by Bowes, K T
“What’s wrong?” Vaughan roused himself, rubbing his neck and stretching. The action tensed the staples in his stomach and he groaned and folded himself in half, swearing. “How many more times?” he hissed, rubbing a hand gingerly across his midriff.
“What do you mean?” Dee asked, yawning and opening the window wider to inhale fresh air. “I thought I’d driven ok. I’m not used to utes.”
“Not your driving. I meant how many more times do I have to be cut up like a piece of bloody meat?” He fiddled with the button on the seat and dropped the angle backwards, complaining when it didn’t prove more comfortable.
“How many operations have you had?” Dee glanced sideways and saw Vaughan’s head loll to the side and bump the passenger door. “Vaughan!” She thumped his shoulder with the flat of her hand. “Wake up, wake up, please?”
“Ouch! Stop!” He snatched at her fingers and held them in warm, calloused hands. “I was altering the seat.”
“Sorry.” Dee sniggered and ignored the flush on her cheeks. “I thought you’d passed out.”
“I’ve never passed out in my life!” Vaughan bit. “Pussies faint.”
“Sick people faint actually,” Dee argued. “I fainted a lot when...” She stopped, biting her lip and halting her sentence, suppressing the personal revelation. Memories of her difficult, lonely pregnancy surfaced and were pushed away as a gut reaction. “You’re not well. It’s understandable.”
Vaughan caressed her fingers and let go, snapping his seat upright with another moan of pain and a few more expletives. “It’s my fourth operation. Two were planned but the first one and this one weren’t.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Dee’s tone was soft as she glanced sideways, struggling to hide her compassion. She felt Vaughan’s eyes on her, his gaze burning an intense hole into her left cheek.
“Crohn’s Disease.” He gave a huge sigh and turned to look out of the window at the passing green paddocks. “I missed seeing Ruapehu.”
“Ngauruhoe’s still steaming.” Dee pulled her hair free from her ponytail, letting the breeze from the open window massage her head. She slipped the hair tie over her wrist. “Blue skies, a little low cloud and a trail of steam. I tried to wake you but you murmured a load of crap so I left you alone.”
“What crap?” Vaughan narrowed his eyes and stared at Dee. “What did I say?”
“Nothing that made any sense.”
The speed limit slowed from a hundred kilometres per hour to seventy and Dee adjusted her pressure on the gas pedal. The sign for the town glinted in the sunshine, begging drivers to obey the road rules and respect the town.
Te Mutunga Iho put on its best show for the returning master, the sun glinting off the metal roof of the town hall and reflecting the passing ute in the windows of the school house. The name meant at the end of the day and the town formed alongside a Māori settlement when European immigrants stopped for the night and never picked up their bags to move on. The end of the day, the end of the road, The End.
Dee wound the window down further and smelled the scent of the town, balmy and resonant of the thick bush which surrounded Mount Pirongia.
“Best place on earth,” Vaughan sighed, turning his whole body to stare through the window.
Dee kept quiet, feeling her heart pound in her chest as nervousness ate away at her fragile calm until her hands shook and her breath came in short gasps.
The main high street stretched out before her, dotted with pedestrian crossings to allow residents to negotiate the busy thoroughfare. Locals looked towards the ute as it moved through familiar territory and Dee swallowed and struggled to concentrate on the traffic crawling through the town. Hands raised in greeting and Vaughan nodded, a small movement which barely seemed to satisfy the curious faces in hues of brown and white as they stared at Dee.
Stretched and elongated along the main street, the town boasted a church, public house, cafe and hairdresser. Other shops dotted themselves between, touting trinkets and novelty furniture for tourists passing through. A supermarket took pride of place near a stained war memorial detailing the names of World War One fallen, the prices of food unreasonably high for the captive audience too pushed to drive to Hamilton. A visiting physiotherapist had once remarked, “I didn’t expect to be able to see the whole town from the welcome sign.” But that was Te Mutunga Iho.
