised Deimos earlier that morning. The sand was dark with use, the surface pitted with hoof prints. There was even a pile of manure that she had yet to clear away. The model was wearing something white and soft and totally out of place for the surroundings. Her shoes looked like instruments of torture and her hair and make-up were like something out of an old Hollywood movie but the girl herself lay in the sand, her body twisted in an awkward way. Under the harsh glare of the lights, she looked broken.
Nearby, Ken was perched on top of a stepladder held steady by his assistants. He was staring at the girl through the lens of his camera.
‘Good, sweetie. That’s good. Now move your leg. I want angles. Everything in angles. And look at the camera. Eyes! Give me more in the eyes …’
Liz watched with disbelief as the girl and her beautiful white dress became covered in sand and filth and sweat.
‘What do you think?’ Kayla said softly.
‘I thought the idea was to make a nice picture. Make the dress look beautiful.’
‘It all depends on your definition of beautiful,’ Kayla replied. She moved away, signalling for Liz to follow.
Liz hadn’t noticed the cables running from the camera to a desk with a computer. A middle-aged woman was seated there, her eyes fixed on the screen. The images from the camera were appearing there.
‘Maggie, this is my sister, Liz.’
The woman didn’t look up. She simply raised a hand in acknowledgement, her eyes glued to the screen. There, the somewhat ordinary-looking girl seemed fragile and doll-like in her exaggerated make-up. The coarse sand only emphasised the softness of the fabric that encased her form.
Unconsciously, Liz wiped her hands against the rough denim of her jeans. With her short hair, her work clothes and boots, she felt … ugly. Ugly and ungainly and unfeminine. Liz wasn’t sure she could remember the last time she had worn a dress. Or make-up. Not that it mattered—that wasn’t her life. Her life was hard work, sweat and the smell of leather. It was her job to make her horses beautiful when they entered the show ring and to protect her father’s legacy.
Another photo flashed onto the screen in front of her. A second girl had joined the first, her outfit the soft yellow of a winter dawn. The two of them lay on the rough sand like discarded toys. Liz turned away. The photographer might think those images were beautiful, but to her, they were heartbreakingly sad, a reminder of how fragile life could be. As if she needed a reminder.
As she stepped out into the bright sunlight, she heard restless movement and thumping coming from the stables and raced inside to find two people waving around a huge flexible reflective fabric disc. The horses in the nearest stalls were wild eyed with fear, kicking the timber as they spun, looking for a way out.
‘Stop that.’
‘Us? Or the horses?’
‘If you stop, they will.’
Liz stepped forward and took hold of the disc, forcing it towards the ground. The men struggled with her for a moment, then one of them grabbed the disc with both hands. He gave a twist of his wrists, seeming to almost magically fold the huge disc into something far smaller and less threatening. Liz glared at him and stepped past to calm the horses. When she looked up, the young men were standing outside the stables, looking in. She hoped they would stay there.
‘Liz, is everything all right?’ Kayla appeared outside the stable door.
‘No, it is not. Tell them—’ Liz jerked her head, ‘—to stay away from the horses. I told you, I am the only one who goes near them. No one comes into the stables unless I am here.’
‘Of course not. They won’t do it again. Will you?’ Kayla shot the men a steely glare and they murmured their agreement. ‘Right. So we’re moving the shoot into the yard now. We need the colt, if you could bring him out, Liz.’
‘You’ll have to wait. These idiots have gotten him all stirred up. I’ll need to settle him first.’ She turned her back on Kayla and walked to the stallion stall. The horse wasn’t at all disturbed when she reached him. He nuzzled her hand, looking for treats, as she rested her forehead against his glossy neck and fought to contain her anger. It wasn’t really those idiots’ fault, they were city types and didn’t know any better. All this was Kayla’s fault. She’d left Willowbrook and her sister behind years ago and had no right to come back and start ordering her about. With luck, when these few days were over, she’d just leave again and Liz’s life could return to normal.
Except that normal wasn’t working.
When she finally led Deimos thr
ough to the open-air arena, with its dark surface of shredded rubber, she found Ken atop his ladder. He was peering around, his brows creased in thought.
‘Let’s have the horse over here,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you can get him to lie down?’
‘Not with all this going on. Not a chance.’
‘All right. Simone, love, over here.’
A model, teetering on high heels, answered his call, eyeing off the horse cautiously as she approached. ‘You are going to keep hold of him, aren’t you?’ the girl asked hesitantly.
Liz looked more closely and realised that underneath the expensive clothes and the fancy hair and make-up the girl was probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. And she was terrified.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got him. Here, come around to the front and let him see you. Good. Now stroke his nose.’
Deimos tossed his head as the girl reached out her hand, then sniffed first her hand then her hair. Maybe it was the hairspray or the perfume, or maybe it was just bad luck, but the horse snorted vigorously.
‘Eww!’ The model stepped away and raised her hand to wipe her face.
‘No! Don’t,’ Ken said abruptly.
‘You’re kidding?’ The girl’s face was a mask of disgust.
‘No. I like the muck on your face.’ Ken was snapping as he spoke. ‘Move back to the horse. Liz, make him turn slightly this way to catch the light.’
‘Hang on. I’m not going to be in any photos.’
‘Of course not,’ the model whispered as she followed Ken’s instructions. ‘They’ll just edit you out.’
By mid-afternoon, Liz was sick to death of the photo shoot. She had brought out three different horses to be in the photos. Apparently it was important to colour coordinate the horse with the clothes. She had watched in fury as the various assistants had thrown her tack around carelessly, broken open bales of hay and bags of feed and generally turned her neat and carefully tended yards and stables into something suitably messy for a fashion photo. She had stood over the same assistants as they repaired every bit of damage.
