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“You’re working in the cafe for free.” Hector stood at the gate and watched Leilah drag the lunge rope across the filly’s withers with the forced gentleness of a desensitisation exercise. The horse tolerated it though her dark eyes darted around in rolls of fear. Any second she’d take off again and leave Leilah holding onto the limp rope. Hector’s ire from the side-lines wasn’t helping the horse’s relaxation.
“Yep.” The rope slid into Leilah’s fingers, coasting over the sway of withers and downy fur. The filly bounced her head, accepting the action with less freak and more normal. Leilah flopped it back over the horse’s shoulders and began again, needing to do it until they both grew bored. Eventually, the filly would stop worrying about the slithering of the rope across her back and her neck would grow slack enough for her head to lower. Then Leilah could chalk up one success from her otherwise wasted day.
“I don’t know what’s got into you, Deleilah.” Hector continued his one sided conversation, lifting his cowboy hat to scratch his crown. “But it’s got to stop.”
“Yep.” Leilah felt her shoulders tense and exhaled, pushing out the frustration and seeking enough peace in her soul to fool the jittery horse. Fake. Her whole life was one big fake from sun up to sun down. Pretending to find peace in a world filled with turmoil. Pretending innocence when guilt stained her heart like a dirty smudge. Inside her pocket, the daisy wedding ring wilted. The filly flicked one ear towards Leilah as she muttered beneath her breath. “Mention bloody Miriama or the drugs and I’ll lose it.”
To her relief, Hector turned and sauntered away, whistling to Patch to follow. The bitch left the dollop of horse manure she chewed and obeyed. Leilah exhaled and leaned her forehead against the filly’s neck, smelling the subtle perfumed scent of horse flesh and sunshine. Whiskered lips mouthed the leg of her shorts and blew out a sigh of warm air and moisture. “I think that’s enough for today. You’re going well for someone who came off the trailer fighting.” Leilah kissed the flat hairy cheek and clipped the rope to the underside of the head collar. The horse plodded behind her and they headed for the gate.
Leilah turned her out into the paddock containing part of Hector’s beef herd. She left the head collar on but unclipped the lunge rope. The Friesians eyed them with curiosity but the lone Jersey wandered to within a safe distance and waited. The horse wheeled away from the gate as Leilah released her, trotting to the creamy coloured cow with the long black eyelashes and sweet face. Leilah leaned against the fence and watched them bond. Hector drenched the herd the day before and she steeled herself to worm the filly. Her tolerance for a head collar would help the process of syringing the slick white substance into her mouth.
Leilah’s gaze strayed to the bush line and she froze, noticing the glint of sunlight touching something shiny just beyond the top fence. She looked away and held her nerve, breathing out shallow breaths through pursed lips in an effort not to panic. Turning enough to appear casual, Leilah shielded her face against whoever wielded the binoculars and observed her. She kept her expression neutral and pretended to watch the filly stroll away with the cow, their very different tails flicking in sync against invading flies.
Her heart pounded and she closed the gate behind her. Shaking fingers dropped the lunge rope twice before she fitted it onto the nail behind the door of the makeshift tack room. Leilah crouched low and felt the throb of blood pumping through her head too fast, its hammering barrage making it difficult to think. The gravel crunched and shifted on the driveway as a car parked in front of the house and seconds later she heard her father calling her name. His voice sounded urgent and angry and she cringed. She assumed the car belonged to Mari and imagined the pair of them united against her, Hector wanting more than the scant details he got over the phone and Mari obliging and eager to please. Leilah squeezed the bridge of her nose until it hurt, picturing the faceless creature in the bushes watching her. Malcolm’s stringy hair hung by his ears and his boiled egg eyes peered through the binoculars in her imagination. Everything caught up with her in a rush as Hector’s shouts intensified. The dogs moved around in the kennel behind the shed and the sounds magnified as one of them vomited up their dinner onto the concrete floor.
Seizing Red’s dark green winter blanket, Leilah hauled it from the line which supported its weight and pulled it over her shoulders and head. Nobody else would come to her rescue, so she would fix things herself. A burning desire to meet the cave’s owner sent common sense spinning away and she hid her white tee shirt and bent low, leaving the wooden door open and skirting Hector’s truck and the rusty iron garage. They shielded her from anyone watching from the house and binoculars and she dropped into a dip beyond the buildings, using the blanket to mask her movements. The dark grass struggled to recover from the summer drought, kissed by the rains which fell the night of Malcolm’s death. A eucalyptus offered shade and cover and Leilah sank beneath its foliage and dropped the blanket. Her chest heaved and she puffed with exertion, hearing Hector still shouting her full name with growing anger. The fence line beckoned, tantalisingly close and promising answers if she could reach it undetected.
She made it, pushing herself under the bottom rung of the post and rail fence with difficulty. Her shorts snagged on a shard of wood and she heard them rip. The way the ground fell towards the gully helped and Leilah forced herself through, plunging down the bank as she popped free. Rocks and twigs bit into her skin and she arrived at the bottom with a headache and soaked trainers. Water rolled over her feet, tumbling down as though nothing was wrong. Leilah stood and considered her options. Walking the fence line on either Horse’s side or her father’s left her visible from the bush. Wiping an arm across her face, she made a decision. “Gully it is then,” she sighed.
The uphill climb took ages and Leilah slipped and fell over rocks and loose boulders. Gushing water bounced around her feet, eager to loosen her grip on the earth. Her sopping trainers weighed her down and hopelessness gained a foothold in her heart, mingling with rage. She crawled through tiny waterfalls, using the growth which towered above the bank to landmark her position. She recognised the fallen tree which revealed the site of Malcolm’s death and realised she’d trod the same path his downward spiralling body followed. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach and her chest hitched with disgust and misery. The dancing liquid felt contaminated as it gushed over her shins. She tried not to focus on the pipe gathering it for her bathing and drinking water.
Leilah stepped past the site where death hung like a threatening aura over the tree and pressed on up the gully. It narrowed in response to the mountain trickle which originated underground and the bank grew steeper. If she didn’t escape soon, the climb would prove treacherous and insurmountable.
It took more attempts than Leilah could count, grass and tree roots coming away in her hands as she used them for leverage. She arrived at the top of the bank with more luck than judgement and panted with exhaustion before clambering onto her knees. A pair of large feet wearing work boots appeared in her peripheral vision. Before she could summon the energy to scream, a hand closed around her mouth and a strong grip clamped her arms to her sides.