5

After a ten-minute drive, Holly’s dad turned onto a dirt road and drove up a small hill. Her eyes widened as she saw the Rockleigh homestead, a green oasis amid the parched surrounding countryside. Shafts of light beamed down from the sky, as though God himself was blessing the place.

‘Quite a joint,’ said her dad.

As they neared the homestead, Holly took in a tennis court, a horse-riding arena, a large brick stable block, and countless sheds and buildings. The place was like a small suburb.

Her dad stopped the truck just short of the main house. ‘Grab the drums off the back and see if you can find a tap to fill them from.’

‘Where? I can’t see one.’

‘There’s supposed to be a guy who works here with the horses,’ said Dad. ‘Can’t remember his name, but if you find him, he should be able to help. I’ll go find Pat.’ He wandered towards the house.

Holly took the drums off the back and walked gingerly over the burning sandstone path. Water squirted from tiny metal sprinklers embedded in the grass, but she couldn’t find a tap. Then she thought of the stable building. Horses needed water. There would have to be a tap in there somewhere.

She poked her head through the doorway and felt a sharp pang when a baldy-faced chestnut poked its head over a stable door. Rocket, although smaller and black, had a baldy face too. She wished she could hug Rocket now and feel his soft whiskers against her hand. But that would never happen again. Out here, she couldn’t even pick up some photos of him via email, so best she clear him from her heart, best she erase all horses from her heart. They weren’t a part of her life any more and would never be again.

‘Hello?’ she called out, and waited.

‘Yeah?’ A lanky teenage boy led a grey horse out of a stable and closed the door. His gaze started at her face, ran over her clothes and bare legs and landed at her dirty feet. His nose wrinkled before his eyes lifted again to meet hers.

‘I’m looking for some water,’ she said, trying to avoid his harsh gaze.

‘What for? Staffers aren’t usually allowed in here without shoes on.’

Holly arched both eyebrows. Staffers? Just because he was employed in some menial job picking up horse crap didn’t mean she was.

‘My family has come here to build a house,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘We should have been provided with fresh water. There is none. My father sent me to find some.’

She watched some arrogant kind of humour flash in his eyes. ‘You’re with the builder then? Out at the new place.’

She didn’t answer. The way he said that really did make it sound as though she was staff. ‘Who are you?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Kaydon,’ he answered, with no further explanation. He ran an idle hand over the horse’s back.

His name meant nothing to her. And she had no idea why he found her funny. ‘Well then, can you tell me where I might find a tap, Kaydon?’ Her voice came out sounding tight. She took a deep breath.

‘There’s a horse wash at the end of the aisle. You’ll find a tap in there.’

Kaydon disappeared back into what looked like a feedroom. Holly carried her drums down the aisle. The boy popped his head out of the feedroom and spoke again. ‘There are some old boots in the tackroom, if you want them.’

She stopped, faced him and mustered the sweetest smile she could. ‘Thanks, but I like a bit of grit between my toes.’

What was his problem? Had he never seen a person without shoes before? Where she came from, people hung loose on the beach without shoes, and she wasn’t about to change her identity for anyone.

‘The black snakes like the water around the homestead.’

Holly gasped, and she caught him smirking before he ducked back into the feedroom. She spun on her heel and stalked off to the end of the aisle.

The horse wash had hot and cold water and a nozzle at the end of the hose with about fifteen different settings. She set it to a shower spray and cleaned off her feet with lusciously cool water. She fought the urge to hose her entire self, knowing there would be no shower waiting for her back at the shack.

She changed the setting and poked the end of the hose into the drums. When they were full she could hardly lift them. She half carried, half dragged them into the aisle, making a scraping sound.

‘Let me get this horse out of the way before you drag that past,’ Kaydon said, sounding annoyed.

She stopped, waited for him to put the dappled grey into the stable, and then continued.

He grabbed a hat from a row of several that hung on the wall. ‘If you don’t wear shoes, at least put a hat on. You’ll fry out there.’ He thrust the hat at her, giving her no choice but to take it, shouldered her out of the way and then lifted the drums. ‘Where do they go?’

She watched him lug them out of the building. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, turning the hat over in her hands. It was ridiculously large. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He disappeared outside and she trotted after him into the searing heat. She pulled the hat onto her head. It did seem to take the glare off the day.

‘The truck is back near the house,’ she said, conceding. The guy was paid to do this. Why was she arguing?

Kaydon stopped and put the drums down, puffing. ‘Is that it?’

Holly had never noticed how old the truck was until that moment. It had dents and scratches and diesel stains running from the fuel cap. ‘Yes,’ she answered, a little defensively. She liked the truck. It was one of the few things her dad had managed to keep from the receivers.

‘Are you on the way to the tip or something?’

Holly exhaled through her teeth and glared at him. ‘No,’ she answered coolly. ‘It’s just some of our stuff.’ She silently thanked God everything was covered in tarps so he couldn’t see what a state it was in. ‘I can take these from here,’ she said, wishing he would go away. ‘Dad will help me get them onto the back.’

She took the hat from her head and passed it back to him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Keep it. It suits you.’

Holly didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted.