Australian Dreams

Chapter Two

The next day Claire was pleased to be back at her desk where she could focus on her projects and paperwork and the upcoming Melbourne Cup. It was a struggle to get out of bed and into the shower in the mornings, but she always felt better when she’d escaped the house and its silent, haunting memories of Keith.

Obsessively organised and habitual, Claire started every day with a list. Her job at Rockford was to deliver advertising projects. Some of her larger clients had campaigns covering all media – television, radio and print – so she had a lot to keep track of: ensuring tight deadlines were met, pre-empting any delays, and managing everyone’s expectations. It was a juggling act that saw much of her time on the phone with creative and graphics staff, and clients’ personal assistants. It was a sign of a very, very bad day when the CEO of a client actually called her. The only way she could keep track of everything was with several lists.

Luckily, a lot of projects had been completed in the last few weeks. There was always a short lull while the campaigns were running, then afterwards when their success was being analysed. And then the chaos would start all over. Before that she would make the most of the peace and quiet.

This morning, while she waited for her computer to boot up, she wrote ‘Client Phone Calls’ and twice underlined the heading at the top of her company-issued A4 pad. Below she added the names of her top five clients. It was no coincidence that they all occupied corporate boxes at the Melbourne Cup. She’d already received a couple of invites, but she wanted to make sure she’d exhausted all options before making her decision.

Years ago, Keith had teased her for only staying in her job for the Cup. She’d taken offence at the suggestion she would be so shallow and calculating, and had taken a long time to realise he’d meant it not as a criticism but mere observation.

Anyway, there had to be perks – other than lots of pay that attracted lots of tax.

It wasn’t that Claire didn’t enjoy her job – aspects of it, anyway – but she certainly liked the personal recognition such invites implied.

The first time Keith had accompanied her he’d been blown away by the opulence, finally admitting through a mouthful of lobster that he could see why she spent a whole year waiting for this day.

Rather than being insecure, he’d enjoyed being her handbag for the day – especially being free to ogle all the beautiful tanned, touched-up and terrific women strutting about like the fillies out on the track. Later that night, when they were tucked up in their hotel’s five-star sheets, Claire had teased him that it was lucky he wasn’t expected to make intelligent conversation and represent a business.

Claire smiled sadly at the memory – this would be her first Cup without him in eight years. This time, when the horses thundered past the mirrored finish line and the nation finally let its breath go, the tears that escaped her eyes would be different. Nothing was the same any more. That was what she was having so much trouble with – the little things. She even missed his habit of leaving his shoes in the lounge room, having kicked them off while settling into the couch.

But Keith would want her to go, wouldn’t he?

She felt guilty even thinking about leaving Jack – even if he was recovering at home by then. But what if he was still in hospital? How could she get all dressed up, sip free champagne, be merry? What would he want her to do? That was an easy one. Jack McIntyre was one of the most humble, gracious men on the planet. Not only would he urge her to go, he’d drive her to the airport himself if he could, and offer tips the whole way.

Claire was still lost in her thoughts when Derek Anderson – her boss – appeared beside her.

‘Morning Claire. I like the new haircut – it suits you.’

‘Hi Derek. Thanks,’ she said, blushing slightly and putting a hand to her head. She’d completely forgotten that no one had seen her new look. Now she felt self-conscious. He looked like he’d had a recent haircut as well, but she wasn’t about to say anything. His full head of thick, mid-brown hair, dusted with grey, was shorter on the sides and standing up a little more on top than usual.

‘Good weekend?’

‘Yes, thank you, and you?’

‘Good, thanks. My young colt had his first run at Morphettville. Thought we might have to cull him there for a while, difficult sod. My trainer thinks he’s not worth the trouble, but something tells me he might do all right once we iron out the kinks. He’d better – he’s cost me an arm and a leg.’

‘Hmm.’ Claire was a little unsettled by the warmth in his blue-grey eyes.

‘Owning racehorses outright is an expensive hobby, but a man’s gotta have one, right? Maybe I should sell some shares, set up a syndicate to spread the load. What do you think?’

‘Sounds good, Derek.’ The last thing Claire wanted to hear about was racing, especially Derek’s success – he was, after all, a rival to Jack. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

‘How’s your dad doing?’

‘Same, but thanks for asking.’

Derek seemed uneasy perched on the corner of her desk. He hadn’t casually picked up any of her items and wasn’t swinging his leg like he usually did.

‘Was there something else, Derek? I have a heap of calls to make and a report due at twelve.’

‘Well, um, I…’ Derek fumbled with the thick knot of his red and gold striped tie.

‘Yes?’

