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My legs were carrying me to the stable before I even realized I was running. Heavy footfalls behind me spurred me on. The door to the stable stood closed, protecting the horses from the cold air outside. I skidded to a halt, wrenching the door open on its slider. The familiar smells hit me, and a surge of melancholy threatened to drown me. Hay, leather, fresh manure, and the horses were as familiar a scent as Ma’s fresh-baked bread.
The last few steps to her stall felt like a lifetime. It was as if I was sinking in quicksand, each movement becoming increasingly difficult. When I finally reached her stall, Eadie stamped her foot and huffed, shaking her head. Her dark mane flitted over her snow-white back as she moved. Her whinny made my already broken heart crack like the spidering across a windscreen. She knew something was up.
Agitated and confused, she could sense the tension and disappointment in the air, the powerlessness making us move like automatons. I hadn’t cried up to that point, but I had no hope of stopping the tears now. A choked sob tore from my throat, and I scaled the timber slat fence in two moves, needing to comfort my girl. Her head next to mine, I soothed my hands down her long neck and cried. Damn near shattered into a million pieces. Wishful plans formed in my head—smuggling her out, keeping her at the new house, running away to keep her safe—all of them more ridiculous than the one before.
It was hopeless. Impossible. This was goodbye.
I heard the rattle of the gate as someone climbed it behind me. I refused to look. Anger, sharp and fierce spiked, making me want to tear the world to shreds. I wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all. Why us? Why this farm? Why not the one next door? Why not the ones who had no hope? I shook off the hand on my shoulder, pushing away from the gentle touch. I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. I wanted my dad to fight like he used to. I wanted him to tell me that we weren’t giving up, that we didn’t have to leave. But it was too late. The world had moved on and I was left grieving something that had already slipped out of my grasp.
I wasn’t expecting Craig to slip his arm around my shoulders and take my hand in his, squeezing it as he pulled me into his arms. “It’s so unfair,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ unfair that we have to say goodbye to them.”
His hand on my nape did me in. It was the first time he’d touched me since we’d pashed. It had been awkward between us those first few days, but as time went on and neither of us brought it up, I’d resigned myself to acting as if it’d never happened. I never wanted to forget, but he seemed determined to ignore what went down between us.
So that’s what we did—we turned a blind eye to the elephant in the room.
But I would forget about the kiss if it meant that he would keep offering that solid strength, his comfort and friendship without hesitation. I turned into him and buried my head against his shoulder. Fisting his shirt, I sobbed, pouring out all of my heartache and frustration. I clung to him as he held me tight, never letting go.
I didn’t know how long we stood there, but when my tears finally dried and I was left a hiccupping, snotty mess, he pulled back and gazed at me with such sadness in his eyes that the waterworks nearly started again. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and rested my head on his shoulder again.
He kissed my forehead and wiped my cheek with infinite gentleness. “We’ll be okay. We may not have Delilah and Eadie anymore, but we have each other. We make a pact, here and now, that we’ll stick together no matter what.”
I nodded, not letting him go. “Deal,” I breathed, as it finally sunk in that I’d never see this place again.
That it was no longer our home.
*****
Sam – Aged 25
We crossed the border into Queensland, and I sighed in relief. We were home. Well, not quite home. But near enough. My heart still ached with the memory of that night we’d found out about losing the farm. Now, with the benefit of another decade under my belt, I knew Dad was right. It never would have been possible. You couldn’t get finance to buy back a farm that you’d already lost. The debts we’d accrued from the force of Mother Nature in all her violent glory had made Hayes Horse Farm our unicorn.
But even knowing that a new manager had moved into the homestead the very next day and the place was sold to a foreign conglomerate a week later, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Our parents had moved on, but the grief in their eyes remained. Craig and I had stopped by to see them as we’d travelled north through central New South Wales to the Queensland border. We’d been on the road since the end of our final year in high school, travelling in a beat-up ute, camping under the stars and doing odd jobs to buy fuel and keep food in our bellies.
