by Jane Harper
“Then what?” Nathan frowned. “Cam came on to you?”
“No. Not exactly. He was smart about it, I’ll give him that. He was always friendly. Asking me questions and actually listening to the answers. I wondered if maybe I’d got him wrong, but it meant he ended up knowing all kinds of things about me. What I liked, what I found funny. My weak spots, like missing home. I was alone with him a lot. There’d always be some legit reason, and nothing exactly happened. I just felt a bit weird about it.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Simon, obviously. But Simon—”
“Really needs the money. Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“He said I should try not to be alone with Cameron. Keep things strictly professional, and there’d be no problem. Something had happened at our last place out West. Something”—Katy paused—“a bit worse than this, I guess. A guy out there who was a bit too keen. I complained, and me and Simon both got sacked, so he wanted me to keep quiet this time. He couldn’t really see what the problem was, and I couldn’t really explain. I stopped telling him, and he never asked.”
“Right.”
“Cameron started flirting. Making comments. Kind of sexual stuff, you know? If I got uncomfortable, he would act surprised, like I’d imagined it. Or seen something I wanted to see.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t imagine it. Or want it.”
Katy’s fingers started plucking again at the bedcover. A long way from home, Nathan thought. Few local connections, if any. Backpackers might enjoy the flexibility of casual postings, but it left them vulnerable in other ways. Everyone knew that. Cameron knew that. And Nathan found himself thinking again of that other backpacker, more than twenty years ago, with her messy braid glowing orange by the flickering light of the campfire. The blunted edges of the memory had suddenly become cutthroat sharp, threatening to slip and slice him if not handled with care.
“When I told Cameron that I wasn’t interested, he laughed,” Katy was saying. “Like I was overreacting and couldn’t take a joke. Or we were both playing a game, and knew how it would end.”
The sharp edges did slip now, just a little. You’ve seen this before. A campfire. A flirtation. The air pungent with possibility.
“I told Simon we should leave,” Katy said. “But he didn’t want to. I thought about just heading off myself, but the car and the caravan belong to him. I couldn’t just leave him stranded. We’ve been together three years. And he loves me, he just couldn’t understand what the big deal was. He thought Cam was a great boss. It was good that he was friendly. Why couldn’t I take it as a compliment?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t know what it was like, though. It was exhausting. Cameron was around every day. And he wasn’t finding it fun anymore. He still joked around, but I could tell he was getting frustrated. Like he’d brought us here, and now I wasn’t keeping up my end of the deal.”
You have seen this before. Not exactly, Nathan told himself. He stopped. Not exactly, but a version of it. More immature, far less refined, but the basic elements. An intense campfire flirtation. Patient persistence. A backpacker grateful for someone to talk to among a crowd of strangers. The gentle manipulation and focused attention that meant when she looked up, hours later, she had spoken to no one else and made only one connection all night. The groaning weight of expectation. You have seen this before.
“I’m sorry.” Nathan was not sure who he was talking to.
Katy looked down, and he realized there were tears in her eyes. “I was homesick and lonely and miles from anywhere. I felt completely worn down. Everyone wanted something from me. Simon wanted me to keep Cameron happy, Cameron wanted me to keep him happy. I was so sick of it, and eventually—” She dragged the back of her hand across her face. “Eventually, it was just easier to say yes than no. So I did. I let him fuck me on the beanbag in his daughters’ schoolroom. Six times in total.”
The room was quiet for a long time, and Nathan could hear muffled voices in the hall.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, definitely talking to Katy this time.
“It’s not your fault. It’s my fault. I’m the one who gave in.” Her shoulders slouched. “And after all that, it didn’t even help things. Cameron seemed disgusted with me, or with himself. It didn’t stop him coming back for more, but I think he felt ashamed for five minutes, and he blamed me for that. And then—” She gestured down at her flat stomach and shook her head. “If he wasn’t happy before, he definitely wasn’t happy about this.”
