by Anna Romer
After our meeting in the carpark I had rushed back to Ravensong and told Tom my theory. She’s got the diary, Tom, I’d lay money on it. You should have seen the look on her face when I showed her the page. She recognised it immediately, and her hand shot out to take it as if it belonged to her. She’s got it . . . and I’m going find a way to convince her to let me read it.
I would have to tread carefully. A barrage of questions would scare her off. Better to go slow, win her trust and show that my intentions were honourable. Yesterday she’d insisted that neither she nor Joe had been to Ravensong, that it was simply an investment. But what if that was a lie? What if she had been to the place and found Frankie’s diary, become as intrigued by the story as I was?
I would bide my time, learn from her what I could about Ravensong’s history. Drop a few hints. Dangle the diary page as a carrot. Let her unravel the story of the diary as she felt comfortable.
The tall pine trees surrounding the old timber farmhouse dripped after last night’s storm. The shadows beneath were dank and black, but overhead the sun was trying to break through the clouds. I parked under one of the trees.
I was way too early – it wasn’t yet eleven. I peeked into the bakery box on the passenger seat, relieved that the lemon meringue pie had survived the journey. Then I examined my makeup in the rear-view mirror, and checked my fingernails. I glanced again at the dashboard clock, dismayed that only a minute had passed since I last looked.
No point stalling any longer.
Collecting the cake box, I walked along the path towards the house, breathing the sweet air. The garden was well loved. Neat grass pathways curved between flowerbeds and shady fruit trees. An enormous raised veggie patch spilled over with huge purple cabbage heads, frilly lettuces going to seed, rampaging spinach, and late tomato plants still flowering in the rich soil.
As I approached the house, the back door opened. A woman stepped onto the verandah. She still wore a nightgown and her thick, shoulder-length hair tangled around her face as though she’d just climbed out of bed.
I froze on the path. ‘Mrs Corbin, I’m sorry. I’m too early. Why don’t I come back later?’
‘Abby, dear.’ She gripped the railing and waved me over. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and worry lines creased her brow. ‘I’m afraid we had a bit of excitement here last night. Joe had a fall.’
‘Oh no, is he all right?’
‘I think so, though I’m not sure either of us is up for a chat today.’
I went closer. ‘Has he seen a doctor?’
She glanced over her shoulder at the open door, then spoke more quietly. ‘He keeps saying he’s all right, that he doesn’t need to see anyone.’
‘But you’re worried.’
She nodded.
‘Why don’t you let me drive you into town? Joe can have a quick check-up, and it’ll put your mind at ease.’
‘Oh.’ She glanced again at the door, and then adjusted her glasses. ‘Would you, dear? I’d feel so much better knowing he’s all right.’
‘Of course, Mrs Corbin. I’d be glad to.’
‘And Abby?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I suppose you’d better start calling me Lil.’
I pulled up straight. Had I heard right? Was that Lil, as in Lilly? Before I could say anything, she retreated across the verandah and went back inside. The screen door clattered and the noise snapped me out of my daze. My fingers tingled and my limbs felt strangely light, as though I had just slipped through a wormhole in time. And in a way, I had. If Lil Corbin turned out to be who I thought she was, then there was a very good chance that she knew all the answers. The tricky part would be convincing her to share them. Tread carefully, I reminded myself. Whatever you do, don’t stuff this up.
• • •
Lil insisted that Joe needed his strength for the long drive into town, so we had breakfast on the verandah: scrambled eggs on toast with fried tomatoes. I carved up my lemon meringue pie, and after a refill of strong tea, Joe’s face regained some colour.
I mentioned Ravensong only in passing, to explain to Joe what I was doing there, and then moved on to lighter topics. Lil and Joe were still shaken after their ordeal, the last thing they needed was an inquisition. We chatted about the storm, how glad we all were for the rain. Lil spoke about her drama group, and Joe divulged one of his secret fishing spots. I described my job as a journalist and how I’d managed to get an interview with the reclusive Tom Gabriel. Joe was a fan of his books, and had seen the news article about Tom’s arrival in the area. No doubt he’d been amazed to read Tom’s name on Ravensong’s contract of sale, although he didn’t mention that.
