The Summer of Secrets

by Barbara Hannay

  Time to get a grip. To put on a brave face, despite the underlying sadness that was so hard to shake.

  Resolutely, Finn climbed four flights of stairs, passing the busy kitchen that smelled just as it always had, of curry paste and fish sauce. Then finally he stepped out to the dark little rooftop bar.

  Everything about the place was achingly familiar. Cosy and dimly lit, the space was filled with customers seated at small round tables. Live music – guitar and violin – played the Etta James song ‘At Last’. No waiters stepped forward to guide him to a table. It wasn’t that kind of place.

  Finn saw Doug in a dim, candlelit corner, nursing a glass of whisky. He was about to make his way towards him when he was gripped by a cruel rush of memories.

  The phone call with the news of his wife’s and son’s deaths. The ghastly journey to Betong. Identifying Sarah and Louis. The gut-wrenching stillness of their lifeless bodies and the numbing grief that followed. Raw. Cavernous. Smothering.

  Sometime in the haze of days that had followed, his friends had brought him here to this bar for a kind of wake. They had been hoping to help him, to cheer him in some small way. For Finn, the evening had been intolerable.

  And now …

  He was back. In that place and time. Experiencing every detail of the loss. Sharp, vivid and immediate. The guilt, so unforgiving.

  To Finn’s horror, his eyes welled with tears. Next moment he was shaking and tears were streaming down his face, so that he could barely see Doug rising from his seat, obviously worried.

  But Finn knew that another step towards his old friend would spell disaster. He would break down completely, make a fool of himself and spoil the evening for everyone present.

  Abruptly, he made a sharp gesture to Doug, somewhere between a wave and a salute, and then turned on his heel and hastened away, sobbing, stumbling blindly down the stairs, scrubbing at his tears with the heels of his hands.

  ‘Finn!’

  He was halfway back to Khao San Road when Doug caught up with him.

  ‘Finn,’ Doug said again as he grabbed him by the elbow.

  Finn stopped. The portly old guy was red-faced and puffing from his exertion. ‘I’m sorry, Doug. I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘It’s called grief.’ Doug pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and mopped at his shiny brow. ‘I guess I should have known better than to suggest the same old venue.’

  Finn nodded, let out a heavy sigh. He was calmer now, thank God.

  ‘I’m sure you still need a drink,’ Doug said. ‘There are plenty of places just round the corner.’

  They found a bar crowded with noisy, hard-drinking tourists, who happily ignored them. There was one rickety table left, with two equally wonky bamboo stools.

  ‘I hope this will take my weight.’ Doug smiled as he gingerly settled himself.

  They ordered whisky and as Finn took his first few sips and felt its warming glow, he realised that Doug, whisky and the anonymity of a noisy bar filled with strangers were exactly what he needed.

  ‘I’m sorry about what just happened,’ he said.

  Doug shook his head. ‘No need for apologies.’

  ‘I thought I’d finished with feeling like crap. I was pretty sure I was coming out the other side.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not how it works,’ Doug said gently.

  Finn stared at him. ‘You know how this grief thing works?’ But even as he asked the question, he remembered – of course Doug would know. Finn had never met Doug’s partner, Clive. He had died of AIDS twenty years ago. From all accounts, he’d been a talented and flamboyant musician. Popular and loads of fun.

  ‘I know it won’t leave you – ever,’ Doug said. ‘But then, you wouldn’t want it to.’

  Finn wasn’t so sure about that. Back in Australia, he’d begun to believe he might finally move on with his life. Tonight, in Bangkok, he knew he had taken several major steps backwards.

  Doug rocked his glass a little, making the ice cubes clink. ‘The way I see it, grief slams back every so often to remind us of how much we loved the people we lost. It makes us remember how much they loved us, too. And why we miss them.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Finn sighed. ‘I just wish it didn’t hit so damn hard.’

  ‘The pain is a measure of how much you loved.’

  That was certainly true. There’d been times when Finn almost wished he hadn’t loved his wife so deeply. He might have let her go more easily.

