On the far side of the riverbank is a scribbly bark gum with a pale pearly trunk. A flock of cockatoos with bright yellow crests fly into the branches and line up in rows like Christmas tree lights.
‘Ray would be impressed,’ I say.
Cassie, sitting next to me on the ground, smiles gently. ‘I think he would.’
‘I learnt a lot from Ray. I think I’ll invite him to be a guest of the committee in February, at our next formal meeting. Rory might come as well. It’d be great if I could get him to talk to the senior kids about all he gets up to.’
‘Good idea.’
It’s Friday, my final day on the road with Cassie. Last night we stayed at a town in the mountains where the Macquarie River begins its journey north. This morning, we’ve hiked three hours down a track to photograph the river. The air is alive with birdcalls. The water gurgles as it tumbles over rocks. The sky above us is a washed-out turquoise blue.
‘It’s lovely,’ I say, ‘but I have to get back.’
‘What? You don’t like my driving?’
‘Your driving is great.’ Cassie is almost as sensitive to my anxieties on the road as Matts, and she’s been kind in other ways as well. The controversy with the deposit box has been in the papers all week, but she hasn’t mentioned it since I told her I’d rather not talk about it.
She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I was teasing you, Sapphie. You’ll be missing your home.’
‘And Tumbleweed and my horses.’
I’ve also missed Matts—more than I would ever have thought possible. Does ‘more’ mean a long-term commitment? How many risks am I prepared to take?
Cassie picks up her hat. ‘You called Mrs Hargreaves last night, didn’t you? But not Matts?’
The cockatoos, screeching and squawking, lift in unison and fly from the tree. ‘I’d spoken to him the night before last.’
‘When I wanted to leave you in peace, you blocked the door.’
‘It was after ten by the time he got mobile reception, and you were wearing a nightie. You could have frozen to death outside. Anyway, we only talked about the wetlands. It wasn’t a private conversation.’
‘I’ve never heard a more stilted one.’
I scrape the heels of my boots down the bank, making two shallow channels. ‘We’ll have dinner together when he’s back from Canberra.’
She laughs. ‘Finally an acknowledgement. What’s going on with you two?’
‘It’s a very long story.’
She bends to retie her laces. ‘Dot points will do.’
I rest my chin on my knees. ‘Matts and I knew each other when we were growing up. I hadn’t seen him for over eight years but then he turned up in Horseshoe.’
‘You became reacquainted?’
‘I like him … a lot. But I don’t know what will happen. We’re very different. I’m local and he’s global.’
‘You have a common interest in the environment.’
‘You like him too, don’t you?’
She laughs. ‘He’s so Finnish. Never has a man used so few words so darned attractively. You could do worse.’
‘You sound like Ma. He’s good-looking, eligible and smart. Is that all it takes?’
‘It’s not a bad start. And don’t forget, you happen to share those attributes.’
I stand and brush dirt from my jeans. ‘You live happily on your own. Why do I need something different?’
When she holds out her hands, I pull her to her feet. ‘How old are you now?’ she asks.
‘Almost twenty-eight.’
‘By your age, I’d ruled family life out. I don’t think you have.’
Serious little children with dark hair that lightens in sunshine.
‘Maybe not.’
‘You not only chose teaching as a career, you spend weekends with the region’s delinquents. Despite your own childhood, and it can’t have been an easy one or you’d never have been placed with the Hargreaves, you love children. You’d have to.’
‘I’d like my own children, but I have to be careful.’
‘In what way?’
I’m in love with him, but…
‘I want to end up where I should have started out in the first place.’
‘If that means what I think it does …’ She smiles as she touches my arm. ‘You’ll get what you want, Sapphie. I’m certain of it.’
We’re still two hours away from the car when we see a dark shape on the track. The path is narrow, winding between a steep and heavily treed slope on one side, and a tall sandstone cliff on the other. Cassie, walking in front of me, breaks into a run.
‘Oh my god!’
A man, a climber with a harness and helmet, lies on his side. ‘Help me,’ he moans. ‘My leg.’
The man’s tibia, the main bone in the lower leg, is not only broken but has pushed through the skin. Red-rust blood stains his leg from his knee to his ankle and seeps into the ground. His face is whiter than white.
Cassie kneels next to him and takes off her backpack. She runs her hands over his upper body. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Damien.’
‘My name’s Cassie,’ she says. ‘And Sapphie’s here too. We’ll get help. You’re going to be fine.’
I take out my phone. ‘There’s no reception.’
Cassie grimaces. ‘We lost it hours ago.’
‘How is he really?’ I whisper.
Not good, she mouths.
I kneel on Damien’s other side as Cassie pushes up his shorts and wraps her jacket around his leg.
‘Can I take off his helmet?’
‘Try not to move him as you do it.’
His eyelids flicker. He’s only young, maybe early twenties. He moans again. He passes out.
‘He must’ve have been here for hours,’ Cassie says. ‘He’s cold, the blood …’
I touch his arm. ‘He’s gone so still.’ I take off my jacket and lay it over his chest.
Cassie looks around. ‘Shit.’
There’s still plenty of light, but the sun is lower than it was, the tree cover is dense and the shadows are darkening. The cliff is around fifteen metres tall, but I glimpse a railing at the top.
‘The road’s up there somewhere. He probably abseiled from the carpark.’ I stand to take a better look. Midway down the cliff is a narrow ledge. Beneath it, the cliff slopes sharply inwards. ‘His rope might have snagged.’
