The Outback Heart (2 page)

2006

TROY
bent down to tie up the laces on his new footy boots. They were red, his lucky colour. And he would need luck today, not that he didn’t think he was good enough – no, he knew he was ready to play with the best. After all, he was one of thirty players selected last year, after the NAB Under-16 Championships, to join the Australian Institute of Sport’s Elite Athlete program. The four-week camp had helped him realise his potential and ever since he’d really been putting in the hard yards. He wanted to be ready in case the WA talent scout was passing by.

And today was that day. But he was still not a hundred per cent fit after the virus that had gone through the Aquinas College boarding house. Surely the scout would understand that he’d been unwell – he made Coach promise to make a point of explaining it to the scout. At least he had the stats to back up his ability.

‘Come on, Troy! Pull ya finger out,’ said Freddie, slapping him on the back.

Freddie Mansfield had been his best mate since year eight when they’d both left their country towns to head to Perth for boarding school. They both loved the game and had visions of playing for the AFL. Troy wanted to be an Eagle, Freddie a Docker, and this was the only thing they differed on.

‘I have to be the better footballer, don’t you see?’ Freddie had said just yesterday. ‘My red hair and freckles are no match for your bloody good looks. When I make it to the AFL, it won’t matter how I look. I’ll have a really hot girlfriend. Maybe a model.’ Both boys had their sights set on a dark-haired beauty called Lila from their sister school.

‘When I’m playing in the NAB AFL Under-18s this year, there’s no way Lila will refuse me. So break a leg, yeah?’ said Freddie before he gave him another nudge and headed onto the football field. Troy chuckled but he hoped Freddie did well today. He had the goods, he just needed to work out how to use them.

‘Troy Mitchell,’ yelled a man behind him.

‘Yeah, Coach?’ he said, pulling his laces tight and standing up.

Mr Bartlett stood with his arms on his hips, wearing his tracksuit in the Aquinas colours, red and black. Beside him was an older man, a notebook clutched against his chest.

‘I’d like you to meet Greg Trant. He’ll be watching training today.’

Troy nodded and shook Greg’s hand. This was the important guy Coach had been talking about, the one they had to impress if they wanted to make it onto the Under-18 Championship team.

‘G’day, Troy. So you’re the one I’ve been hearing good things about. Selected for the Under-16s, where you averaged twenty-three disposals, and then the AIS program last year. And ten goals in last year’s WAFL Colts grand final.’

Troy straightened up, squared his strong shoulders. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t worry, son. Just live up to your stats today and you’ll make the Under-18s this year.’

Troy glanced at Mr Bartlett, not sure if he should smile or not.

Mr Bartlett was trying not to grin and covered it by shouting, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go warm up with the others.’

‘Yes, Coach.’ Troy turned and jogged out onto the field. His mind was racing. Surely a personal introduction to Greg had to be a good thing. And the fact that Greg knew Troy’s stats. All Troy had to do now was prove that he was as good as everyone thought he was. Troy couldn’t help the smile that flashed across his face. His parents would be so proud of him. If he made the Under-18s, he’d get into the Rising Star program and into the Draft. His family had supported him every step of the way and now it was time for him to return the favour by doing his best, and achieving what he’d dreamed of since he’d held that first leather ball.

Troy felt ready, ready to show them all what he was made of . . . until he got halfway through his warm-up and found himself struggling for breath. Clutching the hem of his shorts, he leaned over and tried to catch his breath. The bloody virus. He straightened up and pushed on through the sluggish feeling, fighting his body the whole way. Troy needed all his focus just to keep his body moving. He missed a few handballs, fumbled a few marks and was handling the ball like an amateur. This was not him.

‘Troy, move your arse, boy!’ Coach yelled from the sidelines.

Troy could hear the panic in his voice. They both knew what was on the line right now.

But as Troy willed his legs to push harder, he tripped. The whole world spun before his eyes and turned green as he collided hard with the grass. He lay there, his heart racing, feeling like his blood was about to explode from the arteries in his neck. He sucked in air with each ragged breath, the smell of the cut grass soothing him a fraction. All his life the smell of grass has been his comfort. When he first went away to boarding school and he missed the farm, he’d always sought solace on the oval.

