Where the River Runs Read online

  ‘Scared? What on earth for?’

  ‘About this,’ she held open her hands and indicated their surroundings. ‘To see how you were feeling, to face that Mum wasn’t here anymore. It was easier to stay away when I’d been away for so long, to pretend things hadn’t changed out here.’ She stopped and lifted her fingers to the piano then pressed three keys in a minor chord. ‘To have to come back and be in the shadow of Dale again. I didn’t matter after he died. You and Mum forgot about me. I understood that you were hurting, so I left. Went back and concentrated on the piano.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Is that how you feel?’ Tom finally asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Chelsea dropped her head as she sat there. ‘And don’t forget,’ she continued softly, ‘neither of you came to me when Aria was born. Why was that?’

  ‘We couldn’t. It would’ve hurt too much.’ He took a breath. ‘You’ll understand one day.’

  Chelsea woke to the sound of Aria laughing and jumping on her bed.

  ‘He came, he came!’ she cried, and tipped up the pillowcase on the bed so the presents tumbled out.

  ‘Merry Christmas, my gorgeous girl,’ Chelsea said, sitting up to give her a hug. ‘What did you get?’

  ‘Crayons and colouring-in books and …’ Aria started and then showed her the rest.

  Chelsea rubbed her eyes, which were tired from all the crying she’d done after she’d finally gone to bed last night.

  The final thing her dad had said to her was: ‘You’ll understand one day.’ He hadn’t spoken another word. The confused look in his eyes had returned and he’d shut down.

  His reaction had made her wonder if highly emotional situations triggered the confusion. She’d wanted to google it but had decided she was too tired, and she’d still needed to find some sticky tape. It had been nearly midnight by the time she’d wrapped the rest of the presents and put them under the tree, and finished the last of the cooking. Then she’d gone outside to sit and look at the moon, which cast an eerie glow across the landscape. The lights in Cal’s house were still on and she’d wondered what he was doing for Christmas Day.

  ‘Did Father Christmas drink the milk you put out?’ Chelsea asked, dragging her thoughts back to her daughter.

  ‘Yes! And he ate half of the biscuit!’

  Chelsea, despite not having had a coffee yet, laughed out loud at her daughter’s excitement. What a beautiful start to the day. She only hoped her dad would be okay when he appeared.

  ‘Can I open my presents?’ Aria asked, collecting everything from the bed and skipping towards the kitchen.

  ‘Not until Papa is up and we’ve had breakfast,’ she answered. ‘Now I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want a Milo?’

  ‘Yes, please. Can I let Scout off?’ she said, referring to Tom’s old border collie.

  ‘All right. I’ll bring the drinks out and we can sit on the chairs and watch the galahs in the creek until Papa comes out.’ But Chelsea was talking to herself because the door slammed before she could finish the sentence.

  Throwing the covers off, she shrugged into her dressing gown and went into the kitchen to turn on the kettle and get out the coffee plunger. While she waited, she leaned on the sink and watched Aria through the window.

  Even though it’d been a hard decision to come back, she was sure it was a good one for her daughter. The relationship between Aria and her grandfather was wonderful, and her daughter had gone from a shy, withdrawn little girl who didn’t speak to many people to an open, smiling, happy child. And it had only taken a few days.

  Outside, Aria bounced with Scout for a few steps, then picked up the tennis ball lying on the dry lawn and threw it towards the creek. Scout dashed off after it then brought the ball back to her, and they repeated the action until the hot drinks were ready.

  ‘Hello, Scout,’ Chelsea said as she settled on the edge of the creek on a chair and bent down to pat the dog who had flopped at her feet. The few minutes of play were more than enough for a dog who had fifteen years on the dial and a lot of grey around his muzzle.

  ‘Merry Christmas.’

  Chelsea turned to see Cal standing behind her, his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, the now-familiar blue shirt tucked into the waistband.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she answered, looking back towards the dry river bed. She took a sip of her coffee.

  ‘Cal! Guess what Father Christmas brought me!’ Aria tugged at his sleeve.