After breakfast, I drove them into town. The emergency waiting room at Gundara Hospital was empty for a Sunday and while Joe was with the doctor, I sat in the waiting room with Lil.
She rubbed her knees, gazing along the corridor where Joe had disappeared, her face pale. I had the crazy urge to slide my arm around her shoulders to offer comfort. Ever since she’d emerged that morning on the verandah, ruffled and anxious in her nightie, my protective instincts had kicked in. I kept seeing flashes of a little fair-haired girl, locked in the room next to mine at Ravensong, crying for her mother, and it melted my heart.
But I didn’t hug her. Instead, I took out a roll of mints and offered her one. ‘They’re sugar free.’
Lil took a mint with murmured thanks, but then held it between her thumb and forefinger. I chewed my way through one after another. Within minutes the roll was gone, leaving just a damp wad of foil in my palm. I caught Lil staring at it, and sighed.
‘Did you know that chewing helps alleviate stress? I read it somewhere. That’s why dogs get so excited about gnawing a bone. For them it’s like a massage. Or meditation.’
Lil slipped the mint into her pocket. A faint smile touched her lips. ‘I’ve a feeling I’ll need it later. The doctor’s going to prescribe bed rest, but just keeping Joe in the house will be like re-enacting the Great War. I don’t know what he does out there in his shed, just that he spends every waking hour doing it.’
I rummaged in the pocket of my jean jacket, took out another roll of mints and slipped it into Lil’s hand. ‘Here, take it. I’ve got a stash in the car. I’m a nightmare to be around when I’ve nothing to chew.’
She glanced at me. For a moment she seemed about to cry, then she surprised me with a raspy laugh. ‘You certainly have a way with words.’
My cheeks caught fire. ‘I do?’
Lil nodded. ‘You remind me of someone. A girl I knew a long time ago.’
I barely dared to breathe. ‘A sister?’
Lil looked at her hands. ‘But you’re softer somehow, Abby. Kinder.’
‘What happened to her?’
A long pause, and Lil’s chair creaked as she shifted her weight. ‘I lost her.’
I pinched my lips together, biting back the torrent of questions that was threatening to spill out. I had brought the diary page with me, intending to let Lil read it in exchange for whatever information she could give me about Ravensong, or even a look at the diary I suspected was in her possession. But now I realised the page was far too valuable to hand over just yet. Lilly Wigmore had guarded her secrets so fiercely as a child, she wasn’t going to relinquish then now as an adult, and certainly not to a stranger. That page might be the only leverage I had for learning the truth.
Lil caught my eye. ‘You know what it’s like to lose someone, don’t you?’
Surprised by her question, I nodded. ‘My father died last year.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘We weren’t that close.’ My fingers knotted in my lap, the foil wad now small and hard as a marble. Lil was watching me, waiting for me to elaborate. There was curiosity in her eyes, and something else. A challenge. I squirmed in my seat. If I wanted answers from her, then it seemed I would have to offer some of my own. ‘Dad never coped that well after Mum walked out. He turned to booze. He was already a heavy drin
ker, which I suppose is why she left. But afterwards, he drank with a passion, you know?’
Lil nodded. ‘You must have happy memories too?’
I hugged myself, surprised how easily it came back to me. ‘Before he retired he was a scientist; travelled all over the place. Analysing water acidity in the Great Barrier Reef, pollution levels in Sydney Harbour, that sort of thing. He loved his job; was always going on about the environment and conservation. I guess that’s what inspired my interest in it. But after Mum went, he lost his spark. Withdrew from my brother and me. From everyone. It was—’
I broke off. It was more than I’d told anyone about Dad in years. But there I was, chatting about him to a total stranger, my voice quivering with pride. I’d forgotten how I’d once looked up to him, dreamed of following in his footsteps. In my eyes he was a big, brave ecowarrior, and he made me want to be one too.
Lil reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. Her fingers felt bony, but there was strength there too. ‘He died last year, you said?’