  ‘The way I see it,’ Doug went on. ‘The pain is also a reminder of how important life is.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Absolutely. You’re still alive, Finn, and the world around you is a beautiful place.’ Doug looked around at the raucous, carousing youngsters and rolled his eyes. ‘Well, maybe not this place.’

  Finn almost smiled. ‘And I still have Bree, of course.’

  ‘Of course you do. And what a great little kid she was when she was here. How’s she doing these days?’

  Finn wished he could answer this honestly. Wished he could tell Doug that he’d kept his daughter close, that he knew exactly how her height measured against his. That he knew what she liked to eat for breakfast, and what kind of friends she had.

  Instead, all he really knew about his daughter were the scant details she cared to share with him over the telephone. Sadly, he’d kept Bree almost as distant as Sarah and Louis. But he was too ashamed to admit this.

  ‘She’s great,’ he said. ‘She’s twelve now.’ He managed a lopsided smile. ‘Apparently, she’s trying her hand at journalism while I’m away. My offsider, Chloe Brown, is taking care of her.’

  Doug was watching him now with keen interest. ‘This Chloe Brown must be a good sort.’

  ‘Yeah, Chloe’s great, actually.’ Finn almost smiled again, as he thought about the Dolly reporter who’d turned out to be so much more.

  ‘Young, is she, this Chloe?’

  ‘No, ancient. Almost as old as me.’

  Doug laughed, a huffing bellow.

  Finn found his smile expanding too. ‘Chloe reckons she’s going to let Bree help on the paper. I can’t see it working, myself, but —’ He gave a helpless shrug.

  ‘What paper is this again?’

  ‘The Burralea Bugle.’ Finn held up his hand. ‘I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘That I’m crazy to bury myself in a tiny country town no one’s ever heard of.’

  ‘Is that how you feel?’

  Finn thought about Burralea, about the surrounding landscape of rolling farmland, of pink dawns over soft hills and silver lakes, so easy on the eye. He thought about the friendly, undemanding locals, and the personal friends he’d made. Honest, hardworking rural types, laconic humorists, fun to be with. Solid, reliable. He thought about Chloe. ‘I don’t mind it there, actually.’

  ‘You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?’ Doug sounded intrigued.

  ‘To be honest, going north was, most definitely, an escape at first. I had to get out of Sydney. And a country town can be a place to hide. But the town has a way of growing on you, too. And then there’s the challenge of keeping a small newspaper viable against the odds.’

  ‘Quite a decent challenge, I should imagine.’

  ‘It’s surprising how you can winkle out stories when nothing seems to be happening.’

  ‘Like a story about a local baker who’s taken undercover by the Feds?’

  Finn grinned. ‘But even when everything’s quiet, a small town is still intimately part of a bigger world. Events that affect the state, the nation, still affect us. And when you think about it, even in a big city, you’re still just a dot on a speck in the universe.’ He grinned again as he got to his feet. ‘But before I get too philosophical, I believe it’s my shout.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  In the Bugle office, Chloe let out a huff of relief as she put down her phone and turned to Bree. The girl was sitting at her father’s
desk, diligently refining her touch-typing skills on his computer.

  ‘A great little news story has just come in,’ Chloe told her. ‘And I reckon it’s right up your alley, Bree.’

  Bree’s eyes widened with instant excitement. After a morning at the Bugle office, spent mostly fetching coffee, sweeping the floor and answering the landline phone, Bree was still bursting with enthusiasm, and desperate to start work as a real reporter.

  ‘What kind of story?’ she asked.

  ‘A little dog went missing from the local nursing home and now he’s been found.’

  ‘Cooper?’ Bree sat up straighter.

  ‘Yes, that’s his name.’ Chloe stared at her in surprise. ‘How did you know about him?’

  ‘I saw the Lost Dog signs in the shop windows. At the café and the supermarket.’

  ‘That’s very observant of you, Bree.’ Chloe smiled at her. ‘Well done.’

  ‘I love dogs. Who found him?’ Bree was obviously trying to be businesslike, despite blushing at Chloe’s praise.

  ‘Two children who live on a farm out on Wetherby Road.’