  ‘Tell me?’ he said, squatting down and looking her in the eye. ‘Did you get lots of nice presents?’

  ‘Can I show you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Aria said and ran off.

  Chelsea stared out over the creek. The ewes in the paddock closest to the house were wending their way in to get a drink at the trough and feed from the trail of grain Cal had fed to them this morning. It was still damp enough underfoot for there not to be any dust, and the pinpricks of green, even though not high, were growing around the base of each tree and in the hollows where water had lain a little longer.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she finally asked, thinking Christmas Day was a good day for manners.

  ‘That’d be good.’ He pulled up a camp chair and sat down.

  ‘How do you have it?’

  ‘White and one, thanks.’

  Chelsea passed Aria on her way out of the house, her arms full of presents and excitement on her face. It gave Chelsea pause; her little girl was so happy here. How could she think of leaving once Christmas was over?

  In the kitchen she fixed the coffee and went down to her dad’s room. ‘Dad?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m awake.’

  She heard a thud and then a door click. ‘I’ll be out soon.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ she said quietly.

  Outside, as she handed Cal his coffee, he smiled, a full, genuine smile—one she hadn’t seen before. ‘Aria did well on the Father Christmas front,’ he said.

  Raising her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way, she said, ‘She did. Lucky girl.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I bought her a gift.’

  With the cup halfway to her mouth, she stopped and looked over at him. ‘Did you?’ She hoped her surprise wasn’t too obvious.

  He nodded. ‘Is it okay if I give it to her when she comes back out? She’s just putting her presents away.’

  ‘Sure. That’s really kind of you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I owe you an apology too.’

  Chelsea put down her coffee cup and crossed her arms. She had to wait until a flock of white corellas had flown over, calling noisily, before she could answer. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You’re right, I have seen a change in Tom in the four years I’ve been here.’ He picked at the sleeve of his shirt and adjusted the collar before looking over at her. ‘I don’t know what it is, but he’s changed.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Cal considered the question. ‘In a forgetful way.’

  Chelsea nodded. ‘Dementia?’

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘I’m no doctor, but he’s pretty young to have that.’

  ‘I don’t know much about it either, except—’

  ‘Can I have a ride on your motorbike, Cal?’ Aria came hopping out of the house and ran across to them, throwing herself on Cal’s lap.

  ‘Steady there, you’ll knock an old man off his chair!’

  ‘It’s Christmas Day, Aria. Cal has to go and visit his family.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Cal, ‘would you come over to the ute with me, Aria? I have something I think you’ll like.’

  Aria’s eyes. ‘Another present?’

  ‘I need some help with the ute, that’s all,’ Cal answered as he put his coffee down. ‘And you’re just the girl for it.’

  Torn between wanting to see what the present was and not wanting to seem too interested, Chelsea stayed put. Perhaps Cal wasn’t as awful as she’d originally thought. It was clear he had a high opinion of Tom,
and the way he treated Aria—well, that just made her want to melt … which of course Chelsea refused to do because he had been arrogant and dismissive of her. ‘So? He doesn’t like me.’ Chelsea gave a disgruntled groan. She was going to have to reconsider her opinion of him, but still keep her distance at the same time.

  Chelsea could hear the pump running, so she knew her dad was in the shower. She thought about the information Cal had just given her. Her heart ached, but it helped to know she wasn’t the only one noticing her dad had a problem. When had these lapses first started? And why? Could emotional stress cause forgetfulness? Chelsea didn’t know.

  Startled by a sudden squeal, Chelsea jumped up and ran towards the noise. It was Aria! What was wrong?

  ‘I love it!’ Chelsea heard her say and she immediately relaxed. ‘Thanks, Cal. Mummy!’

  Chelsea started to laugh as Aria rounded the corner wearing a child-size Akubra hat. ‘Oh, wow, you look just like a cowgirl! It’s so gorgeous on you.’ Her startled gaze went to Cal’s kind face. ‘That’s very generous of you, Cal. And not necessary. Her stomach betrayed her resolve to keep her distance by doing a flip-flop as he smiled at her.

