Shifting Gears

Shifting Gears

Waltzing into the lounge, I held my trophy high. ‘I won!’

  A whiskey glass appeared from the depths of the leather settee and waved a lazy circle in the air. ‘All hail the conquering hero! Congratulations. You won what?—like I give a fuck.’ Gareth sat up to look at me, eyes sullen.

  ‘The State Dressage Championships. Didn’t you hear me this morning? … I won.’ The elation curdled in my mouth.

  ‘I should bloody well think so after all the time and money you’ve spent on that horse.’ He took a gulp of his drink. ‘Or should I say, all the money I’ve spent?’ He looked me up and down. ‘The least you could do is take off those dressage boots before walking in on this carpet.’ His tone became querulous. ‘You wouldn’t do that if Mother was home.’

  Fifteen years living in this family mansion and I still hadn’t developed the habit of removing my footwear before entering the house. Now, slap bang in the middle of yet another drunken quarrel, contempt closed around my chest like a vice. I placed my trophy on the coffee table and selected a set of car keys from the crystal bowl nearby. ‘I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?’ and turned towards the front door.

  ‘Bitch! Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking—I own you, remember?’ He hurled his glass; it passed close by my nose and slammed into the portrait of his mother on the opposite wall. ‘Oh, my god! Look what you made me do? Oh, no … no … no,’ he repeated, covering his face with his hands and collapsing onto the sofa.

  ‘Yeah; be interesting to hear what Mommy Dearest has to say about that when she gets home tomorrow,’ I said, closing the front door behind me.

  As I settled into the seat of the car, my hands shook. I didn't know where I wanted to go; only an overwhelming desire to run.

The phone in my jacket pocket rang, my neighbour, Anthea, was on the line.

‘Hello? I’m in Sydney. Would you be an absolute sweetie and check on Reverie for me? He’s arrived on a flight from the quarantine station earlier than I expected. The carrier dropped him off at the holding yards in Swan View. Daddy’s going to collect him tomorrow, but I’d love someone to check he’s taken care of tonight. I know it’s a lot to ask but ...’

  ‘No, that's fine. I can leave now if you like,’ I said, relieved to have the distraction.

  ‘Ooh, you’re an angel. Thank you. Are you OK? You sound a little stressed? Oh, I forgot to ask. How did you go at the championships?’

  ‘We went OK—82 percent.’

  ‘Wow—well done. Reverie and I will give you a run for your money next year. Got to go. I’ll text you the gate pin number. Taxi’s waiting to take me to Tetsuya’s for dinner. It’s a hard life but someone’s gotta do it, hey?’

#

A thousand miles away, high on the north-west coast, a cyclone was brewing, sending waves of damp heat to the south. The air outside my car was thick with humidity when I punched in the code to the gate, then struggled to steady the coupe as it skidded sideways up the dusty slope to the holding yards.

On my arrival, a couple of curious horses hung their heads over their doors; there was no one else about. Reverie, a true German equine aristocrat, ignored me when I entered his stable. He continued to munch hay as I ran my hand down his right foreleg, feeling for any heat or pulse around the fetlock. I picked up his foot to examine his hoof—clean and cool, with no sign of the dreaded laminitis that can set in after a long-standing journey. The hay in his net was fresh and his water cistern full; his stable recently mucked out and the wood shavings on the floor smelt sweet, dampened to hold down the dust. Whoever attended to this horse had worked hard and been meticulous.

  As I left him, I noticed a woman walking towards me from a campervan parked on a slope nearby. She wore a grubby t-shirt, sneakers, and a peaked cap held back her long, stringy hair. My upper lip curled as the stench of body odour preceded her in the warm air. At her side, she led an emaciated grey hound on a piece of string. And yes, I know all greyhounds look emaciated, but this one was skeletal.

  ‘Hello, I’m Anna Benton. I’m the caretaker. Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’

  The flattened vowels gave it away. She was from somewhere around the eastern wheat-belt. I should know, I'd been born and raise there.

‘The owner asked me to check on Reverie, but I can see he’s comfortable, so I won’t take up any of your time.’ Though anxious to move away from her, I couldn’t help but pause. I’ve always prided myself on speaking up when I see a neglected animal. ‘Is your dog OK? She looks kind of … hungry.’

The woman smiled and fondled the dog’s ears. ‘You got that right. I was at the vet hospital yesterday when a racing breeder brought this girl in to be euthanized. I told them “I don’t think so” and drove her back with me. A few days of good tucker and TLC and she’ll be fine.’

The dog looked up at Anna’s face, eyes radiant with love … and hope.

 Somewhere deep inside me, something clicked … like the long-lost piece of a puzzle. I didn’t reply but walked straight to my car and started the engine. Instead of shifting into gear, I pulled down the vanity mirror to stare at my face, as if searching for an answer. My hair and makeup were immaculate. I was forty years old, without a line or crease on my features to mark the passage of time.

Who am I? What am I? I asked the image.

You are a bitch. A heartless, judgemental bitch.

Flipping back the mirror, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closed. When did I lose my humanity? Have I always been this hard? Or has all the kindness in me been leached out over the years? I have everything I ever wanted and yet I am empty. I am nothing.

  A tap on the roof of the car and Anna Benton peered in at me. ‘Are you OK?’

  Sliding the window open, I turned off the car’s engine and said, ‘I can’t go home.’

  She stood for a second, then levelled her face again with mine. ‘Yeah—I’ve been there. No family or friends you can stay with for a while?’

  Shaking my head, I looked down at the fingers twisting in my lap.

  ‘There are plenty of motels and hotels in Midland; I suggest you find one and hole up there for a day or two. Got any money?’

  Glancing at the empty passenger seat beside me, I groaned. ‘I don’t believe this. I left in such a hurry I didn’t pick up my handbag.’

  Anna straightened and fished a plastic wallet from the back of her jeans. Inside were three $50 bills, which she pulled out and gave to me. ‘That’ll see you through for a day or so.’

  This couldn’t be happening. I sat behind the wheel of a late model Mercedes, wearing European brand equestrian sportswear … about to accept all the cash this woman had because I needed it. Pulling my wedding ring from my finger, I handed it to her. ‘Here, keep it til I can get this money back to you.’

  She looked horrified. ‘Shit no! I can’t take that. I’d probably lose it. Just return the cash to me when you can, OK?’ She tapped the roof of my car. ‘Off you go now, love; things will be clearer tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.’

  I watched them in my side mirror, the woman and the dog, as they made their way through the twilight towards their campervan.

Starting the car, I drove down through the gate and stopped, engine idling, as the electronic gate slid closed behind me. Left would take me into Midland; right, back to Brigadoon and my mother-in-law’s house. Looking down at the swish interior of the coupe, I took in a deep breath of the new leather upholstery—the rich aroma of money. Could I really learn to live without all this?

I spun the wheels as I turned left and gunned the vehicle down the road.

You bet your life I could!

The End