‘I was thinking it might be a good time to take some of that leave you’re sitting on, since all those campaigns have been wrapped up. You know, spend a bit more time with Jack. Get your head around everything.’

‘Thanks, but I’m fine, Derek.’

‘Just thought a month or so would be good for you.’

Claire’s hackles rose. She eyed Derek coldly, wondering if it was her imagination, or if he really was having trouble looking her in the eye.

‘Are you implying my work is not up to scratch? If so, don’t be so gutless as to come in here suggesting time off…’

Derek held up his hands in surrender. ‘Your work’s fine, Claire, as always. I just don’t want you regretting your choices later. Family is important; don’t use work as an excuse not to face certain things.’

Claire was almost touched by his words, but couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on. He was definitely avoiding looking at her.

‘I appreciate your concern, Derek, but I’ve got everything under control.’

‘All right, I can’t force you to do anything. Just remember, Claire, no one is indispensable. If any one of us got hit by a bus, this place would maybe skip a beat, but the powers that be wouldn’t waste any time filling the role and getting things back on track.’

‘Jeez, thanks, Derek. Nice to know how valued we are. Now if there is nothing else…’

‘Well, there was just one other thing – sort of more of a personal nature.’

Claire’s breath caught.

‘That colt, the one Jack registered as Paycheque…’

‘Yes?’ Her ears pricked up. She straightened in her chair.

‘Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this…’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve got him,’ Claire groaned.

‘No. Personally I don’t think much of him – too small. But that doesn’t excuse what I saw.’

‘What? What did you see?’

‘I probably shouldn’t say anything.’

‘So why are you?’

‘I honestly don’t know – it’s really none of my business.’

‘Derek, just tell me. I don’t have time for games.’

‘Al Jacobs had him at the…’

‘What? Bill Parsons took him. Dad hates how Al treats his horses. Was he all right? Not that there’s anything I can do.’

‘Skinny, scared shitless.’

‘He wasn’t racing, was he?’

‘Afraid so. Well, they tried.’

‘But he’s not ready – Dad said he needed another six months at least.’ Claire didn’t want to ask the obvious, but had gone too far not to. ‘So I guess he didn’t do so well?’

‘No, wouldn’t have a bar of the barriers, poor little thing.’

‘Oh God. After all the work Dad put in.’

‘I know, sorry to have to tell you.’ Derek shrugged. ‘Just thought you should know. I must be going soft.’

‘Anything else I should know?’

‘Al did mention getting rid of him, but I’m sure it was just his temper talking. You know how hot under the collar he gets.’

‘Well, it’s a pity, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘You could take that time off – get him back. I’ve heard you could have been a half-decent trainer if you’d stuck to it.’

‘Jeez Derek, you are going soft. But seriously, I don’t think Dad would want me interfering.’ Claire’s desk phone started ringing.

‘Well if you change your mind,’ Derek said, and left with a wave of his hand.

Claire stared after him for a second before picking up the phone.

Thoughts of Paycheque niggled at Claire all day. She saw his face in her mind every time she picked up the phone, every time she put it down, while she checked her emails, dealt with her in-tray, and added or scrubbed something from her to do list.

She’d sold all four of Jack’s horses. So why was only Paycheque plaguing her? Storm had much more going for him than Paycheque did – he was the right size for a start. God, she really shouldn’t have sold them. How would Jack react? He’d be angry, sad and disappointed. Of course he would. She’d known that and gone ahead anyway. Why? Because I didn’t have a choice, she told herself forcefully and got up to make a cup of tea. It was three o’clock and she was sick of the distraction.

But Paycheque was there again while she filled the kettle, turned it on, and put a tea bag in her mug. The small bay colt with the unusual enquiring tilt to his head, large expressive eyes, and level-headed willingness beyond his age. She thought about what Derek had said. Horses refusing to go into barriers was just part of racing. If they cracked under the pressure, their career was over. Just like any other elite athlete. Only the best horses were worth investing in. And the others… She hated to think about it. But it really was a part of life.

Paycheque was still on her mind when she got back to her desk. Jack had said over and over that he wasn’t ready to race. He shouldn’t even have been there, shouldn’t have been given the chance to fail. But Jack had also said he’d showed the most promise of any of his horses over the years. They were just words, weren’t they? Jack had always thought big – bigger than he should, if Claire was being honest. But now that she thought about it, Claire didn’t remember him being so vehement about a horse’s potential, or so attached to one. Paycheque hadn’t been just one of many, he’d held a really special place in Jack’s heart. Shit, what had she done? She rubbed a hand across her face.

