The cottage stank of unwashed clothes and stale alcohol. Sophie stepped over an empty wine bottle and yanked on the kitchen curtains. Light exposed the squalor in which her aunt lived.
‘Tess!’
A grunt issued from somewhere in the next room.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ muttered Sophie, kicking another bottle out of the way and stomping into the lounge. Tess lay on a fully extended recliner wearing yet another of her brother’s old work shirts, scarlet lace underpants and football socks. A balled-up pile of denim sat on the carpet in front of the television. Sophie assumed it was Tess’s discarded jeans.
She jerked open another set of curtains. Blissful sunlight streamed in. Outside, in contrast to the cottage’s dust and grime, ryegrass and clover pasture swayed glossy and vibrant green in the breeze. Against the boundary, Vanaheim’s plane trees stood solid and strong. Whatever her aunt threw at her, Sophie knew she had to do the same. She turned back to Tess.
‘You’re a disgrace.’
Tess shrugged, reached down for the bottle sitting beside her chair and drank straight from it.
Sophie crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Tess had her moments, but Sophie had never seen her this degenerate. She wondered what had happened. Dumped by a lover? It was hard to imagine her aunt having one.
‘What do you want?’ The words came out slurred and Sophie realised that even though it was barely lunchtime, Tess was incredibly drunk.
‘What do I want? Now, let me see.’ Sophie put a finger to her mouth as though thinking hard. ‘I want Buck to stop being horrible, I want Costa Motza to win races and make me rich, and I quite fancy the idea of sleeping with Aaron Laidlaw. Urn, what else is there?’
Tess’s flaccid mouth turned up in a shiraz-stained smile. ‘Told you.’
Sophie ignored her. ‘Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t mind knowing why my father dislikes me so much, and you, for that matter. But what I’d really like – no, what I want and will do my utmost to achieve, is you off Vanaheim.’
The smile fell from Tess’s lips. She narrowed bleary eyes at Sophie. ‘Can’t make me.’
‘I’m going to apply to the trustees to take my inheritance early. I’ve proven I can look after the farm. I think they’ll take that into consideration.’
‘Bitch.’
Sophie pushed off the wall and snatched the bottle, holding it out of Tesss grasping reach. ‘What is your problem?’
‘You!’
Sophie stared at her, heart hammering. Tess may have been drunk but the loathing in her eyes was unmistakable.
‘What have I ever done to make you hate me so much?’
‘Exist.’ Tess flicked a lever and the recliner’s footrest snapped down. She stood, wobbly but upright, facing off her niece. ‘It’s your fault I’m stuck here in this miserable hole. Yours and your selfish bitch of a mother’s.’
A slap would have been better than hearing those words. At least Sophie could have hit back and felt justified. But words had always been Tess’s greatest weapon. Her victims bled slowly from their wounds. She liked to watch their suffering.
‘You can leave whenever you want.’
‘No I can’t!’ Tess fell back into the chair.
‘Why not?’
‘Your fucking father, that’s why not.’
Sophie stared at her in confusion. What are you talking about?’
Tess surveyed Sophie through narrowed eyes. ‘Why didn’t you do it properly when you had the chance?’
There it was, a reference to Sophie’s suicide attempt. Tess always brought it out when she really wanted to hurt. Sophie glanced at the trees again and straightened her shoulders. She could endure this.
‘Because unlike you, I have some strength of will. I’m tougher than you think, Tess. I always was. It just took me a while to realise it.’
Tess grunted.
‘Why can’t you leave?’
Her aunt wrapped her arms around her bare legs and hugged them to her chest. ‘Do you know what I was doing before I came here?’
‘Not really. I thought you were working in a hotel or something.’
Tess made a noise of disgust. ‘Is that what Ian told you?’
Sophie couldn’t remember. She thought it was Tess who’d told her, but perhaps it was her father. It was all too long ago and she’d been too young and too distraught to care. And they’d never had the sort of relationship where it was normal to share such things.
