The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  The comment lingered in the air, loaded like the rain-heavy ferns outside. Her cheeks warmed.

  ‘Would you like a tea?’ He smiled and moved over to the table. ‘Or something stronger to warm the cockles. There’s a bottle of red here. Want some?’

  She laughed. ‘What time is it? 10 am?’

  ‘You’re on holidays, aren’t you?’

  Nathalie took a deep breath. The thought of a warming glass of red made her body tingle, that familiar pull. She felt adrenaline race through her. She was in a beautiful cave in the middle of a rainstorm with an intriguing man. ‘Why not?’

  He rinsed the glass with a bottle of water and poured the wine. ‘We’re going to have to share. That okay?’

  There was that glint in his eye. That thing between them again.

  ‘I can cope if you can.’

  He took a sip and passed her the wine, taking a seat in the other hammock.

  ‘Why two hammocks and only one glass?’ she asked, enjoying the softness of the wine in her mouth, the growing warmth of the fire on her damp skin. She peeled off her own raincoat. She thought she felt his eyes glide over her.

  ‘I string them together to make one huge one for when I really want to stretch out. Or maybe I was waiting to bring someone here.’

  A long beat of silence echoed around them. Nathalie felt the meaning of his words shimmy through her like the bright sparks issuing from the fire. She took another sip of wine but didn’t reply.

  ‘I feel honoured,’ she finally said and passed him back the glass, avoiding his eyes. ‘This is going to sound weird, but I feel like we’ve known each other for more than only a couple of days. I have no idea why. Or why I’m even telling you this.’ She laughed nervously.

  Caleb stood and topped up the glass of wine. ‘It’s a pretty big deal for someone with agoraphobia to show someone else their safe space.’

  ‘Agoraphobia?’

  Caleb crouched down to stoke the fire. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, that’s fear of open spaces or–?’

  ‘Not really open spaces. I’m fine anywhere in the valley, and that’s pretty open. And I love the bush. It’s just leaving it that’s hard.’

  ‘Leaving the valley?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can I ask what happens?’

  ‘It’s hard to describe. I’ve had panic attacks. It sounds stupid to say out loud.’

  ‘No. It’s not stupid. I had one of those myself, actually. Not that long ago. When I found out my husband cheated on me. It’s horrible. It comes out of nowhere and your body betrays you.’

  Caleb shot her a sympathetic look. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘That’s something no one else knows, by the way.’ Except Macie, she thought. ‘That my darling husband cheated on me.’ She gave him a pointed look and took a large sip of wine. ‘I self-medicate.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t even refuse wine in the morning.’

  ‘Nor should you,’ he said, his voice full of warmth.

  She returned the emotion with a smile. A strange levity had come over her. Maybe it was the alcohol on an empty stomach but maybe it was telling Caleb what she just had. ‘So, you come here. And you obviously enjoy your own company?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yeah, it’s a lot easier than being around people. But that doesn’t mean I don’t crave . . . connection.’

  ‘Is that what we’re having here?’ She laughed and so did he. She passed him the wine.

  ‘Yep, think it might be.’

  He had such a cheeky smile. It was so unexpected.

  ‘You’re trapped in a valley. I’m trapped in a marriage. That it?’

  He shrugged and laughed. ‘Doesn’t sound unreasonable.’

  ‘Let me analyse you. Young man. Incredibly smart, very good at everything he does – cooking, learning language, building fires, stringing hammocks from impossibly tall cave walls . . . but not so great around people and prefers his own company.’

  He nodded. ‘Accurate. Especially the smart bit.’

  She laughed. ‘And I can see a guitar over there. I’m guessing you play it incredibly well. And let me guess, self-taught also.’

  His eyes flashed. ‘Might be.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got you pinned.’

  ‘Not quite, you forgot, “Likes older women.”’

  She felt her face colour and she pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. The red wine and the fire were loosening her body and her tongue. ‘Oh, I just hadn’t got to that bit yet.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Okay, my turn.’ He paused and she felt him studying her. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling but she squirmed nonetheless. ‘You’re sad. Anyone can see it, but you’re so beautiful that it only adds to your allure. Like the Lady of Shalott painting in the hotel foyer. The beauty trapped in her tower who could only see the world through a reflection in a mirror. People ignore your pain. They focus on your outside. You feel invisible even though everyone is looking at you.’

