Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER
31
Pulling taut the waxy thread, I guide a needle through a pre-punched hole in a saddle skirt and guide it out the other side. Then, after moving the strand of thread aside, I take a second needle and thread, pushing it through the same hole to bring it up the other side. As a dressage saddle has smooth, clean lines, the stitching is hidden as far as is possible. In a western saddle like the one I’m working on, visible stitching, like embroidery on the bodice of a designer gown, is common.
What are your long-term plans?
I was off guard after I’d given my speech. Is that why Mr Farnsworth’s question threw me in the way that it did?
Designing and stitching costumes for The Dragon Slayers has been satisfying. I enjoyed working with the stunt riders and got a buzz from riding Phoenix. Early this morning, I packed up the waistcoats I’d stitched for the motorcycle club and took them to the supermarket for posting. There’s nothing stopping me doing other work while living here, but when the documentary is done and Kit has gone back to Norway or Antarctica or wherever he belongs and …
I shake my head. Reorder my thoughts.
Summerfield is my home.
***
Wattle Valley is a picturesque one-street town in the Hunter Valley, north of Mudgee and to the east of Summerfield. Stately gums in the main thoroughfare keep their leaves all year round but the branches of the deciduous trees are bare. The Wattle Valley Hotel, an art deco pub in the centre of town, has recently been refurbished.
Astrid, her hair out of its customary bun and styled so it falls in kinks on her shoulders, is sitting at a table near a window.
She indicates a chair. ‘Shut up about my hair.’
‘Can I ask about your make-up? Or the sparkles in your nails?’
‘We had a photo shoot.’
‘For The Dragon Slayers or the documentary?’
‘I used the movie and Chloe to promote the documentary.’
‘Chloe is here?’
‘She has a cameo in a local film. They flew her back.’
‘How were Phoenix’s scenes? I can’t wait to see him and Athena in the movie.’
‘What about yourself?’
‘Not so much.’
A reluctant smile. ‘You are my antidote to fame. Kit sees this too.’
Other than two men leaning on the bar, we’re the only people here. The door opens and closes behind me. But I don’t look around. I don’t want—
‘G’day, officer!’ the barman calls out. ‘Coke on ice?’
‘Kit will be twenty minutes.’ Astrid answers the question I’m yet to ask. ‘When he told Chloe to stay behind, she was unhappy.’
‘Couldn’t she have come?’
‘Kit overruled me.’
Like he overruled Astrid about the hike. ‘Is Chloe a complication too?’
Astrid blinks. ‘Not to Kit.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Do you know the fable of the lion with the thorn? This is you and Kit.’
‘Am I the thorn?’
‘Either the thorn or the boy who removes it.’ She barks a laugh. ‘I haven’t worked it out yet.’
‘People wanted to see Kit last night but he didn’t stay.’
‘He had to be in Denman by nine. It should have been seven but he put it back.’
‘He could’ve said goodbye.’
Astrid throws up her hands. ‘This is why I’m single.’
‘We’ll behave professionally.’
‘James told me you don’t hook up.’
‘He shouldn’t have.’
‘It makes him feel better.’ She shrugs. ‘Male ego.’
I sit back in my chair, wipe dog hair off my jeans. ‘What’s this about? Why the late notice?’
Astrid reaches for menus and puts one in front of me. She purses her lips. ‘Kit can answer your questions.’
‘Look who we have here!’ the barman calls out again. ‘Can you sign our visitor book before you leave?’
Kit is cleanly shaven and his streaky lion hair is freshly cut. Suit dusky grey, shirt crispy white, tie in shades of blue.
‘Mackenzie.’
When warmth moves up my neck, I look down at the menu. ‘Hey.’
‘Get rid of the tie,’ Astrid says.
He unfastens the knot, rips off the tie and shoves it in the pocket of his pants. Then he undoes the top button of his shirt.
‘Sorry I was late.’
I meet his eyes again. ‘Chloe could have come.’
After giving Astrid a narrow-eyed look, Kit’s gaze returns to me. ‘She was irrelevant.’
Kit and Chloe aren’t together any more, but their relationship is a reminder of one of the gulfs between us. He might be a celebrity by default, but he had a relationship with someone who embraces all that goes with it. How could—
‘Mac,’ Astrid says. ‘You can ask your questions.’
I gather my thoughts. ‘Why am I here?’
‘The hike,’ Kit says. ‘Three days, two nights.’
‘With the team?’
‘Yes. Will you do it?’
‘Of course.’
‘You can phone Gordon by satellite. We can airlift you out if we need to.’
When Astrid pushes back her chair, I move mine to the side. When I pull it in again, it scrapes the floorboards. My knee brushes Kit’s and I jerk backwards.
Astrid looks suspiciously at both of us. ‘Do you want to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Nei.’
After staring at Kit as he puts apple and carrot juice in front of me, the barman walks away.
Kit lifts a hand. ‘Stop it.’
‘What?’
He mutters something under his breath. ‘Du er umulig.’
