Prima is becoming accustomed to the sights and sounds of our outings along the road, walking calmly beside me and pricking her ears when we turn at the bend to come home, and nickering a greeting when she sees Sonnet. Her new halter, black with a bright blue headband, looks smart against her light brown coat and dark mane and forelock. I pull up the hood of my jacket to keep out the evening chill as we walk past the farmhouse.
She sneaks a mouthful of grass as I open the gate, chomping happily as I lead her through the paddock to the grey gum. As she snuffles in her hay, Lollopy, who finished his dinner an hour ago, watches longingly. Instead of considering him warily as she would have done a few weeks ago, as if afraid he might approach, Prima turns her back.
Now that Joel’s father is doing well with gamblers anonymous, Joel has moved back home and visits Prima daily. When I handed him her lead rope this morning, she stood quietly as she was groomed. Afterwards she followed him, toey but compliant, around the paddock. She looked curiously over the fence at the kids and other horses.
A kookaburra calls out loud and long from the red gum and his family joins in at the chorus. ‘It might be time to extend your circle of friends,’ I tell Prima as I lift her hoof to check for stones. ‘Maybe you’ll make a therapy horse after all.’
By the time I arrive at the pub, the trivia game has already started. Gus waves his arm above his head when he sees me at the door. ‘Sapphie,’ he hisses. ‘Over here.’
‘Hello,’ I whisper to Luke and Ma and Pa Hargreaves. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
An hour later, most of the tables are discussing history dates—quietly, so other tables don’t overhear what answers they settle on. Hugo, sitting with his brother and sister-in-law, laughs loudly and bangs the table, grinning and making a face when I look his way.
When the door to the street swings wide and lets in the breeze, Ma Hargreaves nudges me under the table. She tidies her wavy grey hair. ‘Look, Sapphie. Dr Laaksonen. Gus tells me you’ll be seeing him later tonight.’
Matts’s hands are in his pockets as he walks past the lounge towards the bar. ‘I’ll see him at the committee meeting, yes.’ I tap the piece of paper in front of her. ‘Please, Ma, look at the questions, not him.’
‘He’s a handsome young man with a very good job. There aren’t so many of them in Horseshoe that we can afford to look the other way. Even though’—she lowers her voice—‘it’s a Saturday night. When I was a girl, men wore a jacket and tie for special occasions. He could have gone to a little more trouble with his outfit.’
‘Please stop staring.’
‘Sapphie!’ Gus hisses again, nudging my foot. ‘How many men did Horseshoe lose at Gallipoli? What do you reckon?’ Gus takes trivia more seriously than most of us, tugging at his hair whenever the scores are close.
‘Two men on the beaches,’ I say, ‘three including the soldier who died a month later in the field hospital.’
‘Write that down, Bob. Sapphie says three, and she’s the best of us at history.’
Besides a few lean years during the Depression in the 1930s, the Royal has been open for almost a century. I’m not sure how long Saturday trivia nights have been going on, but the tradition was well established by the time I came to Horseshoe.
‘Last questions,’ the host calls out.
I’m helping Gus—failing dismally to hide his disappointment with second place—separate the tables and tidy the chairs when Matts walks into the lounge. When I hold out my hand, he hesitates.
‘Your finger?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
His grip is firm, but he holds on to Gus’s hand for far longer than he held mine.
The three of us lift one of the larger tables to a nook at the back of the lounge, close to a stained glass window that looks out onto the street. People will return to the other tables later on, but it’s relatively private back here.
‘Sapphie.’ Cassie puts her bag on a chair before hugging me briefly. She stands back and looks me up and down. ‘That shirt looks great with jeans.’ She touches my sleeve. ‘Silk, isn’t it?’
The cream fabric has spilled out at my hip and I tuck it in. ‘I haven’t done my washing this week. I didn’t have anything else.’