  A lump formed in her throat, tears pricking her eyes. She was quiet while she swallowed back her emotion. ‘Okay, that’s too much. I need more wine.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked at her with such emotion that she felt her body react to him. ‘Too soon?’

  Nathalie smiled and shook her head, avoided his gaze but desire tugged at her. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m too intense for most people. Scare them off.’ He paused. ‘Especially women.’

  She met his eye then. ‘You don’t scare me.’

  He smiled and nodded, got up. ‘Good.’ He put more kindling on the fire and it crackled and hissed as the damp burned off. ‘Thank you for not mentioning that stuff in the room to the others.’

  ‘You mean the photos of the little boy? Are they Macie’s son?’

  Caleb nodded. ‘I’ve never actually seen inside that room. I was wondering what was in there, actually. That’s why I was freaking out a bit. I know she won’t want anyone to know. God knows how Sim got in there. Macie must have left it open. She was in a hurry to get into town for supplies before the storm struck.’

  ‘Are all those photos because she doesn’t see her little boy anymore? Did she lose custody to the father?’

  ‘I think she used to see him in Sydney. But she doesn’t anymore. She doesn’t like talking about it.’

  Sympathy for Macie welled up. Maybe she was judging her too harshly. ‘That’s sad. That would drive any mother mad. Macie’s a bit of an enigma though. I don’t quite know how to take her. I can’t get a read on her. How is it having her as your boss?’

  Caleb didn’t reply. He moved over to the guitar and picked it up, sat down cross-legged in front of the fire and started plucking out a tune.

  ‘Yep, I was right. You’re good,’ said Nathalie, draining the glass and reclining in the hammock. The wine’s warmth lulled her and she closed her eyes.

  ‘Why, thank you.’

  The music filled the small space, echoing around them, moving through her core. She felt as though she could stay here forever.

  ‘She’s in Sydney a lot. She just comes out here to do her art and check in on everything. She helps out with the bigger bookings.’

  ‘So, you’ve got the run of this place, except for the occasional guest who wants a gourmet meal and a tour of the mines. It doesn’t sound too bad.’

  His fingers paused, the music stopping abruptly. ‘So, I’ve pretty much told you my story, why I’m trapped here. Why do you stay?’

  The impact of his question was like a slap. He’d seen right through her. It felt as though she was naked. How to explain the fear to someone like him? Of being alone with three kids. The judgement from others. The responsibility. The weight of it all. That she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough. She didn’t respond. Instead she moved towards him and took the guitar from his hands. The wood was warm where he’d been holding it. She could see the power she had over him and it felt good. She sat down next to him, crossed her legs on a small cushion. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. She only kn
ew one simple tune and she let her fingers move over the strings, free from her rational mind, pure muscle memory.

  ‘I stay because where on earth would I go?’

  CHAPTER 29

  Emmie

  The rain was a constant chorus, monsoonal now, and shrouding the cliffs in mist. The garden was lush, wet, its leaves shining like dark jewels in the downpour. It would have been the perfect day for reading, curled up by the fire in the lounge room, if not for the unease stretching through her.

  Emmie picked up an old book and smoothed the dust from its cover. The pages were thin and yellowing with age and the faces of the past peered back at her. So many people had once lived in this valley. Families, children. The conditions were awful. She studied their eyes. These had been real people. It was so easy to look at these faces and believe that somehow your story, your life was immune from slipping between the pages of a book to be left on coffee tables in old houses and forgotten. A shiver ran through her and she drew a throw over her knees and took a sip of tea. The room’s cold felt bone-deep, closing around her icy flesh despite the fire she’d lit in the grate. She switched on another lamp, but the corners of the room remained in shadow. What was she even looking for? There were several books about the history of the valley and its mine operation in the bookshelves and on the coffee table.

  The words echoed through her head. You do realise women have gone missing in that valley?

