Chapter 4
UPSEND DOWNS
Ronnie pulled into the carpark at Rainbow’s primary school early. No traffic today. Good. Gordonvale, a cane-growing town on the coastal plain south of Cairns, caught a run-of-the-mill summer spill. Tourists didn’t visit during the wet season.
Parents huddled under the awning, mums on one side and a few dads on the other.
The dads wore the tradie uniform: dark sunglasses, tight T-shirt, work pants, meaty arms, dirty fingers.
Ronnie went to stand with them. She had never been allowed to pick Rainbow up from school before, so she wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go.
She had called the primary school in Atherton to let them know she would be late to soccer practice today. She shook hands with a man she knew from footy.
Rainbow ran into her arms. It was all worth it for this hug.
“How was school today?”
“Good.”
Hand in hand, they turned and walked towards the carpark. “What did you do today?”
“Normal stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I forget.”
Athletic fields, Atherton. As she had suspected, the boys’ assistant coach who had covered for her was visibly bored, frowning on the sidelines with his arms crossed. Girls dribbled balls in a circle.
Ronnie slipped her whistle around her neck. The girls looked relieved to see her. They stared at Rainbow. The teams were rivals, in a primary school way, more heated than adult sports rivals, with a ferocity akin to Lord of the Flies.
Ronnie set Rainbow’s bag on the stands to shake hands with Jack Collins. “Thanks, mate.”
“No worries.” He ruffled Rainbow’s hair. “Hi cowgirl! How was school?”
“Good.”
He winked at Ronnie, touched her shoulder and walked towards the boys’ soccer team that was practicing two fields over. Jackie was all right.
Ronnie walked into the center of the soccer pitch and was instantly swarmed by girls like chooks gathered cheeping and peeping around a feeder. “Did you miss me, Wattles?” Their school mascot was a wattle, an acacia tree with sunshine yellow flowers.
A chorus of ‘yes’es, a few cheeky ‘no’s.
“I missed you, too. Let’s start at the beginning. Matildas, to my left. Football Ferns, to my right.” The girls separated into their scrimmage teams on either side of the pitch, then converged along the center line. They knew the tradition.
Ronnie stood between them, hand on her hips, scrolling through playlists on her phone. She set the speakers on the center line. “Ready?”
The girls nodded. No one smiled. They took the coin flip extremely seriously.
She pressed a button. The opening bars of “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer played over the speakers.
The team on her left, the Matildas, began side-stepping, heel-stepping, in time to the music.
Ronnie danced along for any of the girls who had forgotten the moves she had taught them.
Left-right fist pumping. Criss-cross feet, grapevine, hands in the air, then slide.
Walking in place, jogging in place, jumping side to side, spinning around. Ronnie mouthed the words.
The next track was for the Ferns group. “Obsession” by Animotion blasted through the speakers.
Rhythmic synth and drums, followed by a haunting high-pitched synth line before the bass voice joined in.
Ronnie shimmied her shoulders, side-stepping to the beat.
The girls tossed their ponytails and pigtails, shimmying and clapping.
They got down on all fours when she did, then rolled over and sprang up to their feet in a spread-eagle, jumping, clapping, and then shimmying in a circle, arms in the air.
Afterwards the primary school girls closed their eyes.
“Raise your hand if you think the Matildas won. No peeking.” Ronnie counted fifteen hands.
“Raise your hand if you think the Ferns were better. Keep those eyes closed.” She counted eight hands.
“Open your eyes. Congratulations, we have a winner. Drumroll, please.” The team patted their thighs.
Ronnie pointed her fingers, crouched, swung her arms in a circle, then pointed to the group on the left.
“Let’s hear it for the Matildas! Woot woot!
” The girls all clapped. The team on the left side of the line shrieked and jumped up and down, hugging each other.
“Well done girls! Better luck next time, Ferns. It was close. You were fire as well.” Ronnie picked up a soccer ball, set it on the center line. “Matildas, your ball.”
Farms collect broken things. Free from the limitations of space, they hoard. Upsend Downs was no exception—useful things came here after death to oxidize.
Unfixable things waited for resurrection.
She snapped a picture of Rainbow on her phone. Rainbow sat on the seat of an unrecognizable lump of rusty metal in front of Stone House.
“What is it?” Rainbow asked.
“Horse-drawn potato harvester. Nev bought that thinking she would get it working again.”
“But she doesn’t grow potatoes.”
“Not yet.”
They walked to the horse barn. Inside was quiet and tidy, no one there except animals. It smelled like hay. Rainbow saddled Brighty the fat pony while Ronnie saddled Dreadnought the mare, her favorite.
