Chapter Five
CHAPTER
5
I don’t draw from photographs, but I can draw from memory. The orchids I’ve incorporated into the different designs of The Dragon Slayer ’s waistcoats are inspired by Thelymitra venosa , the veined sun orchid, which I sketched when I was working in Katoomba. It’s unusual in the orchid family because the labellum, the lip, is a similar size to the sepals and petals, so most people think it’s a regular flower. Hiding in plain sight.
In the movie, the men who slay the dragons hide within other communities. Astrid, the director, liked the connotations.
‘Mac?’ Fifteen-year-old Rory, leaning over one of the two long benches in the workshop, holds out an engraving tool. ‘What’s this for?’
Setting aside the firmly clamped piece of leather I’ve been working on all afternoon, I hold Rory’s scrap steady, take the tool and draw a wiggly line. ‘With a scratch awl, you have to press firmly. Keep the pressure even.’
‘Mum said you shouldn’t have your arm out.’
I slot my arm back into the sling. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
He holds up a thumb.
‘Actually …’ I gently elbow Rory. ‘I take that back. Don’t keep secrets from people you care about.’
‘Are you saying I should tell her?’
‘If it comes up, you can explain I was very carefully using my right arm, because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t make a living and I’d starve.’
‘Mum said you should get compo.’
The film people aren’t responsible for Leo’s inadequate insurance because he’s an independent contractor. Astrid would back me if I went after him, but that would attract the attention of licensing authorities.
‘Leo might be forced to close his business,’ I tell Rory.
‘That’d serve him right.’
‘Maybe, but his employees would lose their jobs.’ I reposition the scrap of leather. ‘Leo has upgraded his insurance to cover casuals, so something like this won’t happen again. He owes me though, I get that.’
Rory rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a pushover.’
‘You’re nowhere near as sick as you were when Shelley dropped you off. Haven’t you got homework?’
When Rory flops on a stool, Keith Urban nudges his hand. ‘Your dog misses Mr Henry.’
Grandpa excitedly asked when we’d have our next meeting after I told him the Viking was—with reservations I didn’t elaborate on—still interested in the Summerfield project. ‘As he wants Dad’s old film,’ I told Grandpa, ‘I’d better make sure it’s still there.’ Grandpa drew a picture of the storage area under the house, pinpointing where I’d find the containers, but as I’d find it impossible to crouch low enough to fit through the opening with my injuries, let alone drag the containers out, I haven’t yet been down there.
‘I snuck Keith into the nursing home again last night,’ I tell Rory. ‘He was stretched out on the bed when a carer walked in.’
Rory grins. ‘Did you get in trouble?’
‘As Grandpa hasn’t been well in the past few days, she pretended not to see him.’
‘Mum said …’ He smiles uncertainly. ‘It’s like leukemia, right?’
‘Myelodysplastic syndrome stops him forming new blood cells.’
‘It sucks that he can’t come home.’ Rory engraves another line before leaning over the bench and considering my work. ‘What’re you making?’
I tuck my hair under the collar of my shirt. ‘Astrid asked for another waistcoat.’
‘Why don’t you use the laser machine in the shed?’
‘This will be worn by one of the Defectors. It’ll be seen up close.’
‘The Defectors are the dragon slayers,’ Rory says matter-of-factly. ‘Viewers will want to know what dragon they got the skin from to make the clothes and boots.’
‘The wardrobe people want the strokes of the tools to show the designs have been done by hand. A laser would be too precise.’
‘They want mistakes?’
‘The engraving or embossing, like each piece of leather, will be distinct, but that’s not a mistake.’ I engrave another line, finer than the last, and brush the waste from the skin. ‘Have you read the books?’
He holds his hands far apart. ‘They’re about this thick. The computer game is way better. It’s amazing .’
‘The first book detailed the world the author created, the different inhabitants and occupations. I would have been a Crafter. They made the clothes and equipment.’
He laughs. ‘I would’ve been a Starsman. They rode the dragons.’ He points his tool in my direction. ‘You were an Equisaught because you rode a horse. Will they put your fall in the movie?’
I engrave a circular line, look up and smile. ‘If they do, I’ll make them pay for it.’
‘Mum said—’
‘What did I say?’ Shelley is only a few years older than me and, as she’s come straight from the kitchen at the pub, her long black hair is tied back. She kisses Rory on the top of his head, ruffling his hair when he mutters a complaint. ‘Well?’
