Love and Muddy Puddles (9 page)

I turned and trudged back up the paddock feeling smug and a bit pleased with myself. 
Well done Coco
, I thought. 
You’ve seen the last of them
.

I really should stop saying things like that.

Because they never turn out to be true.

It didn’t take long before I proved myself wrong.

Again.

In fact, it was just the next day.

Mum was taking herself off to the Budgong Community Group ‘to meet the neighbours’. “Want to come, Coco?” she said brightly as she changed into her cleanest pair of jeans and scraped the mud off her Blundstone boots which didn’t look like they’d seen actual daylight through the muck that had been all over them for weeks. I think she was trying to build bridges, do some bonding. That sort of thing. “It might be fun.”

I shook my head from my pillow where I was having yet another lie-down. “Not for me thank you.” For once I wasn’t actually trying to be rude but Mum took offence.

“I was just asking. You don’t have to take that tone, you know.” So much for the bonding. “Fine. Stay home,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

I gave her a half roll. “Later, then,” and flopped back onto my bed. 
Neighbours
, I thought
. Ha. I’ll bet they’re all farmers over 85 who haven’t been out of Budgong in 40 years. Mum’s going to be bored as.

Once again, I had to eat my words.

Mum came back, more sparkly and full of life than I’ve ever seen her.

“You won’t believe how great these people are,” she raved to Dad. “Beautiful people. And so welcoming. And we’re invited to visit Ness who lives on the property over that way.” She gestured out past the creek.

“Is she on her own?” asked Dad.

“I think so,” said Mum. “I’m not quite sure, but from a couple of things she said I think she lost her husband young, and then she was with a guy who ended up being violent. He’s gone now. But he wasn’t the father of her kids.”

“Kids?” said Charlie. Her eyes looked bright. “How old?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “From the sounds of it they’re a bit younger than you guys. A boy and a girl. But we’ll have to see when we get there. It’s dinner, tomorrow.”

I was unimpressed. Dinner out with little kids? How fun could it be? On the upside though, we might get a decent meal. I had to say I wasn’t thrilled with what was coming out of the camp kitchen in our shed every night. Mum kept saying that things would be different once the house was built, that it was tricky to cook imaginatively with no facilities and hardly any fridge or bench space but to me it was just another sign that our family’s standards were slipping. Actually, our standards were falling, tumbling, plummeting and cart wheeling off the edge of a cliff. Our family had no standards left. They’d all given up, packed their bags and moved away.

But I wasn’t about to say anything. The week before, when I criticised the re-heated stroganoff served with slightly stale bread, Mum yelled at me for about 20 minutes including telling me to stop being so ungrateful, to lose the attitude and to try cooking myself. Then she made me wash up. The yelling didn’t have much effect but the cold, chunky, greasy water made me more careful about what I said at meals.

Dinner date night arrived and Dad had to pull himself away from his precious building work to come. I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing out there all day with bits of string and pegs and a bunch of tools that measured stuff. Apparently it was something to do with foundations and a slab. So Josh told me, anyway.

“It’s the most important part of the house,” he said.

“You think?” I said. “For me, it’s the colour of the paint on my bedroom walls. But, whatever.”

I went out to take a look because I figured I should show a little bit of interest. I wasn’t going to help build the thing but I could be magnanimous and make an appearance here and there. Unfortunately I tripped over a peg and got into trouble with Dad.

“Coco, no,” he said. “Be careful. Muck it up and the house could fall down. Maybe you just need to go somewhere else right now.”

Fine,
 I thought. 
I’ll go.
 I still wasn’t actually talking to Dad so I didn’t answer him. But I did make a point of touching the peg with my toe before I ran away to get ready.

As it turned out, there was a benefit to going out, even to a nothing-special house in Budgong-in-the-middle-of-nowhere with no-one but tiny children to entertain me all evening. This was it: I got to dress up! It felt like breathing fresh air again to get out my suitcase and actually choose clothes that looked nice. For over a month there had been no one to impress and nothing to dress up for and I was feeling myself turning into a fashion-deprived has-been.

I dug down a few layers and carefully got out the new skinny jeans from my birthday. The shirt took a bit more thought. I had to try on at least eight before I settled on layering three tops over each other. Then I added some bling by pinning a massive silk rose to my shoulder and pulled my hair up into a messy bun. It’s always surprising how long messy buns take to do. Sadly my white lace flats, which would have been perfect, were ruined. I’d had to chuck them out after the toilet debacle on the first day. But I had another pair in rose-coloured satin that I’d been saving for a special occasion.