I nodded.
She withdrew her fingers. ‘Still so very raw to talk about, isn’t it?’
I swallowed. I didn’t quite know what to say. The tips of my ears were burning. When I left Ravensong that morning, I had anticipated a polite cup of tea with Lil and Joe, perhaps a moment of intense interest as they recounted what they knew of the house’s history. I had hoped to find answers, or at least a few significant clues to ponder. The last thing I’d expected was to connect with Lil Corbin in such a personal way.
Lil settled back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Grief never goes away, despite what people say. It’s like a pebble in your shoe, always nagging. But as time passes you just learn to live with it.’
Her eyes were red rimmed, glassy with unshed tears. Was she thinking about the sister she’d lost? About Frankie?
‘Lil?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘If I give you the diary page to keep, will you tell me what happened to her?’
An invisible veil settled over Lil’s face. She glanced along the corridor, checked her watch. Shifted in her chair, tucking her feet out of sight beneath her.
‘Why are you so curious, Abby?’
I drew a deep breath. Since finding Shayla in the campground, my old fears had started to resurface. Then, when I discovered the hidden upstairs room and Frankie’s diary page – and the bloodstained mattress and tiny claustrophobic barred window – it seemed to be a sign. Perhaps even a ray of hope.
‘I once lost someone I cared for,’ I told Lil. ‘A childhood friend. She was a kind little soul, and after she died I pined for her terribly. But worse than that, I blamed myself for her death. That was twenty years ago, and I thought I’d dealt with it. But finding the diary page brought it all back. I know it doesn’t make sense, and I can’t explain it any other way. But if I can save Frankie – by understanding what happened to her – then there’s a chance I can save myself too.’
Lil sighed, shifting in her chair. She studied her hands, smoothing her fingertips over her knuckles, pressing the blue veins and age spots. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you a little. In exchange for that page.’
I sat up. ‘Really?’
She dug in her pocket and took out the little mint I’d given her. Examined it for a moment, then popped it in her mouth. Then she settled back in the creaky plastic chair, and closed her eyes.
15
They’d forgotten her, hadn’t they? Left her here to die. Alone. Starving and shivering in the dark, reeking of her own sick. All she’d had to eat in what felt like days were two dried old bread rolls and some greasy sausages, which she’d vomited up. Typical her. Whenever she cried hard, nothing stayed down. She’d always been that way, which explained why she was so skinny. Living with Mum, she’d found a lot to cry about.
Shayla crawled across the floor until she found the jagged edge of the door. She waited there sometimes, planning to fly out the next time it opened. Only, her sense of timing always seemed to be off. Hours, days – she had no clue of time. In here it was just one long, endless, nightmarish night. Then without warning, the door would shriek open and a flashlight would blind her, and a noisy clatter would deafen her as the tin plate hit the floor. While she scrabbled about in the dirt and gobbled her food, the bucket would be taken and another put in its place.
The bucket. ‘Ugh. Gross.’
All that stuff with her mum seemed so petty now. Even her mum’s dipstick of a boyfriend seemed tolerable. Sitting in this damp, horrible place had made her see things differently. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her room, plain and boring as it was. At least at home she had a proper bed instead of this smelly mattress and stiff, scratchy blanket. At least there’d been food and TV. And sometimes Mum was okay. Almost nice.
Mostly she missed her rabbit, Mrs Bilby.
Sometimes Shayla stirred in the night, thinking she could feel Mrs Bilby’s velvet nose kissing her face. She’d wake all hopeful and teary, but then there’d be that sick jolt as she remembered where she was. Still trapped in this shithole, no one knowing she was here. Did anyone miss her yet? Were they worried? Were they even looking?
She should never have hitched along that reserve road. Everyone knew it was haunted. Last summer she went to the campground with kids from school, drinking and kissing boys, getting naked with whoever, the usual. It had been a blast, at least for a while. A couple of times they had a bonfire, sat around telling messed-up stories about zombies and psychos, creeping themselves out. Then one kid swore blind he’d seen a ghost. It was for real, man. Floating there in the trees, watching us. You didn’t see it?