Dee’s nerves became more frayed as she kangarooed the ute along the road, her palms sweating on the leather cover of the steering wheel. She wiped them on her dress one after the other and bit her lip. Vaughan’s head nodded on his neck as he lost the battle with sleep and Dee’s eyes widened at the sight of the empty foil packet on the floor. “Bloody hell!” she cursed. “You took more damn pills!” The traffic slowed because of the volume of pedestrians and Dee felt a trembling in her knees as fear rose like a spectre of doom. “You can do this,” she told herself. “Get a taxi to the train station afterwards; it’ll be ok.”
A family halted at a pedestrian crossing, waiting for the file of cars to part and allow them through. Dee stopped the ute, hearing the wheels of the horse float squealing behind. She glanced sideways, noticing a lighter patch of skin on Vaughan’s ring finger and recognised the outline of a wedding band. She wondered who the wearer of its pair was and curiosity budded in her breast. Perhaps a woman waited at home with food for him, but his unkempt appearance said otherwise. He oozed more than just ‘farm boy’ and emotional neglect hung off him like a dirty sheet. Vaughan needed a patient woman used to his brusque manner and verbal economy. His weariness and suspicion around Dee denied such a female influence, explaining a man very much alone and grieving for something lost.
His head drooped under the weight of pain and medication and Dee felt a momentary compassion. She indicated left after the crossing and took the turn into the supermarket car park, dodging trolley pushers, family vehicles and pedestrians to sling the ute and trailer into a suitable space. It overhung the pavement and Dee dashed from the ute before anyone could challenge her, leaving the keys in the ignition.
The horse clattered with impatience in the trailer, her legs restless after the long journey north. “Not long, Hinga, I promise,” Dee called, jogging into the shop.
Inside she grabbed a basket, filling it with basic necessities so at least the man had something to eat, adding medical supplies to deal with his oozing wounds. Emerging from the shop with carrier bags she felt embarrassed, wondering what she would do if a jealous wife greeted her on the front porch. Vaughan’s head lolled against the passenger window as Dee bumped the vehicle back onto the road, hearing an annoyed clang as the horse protested at the prolonging of her boredom.
Without being given directions, Dee drove to Vaughan’s house in the lea of Pirongia Mountain, her heart heavy and filled with dread at the pain stretching out its eager claws with frightening inevitability.
Chapter 12
A Familiar Place
“You didn’t wake me.” Vaughan ran a hand over his face and Dee heard the bristles rub against his palm.
“You look like crap,” she commented as the box ground over the rough concrete driveway. “Hinga’s been kicking off since before I turned into your road.” She hauled on the handbrake and took the ute out of gear.
The vehicle jerked at the sound of a hefty, metallic clang and the mare whinnied a high-pitched distress call. Vaughan gripped his stomach and clambered from the ute, leaning against the back of the box which shuddered with Hinga’s kicks.
“How do we do this?” Dee stood on the concrete bare foot, her sandals abandoned on the back seat and her floral dress revealing neatly proportioned knees.
“I dunno, I dunno,” he slurred, his speech thick and his body uncoordinated. “I can’t let her loose without treating her cuts.”
“Ok, well, let’s pen her with another mare,” Dee suggested, looking around the ramshackle yard.
Vaughan nodded and half fell from the vehicle, lumbering towards a gate which opened onto a wi
de paddock. He shouted something which slurred in the breeze and several pairs of eyes turned in his direction. He leaned his forearms on the top rung and rested his head on them, his body slumped and his shirt flapping at the waist. Dee appeared next to him. “Which one?” she asked.
Vaughan put his fingers into his mouth and blew, taking two attempts to produce any sound. A bay mare lifted her head and ambled forward, obeying his call and four others followed behind, keen to be part of the action. The horses were confident and pushy, not afraid or cowed like the mare in the truck. Vaughan slid down the fence and sat on his bottom, his legs bent at the knees. “Catch her,” he muttered and pointed at his nose.
