by L. J. Fox
The Brays
Lisa Fox
"Everything you can imagine is real"
Pablo Picasso
Contents
The Brays
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
About The Author
Books By This Author
Chapter 1
He felt an icy chill travel up his spine, and the blood drain from his face. He had felt this so many times lately. This feeling of impending doom was increasing though he tried not to show it in front of the others. It was his regular companion and an unwelcome one. He found it difficult to maintain his normal persona and attitude when this feeling of impending doom threatened to drag him down into the depths of depression. When he was with them, he had to be the strong husband and confident father, but when alone, he surrendered to the fear and dread that lurked within. When had he become so useless? When had his confident and positive character come to an end?
He sighed and was aware that the blackness he felt, was a form of situational depression. The dread kept him awake at night, made his pulse race and his thoughts scatter. He did not matter, he told himself. He was nobody, nothing. It was not his own potential demise that kept him awake, that threatened to tip him over the edge. No, he reasoned. He did not matter, not anymore. He was unimportant. His life has ceased to have meaning, other than to protect those that were precious to him. That was what made his life important, and only that.
He hesitated. His hands paused on the suitcases in the boot, shaking slightly, and tried to discretely glance behind him, then cautiously around the side of the upright boot lid. Were they watching him right now? Of course, they would be. They were everywhere.
The street was relatively quiet with a few cars parked out the front of the houses and apartments. He could hear a dog bark somewhere, a few streets away, and the roar of a lawnmower further on. His next-door neighbour had music playing from their garage where Gary spent his time tinkering with cars. A few children were walking along the footpath with a small dog on a lead. Normal things that normal people did. Everything looked normal for a Saturday morning, but he knew better.
It was inevitable that they were coming for him and he was surprised they had let things stand for so long. Maybe they were waiting. Waiting for what? For the baby to be born? For the baby to show what she could do? They could have ended this long ago, and he really had no idea why he had been allowed to exist for this period of time. He was so dispensable to them, so insignificant. So … nothing.
He didn’t kid himself that he was a hero or very brave, and in fact he was terrified, but the fear was for the safety of his family. The thought of his wife, Beverley, being harmed, or his little girl, Layne, was what absolutely unnerved him, and unearthed the debilitating periods of dread. It was this thought that kept him awake at night and constantly peering out windows and looking over his shoulder. He knew he could not live in a world without the two of them and he knew that he would fight tooth and nail to protect them.
“Hi. Mr Harrison.”
A high-pitched voice snapped him out of his revere. He spun around in fright and looked down at the twin girls from a few houses up. Their bright red hair in ponytails and their smiling faces.
“Can we play with Layne?” asked the slightly taller of the two.
He remembered these girls had been at his house a few weeks ago, playing barbie dolls with Layne in the backyard. They were both a few years older than Layne but enjoyed spending time with her.
“Sorry girls. Not today. We are on our way out.”
He closed the boot and watched the two girls head off back down the footpath.
He stood for a few minutes looking at the house and the garden. They had been happy here, his little family. This little house, barely larger than an apartment, had been home, and had been where their daughter had been born. Right there, in the front bedroom, he had assisted as his little girl had come into the world. Beverley had refused to go to a hospital. It was hard to walk away from this world, this semblance of normality but they no longer had a choice.
As he walked back through the front door of the house, Layne ran up to him bubbly and excited, her honey blonde hair cascading around her face and her ginger cat dangling from her arm.
“Daddy, Daddy, Mr Blue wanted to go out the window, but I told him no.”
She looked up at the tall figure of her father, Mr Blue placidly hanging half on either side of her arm.
Brad knelt down to her level, looking into her vivid blue eyes and wrapped his arms around her. Mr Blue wriggled trying to break free of the cuddle mass.
“Layne. How would you like to stay with Nana and Pop for a few days?” he asked making his voice sound cheerful.
She cocked her head as if thinking about it and looked in his eyes.
“Could Mr Blue come too?” she asked carefully.
“Yes. Mr Blue can come too.”
He gave her a hug pressing her three-year-old head to his chest. Mr Blue with a good sense of timing, squirmed out and headed to the laundry to escape as fast as his ginger legs would carry him.
When Brad looked up, Beverley was standing in the hallway watching him with Layne. She was also trying to keep her composure. Her beautiful face was masked with pain. She had never been separated from her daughter before.
“I’ll find the cat carrier. I think it is in the garage somewhere.” she said softly as she retreated.
