‘When I was at school I did some part-time work at a local riding ranch, helped out the lady who owned the place. I started helping the farrier when he came and it turned out I had a talent for it. Good with my hands,’ he quipped. ‘I really liked being out in the fresh air and working with the horses so when I finished school, I started an apprenticeship.’
‘You did your HSC?’
‘Yeah. My original plan had been to be a teacher, but the farrier work got me hooked.’
‘And you never wanted to move out of Yarrabee?’
He shook his head. ‘Never. Every time I went to Sydney I couldn’t wait to get out of the place. Too much noise. Too many people with their phone in their hands and their head up their arse.’
‘Exactly why I moved. And the cheaper house prices.’
‘Why Yarrabee?’
‘My family used to holiday close by, at Blackwattle Lake. Dad had a boat and we’d go fishing and generally laze about. I always loved coming into Yarrabee. It had this kind of old-world charm. So when I thought about moving out of the city, this was the first place I looked.’
‘And psychology? What made you want to dive into the depths of people’s minds?’
She took a sip of champagne, fortifying herself for the answer. ‘I was in Year 11 when my father died and didn’t really know what I wanted to do. But afterwards, our whole world fell apart. My mother refused to talk about Dad at all. It was like he’d never existed. My sister threw herself into her dancing and was hardly ever home. We didn’t have counselling. I pretty much stopped eating and my doctor referred me to a psychologist. He saved my life. I wanted to help other people the way he’d helped me.’
‘It must be tough, listening to other people’s problems all day.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Dealing with idiots like my brother.’
‘It can be confronting. And I don’t always get it right.’ She hadn’t been raised to follow any particular religion but the overwhelming urge to come clean must be what Catholics felt in a confessional booth. ‘I didn’t get it right with Owen. I should never have taken on his case. I knew it could be triggering for me.’
‘Triggering?’
‘I’ve learned how to guide other people towards facing up to things in their life and their past that are causing issues for them. But turns out I’m not so skilled at dealing with my own trauma. In my first session with Owen, I lost the plot. Hearing about his drug taking and joyriding took me straight back to that night. Even though I did end up having therapy for a while after my dad died, I’ve never been able to process the knowledge that it was my fault.’
‘But didn’t you say you were at a party? How could it have been your fault?’
‘I had my dad wrapped around my little finger from the day I was born. And I knew it. Was never afraid to use my power over him to get my own way. My mother didn’t want me to go to the party but in my most self-centred, teenage princess way, I convinced my dad to give me permission and to pick me up. If I hadn’t, he would have been in bed, we would have had a lovely family dinner together, preparing for Christmas Day. Instead, he and my mother fought over him being too lenient on me. So their last words to each other were said in anger. And he never came home.’
A memory of her mother’s tortured voice as she berated a teenage Hannah for being so wilful seeped through her consciousness like slow-moving venom.
‘She married my dad’s best friend two years later and moved to Denmark. My sister went to a drama school in Perth, met a guy and didn’t come back. I don’t think either of them have ever forgiven me for Dad’s death.’
In the deepening twilight, time seemed to have slowed, the whole world reduced to this moment, wobbling on its axis.
Cole reached out and took her hand and the touch of his palm was grounding.
‘Have you forgiven yourself?’ His voice soft as velvet, his eyes searching hers.
‘No.’ She stared out into the distance to where lights were coming on in the town, twinkling like a handful of glitter tossed against a blurry abstract landscape. The tears spilled and she let them fall. ‘I’m not sure I ever will. But I can stop pretending he never existed. I can honour his memory.’ She turned towards the man beside her, drawn by some irresistible force she didn’t quite understand, that had no scientific basis, but was as real as flesh and blood and as strong as gravity. ‘And I can start living in the moment.’
They leaned together, their glasses abandoned, his hand cupping the back of her neck, her fingers combing through the waves of his hair. Her heart beating faster with every press of their lips.
Chapter 16
Within seconds they were on the rug, bodies entwined. She heard a moan and realised it was her own, wondered if she should pull back, compose herself, think this through. But his mouth was hot on her neck, her skin ablaze. She tipped her head back, guided his hand beneath her top to the bare curve of her breast, almost cried out as he ran the rough pads of his fingers over her nipple. He was half on top of her now, the weight of his body pressing her into the earth, his erection hard against her hip. She needed more skin. More everything.
Hands flattened against his chest, she gave a gentle shove. Leaning on his elbows, his arms framing her face, he looked down into her eyes and in the dim light of the candles, his pupils dilated even more. A deep black ocean she wanted to drown herself in.
‘Do you want to stop?’
‘No.’ It came out in a shriek, and she choked on a giggle. ‘Exactly the opposite.’ Button by button, she undid his shirt and he slipped his arms out. So fucking hot she could barely breathe.
‘Is that better?’ he rasped.
‘Getting there.’ She lifted her arms and he pushed up onto his hands as she pulled off her top.