We didn’t want for anything, but both of us were sick and tired of living like nomads. When we’d decided to settle back down, we didn’t even discuss where it’d be. We both just motioned north and nodded, feeling the call of Queensland.
Now, as Craig drove through Goondiwindi, I wondered whether he’d stop, or keep going. We didn’t have any plans, or even anywhere to go, but people around these parts remembered us, so we knew we’d get work somewhere.
When Craig pulled into a car park in front of the old pub, I raised an eyebrow at him. One side of his mouth tilted up, and he shrugged. “Figured we’d put the word out with the locals. It’s Saturday arvo. Where else are they gonna be?”
“Good thinkin’.” I yawned, exhaustion washing over me. “Be nice if they had a room we could get for a few nights too. I’d kill to sleep in a real bed. Everything hurts.”
“Yeah, I’m aching everywhere too.” He stretched and twisted his back, his vertebrae cracking like it always did when he’d been sitting for too long. He was so familiar. We’d spent every day together for years. The only times we were apart was during hook-ups, but most were nothing more than a quick roll around in the back of the truck. Anything longer came few and far between.
I stepped out of the ute and leaned up against the tray, closing my eyes and tilting my head back as a four-by-four rumbled past along the wide street. The winter sun washed over me, its rays warm this far north. The weight that’d been on my shoulders for the better part of a decade lifted.
I sensed his presence next to me before he’d said a word. It was like that with us though. We could read each other, often communicating without having to say a word.
He was smart, shy sometimes too, and more stubborn than anyone I’d ever met. Above all else, he was loyal. The best friend I’d ever had or would have, and I respected the hell out of him. He cared about his work. He cared about his family, and he’d do anything for someone he loved. I was lucky enough to be counted in that small group of people.
Craig ruffled my hair, then gripped the back of my neck, his big calloused hand squeezing gently. “You okay?” he asked, his voice as soft as his touch. He was an enigma. A rough and tumble type with everyone but me. Most people thought he was a bit of a smartarse and an even bigger arsehole. But it was a front. He showed me his more sensitive side. Like now. Instead of charging in and downing a coldie, he’d stand outside with me for as long as I needed.
He knew it was hard for me to come back to the town where we’d all come to stay after Mum and Dad had lost the farm. We’d driven in with the trucks piled high. Word quickly spread that we were homeless and jobless. We soon realized we weren’t the only ones. Two days after we’d arrived, our neighbours had also pulled into town, the same conglomerate who’d bought our property snapping up theirs too.
I knew it was difficult for Craig to come back too—he was just as conflicted about it as I was. We’d roasted marshmallows over our campfire the night before and confessed how nervous we were to be crossing that invisible line from New South Wales into Queensland. So we’d nutted out a plan to stay in town for a week and make ourselves known. Until something more permanent for the both of us came along, we’d take a breather, sleep indoors and enjoy food that didn’t come from a can.
Neither of us wanted to stay in Goondiwindi for good, but if we found work that lasted for more than a few weeks, we’d take it. We’d helped with the winter muster at the last station we’d worked at. We could find temporary work—that was never an issue—but something which gave us more than a week or two in each place was harder to come by. I had faith that eventually we’d come across the right job though.
I nodded and opened my eyes again, surveying the street that hadn’t changed a bit in the ten years we’d been gone, and yet was somehow completely different. “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed it here.”
He hummed quietly, his hand shifting to my shoulder. “It was time to come back.” He kicked at a lone piece of gravel on the bitumen road, sending it skittering towards the centre median strip. Goondiwindi was a border town. The intersection of a few major highways dissecting the country. Trucks and cars of every description passed through, and peak hour was often represented by kilometres’ long convoys of semi-trailers and the odd tourist with their caravan or camper trailer.
“Let’s get maggoted,” I mumbled, as memories of this place and a past I’d rather not relive continued to slam into me.