Cassie’s gaze goes to Matts and then returns to me. When she winks, a blush moves up my neck. I hadn’t done my washing, but …
You’re afraid to be beautiful.
Gus pulls out chairs for Cassie and me, before sitting down himself. As soon as Luke joins us, Gus links his hands. ‘Let’s get to it.’
Matts takes care to keep his legs on his side of the table when he sits opposite me, even though mine are tucked under my chair. Luke sits next to Matts, opposite Gus. Cassie, sitting at the end of the table, takes off her brass-buttoned navy jacket and hangs it over the back of her chair. ‘All set,’ she says, straightening her scarf.
I take a sheaf of papers from my folder. ‘I’ve already emailed a summary of the main points raised in our last meeting, and here it is again. I thought we could use it as a guide as we think about ways we could raise the committee’s profile.’
Gus pulls out his magnifying device and peers at the paper. ‘I’ve got a question straight up.’ He sticks out his chin. ‘How are the rivers and wetlands ever supposed to get the water they need when the government controls the water flow?’
‘In the last drought, water scheduled for the river and marshes was diverted to the towns,’ Cassie says.
‘Too much land clearing south of the wetlands, that’s what I reckon,’ Gus says. ‘Even when it rains, there’s not enough trees to keep moisture in the ground.’
Cassie taps her pen on the table. ‘Raising funds for projects that won’t bring immediate results is next to impossible.’
My shirt has pulled out of my jeans again. I tuck it in as I turn to Matts. ‘When you gave your presentation, you said the secretariat helps countries to restore, rehabilitate and maintain wetland environments. For that, you need community support.’
‘Governments won’t initiate change without it.’
I flick through the calendar on my phone. ‘With the committee’s help, I’d like to organise a series of day trips to the river towards the end of October. Showing people, especially city people, what we’re up against, is better than telling them about it. We need a long-term strategy, not short-term solutions in response to a crisis. We have to convince the government to fund research and implement new initiatives before the next drought.’
Matts leans back in his chair. ‘How do you do that with day trips?’
‘People get told about dam levels, but showing them what the river looks like, even when we’re not in drought, will be instructive.’
‘Reckon the farmers would be happy to see you,’ Gus says.
‘Mr Chambers has contacts with manufacturers and other industries that operate in the towns and employ workers in the region.’
‘Environmental groups, sustainable fishing organisations, ornithologists and tourism operators, there are so many interests that simply want to be heard,’ Cassie says.
I turn to Luke. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Landcare groups, farmers and environmentalists are keen to do restorative work, but that gets pushed aside when something more pressing comes up. I can back up your arguments with facts and figures.’
‘All the government wanted to do after the last drought was build another dam,’ Gus says. ‘That’s no good for the land.’
Matts folds his page in half. ‘Without support from senior levels of government, you’d be wasting your time.’
When Gus harrumphs, I put my hand on his arm. ‘Matts might have a point, Gus. Besides Horseshoe locals and the intern at the Dubbo Daily, I’m not sure my day trips will garner much interest. But,’ I smile at Matts, ‘if you were to come with me, people would take notice.’
The pen in his hand is dark grey. Brushed silver? Platinum? He lines it up so it’s parallel to the edge of the table. ‘How many days?’ he says.
‘Four or five will be enough.’
‘I have an alternative.’ He picks up his phone and considers the screen. ‘You and I can go to the wetlands together.’
‘What?’ My heart rate doubles. I swallow twice. ‘That’s hundreds of kilometres away.’
‘But that’s not what—’
‘I have unrestricted access to the river and marshes.’ He puts his phone on the table and crosses his arms. ‘If we go together, it will demonstrate interest in the preservation and improvement of river and wetland environments.’
‘Great!’ Luke slaps the table. ‘That’d be great.’ He nudges my foot. ‘Sapphie? We can share your posts, not only on our website but other platforms too. When we do a final report, we’ll send it out to government and other organisations.’
I keep my eyes on Matts. ‘I planned to go to the river near Horseshoe.’
