by Jane Harper
“I think Cameron forced her.”
“I do too.”
They looked at each other for a long time.
Nathan had finally opened his mouth to say something when he heard footsteps on the other side of the yard. “Sounds like Harry doing the generator. Do you want to get inside before the lights go out?”
Ilse took a sip of beer, not quite looking at him now. “Do you?”
“No.”
Her eyes turned back to him just before the familiar electrical thump plunged them into darkness. The generator fell silent, and there was the sound of Harry climbing the stairs to his own cabin.
Nathan put the guitar down. He could hear nothing now but the distant rush of wind and Ilse breathing. Against the inky night sky, he watched as her shadow tilted its head back and looked up at the stars.
“I was trying to leave him.”
Nathan felt something stir deep inside him. “Were you?”
“I’ve been planning it for a while. Leave with Sophie and Lo. It’s not that easy around here, though. Practically, I mean. You can’t just pick up and go. I mean you can, physically, but—” She waved a hand at the hundreds of kilometers of space all around them. “Go where?”
To me, Nathan wanted to say. You could have come to me. He stopped himself. “Were you leaving because of Katy and the others?”
“No, actually. Although that obviously didn’t help. There were other reasons.” She was quiet for a long time. “It’s hard being married to someone who really doesn’t love you.”
Nathan thought of Jacqui, and felt a sudden flash of sympathy for her. Their marriage hadn’t been easy on him, but it hadn’t been easy on her, either. He looked at Ilse. “I’m sorry you were unhappy.”
She gave a small laugh, and he saw her take another sip from her bottle. “That’s not your fault, Nathan. I just wish—” She stopped.
“What?”
They sat across from each other in the dark, the constellations brilliant above, their drinks warming in the air, the guitar lying on the step.
“I honestly didn’t know Cameron was your brother when he first started talking to me,” she said, finally.
“Ilse, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter now.”
“No, listen to me. I could have guessed, though. It wasn’t hard to work out. But I was all by myself in this strange town. I didn’t have any friends. I don’t know exactly what I was hoping for with you, but when you disappeared—” She paused, and Nathan felt a familiar painful twist at the sheer missed opportunity. Ilse sighed. “—I was feeling sorry for myself, and suddenly Cameron was there. And he was good-looking, and so charming.” She said the word like it was a fault. “He laughed at my jokes. I was flattered, I suppose. I’d never had anyone like him interested in me. And I was so young and stupid.”
“Yeah, well,” Nathan said. “I know what that’s like. I wasn’t even that young when I stuffed everything up, so I’ve got no excuse.”
He saw the flash of a smile in the dark, quick but real. The step creaked gently. He didn’t see her move but all of a sudden she felt a little closer.
“Cameron said he loved me. And then I was pregnant, and then we were married, and then ten years later, here I am. It’s just, sometimes I stand on this veranda, and I look out, and I wonder—” Her voice was soft. “How things might have turned out if I hadn’t been quite so young and dumb. If I’d only done one or two things differently.”
“I wonder that all the time.”
“Do you?”
“Every day.”
Her hand was inches from his own in the dark. He could feel the ends of his fingertips tingle against the dusty porch.
“Ilse.” He said her name softly.
The step creaked again. Definitely a little closer. Her clean, damp hair smelled like the ocean.
“Ilse, I wanted to say—”
“Nathan.” Her voice was quiet. “It’s honestly okay.”
“No. Please—”
“It’s okay, truly.”
“I am so sorry.”
“I know.” Her fingertips brushed his.
“I tried to come back to see you, more than once. I was ashamed of what I’d done. And I was worried what you’d say, but I should have tried harder. I really wanted to talk to you.” The words were tumbling out, falling over each other in relief at being finally spoken. “I regret that more than—”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do, though. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that when I could have. And if I hurt you.” Her eyes were bright in the darkness, and he could feel the warmth of her fingertips against his. “I’m sorry about so much. Everything, really. And I’m sorry for me. For having it all in front of me and letting you go like that. For missing my chance.”
Her voice was close. “That was all a long time ago.”
“I know, but I’ve been wanting to tell you that ever since.”
“You’ve been waiting ten years to tell me that?”
“Yes.”
“Nathan.” He could feel her breath soft on his lips. “What are you waiting for now?”
He leaned in.
34
They broke apart for air, half-standing, half-stumbling up the darkened steps with her skin warm against his, and Nathan felt Ilse pull him toward the sleeping house. His hand was tight in hers, and his mind leaped and bounded ahead, up the steps, past his sleeping bag on the couch and to her room—Cameron’s room—and he felt her hesitate at the same time.
“Wait. Not there,” he said into her hair.
“Where, then?” she whispered.
“This way.”
He took her by the hand, moving as fast as the dark would let him around the side of the house and toward the driveway, and suddenly it was ten years ago, and he was pressing her up against the side of his four-wheel drive, and he could feel her mouth hot and sweet on his, and her hands fumbling at his waistband. He threw open the rear door of the car, shoving equipment and supplies aside as he dragged a blanket onto the floor.
