Tuesday proved one of those gorgeous winter days that only the borderlands could produce. After farewelling her mum and dad off to their conference and brief holiday, Tash spent the morning filming outside with Pa. A great deal of deliberation on Sunday night finally led Tash to a decision: she would go ahead with the orchard. News that was greeted with delight by her parents and a huge hug from her grandfather, who recognised what it meant.
Why shouldn’t she take a chance on the future? Thanks to the enormous growth of The Urban Ranger since her arrival, Tash’s professional confidence had never been higher. She was a smart woman, unafraid of hard work or innovation. If ever her fans began to drop off, she’d simply find a way to attract them back.
But the real driver behind her decision to make her move to Castlereagh permanent had been how wonderful she felt. Tash seemed to wake each morning even more excited and joyful about what the day might bring, and maybe it was a bit sappy but right now love truly felt everywhere. She felt it from her family, from her friends, her fans, even Coco and Khan.
And, she was beginning to believe, from Patrick.
The Urban Ranger wasn’t a place, it was a person: her. If she succeeded in life then her business would flourish too. It was as simple as that.
Rather than kill themselves digging by hand, Pa had attached a ripper to the back of the tractor and gashed three deep parallel channels into a tract of land between the pines that sheltered the flat and garden, and Khan’s paddock. Steady rain across Sunday night and Monday had softened the soil, and the mounds of dark, wet dirt made it look as if the earth was bleeding from its cuts.
‘That’ll save some sweat,’ he said, climbing down and beaming directly at the camera. ‘Now, I know you folk at home probably don’t have a tractor hiding in your garden shed, but one tree or twenty, the principle’s still the same. Whatever you’re growing, you need good drainage and you need your dirt right. If you’re new to this gardening caper and don’t know what that means, get advice and then take it. No shame in asking for help. Right,’ said Pa, breaking into one of his trademark silver fox grins and winking, ‘reckon young Floss here owes me a beer now.’
‘It’s eleven in the morning,’ said Tash. ‘You can have coffee and caramel slice.’
Pa threw up his arms. ‘See the way she treats me? Elder abuse!’
‘Just looking after the health of my biggest star.’
‘With diabetes-inducing caramel slice?’
‘I could always make you a quinoa and goji berry muffin instead.’
Pa’s expression dropped in horror. ‘That’s unnatural.’
Tash laughed and panned away to show the glowing landscape and endless deep blue sky, before slowly rotating the camera to herself.
‘You know how you have days when you feel like you’re living your dream? I’m experiencing one now. And it’s all thanks to you, my fans. Without you …’ To her embarrassment, her voice caught. She sniffed back prickling tears and laughed. ‘Look at me, getting all sentimental. So silly. But thank you, with all my heart. To be able to do this, live in a place I love, a place that holds so many wonderful memories and means so much to me, makes me the happiest girl in the world.’
When she stopped filming, Tash was shocked to find Pa looking rather sniffly himself.
‘Stop it,’ she said, ‘or you’ll set me off even worse.’
‘Can’t help it. Bloody wonderful to see my girl so happy. Just wish your nan was here to see it.’
‘So do I.’ Tash breathed deeply and hooked her arm through her grandfather’s. ‘But I’m sure she’s watching us somewhere, and you’re here.’ She tilted her head to rest it against his upper arm. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘You’ve helped too. Made The Urban Ranger Goes Country the success it is.’
Pa patted her hand. ‘You would have done just fine on your own.’
They slowly walked the rip lines, bending occasionally to lift a stone or inspect the worm-rich soil, chatting companionably about the fruit trees Tash had ordered—old and new varieties chosen specifically for their taste, along with a few unusual species that neither she nor Pa were certain would thrive but figured they’d give a go anyway.
There was still a great deal of work to be done, but by the end of spring, Tash would have her orchard. Seasons from then she’d be filming her first harvests and thinking up hundreds of ways to cook and preserve the bounty. Perhaps, all going well, she could even sell bottled produce in her shop. The thrill of it made Tash want to dance and twirl, and spread her arms to the vibrant sky. Now she’d finally decided on it, her future couldn’t be more exciting.
Better still, she had Patrick to share it with.
Tash looked at her computer and back outside. ‘Stuff this.’
Her morning with Pa had been beautiful but the afternoon had grown even more gorgeous. Too gorgeous to waste inside, and her concentration was shot anyway. All she could think about was Patrick and how lonely her bed would feel without him that night, but she couldn’t begrudge him his boys’ night with Clip. He’d be tired after football training anyway and it was good that he was reconnecting with his friends and returning to the old Patrick, even if it did mean she missed out on his luscious body. He would just have to make it up to her the next night.
