Paycheque (5 page)

First, she'd stopped doing the minor services on her car. And then the new one was computerised and so complicated it made sense not to touch it. It was funny how quickly you lost touch and confidence if you didn't keep your hand in. There was no way she could ever tell her father she'd called the RAA out to change a tyre. But she
was
in her work suit and it
was
beginning to rain – and get dark – as she made the call. For the whole forty minutes they took to arrive she scolded herself for becoming a helpless woman. She was almost at the point of doing it herself when the yellow van turned up. In a matter of minutes the cheery man was done and beaming while she signed the form.

Claire smiled when she slid the shed door back to find the ladder leaning nearby, with an old paint tin half full of roofing nails and a claw hammer sticking out underneath it. She grabbed the wire handle and tucked the long but relatively light ladder under her arm, relieved that she hadn't had to rummage through the untidy, echoing space.

After banging in the last of the nails, Claire sat back with a sense of pride that she'd been able to do something practical for her father. She'd tell him tomorrow evening. She put her chin on her bent knees and scanned the property stretching out before her.

It seemed a million miles from the responsibilities of a mortgage, a stressful job, and her grief. She'd done this often as a child: hidden herself away from it all in her own style of meditation. Now she felt so at peace she was annoyed she'd let herself grow up and get caught up in the web of city life. But everything was a compromise; a quiet farm meant being at the mercy of the seasons and other uncontrollable forces. No, there was no way she could ever live this way again.

Sitting back at Bernadette's kitchen table, Claire looked up from her laptop as her friend made a loud bustling entrance, laden with over-flowing calico shopping bags.

‘So sorry I'm late. Old Mrs Jericho couldn't make up her mind between the Edwardian or Victorian settings.'

‘No worries.'

‘I'm starving. Let's eat, then get you over to the farm before you chicken out.' Bernadette tipped a pile of butcher's paper-wrapped parcels and large loaf of crusty bread onto the table.

‘I've already been,' Claire said quietly.

Bernadette stopped with the calico bag still aloft. ‘Oh,' she said.

Claire shrugged. ‘Yeah, it just felt right.'

Bernadette got out plates and cutlery and brought them to the table.

‘Was it okay?' Bernadette asked. They'd spent so many hours this year with arms wrapped around each other, Claire sobbing, Bernadette fighting back tears of sympathy. She'd really hoped those clouds were behind them.

‘No. Depressing.' Claire laughed, trying to play her mood down.

‘I knew it would be – that's why I didn't want you going alone.' Bernadette thought Claire had been a little hasty in getting rid of the horses, like she'd been waiting for the opportunity. She'd tried to talk her out of it, had even offered to feed them and keep an eye on them herself. But Claire had been adamant.

‘It was like those ghost towns you read about – void of life. There was even iron flapping in the wind.'

‘Oh Claire.' Bernadette moved to put her arms around her best friend, but Claire waved her away.

‘Don't. I'll become a basket case.' Claire laughed tightly.

‘Focus on the positives – he's going to pull through. Remember, where there's life there's hope.'

Unlike with Keith, who was gone forever. The unspoken words hung between them. Bernadette really felt for Claire – the poor thing had had one hell of a year.

Even though Bernadette had no evidence, she wondered if the universe was conspiring to get Claire back up into the Adelaide Hills. Maybe it was just selfishness, wishful thinking on her part. Claire's husband had been cruelly taken – that certainly wouldn't do anything to bring her back. Instead, it had made her focus more on her career in order to outrun the memories. And Jack's accident and confinement to hospital just served to drive her further into the safety of the city's hustle and bustle.

She looked up suddenly at hearing Claire's voice, and wondered how long she'd been lost in her musing.

‘Sorry?'

‘You were miles away. I was just saying I put a couple of nails in some loose iron on the stables.'

‘Bit dangerous to do on your own, don't you think?'

‘Probably, but it felt good. You know, actually doing something for Dad. For the briefest moment everything was back to normal – before…'

‘Did you check inside the house?'

‘No. I know I should have, but I just couldn't.'

‘There's nothing you should or shouldn't do, Claire. You do it when it feels right and don't when it doesn't. There are no rules.'

‘God I wish I could be like you – not a worry in the world.'

‘Hey, I've got plenty I could worry about. I just choose to change what I can and ignore what I can't. And it's taken a lot of practice. Remember, I wasn't always like this.'

Claire remembered all right. Remembered Bernadette worrying constantly about exam results and subject choices for the best career, while she'd just gone along following the subjects and teachers she liked without giving the future much thought. She'd almost forgotten what a stress-head her best friend had been: the time the ambulance had been called when she'd had a panic attack during the year eleven maths exam; the masses of hives that erupted before opening her HSC results.