On the wild side of the fence, Shadow grazed beside this years’ foal, lazily flicking flies away with her tail.
Feral ponies ignored fences. Brumbies belonged to no one, like rabbits and brush turkey.
The name "brumby" probably originated from the Aboriginal word "baroombie," meaning wild.
Australia had more wild horses than any other country, all descended from escaped thoroughbreds.
Years ago, Shadow had been shy and skittish, but Ronnie had been feeding her carrots and apples.
Reg had affectionately nicknamed her “Brum” when she was still little and feral with a mane of thick black hair. Now Rainbow was that child, the one they all loved, the one they hung their hopes on.
Ronnie double-checked that the nine-year-old had tightened the pony’s girth. She tightened the belt under his belly another notch until it was snug. “Good work, kiddo. You’re a pro. We’ll hire you soon.”
Rainbow led the way. Ronnie’s horse followed the pony up the perimeter trail uphill through the bush, towards the top of the mountain owned by the international Centre for Rainforest Research, then cut downhill towards Lake Tinaroo, through Nev’s hay pastures and sheep paddocks.
Dreadnought and Brighty waded across Lazy Creek.
Miniature kangaroos called pademelons—Rainbow’s favorite because they looked like teddy bears—camouflaged against bushes in the shade.
The trail descended gently towards Lake Tinaroo.
Barbed wire fence on their right—Johnson’s cattle farm.
No cattle in sight today, only empty paddocks with gum trees along fences and creeks.
She had been fantasizing about buying that property for years, had even squirreled away a few thousand in the bank for a down payment in case any of it ever came up for sale.
The trail veered left at the marsh that formed the eastern edge of Lake Tinaroo. Below, water lay flat and brilliant. “Thirty-five square kilometers of surface area,” Rainbow said. “I learned that in science class.”
They rode uphill to the Upsend Downs Native and Exotic Plant Nursery, passing the potting shed, walking the horse and pony between rows of healthy-looking plants, through the lavender field and orchard of young trees in pots.
The view from top of the hill still took her breath away.
Below them lay gold and silver horizons, hazy in the heat.
The nursery was peaceful, no customers yet.
Careful to keep Dreadnought to the middle of the path, Ronnie led her daughter among ornamental plants, fountains and birdbaths, mahogany trees, and boxwood hedges. The air smelled like an herb cabinet.
An access road led behind neighbors’ houses to the back door of Nev’s horse barn.
Brushing down Dreadnought in the barn after dismounting and unsaddling the animals, Ronnie asked, “Has your mama been nice to you?”
“I hate her.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She doesn’t pay me to do chores, she won’t let me sleep over at Lizzie’s, and she doesn’t let me watch R-rated movies.”
“You’re nine.”
“So?” Rainbow lifted her horse’s front foreleg to scrape the mud out of the horse’s hoof with a pick. Ronnie watched, still brushing the bay mare, whose coat shone.
“Sounds like a normal strict parent. Gentle with that.”
“Your mum let you do whatever.”
“Look how that turned out.” Necessity could force her to see her ex, but no one could force her to see her mum. “Other than that, is she nice to you?”
Rainbow appeared to be focused on her task. A glob of manure fell out of the cleft of the soft center of the horse’s hoof. She shrugged. Another glob of mud fell out under the hoof pick, hitting Ronnie’s leg before landing on the barn floor.
“Careful,” Ronnie said. “Gentle with his hoof. Is she patient? Does she yell?”
“Not at me. She yells at the dog.”
“Does she help you with homework?”
“Homework’s easy.” Lucky girl. Rainbow hadn’t inherited that from her. “Besides, Nev helps me.” That was true. Ronnie’s annoyingly brilliant boss helped Rainbow with her homework every other weekend.
“Does she cook? Do you eat at the table?”
“Weekdays I stay with nan.”
“Are you safe there?”
“Mum...”
“You would tell me if someone was hitting you or making you do icky stuff?”
“You sound like the social worker. You’re not my coach or my social worker. You’re just my mum.”
“What do you think a mum is? You’re awfully precocious.”
Rainbow rolled her eyes. Where had she learned that? At school? She was acting like a teenager already.
At night after the nine-year-old fell asleep in the guest bed at Reg and Blaise’s house, Ronnie texted Maude.
(Ronnie) Why does Rainbow have a social worker?
(Maude) The school gave her one.
(Ronnie) Why? What’s wrong with her?
(Maude) I’m not having this conversation with you over text.
(Ronnie) ?
(Maude) She was fighting on the bus.
(Ronnie) When?