  ‘Kids? Wow!’ Now Bree almost jumped out of her seat with excitement. ‘Can I come with you when you interview them?’

  ‘That’s my plan. I’ve just checked with their mother and they’re available this morning. But you should be the one who does the interviewing.’

  ‘Really? You’d let me?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  For a moment Bree looked worried, but then she smiled. ‘Awesome!’

  Moira Briggs had been very keen to supervise Bree, and Chloe knew she would be grateful for Moira’s assistance if Finn was away for much longer, but for now Chloe was happy to keep the girl with her. Secretly, she was enjoying Bree’s company.

  See, Jason? I would make a good mum.

  It was a very happy discovery.

  On the drive to the farm, however, Bree’s nerves seemed to return.

  ‘I’ll have to ask lots of questions, won’t I?’

  ‘You will,’ Chloe agreed. ‘It helps to start with the basics – who, what, when and where.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember, but you’ll stay with me, won’t you? In case I miss stuff?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘I brought a notepad and pen, but I might be a bit slow getting it all down.’

  ‘That’s where my trusty recorder comes in handy.’ Chloe held out her phone. ‘But you should try to take notes as well.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Bree. This is going to be fun.’

  The girl’s smile was clearly one of relief.

  Their destination was a dairy farm set high on a hill. The milking sheds and fences were quite close to the road, while the red-roofed, white-walled farmhouse sat on the hill’s crest and was shaded by a huge flowering jacaranda.

  Bree leaned forward, straining against her seatbelt as she took in the vista of steep green hillsides dotted with black and white cows and the well-worn dirt tracks leading to the corrugated iron milking sheds, which were no doubt churned to mud when it rained. ‘Wow!’ she whispered.

  Chloe understood. There was something otherworldly about these isolated, windswept farms perched so high above the rest of the world.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be cool to live somewhere like this?’ Bree said as Chloe drove in through the open farm gates and a flock of guinea fowl scattered in front of them.

  Chloe smiled. She could remember visiting a farm, as a child, and being entranced by the chickens, ducks and horses, and wishing she could live there. But then, at that age, she’d also wanted to live in a lighthouse and on a riverboat and in an igloo.

  As she pulled up on a gravelled drive in front of the house, the door opened and a boy and a girl appeared, both redheads, tall and skinny, with the kind of well-scrubbed wholesomeness that seemed natural to country kids. The boy was probably around Bree’s age and his sister a little younger. They were smiling shyly.

  Bree, however, looked rather solemn as she climbed out of the Forester, clutching her notepad and pen. Chloe hoped she wasn’t too overawed by her new responsibility.

  ‘Hello,’ called the boy. ‘Mum said to come in. She’s just taking something out of the oven.’

  ‘It’s a date loaf,’ his little sister informed them self-importantly.

  ‘What are your names?’ Chloe asked them in her friendliest manner.

  ‘Sam,’ said the boy.

  ‘And I’m Milla,’ added his sister.

  ‘Hello Sam. Hello, Milla. I’m Chloe and this is Bree.’

  ‘Hello,’ they chorused.

  ‘Hello.’ Bree smiled nervously.

  ‘Come this way,’ Sam told them.

  They were led through a modestly furnished living area to a side verandah where a table had been set with a floral tablecloth, a teapot, cups and saucers, as well as glasses and a jug of juice covered by an old-fashioned lace doily.

  ‘You can sit down,’ Sam said. ‘Mum’ll be here in a minute.’

  As he said this, a woman came onto the verandah, bearing a china plate piled with buttered slices of date loaf. Like her children, she was tall and slim, with red hair, although her freckled face looked tired and her hair was starting to fade. Chloe supposed life on a dairy farm wasn’t always as idyllic as it looked from the outside.

  ‘Hi, I’m Mary,’ she said, brightening and offering a friendly smile. ‘I thought you’d probably like a spot of morning tea.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mary.’ Chloe had previously noted that farming women seemed to stay slim, even though they were always baking delicious things to eat. Probably because they worked so hard.