Rory looks to me and shrugs. ‘The truth, right?’
I laugh. ‘Go for it.’
‘She said Leo’s an arsehole.’
‘Other than a couple of physio appointments, I shouldn’t have medical expenses. Anyway, I’ll be fine to work soon.’
‘You should get something,’ Shelley says.
‘Astrid agrees, which is why she’s sending me household help. James is an actor on the payroll with, according to Astrid, way too much time on his hands.’ I smile at Rory. ‘As he’s a fellow Stars-man, you might know him.’
‘It’s not James Partridge, is it? It can’t be!’
I laugh. ‘You know him?’
Rory hops from one foot to the other. ‘Has he been to the saddlery? Has he? Really? You’ve gotta be joking.’
A week ago, the day after the Viking stormed off, I received a phone call from Astrid, who had clearly been guilted into sending James.
Shelley’s eyes open wide. ‘What does James look like?’
‘He has a great smile, boy-next-door looks and a posh English accent.’
‘How old?’
‘Twenty-four. A self-proclaimed young Orlando Bloom.’
‘Mum!’ Rory grabs Shelley’s phone and searches before holding it out to her. ‘You must know him. James Partridge!’
When Shelley grins, it reminds me of Rory, hardly surprising as, in addition to being mother and son, there are only sixteen years between them. ‘Me and Rory might have to check him out.’
‘I can’t believe you get to meet Kit Thorsen and James Partridge,’ Rory says. ‘When will James come back?’
‘He’ll be here again on Tuesday. Unfortunately for you, he comes during school hours.’
Shelley holds up a bag. ‘Maybe you don’t need my help with meals, now you have James to do your cooking?’
‘From what I’ve seen so far, James has never cooked or cleaned in his life.’
She follows me into the kitchen. ‘If he’s no help with chores, what does he do?’
‘After he makes us herbal tea, I give him a shopping list which, since he buys what he thinks are healthier alternatives, he mostly ignores.’
‘No potato chips?’
‘Gluten-free vegan soy crackers.’
‘At least he’s cute, which we don’t get enough of in Summer-field.’ Shelley opens the fridge and stacks containers on my shelves. ‘Thanks for keeping an eye on Rory. Can I do anything before we head off?’
‘It’s more expensive for you, making extra meals. I’m fine now, Shelley, really.’
‘I could cook for a year and still owe you for what you did last year, buying Rory’s school books and uniform. Anyway, we’re good this month—I’ve got a heap of shifts at the pub and Jake has fencing work for the next few weeks.’
Jake, Shelley’s housemate, hasn’t had steady work in the three years since the mine closed. Like other workers, he was opposed to the closure and didn’t hold back on letting me know about it until Shelley warned him to keep his opinions to himself if he didn’t want the hassle of finding somewhere else to live.
When we go back to the workshop, Rory holds up his scrap of leather. ‘Look, Mum. I’m getting good.’
Shelley shrugs an arm around his shoulders. ‘Mac will make a saddler out of you yet.’
‘Only a year more of school if I get an apprenticeship.’
‘Finish school first …’ I hand over his bag. ‘Then you’ll be sure.’
‘You didn’t finish.’
Would I have been a saddler if my father hadn’t died and, after yet another custody battle with my mother, the court decided I could stay with Grandpa? Would I have taken on an apprenticeship if I hadn’t hated school? Could I have studied art or design and been a real artist if things had been different? I shake the thoughts away. I enjoy working with my hands, and I can escape into the bush and sketch whenever I like.
‘Gordon always said you were the smartest in your class,’ Shelley says.
‘That’s Grandpa for you.’ I smile. ‘I liked biology and art, but I was happy to leave.’
‘Only a handful of town families wanted the mine to close. As if being a teenager isn’t hard enough? You had to put up with bullying as well.’
‘I wasn’t as good as sticking up for myself back then.’
‘Keeping to yourself,’ Shelley lowers her voice so Rory can’t hear, ‘is different than sticking up for yourself.’
‘When I’m not working, I’m with Grandpa.’
‘Or sketching alone in the wilds. You’re smart and you’re hot. Why not spend more time in town? You never come to the pub.’
When Keith Urban sits at my feet, I crouch and scratch under his chin. ‘I’m not unhappy.’
‘Not unhappy is different to happy, but …’ She tips her head to the side. ‘If Kit Thorsen doesn’t do it for you, James Partridge might have potential.’