“Ta-dah,” I said, coming out from behind my curtain. “What do you think?” I did a twirl into the middle of the shed with a big smile on my face.

And then I saw Charlie.

The smile fell off my cheeks and onto the gravel floor.

“No way!” I said. “You cannot wear that!”

I know that Charlie and I have always had different attitudes towards clothes, but let me just say that on this particular night she had reached a whole new level of low. When we lived in Sydney, she used to at least try to get it right. But what I saw in front of me was a frumpy, 
comfortable
 dag.

“What is that shirt?” I said, looking at something she used to wear to bed. And then, 
horror!
 “Are those Mum’s jeans?”

“Yeah, they fit me,” she said proudly. “They’ll do, right?”

I gave her the full roll, Mum or no Mum.

“Charlie. If you ever have to ask if ‘they’ll do’, you know that they definitely 
don’t,
” I said. “It’s a rule. The second rule is this: for the rest of your life, while you ever go out with me, and especially while either of us are still single, I will dress you.”

She smiled cheerfully. “Whatever you say, oh great one. Dress me up.”

The first thing to be replaced was the disgusting shirt. I gave her one of my own tops still laying on my bed.

“You should chuck this out. It’s so over,” I said, pulling the rejected shirt away from Charlie. She clung to it for a second but then relented and let me have it. I went to put it in the plastic bag of kitchen scraps but Dad grabbed it.

“No! We’ll use it on the building site,” he said. “Can always do with extra rags.” He smiled at me but I shrugged and turned away.

“Come on, I’ll do your hair,” I said, ignoring Dad and turning back to Charlie. I sat down with her at my feet and plaited across the back of her head down into a side braid.

“That’s much better,” I said. “Here, put some makeup on.”

She groaned back at me. “Really? I just can’t be bothered.”

“Please? For my sake? At least mascara. Come on.” I pleaded with her. She grumbled but let me grab my makeup bag and half a minute later, sitting next to a candle for the light, I had a sister I wouldn’t have been embarrassed to introduce to Saffron and Tiger and the girls. Well, not very embarrassed anyway.

With no proper mirror in the shed it was hard to get a full head-to-toe view, so I showed Charlie her polished face in the hand mirror.

“You’re right,” she said. “That’s heaps better. I’ve kind of forgotten how to do it. You’re so clever.”

“It’s what I do best,” I said and examined my own make up. Yep, it was all smooth with no mascara blotches. I smiled experimentally to check the stretch on my lipstick but quickly closed my lips when I saw my teeth. 
Ick. I must ask Mum when I can go to the dentist and fix all that,
 I thought. 
Definitely has to be before I go back to Sydney.

“Hey Coco, let’s take a picture,” said Charlie. “You can use your iPod. Mum, can you do it?”

We stood together as Mum snapped away. “You girls look very nice,” she said, just before Charlie made a silly face and held up her two fingers in a V.

“Ha ha, let me see that,” I said. Charlie’s eyebrow was raised and she looked almost manic. “If we had Facebook I’d post that, it’s so funny.”

“Imagine the loss to the world,” said Josh. “We are all the poorer for not seeing your selfies on the internet.”

I shrugged. The night after the ‘getting sent out of the shed into the wild-horse-and-hokey-people-infested-paddock’ incident, I had laid in bed and decided to try to learn to be cool with Josh. Do that thing where you heap burning coals on your enemy’s head, whatever that means. Do unto others and so on and so forth. I knew I wouldn’t succeed but I was determined to try. It wasn’t worth all the hassle I was currently going through to keep reacting to his teasing.

“Whatever,” I said and gave him a really cheesy grin, stretching my smile from ear to ear. I could see from his face he was just waiting for me to bite back so that he could come at me with the next insult, but when I didn’t retaliate he looked surprised and stopped. 
Success!
 I thought, and nearly wrecked it by laughing at him. I stopped just in time and instead walked away with a secret smile.

“Are you guys ready?” Dad held the swinging kerosene lantern. (Yes, you read that right. Kerosene. Besides the candles, this was the only light source in our shed. I’m talking flammable fire hazards and unsafe, polluting chemicals. Plus the flames made dark black marks on the lantern glass and it was my job to clean them every day. And, despite all this, Dad still said, “Aaaah, this is the life,” as he sat in the dark every night, trying to read the next chapter of his book, 
Eco-tips for Renewable Resourcefulness; A Home Builders Manual
 by P. Blah Blah Codswallop’ by the light of the puny little kerosene flame, batting away the mosquitoes and drinking some sort of green tea concoction that he’d started on ‘for antioxidants’. Seriously, the man became deranged when he took that redundancy. One of my next tactics, when and if I ever got to a library or, heaven forbid, to the internet, was to look up his symptoms and try to convince Mum to have him committed so we could get back to our normal lives.)