“Ok.” Dee opened the gate and held her hand out to the bay mare. She strutted forward with confidence, keeping a respectful distance, but not objecting when Dee gripped her top lip in gentle fingers. “Come on girl, I’ve got a job for you,” she said softly and the mare stepped forward without concern. Dee guided her round as she closed the gate, controlling the horse with a slight pressure on the furry lips and settling her fingers between the glossy nostrils. Vaughan pointed to a round pen near the stable yard and Dee led the mare over the broken concrete surface, appreciating the animal’s patience as she fumbled with the gate catch. The horse danced through the gap and pushed her face into the lush grass with abandon and Dee pulled the gate shut.
“I’ll move the ute round and back into the gateway,” she told Vaughan, as he crawled to a standing position climbing hand over hand on the splintered fence rails. The dormant skills returned as Dee ignored the frantic occupant of the horse box, backing the trailer neatly between the gate posts. She climbed through the small gap between fence strainer and trailer and loosed the rear door. The mare’s ears went back and forth in panicked expectation as the bay horse stopped eating and crowded into the trailer, snorting and blowing in greeting. Hinga pulled on the lead rope and Dee winced as the head collar drew more blood on the pretty face. She heard her dress snag on a rusty prong as she edged down the other side of the partition and unclipped the safety strap. “Ok then, have it your way, girl. But this will hurt,” she breathed, releasing the metal buckle and cringing as flesh came away with the fabric. Hinga pulled her head clear of the collar and backed out of the trailer at speed, almost falling down the metal ramp in her haste. The other bay mare whirled away with a snort and Hinga rushed towards her. They sought solace together in the furthest part of the pen, sniffing each other’s air and snorting tentative greetings.
Dee closed the trailer with difficulty, her small stature no match for the heavy door and broken spring. She secured the gate and abandoned the vehicle, concern etched on her face as she helped Vaughan out of the dirt. “Sorry,” he muttered, leaning heavily on her as they staggered towards the front steps of the tiny house.
“Not far now,” she grunted, hauling him up the stairs. “Key?” she asked, finding the front door locked. “Or is someone home?”
Vaughan shook his head. “Nobody but me.”
“Great!” Dee groaned, glancing back towards the ute. “I bet the keys are in the ignition.”
Vaughan shook his head and tried to grapple in his jeans pocket, overbalancing them both. Dee smacked his hand away. “I’ll do it!” she snapped in frustration, shoving her hand into the rough denim, horrified as his trousers worked their way down his legs.
Dee entered the house in which she spent half her childhood, holding Vaughan up with his arm locked around her slender shoulders. Her other hand gripped the front of his jeans to stop them falling and tripping them both. Her heart clenched in misery at the awakening of fond memories and voices long gone as she helped Vaughan to the master bedroom at the end of the house. He sank onto the bed with little more than a groan, the longest scar on his abdomen leaking bright red blood and his face white. The patterned duvet seemed incongruous against the burly horseman and Dee shook her head in sadness with the sudden realisation that the bed at Harvey’s possessed neither sheets nor duvet. The spiteful man gave his stepbrother a bed in his hour of need and that was literally all.
Chapter 13
Corey
Vaughan’s soft snores filled the room and Dee withdrew her face, pulling the door closed behind her. His uncle’s old furniture still graced the bedroom and if she closed her eyes, she saw Horse lumbering along the hallway and admonishing them for making a den behind the curtains. “Bloody kids!” he’d grunt with a smirk and fish them out by the ears, doling out punishments which always involved turning the dung heap. Dee stroked the peeling wallpaper as she walked back towards the front of the house, feeling the pain of regret. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered to the old villa. “I had to go.”
Hinga grazed in the pen, sucking up the grass through lips which tugged and tore the sweet blades, feeding her starving belly and making it round and painful looking. Dee winced and hoped she didn’t get colic in her haste, saddling Vaughan with an even more expensive problem. In a tack shed outside she found an aged tub of wound salve and fetched hot salty water from the house. She paused at the gate, squinting in the sunshine at the wounds on Hinga’s tortured body.
