Patrick could sense it, the broken trust. The signs weren’t overt but they existed all the same. It was in the way Nicola hovered near the door when he was with Maddy, watching, sometimes rubbing her hands on a tea towel over and over. The way Grant was always lingering around the house when Patrick arrived, his manner too jolly, too matey. The frequent use of ‘son’ instead of his name, like a dad trying to communicate with his wayward teenaged offspring.
He could have dismissed those, pretended he was imagining things, but he couldn’t unimagine the fact that they’d started moving Khan each day from the paddock near the house, where Maddy could see him, to elsewhere on the farm. Out of sight of Patrick and his new unpredictability.
He didn’t need to check to know the keys to the gun safe would have been moved too.
It hurt badly. One thing he’d always had was the Handrecks’ faith. Even when he was an over-hormoned teenager with sex on the brain they’d trusted him to do the right thing by their daughter. And he had. It had felt like a slow death at the time but he’d waited until Maddy was seventeen before they started having sex, even though she’d wanted to do it earlier. It had come as a bit of a shock to discover she wasn’t a virgin, but restraint, especially when something felt good, had never been one of Maddy’s strengths.
He’d admired that about her though, the way she wanted to experience life at full throttle, her courage and passion for what she was good at. She’d been good at a lot of things, too—riding, sport, loving him—and he’d nearly betrayed that love by destroying Khan.
Worst of all, he still wanted to destroy the stupid horse.
Patrick looked away from Maddy in case she read it in his face. After the brief shower of a few days earlier, the weather had returned to its usual summer fine and hot state. Too hot for doing much. After a good long spring they still had plenty of grass and weren’t hand-feeding yet. The weaner sales were winding down and Wiruna’s had already been to market. He’d spent the morning with his dad Derek, mucking around with a bore pump and sorting other chores, before heading back to the cool of the house and snatches of the cricket.
Maybe it was the lazy quiet of summer that was affecting him. Not enough activity to keep his mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t. With the autumn he’d feel different, more himself, and this … this hollow, unsettled thing inside him that Patrick didn’t want to acknowledge would be gone.
He rubbed the diamonds of Maddy’s ring and smiled at her. ‘Clipper and Bec finally announced their wedding date. November twenty-first. Clip reckons Bec’s already turning into bridezilla.’ He swallowed. It was hard to stay normal when his jealousy of his friends was so strong. ‘They’ve booked the golf club for the reception. Nowhere else for it, given the numbers. They’re talking a hundred people.’
He stared outside. He and Maddy would have had that many, probably more by the time they included all their families as well as Maddy’s horsey friends and his footy mates.
He let out a long breath and turned back to her, glancing up when he spotted Nicola in the doorway, watching.
‘Can I get you anything, Patrick? A cold drink?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’ He added a smile for good measure. Nicola smiled back but her gaze remained worried. The guilt that had sat leaden on Patrick’s heart since the incident with the gun became even heavier.
As soon as Nicola had disappeared again, he bent closer to Maddy and pressed his cheek against hers, closing his eyes and feeling her soft skin, breathing her in like he used to. ‘I’m sorry, babe. So sorry.’ He felt like he’d said the words a thousand times and they still weren’t enough.
She squirmed against him and made a noise. Patrick squeezed his eyes against more pain and pulled away. He stroked her forehead, brushed hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ears, each move tender and loving.
Yet the hollow, unsettled thing remained.
She was getting restless. Arms twitching, eyes rolling.
‘Are you thirsty?’ He offered a drink but her lips refused to take the straw. A quick check of her nappy showed it was dry. He rested a hand on her stomach, trying to determine if she was too hot or cold. Her skin felt normal. With the heat outside, Nicola had the doors closed and the aircon on and the room was comfortably cool. ‘Hungry, huh? Didn’t you have enough of Tash’s brownies?’
She opened her mouth in a yawn and tipped her head away, left hand curling towards her neck and causing the diamonds of her engagement ring to flash. Gently, he slid the ring off her finger and returned it to its box, snapping the lid shut on what had once been his dream.
For several seconds Patrick contemplated the closed velvet lid, before placing it back on its shelf and bending once more to kiss the edge of Maddy’s mouth. Perhaps it was his touch, perhaps nothing more than coincidence, but at the same moment she rolled slightly and their mouths joined. It wasn’t quite a proper kiss but it was close enough to bring back painful memories.
Maybe one day he would have that again.
And maybe pigs might fly.
‘Nicola,’ said Patrick when he’d crossed into the kitchen.
She frowned at his tone and glanced towards the hall. Grant must have been in the house too. The thought that Nicola felt she needed him there made Patrick feel sick. ‘Yes, Patrick?’
‘The other day …’
‘You don’t have to. It’s okay. We understand.’
