Billy, dressed in his best checked shirt, jeans and a wide, studded belt, sits on a bench opposite the pub. The clouds are high but a threatening grey.
‘About time you got here.’
‘It’s only five past ten.’ I hug him and, for the first time this year, he feels perfectly steady on his feet. ‘You look well.’
‘I couldn’t be better.’ He smiles. ‘And I’ll be in my own bed in Narromine tonight.’
‘I would have driven to Dubbo to say goodbye. You didn’t have to come all the way to Ballimore.’
‘Blake dropped me off and Tom’s coming to get me this afternoon.’
My heart flutters. ‘Blake is back?’
‘He stayed in Dubbo last night.’ Billy rubs his hands together. ‘We had a lot of catching up to do, seeing as he’d missed so many episodes.’
‘You … watched The Farmer Wants a Wife?’
‘As I said to the doc, it didn’t seem fair that he’d missed out. Anyway—’ he grins, ‘—I gave him a bit of a test. Had to make sure he’d been paying attention.’
‘W … will he be back at the Coach House tonight?’
‘How would I know that?’
‘Billy! Why did he drop you off? What—’
‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, Prim. All under control.’
‘He hasn’t told me anything.’
‘He was on and off the phone all night. Give the bloke a chance.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Sorting something out.’
‘In the pub?’
‘Jock is busy. The pub won’t open till tea time.’
‘Then … why ask me to meet you here?’
‘Plenty of time to explain on the way.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ll give directions.’
As I drive up the hill past the park and community centre and turn onto the loop road out of town, Billy listens intently to the news, weather and a livestock report, before singing along to the music.
After the third song, I interrupt. ‘You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?’
He turns down the volume. ‘Sharp left after the next bend.’
Old growth gums with smooth brown bark and olive-green leaves grow at the entrance to the property. A windbreak of pines marks the crest of the hill. Last time I was here, I lay on a blanket with Blake.
‘I’ve been to this property before,’ I say. ‘Beatrice and Elizabeth … were interested in it.’
‘The sisters will be here any minute.’ Billy looks at his watch. ‘Put your foot down, Prim. We’re running late.’
The driveway has been graded so the potholes aren’t as deep, and the gates—PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT—are already open. Sturdy posts and rails supplement the stone wall perimeters of the paddocks. A large circular raindrop plops onto the windscreen as we turn at the final bend and—
‘Oh!’ I pull over.
‘What’s up?’ Billy says.
The jacaranda canopy, a paintball splash of purple-blue, is mirrored by the flowers on the grass. More rain falls, darkening the foundations and three solid chimneys. Behind the house are the tangles of garden, the oak, the gums and—
Blake’s four-wheel drive is parked at the end of the driveway.
How many times have I willed it to be at the Coach House or in the town or at the zoo? Blake leans against the bonnet, legs stretched out. He straightens when he sees us, pushes a hand through his hair.
‘Billy? W … w … what’s going on?’
‘Nothing worth stuttering about.’ He pulls a newspaper from his bag. ‘Don’t hurry on my account—happy to put my feet up for a spell.’
Blake’s hair has grown. Can a week make that much difference, or was I too intent on the blood on his mouth and the pain in his shoulder to notice it last time I saw him? I’m dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He’s wearing a blue shirt, navy pants and smart brown lace-ups. He pushes up his sleeves, but one of them unravels. We stop a metre apart.
‘Prim.’
‘W … what’s going on?’
‘You needed help … with your cuffs, didn’t you?’
A half-smile. ‘Yes.’
I neaten his sleeves. And then I put my hands on his chest. Hard and warm and … ‘Where is your sling?’
When he takes my face in his hands and tips up my chin, I lean against him. I examine the split on his lip.
‘Does it hurt?’
He dips his head, speaks against my mouth. ‘No.’
I pull back a fraction. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘I like the … way you … speak.’
He touches my bottom lip with a thumb. ‘I like everything about your mouth.’
‘Everything?’ When I smile, he kisses my dimple.