  There had been thousands of comments on her spectre in the window when she checked her phone this morning, heart pounding in the pouring rain. She had managed to find a few bars of reception standing perilously close to the roaring river.

  She’d found lots of new comments and messages. Some were abusive, accusing her of photoshopping the photo. Others were from journalists requesting an interview. But some were from ghost hunters quizzing her about her location, which a history buff had figured out. Someone claiming to be a local historian had recognised the old mine and knew all about the history of the valley. You do realise women have gone missing in Capertee Valley. One in the 1940s by the name of Clara Black (there is plenty of historical detail on this case) and another woman in the ’90s, which is more speculation and local folklore, but equally unnerving. A cold shiver had passed over her then, and it wasn’t from the rain dripping down the back of her neck.

  There had also been another message waiting for her.

  Hi Days of Innocence,

  We are loving your Instagram posts. They are so full of whimsy and something quite intangible – gorgeous but also dark. Your captions are beautifully poetic, and your photographs are stunning. That woman in the window. Wow. We’d be keen to have a chat about working together. We’re a niche publishing brand always on the lookout for a fresh voice and perspective.

  Thanks, Elsie

  Beguilers Book Publishing

  A publisher was interested in talking to her. Her heart was still swollen with hope. Damn the rain. She’d had no time to reply or to Google Clara Black and this second missing woman.

  She could quiz Macie or Caleb more about the history of the valley, but then there might be questions and she’d have to tell everyone about the photo going viral. She didn’t want to. With everything going on and now being trapped by the river, she couldn’t bear to bring more drama to the table. This idyllic holiday with friends felt like it was sliding away from her, collapsing like the banks of the river. And now the publishing inquiry. She wasn’t ready to take the account down if the others got upset with her.

  She picked up a thin magazine. It looked as though it had been self-published. A History of Australia’s Last Shale Oil Town. It opened with an overview of the township, all details that Caleb had explained on their tour of the mines. She scanned the names under the photos for a Clara Black. She wondered who this woman was. Lost in the haze of history and only now coming to light after a viral Instagram image. She scanned the faces of the women. They all wore hats and simple sun dresses, their hair in the same short, pin curl style. The men were dressed in overalls and the children all wore white bobby socks, the little girls with rag ribbons in their hair. She read some of the text.

  Conditions in the valley were deplorable when the mines were first opened. Many families lived in makeshift tents while waiting for promised government housing. Conditions improved over the years and, eventually, there was a school, movie theatre, several churches, a post office, bank, pharmacy, newsagency and a cafe. At its height, 2500 people lived in the valley until it was closed in 1952, the last oil-shale operation in Australia until the 1990s.

  What would it have been like to live back then? Emmie thought. History was so easy to ignore, gloss over. But really, it was everything. It was perspective. It was all that made up where we were now. It was the progression of time that we chose so often to conveniently ignore.

  Perhaps she could find out more about these missing women and write something for this publisher. It would tie perfectly into the spectre she’d gone viral with. She felt her head rush with excitement. If only she had internet access. Damn this rain. She heard the hotel’s front doors open and the squeak of footsteps on the tiled entranceway. Nathalie and Caleb came into the lounge. They were laughing, their hair and faces wet.

  ‘Oh, hi Emmie, you’ve got the best spot here by the fire. It’s still teeming outside,’ Nathalie said, breathless, moving towards the fireplace.

  Emmie put down the magazine in her lap. ‘Yep, escaped the crafting madness for a few moments. Just looking for some magazines for the kids to cut up.’

  ‘Thanks so much for entertaining them. We’ve just done a lap of the whole property and the river’s running high,’ Nathalie said, rubbing her hands to warm them. ‘We only just made it back across. It was pretty exhilarating. I felt like I was in a nature documentary with David Attenborough. Or David mixed with Bear Grylls.’

  Caleb laughed and shook his head. ‘Yep, by the looks of it there’s going to be a lot of crafting going on,’ he said taking Nathalie’s jacket from her shoulder with a tenderness that didn’t escape Emmie’s attention. She wondered where they’d really been for the past two hours. No one else might have noticed but Emmie did. It was so clear that Caleb was smitten with Nathalie. She wondered if Nathalie would acknowledge it. There was an air of innocence about her, but really Emmie suspected she was much more knowing than she made out.