Troy pushed against the grass. He needed to get up and get going but he felt heavy. His arms wouldn’t move, let alone lift his body. Sucking in difficult breaths was about all he was capable of right now. He could see people’s legs milling around him, footy socks half pulled up hairy legs and grass-splattered boots. People were talking, and he knew it was Freddie who had his hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Then Coach’s face appeared as he crawled down low on the grass, saying, ‘Troy,’ over and over.

‘His lips are blue, Coach,’ said Freddie.

Coach disappeared but Troy could hear him shouting. ‘Get an ambo in here and ring the boarding house, now!’

But Troy wasn’t thinking about the ambulance, he wasn’t thinking about what was wrong with him, he was thinking about Greg and whether he’d blown this opportunity. He was too tired to move now but later, after he’d got over this flu thing, he’d ask Greg for another chance to show him just how great a player he really was. Everyone was entitled to a second chance. Troy Mitchell was going to be a football legend, he was sure of it. People would remember him. He’d be an Aussie Rules legend.

TROY
walked to the edge of the pale-green football oval, his stride long and sure. His large hands were shoved into his pockets but his shoulders remained straight. Today was a new beginning and he felt alive and up to the task. Being early March, the weather was still warm and a breeze was blowing. The oval was a bit patchy in sections but he wasn’t expecting Patersons Stadium. This was the country, water was scarce when it didn’t rain and so were the volunteers required to maintain the oval. Although, he had to admit, the facilities were better than he’d expected. He’d known nothing about Hyden when he arrived a few days ago, but he’d found a busy little town, where every third or fourth car towed a caravan with eastern states plates or was a tiny white rental carrying overseas tourists. Hyden had everything he could need, from the pub, roadhouse, bakery and sportsground to the famous Wave Rock – a landmark he’d always planned on seeing one day. With the number of Wicked vans passing through, he figured it must be pretty good.

From what Jenny told him, the local football club was joined with another smaller town, hence the name Hyden–Karlgarin Football Club. Karlgarin was ten minutes away and he wasn’t sure how many players came from that side of town. He couldn’t imagine a town smaller than Hyden, with its population of around three hundred, but Jenny had told him that Karlgarin was under half the size.

He turned, glancing at the dark red brick clubhouse. Behind it was the hockey field and tennis courts and further up along the roadside were the netball courts with a small skate park. Troy could also hear kids playing at the primary school, which was somewhere in behind the far goalposts. Hyden was the smallest community he’d ever lived in, probably the smallest he’d even been to. His own hometown of Geraldton was a thriving metropolis compared to Hyden.

The afternoon was warm and the air was filled with the smell of cut grass. It was such a strong, invigorating and homely scent; Troy was thankful he had decided to come down to check out the oval on his lunch break. He wanted to get comfortable with his surroundings before he took on coaching the team. Which reminded him, he’d better get back to work. Jenny wanted to help him put up footy flyers around town.

When Troy received the letter from Jenny and Phil a few weeks ago, offering a job and the coaching position, it had been perfect timing. He was due to leave Dowerin and he took the offer as a sign. He was also a little amazed at being headhunted. A smile tugged on his lips. It was nice to be acknowledged for something you loved doing.

Getting back into his red Colorado ute, Troy drove out of the sports area, down the main street, past the town pool and towards the Farmworks shop. He pulled up out the front where he saw Jenny waiting with some flyers in her hand. Already he knew he would enjoy working with Jenny and Phil, they were pretty laid-back and welcomed him like a local. He’d met their two boys, who were ten and eight, yesterday when they’d come to the store after school. Both dead ringers for Phil, even down to the way they walked.

‘Hey, Troy,’ Jenny said, climbing into his ute. She was dressed in the Farmworks uniform: blue polo shirt with the Farmworks logo on the front, jeans and work boots. Jenny had cropped blonde hair that made her look younger than her forty-eight years, or maybe it was her vibrant green eyes and their playful spark. ‘I got Tiff to print these up. What do you think? Normally Indi would sort this out but she’s flat out at work. You’ll meet her soon. She’s so excited you’re here.’

Troy glanced at the notice for training. ‘Thanks, Jen. Should do fine. Who’s Indi?’

‘The one I was telling you about, who wanted you for the team. You must be all right if Indi thinks so.’

Troy raised his eyebrows. He wondered if this Indi person had even seen him coaching his last team. He pictured a tough, older lady with a bunch of sons on the football team.

Jenny continued, ‘We’ll head back towards the school where the Telecentre is and drop a few off there and then some at the local shops and businesses in town. The rest can be chucked in a few mailboxes. That ought to do it.’