The suspension creaked as they stretched out, and he could hear their breath as the moon shone through the windows. She reached for him, and he could feel the weight of the years falling away, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he could breathe properly. She was warm and steady, and suddenly it was all flooding back: the way he had felt that first night, lying close to her with the years laid out ahead of him and the choices still there to be made. And he felt as though in this moment, for once in his life, he was exactly where he should be, with his arms around her as the Christmas stars burned hot and bright in the night sky above them. It felt right. It felt like a second chance.
* * *
Later, in the dark blue pre-dawn of Christmas morning, they lay side by side. A warm breeze blew through the open car doors as they watched the giant sky move through its nightly rotation. Neither had spoken for a while.
“I don’t believe Sophie hurt her arm riding,” Ilse whispered. Her eyes were still on the stars.
“Don’t you?”
“Cameron did it. I’m sure.” They didn’t look at each other. “He scared himself. I could tell from his face.”
Nathan continued to stare at the sky.
“He was the only one out at the stables with Sophie when it happened.” Ilse propped herself up on her elbow, facing him now. “She can be lazy about cleaning them out, and she hadn’t done it properly. And Cam had been in this terrible mood all day. Worse than usual. I didn’t realize he was alone with her or I would have—” She stopped. “I don’t know what. Anyway. They came into the house, with Sophie crying her eyes out and Cameron with this story about her horse throwing her off. I suppose it could have happened. But she’s a good little rider, and when she falls, she knows what to do. It was Cameron who gave himself away, though. I could see it. He was scared by how far he’d gone.”
Nathan still said nothing, just looked out at the endless stars instead.
“It�
�s true,” she said. “I promise.”
Slowly, he reached out a hand and rested it on hers.
“I believe you. I’m just—” He thought about his brothers and himself. And their dad and the years growing up under him. What they’d all become. “Very sad.”
The sky was a whole shade lighter when they spoke again. He ran his thumb along her forearm, stopping at a deep purple bruise near her elbow.
“That wasn’t him,” Ilse said. “That was from the calf the other day.”
He moved his thumb instead to the back of her hand, where there was an old burn mark shaped like the tip of an iron. They looked at each other for a long time, then, in the dusky half-light, she nodded. She twisted gently and showed him her shoulder and another scar, older and differently shaped. She twisted again. And again. Secrets written on patches of skin.
Nathan pictured the large bottle of paracetamol on her bedside table. “I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t do it all the time. Not every day. Nothing like that. Sometimes months could go by. Sometimes he wasn’t—”
“What?”
“As bad.”
Nathan made himself ask. “Did anyone else notice?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Really?”
She looked at him. “Did you?”
The impulse to ignore the question was so strong it was an almost physical reaction. But he made himself lie there and look at her. He thought about leaving rooms as she entered, avoiding anything but the most superficial conversation. Looking at her only through the veil of his own suffocating self-pity and regret. Finally, he shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “I didn’t.”
“You’re not alone. I did wonder if maybe Harry suspected, but there’s so much to do here so he’s always so busy. Bub—” She shrugged. “Cam bullied him, as well, in his own way. I don’t think Bub even realized it anymore. He’s so used to being pushed around, he thinks it’s completely normal.”
“What about Mum?”
Ilse’s face hardened.
“What?” he said.
“I tried to talk to her once. It didn’t go well.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing, at first. She seemed to think I was talking about typical marriage spats. I don’t know if she honestly didn’t get it, or if she deliberately wouldn’t. So I tried again. And that time”—Ilse stopped. “That time, she got annoyed. Told me this property was hard enough to run, and I should be supporting Cameron, not picking fights. I was scared she would tell him what I’d said, and that would’ve made it so much worse. I never brought it up again.”
Nathan was quiet again, for longer this time as his mind ran back through the years, remembering all sorts of things. Finally, he took a breath.
“Our dad—” he started, then stopped, not sure how to go on.
Ilse waited. “I know,” she said when he didn’t continue. “Cameron told me how bad he was.”
“Did he?” Nathan was genuinely surprised. He had never told anyone. Not Jacqui, not Xander. Not Bub and not Cameron. He and his brothers had never talked about it, not once in their whole adult lives.
“Cameron thought he could be different,” Ilse said. “I do think he wanted to be a good dad and a good husband. And he could be great, he really could, but then he would turn. It could be over nothing. He became someone else. For a long time, I was worried about him, and then one day I woke up and realized I was scared of him.”
Nathan looked at her.
“The funny thing is, I think he knew it before I did.” She shook her head. “I was already too late. He’d chipped away at everything over the years. I have nothing of my own out here. Our bank account isn’t even in my name, did you know that? He checked all the statements, had to approve every transaction.” She glanced in the direction of the garages. “Did you find anything wrong with my car?”