Now she thought about it, Claire realised it was bizarre how things had changed – not that
she
could be called a worrywart, she decided firmly.

At work, Claire got herself into a routine blur where she managed to wade through her mass of emails and remove a number of items from her long to do list. She was feeling a little better – less snowed under and more optimistic regarding Jack's recovery.

She'd been pinching him hard on the arm every so often in the days since reading about Dr Burrows' Stimulation Therapy. She hated doing it and felt terribly guilty afterwards, but on Sunday night she'd got a reaction. It was only a slight change of expression, but it showed a response to pain nonetheless. She was ecstatic and a little reluctant to leave when the nurse told her visiting hours were over.

The next morning Claire went to the office with a slightly lighter step. At her desk, she checked her watch. Derek would be in any second. She looked forward to their ritual Monday morning chats, and especially enjoyed the news from inside the racing fraternity.

She smiled as Derek assumed his customary perch on the edge of her desk.

‘How was Murray Bridge?' she asked.

‘A couple of winners, couple of losers, you know how it is.'

‘Yeah.'

There was an awkward moment when no one spoke. Claire added a note to the bottom of her list.

‘Any change with Jack?'

‘Actually, there was a little,' she said, beaming up at him.

‘I take it by your good mood it was a change for the good.'

Claire gave Derek a brief rundown of Dr Burrows' theory before telling him how she'd pinched her father and got a small reaction.

‘That's great. Want to reconsider taking some leave to spend more time with Jack?'

‘No thanks, I'm fine – told you that last week.'

‘But if what this Dr Burrows says…'

She gave a tight laugh and waggled a finger at him. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

Claire thought he looked embarrassed, caught out, but what she heard next nearly caused her to topple off her chair.

‘As you know, I'm off from this Wednesday to next Thursday. I'd like you to come with me – just for a few days,' he blurted.

‘What?!' she cried, blushing furiously. But Derek was holding up a silencing hand, an unreadable expression on his face.

‘Purely platonic, Claire – separate rooms and all that.'

She was slightly miffed at his apparent lack of interest. Not that she was interested in him. But a little flattery never went astray. Responding to her perplexed expression, Derek began to explain.

‘It's just that I really would value your expertise…'

Oh God, Claire thought, he wants me to give him womanly advice, cast an eye over a potential lady friend or something. Well no way.

‘…on a couple of horses I'm having some issues with. I know you've got a good eye and thought if you saw them actually racing you'd have more of an idea. I'm heading off to a couple of race meetings in country Victoria.'

It wasn't the sort of flattery Claire was hoping for, but it would do, she decided. Though of course, it was totally out of the question.

‘I'm really sorry, Derek, but I can't. I've got mountains of work,' she lied, casting her arm across an almost empty pile of document trays. She wasn't about to admit it to her boss, but she was spending an awful lot of time trying to sort out her corporate box invite for the Melbourne Cup. Apart from that, it would be totally disloyal. Derek was a rival owner to Jack. Even if he did have his own trainer, there was no way she was about to impart her or her father's secrets.

‘Please, Claire. You need a break and I need some expert advice.'

‘Expert!' Claire snorted. ‘I'm a bloody Client Relationship Manager – I deal with people, remember. What about that hotshot team you're always on about?' Claire couldn't resist the dig – she'd put up with his subtle rivalry for long enough.

‘They're not naturals like you. They don't understand what goes on in a horse's head the way you do.'

‘Look Derek, I'm flattered. I really am. But not only do I have a lot of work here, but I have Dad to think of.' There was no way she could leave him for a week, especially now she could see some progress. According to Dr Burrows, persistence was the key.

Derek sighed deeply, clearly exasperated. ‘Come on, Claire. You and I both know he won't miss you – he's in a coma.'

Claire was so struck by the callousness that she could only stare back with an open mouth.

‘Shit, I'm so sorry,' Derek stammered. ‘I shouldn't have said that. It's just I…'

‘No, you shouldn't,' Claire snapped. ‘Now please go, I've got work to do,' she growled, and willed herself to stay angry. Her mood only had to waver just a little and the tears began to show – usually at the most inappropriate of moments. The last thing she needed was a ‘there, there' and the offer of a shoulder and a handkerchief.

And there she was thinking the sod had a soft side. ‘Pah, bastard,' she scoffed, as she returned to her to do list.

But her attention kept going back to Derek. Something didn't feel right. Of course he was just trying to get her in the sack. But why couldn't he just ask her out for dinner? Or better still, a movie, so they wouldn't have to talk.

And what was he doing going on leave at such short notice, anyway? He'd said she knew, but unless she'd had a complete lapse at some point – which was entirely possible given the shitty year she was having – she hadn't heard a thing about it. Not unheard of, but very unusual.