“Come on, we don’t want to be late,” said Mum. “Ness said 6.30ish and it’s 6.35 already.”

“Doesn’t the woman have a proper name?” I asked. “Isn’t she Vanessa? What is with the whole ‘Ness’ thing? Does she like people to feel like they’re being efficient, missing out on two actual syllables of her name?”

“Coco, just try to be nice please,” said Mum, frowning. “Give the lady a chance. She’s lovely, and she’s had some very hard times. It’s very kind of her to invite us over. This is a great chance to get to know the neighbours. You guys might find some friends.”

“Yeah, friends who are ten year-olds...” I muttered.

“I didn’t say they were ten,” said Mum, heating up.

“Coco!” said Dad. It was a warning. I ignored him.

“You said they were younger than us though,” I said. “Ten, eight, four, two, what does it matter. We’re hardly going to be friends, are we?”

Mum’s face went tight. “Look, young lady. Skip the attitude please,” she said. “I don’t know what your problem is. You’ve been like this ever since we got here, and you’re getting worse.” She put up her finger to wag in my face. “I know you didn’t want to come. But we’re here now, and nothing’s changing for you for at least a year, so get used to it.”

She spat out her words like she could hardly control her voice. I knew better than to challenge her, because quite frankly, the idea of cleaning out that pit toilet made me vomit into my own mouth, plus my new resolution was to be cool, so I turned away but I couldn’t stop a half eye roll spreading out over my face as I did.

“Onward and upward. Let’s go out to dinner,” I muttered under my breath. But I made sure it was very, very quiet.

The clouds looked like rain as we got in the car. I had a half-thought that if it did start to sprinkle, my shoes might get muddy, but I dismissed it. Rain or no rain, there was no way I was turning up to dinner at the neighbours’ crummy little farmhouse in gum boots. I was from the city. I’d show these bumpkins a thing or two.

As it turned out, the two words I picked to describe their farmhouse were completely off the mark. There was nothing crummy or little about Ness’s stud farm.

For a start the driveway was actually a driveway. With proper gravel and everything. And it had no lumps or bumps. It was smooth. With a fence down both sides and two long rows of liquid amber trees that were just starting to drop their orange and yellow leaves.

Okay
, I thought to myself. 
So it’s not as bad as I thought.
 After we went through a big gate the driveway swung around to the right into a huge gravel-covered yard with a massive oak tree in the middle of it and a big shed-looking building off to one side. On the other side was a big weatherboard house with a massive wraparound veranda. Everything else was lush garden, green lawns and some pretty impressive autumn trees.

“Wow,” said Charlie. “It’s beautiful.”

“You can probably see back to our shed from here,” said Dad excitedly, looking to the right and nearly swerving into the fence. “Oh, no you can’t. Sorry. But that’s only because it’s dark. When we build and get the solar panels up you’ll be able to see the house.” He was pointing to where he could see the slope down to the creek and some open space. “See there? That’s one of our paddocks.”

We pulled up and piled out of the car. This was looking good. Maybe it wouldn’t be a complete write-off after all. My eyes took in the scene across the courtyard, from the house right over to the shed. Or, I should say, the stables. They had those half-door things that you see in kids’ books about farms.

And half-doors always, always have horses behind them.

My heart went flump.

Inside the stables I could see some horses. Two horses, specifically. An enormous brown one and a very large white one.

Uh oh
, I thought. And then, 
double uh oh
. Because out of the open stable doors came two people. Two people I recognised. A brother and a sister, both with blond hair and blue eyes.

Mr Royal Easter Show and Miss Wrong Shirt.

There was nowhere to hide. And no way to back out. I briefly considered faking a stomach ache and demanding to be taken back to the farm, but Mum was already leading the way, “Hi, we’re the Franks family. You must be Ness’s kids.”

I hung back, avoiding shaking hands and trying to look like anybody else but myself.

“I’m Tessa,” said the girl, who today was sporting jeans and a cheap top that could only have come from a very cheap shop.

“James,” said the boy, who’d swapped his flanny for a surf shirt. 
Better
, I thought, but then I looked at his feet and sighed. 
Still with the Cuban heels. I guess you can’t help what you are.