***
‘Hey, Mac!’ James Partridge slams the car door and bounds up the steps. ‘How’s my favourite saddler girl?’
James isn’t good with his hands. He can’t cook and has no idea about housework, but his smile is a million watts and I like his English accent. When he gives me abridged versions of the many scripts his agent sends through, he makes me laugh. As this is his third visit, I’m used to the way he kisses both cheeks, but I always put my hand on his chest to remind him not to hug too hard. When he stands back, he whistles under his breath.
‘You’re irresistible in leather.’
One-handed, I untie the belt at my waist, removing my apron. ‘Want a cup of tea?’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Didn’t Astrid get my message? I’m not sure I have anything for you to do today.’
‘According to Astrid, Kit insisted I come anyway.’ He grins. ‘I find it impossible to say no to Kit Thorsen.’
‘I don’t know why he’s so adamant about this.’
‘The man saved your life.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘A technicality. If you’d needed it saved, he would have done it.’
‘When I asked about medical training, he said he climbed mountains.’
‘You haven’t watched him in action?’
‘The documentaries?’ When James sits on a kitchen chair, I bring the teapot to the table and join him. ‘I saw the first series.’
‘In the second, he’s with a team of seven or eight on the ice in the middle of nowhere when one of the team, the doctor in the team, loses control of a motorised sled, falls and breaks a leg. Fake blood I don’t have a problem with, but this?’ James shudders. ‘It was a bloodbath of Caligula proportions.’
‘Was there another doctor?’
‘Twenty kilometres away. Kit had to patch up the doctor before he could be moved. And, as there was a cameraman on the team, the doctor insisted he do the job he’d been paid for. He recorded the lot.’
I sit forward in my chair. ‘And?’
James slices across his thigh with a hand. ‘The tibia had snapped and gone clean through the skin. Notwithstanding a blizzard, they got a shelter up and Kit cut through the doctor’s clothes.’
With a knife from his boot? ‘Was the doctor conscious?’
‘Only long enough to take a look at his leg and promptly pass out. Not sure if it was shock or blood loss, but he’d burst an artery, his ligaments were shot and god only knows what else was going on. Kit gave him morphine, splinted the bone and stopped the bleeding.’
‘Did they get him to the other doctor?’
‘You’ve jumped the gun, Mac. It gets worse.’
I sit back in my chair. ‘He didn’t die, did he? That’s—’
‘As they loaded the doctor onto the sled, the poor bastard had a heart attack. Kit resuscitated him, CPR, the whole shebang, and kept him alive until they got to the base.’
‘And then?’
James grins over the lip of his mug. ‘Only two more weeks of summer, Mac. I’ll be relieved when the heatwave is over.’
‘James! What happened?’
Another smile. ‘The doctor survived.’
‘My collarbone would’ve been a little more straightforward.’
‘As it turned out, yes. But if you had needed your life saved, Kit would have been the man for the job. And you know what that means, don’t you?’
‘No idea.’
‘Intention is as good as deed. You and Kit are bonded for posterity.’
‘James!’
‘You asked about his qualifications. I told you.’
I sip my tea too quickly, gasp a breath, wave a hand in front of my mouth. ‘He said something to Astrid, that he was on an advisory board for the movie.’
‘The Norwegian government backs the movie through tax relief—they get to appoint a member to the board.’
‘Why Kit?’
‘His name, his notoriety and his Norwegian pedigree would come in handy. I imagine he’d also know something of Norwegian mythology. There’s quite a bit of that in The Dragon Slayers script.’
‘Do you think he and Chloe will get back together?’
‘In her mind, their separation was only ever a trial.’
‘They seemed close when I saw them on the set.’
‘Sure, but as he wants Astrid to direct the next documentary, he’d be more likely to be there for her. Then again …’ He whistles under his breath. ‘For a saddler girl, you’re gorgeous. Maybe word got around.’
‘Funny.’
James opens cupboards, smiling in relief when he finds soy crackers. ‘Like the rest of us, he saw what happened in the Equisaught scene. You were deadset heroic on that horse, Mac. No other way to describe it.’
‘He thinks I take too many risks.’
‘I presume your next meeting is about the documentary?’ He holds up crossed fingers. ‘I hope you get the gig.’
‘He hasn’t contacted me yet.’
‘If it goes ahead, put in a good word for me.’