  Putting her hands on her hips, Aria strutted down the path towards Chelsea as if modelling the hat. ‘It’s all mine! I’m going to find Papa to show him. I can work in the sheep yards now!’

  ‘Thank you, Cal. Where did you find one so small?’

  ‘The Giftory in Barker. Saw the hat in the window and thought I knew someone who would fit right into it.’

  Chelsea shook her head, not sure what to say. ‘It’s an incredible present. Thank you. She’ll never want to leave.’

  Turning to look at her, Cal considered her carefully. ‘Do you think you will?’

  She fidgeted. ‘I never thought about staying for good.’

  ‘I imagine you’ve got concerts to perform at and stuff. This place isn’t the most central, I guess.’

  Chelsea didn’t know what came over her. ‘I don’t play anymore.’ She wanted to take the words back the minute she’d said them out loud. It was only true if she said them.

  But she had. And that made her never returning to the concert halls again a reality. Emotion welled in her chest and she had to walk away quickly, not wanting Cal to see her cry.

  ‘What do you mean? Why not? That’s what you do.’

  ‘Not anymore. And please don’t mention it to Dad. I haven’t told him yet. I didn’t even mean to tell you.’ She walked up the path to the house, Cal following her. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Okay. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to talk. No skin off my nose. But as my mum would say, a problem shared is a problem halved.’ He stopped but Chelsea kept walking. ‘Look, I reckon we got off on the wrong foot. I’m protective of Tom and I was worried when you came back that he’d get hurt again. I can see you’re not here to do that.’

  Chelsea stopped and turned around.

  Cal continued: ‘I love him like he was my dad and, yeah, I was pissed off with you for not caring enough to come home when he needed you. You’re telling me there’s more to that story than meets the eye.’ He stopped and cocked his head to the side. ‘When you’re ready, I hope you’ll confide in me, because I’d like to take back all the bad thoughts I’ve had about you!’ He grinned and winked at her.

  Maybe he thought he’d softened those words with his cute smile, but Chelsea felt defensive and she crossed her arms and stared at him.

  ‘Look,’ Cal said, switching back to the original topic, ‘you’ve asked if I’ve noticed a difference in Tom, because you’ve obviously seen a change yourself.’ He sighed. ‘I came to talk to you about that and it’s clear you need to get some things off your chest too.’ He looked at her steadily, causing butterflies in her stomach again. ‘You think we should have a chat? Because we’ve got the same goals in mind, whether you want to admit it or not.’

  ‘And what might they be?’ She was still pretending that she didn’t want to be on the same page after his cutting remark, but somehow she knew they were going to be.

  ‘Making sure Tom and Aria are okay.’

  Chapter 16

  Aria didn’t want to take her hat off all day, or the leather RM Williams boots Tom had given her. The boots were so cute on her little feet but they couldn’t be worn inside, and the hat couldn’t be worn at the table. Chelsea had had to negotiate to have it sitting beside her plate rather than on her head.

  ‘It’s all about manners, Aria,’ she’d told her, trying to sound stern. ‘You should be able to eat with the shearers and dine with the Queen.’ She’d caught Tom looking over at her and realised it was something Pip used to say.

  By mid-afternoon the hot lunch combined with the heat of the day had resulted in a food coma and Aria was stretched out on the floor, sound asleep, her hat over her face. Scout had been curled up beside her until Tom had chased him out with a growl. ‘Dogs don’t belong inside!’

  Chelsea stopped cleaning up and looked at her daughter, her dark hair falling to one side from under the hat brim as she slept. The love she felt for her was so intense it hurt physically. Her heart wanted to burst when the feeling was that strong. And these feelings made her wonder why her mother hadn’t come to see her after she’d written and told them about Aria. Maybe she’d ask her dad again about this when the time was right. Perhaps it had been because she wasn’t married. Or perhaps there was something else. It sounded like it when he’d said, ‘It would’ve hurt too much.’ She couldn’t imagine letting her own daughter give birth to a brand new human life by herself. She would’ve wanted to be there, holding Aria’s hand, helping afterwards, taking the baby so she could sleep. Giving her advice and letting her know everything would be okay. Having a newborn was a steep learning curve and a mother’s love and advice would make such a difference.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered as she continued to stare at her sleeping daughter.

