Page 12 of Wild Horses

A teenage girl strummed the final notes of a guitar solo – the famous riff from Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, with its four power chords.

It faded into an undisciplined clamour of tambourines and recorders.

Christy, who was listening at the door of the music room, saw Leo sitting behind the drums. He finished with an enthusiastic flourish, a broad smile on his face.

She barely recognised the sullen teenager she’d first met less than a week ago.

Astrid Vale was conducting the Friday afternoon classroom chaos with the flair of a seasoned professional.

Her grey hair caught the sunlight spilling through the windows, turning it to shining quicksilver.

She raised her hands and the room slowly fell into a hush. Christy applauded from the doorway.

Astrid beamed, the smile lines around her eyes deepening with delight. ‘Bravo, my young virtuosos! That, my dears, is how we make music!’ She gave a slight bow. ‘I’ll see you all next week, and remember – practice makes perfect.’

As the pupils filed out, Christy approached Astrid, who was gathering scattered sheet music from the floor. She bent to help. ‘That was fantastic,’ said Christy. ‘Where do you get all that energy from?’

Astrid chuckled, her voice rich and warm. ‘Ah, dear girl, my students are the sun to my solar cells. But who might you be?’

‘I’m the new teacher, Christy Peacock, and .

.. well, I couldn’t help being drawn to your music.

I’ll be taking English and art. Oh, and equine therapy – a subject for which I’m supremely unqualified.

My first classes are next week, under supervision, of course.

’ Christy handed Astrid the gathered sheets.

Their fingers brushed together and she could feel the history etched into the music teacher’s wrinkled hands.

‘Peacock, you say? A name destined for the theatre if I ever heard one.’ Astrid’s gaze met Christy’s and a spark of understanding passed between them. ‘Tell me, Christy, do you dance with the muses?’

Christy’s heartbeat quickened. What was this woman – a mind reader? ‘I do. Or at least, I did. Drama’s been my passion since I could talk.’

‘I sensed you were a fellow thespian!’ Astrid’s eyes blazed like stage lights.

‘It seems that fate has delivered you to my door. Let’s find a more comfortable place to talk.

’ She led Christy to a wooden bench in the dappled shade of an old gum tree.

‘Currawong Creek is already home to so many fascinating tales,’ said Astrid.

‘But something tells me, Christy, that you’ve brought along stories of your own – perhaps some seeking a second act? ’

The older woman’s knowing gaze made Christy decide to trust her. ‘Astrid,’ she said with heartfelt certainty, ‘I think I’ve been looking for someone just like you.’

Astrid reached out, her touch light on Christy’s arm. ‘Well, you’ve found me,’ she said. ‘And whatever troubles you carry, know that it’s safe to share them with me.’

There was such kindness in Astrid’s eyes that Christy felt the tight knot of her disappointments begin to unravel. ‘I had to leave Sydney ... my job at St Luke’s College. There was a scandal,’ she blurted out. ‘My dream of teaching drama, directing plays ...’ She shrugged. ‘It’s over.’

Astrid seemed entirely unfazed by Christy’s rushed confession.

‘Child, dreams are as much a part of us as our arms or legs,’ she said in a tone of quiet reassurance.

‘They may bend, sometimes even break, but like a broken limb they can mend.’ Her eyes twinkled with warmth.

‘Why not follow your passion right here in Merriang?’

‘I’ve asked Clare if I could teach a drama class. She says the curriculum’s too crowded already.’

‘Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,’ said Astrid cryptically. ‘I predict you may soon find yourself playing some unexpected roles.’

As Christy puzzled over Astrid’s words, someone interrupted. ‘Good morning, ladies.’ She turned to see Tyler, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans.

‘I almost didn’t realise it was you,’ said Christy.

Tyler had shaved his head and to Christy’s surprise it suited him – accentuating his jawline and highlighting the sea-green colour of his eyes.

How effortlessly he pulled off the look, the smooth curve of his head catching the light and giving him an unmistakable presence.

He was almost unrecognisable as the bearded, carefully coiffed chef of television fame.

Christy hadn’t seen much of Tyler since they’d arrived at Currawong Creek.

He’d kept to himself, reading his Kindle on a bench in a shady spot, or going for solitary walks.

When she’d spoken to him he’d answered her politely enough, but hadn’t encouraged her to continue the conversation.

But his self-imposed retreat seemed to have worked, because he looked more relaxed than she’d seen him.

‘Speaking of unexpected roles ...’ His voice was tinged with amusement.

‘I’ll be temporarily donning the apron here at Currawong Creek.

The current cook’s gone on leave to care for her sick mother.

The latest season of my TV show has ended, and the restaurant will simply have to manage without me. ’

Christy felt a rush of pleasure at the news. ‘Tyler Ward swapping haute cuisine for camp cooking?’ She couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity. ‘Now there’s a twist.’

‘Every good script needs one,’ Astrid chimed in. ‘Imagine the headlines if the press catch wind of this. They’d probably send an A Current Affair crew down here to film you making sandwiches.’

‘I pray they don’t,’ Tyler said, growing suddenly serious. ‘I’m rather enjoying the anonymity of rural life.’

Astrid looked thoughtful. ‘You know, my little cottage has a spare room. I’m afraid it’s seen more dust than guests lately, but it’s quiet and out of the way – perfect for someone who wants to keep a low profile. Although frankly, your new look will fool most people.’

Tyler brightened. ‘That’s the idea. And Astrid – I’d love to take you up on your offer. Leo doesn’t want me staying here raining on his parade, and I’d hate to draw attention to myself by taking a room at the hotel.’