Maybe it was part of some sick plan of Derek’s, some sort of reverse psychology. It could be anything with Derek, you just never knew. Or maybe it was even worse than he’d let on – he hadn’t wanted to completely lose his tough guy, racehorses-are-just-a-means-for-making-money attitude and was really concerned. If that was true, after what he’d seen in his time at the track and behind the scenes, it meant things were looking really bad for the little horse. But there was nothing she could do now, was there?

No, she’d kept things together through losing Keith and Jack’s illness; now was definitely not the time to go all soft. She had to keep focussed. It was certainly not the time to go gallivanting off on some ridiculous crusade to rescue a racehorse who, for all she knew, had spat the dummy, turned dangerous and was no longer any good. Hell, he’d probably be a dud anyway – Jack had had enough of them over the years. She really had to put Paycheque out of her mind.

Chapter Three

Four days later, Bernadette and Claire were curled up on Bernadette’s three-seater lounge with glasses of wine and an uncorked bottle on the coffee table in front of them.

‘So,’ Bernie said. ‘Anything in particular you want to do this weekend?’

‘Well I do have a bit of work I need to get done.’

‘All work and no play – you know what they say.’

‘You’ll be at the shop all morning tomorrow.’

‘Ah yes, but that’s hardly work – I love it.’

‘Well I could say the same, I…’

‘Really?’ Bernadette demanded, staring hard at her.

‘Actually, no.’ Claire sighed wearily. ‘But it’s something I need to get done.’

‘I rest my case.’ Bernadette downed the rest of her wine and reached for the bottle.

‘So that’s tomorrow morning covered. What about afterwards?’

‘Well…’ Claire fidgeted with the stem of her glass.

‘Yes?’

‘I think it’s time I faced going out to the farm.’

‘If you’re sure you’re ready.’

‘I don’t even understand what I’m so afraid of.’

‘That’s the thing about fear – it isn’t always rational. So what’s the latest with Jack?’

‘No change. Stubborn old bugger.’ Claire smiled weakly.

‘Well I think he’ll be happy you’re going out to the farm.’

‘Bernadette?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you think people in a coma can hear what’s going on around them?’

‘Yes, I do. Why?’

‘I’d hate him feeling he’s a burden.’

‘Well I don’t think he’d want you beating yourself up on his account.’

‘I just feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do to help him.’

‘Except get on with life – make the best of things.’

‘I am getting on with life.’

‘You think so, huh?’

‘What? I’ve got a good job, roof over my head – I’m not exactly a burden on society.’

‘But Claire, are you happy all alone in that big house?’

‘Uh-oh, I can feel a lecture coming on. Or worse – a blind date.’

‘Damn, why didn’t I think of that? Seriously though, Claire, you do need to get out more. What about that guy Derek – from the office?’

‘Derek? Bernie, he’s my boss!’

‘I thought he was nice at that party you invited me to.’

‘Well you’re welcome to him. Anyway, what would you know, you were pissed, you had your beer goggles on girly.’

‘I wasn’t that bad.’

‘Ah, how quickly we forget. Do the words “straw” and “champagne” ring any bells?’

‘Um, actually, yes, you can stop right there.’ Bernadette grinned sheepishly.

The next morning, Claire was restless and couldn’t focus on the work she had to do. Bernie’s cottage felt cold and too quiet without its effervescent owner banging about. She took a walk around the garden that was a perfect compromise between rambling and tailored, stopping to pat one of Bernie’s cats – the big sleek black male – who was curled up under the lemon tree, snoozing in the sun.

Something didn’t feel right inside. But what? She’d spent heaps of weekends like this – alone at the house while Bernadette was at the shop.

More than being just bored or restless, Claire realised she felt compelled to go to the farm. And she had to do it alone, without Bernadette’s deliberate good-natured chatter keeping her from thoughts too morose.

Claire’s heart pounded heavily as she turned into the driveway and the car vibrated over the cattle grid. As she made her way up the corrugated rubble track, she felt an odd sensation that everything had changed yet nothing had changed.

The wild oats wavered in the stiff breeze just like they always did this time of year. Cream–coloured dust rose in a cloud behind her car. The gum trees stood in the same solemn rows, neither bluer nor browner nor even any taller. The only changes were the empty roadside paddocks: the absence of colts and fillies frolicking about, their owner’s hopes resting on their withers. A crow scrounged about on the ground, picking through old piles of dung for something edible.

Claire’s throat tightened. It was too hard. She should have waited for Bernie after all. She stopped the car, turned in her seat to see how far she’d come, then turned back to look up the track. She was over halfway.