“When did you tell him?”
“As soon as I realized it myself. About two weeks before he—” She swallowed. “Before he died. He was angry. Told me I had to get rid of it. Which was fine by me, there’s no way I wanted this either. That’s what he was talking to me about on the morning he went missing. He’d got me an appointment at the big medical center next week.” Her eyes were clear now. “That’s why I’m sure he was planning to come back, though. He was telling me I had to go through with the appointment. I was going to anyway, but if he was about to disappear, why would he care?”
It was a good question, Nathan thought, although it at least answered another one. “The medical center is the one in St. Helens?”
“Yeah.”
“And you had somewhere to stay up there?”
“A couple of nights in one of the hotels.”
“And Cameron called to arrange that?” She nodded, and Nathan pictured the office phone bill. Two calls to St. Helens, the week before Cameron died.
“And Simon definitely doesn’t know?” he said.
“Not yet.” She pressed her lips into a line. “Not at all, I hope.”
“What will you tell him about the appointment?”
“Nothing. I’ll make something up. He’s squeamish. He won’t ask for details. But I need to get it done. He’s not a complete idiot, either. If he finds out, he’ll finish with me.”
Nathan opened his mouth, then shut it again. The despair on Katy’s face made him open it again.
“Would that be so bad?” He shrugged when she looked surprised. “Your call, but I’m not sure you owe Simon anything.”
“We’ve been together for three years.” She held up her left hand. “We’re engaged.”
“So what? People can change their minds. My ex-wife and I were married for longer than that before she left.” He gave her a small smile. “She’s doing great, by all accounts. Never been happier.”
Katy hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Nathan pushed himself away from the wall. “Anyway, look, take it easy from here. We’ll cope without you.”
“Thank you. Really. I honestly don’t know how it came to this. I was just so confused and lonely.” She breathed out. “Thank you for believing me.”
He might not have, Nathan knew in the most honest part of himself as he opened the bedroom door. He might very well not have, had it not felt so unnervingly familiar. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the warning signs back when he had the chance. There was nothing he could do about that, but he could heed them now.
It was time to find Steve.
31
“Mate, what do you want me to tell you? That Cameron attacked a backpacker on the sand dunes after they both got drunk at a party?”
Steve’s gaze was firm and steady, and Nathan had trouble meeting it.
“No. Jesus. I don’t know.”
Nathan ran his hand through his hair and took a breath. The air was cloying. He had found the nurse in the living room and gripped his arm. He’d seen Liz notice, with a spark of hope in her eye, as Nathan wordlessly led Steve out onto the veranda and around the side of the house, where they could talk in peace. Now, though, he was finding the conversation exceptionally difficult.
“I just want to know what really happened,” Nathan said.
“I can’t tell you that, mate. No, listen—” Steve raised a finger to cut him off. “I’ll tell you exactly what I told Ilse earlier—I’m guessing it’s no
coincidence you’re both asking about this—I don’t know what happened that night any more than you do.”
Nathan made a frustrated noise. “But at the time—”
“Yeah, at the time, I had an opinion, same as everyone else.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“But it’s important that you understand—”
“Understood. Get to the point.”
Steve squinted into the fierce afternoon light. They could see the graves in the distance. One old, one brand-new. He ran his tongue over his teeth.
“There was some light bruising on Jenna’s inner thighs. And a mark on her upper arm. Here.” Steve touched the soft flesh below his own armpit. “No tearing or bleeding to speak of, but that doesn’t necessarily tell you anything either way.”
“But it looked like it had been, what—?” Nathan’s mouth felt dry and gritty. “Rough?”
“Possibly. Or possibly just clumsy. Inexperienced, even. Some people bruise in situations where others might not.” Steve pressed his lips together. “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Physically, I would say it wasn’t possible to draw a conclusion. The benefit of the doubt would probably fall Cameron’s way, in fact.”