Mum was pointing us out. “These are Charlie and Josh. You guys look about the same age. Fifteen right? Good guess. And Tessa, you’re, what, 13 or 14?”

Blondie nodded and smiled. “Thirteen and a half.”

Mum kept going. “And this,” she said, turning around and looking for me, “is... where are you? Where’ve you gone? Ah, there you are.” She pulled me out from behind Dad. “This is Coco.”

I looked up and gave a half smile that kind of said, ‘hey, who knew, right?’ and I saw their faces turn from expectant and happy to doubtful and surprised. Tessa opened her eyes wide and looked at James, who just raised his eyebrows.

Mum was confused. “Have I missed something?” she said.

“We’ve met before,” said James. He looked at me and shrugged.

Mum looked more confused. “You’ve met?”

“Yes. They rode through the property the other day,” I said, trying to keep it all very calm and laidback.

“You didn’t say anything about it,” she said, but I cut her off before she could get started. “Yeah, they’ve got these great horses,” I said. “What were their names again?” I looked at James, daring him to contradict me.

“Our horses?” he said. “I don’t think we introduced them properly.” He gave me a look. I didn’t know what it meant. “But you can come and see them now if you like.”

“Absolutely,” I said, smiling brightly and blinking. Charming was always a good option in uncomfortable situations. “They’re 
so
 beautiful.”

Mum’s head was clearly still spinning but she followed everyone with Tessa and James back to the stables. As we reached the door I wrinkled up my nose. The smell coming from inside was strong enough to knock your socks off. 
Or even your Cuban heels,
 I thought. 
Pity...

But seriously. It was strong. Forget the pit toilet. That was nothing in comparison to this. Hang out with a bunch of big animals and their dung in a small space and you’ll get a cast iron stomach.

I held my breath and plunged in through the doors. There were about eight horses in the stables all together. 
I wonder how many kilos of poo that is per day?
 I thought idly. 
And who’s supposed to clean it up? 
But there was no time for idle thoughts. Tessa was showing us the horses.

In the first stall was a little Shetland pony, about the size of a very big dog. It was black and shiny with great big eyes and amazing lashes. And then the most surprising thing happened. The softy-teddy-loving part of me said 
Awwwww 
and melted and all of a sudden I got it. I could finally see what horse-crazy nine year-olds and the whole My Little Pony industry were on about. This horse was cute. And the one next to it, a small brown and white pony, was also cute, with a mane that I just wanted to reach out and bury my face in.

Of course, I didn’t let on. 
Act cool. Be calm,
 I told myself. 
It’s just a pony.

“These are Sparky and Cuddles,” said Tessa. “We used to ride them but we’re obviously a bit big for them now. We keep them for the kids who come riding.”

“What do you mean?” said Josh. His voice sounded really interested, and I noticed how close he was standing to Tessa.

“Didn’t you know?” she said, smiling at him. (
Urgh
 said my gross-out meter.) “We’ve got a horse riding business. We take people out for rides around the property—and sometimes on your property too. At least, we used to.”

“Yeah,” said James, chiming in. “We had an arrangement with the old owners.” He looked directly at me so I gave him a half roll back. “There are some great rides around here. You can go right up into the national park, and then back to the river.”

“The horses love it,” said Tessa, gazing up at Josh. 
Ick. 
I wanted to puke. 
Don’t get married. Please, don’t get married,
 I thought. 
I just cannot wear whatever disaster of a bridesmaid dress you would choose.

With Tessa love-struck, James took the lead and showed us the rest of the horses. We met Nellie, Perry, Peach and Fozzles, all different colours and sizes and then finally we got to the two big, scary-looking beasts at the back. These were a whole different ballgame from the toy ponies at the front.

“This is Boldy,” said James pointing to the white horse, who nuzzled into his shoulder. Boldy was standing next to the big brown horse but when James reached out his hand for a pat, it gave him a nudge like it was saying ‘go away’ and then snorted and stamped its toe or paw or hoof or whatever it’s called. I moved back a step and onto Tessa’s foot.

“Sorry,” I said, but she was already apologising to me.

“No, I’m sorry.” She made a face at me. “Cupcake doesn’t always like everyone. She’s a bit hard to handle.”

“Cupcake?” I said to James, who somehow was standing right beside me now. He was close enough that I could hear him breathe. “
You
 ride a horse called Cupcake?” I giggled.

