The Valley of Lost Stories

by Vanessa McCausland

  ‘I’m sorry, I never meant–’ she said, scrambling for a way to make it better, to make it right.

  ‘Did you know about this? This viral photo?’ Nathalie’s arms were crossed in front of her, her face hard now.

  Caleb was silent, his eyes trained on the fire.

  ‘I saw that it had a lot of attention but . . .’

  ‘And you didn’t tell anyone? You didn’t think we might all like to know a photo of our kids was going viral?’

  ‘I, I only just found out.’

  ‘It sounds like it’s been there for a while if newspapers are covering it.’ There was an awful coldness in Nathalie’s voice now.

  ‘I think these things get picked up very quickly, things go viral fast now,’ Emmie said, despising how defensive she sounded.

  ‘Well, I guess it’s quite flattering for a friend to make an account as a sort of shrine to your beauty,’ said Macie.

  ‘That’s not what it is,’ said Emmie. She felt annoyance buzz along her shoulders and she straightened.

  ‘What is it then?’ Nathalie asked, arms still crossed, eyes still cold.

  ‘It’s like, I don’t know, a creative outlet.’

  ‘At my expense.’

  ‘Not at your expense. I honestly . . . I didn’t mean for it to hurt you, I’m sorry. I didn’t really think about what I was putting up, I just put up the best photos of our holiday.’ Her voice sounded measly and pathetic and she hated herself for it.

  ‘You have no idea what’s gone on in my life. I don’t want pictures of me splashed all over the internet without me knowing, like I’m some kind of attention-seeker.’

  These words cut Emmie deep. She knew she wasn’t that close to Nathalie; they’d only known each other a few months but it had felt like they had an unspoken connection since first meeting in the school hall. Their late-night McDonald’s trip. Is that all Emmie was? A weird attention-seeker? Had she imagined their connection? ‘I’ll take it down,’ she said, feeling tears spike her eyes, shame rushing through her.

  Sim, Findlay and Seraphine came running into the room then. ‘Alexandra and Pen said we had to ask if we could have more cake,’ said Seraphine. ‘Please Mummy?’

  Emmie took a deep breath, grateful for a break in the tension. ‘How much have you girls had?’

  ‘Five pieces,’ said Sim, holding up the fingers on her hands.

  ‘Five pieces?’ echoed Emmie, trying to find a laugh.

  ‘She’s fibbing. It was two,’ said Findlay shaking her head at her sister. ‘Silly. Don’t say we’ve had more, say we’ve had less.’

  Pen came in behind them. ‘Truly, I think they’ve had enough cake. Kids inside all day with no screens on a sugar high is not what we need right now.’

  Emmie felt cold mortification glide through her once again. The ghost. Pen was going to be triggered by the ghost in the picture. She hadn’t even thought about that. Pen had confided in Emmie that she was already incredibly baffled and embarrassed by Will’s random ghost comments freaking everyone out.

  Macie’s voice was loud behind her. ‘So, it looks like Will was onto something after all, Pen. Here, let me introduce you to our resident ghost.’

  Jean

  1948

  She had drunk far too much of the fragrant wine at dinner. It had been the only way to get through all the attention, all the eyes on her. She felt at once elated at the proposition Mr Parker had laid out for her, but also nervous at how Magnus would react to the evening’s events. And now he took her arm and helped her ascend the stairs to their rooms. She wobbled and he steadied her.

  His hand tightened its grip around her elbow, and she stifled the urge to cry out. His voice was a hot whisper in her ear. ‘Was I the only fool in the room who had no idea about your dancing career or how it ended?’ His eyes flashed with annoyance and something else that she couldn’t read before he concealed it.

  She felt her skin burn, and dread washed through her, the taste of bile rising in her throat. Yes, it was just as she’d expected, she had embarrassed him in front of his friends. She must placate him. Build up his ego again.

  ‘I’m so sorry Magnus. I had no idea anyone would still remember. It was so long ago. I was in the papers for a while as the fat showgirl. Hilarious. I was totally humiliated by it all to be honest. I just wanted to forget.’

  He smiled tightly. ‘Well, don’t make a habit of springing things on me like that. I can’t be introducing you to my powerful friends without knowing these crucial details. It’s humiliating and puts my reputation on the line.’

  Doubt wormed deep inside her, but she pressed it down. She knew she must apologise, appease him. She knew this game. It was the game you agreed to play when you moved in this sphere. She had been here before. It was a body memory. ‘I’m truly sorry Magnus, I really had no idea anyone would remember me.’ She implored him with her eyes.