Claire closed her eyes and conjured how it used to be: Jack out there in his trademark Akubra, Yakka work pants, long sleeves, and oilskin coat when it was cold; long-reining a youngster along the fence, teaching it all about the bit, changing direction, and balance. It was what he’d been doing when he’d had his accident. Bill and Daphne had found him on the ground and the horse grazing nearby, the long reins trailing behind him. God knew how they’d managed to catch the damn animal and get all the gear off safely – that one had been a snarly beast at the best of times. They’d followed the ambulance to the city and called Claire from the hospital.

Claire opened her eyes and studied the area around her. Thankfully there was no sign of what had happened. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think again about the good times.

When she was younger, Claire had always arrived in jodhpurs and boots, with helmet and gloves in the car. Often when she’d rolled down the window to wave he’d stop and call out, ‘Love, would you mind just hopping on him for me?’

Ninety percent of the horses he’d trained had had her on their backs first. She’d loved being included, even after choosing a career outside racing. She still liked the idea of it, just liked the regular income more. She’d seen how much her mother had gone without. But she’d also seen how much she’d loved her husband. Grace McIntyre would have lived in a caravan without complaint if she’d had to. There was no way Claire could have done it.

Claire was glad her father hadn’t just given up on life after her mother had died suddenly of a heart attack five years ago. Though she had noticed much of the enthusiasm had left him. It was like he was just going through the motions. No longer could he run in the kitchen door, clutching his stopwatch to show his latest protégé’s time, face beaming like a little boy’s. They’d been the perfect team: Jack the passionate one, prone to getting carried away; Grace the steadying rational force, keeping things real, and keeping the bank manager at bay.

Claire swallowed hard. She looked behind her then back up the driveway to the mass of trees that hid the shabby, basic weatherboard home she’d grown up in. Bernadette was the only friend she’d not been too embarrassed to invite out to the rundown, untidy farm.

It was time Jack got real, ended this nonsense. He’d been slowly winding down anyway, hadn’t he? Thirty years was long enough for chasing rainbows and the elusive pot of gold. At least he’d be able to say it hadn’t been his decision, and could bow out with his dignity intact. He’d thank her for that, wouldn’t he?

So what was she so afraid of? Was it the guilt of being the one to end his dreams after all these years? Even her mother hadn’t done that.

When he came out of the coma he was likely to be incapacitated. Surely he wouldn’t want the constant reminder of what he could no longer do. The place really wasn’t the same without the horses. But she hadn’t had a choice, had she?

Her grip was as tight on the steering wheel as sweaty palms allowed. Her knuckles were beginning to ache. Claire took a deep breath, put the car in gear and slowly edged forward. Outside the car, the fence posts and dry paddocks began to blur as she picked up speed. She kept her eyes fixed on her destination, forcing herself not to think about what was missing, or exactly what had become of the horses that had once provided so much atmosphere.

Claire pulled into the carport behind the old white rust-stained ute, just like she had so many times before. When she turned the key and got out it felt like nothing had changed; she could have been going in to share a lunch of steak, chips and eggs with her father before he put her to work cleaning stables or mixing feeds. But when she reached the back door, reality hit. She’d had a new lock fitted a couple of days after her father had been rushed to hospital. The key was in her glove box.

Claire left it where it was, deciding instead to look around outside and enjoy the soothing sun on her back. She walked around the side, past her mother’s shade-house that was now empty except for a few skeletons of plants scratching at each other in the gusty breeze. The unusual orange and chocolate leopard-spotted rock, once a childhood treasure and proud feature of the corner fernery, was now covered in spiders’ webs and dead leaves. Claire moved on, swallowing thoughts of how devastated her mother would be if she could see it.

The gates of the day yards in front of each of the four stables stood open, and the piles of manure dotted around bore evidence of the hasty evacuation. Each water trough had an unhealthy layer of green slime covering its surface. Claire leapt back in fright as a sudden gust caused a loose sheet of roof iron to flap and then settle with a piercing squeal. She was halfway through a mental note to have someone out to fix it when she realised how ridiculous she was being. She could fix the damn thing herself – she’d helped her dad build them in the first place. Anyway, he’d be disappointed if she paid someone for something so simple. ‘More money than sense,’ he’d say. ‘That’s the city life for you.’ And of course he’d be right. An only child, she’d been raised a tomboy, and had been more capable with cars and DIY than most boys her age. But since she’d left the farm she’d adopted the ‘pay someone else to do it, my time is too important’ attitude.