Layne pulled back and looked at her father.
“Don’t be sad Daddy. Nana and Pop have lots of farm animals to play with.”
She smiled at him hoping to cheer him up. Brad marvelled as he always did, at how mature she was for a three-year old, how in tune with people’s thou
ghts and emotions. He was aware that Layne recognised something significant was afoot and this trip was making her parents sad. They had to be very careful discussing anything that Layne could potentially hear. They had taken lately to writing notes on a notepad and then discarding the paper, as Layne was able to identify words.
The sound of Mr Blue miaowing reached them and they both turned to see Beverley standing in the hallway with the cat carrier in her hand. Mr Blue’s ginger face and pink nose pressed up against the wire of the door, miaowing his displeasure. Layne laughed and clapped her hands together.
“Mr Blue. You are going to be a farm cat.” she said.
Chapter 2
Nina stood in the lounge room, gazing out the old wooden sash window at her granddaughter playing with the potty calves. The four Hereford calves pushed and nudged each other trying to be the one at the front of the railed fence to suck on her fingers. These calves were being bottle fed so anything remotely resembling the teat from a bottle was something to be sucked. She could tell by the shaking of her granddaughter’s body that Layne was giggling. She had always loved the calves and spent a lot of time playing with them and giving them their bottles of milk. She had told her grandmother that she loved their pink noses, leathery tongues and big brown eyes. As always, by her side were the two farm dogs, Sally and Bon. The border collies shadowed Layne wherever she ventured on the farm. Nina always knew Layne was safe if Sally and Bon were with her.
The wind whipped up and Layne’s long honey blonde hair sprayed up, revealing the beauty in her laughing face. Nina’s breath caught in her throat and she let out a small sob. Her husband was suddenly behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He must have been behind her, watching Layne as well. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she had not been aware of his presence.
“She will be alright. We’ve done a good job. She’s a smart girl” he said quietly.
Nina turned to face him. Unchecked, tears rolled down her reddened cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and looked up at her husband’s hazel eyes. She could see his face was firm as he tried to control his emotions. He was always the strong one, the one able to keep calm and not become too emotional.
“Oh Ross. Should we talk to her about ... things? Maybe she should be more aware. Maybe she will not go if she knows. Have we done the wrong thing? I couldn’t bear to lose another.”
She gave another involuntary sob. Stifling it with her fist less Layne hear or become aware of her anguish. Ross wrapped his arms around her, patting her back to reassure her. Those strong, wiry arms in their cotton checked shirt. How often those arms had held her and supported her. They were welcome now as they always had been in times of need. They stood together, holding each other as they silently watched their granddaughter with the calves. They saw Layne turn and look their way for a few moments. She knew of their sadness. Perhaps she was aware of the sob that had just escaped from her grandmother.
Ross cleared his throat. A strategy to ensure his voice did not sound weak or emotive.
“What would we tell her? We don’t really know anything. She knows as much as we can tell her. We can’t shield her forever. She has to build her own future. We must let her find her own way. We have to let her go.”
He said the last sentence with a finality that he was trying to believe himself. He was just as unsure of what they should do as his wife was.
“But what if they come after her? We won’t be there to protect her. She wouldn’t even know to look for them. How could we live with ourselves?”
Nina resumed her sobbing. “She is such an innocent. That is our fault. Our fault Ross. She is not worldly enough. She is way too naïve.”
“They have never shown any interest in her before. We can’t ruin her future and frighten her. We have to trust that she will know what to do should that happen.” His voice was calm and soothing, but he was as afraid as Nina was of what the future would hold for his granddaughter.
“She is a smart girl. You know how intuitive she is, how she can feel things. She will know if something is wrong. She will be ok. We must trust in her.”
They both looked out the window and watched the girl with the calves. They knew she would miss the calves and all the animals on the farm. She had an infinity with animals and always had. Even as a baby, the chickens, dogs and ducks had congregated around her pram, almost like they were guarding her. The tribe of guardians. Once she started walking, the horses and cows followed her along the fence line and waited at the gate for her. After she came to live with them, she had a constant guard of animals wherever she wandered on the farm. Even the ginger cat, Mr Blue, had been her constant companion for fifteen years until he peacefully died in his sleep a few years earlier.
At school, at friend’s houses and when she walked around town, dogs and cats seemed to follow her. Ross joked with her once that she must have pooped her pants and that was why the animals were following her. She thought that was the funniest thing she had ever heard.