“Hey! Don’t go in there!”
The shout made Dee jump and she spilled hot saline over her hands, cursing at the burn. The ball of cotton wool scrounged from her make up bag bounced on the hard ground. “Great! Thanks for that!” She met the young man’s onslaught with anger of her own.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “Who the hell are you?”
Dee put the bowl and salve on the ground and blew at her hand, watching as the skin pinked. “Just the mug who drove the ute and that horse up here from Feilding!” She glared at the man who postured like a peacock, head held high and his thumbs stuck in the sides of his belt.
“Who are you?” He moderated his tone and his dark eyes held doubt. Perhaps he’d overreacted and she was there legitimately.
“My name is...” Dee swallowed. She’d been Dee Hanover until the moment Vaughan revived her childhood name. She’d slipped back into it so easily it was as though she never abandoned it on the boundary of the town and drove away.
“Who are you?” The young man shifted his feet, looking edgy and Dee tossed her blonde hair, attempting to play the female card.
“Who are you first,” she demanded, seeking a distraction while she decided her own identity. “And why did you burn me?”
“Thought you were a bailiff,” the man said, his eyes widening as he glanced back at the house. “I thought you were taking horses, not putting them back.”
“I drove up with Vaughan.” Dee held back her exasperation. “He got rushed to hospital and couldn’t drive home.”
The young man swore and ran work-roughened hands through his dark hair. “Poor bugger. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing that tosser, Gilroy. Must’ve stressed him out.”
“Harvey punched him.” Dee shivered at the memory of the glee in the spiteful man’s face and the excitement as he waited for Vaughan to arrive. Something told her it was always his intention to try something nasty. Vaughan’s arrival, already in pain must have felt like Christmas to someone like Harvey Gilroy. “I was already there and Vaughan kinda helped me escape.” Dee bit her lip and soothed the fear inside her.
“Sounds bad. I’m Corey.” The young man stuck out a hand and Dee looked down before clasping it. She’d learned her lesson about trusting strangers. “So, who are you?” he asked again, with more politeness this time.
Dee made a decision and crossed back over the town line in her head. The easy smile put beauty into her face. “My name’s Deleilah Dereham,” she said with pride. “I’m Hector Dereham’s daughter.”
Chapter 14
No Place to Run
Such a life changing decision should have been accompanied by fanfare, trumpets and at least a crack in the earth’s crust. Instead, Corey looked at Deleilah Dereham with passive interest. “Yeah, dunno no Hectors,” he said, rubbing his square han
d over his jaw. He jerked his head towards the bowl of water and the ruined ball of cotton wool. “What you gonna do with that?”
“Leilah!” Vaughan’s shout sounded weak and he leaned on the balustrade around the porch with his head low. Without speaking, she ran the distance between them, skipping up the stairs and resting her hand on his shoulder.
“What’s wrong? Are you worse?”
Vaughan shook his head, his voice hoarse. “I thought you’d left.” Grey-faced he stared up at her and she stroked the soft fringe away from his eyes.
“I must leave eventually.” Regret laced her voice. “People will wonder where I am.”
“What people?” Vaughan searched her face, stripping her soul bare with his perception.
“Just people.”
“Leilah, stay with me. Just for a while. Please?” It cost him to ask in a tone only a whisker away from begging and Leilah nodded.
“Ok. For a while.”
“What we gonna do about this horse?” Corey called from the pen, hands on hips. Vaughan groaned in reply and Leilah walked back towards the pen.
“Maybe she’ll let me clean the cuts. She seemed keen to get into the float and tolerated me being around her.”
Corey shrugged and bent to retrieve the bowl of fluid. “Not much in here,” he remarked and Leilah scowled.
“I’ll get into the pen and you hand me it.”
“Not much in here,” he repeated. “You’ve dropped one ball of fluff. You can’t use that.”
