Foal's Bread (38 page)

As with any spree, once half the bottle was gone the son she'd let go in the river appeared. There he was, Uncle Nipper's baby with little red spots on the whites of its eyes. Under lashes as long as a doll's. And then, oh no, its tiny pound-o'-butter body overtoppling the boat after all so that it drowned, if not by her hands then by her decision. She saw the electric-green river weed of that section of the Flaggy streaming alongside his struggle to live. Oh, the terrible look of the weed over its little body as it first went down.

When George had finally learnt to tie a bow last year, he'd kept putting one of Lainey's green hair ribbons around a new black kitten's neck. Although she and Laine had sworn to find all of the kittens homes, it didn't stop Minna doing what she always did. Drowning even that one. With the ribbon still around its morsel of a throat Noah knew, because she'd accidentally found the sack when checking down at the creek on the irrigation pipes. Minna had denied it but the evidence was there, awful and surreal in Noah's hand that day. ‘You call yourself Christian. Yet you drowned George's kitten.'

Oh, the long-ago pile of little bones her own Little Mister would be. Never buried. Bleached in the sun. Little bits and pieces of him all over the place. Bones made of Uncle Nipper's love for her.

Dimly, through the alcohol, she said, ‘You've blown it now, Nella bloody Nancarrow,' and reeled outside as if the stars might save her. ‘Bloody foolish.' And with that thought all her confidence of a few hours before drained away.

Bloody Thelma for selling her the stuff with that downturned know-it-all grin. The night sky was reeling too and when the stars started screaming at her, she screamed back.

It was a night cold enough for George to have both his cats in his bed. Each grey cat was lying outstretched to be almost as long as a twelve-year-old fat boy. At the sound of another shout, George moved uneasily once, twice, then, finding himself pinned either side by the silvery pair, slept again.

Surely not, Lainey thought, waking to the sound of her mother's slurred shout. Not on this day that they had been training for since forever. Fair dinkum, she thought, and sensed that in the other rooms her Nin and Aunty Ral were also alert and listening.

The four horses, Seabreeze and Landy, Magpie and Fly, all washed and ready for their big day, also heard Noah's voice coming out into the night. The piebald mare, knowing that particular tone best of all, wheeled away to the far gate.

‘Don't go out to her, Ral,' Lainey heard her Nin say in a sharp voice. ‘She'll be asleep now any minute.' And as if on command from Nin, her mother fell silent.

Moving quietly, Lainey hopped out of bed and through the window. ‘Bloomin hell,' she whispered. Under the half-moon she could see the grey shapes of the horses looking over from home paddock. Gliding like a cat, she went into the hut, past where her mother lay out blind to it on the old sofa. She found the last inch in the flagon and, baring her teeth at the Royal Reserve smell and all that it meant, tipped it into the bushes.

Once, when Lainey was no more than three or four years old, she'd got into Aunty Ral's cooking vanilla. It had become part of the family folklore. How she'd slept it off and woke up smelling like a milkshake.

‘Don't look like you'll be jumpin nuthin,' the girl said and bit her lip. Her mother smelt like nothing no one would ever want to sip. For all their preparation to have come to this. Who would she pair with now in the hunts?

Lainey's head tilted forward off its neck as if one small tap would see it fall onto the ground. Her unbrushed hair was either side of her face in the way of Magpie's mane that never could make up its mind just which way to fall.

In one sense Lainey was so sad she didn't think she'd be going anywhere either and wished she could fall down beside her mother and also spend show day in bed. But another part spat, ‘Pah!' The involuntary noise came unchecked and made the morning air acid with disappointment. ‘Now you'll see what I can do without you anywhere nearby. Bloody Hopeless, that should be the name of a horse for you, Mum.'

Before daybreak she mixed the horses some feed. ‘Give em a bit of corn,' she could hear her father say. Whichever's high jumpin. Not a bellyful. Just something that'll liven em for that leap.

‘You're lucky, you are,' she told the horses, still undecided about who should get the corn. They nickered hopefully then scattered when Magpie came high-trotting their way, ears pinned back and neck snaking like a stallion.

