Page 19 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
She sucked in a breath and let it out as slow as she could. It was time to find some grit or wither on the vine. If she couldn’t get out of this truck and spend one afternoon of her life mingling with the actual world, then she sure as eggs wasn’t ready to have a baby.
Three old cow cockies were leaning against a metal rail, their stockmen’s hats pulled low over their faces, and kids in ruthlessly ironed chequered shirts were skidding about between food stalls. People. Families. Normal things. On a larger scale than she was comfortable with, but doable.
‘Hannah, my love, you’ve got the jitters. It’s only natural. When was the last time you competed in a horse event?’
‘When I was, like, ten, as you well know. Pony dressage. I don’t even think I had front teeth.’ And she certainly hadn’t had a tremor in her hands and this desperate, desperate urge to flee. ‘You don’t think there’ll be media here, do you, Kev?’
‘What’s that, love?’
‘You know. The local newspaper. Instagram influencers. ABCLandline.’
Kev hopped out his side of the old cruiser, swung her door open and reached in to grab her hand. ‘Come on, pet. Let’s get your big fella out of the float and give him a look at the grounds, hey? He’ll be wondering what all this smell and ruckus is about.’
‘Sure.’
She knew it wasn’t rational to be afraid to leave her hometown. She knew all the rules she lived by punished no-one but herself. ‘Damn it,’ she muttered and, pulling her wide-brimmed hat low over her head, let Kev help her out of the back seat. No-one was going to be interested in a small-town vet having a crack at the maiden run at the Dalgety Campdraft.
The weather, at least, was perfect. Scudding clouds and a wind sharper than vintage cheddar would—hopefully—keep the crowd thin.
Maybe shecoulddo this.
A little grin welled up from some hidden, worry-free place she’d forgotten she had inside.
CHAPTER
6
‘Mrs L. Everything okay?’
‘Everything is super okay. Thank you for taking Bruno with you to Dalgety.’
Tom leant against the doorjamb and raised his eyebrows at the woman who’d come to Ironbark as nanny and housekeeper when his mother had died all those years ago and become part of the family. A bossy part. ‘Like you gave me a choice.’
Mrs LaBrooy smoothed his hair and tidied the collar of his shirt. He held her hands against his chest for a moment.
‘I’m not six years old anymore.’
She gave his hands a squeeze. ‘More’s the pity. You didn’t scowl as much then as you do now. Don’t leave me again, you hear?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘And try not to argue with your father. I know he’s a grumpy old fart, but he’s looking forward to this outing.’
‘Did he say that? Because I’ve been hearing very different words come out of his mouth.’
‘He’s frightened, Tom, about being weak. That’s why he’s so angry all the time. His voice is about the only thing that’s not given out on him, and he’s taken to lashing it like the stockwhip he can no longer hold.’
Tom turned his head at theclank-clankas the wheels of his father’s chair rolled down the planking on the ramp. Bruno’s shoulders had caved in, but he wore a collared shirt that was clearly from the ‘good clothes’ section of his cupboard and the denim that bagged over his scrawny knees was starched stiff as planks. Even his hat was smart: he’d switched out the battered thing he usually wore for a new-looking black one with a leather plait circling the crown.
‘Check out the buckle,’ Mrs L whispered in Tom’s ear. ‘He was in my kitchen sniffing out the Brasso at dawn.’
A championship buckle. The old man had a few to choose from. The belt it was attached to sagged around Bruno’s middle and Tom fought down the surge of pity. He didn’t have room for pity where his father was concerned, he was too filled with the mash-up of bitterness he’d been carrying around with him like brass bloody buckles of his own.
‘Try to have a good time. Promise me,’ she said.
‘I promise.’
He followed his dad down to the gravel and watched him—a bloke who’d once been a country legend—struggle to control the lever on his chair as he rumbled over the rough ground.