He nods without smiling. ‘We do that too.’
‘Our river extends to the wetlands,’ Cassie says. ‘You’re a local, Sapphie, and you, Matts, are somewhat more exotic. I think this is an excellent plan.’
‘What do you reckon, Sapphie?’ Gus shuffles closer, his bushy brows drawing together. ‘You’re not too keen on hopping in the car these days.’
I have crippling anxiety on the roads.
‘I’ll drive,’ Matts says.
‘If you’re up for it,’ Gus pats my arm, ‘I can get your horses taken care of.’
‘And I’ll cover for you at the youth centre,’ Luke says.
Matts is typing on his phone with his thumbs. My phone is on silent, but the screen lights up when a message comes through. My gaze flies from my phone to Matts and back to my phone. I read the group chat again.
From: Matts
To: Sapphie, Chambers, Cassie, Luke, Gus
Macquarie Marshes. Sapphie and Matts confirmed.
The others discuss how a road trip to the wetlands will be beneficial to both our committee and Matts’s project. When he’s not making informative comments and answering questions, Matts writes neatly on the margin of the page I gave him earlier. Whenever I look away, I sense his gaze on my profile.
I have my bag on my lap when a well-dressed man with thick black hair takes off his smart woollen coat and hangs it on the rack. He walks to the bar and pulls out a stool.
‘Evening, mate. What can I get you?’ Leon calls from the other side of the bar.
After Leon has served his drink, the man swivels on his stool and faces the lounge. Besides the young couple holding hands near the window, ours is the only table occupied. The man glances towards the smaller table before turning his attention to ours. He looks at Matts for a very long time. And then his gaze goes to Luke, Cassie and Gus. Finally, his eyes meet mine.
He starts and turns away so quickly that his knee hits the bar. He puts a note on the counter and walks quickly to the door.
Gus folds his pages into a square and pushes the wad into the pocket of his shirt. ‘Are we good to go?’ he asks. ‘Anyone want a beer?’
‘I’d like an early night.’ My hair shields my face as I zip my bag. ‘Thanks everyone for coming.’
I glance at the message on my phone again. When I look up, it’s into Matts’s eyes. ‘We have to talk,’ I say quietly.
He shrugs. ‘Where?’
‘Outside.’
Matts, head tilted as he listens to Gus, is still at the bar when I follow Cassie through the door to the footpath and hug her goodbye. I fasten my coat buttons against the cool evening chill, pull on gloves and put my hands into my pockets.
‘Miss Brown!’ Mary and her sisters are on the opposite side of the road.
‘We’re waiting for Dad.’
Mary is tall for her age, almost as tall as her middle sister, Millie. I watch them, arms securely linked, as they skip side by side like Dorothy and the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. Molly, the eldest girl, is eighteen. She trails behind the others until, all of a sudden, she breaks into a run. As she gets closer she holds out her arms, herding her sisters away from the kerb. Headlights shine brightly behind them.
I release a shaky breath as a long blue sedan passes slowly.
‘Sapphie?’
I jump.
Matts frowns. He points up the hill. ‘I’ll walk you home.’
I nod—even though I’d much rather prefer to talk out here. Keeping my eyes firmly on the path, neither of us says anything until we’re almost at the schoolhouse. When I finally look up, he touches my arm. We stop and face each other.
‘What’s the matter?’ he says.
‘I wanted day trips.’
‘I wanted wetlands.’
‘You set me up.’
‘I won’t be used.’
When he walks away, I run to catch up. ‘Don’t do this, Matts. It complicates things even more.’
‘How?’ His mouth hardens. ‘We are strangers.’
The schoolhouse light casts a dim golden glow on the steps of the porch. Hidden in the shadows are the old school desk and the hooks for the coats and satchels. I don’t want to take him there.
That’s where I kissed him.
Butterfly wings flutter deep in my stomach.
‘Where are we going?’ he asks, as we cross the garden and walk through the side entrance to the school grounds.
‘My house is a mess.’ I take off my gloves to work the latch on the gate. ‘And this won’t take long.’
The narrow path leads to the infant children’s playground. A pine log bridge, a metre off the ground, is suspended over an ocean of rubber. To the left of the bridge are two timber panels angled like the bow of a ship with a waist-height platform as the floor. The younger boys and girls play games here.
Sailing ships and pirates. Castles, moats and dragons. Tales with happy endings.
Kotka and Kissa.
When my eyes sting, I spin around and drop my bag. My back to him, I hold onto the platform with both hands.
He mutters something in Finnish, then says, ‘You’re afraid to be alone with me.’
‘I’m …’ I run a finger along a crack between the boards. ‘I find it difficult. Which is why I don’t want to go away with you.’
‘We are not who we were.’
‘I understand that, but—’
‘We’re no longer children.’
‘We’re not colleagues either, or friends or—’ His touch on my shoulder sends warmth through my body.
‘Turn around, Sapphie.’
When I do as he asks, our breaths, white in the cold, meet in the middle. My hand hovers between us.
‘Matts?’ My voice is too high. ‘What’s left?’
He takes my hand. He stares at my mouth. ‘You shouldn’t have kissed me.’
‘I can’t take it back,’ I croak.
He traces my top lip with the pad of his thumb before running it across my bottom lip. He draws a line along the crease and back again.
‘And I can’t forget it.’ There’s need in his voice. And fire in his eyes. He threads his fingers through my hair and watches the strands as they slide through his fingers.
I pull my hand free and grasp the front of his hoodie, bunching it up. He mutters under his breath as he wraps his arms around me and links his hands at the small of my back.
My breath catches. My legs wobble. His heart thumps under my hands. ‘Ma said you should go to more trouble to dress up,’ I whisper.
He dips his head and whispers back. ‘What do you think?’
I mumble against his lips. ‘I like the way you look.’
He finds the places with his mouth where his thumb went before. Bottom lip, top lip, along the crease and back again. It’s a light kiss, our mouths barely touch, but an aching warmth flows through my veins. My heart beats erratically. Standing on my toes, I stroke the silky hair at his nape. I trace the line of his jaw and the shape of his ear.
His touch, taste and scent. The heat of his body and the strength in his arms. The angle of his head and the texture of his lips. I kiss the silver scar on his chin. For a moment he stills. His hands clench on my waist.
‘Sapphie,’ he growls, as he pushes me backwards with his movements. He puts his hands either side of my waist and lifts me, sitting me on the platform. My hands settle on his chest again as he traces a finger over my nose and down to my mouth. His lips are damp. Are mine like that too? They must be. He presses softly but deliberately, sliding a fingertip into my mouth.
‘So beautiful.’
As moonlight streams through the clouds, lightening his hair, I wrap my arms around his neck. I burrow inside his hoodie to find the warmth of his skin. He runs his hands down my back as his tongue plays with mine. It’s a careful exploration, a gentle way to talk.
When he lifts his head, I mutter a complaint. His hands go to my face. He kisses me again, short but hard.
‘I want you.’
My heart squeezes tightly. ‘I don’t know what I want.’
He frowns. But when I inch further forward on the bridge, he tightens his hold even more. I open my legs and he turns side on, sliding between my legs before facing me again. His erection is long and hard and presses on my thigh.
‘Sapphie? You understand?’
We are not who we were.
I’m lightheaded with longing and weak with desire. I tighten my legs around him. ‘Yes.’
Our mouths meet again, gliding together, apart and together. I rest my hand against his jaw. I find the roughness of his stubble and the beats of his pulse. He threads his fingers through my hair and deepens the kiss. A thick silk ribbon in a deep shade of crimson wraps around my heart.