‘It wasn’t a hotel. It was a guesthouse called Braeburn, overlooking Corio Bay. A grand old house built in the ’20s as a seaside getaway by a wealthy Melbourne family, which was converted in the ’50s to holiday accommodation. And it was once your grandmother’s.’
‘My grandmother’s? Why haven’t I heard about this?’
Tess gave her a ‘don’t be so stupid’ look before staring sulkily at her socks. ‘It was my house. And your father took it.’ A tear slid from her eye. She swiped it away and reached for the bottle, but it remained in Sophie’s grip. Tess glared at her. ‘Give me my drink.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘Won’t make any difference.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’
Tess said nothing. She stared at her feet, mouth tight, fingers digging into her legs as she held them curled up tight to her chest. Sophie waited. She wasn’t leaving until she had the truth.
‘Braeburn was meant to be mine. She promised it to me.’ She regarded Sophie, red eyes watering. ‘We visited each summer, in a room set aside especially for us. Just Mum and me, and for two weeks of the year I was the most important thing in the world, not Ian. It was our special place, where we were both happy. Then she died and Dad claimed it.’ Her mouth tightened even further, as though she was trying to hold herself in. ‘He said I didn’t deserve it.’
Sophie took a breath. As a child she’d picked up hints of a rift between her grandfather and Tess. On the rare occasions Sophie was naughty in his presence, he’d shake a finger and tell her to watch it she didn’t turn out like her aunt. And more than once she heard Wally Dixon tell his son how glad he was to see that Sophie took after him and not Tess. But like everything else, when she’d asked for details, everyone clammed up. Even her mother.
‘Is that why you left Vanaheim?’
Tess snorted. ‘Hardly. I left because the only thing Dad cared about was Ian. No matter how well I did at school or sport, or how hard I worked on the farm, Ian did it ten times better. So I stopped trying. Decided to have fun instead.’ She smiled a little, lost in a memory. ‘The old boy didn’t like that much, but belting me only made me worse.’ She sobered, bit her lip and stared out the window. ‘I hate this place.’
If what Tess said was true, then Sophie couldn’t blame her. ‘Then what happened?’
‘I got pregnant.’
‘And the baby?’
‘Miscarriage.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Tess sneered. ‘No, you’re not.’
Sophie did feel sorry for Tess but wasn’t going to waste her breath convincing her aunt otherwise. ‘So why come back here if you hated it so much? Dad could have found someone else to look after me.’
Her aunt eyed the bottle. ‘I need a drink.’
‘You’ve had enough.’
‘Just give me the bottle,’ said Tess wearily. ‘Or you can forget about me telling you anything else.’
Sophie twisted the bottle in her hands, considering; then, with a sigh, she handed it over. Tess snatched it from her fingers, pressed the neck to her mouth and drank in gulps. Disgusted, Sophie looked away.
‘Your father promised me Braeburn. He knew how much I loved that place. He’d arranged a job for me there when things were bad, and kept it secret from Dad. I thought once the old boy died he’d pass it on, but Ian kept telling me I wasn’t ready.’ A tear leaked from her eye. ‘I was. I’d worked hard, stayed clean. I deserved what my mother promised me, but he wouldn’t budge. Then your mother killed herself and he came up with an offer he knew I wouldn’t be able to refuse.’ Tess’s voice choked as the tears fell harder. Sophie reached for the wall, her stomach clogging with guilt and despair, and slowly slid down its length. ‘Six years with you was all I had to do. I told myself I could manage, that the sacrifice was worth it, but this place eats at you.’ She pointed a shaky finger at Sophie. ‘Then you had to go and ruin it all by slitting your fucking wrists!’
The bottle smashed against the wall above Sophie’s head. Glass and red wine sprayed over her in green and burgundy drops. The tough base of the bottle struck her shoulder and fell to the carpet with a dull thud. Sophie started to shake.
Tess stood up and advanced across the room, red-stained teeth bared, eyes glowing like a rabid animal. She stood over Sophie.