  How would Nathalie react if Emmie’s Instagram account was discovered? She had a lot of other stuff going on in her life. Perhaps she’d be fine with it. Emmie resolved to brave the deluge again shortly to see if she could get internet access and remove some of the photos she’d posted of Nathalie. Maybe she could also do a quick search on Clara Black.

  Macie appeared. ‘I thought I heard you two come in. We’ve been busy entertaining the kids while you’ve been gallivanting about in the rain.’

  ‘More like getting drenched,’ said Caleb, his eyes shifting between Macie and Nathalie.

  ‘Well? What’s the prognosis? How’s the river looking?’ Macie asked.

  Caleb rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. ‘Even the crossing at the far end of the property is pretty high. Unless the rain eases in the next few hours we won’t be able to get out that end either. It’s lucky you got more supplies yesterday.’

  Macie turned to leave. ‘Anyone want tea? Well, it’s probably just as well no one can get in. I’d say we’re going to be inundated very soon. It seems our little establishment has gone viral.’

  Emmie’s stomach dropped. Her eyes met Macie’s.

  ‘Really? Here? What kind of viral? Good viral?’ asked Caleb.

  ‘National news actually. A friend sent me an online paper that’s covering it.’

  ‘Covering what, exactly?’ asked Caleb. ‘The grass growing?’

  ‘Nathalie, you’ve been very quiet. I daresay you’re the culprit,’ said Macie.

  Nathalie looked bemused. ‘What? Me? I don’t know the first thing about technology, or going viral, or whatever.’

 
; ‘The Days of Innocence. That’s your Instagram account, isn’t it?’ Macie asked.

  Nathalie’s face was blank. ‘I don’t have an Instagram account.’

  Macie’s eyes met Emmie’s and Emmie could hear her blood rushing in her ears. ‘Well, one of you ladies does, but there are an awful lot of pictures of Nathalie on there. I just assumed it was hers. And all the kids. And the ghost.’

  ‘Our kids? Ghost?’ echoed Nathalie, confusion shadowing her face.

  ‘Yes, a picture of the kids at the mines has gone viral thanks to what looks like a woman in one of the old buildings behind them. And people have quickly worked out about our little tour and the abandoned oil mine and . . . the only hotel in the valley.’ Macie reached into her pant pocket and took out her phone. ‘Here, I took a screenshot when I was in town. My friend sent me the article.’

  Emmie knew she had to say something, but she couldn’t. She was glued to the spot, her skin clammy. She bit the inside of her lip and tasted blood. She couldn’t believe she’d done this to Nathalie. Why had she put so many pictures of her friend up there? The kids. Without asking. She wanted to run to her car and escape.

  Caleb took Macie’s phone and nodded. ‘It does look a little like a ghost. It’s a cool picture.’

  ‘But not mine,’ said Nathalie, her brows drawn together.

  Macie flicked through the pictures on her phone. ‘And this is a screenshot of the Instagram account the picture was on. You can see why I just assumed it was Nathalie’s.’

  Emmie felt as though all the blood in her body was boiling now. ‘I can explain,’ she said, her voice sounding small, pathetic. ‘I took the photo.’

  Nathalie was holding the screen close to her face and looked up. ‘It does look like it’s my account. It’s all pictures of me.’ Their eyes met and Emmie saw hurt in Nathalie’s eyes. ‘Really? You made this account?’

  Emmie couldn’t find her words.

  ‘There are no photos of you. They’re all me,’ she said.

  ‘There are some of me,’ said Emmie, her skin crawling.

  ‘Yeah, selfies with me,’ said Nathalie, hugging her arms close, edging away from Emmie. ‘It’s just a bit weird,’ she said, and Emmie felt the words slice her. A bit weird, a bit strange, a bit lame. They were words that were etched into her. All those names she’d been called at school. Always trying to fit in and she never did. And now here she thought she was finally part of something, only to find herself back where she began. On the outer.