‘I hope so. With the first game not even five weeks away, it’s cutting it a bit fine.’

‘Ah, well, we’re all a bit relaxed out here,’ said Jenny, resting her arm on the door. ‘I think most play just for the fun. Given our track record, I don’t think we’ve played to win in years,’ she laughed.

Troy wondered just how big a task he’d taken on. When Jenny had said Hyden was desperate for a decent coach, he hadn’t realised he needed to work miracles.

‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be great this year,’ Jenny said, looking out her side window. Troy couldn’t tell if she was trying to hide her worry or laughter. An uneasy feeling washed over him. Oh well, he did like a challenge. Maybe he’d just found it in Hyden.

They pulled up outside the Telecentre and Troy glanced across to the oval. Funny how a patch of grass and a few white posts could excite him and make him feel comfortable. Jenny was already out the door, and he followed.

‘Hi, Tegan. Can you run this in the next
Waveline News
please?’ Jenny turned and beckoned Troy over as he walked in the door. ‘Also this is Troy, our new bloke, just started. Troy, this is Tegan.’

‘Hi, Troy. Welcome to the home of Wave Rock. Where have you blown in from?’ Tegan was a tall slender woman, quite attractive with a large smile that was warm and friendly, but her face was covered with heavy make-up. Her hair was blonde but the bottom half had been dyed black. The contrast brought out the dark curl of her black lashes. He paused far too long, almost to the point of staring. But it was those eyelashes that reminded him of Peta, of his heartache and his vow.

Clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at Tegan, he replied, ‘Dowerin, for the last few years.’

‘Great. Well, don’t worry. Jen and Phil are pretty good bosses, but just head for the back shed when they start fighting,’ Tegan said.

‘Tegan does the odd day here and there for us – but maybe not for much longer,’ Jenny explained.

Tegan laughed off the empty threat as Troy and Jenny moved on.

‘Don’t bother with Tegan. She’s got a fella,’ said Jenny, disturbing his thoughts as they walked back to his ute.

‘I wasn’t even looking,’ Troy replied.

‘Oh, do you have a girlfriend? I just assumed you were single.’

Troy started the ute, trying to busy himself. ‘Nope, no girlfriend.’

‘Really? Well, you’ll be hot property around here,’ she teased.

‘God, I hope not,’ Troy mumbled, turning his head to check for cars. ‘Where to next?’ he asked.

‘Ah, just stop in by Mitre 10 up here on the corner. I’ll let the guys in there know about training.’

While he was pulling into a car park, Troy’s phone rang. It was Freddie. He let it ring out, putting the phone on the dash as he unclipped his seatbelt.

‘Avoiding an old girlfriend?’ asked Jenny.

Troy shrugged. Trust him to have a nosy boss. ‘Just a mate.’ It was as dismissive as he could be without offending her. He hoped all the locals weren’t as nosy as Jenny.

‘So how’s the house? Will it suit you?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, it’s great, thanks.’

Troy thought back to when he’d finished the last of his unpacking in the rented house, just last night. It’s not like he had lots to unpack either, just a few boxes of personal stuff he’d been putting off touching. The smallest box he’d left for last, pulling off the tape and reaching in for the photo frames amongst the wads of newspaper. The first one was from when he was sixteen. He was sitting on the quad bike, his sister Geraldine behind him with her arm over his shoulder and his parents standing beside them. Carefree smiles on all their faces. He wished he could go back to that moment. Back to when his life was full of possibilities. Troy had touched the faces of his parents – it was as close to a hug as he could get. Then with much conflicting emotion, he’d put it on his table and reached for the next photo. Peta’s photo. With his shirt he polished the glass so he could see her face clearly, as if she were right in front of him. ‘What do you think of our new home?’ he’d asked her smiling face. After what seemed like hours he put the photo down alongside the other one. Peta never left his bedside table, no matter where he lived. He needed to see her happy face morning and night but mainly he used it to keep him focused. Sadly, it also kept the painful memories raw.

Three people walked past his ute towards the clubhouse. They unlocked some doors and got out a sack of footballs. As Troy tapped his fingers against the steering wheel he tried to calm his nerves. Sure he was excited to be heading into a new footy season, it was what he lived for, but he was nervous about the blokes he was about to meet: what would they think of him? Would he be able to shape them into better players? And if he couldn’t? Well, it wasn’t like he could do any damage here when the current win rate was nil. The only way was up, right? Troy checked his watch. Six o’clock. He should have a whole team by now. Had Jenny printed the wrong time on the flier? He was sure he’d said six. He leaned over to the passenger side and pulled a spare flier off the floor. Six o’clock start. Where was everyone?