Within minutes she’d saved her files, closed everything down and changed into a pair of breeches. Noticing the flexible tripod on the bench, Tash snatched it up and fitted it to her phone. No point wasting an opportunity, and footage of Tash riding Khan was always popular, even if some smart-alecs seemed to get their jollies by making disparaging jokes about her seat.
Though the sun shone brightly its warmth was weak, and with the breeze barely a zephyr, the ground was too soaked to have dried out much and puddles strewed the yard. Arms loaded with tack and a bucket dangling from her fingers, Tash dodged and sloshed her way to Khan’s paddock, thinking how pretty the farm appeared with the puddles reflecting the sky and its lush, winter-active pasture grasses washed clean.
Khan was already waiting when she arrived at the gate. Tash fed him half a carrot and pulled off his rug as he munched, then spent a few minutes brushing the worst of the mud off his legs and belly while Khan nosed in the bucket for more carrots. After saddling up she dug the phone and tripod from her pocket and set it up on the gate rail, wrapping the flexible legs tight to fix it in place. A quick check of the alignment and she was ready to go.
The temperature might have been chilly, but the sun made it a glorious day for riding. Tash made the most of it, steering Khan the length and breadth of the paddock, whooping loudly as she urged him into a canter, clods of dirt arcing the air in their wake and splattering to earth in rain-like patters.
Khan snorted and tossed his head as she eased him back to a trot. He snatched at the bit as if to say ‘let’s do that again’ and Tash, feeling the same thrill, obliged, her laughter spiralling across the farm as Khan revved into a gallop.
She could have continued for hours but Khan was no longer a fit performance horse, and Tash wasn’t as riding hardened as she once was. Not wanting either of them to strain a muscle, she lowered her weight to bring the snorting horse back to a walk, and guided him to the western fenceline. Tash stretched forward to wrap her arms around his neck and breathe in his wonderful horsiness.
She peered past his head to the distant swamp and sighed at the stunning view. Perhaps on the weekend, if the weather was still fine, she’d ask Patrick walk with her down to her favourite log and tell him how she felt and what she hoped for between them. It was time, and Tash had the courage now.
‘What do you think, Khan-banan? Sound like a plan?’
Khan’s ears twirled. Patting and praising him heartily, Tash straightened and, with a last gaze over the swamp, urged Khan away from the fence.
It wasn’t until she was halfway to the gate that she remembered she’d set her phone to video. She hoped the angle had been right to catch them, but when Tash squinted ahead expecting to spot the reflective flat of the screen, it wasn’t there.
‘Bugger,’ she said, assuming the tripod must have slipped on the rail and flipped the phone backwards. She’d have half an hour of useless footage of the sky. However, as Tash came nearer, the tripod appeared to be standing upright. What was missing was her phone.
A sickening lurch rolled through her stomach. Skidding Khan to a halt, she slid to the ground, her gaze sweeping the grass in front of the gate. Then she spotted it—an edge of plastic embedded in a puddle of muddy water.
‘No, no, no!’
Tash snatched the phone out, fumbling as she tried to dry it with her vest. She clumsily pressed buttons, suppressing a childish urge to cry. It didn’t matter that she had multiple back-ups; losing a phone was like losing a lifeline.
‘Come on, baby,’ she pleaded, caressing its blank screen. ‘Come on.’
But it was no good. The phone was well and truly dead.
Tash had tried every trick she, and the internet, could think of to help her phone recover from its catastrophic injury—from blowing its insides gently with her hairdryer to burying it in uncooked rice—but it remained lifeless.
She stared at it sulkily as she waited on hold to her phone company to order another. A smart person would have realised the risk and used an action camera. It, at least, had a shock- and water- and God-knows-what-else-proof cover to protect it. All Tash’s phone had was a flimsy outer casing and screen protector. But the action cam seemed to have found a semi-permanent home next to the stove, and snatching up her phone was easier than disturbing that set-up.
Stupid, stupid. And on a day that had started so happy too.
The insurance claim lodged and replacement phone finally ordered, Tash made herself a hot chocolate and settled at the computer to wade through the latest in camera technology. Her action cam could stay by the stove, and she’d fill the gap with a new everything-proof model solely for outdoor use.