Nathan waited for a trickle of relief that never came. He shifted his weight. He could see some movement around the front of the house. The odd person wandering out, making a move to leave. He turned back to Steve.
“So what else was there?”
“Honestly, nothing. It came down to what she said.” Steve watched as a few more people came out into the open air, shielding their eyes against the sun. “Her boyfriend—this real soft-spoken English boy—had convinced her to come in, and I know most people thought that was because he was angry, but that wasn’t the case, as far as I saw. He was worried about her, a bit scared, even. Like he didn’t have a clue what to do. He probably didn’t. I think he was doing a degree in botany or something. I remember he kept blinking at me behind his glasses like I was going to be able to fix everything.” Steve shook his head. “I don’t think they’d been together very long. Anyway, he waited outside while Jenna and I talked, so whatever she told me wasn’t for his benefit.”
“And what did she tell you?”
“You already know,” Steve said. “You’ve heard the story. That she’d been drinking, and she’d started flirting with this kid because she was bored and didn’t know anyone, and she was annoyed her boyfriend had stayed behind at the station rather than come to the party. Cameron was young.” Steve frowned as he remembered. “She told me she’d thought he was harmless. It was all just a bit of fun to pass the time. And there were a lot of other people around, so she said she’d felt safe. I remember her saying that.”
The crowd at the front of the house was growing. Nathan could hear car doors slamming and engines starting up, but didn’t look over. He stayed focused on Steve.
“Then Cameron offered to drive her back to town.” The nurse’s voice had a darker note now. “She’d been drinking, she said. And was feeling a bit unsteady. Apparently, she’d thought she was following him to the car, but realized she was actually alone with him on the dunes. He started kissing her, picking up where they’d left off around the campfire. Jenna told him she’d had enough and asked him to stop.”
Steve looked at Nathan.
“Cameron didn’t want to. And I know he was only seventeen, but he wasn’t a child, physically, at least.”
Nathan thought of the calf, struggling underneath him. A knee in the right place, an elbow. A little bit of pressure. The struggling could be managed.
“Jenna couldn’t get away from him?”
“Honestly, she might not even have tried. She said she froze. I think she felt a bit ashamed about that, but it’s actually a very common response. Either way, she was out there on her own in the dark with this big, insistent bloke.” He looked at Nathan. “Someone can decide it’s in their best interests to agree to something, but a choice is only really a choice if there’s a genuine alternative. Otherwise it’s manipulation and it’s taking advantage.” He shrugged. “It’s rape.”
Nathan thought of Katy. It was easier to say yes than no.
Steve was watching him. “I’m sorry. I know that’s hard to hear.”
A burst of laughter caught on the breeze, raucous and deep. Nathan looked over this time. Whole groups of guests were spilling out now. He saw Melanie, her hair glowing red-gold in the sunshine. She caught his eye and waved.
“I’m heading off now,” she called, pointing to a nice-looking Land Cruiser, where a couple of the Atherton crowd were already climbing aboard. “It was good to see you.”
“Yeah. You too.”
She smiled at him, and he had a sudden image of her, younger, and smiling just like that as she sipped a drink under a night sky. Had she been at the party by the sand dunes that night? Nathan wondered. He honestly couldn’t remember. He realized she was still waiting, and he cleared his throat. “Maybe see you again.”
“I hope so.” She looked pleased and, with another wave, jogged toward the waiting vehicle.
Nathan turned his attention back to Steve, who was still watching her leave.
“You should call her,” Steve said. “She’d do you far more good than anything I could prescribe.”
“So I keep getting told.” Nathan waved an impatient hand. “Listen, if Jenna was so scared, why did she let Cam drive her back to town afterwards?”
“How many kilometers from the dunes to town?”
“Twelve.”
“Long way to walk at night when you’re shaken up and alone.”
“She could have asked someone else.”
“I thought she didn’t know anyone else there.”