  She snapped a couple of pictures on her mobile for Tori, but because there was no mobile reception out here she’d have to wait until she was next in Barker to send them.

  Seeking some cooler air, Chelsea went into the sitting room and flopped on the couch, her legs over the side and her head resting on the arm. Even though there had only been three of them for Christmas lunch, it felt like she’d cooked for twenty! Maybe the late night and emotion had something to do with the tiredness she was feeling.

  Closing her eyes, she reflected on the time she’d been here. Other than the concern about her dad, she’d enjoyed the space, the openness. Not the heat. Definitely not the heat. But it cooled down some evenings and the mornings were, while not cold, at least fresh. She remembered how her mother used to get up before dawn and get as many outside jobs done as she could. ‘No point being out there in the heat of the day,’ she’d always said.

  She remembered her dad getting up early too. Heading off in the ute to shift or feed sheep before it was too hot. He’d told her it was easier to muster the ewes while they were out feeding and getting a drink than when they were camped under the trees at midday.

  Often he’d come in smelling of sweat and covered in dust, and Pip would hand him a cold drink of homemade lemon cordial and a cold wet flannel to help cool him down. As Dale had begun to do more work on the farm, she’d started the same routine with him too.

  Looking back, it was clear how much Pip had cared for them. Chelsea sighed, wondering what had made her change. Dale’s death had had such an impact on both her parents. They’d withdrawn into themselves for sure, but it was before then. The arguments they’d had when she’d come home from the Conservatorium were furious. Pip had accused her of not making the most of the opportunities she’d been given. Told her how disappointed she was with Chelsea’s attitude.

  The Conservatorium had been challenging for Chelsea and she probably hadn’t handled it the way her mum would’ve liked. Being thrust into routine and strictness, when she’d been used to the freedom of the farm
, had made life unbearable in the first few years. There had been so many times she’d picked up the phone and rung her mum and dad, begging to be allowed to come back, only to be met with: ‘Come on, Chelsea, this is what you wanted. We’ve sacrificed a lot for you to have this opportunity. You must keep at it.’

  Then the bullying had started. ‘You won’t make it in this world, Chelsea,’ one of the girls had said to her. ‘You’re too unsophisticated. You’ve been raised with dust and sheep shit under your fingernails. No matter how good you are, you’ll never be able to make it on stage. You just don’t have the finesse.’ After that, she’d been ostracised, and the taunts had become increasingly vicious.

  Chelsea had withdrawn deeper into herself. She’d wanted to write to Lily and tell her everything, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wouldn’t let anyone know that this whole music game was harder than she’d ever imagined. But she couldn’t give up; her mum wouldn’t let her. So she did the only thing she could: ignored the hurt every time the bullies said anything; ignored the disapproval that radiated from her mother; and ignored the tutors who were pushing her towards becoming a classical performer rather than the free-spirited musician she wanted to be.

  She’d started to rebel against the confines of the Conservatorium. The complaints to her parents arrived thick and fast. When she was fifteen had been crunch time. Her mother was called to Adelaide at the end of first term and the principal had issued them both with an ultimatum: ‘Chelsea, you have to shape up or ship out.’

  Pip hadn’t said anything to her on the way home. Chelsea remembered arriving home to bare ground, heat beyond hell-hot and skinny sheep. It had been the worst drought Tom and Pip had ever seen, and Chelsea was reminded almost every day of how they had gone back into debt for her and now there was no way of making money because they’d had to sell all their sheep, save the core breeding ewes. And now they were nearly broke. It was not said aloud but Chelsea heard the ‘because of you’ at the end of every sentence.