knew Sol was referring to her hangover, but she felt a twinge of deep upset. She had made her bed. She had tried so very hard to create a life on the farm with Charlie. But nothing seemed to work. She had tried to be everything to everyone. A good daughter to her father as his body shut down with illness. A good daughter to her mother, even though she was always absent. A good mum to her boys, tending to their every need with as much grace as she could muster. A good wife to Charlie.
Even when the boys had been tiny babies, she had still summoned all her mental and physical strength to both work the farm and put a meal on the table. She had strived to be a good workman beside Charlie in the paddocks, despite the internal drag of depression within her. She had mixed memories of those times, some of them fond, some of them forlorn, of having to pull up in the paddock or the yard to breastfeed the baby or change a nappy or both, either on the seat of the ute or on a blanket that picked up thistles from the barren paddocks. Sometimes she felt strong and empowered like women of the ages who had worked in the fields, but other times she felt completely uncherished and used up.
There were days when all she wanted to do was fall to her knees and cry with exhaustion. She had been everything to everyone, but nothing to herself. And it had all come to nothing. Or at least not nothing. It had all come to a ten-second vision of Charlie humping into a bare and moaning woman via an iPhone. It was Rebecca who felt stripped bare. Punished as a witness.
At that moment bickering between the boys could be heard coming from the courtyard. Rebecca groaned and stood up.
‘Leave it to me,’ Yazzie said. ‘I’ll fix them. Now, Sol, please get out of the kitchen. I’m not used to having you in here, hulking about with icing sugar and food colouring. It’s just plain wrong. And take Rebecca with you. Give her a tour. Cheer her up for me.’
‘But the information night at the pub with Andrew is on soon,’ Sol protested, ‘and I’ve only just got in.’
Bec glanced at Sol. So he knew Andrew Travis? The fact startled her. They were so unalike. From different worlds.
‘There’s time,’ Yazzie said, glancing at the clock. ‘Rebecca can come with us. You were going, weren’t you, Bec?’
Bec shook her head. ‘I’m not sure I can. Not now —’
‘Rubbish,’ Yazzie interrupted. ‘I have a plan. After your tour, give me thirty minutes and I’ll transform you into a diva to die for. Charlie won’t know what’s hit him when he walks into the pub. If he’s cheating on you, then he deserves to be shown what he’s so carelessly destroying and throwing away.’
Rebecca glanced at Sol, who was still busy unpacking his ‘Man Cake’ ingredients, his dark eyebrows pulled down over his broody eyes in a frown. Should he also know all her business? ‘I really better get going,’ she said, trying to block any more involvement with the Stantons, regretting the fact she’d come here. ‘The information night starts at six-thirty and I have to get the boys’ dinner. It’s almost five now!’
‘Stay,’ Yazzie implored. ‘I insist.’
Bec looked at the other woman’s pleading blue eyes. She noticed they were not only filled with compassion but also, perhaps, a hint of loneliness. It was too late. She had a brand-new friend. Yazzie was now heavily involved in the grubby secrets of her life. And so too was Sol Stanton, whether she liked it or not.
‘Why go back to him right now? Give yourself some space and time for reflection. I’ll fix the kids something. After Sol’s shown you around, you can go have a soothing bath and then I’ll do your hair and makeup. I’ll pick out a dress for you to wear.’
‘A dress? To the pub? The Dingo Trapper?’
‘Yes! A dress. Oh, there’s strategy in what I do!’ Yazzie said. ‘We’ll show him. Beauty, if used correctly, is strength. And strong you shall be. Sol, don’t just stand there. Take her for a tour. Get her mind back to the place where it should be.’
Sol set down the packet of flour and looked at both women, unimpressed. Just when Bec thought he would refuse, he abruptly said, ‘OK. Follow me.’
As uninviting as his tone was, Rebecca followed in the wake of his expensive cologne.
‘You have a way of cheering up ladies, don’t you, Sol?’ Yazzie called after him in a voice that sounded a little too sarcastic for Rebecca’s liking. Not at all wanting a farm tour, but not knowing what else to do, she followed him meekly.
Sol ate up the distance of the long glass-faced hallway with his stride. He wore classic navy shorts, his legs fit and handsome with skin a delicious-looking milk-chocolate brown. He barely slowed for Rebecca, who had to jog to keep up with him, feeling pummelled by his tail wind. He flung open a door at the end of the wing and held it for her, letting her pass. But then he was off and racing again towards another stone courtyard, this one flanked by rows of beautifully crafted stables of deep red wood, made even more glorious by shining brass latches and hinges.
Giant wine barrels spilled with red and white geraniums, the Rivermont racing colours if the flag flapping in the wind was anything to go by.
At the centre of the yard was a stone horse trough that had a small bronze fountain at its heart. The sound of trickling water soothed the stable courtyard, giving it an aura of tranquillity and opulence. At the other end of the long line of stables, one man was unloading feed bags, another trudging a wheelbarrow filled with stable waste out a side gate and yet another was scraping water from the sides of a deep bay gelding in a washbay. A tiny pasty-faced girl, clearly a trackwork jockey, waved as she carried a saddle pad and disappeared into a stall.
Surprising Rebecca, Sol whistled low, then called out in a deep voice, ‘Hello, my beautifuls! Come talk to me!’
Over the tops of the stable doors came the heads of tall thoroughbreds, classy and glossy, their brown eyes bright with curiosity. Some shuddered out a welcoming whicker. Others flicked their ears in Sol’s direction, pawing at the doors and tossing their heads.
Rebecca was slightly amazed. This big-wig rich man, who had just barked at her and Yazzie, and behaved like a complete self-absorbed tosser, had the whole stable of horses under his spell. She could tell the horses were drawn to his deep cooing noises and giant peaceful presence. She watched as he tenderly rested his brow on the starred forehead of a black racer and lifted his hands to either side of the horse’s face. Just then, as if the gods had flicked a switch, the most beautiful sunset draped golden light across the jet-black hair of the man and the midnight sheen of the horse. Rebecca saw, roaming in the darkness of the horse’s coat, a silver light. She took in a hasty breath and goose bumps spread across her skin. She surprised herself by feeling so moved by this moment of tenderness as she watched the big handsome man communicating in silence with the giant horse.
She remembered the woman’s words in the shop, how thinking thoughts of positivity and gratitude and living in the moment would allow her life to transform. Suddenly she was grateful something had brought her here. Just this snapshot vision was enough to fill her with hope. Then there was the kindness of Yazzie to be grateful for.
For the first time Bec really understood the true richness of the gift of seeing how life could be.
Beauty and bliss were everywhere, if you knew how
