The Lost Valley

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tom and Flame, his eager chestnut mare, pounded up the waterfall track under the bluest of skies. He tried to look on the bright side. If all went well, Mr Hancock would recover and never come back. Nana and Harry would calm down. He’d escaped the hated school room into a perfect spring day and wouldn’t have to sit that stupid test.

He slowed Flame to a walk as they reached the falls and tackled the rocky climb to the clifftop. Flame’s hooves struck sparks from the flinty stones as she scrambled up the perilous path. Harry hadn’t nursed his horse in the same way. He’d taken the slope at a gallop. Dislodged rocks told the story of his frantic ascent.

When Tom reached the top he spotted Harry standing on a granite overhang above the falls, throwing stones into the foaming water. His bay gelding, tethered nearby, whinnied and held up a forefoot. Tom dismounted and examined its leg. The pastern and cannon bone felt hot and swollen.

‘You’ve lamed Buster.’

‘Go to hell,’ yelled Harry.

Tom rubbed the gelding between the ears and slipped off his bridle. ‘Go home, boy.’ He waved his hat and Buster trotted off, limping.

‘Hey,’ called Harry as his horse vanished into the forest. ‘What the f**k are you doing?’

‘You can’t ride that horse.’ Tom joined his brother at the head of the falls and picked up a handful of stones. He lobbed one into the pool sixty feet below. ‘Nana sent me to fetch you back. I reckon she’s forgiven you.’

‘Forgiven me?’ Harry’s voice burned with anger. ‘What about me forgiving her?’

‘What for?’

‘For making everything my fault. For treating me like crap all these years. Take her birthday. I saved my pocket money for ages to buy her a brooch. I’ve hardly ever seen her wear it. But you? You give her a half-dead quoll you just find out in the bush, yet she loves that quoll more than anything. It has the run of her room, sleeps on her bed, and it didn’t cost you a penny.’

‘You should know that Nana’s not a great one for jewellery. And anyway, with her, it’s not about the money.’

‘Then what is it about?’ said Harry. ‘I fix things for her like the toaster and the iron. Keep that clapped out tractor running. I even invented an oil-heated drum in the shed to dry wet laundry when it’s raining. You? You just moon about in the bush looking at birds. Or build those stupid gliders that always crash.’ He flexed his fingers, eyes cold as flint. ‘For some reason she still thinks the sun shines out of your arse.’

Harry had conveniently forgotten about how much trouble he’d caused Nana. He’d forgotten about the war of attrition he’d waged against their teachers and how often Tom had unfairly shared the blame. He’d forgotten about his tempers and black moods. But otherwise he was right. Harry was far more useful than Tom around Binburra, at least in a practical sense.

Tom threw another stone, mulling over his brother’s words. He almost felt sorry for Harry, understanding all too well the pain of feeling second best in the eyes of someone you loved. It left a sharp icicle of damage in your heart.

‘Come on,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll double-bunk you home.’

‘I’m not going home.’ Harry’s eyes blazed with the power of a long-smouldering resentment, suddenly fanned into flames. ‘I’m sick of her playing favourites, and I’m sick of you.’

‘Fine, walk then.’

‘I meant what I said about Papa.’ Harry’s tone was taunting now, his legs planted wide. ‘I bet he wished you’d never been born. I bet Papa never even wanted you.’

‘Who cares what Father wanted?’

As Tom walked away, a blinding pain exploded at the back of his head. The rock bounced off and cartwheeled down the cliff. Harry bent down to pick up another. Tom tackled his brother, wrestled the rock from his hand, then sat on him. ‘You think Father was so perfect, don’t you?’ said Tom. ‘Some sort of saint? Well, I know different.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Harry’s voice came in short, angry pants.

Tom swore under his breath, and let his brother up. ‘Forget it. Forget I said anything.’

He turned to go, but in a flash Harry was upon him. ‘You can’t talk about Papa like that.’

Caught off guard, Tom lost his balance and fell hard on his back. The two of them rarely fought. Harry had long ago learned he was no match for his heavier, stronger brother, but something was different about him today. A new ferocity lay behind his pummelling fists. When Tom raised his hands to guard his face, Harry sent a blow to his stomach, hard enough to wind him.

Then Harry’s hands were around his neck, thumbs pressed against his throat.

Anger rose in Tom like a hot tide, threatening to engulf them both. He exploded like a spring released, hurling Harry back to the edge of the waterfall. Tom scrambled to his feet. ‘Want to know why I don’t care any more? Want to know the truth about Papa?’ He stood over his fallen brother, eyes wild. ‘There was no armed robber at our house. We’ve been lied to all along. Father shot Mama, and then he shot himself.’

‘Bullshit.’ Sunlight glinted off Harry’s tears.

‘It damn well isn’t. I heard Nana talking about it on the phone. Father killed himself and Mama because he was ashamed. He lost everything, even your precious shipyard. He lost the family fortune and couldn’t face people. That’s the kind of man he was – a coward who murdered our mother and abandoned us. That’s exactly how much he loved you.’

Time stood still. Then a jagged cry, barely human, escaped Harry. It pierced Tom’s heart, and all the rage leaked out of him. What had he done? He was stronger than Harry, and hadn’t loved Father so fiercely. He should have protected his brother from the awful truth. Yet in one mean, hate-filled moment he’d used it as a weapon against him. Fear for Harry gripped him. A fear he wouldn’t survive the pain of knowing. Tom squeezed his eyes shut, willing time to go backwards. Desperate to take back his cruel words.

A sudden, blinding pain tore through him as Harry’s knee crashed into his groin. Tom caught a glimpse of his brother’s eyes, black and murderous, before stumbling back and tripping on a tanglefoot beech that clung to the edge of the overhang. Tom snatched at it with both hands, feeling himself slipping, losing his footing. Suddenly he was dangling; treading air. All that kept him from sliding into the abyss was the shallow-rooted tree, its branches slick with spray from the falls.

‘Harry.’ His heart thumped madly. His legs scrambled for a foothold but found none. ‘Help!’

Hands reached down for him, grasping his wrists. ‘I’ve got you, Tom. Hang onto me. Let go of the tree.’

It went against every instinct. His fingers inched towards Harry’s arm, loath to forgo their hold on the branch. He steeled himself, gulped down a breath and transferred his grip. The sun in his eyes meant he couldn’t see Harry’s face. For a long moment he hung there, suspended in space, anchored to his brother for better or worse.

Harry opened his fingers and Tom slipped into the void.