Without Patrick to spoil and fuss over and her parents away, Tash couldn’t gather any enthusiasm for cooking a proper dinner and simply snacked on leftovers from the fridge, including a large spoonful of the banana-butterscotch self-saucing pudding she’d been trying to perfect. It was far too fattening, but a good session digging over the orchard tomorrow would help wear off her indulgence, and she needed its sweet comfort.
When studying cameras threatened to send her cross-eyed, Tash switched to the giant time-suck that was the world of food blogging. It was something she did regularly to check on her competitors, keep abreast of innovation in the industry, and gain inspiration for recipes and articles. Plus it was fun, and God knows she needed something to brighten her mood.
Tash was drooling over a particularly scrumptious-looking dish of raspberry-cheesecake ice-cream when a message flashed up from her video messaging service. She checked the time and was shocked to see it was well after 11.30 pm. For a heart-soaring moment she thought it might be Patrick but they’d only ever instant messaged. Scanning the caller ID, Tash smiled and hit accept.
The video hadn’t even loaded when Thom began yelling at her. ‘Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone?’
‘And a good evening to you too.’ Bemused, she stared at his image, only for cold to flood her insides when she registered his expression. ‘What? What is it?’
‘I’ve been trying to call you for fucking ages! Where have you been?’
‘Nowhere. I drowned my phone. Why? Thom, please. What’s happened?’
‘Your fucking boyfriend is what’s happened.’
‘Patrick?’ Every hair on Tash’s body prickled. ‘Why? What’s he done?’
Thom blinked liquid eyes as his anger deflated into despair. ‘He’s with Ceci.’
‘No. He’s at Clip’s. They’re mucking around with that old car he’s been doing up forever.’
‘No he’s not.’ Thom dragged a hand over his face. ‘He’s here, in Melbourne. At Ceci’s.’
Tash shook her head. He wasn’t. Patrick was here, in Emu Springs. ‘You’re mistaken.’
‘Tash—’
She thrust her hand up. ‘No, Thom. He’s here.’
‘Tash, I saw Ceci let him in. That was over an hour ago. He still hasn’t come out.’
Tash shook her head violently. Not happening, not happening, not happening.
‘I saw it. I’m sorry.’
‘No.’
Thom grimaced, then muttering something under his breath, he swivelled the phone around. The camera blurred in and out of focus as it adjusted, then cleared. Diagonally across the street was a muddy red ute.
Patrick’s.
‘They’re together,’ said Thom.
He returned the phone to his face. Tash wondered if her own looked as devastated. She couldn’t seem to feel anything though. The prickles had vanished and now her entire body felt numb.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘He had footy training. Then he was going to Clip’s.’
‘He lied.’
Tash blinked and a tear slithered down her cheek. She swiped at it angrily. ‘No. I trust him. It won’t be … There’ll be an innocent explanation. I know there will.’
‘Tash,’ said Thom, as though he was talking to a child that wouldn’t listen. Probably because she wasn’t. ‘It’s nearly midnight. What do you think they’re doing in there?’
‘Nothing,’ Tash whispered. ‘They’re doing nothing.’ Perhaps if she said it enough she might believe it, but the numbness was fading, and doubt and pain were roaring in its place. ‘Patrick wouldn’t do this to me. Neither would Ceci.’
‘You saw them on the weekend, the same as I did. The way they were talking. How fucking guilty they looked when we caught them together.’
Tash shook her head, splattering the keyboard and mousepad with tears. ‘There has to be an explanation. Ceci’s my friend.’
‘Yeah, and she’s mine too. But they both lied, Tash. To you and to me.’ Thom sighed with resignation, as if he’d expected this all along. ‘I rang Ceci Monday night to see if she wanted to go to a movie tonight. We had such a great trip home on Sunday I honestly thought I was in with a chance this time. I figured I’d test things by asking her out. You know, properly. A movie seemed a good place to start. But she said she’d come down with a cold and thought it better if she stayed home and kept warm. So I caught up with a mate instead. Happened to drive past on the way home.’ His voice turned tight with bitterness. ‘She’s keeping warm all right. With your fucking Patrick.’
Suddenly Thom’s head jerked sideways and he slid half out of focus.
‘Thom?’ She could hear him breathing hoarsely. Or maybe it was her. Tash couldn’t seem to register anything clearly but the pain in her heart. She gripped the edges of the computer, wanting to rattle it. ‘Thom?’
He turned back, his expression bleak, his voice low and slow with defeat. ‘Her bedroom light just went out.’