‘Every fucking thing.’
Wanting and needing and craving. As he kisses, he searches my mouth, slowly, deeply, thoroughly. I stand on my toes, grasp his shoulders—
‘Argh!’
I push back so quickly that I stumble. ‘S … s …’
‘Prim!’ He hauls me back into his arms. ‘Stay. Here.’
‘I hurt you.’
‘It hurts more when you leave.’
The ache in my chest comes back. The variables. The uncertainty. I swallow. Swallow again.
‘Prim?’ He takes my ponytail, wraps it around his wrist. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘You didn’t have a choice about going to Canberra. Why did you go to … Sydney afterwards? Where else did you go?’
‘I can explain.’
‘Everything.’
He kisses my eyes. He trails kisses to my neck. He finds my pulse with his tongue and then he kisses my mouth again. Possessive yet tender, demanding yet careful.
‘Blake?’ A complaint on his mouth. ‘Why are … we here?’
He draws back a little. His eyes are bright blue. ‘I want you to trust that I’ll stay.’
‘I’m trying to do that but—’
He lifts my hand and kisses my wrist. ‘You can still take your time. As much as you need.’
We look around as a car, two cars, three cars, four cars, pull onto the level ground at the top of the driveway. Billy hops out of my car, enthusiastically shaking hands with Andrew and Luke. Hugo, so much taller than Patience, puts an arm around her shoulders. Mandy, wearing jodhpurs and black riding boots, hugs Phoebe. When Sinn puts Lissa down, Thomasina and Lacie, holding Jock’s hands, drag him towards her. A sleek white Mercedes appears and parks behind the other cars—Beatrice and Elizabeth Oldfield.
‘Blake? W … W …’
He looks at the others, then back at me. ‘I hope I didn’t fuck up.’
A whistle. ‘Prim!’
Patience says something to Hugo before picking her way through the grass. Her stomach is round because her baby is due very soon, but her face and the rest of her body are delicate. Fragile yet strong. She pushes back her curly fair hair and hugs me side on.
‘Hey, Prim.’
‘What are you doing here?’
She looks over my shoulder to Blake. ‘You haven’t told her?’
‘No.’
‘Thanks.’
Patience puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles again. ‘Phoebe! Hurry up!’
Phoebe, standing with Lissa and Jock’s girls, lifts a hand. After herding Lissa to Sinn, she leaves the group, half-walking, half-running towards us. A watery sun breaks through the clouds and lightens her hair.
‘Should I leave?’ Blake asks.
Patience holds up a thumb. ‘That’d be best.’
‘Prim?’ Blake takes my hand. ‘I’ll wait over there.’
‘I don’t like … s … s …’ Try again. ‘Surprises.’
He kisses my mouth briefly but firmly. ‘Forgive me.’
Phoebe hugs me tightly. ‘Hey, little one.’
‘Prim doesn’t know,’ Patience says.
‘What a magnificent jacaranda,’ Phoebe says. ‘Let’s go over there.’
Phoebe on one side, Patience on the other. Just the three of us. They know me. I know them. I trust them. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. And Blake? Last week when we left the hospital, Nate said he was rattled. He’s still rattled but he wouldn’t hurt me either. I can trust him too.
A kookaburra swoops, so close I see the splash of blue on his wing. Two smaller kookaburras fly after him, feathers brown and white. Fledglings.
Phoebe touches my arm. ‘Look, Prim.’
A mound of freshly dug soil marked with a small timber cross is scattered with purple-blue flowers.
‘It’s Merrylegs’s foal,’ Phoebe says. ‘Blake organised it.’
Tears come out of nowhere. Only they’re not out of nowhere. They’re from the deep, dark place I barely ever go. I’m hot. Then cold. Then hot again.
Patience presses a tissue into my hand. ‘Beatrice told Matthew to keep the foal in the cool room until you’d had the chance to tell Blake about him. She knew he’d want to do something.’
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and blow my nose on the tissue. ‘He knew about our jacaranda in Dubbo.’
‘He came to see us last week.’ Phoebe takes a tissue and blows her nose too. ‘Patience first, then me. We knew you’d tell us not to come all this way, so we asked him to keep quiet.’
‘Blake knew you’d lost animals before,’ Patience says. ‘He asked us how we’d handled it when they’d died. We had to tell him we didn’t do anything.’
Bending my knees, I touch the cross. I wipe my face again. ‘I used to bury them.’
‘What?’ Patience says.
‘All by yourself?’ Phoebe says.
‘In the garden bed near the pond.’
‘You had so many birds,’ Phoebe says. ‘And possums and lizards …’
‘What about the giant goanna?’ Patience sobs a laugh. ‘Did you bury them all in the garden?’
‘Only the … small ones. The others … went to the vet but …’
‘Tell us,’ Phoebe says.
I consider the mound again, the little cross above Merrylegs’s foal. I wouldn’t have marked my graves like that. I didn’t want to draw attention to what I was up to. I didn’t want others to judge. I kept the pain inside.
‘It’s a bit … Wednesday Addams,’ I say.
Patience squeezes my arm. ‘We can take it.’
‘I’d bury mementos, like feathers or fur. I’d tell them I … was … sorry.’ I crouch at the foal’s grave, swipe away a fresh stream of tears. ‘I’d promise I … wouldn’t forget them.’
‘You were so self-contained.’ Phoebe’s voice breaks. ‘We thought you were happy out of the house. You were away from our father, and you had your animals and—’
‘I was happy.’
‘The animals you were given were half dead already,’ Patience says.
‘And when they did die,’ Phoebe says, ‘you were all on your own.’
‘I don’t lose as many as I used to.’ I shudder a breath. ‘I’ve … skilled up.’
When I stand, Phoebe strokes my ponytail. ‘Blake knows you keep a lot to yourself.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘We interrogated him,’ Patience says. ‘Mercilessly.’
‘You distance yourself in your profession,’ Phoebe says, ‘you have to. But Merrylegs’s foal was different—Blake knew that. He wanted to know the best way to handle it.’
‘He’s lost animals too.’
Phoebe wraps an arm around my shoulders. ‘You’re not angry with him, are you?’
Patchworks of grasses will blanket the grave in the summer. In autumn and winter, bare branches will let in the sun. Purple-blue flowers will lie on the grave in the springtime. A veil of lace.
‘Blake understands.’
Jock is setting up a table near the largest chimney stack. My brothers-in-law and most of the others are with Beatrice, who is gesturing towards her car’s open boot. Luke and Billy are with Blake, but Blake is facing me, his hands deep in his pockets. I’m too far away to see his expression, but I imagine him frowning.
‘Why are there … so many people?’
Phoebe grimaces. ‘Blake had to tell Beatrice what was happening. I’m afraid she got carried away.’
‘A morning tea wake with scones, jam and cream,’ Patience says. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t round up a priest.’
‘I don’t do … speeches.’
‘You don’t like a fuss, which Blake knows as well as we do, but …’ Phoebe squeezes my arm. ‘They wanted to show you they care.’
‘They’re good to me already.’
‘Friends and clients give you teapots, and champagne that you’ll never drink. Sometimes they want to do more.’
I pick a jacaranda flower, rest it on my palm. ‘Mandy told me I hid my feelings. I kept pain inside. I think … we all did.’
‘Everybody knew how scared I was,’ Phoebe says.
‘I shouted a lot,’ Patience says.
‘You said nothing.’ Phoebe’s voice waivers. ‘Nothing.’
‘I lost my … words.’
Phoebe presses the palms of her hands against her eyes. ‘I should have done more.’
‘We … were all children.’ I hug her tightly. ‘You … were brilliant.’
‘Should we head back?’ Patience points. ‘I think he’s waiting.’
Blake, leaning against a fence post, supports his shoulder with a hand across his body. He senses my gaze, squares his shoulders, puts his hands behind his back.
He hides his pain too.