‘What does “umulig” mean? You’ve used that word before.’
‘You are impossible.’
‘Right.’
Mouth firm, he looks around for Astrid, but the bartender must have worked out that she’s also famous because she’s signing his visitor book. I watch closely as if fascinated.
‘On the second day, you and I will climb the escarpment. That night, the others will meet us at the top.’ Kit looks down, stretches out a leg and deliberately bumps mine. ‘Will this be a problem?’
‘No!’ I push my knees tightly together. ‘What should I bring?’
As Kit lists items, I write notes on my phone before searching for Astrid again. A crowd of six enters the pub. Jasper McAdams, tall and slender with short dark hair, smiles as he walks to our table. When I stand, he takes me into a bear hug.
‘It’s good to see you, Mac.’ He holds my shoulders. ‘Really good.’
‘Amber did a brilliant job stitching Phoenix’s leg. Your wife is amazing.’
‘Yes.’ Jasper smiles. ‘She is.’
I have no option but to introduce Kit. The men talk about the documentary, but when Jasper tells Kit his job is in corporate finance, their conversation shifts to working remotely and satellite dishes and internet speeds and connectivity. Jasper’s friends are waving menus in his direction when Kit asks whether Jasper is related to Marie.
‘My mother and Gordon go way back.’ Jasper holds his hand at hip level. ‘Mac’s been turning up to McAdams Park since she was about this big.’
‘Grandpa enjoys your calls. Thank you.’
‘How is he really doing?’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ve never met a man more gracious under pressure than Gordon. Even that day at the stables, he didn’t raise his voice.’
‘They wouldn’t talk to him, would they?’
‘The bastards took you away.’
As I stand, I bump the table and my juice slops a puddle on the surface. Kit gets to his feet. Jasper steps closer. I hold out a hand to push them back.
And then I bolt.
***
In addition to thoroughbred broodmares, the McAdams family had dressage horses. When Marie called Grandpa to ask him to make urgent adjustments to her saddle as she had a competition that weekend, he told her he might not be able to help because Dad had double shifts at the mine and Grandpa would have to pick me up from school, drive all the way to Denman and all the way home again.
Marie suggested we stay the night. I’d be late for school the next day, but Grandpa promised my teacher he’d supervise whatever work I had to catch up on.
McAdams Park was like a place from a fairytale. The long and winding driveway was lined with poplars, there were flowers in the gardens and the lawns were neatly clipped. Behind the house there were rows of stables, timber-fenced yards and even more paddocks. I was at the end of year four at school, so would’ve been ten. As Grandpa measured Marie’s horse for a saddle, I walked up and down the aisle between the stables, standing on my toes to reach the horses.
Marie leant over Prima’s stable door. ‘Be careful of Rocky,’ she warned. ‘He bites.’
I rubbed a series of bruises on my arm. ‘Sherbet bit me when I did up his girth.’
I was the first to see Jasper, who would have been around sixteen, at the wide double doors of the stable block. There were two people with him, an angular man in a suit and a woman with grey hair and an orange-and-black striped dress.
‘Hello, Mackenzie,’ she said. ‘My name is Kathleen.’
She was smiling nicely enough but there was something about her that frightened me. I backed away.
‘Grandpa!’
My voice had a panicky pitch, so it wasn’t surprising that Grandpa left the stable so quickly. Marie had Grandpa’s measuring tape in her hand when she joined him. Did he drop it when he ran to the aisle?
‘What’s going on here then?’ Grandpa asked, tipping back his hat.
I wanted to go to Grandpa but the man, who I liked the look of even less than the woman, had doubled back and entered from the other side of the stable block, so now he was behind Grandpa.
‘She … she …’ Grandpa had taught me never to call someone ‘he’ or ‘she’ if I knew their name, but I didn’t want to say ‘Kathleen’ because that was the woman’s first name and Grandpa had taught me to always call people who looked the way she did ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’ or ‘Ms’ or ‘Doctor’ or ‘Professor’ or ‘Your Honour’.
‘Are you Gordon Henry?’ the woman asked.
‘That’s right.’ Grandpa’s voice was thin. ‘I’m Mary Mackenzie’s grandpa.’
‘We’re from the child protection office. We’ve come to take Mackenzie home.’
‘Her home is in Summerfield,’ Grandpa said. ‘You ask the court; the court knows that.’
I tried to be brave like Grandpa. ‘We’re having a sleepover at Mrs McAdams’s house.’
Marie stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘I’m Marie McAdams.’
‘Kathleen Shumaker.’
‘There’s been a misunderstanding.’
The woman patted her satchel. ‘We have permission.’
‘You’ve met my son, Jasper,’ Marie said. She was smiling bravely like Grandpa. ‘He’ll take care of Mackenzie while we discuss this at the house.’
Jasper immediately stepped forward. ‘I’ll look after her.’
The woman walked towards me. ‘We’re taking you home to Sydney, Mackenzie.’
‘I don’t live there!’
The man had a bow tie. ‘You’ll be back in time for dinner.’