He wanted to say that they weren’t behaving like they were. ‘You know I love her.’
Nicola’s eyes filled. She rolled her lips together as though holding in a sob, and nodded. When she spoke her voice was hoarse. ‘We know, Patrick. We know.’
Then why didn’t she sound happy about it? Why did she sound so damn tired and sad?
Patrick studied her for a bit longer, expecting Nicola to say more, but all he received was a watery smile. ‘I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes.’
He frowned, and with that single quiet word Nicola turned her back on him and went to the sink, resting her hands on the edge. He took a step, hand lifted, and thought better of it. Given her behaviour, he was the last person she’d want comfort from.
Annette Lawson was at the kitchen table with the local paper when Patrick wandered in. His mum looked up with a smile, only for it to slide when she registered his face.
‘You okay, Patty?’ Only his mother was allowed to call him Patty. Everyone else had learned not to.
‘Yeah. Just, you know.’ Sick, sad. Ashamed. Things he couldn’t tell his mum. Things he couldn’t tell anyone. ‘Anything exciting?’
She turned the paper around to show off the front page. Tash Ranger grinned out at him. Above her head in thick black letters ran the excited headline, ‘KITCHEN GODDESS COMES HOME’. The photo had been taken in a kitchen, but not one he recognised. Tash had a wooden spoon in one hand while the other rested lightly on a bench. Her body was canted slightly, one thigh lifted in a flirty pose made even more silly by the low-cut, ridiculously girly dress she was wearing.
‘She’s done well for herself,’ Annette said. ‘Says here she’s going to be featuring local produce on her show. Might be good for the district.’ She looked up from the paper again. ‘Did you know she has over three hundred thousand subscribers to her Urban Ranger channel?’
Patrick opened the fridge door and stared at the contents, before picking out a beer. It was early, but the day was a stinker and he was still feeling upset over the Handrecks. He cracked the top, leaned against the closed door and took a long pull. ‘Popular girl.’
‘Popular and becoming very wealthy, according to this.’ Annette shook her head, amazed. ‘I had no idea these people could earn so much.’
Neither did Patrick. He took another slug of beer. Tash’s success surprised him. She’d never been ambitious about anything that he was aware of. She was the fun, kind-hearted one, always ready with a good-natured tease and a laugh. The sort everyone liked but never took seriously. Maddy had been the opposite. She was smart, athletic and driven, with a dream of becoming a professional event rider. Every weekend in the autumn and spring the Handrecks were dragged off to events, sometimes for two or three days. Patrick tagged along occasionally but usually he had footy commitments and could only turn up to watch on a Sunday if it was a two-day event.
He’d loved watching her, but hated it too. She’d been amazing in those days. Talented, fearless. It was the latter quality that had churned his gut. But at least riders wore protective gear while competing—helmets, body protectors—and had a degree of safety. That had offered some comfort. Useless comfort in the end. If the accident had happened while she’d been competing there would have been protection as well as immediate medical intervention. Instead she’d had neither.
Finished with the front page, Annette opened the paper and laid it flat to continue the article on the inside page, hiding Tash’s sexy housewife pose. His mum shook her head again and tutted. ‘Apparently one of her sponsors fitted the flat with a whole new kitchen for free!’
‘It was a stove, not a kitchen.’
‘How do you know?’
He shrugged. ‘Nicola told me. Tash dropped by to see Maddy while it was being fitted. Some massive double-ovened thing.’
Patrick wouldn’t have paid much attention but Nicola had followed him in to Maddy, relating everything about Tash’s visit. How kind she was to think of Maddy, how well she was doing. Knowing she was only continuing the conversation to keep an eye on him, Patrick had been left frustrated and ashamed rather than impressed.
He pushed off the fridge. ‘Do you need a hand with dinner? Chopping anything?’
‘No. It’s too hot to cook. Cold meat and salad tonight.’
‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’
Patrick could feel her eyes on his back as he carried his beer up the hall and made sure to keep his spine straight when all he wanted to do was bow to his sorrow.
He closed the door and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall and picking absently at the stubbie label. Today was one of those days when he wished he still had his place in town. It hadn’t been much, an old weatherboard cottage that showed its years of rental in the scuff marks on the walls, worn carpets, chipped tiles and cheap fittings, but it had the one thing he didn’t have at Wiruna—real privacy.
A place to cry or flip out or get drunk, which was what he really wanted to do. Drink until he couldn’t think anymore.
He picked another strip of label, rolled it into a ball and flicked it towards the small bin. It missed, which made him give an amused sniff. Seemed he couldn’t do anything right.
Except he could. He could stand by Maddy the way he’d promised when he’d slid the engagement ring on her finger. The ring that had meant the start of forever. His loyalty, his love. For better or worse.
It was the honourable thing to do.