‘Do you know what he did?’
Unable to speak, Sophie shook her head.
Tess crouched in front of her, grabbed her jumper and yanked on it. ‘He kept Braeburn. Your bastard father punished me for your weakness. I’ve got to stay in this place with you until you turn twenty-five.’ She let go and fell backwards onto the glass-covered carpet. ‘I hate you,’ she said to the ceiling.
And at last Sophie understood why.
She crawled to her aunt’s side. ‘I’ll get you help.’
Tess shook her head. ‘Just do one thing for me.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t do anything to upset your father.’
Sophie closed her eyes, knowing she meant Aaron. ’I can’t, Tess. I think I’m in love.’
‘Then we’re both fucked.’
‘I pity her,’ Sophie said to Aaron as they rode out on Monday morning.
The sky leaked wintry drizzle, as if nature understood the futility of Sophie’s plight. She’d spent the weekend cleaning the cottage and trying to think of a way to help her aunt. Burdened by guilt and feeling she owed Tess, Sophie had invited her to move back into her old room, but it didn’t last a single night. Tess could be a nasty drunk, but sober and surrounded by Vanaheim’s memory-laden walls, she was diabolical. The only solution Sophie could come up with was to speak to her father, but Tess was adamant that she keep out of it. If she upset him, Ian could take Braeburn from her forever, and then everything would be lost.
‘She doesn’t deserve your pity,’ said Aaron. ‘Not after all the things she’s done to you.’
‘I still feel sorry for her. We’re both the victims of my father.’
‘We’re all victims of your father, Soph.’
Sophie looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
They rode on. Sophie’s mind circled his words, trying to work out what they could mean. Nothing made sense. She’d tried to ask Tess about Aaron, but after her aunt’s initial confession, she had clammed up.
‘We should get drunk together one night,’ Sophie said to Aaron as they walked the horses along the firebreak. The pines seemed menacing today, as if bad things hovered in the forest’s dark depths. She wished she could shake off her despondent mood, but today seemed a day for unhappiness.
‘Why?’
‘Because then for once you might tell me what’s going on in that handsome head of yours. It worked for Tess.’
‘Some things aren’t worth knowing.’
‘Everything about you is worth knowing.’
‘Stop it, Sophie,’ said Aaron quietly. ‘You’re only making it worse.’
She wanted to keep pushing but Aaron had that shuttered look, like he was keeping himself from the world. His jawline was rigid and his hands were tight on the reins. What was he hiding that was so bad he thought she wouldn’t love him any more if she found out?
‘Can I ask you something?’
He gave her a guarded look, and nodded.
‘What happened in the feed room … did I dream that or was it real?’
He glanced away into the trees. ‘It was real but it should never have happened.’ Suddenly, he reached out, grabbed her hand and clutched it tight, blue eyes concentrated on hers. ‘Sophie, listen to me. You’re gorgeous and sexy and funny and strong, and I care about you more than I can say, but you have to understand, I can’t be what you want. Not now, not ever.’
A lump formed in her throat. She tried to swallow it away but it wouldn’t move. ‘I thought —’ She stopped, finding she couldn’t go on.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘But you wanted to kiss me. You —’
You said my name like you loved me.
He squeezed her fingers, eyes filled with sympathy and something her ever-hopeful heart thought might be regret. ‘Friends, Soph. Let us have that.’
‘It’s not enough.’ It would never be enough. Not for her.
He let her go. ‘It’ll have to be.’
Aaron said he just wanted to be friends, but the evening phone calls kept coming. It was as though he’d developed a habit he couldn’t drop. Sophie felt torn between wanting to tell him to stop and the rising hope that there was a chance for them.
The calls were never about anything in particular. Mostly, he asked how she was, how her afternoon had gone and then hung up, but occasionally they’d get talking and wouldn’t stop for an hour. Some nights Sophie took the phone to bed and cuddled up under the blankets while they talked. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like having him beside her.