‘Here,' said the girl, catching the mare and tying her up. ‘Can't have you kicking them now.' Coming closer to a decision she gave both the greys a double handful of cracked corn each. ‘And just a bit of hay for you,' she told Fly. ‘Cos last thing we want is for you to be mad as a swivel in the bend and flag.'

Then, feeling sorry for her mother's mare, the only one without feed, she walked across to the shed to the molasses drum. She went back to the piebald with her hand dripping with the shiny blackness as her offering. The mare's tongue was warm and huge in the dark. As the mare cleaned up her fingers again she pondered the dilemma of who she could go in the hunts with. Only for one moment did she have the disloyal wish that her brother was normal. Then instead of Mum could've been George.

Aunty Ral and Nin would be coming to the show later, bringing George, with Uncle Owen to get a lift in with Doss Cousins after milking.

When Lainey went back inside Main House it was to find her Nin already up and getting her a cuppa. The girl put her hands out in front of the Lighthouse. Just as she knew had been her father's rule on high-jump day for any show, she salted her tea.

‘Atta girl,' said her Nin approvingly, and before either could mention Noah there came the sound of Mr Cousins' truck turning into One Tree and beginning the climb up the hill.

‘Morning, Lainey. Gunna turn into a beautiful day I think,' Mr Cousins said, hopping down from the cab. With his hands in his pockets, he kicked a few pebbles on the ground as if he was still a boy. ‘Didn't I say it was going to be good weather for the show?'

‘Yep.'

‘Where's your mother?'

Lainey shook her head. Nin, coming out at that moment with a lamp, imitated a bottle's contents gurgling down her throat. The sound was the exact opposite of the first early-morning magpie letting its pure and silvery notes spill into the dark sky. ‘Forget bloody Noah, you can,' Ninna said.

For the first time Lainey felt a flicker of despair. Because now daylight was not far off she felt lost at the thought of Wirri Show minus her mum. What about last year? Coming home with all those ribbons between them? Mrs Nancarrow and her daughter Lainey from just west of Wirri. How the announcer loved to put that out over the showground. And yesterday, the laugh on her mum as she'd washed Magpie's white socks; washed and washed them using some blue Rinso she'd nicked (shh, don't tell your aunty!) until the line of pigment stood out underneath the hair like marks on a map. Laughing at herself because, ‘Sure as my name's Noah you'll see, Laine, she'll get it dirty in the night. Somehow! Even if we had her standing on white sheets all night she'd find a way.'

Lainey, blacking up four sets of hooves, had smiled in happiness at her mother's mood. There was the aroma of hoof black, rich and wonderful in line with everyone's good spirits. George coming over to them and singing his moaniest happiness tune as they'd even plaited Maggie's forelock. Her mum standing on a little stool with Lainey handing up water and comb to tame the hair. Then the rubber bands. Her mum so excited, making that bushy forelock as neat as possible.

Now this.

‘Oh Lainey,' said Mr Cousins, his voice full of exasperation. ‘Didn't I tell you to seek it out if she come home with any?'

Minna began to lug the gear over to the truck. ‘Oh, we kept an eye open alright. Ral was with her all the time in town. She must have some new hiding place.'

‘I tipped a bit out,' said Lainey, ‘but too late cos she was a goner.'

Just at that minute, as if to prove her daughter completely wrong, Noah appeared from around the other side of the house, riding Tadpole, saddled and all.

‘What are you up to, Noah?' began Mr Cousins. ‘Show today.'

Next thing Noah had half got off, half fallen from Tadpole. ‘I'm alright, you'll see,' she said and kneeling, holding the stirrup, looked up to the ancient pony.

‘A bit late for prayin, Noah,' said Minna. ‘It'd take more than a prayer to fix you.'

Her mother, saw Lainey, looked like a shrunken-away corpse in a trap.

‘Oh, Laine,' said Noah, and gave a series of painful small moans. ‘Haven't we been waiting for this day the whole year and now this had to happen.'

‘Come on,' said Mr Cousins, hooking the reins over a fence. ‘We'll get you back inside.'