Nina stifled another sob. “She is so precious Ross.”
“I know. I know. She is indeed.” He nodded.
They held each other, both afraid of the future but not sure what the right course of action might be.
Chapter 3
She was all packed and ready to go. Her new black suitcase with the four tiny swivel wheels sat on the bed, packed with everything she would need for her new life. This had taken some time and consideration. What do you pack for a new life? Everything you own? A bit of everything? Layne had never been a big hoarder of belongings but when it came to the point of packing everything she would need in a new location; it had become quite a challenge. Of course, many items would remain in her childhood bedroom so she would still feel this was her room when she came to visit.
She looked around her room, with the single bed still with the pink/purple tones of her childhood, at the walls with posters of horses, dogs and cats, and the stuffed toys she could not bring herself to part with. The shelf on the wall contained a small wooden box that contained the ashes from Mr Blue, her best friend. She still felt teary when she looked at that box. He belonged here at the farm, in her bedroom. Her bedside table usually had a photo of her grandparents in a photo frame, and her parents in another photo frame, but the table was currently bare, the treasured photos packed up in her suitcase for display on her new bedside table.
It was hard to let go of this happy and safe childhood, to say goodbye to her grandparents, her beloved farm animals, her local school friends, and go out into the world to face the unknown. She was all too aware that she was unprepared for a life away from this sheltered life, this country town.
Feeling nostalgic, Layne sat on the padded chair by the window and looked around one last time. She felt tears welling in her eyes and blinked to let them fall. This had been her home for sixteen years since she was three years old. She could barely remember her room at the house she had shared with her parents up until she was three years old, but this childish room was her home and her heart. Everything in this room held meaning and a cherished memory. She had even saved all the love letters from would-be school boyfriends and the scribbled notes she had shared with her best friend, Belinda.
She knew her grandparents were struggling with her leaving, and she felt heavy hearted about it. Her grandparents had always been so wonderful to her, so loving and caring, pseudo-parents. She hated the thought of hurting them, and she knew that her leaving was deeply troubling them. but she needed to move on and had been accepted at a university in Melbourne. Her sheltered childhood was about to end. She was terrified at the thought and yet looked forward to welcoming a new life where she could embrace the world and be her own person. She knew there was a big world out there, a big world where she could contribute to society in some way. What way, she did not know. It was time.
She moved to the window and raised the old-fashioned sash window. From the first-floor room, a gentle summer breeze drifted in. Layne closed
her eyes and breathed in the scent slowly, savouring it. She could smell the lucerne hay stored in the hay shed, relishing the freshness of the hay just recently cut and baled, the potty calves with their milky breath, the molasses in the shed, her grandmother’s salty tears, the leftover coffee in the plunger, and so many other smells she knew that she wasn’t supposed to be able to detect. She could isolate and identify hundreds and hundreds of smells from the farm. She had made it a game over the years to identify every possible smell, so she knew immediately what was happening around her. Sometimes there were smells that she did not wish to detect but was a prisoner to the aroma. The death of an animal or the blood from a birth, or a slaughter always upset her. Not long after she came to live at the farm, her grandfather stopped any slaughtering of animals on the property, but deaths still happened from time to time. She could smell when an animal was sick. She could smell the fox before he got into the chicken coop and alerted the farm dogs to his presence. The herbicide, insecticide and pesticide spraying by the neighbouring farms were a great source of grief for her on many levels. The smell was so overpowering and offensive to her, but also, she could detect the harm to nature and animal life. She had tried to educate her neighbours but only been partly successful to date. Her grandparents had implemented a system of eco-friendly practices for some time now. No nasty chemicals, sprays or harmful substances.
She could sense her grandmother’s grief and panic at her leaving, based on her accelerated heartbeat, facial expression and the smell of her salty tears. With her grandfather, she could detect his accelerated heartbeat, and the effort he was taking to keep his breathing measured. He was hiding his fear and yet visibly showing acceptance and reluctance. Even Sally and Bon, the farm dogs knew something was going on but were unaware of what was happening or why there was this human reaction happening. She knew you could not hide fear from an animal.
She looked across toward the farm gate which was more than eight hundred metres away. A compacted dirt driveway ran between the farmhouse and the gate, with paddocks of cows on either side. She could just see the driveway to the right of her window as her bedroom was facing the back of the house, to the west and the driveway meandered to the north-east.