When I pull at the buttons of my coat, he lifts his head. He undoes the first two buttons but stills my hand when I tug at the third. He groans softly as he kisses my neck and nuzzles under the collar of my shirt.
I shiver.
He yanks my coat closed and forages for my hands, picking them up, rubbing them slowly. ‘Where are your gloves?’
‘I can’t remember.’
He holds my face and presses kisses on my mouth. ‘We can’t stay here.’
The dip beneath his cheekbones is pronounced. His jaw is tense. When I run my hands over his chest and tighten my legs even more, his breath expels in a rush. His heartbeat drums on the palm of my hand. I’ve never felt this need before.
Only with him.
I stiffen.
He raises my chin with the back of his hand. ‘Sapphie?’ His voice is rough like gravel. His eyes are bright. ‘What’s the matter?’
A whimper escapes from the back of my throat. ‘It’s all wrong.’
His hands on my body clench and release. He grasps my chin and kisses me again, swiftly but firmly. When he takes my hands and looks down, I smell his shampoo. He lifts our hands higher, stepping closer and trapping them between us.
‘Explain what you mean.’
Sapphire Beresford-Brown. Sapphie Brown.
I’ve kissed him twice. Just a kiss. Why does it feel like so much more?
‘I—’ I shake my head to clear it. ‘I don’t want this.’
He releases me so abruptly that I sway and grasp the platform. He turns his back and puts his hands in his pockets. When he walks a few steps and kicks a lump of rubber out of the play area, it sits on the concrete, dark and alone.
He turns. ‘I’ll draft an itinerary. I’ll message you.’
‘Please, Matts. Don’t do this.’
‘It’s done.’ He looks towards the road. ‘We shouldn’t have come here.’
I slide to the ground. ‘I don’t know what you want.’
‘At your mother’s funeral … you knew what I wanted.’
‘You had tissues in your pocket.’
‘And you refused them.’
‘I hadn’t forgiven you.’
‘You haven’t forgiven me now.’
I wrap my arms around my middle. ‘I don’t want to feel like I did. I relied on you. I trusted you. You meant far too much.’
A shadow crosses his face. ‘You didn’t read my letters. You turned your back on what we had.’
‘And you haven’t forgiven me for that.’ I look down, blinking back tears as I pick up my bag. ‘So why did you kiss me?’
‘I made a mistake.’
The same words I used when I kissed him.
He walks past the roundabout, the slippery dip and the small metal horses on tightly coiled springs. When he reaches the swings he hesitates but then he walks on, past the bubblers, the bottlebrush trees and the noticeboard.
I was nineteen on the day of Mum’s funeral, and had been living in Horseshoe for over two years. I’d assumed Matts had moved back to Finland, and I suppose that he had, but I was standing outside the church, swallowing tears, when I saw him in the crowd. The service had finished and he was on the lawn with scores of my father’s faceless friends. Matts was alone. His hair was brushed back and his arms were stiff by his sides.
When we went to school together in Canberra, I was aware that Matts was handsome. Even girls he didn’t know would smile and smooth their hair when he came close. They’d ask me questions. Did I have his number? What music did he like? Did he have a girlfriend? When I teased him about it, he’d ignore me or talk about something else. By the time Mum died and he was twenty-one, I could properly see what others had. His athletic body. His deep grey eyes, his cheekbones and jawline. His bearing. His confidence. The way everything fitted perfectly together. It was painful to look at him at the funeral, but impossible to look away.
When it was his turn to pay his respects he stood directly in front of me, so close he blocked out everybody else. His cheeks were flushed. His lashes were spiky and wet. I stared at the folded tissues in his pocket, starkly white against the darkness of his suit jacket. I pretended not to see the way he held out his hand, palm up, between us. He didn’t want to shake my hand—he wanted to hold it. The idea of grasping his fingers, of walking to the gardens together, of wiping my face with the tissues and folding myself into his body, tripled the size of the lump in my throat.
I clenched my fists. I nodded. I thanked him politely for coming.