Nathan said nothing. She hadn’t. Only Jacqui, who had left earlier, with him. He imagined Cam and Jenna driving back into town. Pulling up outside the pub, where they were seen by Rob, the owner.
“Rob saw Jenna kissing Cam in the car, back in town,” he said, finally.
“Did he?” Steve’s eyes were watchful. “Or did he see Cameron kiss Jenna, and her allow it so she’d be let out of the car?”
“Jesus, Steve, how am I supposed to know that?”
“You’re not. Just like I don’t know. And Rob looking out of his pub window doesn’t know either. Like I said, an opinion is the best I can offer.”
Nathan frowned. He could see Harry among the crowd now, alongside Liz. She was clinging to him like a lifeboat as people reached out to grip her hand and pull her toward them in an embrace. There were waves and calls of farewell. Harry caught Nathan’s eye and beckoned him over. Nathan ignored him.
“Jenna took her time telling anyone.” He turned back to Steve, surprised by the defensive note in his tone. “She didn’t help herself there by pretending everything was fine.”
Steve almost smiled, but caught himself.
“What?” Nathan demanded.
“Just that that’s bloody rich coming from you,” Steve said. “Nathan, people pretend to themselves that they are fine all the time. Every day, and for years on end.”
He gestured at the departing crowd, sweating in their dusty funeral clothes and with hours of driving ahead of them. “Life out here is hard. We all try to get through the best way we can. But trust me, there’s not a single person here who isn’t lying to themselves about something.”
Ilse’s head appeared amid the group, loose strands of hair plastered to the sides of her hot face. Steve’s eyes fell on her for a second, and he took a breath as if to say something, then appeared to change his mind, releasing the air from his lungs. He turned back to Nathan.
“You are one of the worst around here for that kind of thing, by an absolute mile. You’re so far from fine that you’re terrified to admit to yourself how bad things have got. Let alone admit it to your mum or your son. They’ve both asked me to get you in for a chat and a check-up, by the way.”
“I know. Okay.”
“Really? You’ll
come in? No argument?”
Nathan shook his head. He knew he had crossed a line somewhere—maybe in the last few hours, maybe in the past few years—and suddenly that line seemed a very long way away. He didn’t want to be alone on this side of it anymore. He just hoped he could still find his way back.
More people came out of the house, Simon among them. Katy followed a few paces behind. They stood slightly apart, both from the crowd and each other, Katy occasionally glancing at Simon with a faintly confused look, as though she was trying to work something out. She did not turn once toward Ilse, who was wandering from group to group, looking overwhelmed.
“If this had all been dealt with at the time, it would have been better for everyone,” Nathan said. Across the yard, the graves lay silent and lonely. There was no one around them now. All the activity was with the living. “Including Cam.”
Steve nodded. “I sometimes think I should’ve encouraged Jenna to make things formal straight away. But it was my first posting out here. I was younger; I hadn’t been qualified for long. I’d do things differently now, but at the time, I did my best. Jenna said she needed to think about it, and I felt I should respect that. Then, of course, she’d left town a couple of days later, so the problem went with her.” Steve shrugged. “But you’d know the reasons for that better than I would, anyway.”
Nathan frowned. “What are you talking about? I don’t know why she decided to leave.”
It was Steve’s turn to frown. “Don’t you?”
“Of course not. How would I?”
The last of the crowd were climbing into their cars now. Cameron’s farewell was coming to an end.
“You might not think you know, Nathan.” Steve shot a pointed look across the yard to the two graves under the gum tree. “But can you really not take a guess?”
Nathan opened his mouth to protest, then stopped as he heard the distant thud of a car door. And another one. He shut his mouth slowly.
He’d been in that same yard, twenty-three years ago, not far from the spot Steve was looking at now. Nathan and seven-year-old Bub had been messing around with a cricket bat over by the fence there, back when the ground was still clear and undisturbed. Bub had been practicing his bowling as Nathan tapped the ball back in his direction.