“No. Nothing.”
“I think Cameron used to sabotage it.”
“Seriously?”
“Not often, but getting stuck out there once or twice was enough. He knew how to do it too, so I’d get a few kilometers before it would drop out. Like last year, I was stuck for nearly five hours, waiting for him to come and drag me home like an animal. I couldn’t trust the car, and if I couldn’t trust it, he knew I couldn’t drive it. And I couldn’t take the girls away in it.”
Ilse lay back again. The stars were growing fainter now.
“Not that we’d get far anyway,” she said. “My passport has expired. Neither of the girls even has one. He’d taken my driving license and residency documents, in theory to file away, but when I wanted them, I couldn’t find them. I haven’t had a paid job since I worked in the pub. I don’t have any family in this country, no real friends. And people around here liked Cameron. If they had to choose a side, it wouldn’t be mine.” Ilse turned her head. “Just ask Jenna Moore.”
“What about Glenn? He’s a good bloke. He could have protected you.”
“How?” Ilse’s gaze was serious, and Nathan realized she was really asking. “How is he going to protect me from my husband in the next room? He’s three hours away in the police station on a good day. Do you know what an angry person can do in three hours?”
Nathan said nothing. He did, actually.
“There are accidents just waiting to happen around here,” she said. “Maybe next time, it’s me who falls from my horse, but instead of breaking my arm, I break my neck. Or I get my hand ripped off in machinery. Or get backed over by one of the cars. Or Sophie does, or Lo.”
Nathan thought about that, then had to stop thinking about it.
“Things had been getting worse these last few months,” Ilse went on. “Since he found out that Jenna called, in hindsight. I’d made an emergency plan, in case I had to leave in a hurry. I started collecting cash, anything small I could get my hands on. I put aside some things for the girls, clothes and toys. Not enough that Cameron would notice, but then Lo made a fuss, and I had to put most of them back. So I concentrated on trying to find some of the most important documents, the girls’ birth certificates, my proof of residency, things like that. When I had a few things together, I’d drive out and hide them.”
Nathan pictured her kneeling under the blazing sun by the headstone at the stockman’s grave, turning the soil.
“You hid them at the grave?”
“It’s on the way to town, but far enough away from here that I felt a bit safer. If Cameron had found out—” She stopped. “Anyway. I wrapped everything in a plastic envelope and buried it.”
“So what happened?”
“Cameron hurt Sophie. That was the final straw. Or I thought it was, at least. I’d always told myself it was one thing when it was between me and him, but when it came to the girls—” She sat up. “The next morning, I put Sophie and Lo in the workers’ car. I didn’t tell anyone we were going, didn’t pack anything. But reality sank in on the way. I hadn’t saved nearly enough money. The fuel alone to get anywhere from here is bad enough, and I’d have to pay for accommodation, food, clothes for the girls to replace what we’d left. Legal fees, maybe? I didn’t have anything like enough for long-term survival.” She looked out at the far horizon, visible now against the encroaching dawn.
“So you came back?”
“It was terrible. I hated myself for it. I just stood beside that stupid grave. I didn’t even bother to dig up the envelope, in the end. I put the girls back in the car. It was the longest drive of my life. The girls were confused. I couldn’t think what to tell them.” She shook her head. “After that, I started grabbing whatever I needed as fast as I could.”
She shook her head.
“Cameron noticed. I’m sure of it. He was always around, I couldn’t get out of his sight. Harry had to practically order him to go and fix that mast on Lehmann’s Hill, Cam had been putting it off so long. On that last morning, when Cam pulled over on the driveway before he left—”
She frowned, remembering.
Nathan pictured Cameron’s body under the tarp and the shallow hole in the ground. “He didn’t have anything with him when he was found.” Certainly not a plastic envelope full of cash and documents.
“I know. I thought it must still be buried there. I was scared someone would stumble across it. I didn’t want anyone to think that I—”
“What?”
“Had anything to do with what happened to him.”
The faint tan lines and freckles on her skin were visible in the early-morning glow. The sky was almost fully light now. The household would be waking up.
“The day before yesterday was the first chance I had. I went out there and dug, same spot as always.”
Nathan remembered her kneeling at the grave, bent over in the sun, the small movement in her shoulders. “So you got it back?”
Ilse shook her head. “No. That’s just it. The envelope wasn’t there anymore.”
Nathan stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
“But if it’s not there, and it wasn’t with Cameron,” he said, “then where is it?”
The shadows of the dawn light stretched across her face. “I don’t know.”
35
Nathan stared at Cameron’s painting. The house was still quiet, but only just. He and Ilse had stayed tangled in the blanket in the back of his car as long as they could, whispering as the sky grew lighter. Finally, they’d had to prise themselves apart. It was Christmas morning. The girls would be on the move.
“It could have been a dingo,” Nathan said, his voice low as he zipped up his jeans. Despite everything, he still felt a warm buzz when he looked at her.