  As they sat at the table, Bree carefully set her notepad and pen beside her plate. From here there was a breathtaking view of green hills and valleys rolling away for ever. Tea was poured and the children were given glasses of pineapple juice, freshly squeezed. The date loaf was handed around. Somewhere behind one of the farm sheds a tractor roared to life.

  ‘I should warn you, Bree,’ said Chloe as she gestured to the table. ‘Journalists don’t usually get such delicious extras.’

  ‘Are you a journalist, too?’ Sam looked seriously impressed as he asked Bree this.

  Bree blushed again. ‘Kind of.’ Then quickly she corrected herself. ‘Well, no, I’m not really. Chloe’s the real reporter, and I’m just helping her, because my dad’s away. He’s the editor.’ This last was said with a marked note of pride.

  ‘And are you her mum?’ Milla asked Chloe.

  ‘No,’ Chloe and Bree answered in unison.

  ‘I’m a journalist at the paper,’ Chloe explained, but to her secret dismay, there’d been more than one occasion in the last few days when she’d fantasised about having a daughter like Bree. In the past, her focus had been on babies, but Bree had proved that kids could be endearing and fun at any age.

  And now, as Finn’s daughter turned to her with wide, worried eyes, Chloe felt awash with genuine fondness.

  ‘When do I start asking the questions?’ the girl whispered.

  ‘In a minute or two, when you’ve finished eating,’ Chloe suggested and then, in a bid to relax her protégé, she asked Sam and Milla about their plans for the Christmas holidays.

  Milla immediately pulled a mournful face. ‘We can’t go away, because Dad has to keep milking every day.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Chloe tried to rustle up another question. Clearly this was a sore point.

  Sam stepped in, however. ‘Give it a miss, Mill. You know we’re going to camp down near the lake, and Dad and me will slip home for the milking.’

  His sister pouted. ‘Yeah, but we can’t go to the beach or anything fun.’

  ‘I’m going to go camping at the lake with my dad when he gets back,’ Bree announced brightly.

  ‘Really?’ Sam was clearly interested in this prospect.

  ‘Yeah.’ Bree shot a quick glance in Chloe’s direction. ‘He promised.’

  This
was news to Chloe, but she wisely held her tongue.

  Sam grinned. ‘We might see you there.’

  Bree nodded and went a little pink again. She picked up the notepad. ‘So – um – maybe I should start asking you about the dog, Cooper.’

  Chloe clicked the recording app on her phone and set it on the table. ‘No one minds if I record this?’

  The others shook their heads.

  ‘We found Cooper down by the creek,’ Milla told Bree eagerly.

  ‘Yes, that’s fantastic. So what sort of dog is he?’

  ‘A black and tan bitser,’ said Sam.

  Oh, good for you, Bree! Chloe was proud of the way the girl had brought the interview straight back to where she wanted it, starting with the basics.

  ‘And when did he go missing?’

  ‘Last —’ Sam frowned and seemed to be counting back the days in his head. ‘I think it was Thursday.’

  ‘That’s right, Thursday,’ confirmed his mum.

  Bree conscientiously noted this down. ‘And do you know what happened? How he got lost in the first place?’

  Milla piped up again. ‘Our grandma said one of the old people from the home took him for a walk and then forgot about him and walked back without him.’

  ‘Oh, dear, poor Cooper.’

  ‘I’m surprised he didn’t just go home anyway,’ said Mary.

  ‘Maybe he was confused about what he should do,’ suggested Bree.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Sam said, ‘Someone told Dad they thought they saw him under the bridge on Sheoak Creek. Dad went down there looking, but he’d disappeared again by then.’

  ‘And Grandma told us that everyone at the home was really sad and worried,’ added Milla. ‘Father Jonno even said a prayer for Cooper at church.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Bree said with a laugh. ‘Maybe that’s what saved Cooper? And thanks, you’re already answering the questions before I can ask them.’

  Milla gave a cheeky little grin and shrugged.

  ‘So you found him yesterday, is that right?’ asked Bree.

  Sam nodded. ‘We went back to the creek and found him limping along the track.’