He nods.‘I respect that.’
‘If we cross paths again and my demons are safely locked away, maybe I’ll take you up on it.’
‘I’ll hold you to it,’ he says and extends his hand.
Someone yells, ‘Ready to go?’
I slide my frozen hand into his and we shake.‘Deal.’
Abbey reappears beside me, breathless.‘Who’s ready to run for their lives?’
‘Not me,’ I mutter.
Tom gives me a quick wave.‘Good luck.’
I nod and then follow the cult into the rising winter sun.
It’s everything I feared.
I’m dying by the one-kilometre mark.My lungs have been personally insulted.My thighs are liquid.My face is a shade of beetroot not found in nature.I take the shortcut Tom recommended, and I’m still dead last.When I finally drag myself over the finish spot where everyone else is lounging about, Abbey is waiting with a water bottle and the grin of someone who loves to suffer.
‘You did it!’she cheers.
I hunch over, hands on my knees.‘I died.’
‘You’ve been resurrected,’ she says.‘Isn’t that the best part?’
‘No,’ I gasp.‘The best part will be when I never do this again.’She throws an arm around my shoulder.‘You say that now …’ ‘I say that forever.’
‘Come on.Post-run coffee and ocean swims.’
‘I’d rather be hit by the light rail.’
She hands me the water bottle.I chug it greedily.
‘You know’ – I wheeze in between the words – ‘one of these days I’m going to drag you along to something you’re terrible at, and I’ll take sweet satisfaction in watching you struggle.’
Abbey’s eyes twinkle.‘Doubt it.I’m a fast learner.’
I sigh.Sweat-soaked, sore and still alive.
It started as a thought I tried to ignore, but my brain kept drifting back to the farm.Not the dust, not the flies, not the emotional implosion that followed – but the moment before that.The moment onBanjo’s back.When it was me, the horse, the horizon, and the weird, weightless feeling of not needing to be anywhere else.
Turns out, there’s a horseriding place in Moore Park.Private lessons.No judgemental twelve-year-olds.No spectators.Just me and whatever version of myself shows up.
The place smells of hay and something rich and earthy that makes my city-girl sensibilities feel a little unqualified.But I show up anyway – jeans, Blundstone boots, and a heart doing something suspiciously close to longing.
A woman approaches me near the stables.She’s stocky and walks with a certainty I envy.Her hair is perfectly white, short and meticulously brushed.Her eyes are a warm brown and her smile is wry, like she’s seen some shit and didn’t flinch.
‘Jamie?’she asks.
I nod.‘That’s me.’
‘I’m Ava,’ she says.‘Let’s get you fitted for a helmet so your brain stays where it should.’
That’s fair.
As she adjusts the strap under my chin, she asks, ‘So, what brings you here?’