With a sigh, Troy grabbed a clipboard and headed towards the guy in work pants and a hi-vis shirt who was lugging the bag of footballs to the sideline. Troy reached for a footy.

‘Cheers, mate,’ he said.

‘No worries,’ came the reply. A female voice.

He glanced up, to see if he’d been mistaken. She was a girl all right. Her hair was hidden under a hat and her body had been unrecognisable at first in her work clothes. Now he was closer, he wondered how he’d missed her womanly curves. Her face was undeniably female and even more striking than Tegan’s, with high cheekbones, bright clear skin and the cutest button nose. Her powder-blue eyes reminded him of the colour of irises, his mum’s favourite flower. The thought made his heart pang with longing.

Two more guys turned up and joined the others on the field. Troy realised he’d been standing too long studying the girl who was staring back at him with her mouth open. Grasping the footy in his large hand, Troy headed out onto the field, realising only too late that the girl looked as if she had something to say.

‘Hey, fellas. I’m the new coach. Name’s Troy Mitchell.’ Dropping the football to the ground, he held out his hand to the nearest guy, who had sandy blond hair. He looked the fittest and just on face value Troy sensed he’d be a good player.

‘G’day, Troy. I’m Jasper. This is my brother, Patrick, and these two are Spud and Limp.’

Troy tried to lock their names in his memory as he shook their hands. Spud was round and lumpy, and Limp was tall and gangly with slightly crossed eyes. Troy hoped that didn’t affect the guy’s marking ability. Jasper and Patrick were very similar in looks – same body shape except Patrick had a slight paunch. The gold ring on his finger confirmed Troy’s suspicions: contentment. Troy guessed Jasper was around twenty-five, his own age, with Patrick a few years older.

‘So, is everyone just running late?’ he asked.

Jasper shrugged as he handballed the footy into the air. ‘Sometimes.’

A dual cab ute pulled up and three short solid guys came over. The fluoro girl came over with them.

‘Hey, guys,’ said Jasper. ‘This is Troy, our new coach. Troy, meet Harry, Dave and Terry Duckworth, mostly known as Huey, Dewy and Louie.’

Troy could tell he was going to get the three brothers mixed up. If all else failed, he’d just call them by their last name. Jasper didn’t introduce the girl, who’d put the balls on the ground and was chatting to Limp at the back. No one else seemed to care that she was there. Even in her work clothes she was distracting for Troy.

‘So do we start now?’ asked Jasper. At least he looked ready to play, in shorts and footy boots. One of the Duckworth brothers still had his work boots on.

‘Aren’t there more coming?’ Troy asked.

Jasper shrugged again. ‘Nah, this is about it, I reckon.’

Troy blinked long and hard. ‘What? You’re kidding me. You can’t field a team with seven blokes.’

They looked at each other with blank expressions. Obviously this was the norm. No wonder they hadn’t won a single game last year. Troy stepped away from them, lifting his hands to his head, and swore. Well, this would be a challenge. He didn’t want to let the team get away with such crap numbers – these guys didn’t know how lucky they were to be able to play. Clearing his throat, he faced them, choosing his words carefully.

‘Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You can all run five laps of the oval and then I want you to go home and come back next Thursday with at least one person each. We cannot be a team with just seven of us. I don’t care who you find – old, new, novices, your dad or the bloody publican. You find at least one person each and meet me back here next week at six – and I mean six on the dot – and then we can do some training. I’m not wasting my time. If you want to play and if you want a coach this year, then come back with a team.’

Troy turned and headed back to his ute.

‘Um, excuse me, Troy,’ said the girl. He could sense her behind him but he didn’t have time to stop and chat with her, he was trying to make a statement with the guys.

Without a backwards glance he yelled, ‘Next Thursday at six.’

Eight heads watched him leave the oval. He was sure they were all stunned, maybe wondering who the hell he thought he was, but he wasn’t about to train these blokes just to have them lose every game again. They needed someone to rattle their cages.

His smile returned. No doubt this would cause some grapevine gossip, but that’s exactly what he wanted. He was serious about being their coach – he just hoped they were as serious about playing.