Cassie takes Damien’s wrist and feels for his pulse. She frowns as she checks the pulse at his throat. ‘It’s slowing.’
I unlace my boots. ‘Right, then.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Running flat out, it’ll take well over an hour to get to the road.’ I tug off my boots and stuff them in my backpack as I face the cliff. ‘I can climb much quicker.’
‘Without all your gear?’
I carefully study the wall. Further along the path from where the climber fell, the cliff is vertical, but only for four or five metres. There are pockets and outcrops, footholds and edges. Above the vertical section is what looks like an ironstone seam that bisects the sandstone. If I can follow the crevice the seam has created, it’d get me much higher, to the trees where the angle of the cliff eases off. I should be able to scramble up the incline from there. It’s a bit risky, but …
I glance at Damien, lying so still. ‘I don’t see why not.’
I haven’t climbed a natural rock wall for a couple of months at least. I stretch out my hands, my arms and shoulders, willing them to loosen up quickly. I lean my hands against the cliff and warm up my Achilles and hamstrings as I picture where I’ll place my hands and feet.
I smile reassuringly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
I’m unfamiliar with this climb, but the techniques for an outdoor climb are similar to those I teach the kids who climb at the youth centre. Hips close to the wall. Rely on your legs and rest your arms. Keep your balance and find a rhythm. Three points of contact when you can. By the time I reach the seam, I’m sweaty and dirty with aching fingers and a scrape on my elbow.
I wedge a foot between the ironstone and sandstone. I find a ridge for one hand and a crack for the other. Following the crevice is easier and quicker than climbing the cliff, but two metres from the trees I dislodge a clump of dirt and my foot slips off the edge.
I don’t watch the scatter of stones tumble, but I hear Cassie swear and call out. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking twelve more steps before clinging onto a tree branch and swinging to the ground at the top of the cliff. My legs give out and I sit, relatively secure in a tangle of tree roots.
‘I’m fine, Cassie!’
My sock is shredded, exposing a rough and bloodied scrape across the inside of my foot. I press remnants of sock against the skin. The scratches aren’t too deep, but extend across the arch to my toes. To keep my balance on the steeply sloping ground, I loop an arm around a root as I take my boots from my bag, prying the laces open as wide as they’ll go. My eyes water when the roughness of the leather scrapes against my skin.
It’s only as I bend over my boot to tie the lace that I notice my hands. A scraped knuckle and two nails split to the quick. My little finger is sore and stiff.
It could be worse.
I’m no use to Damien if I get lost, so I create a route through the undergrowth of ferns and grasses, spiked bushes and fallen branches, in a direct line to the road. I put my hands on my knees and draw breath before following the railing to the layby. Cassie’s car is there, as is a beaten-up Subaru. I look at my phone again, holding it up as if that might make a difference. Still no reception.
But I’ve already worked out what I have to do. Cassie has hidden her key between the back bumper and tow bar of her car all week. I find it immediately, open the doors, sit behind the wheel and push back the seat. I check my phone again.
Nothing.
My heart is racing. My chest is tight. I feel nauseous. And all of that is related to adrenaline. Which is all related to fear. I have to push past the anxiety. I fasten my belt, turn on the ignition, release the handbrake and put the car into gear. I check my mirrors, indicate left and pull out onto the road.
Ambulance and paramedics. Fire and rescue officers. Police. Helicopter.
Damien is airlifted to Sydney for surgery. Not long afterwards, the rescue team winch Cassie up the cliff. I drove safely to the top of the hill, but once I’d called for help I didn’t think I should push my luck by driving back down again. I left her car where it was and ran down the incline to the carpark.
‘Could you give us a lift to Cassie’s car?’ I ask the police officer. ‘It’s only two or three kilometres.’
He grunts. ‘How about to a hospital?’
I try not to hobble so much. ‘I think my foot has swollen up. Other than that, it’s—’
‘I’ll escort you to the Emergency Department.’ He puts his hands on his hips. ‘Bathurst or Dubbo?’
‘Thank you, Constable.’ Cassie firmly takes my arm. ‘We’ll follow you to Dubbo.’
To: Sapphie, Chambers, Luke, Gus, Matts
You might have heard the news reports. Sapphie is sore but comfortable at Dubbo Base Hospital ED.
My arms and legs, protected by my shirt and pants, have minor scratches. The scrapes on my hands and elbow have been thoroughly cleaned and neatly patched with tape. We’ve been in the Emergency Department for a couple of hours, me on a bed and Cassie on a chair close by. Whenever a nurse or doctor pushes aside the curtain, Cassie starts and her eyes spring open.
‘You’re exhausted,’ I say once again. ‘I’m worried about you. Please go home.’
She points to my foot, raised high on a pillow. ‘They won’t let you leave until you have an X-ray.’
‘If I’d broken a bone or if it was fractured, the pain would be much worse. It’s a few superficial cuts and a minor sprain, I’m sure of it. I’ve promised Pa Hargreaves I’ll call him after the X-ray. He’s waiting by the phone and he’ll pick me up.’
The curtain pulls aside. ‘I’ll stay with her.’
Cassie looks up but I don’t need to.
When he was pushed from the wharf and cut his chin, I gave him my blue cotton hat to press against his wound and we went to the hospital together.
Two stitches down, four stitches across.