‘What authority do you have to take this child?’ Marie asked. She wasn’t pretend smiling any more.
‘They can’t take me, can they, Grandpa?’
The man pulled out an envelope. ‘We have court orders. Mackenzie is to be taken to her mother.’
‘That’s not right,’ Grandpa said. ‘Lawyers get the wrong end of the stick just like the rest of us. Have you called Mackenzie’s dad? Does Sam know about this?’
‘Give me the orders,’ Marie said, but the woman refused to hand them over.
When Grandpa’s phone rang, he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘My boy’s ears must’ve been burning. This is him now.’ Grandpa tried to answer the phone but his hand—the hand that could engrave every letter of the alphabet in twenty different fonts—was too unsteady. Marie took the phone and talked to Dad. Then, after whispering something to Grandpa, she made a call.
By this time, I was desperate to get to Grandpa. The man standing next to him was wearing flat-soled shoes. The woman was wearing heels so I figured she’d be easier to outrun. I inched backwards across the aisle that separated the stables but the woman mirrored my movements and the man held out an arm. Grandpa took note too.
‘Stay where you are, love,’ he said kindly.
‘I don’t want to go to Sydney.’
‘I’ll have a chat with these good people.’ His eyes were glistening as he looked from Kathleen to the man. ‘We’ll sort things out, then we’ll get back to making saddles.’
‘My daughter-in-law is on her way,’ Marie said firmly. ‘She’s a lawyer.’
The lawyer’s name was Ariella, and her glossy black hair was long enough that she could have sat on it. She explained that the court document said I had to live at Mum’s house, but Dad could apply to the court to get me back. I did my best not to sob too much. And I didn’t kick or scream like I’d done when I was seven or eight or even nine and had been forced to go back to Mum’s. I stood bravely at the big white car and hugged Grandpa goodbye.
‘Can Slim Dusty sleep on your bed until I get back?’ Slim Dusty was our old dog.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ Grandpa, who always had at least two hankies in his pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. ‘You’ll be back in Summerfield with your dad and me and Slim Dusty and Sherbet before you know it.’
Kathleen, sitting next to me in the back of the car even though the front passenger seat was free, recorded not only my refusal to speak but the bruises on my arm. Her report to the court was non-conclusive, but my mother’s lawyer made a claim that I’d been physically abused as well as being neglected and encouraged to truant school.
Three months had passed before I got back to Summerfield. I hadn’t died of a broken heart yet, but when Grandpa told me Slim Dusty had gone over the rainbow bridge while I’d been away, I was afraid that our old dog had.
***
‘Mackenzie!’ I’m almost at my four-wheel drive when Kit calls out.
I sniff and pull out my keys. Beep. Beep. My back is to him, but his shadow melds with mine. All mixed up. Just like us.
‘Can we talk?’
‘I have to get back.’
‘Jasper apologised. He and Amber will come to Summerfield to see you.’
‘It wasn’t his fault.’
‘Turn around, Mackenzie.’
I do as he asks but keep my eyes on my keys. ‘Please don’t talk about what happened in Denman.’
He grumbles a sigh. Then, ‘You did well at the meeting.’
‘Thanks for what you said. Sacrifice. People liked that.’
‘Your family was a scapegoat, wasn’t it?’
‘We were locals. Most of those lobbying to close the mine came from out of town.’ I scrabble in the glovebox, find an ancient tissue, wipe my nose. ‘It’s not as bad as it was. I won’t stir things up again, make trouble.’
‘I’m not thinking of the documentary. I’m thinking of you.’
‘You don’t have to.’ I sniff. ‘I told you that.’ I mark a circle in the gravel with the heel of my boot.
‘Jasper is concerned. So is his wife.’
‘Amber is so kind, she worries about everybody.’
A car door slams, a woman shouts a cheery goodbye. ‘Relationships don’t have to hurt, Mackenzie.’
My chest aches, my throat throbs. ‘Please don’t.’
He takes my hand and opens my fingers. He circles my palm. ‘Don’t care?’
‘You shouldn’t have changed the schedule.’
‘I told Gordon—’
‘Grandpa has faith in me.’
He mutters under his breath. ‘So do I.’
I’m barely aware of grasping his shirt until it’s tightly bunched in my hand. He’s not sad and emotional and confused. He’s strong and solid and that’s why I’m attracted to him but …
‘We could have sex.’
He stiffens. ‘What?’
‘Before we go away next week. Then it would be over with.’
‘Sex?’ A pulse beats in his jaw.
‘In a hotel. Or a motel. Somewhere neutral.’ The ends of my fingers are white, but not as white as his shirt or his scar or—
‘What does this make me?’ He growls the words.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Am I a convenient cock?’
‘I didn’t—’
‘You haven’t even had sex!’
‘How is that relevant?’
‘It’s relevant!’
I take a jerky step back. ‘Forget what I said.’ My words are croaky.
He walks away, comes back again, throws a Viking scowl. ‘This is impossible!’