‘Those bloody calves,' said Noah. ‘Reckon I've gone and got the vomitin brucellosis off em.'

Mr Cousins' voice was so kind Lainey wished for a moment that she had found some vanilla essence to incapacitate herself with in the night. Sometimes she couldn't help but wish that she was one of Mr Cousins' cows or dogs. Or, like the girl of Inglises' who'd lived in the back hills with her mother and sisters, that she'd also be snatched off One Tree by one of the Marlowe brothers on a horse.

Airly Inglis, so Uncle Owe reckoned, was looking out through a crack in the door when Errol Marlowe took off with her one Sunday after church. ‘That's her I reckon.' Uncle Owe had dug Lainey in the ribs outside the Wirri butcher's one day. Lainey had turned to see a woman walking along like a skinny chook with its chicks, at least four daughters stringing out behind. And smudges around Airly Inglis's eyes as if Errol had pressed her face into a cold fire.

‘Your Aunty Ral's gittin yer mum some tea,' said Mr Cousins, coming back out from the hut, ‘but truth is I doubt she'll be ready for show even by the time Dossie and Owe go in. Still want to go?'

‘Too right she does,' said Ninna. ‘Rol's daughter through and through. We'll be right,' and went to help get the horses ready for loading. ‘Come on, Mr Seabreeze, Landy,' she said, putting headstalls on. ‘Your big day.'

‘Will we still load Noey's mare?' Mr Cousins wanted to know.

‘I could maybe jump Magpie?' said Lainey uncertainly.

‘Likely to just muck up something shocking,' said Minna. ‘No point. Leave her tied up. Might help your mother remember what's what when she finally comes to. Better than any note we could write.'

The jumpers moved quickly up the loading ramp and into the truck with only George's naughty Fly baulking and thus earning himself a few thwacks with the lead rope. When that didn't work, Lainey watched Mr Cousins and her Ninna link arms behind the pony and none too soon heave him on.

The old lead rope in the girl's fingers as she tied up Landwind gave her a good feeling, being firm but hairy. It was so old that there was every possibility in the world her father's hands had held it as he jumped horses up onto trains or even, once, a boat on his way to that Easter Royal of 1930. The thought cheered her no end. ‘Dad's old rope,' she told the horses. ‘How 'bout that?' Then she slipped out the back of the truck to see Nin already halfway down the hill to the dairy to help her brother get the milking underway.

‘Did Mum drink the tea?' asked Lainey, sitting up in the cab.

‘Oh, a few sips, but wouldn't you know, she had more somewhere. Made out she was going to wash her face at the basin outside, but she was taking a few swigs. I could hear her.' Mr Cousins started the truck.

‘Well, she is cunning.' Lainey poked her head out the window. In the glow from the truck's red tail-lights, the plaited forelock gave the piebald mare a bald and crazy look that matched the madness of her neighing. ‘Mum's going to be that ropeable. Mag left behind. But whatever, I'm gunna ride Landwind instead of her.'

‘What? You thinking of taking him in the high jump as well as old Breezy?'

‘He's entered, isn't he?' she said. ‘Might as well.'

‘Maybe just stick to the hunts?'

‘Nope,' said Lainey. ‘Landwind.' Thinking of her father. Thinking that this was why the horse had been bred. Their Chalcey foal, now an eight-year-old.

‘Landy and Lainey, eh, in the high jump. Well, he goes alright for you, doesn't he?'

‘Like a whip about to crack!' Today, she was thinking, the best approach would be to just pretend so hard that she was her mother she might even trick Landwind. Because pig root too, he could, great curving half-bucks that you had to find the rhythm to ride. Also, and most of all, her mother'd got him going so good that she was afraid of wrecking that.

Something else. And she wasn't proud at all of this memory. Without a bit of protest she'd watched her mother pouring kero onto the top rail in practice paddock. Last Sunday. Then following her mother's orders had set a match to it just as Landy was at the height of his jump. To make sure he was always going to jump high. Then the same treatment even for the old veteran Seabreeze. Last but not least Magpie. This was why if you knew where to look all the horses had a bit of singed hair on their bellies.