It amazed her that he could maintain his distance in the yard, when on the phone they’d be whispering their dreams and aspirations to one another. It was as if he lived in two different worlds. In the mornings, they worked the horses together, drank tea in Hakea Lodge’s kitchen, and talked about nothing but horses. Trainer and owner, pretending that’s all they were. In the evenings, Aaron let down his guard.
‘Did you always want to be a trainer?’ she asked him one night.
‘Not always. When I was six, I wanted to be a fireman.’
She smiled, imagining a blond, blue-eyed little boy running around in a yellow raincoat and a red fireman’s helmet.
‘And when you were older?’
‘A trainer.’
‘Didn’t it put you off training when your dad was warned off?’
‘No. It made me want it more.’
‘Why?’
‘I had to set things right.’
‘What things?’
‘Nothing. It’s late. I have to go.’
And so it went on. Some subjects remained off-limits, but as long as they were talking, she hoped that one day he’d give away enough so that she could work out his problem for herself – and then solve it.
Aaron did his fair share of probing too, she noticed. He seemed to like hearing how bad things had been for her, as if knowing what she’d gone through helped strengthen his resolve to keep his distance. If she hadn’t such a pathological aversion to lies, she would have made stories up to confound him. But she could only tell the truth, no matter how much she fretted that it was the truth of what she’d been through that was keeping him from loving her.
‘Soph,’ he said one night. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘You can ask me anything.’
‘Anything?’ He sounded amused.
‘Anything.’
‘All right. What colour underpants are you wearing?’ He was laughing when he asked, as if it was a big joke, but he soon stopped when she replied that she wasnt wearing any.
The silence lasted for ten long seconds.
‘Aaron?’
‘I wish you hadn’t told me that.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Aaron?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What were you really going to ask me?’
His relief could be heard over the line. ‘I was going to ask about your friends.’
Now it was her turn for silence.
‘Soph?’
‘I told you, I don’t have any.’
‘Why not?’
‘At school, when everyone else was making life-long friends, I —’ She took a deep breath, hating the memory and the pain it evoked. She could still recall the agony of alienation. Teenagers could be unbelievably cruel, especially girls. ‘I found it hard to talk to people. I wasn’t … I was very screwed up after Mum died.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘No one wants to hang with the freaky girl, and believe me, I was pretty weird.’
‘Did you really think you were weird?’
‘No. I thought I’d gone mad. In a way, I did in the end. Slitting your wrists isn’t a sane thing to do, but you know what? When I did it, it felt good. Like everything was all over at last.’
‘Jesus, Soph.’
‘You asked.’
‘I wish I could have made you happy then.’
‘You can make me happy now.’
‘No. I can’t. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The following morning she caught him checking out her bum when she bent over to pick up a bucket. He quickly turned away.
‘Don’t worry I’ve got some on,’ she yelled across the yard. ‘They’re white.’
Aaron stared at her before hastily backing into the feed room. She smiled and strode toward him. Crossing her legs and arms, she leaned against the doorjamb to watch him work, loving the way his long, solid body moved, the concentration on his face as he tried to ignore her, the way his gaze kept sliding to the door and down her body. Why, when what they felt was so huge and undeniable, did he believe anything between them was impossible?
‘Are we going to keep playing this game forever?’
He stopped scooping and looked at her. ‘What game?’
‘The game where you keep telling me that you only want to be friends and then perve at my bum when you think I’m not looking.’
‘I wasn’t perving.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Just checking to see if I was wearing underpants then?’
He didn’t answer.
She pushed off the wall and stepped forward until she was standing in front of him. ‘You nearly kissed me in this room.’
‘It was a mistake.’
‘I don’t think so. You wanted to. I wanted to. You shouldn’t have stopped.’
‘I had to.’
‘Why?’
He looked at her with eyes turned down with sadness. ‘If I tell you, you’ll hate me.’
She took his hand. ‘I’ll never hate you.’
‘We’ve got friendship, Soph. Be grateful for that.’ Then, in a replay of their last feed room encounter, he walked out.