‘As an actor? How are you relevant?’
‘Re-enactments are a thing , Mac.’ He offers me a cracker. ‘Have you seen the latest Ernest Shackleton movie? He was an Antarctic explorer.’
‘I doubt they’d have much to re-enact in Summerfield.’
‘I’d have to lose weight to play someone like Shackleton.’ James sucks in his cheeks.
‘You don’t have weight to lose.’
‘Skin and bone, Mac. That’s how to get an Oscar.’
‘Which reminds me.’ I hand over my phone. ‘Can you take a selfie?’
‘Are you finally acknowledging I’m famous?’
‘I’ve never denied it. It’s just …’
He sighs dramatically. ‘You’d never heard of me.’
‘Now I’ve looked you up, I appreciate your enormous talent and potential.’ I blow steam from my tea. ‘You do resemble Orlando Bloom.’
‘The young Orlando Bloom.’ He pretends to shoot an arrow. ‘Why do you want a photo, saddler girl?’
‘It’s not for me, it’s for my friend’s son, Rory.’
James mocks a frown before holding out his hand and smiling for the camera. ‘Is he an aspiring actor, this Rory?’
‘More like an aspiring saddler.’
‘He wants to be like you.’
‘For better or worse, yes.’
‘Mac!’
‘What?’
‘I’ve seen your designs. I’ve worn them, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I don’t have formal training.’
‘You clearly don’t need it. And then there’s the way you look.’
I press my tongue behind the gap in my front teeth and wrinkle my nose.
He groans as he leans his elbows on the table. His eyes travel over my face. ‘Do you ever look in a mirror?’
***
When I was ten, my mother said I was ‘fashionably thin’. At twelve, she said I was ‘shapeless’. The next time I saw her was at a custody hearing and I was thirteen. She assured me later that I wasn’t supposed to hear her call me ‘chubby’, and anyway, she’d said it in the context of her affidavit to the court that my father was feeding me hamburgers. After Dad died, I lost weight and she promised me a breast enhancement ‘as soon as it could be arranged’. She’d stand back and assess me. Fashionably thin. Shapeless. Chubby. Skinny. My mother didn’t do ordinary.
Dad was freelancing with a company that made television commercials when Mum met him. Like other men she’d dated, he was tall and good-looking, but he was from the country, the son of a saddler with a different story to tell than those of her other boyfriends. He’d never been to NIDA or film school, but he’d done the rodeo circuit, he rode a motorbike, he was talented and ambitious behind the camera. Mum was thirty-nine when I was born, Dad had just turned twenty-four. My parents didn’t want to marry. They didn’t envisage a long-term commitment. The trouble was …
They both wanted me.
After they split up, Mum told Dad that all she’d ever wanted him for was eye candy and his DNA. As it had turned out, she once said (sotto voce to a neighbour), ‘I should have forgone the sex and paid a fertility clinic to give me the mother experience.’ Did Dad hold that against her when he fought so hard for custody? According to him, no. He’d been flattered when the beautiful Clementine Green had shown an interest. He’d thought nothing of it when she’d insisted on a series of sexual health checks. There was no reason to disbelieve her when she told him she was on the pill and a child wasn’t on her agenda. He’d thought it wasn’t on his either. Yet …
Dad told me from the moment I was born—even earlier, after he and Mum had broken up and he’d found out by chance she was pregnant—he loved me in a way he’d never loved anything and would never love anything again. My parents’ fights for access were ugly and confusing and traumatic, but I never doubted my father’s love.
My father fought for joint custody, thinking I had a right to know both of my parents. The trouble was, Mum had a home, savings and more well-paid work than she could possibly take on. Dad had no home or savings. His film work, when he could get it, was poorly paid and required him to travel. The best way to show the court that he was deserving of joint custody was to live in Summerfield. Even then, Mum blocked access whenever she could.
One year, she tripped up.
I was thirteen when Mum got a dodgy passport (Dad never signed for it) and took me to Thailand. I told her I didn’t want braces on my teeth and when I fought to get out of the orthodontist’s chair, I was held down. No matter how well Mum performed on the witness stand afterwards, she couldn’t prove that what had happened had been in my best interests. It was illegal to leave Australia without my father’s permission. It was abusive to fit braces without consent. Dad got sole custody and Mum had weekend and holiday access.
I run my tongue behind my teeth and feel the millimetre gap.
The braces came off.