First, she’d stopped doing the minor services on her car. And then the new one was computerised and so complicated it made sense not to touch it. It was funny how quickly you lost touch and confidence if you didn’t keep your hand in. There was no way she could ever tell her father she’d called the RAA out to change a tyre. But she was in her work suit and it was beginning to rain – and get dark – as she made the call. For the whole forty minutes they took to arrive she scolded herself for becoming a helpless woman. She was almost at the point of doing it herself when the yellow van turned up. In a matter of minutes the cheery man was done and beaming while she signed the form.

Claire smiled when she slid the shed door back to find the ladder leaning nearby, with an old paint tin half full of roofing nails and a claw hammer sticking out underneath it. She grabbed the wire handle and tucked the long but relatively light ladder under her arm, relieved that she hadn’t had to rummage through the untidy, echoing space.

After banging in the last of the nails, Claire sat back with a sense of pride that she’d been able to do something practical for her father. She’d tell him tomorrow evening. She put her chin on her bent knees and scanned the property stretching out before her.

It seemed a million miles from the responsibilities of a mortgage, a stressful job, and her grief. She’d done this often as a child: hidden herself away from it all in her own style of meditation. Now she felt so at peace she was annoyed she’d let herself grow up and get caught up in the web of city life. But everything was a compromise; a quiet farm meant being at the mercy of the seasons and other uncontrollable forces. No, there was no way she could ever live this way again.

Sitting back at Bernadette’s kitchen table, Claire looked up from her laptop as her friend made a loud bustling entrance, laden with over-flowing calico shopping bags.

‘So sorry I’m late. Old Mrs Jericho couldn’t make up her mind between the Edwardian or Victorian settings.’

‘No worries.’

‘I’m starving. Let’s eat, then get you over to the farm before you chicken out.’ Bernadette tipped a pile of butcher’s paper-wrapped parcels and large loaf of crusty bread onto the table.

‘I’ve already been,’ Claire said quietly.

Bernadette stopped with the calico bag still aloft. ‘Oh,’ she said.

Claire shrugged. ‘Yeah, it just felt right.’

Bernadette got out plates and cutlery and brought them to the table.

‘Was it okay?’ Bernadette asked. They’d spent so many hours this year with arms wrapped around each other, Claire sobbing, Bernadette fighting back tears of sympathy. She’d really hoped those clouds were behind them.

‘No. Depressing.’ Claire laughed, trying to play her mood down.

‘I knew it would be – that’s why I didn’t want you going alone.’ Bernadette thought Claire had been a little hasty in getting rid of the horses, like she’d been waiting for the opportunity. She’d tried to talk her out of it, had even offered to feed them and keep an eye on them herself. But Claire had been adamant.

‘It was like those ghost towns you read about – void of life. There was even iron flapping in the wind.’

‘Oh Claire.’ Bernadette moved to put her arms around her best friend, but Claire waved her away.

‘Don’t. I’ll become a basket case.’ Claire laughed tightly.

‘Focus on the positives – he’s going to pull through. Remember, where there’s life there’s hope.’

Unlike with Keith, who was gone forever. The unspoken words hung between them. Bernadette really felt for Claire – the poor thing had had one hell of a year.

Even though Bernadette had no evidence, she wondered if the universe was conspiring to get Claire back up into the Adelaide Hills. Maybe it was just selfishness, wishful thinking on her part. Claire’s husband had been cruelly taken – that certainly wouldn’t do anything to bring her back. Instead, it had made her focus more on her career in order to outrun the memories. And Jack’s accident and confinement to hospital just served to drive her further into the safety of the city’s hustle and bustle.

She looked up suddenly at hearing Claire’s voice, and wondered how long she’d been lost in her musing.

‘Sorry?’

‘You were miles away. I was just saying I put a couple of nails in some loose iron on the stables.’

‘Bit dangerous to do on your own, don’t you think?’

‘Probably, but it felt good. You know, actually doing something for Dad. For the briefest moment everything was back to normal – before…’

‘Did you check inside the house?’

‘No. I know I should have, but I just couldn’t.’

‘There’s nothing you should or shouldn’t do, Claire. You do it when it feels right and don’t when it doesn’t. There are no rules.’

‘God I wish I could be like you – not a worry in the world.’

‘Hey, I’ve got plenty I could worry about. I just choose to change what I can and ignore what I can’t. And it’s taken a lot of practice. Remember, I wasn’t always like this.’

Claire remembered all right. Remembered Bernadette worrying constantly about exam results and subject choices for the best career, while she’d just gone along following the subjects and teachers she liked without giving the future much thought. She’d almost forgotten what a stress-head her best friend had been: the time the ambulance had been called when she’d had a panic attack during the year eleven maths exam; the masses of hives that erupted before opening her HSC results.

Now she thought about it, Claire realised it was bizarre how things had changed – not that she could be called a worrywart, she decided firmly.