Probably just some harmless weirdo, but they’d stopped going there. No one actually admitted they were scared, but they’d all heard the stories; all been warned by their parents.
Spidery legs ran across her foot and she jerked away.
‘Someone, please,’ she whispered. ‘Please find me.’
The dead quietness swallowed her words. As if she’d never spoken at all. And it was that more than anything else – the dull muffled deadness – that struck a chord of panic. Rolling onto her back, Shayla drummed her bare feet against the door and began to scream.
16
‘We’ve found her, Tom.’ Abby bustled through the kitchen door at six o’clock, her face flushed and her eyes shining. ‘We’ve found Lilly.’
Tom stared at her. One minute he’d been making salad, pondering how best to marinate the salmon he’d taken out of the freezer earlier. Was lemon and garlic the surest way to get a woman hooked, or should he try chilli and ginger? He’d gone with the lemon, and then she was there in the kitchen with him, pink cheeked and smelling like a garden, a thumbprint of dirt on her brow.
He put down his chef’s knife. ‘She a friend of Joe Corbin’s, then?’
‘She’s his wife.’ Abby dumped a huge basket of vegetables on the counter. ‘And her name’s Lil. She sent these for you, special delivery from her garden, she grew it all herself. And get this Tom – she’s promised to tell me what happened to Frankie. In exchange for the diary page.’
‘Hang on.’ Tom was trying to process everything at once and failing dismally. ‘Joe Corbin’s wife? The guy I bought Ravensong from . . . is married to Lilly Wigmore?’
Abby nodded, her face glowing. ‘You can imagine she’s hesitant to talk about the past, so I don’t want to press her too hard. But, Tom, we’ve found her.’
Tom wiped his fingers on the tea towel he’d tucked into his waistband and considered her. The rose flush in her skin, the brightness in her eyes; the thumbprint of grime on her forehead that he was longing to smooth away. He’d never seen her like this, unguarded, almost childlike in her excitement.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she rushed on, ‘they’re the most gorgeous couple, so devoted. Lil’s the straight guy, all stern and cranky, but then she’ll smile and the sun comes out. Joe’s hilarious, quite the comedian. You have to meet them, they’re—’
Tom stared at her, but he
’d stopped listening. Just one thought raced through his mind. Over and over it went, making his pulse fly. Are you really going to whirlwind into my life and turn everything upside down, only to vanish in a few days and never look back?
Before Abby came along he’d been content. Stewing in his bitterness, doing the hermit thing. Solitude was his fortress against the world and he liked it that way. Or at least he had – until she’d arrived on the scene and changed everything. Changed him.
Her fingers alighted on his arm. ‘Tom, you okay?’
He picked up his knife, resumed slicing the tomato. ‘Did Lil say much about Frankie?’
Abby’s spark dimmed. ‘Not yet. But she will, because I know she wants that page.’
‘Anything about the kidnapper?’
‘Zilch.’
‘What about Ravensong? Did she and Joe ever live here?’
‘Lil told me that in 1980 she and Joe decided on a tree change from Sydney, as neither of them had family there any more. Lil saw the house in a rural newspaper. It was a deceased estate, owing over twenty years of rates, so the council repossessed it and sold it for a song. But they never lived in it.’
‘Too many bad memories?’
’She didn’t say. But they couldn’t bring themselves to sell it either. So it just sat vacant for years. Meanwhile she and Joe bought the farmhouse and carried on with their lives.’
‘That’s quite a story.’
Abby started unpacking her basket of veggies, not quite managing to conceal her smile. ‘Inspired, are you?’
‘Hmm.’
In fact, Tom felt like a kid at Christmas who’d just discovered that the biggest parcel under the tree was for him. All he had to do was open it to find everything he’d ever wanted. Since Friday night, a story kernel had been taking root in his mind. The girls in the attic, the bloodstained bed, the missing sister. He would have to heavily fictionalise the facts, disguise the truth to protect his real-life subjects, the way he always did – but his fingers itched to start hitting the keys. There was just one possible snag.