He looked at me and for a second his bright blue eyes took my breath away. But then I saw his expression—disappointed.

“Whatever, Coco,” he said. “Come ride with us some time. If you want.” He shrugged and turned away but as he did something else surprising happened.

A part of my stomach turned over, burst into tears and curled up in a ball. I tried to squash the feeling of smallness away and not care, but for some reason that I didn’t understand, I did care. 
This isn’t supposed to happen
, I thought. 
I’m better than him. This is embarrassing. And a bit weird.

And then it got even weirder. 
I’m going to cry! Because a guy I don’t even like doesn’t approve of me!
 My face turned red and my eyes start to well up and I started rubbing at them with my wrist.

“You okay Coco?” said Mum, a puzzled look on her face. “Your eyes look all red.”

“Maybe I’m allergic to hay,” I said hurriedly, looking away. “I’ll go stand outside.”

I walked away from the group. Behind me Charlie was oohing and aahing over Fozzles (“I love piebalds! They’re so cute,” she said over and over) and everyone was reaching out their hands, having a pat of Boldy and Nellie and Perry and Barry and Harry or whatever their names were. No one was game to pat Cupcake.

The tears were still threatening and I decided I needed some space and some peace so I headed for the side door, out to the garden. I could feel the fresh air on my face as I got closer to the entrance and ignored Tessa who was calling out something to me about watching out.

At last
, I thought, 
some privacy!
 And I took a step out into the garden.

I should not have ignored Tessa.

What she had said was, “Watch out. There’s a massive puddle outside the door.”

It would have been wise to listen.

Because the puddle wasn’t just water. It was mud, mixed with horse poo. And I was in it. I looked down at my shirt which was now splashed with brown drops, and then down at my feet, which were nowhere to be seen. The mud had squished up past my ankles and into my jeans and completely covered my pink satin flats.

I was stuck.

If my life was a movie, this would have been the perfect scenario for the good looking and charming but slightly accident-prone heroine (ie. me) to meet Ness, the classy neighbour.

I’m beginning to think that maybe something’s going on without me realising it because yes, you guessed it. Right then Ness appeared.

“Hi, I’m Ness,” said Ness (obviously). She was big and smiley with curly hair and she was wearing head to toe horse gear. Jodhpurs, a button down shirt and a massive big vest. She stuck out her hand at me so I went to shake it but she laughed. “No. I’m pulling you out.”

I grabbed her hand, feeling silly, and came out of the swamp.

“So sorry. We really must get that hole filled in with gravel. Let’s get you something to wear,” said Ness. Her voice was kind. “You’re covered. Come on into the house and I’ll fix you up.”

I hardly wanted to speak because I still felt like crying so I sniffled and shuffled along behind her and then she hugged me and for some reason I felt so safe and warm and cared for, like I hadn’t felt in months, that I did everything she said, even when it involved taking off most of my muddy clothes on the veranda (she politely averted her eyes), cleaning off in the laundry and putting on an indescribable purple something of Tessa’s (
ugh
) that she brought out to me.

“That colour really suits you,” she said, looking at me once I’d cleaned up and changed. “I bet you wear that a lot. Purple brings out your eyes.”

“No,” I said. I shrugged. “I don’t have anything purple. I used to wear it all the time but Samantha said...” and my voice trailed off. “I mean, I kind of went off it for a while.”

“Well, you should go back to it,” said Ness. “It’s great on you.”

I guess everyone else would have called the evening a success. We ate lamb stew and a chocolate, self-saucing pudding which were yum by anyone’s standard. Mum and Dad talked non-stop to Ness about the land, horses, farming and driveways, and James and Tessa talked non-stop to Josh and Charlie. A couple of times I tried to join in their conversation but no-one seemed to hear anything I said—they just talked over me—so I ate and listened and felt small and insignificant and sorry for myself in someone else’s clothes.

After dinner the kids (except me) took themselves off to hang out in James’ room while I sat in with Mum and Dad and Ness, pretending I didn’t want to be part of it, and looking instead at Ness’s jam-packed, overflowing bookshelves. As I listened to the laughing coming from down the hall I suddenly felt sad. And low. And (here I surprised myself for a third time that evening) lonely.

It was weird. I hadn’t changed my mind; I still didn’t want to be in Budgong. I wanted to go back to Sydney. And I was determined not to like Tessa and James, who were daggy and hokey and not up to my standards. Plus James seemed so boring and straightforward. He obviously couldn’t stand me, and I wasn’t going to hang out with someone who wasn’t on my wavelength.