She dismissed his thanks with a wave of her hand, as if offering sanctuary to a famous celebrity chef was all in a day’s work. ‘I’ll have it ready for you to move in by tomorrow night.’

Tyler thanked her. ‘Well, I’m off to plan a seven-day menu. Hopefully I can do better than chops and boiled veggies for dinner three nights a week.’

Christy felt a pang as she watched Tyler go.

‘You like him, don’t you?’ Astrid’s shrewd eyes didn’t miss much. ‘Well, I may be a poor substitute for yon handsome chef, but I’d love you to join me for dinner at the pub tonight.’ She winked, conspiratorially. ‘I have a proposition for you.’

Christy returned to her room, mind abuzz.

She was starting to appreciate the difficult position Tyler was in.

Clare had explained that many of the teens in Currawong Creek’s residential program had been in trouble with the law.

Was that the case with Leo? Even if it wasn’t, negative publicity would hound him if he was discovered here.

A quick google of Tyler’s name revealed no official reports of his whereabouts.

Just a brief statement from his agent saying he was taking an extended and well-earned holiday.

One gossip site had him spotted with a mystery woman at the Intercontinental Hotel on Hayman Island.

Another had him on the slopes of St Moritz.

Christy felt a gush of admiration for the man.

Tyler wasn’t off skiing in Switzerland or partying at some exclusive Whitsunday resort.

He may have alienated his son by sending him off to boarding school, but he was genuinely trying to make up for it.

He was here at Currawong Creek, humbly playing camp cook and protecting Leo.

Christy lay down on her bed to think. Leo was beginning to let his walls down and open up to her.

She had an inkling of why he was so closed off from the world, but that didn’t explain why Tyler was closed off too.

Was it to do with the death of his wife?

There was so much more to the story than she knew.

Late afternoon rays lit up the crimson bottlebrush outside her window.

Its leaves danced against the glass in the breeze, making a soft rustling sound.

From somewhere far off a horse neighed. Otherwise, the world was silent.

Random thoughts sent Christy drifting off.

She yawned and fell into a kind of meditation, halfway between asleep and awake.

That evening Christy found herself sitting across the table from Astrid in the small bistro at the Merriang pub.

Although Christy had only met the eccentric music teacher that morning, she felt at home in her company.

The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen loaned a comfortable ambience to the occasion.

‘Tell me, my girl,’ said Astrid as they sipped wine and waited for their meals. ‘What’s one of your favourite roles?’

The question surprised her. It seemed like forever since she’d talked theatre with anyone.

‘I once played Viola in Twelfth Night . It was such fun dressing up as a man. Viola is full of wit and resilience – quite the modern woman. It’s hard to believe that she was written so long ago, and by a man no less.

’ Christy smiled at the memory. ‘I felt alive in that role.’

‘The Bard of Avon!’ Astrid exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight. ‘You’re a woman after my own heart! But, just quietly, I suspect that particular play was written by Shakespeare’s sister.’

Christy nearly choked on her drink. ‘Virginia Woolf merely posed a hypothetical question. What if Shakespeare had a genius sister? His sister didn’t really write plays.’

‘How do we know?’ asked Astrid with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘We weren’t there.’

The meals arrived, and the two of them could barely stop talking long enough to eat. The evening passed quickly as they shared tales of stage triumphs and mishaps.

‘I was playing Gwendolen in a production of The Importance of Being Earnest ,’ said Astrid, ‘and there’s this scene where I’m supposed to be indignantly sipping tea.

Only, on this particular night, the prop team used actual hot tea.

Mid-scene, I took a sip, not realising how hot it was, and ended up spitting tea all over poor Algernon!

The audience thought it was an intentional comic addition and roared with laughter. ’

Christy giggled. ‘When I was a student teacher, I assisted in a high-school production of Treasure Island . The stage was set for an epic battle scene aboard the pirate ship. The crew were dressed in their pirate best, and the boy playing Long John Silver had a wooden leg made from a broomstick. Anyway, when the battle was in full swing, his leg fell off. Unfazed, he grabbed it and used it as a prop to fight off his attackers. It was hysterical.’

‘Kids are great improvisers.’ Astrid raised her glass. ‘To the unpredictability of live theatre!’

As they made the toast, Christy became teary. ‘I miss it so much. Opening kids’ minds to the world of drama, the rush of opening nights, stories unfolding under the spotlights.’

Astrid leaned forwards, her hands clasped over the table, her bracelets clinking softly.

‘You have a rare passion, my girl. One that shouldn’t be snuffed out by scandal or setback.

Which leads me to my proposition.’ She paused a long moment for dramatic effect.

‘The old Merriang school hall has been gathering dust and cobwebs for fifty years.’

‘There’s an abandoned hall in town?’

‘There is.’ Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Imagine transforming it into a community theatre. We could breathe new life into its old bones, create a place for people to act, to sing, to dance. A place where they can forget their troubles for a while.’

The idea struck Christy like a bolt of lightning. ‘Us? Together?’

‘Who better than a pair of seasoned drama queens?’ Astrid winked. ‘We could start a local theatre group – give this town a new heartbeat. Think of the plays we could put on, the joy it would bring to this sleepy old town.’

Christy allowed herself to envision the possibility – a stage, her direction, the thrill of performance mingling with the smell of freshly painted props. Her heart swelled at the thought, and for the first time in months she felt a surge of pure excitement.

‘All right,’ she said with growing determination. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s bring theatre to Merriang.’

Astrid’s face lit up and she reached across the table, squeezing Christy’s hands. ‘Bravo, my girl! I’ve been looking for someone just like you, too.’