  His face, the set of his jaw, softened. ‘Well, it is all making a bit more sense now, why you were hiding in the valley teaching children. But that’s just not necessary anymore. You can stop hiding now. You’re beautiful and your place is clearly on the stage. I saw it as soon as you took to the dance floor at the hotel. You have that magic. People want to watch you, Serpentine Rose. And you’re almost completely unaware of it, which makes it all the more charming.’ His blue eyes bored into her, like the high sky on a hot day.

  The way Magnus was looking at her made her want to surrender. It felt like a fight inside her heart and, right now, the chaste part of her was losing. Maybe this was what had drawn her to the hotel that night. Not just the lure of the music, but the lure of feeling something again, meaning something. Something more than someone to make food and wash clothing. Some magic. Some fire. His fingers brushed her cheek and desire blazed inside her. She’d had too much wine to resist when he ran his hands down her bare arms, traced her spine. She could feel herself dissolving.

  He took her hand and led her into his room. The doors to the veranda were flung wide and the harbour was smooth in the moonlight, the breeze a soft whisper in the curtains. The night was dream-like, shadowy and warm, like the feeling of not wanting to wake. She pulled his body to her, hungry suddenly for his mouth, his skin, his warmth. She wanted to let go. She wanted to feel everything.

  He tasted salty like the sea and his movements were fluid, assured. He had her naked, the dress a pool around her feet. As she stepped out of it, she could see the city glimmering in the distance, she could hear the water breathing below and she didn’t care who saw her. His mouth was at her neck, closed over her breasts, kissing her belly, his tongue finding her pleasure. She cried out but it was drowned by the sounds of the breeze, the water. She felt the rush of it run through her, like foam around toes, like the arc of a wave just before it breaks. He took her with his face buried in her neck, hard, up against the wall until he broke into her.

  She slid down the wall and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. They eased between the cool sheets and she couldn’t help it. She thought of Robert. The wooden movements, the way he would roll on and off her. She had known pleasure before him, but never like this.

  Magnus thumbed a strand of hair from her cheek. His arm tightened around her, pushing the air out of her chest. But she didn’t resist. She took small, shallow breaths to compensate. ‘Remember I’m the one who rediscovered you, Serpentine Rose. Don’t you forget that.’ But his gaze was warm, tender and it pulled her in. She put her arms around him.

  Her body relaxed, softened by pleasure, but the churn of her feelings was like a rip-tide dragging under the surface. There was so much she hadn’t disclosed. She was living a lie. But it was so intoxicating, this dream. She didn’t want to wake.

  The day was hot and even the new hat Magnus had bought her couldn’t fend off the relentless sun. She peeled off her gloves as they stepped out of his car. There wasn’t much need for decorum where they were headed.

  The boarding house was on a leafy street in the back of Mosman behind th
e main road. The worst house in the suburb, probably. It looked grottier than she remembered it. Perhaps it was the presence of Magnus beside her that made it so. She imagined him seeing the peeling white paint, the overgrown front lawn and the torn blanket hung at the front window. It had an air of abandonment; the only sign of life was a thin black cat that snaked around her ankles as they walked up the path. She’d implored Magnus to take a drink at the pub just up the road, but he’d insisted he wanted to meet her father. While it was a sweet gesture, the prospect made her wring her gloves as they walked.

  Though she didn’t want Magnus to come with her, she had no worry of her dad being confused about this man who wasn’t Robert. Her father had not been sound of mind for years and she only imagined he’d be worse still now. The one time he’d met Liv he had mistaken her for Jean as a child. It was heartbreaking and confusing for Liv. And he’d called her Betty, which wasn’t even her mother’s name. Jean could only imagine it was some past love bubbling up in his poor confused mind. And as for Robert, he’d just simply ignored him altogether.

  Jean knocked at the door and felt nerves crawl beneath her sweaty skin. She owed her father this, even if he may not even know she’d visited. Jean’s mother had died of cancer when she was only just coming into womanhood and her poor father had had to raise her alone. But he did his best and he paid for her ballet classes. She knew dance had become her life because her real life, their real life, was sad, with an enormous mother-shaped hole at its heart.

  A woman she didn’t recognise opened the door. It may or may not have been the boarding house owner, who she recalled was named Molly. It had been so long.

  ‘Hello. We’re here to see Bill Fischer, please. I’m his daughter.’ She hesitated a moment, aware of Magnus behind her. ‘Miss Rose.’

  The woman grunted and led them into the gloomy hall. It smelled of boiled vegetables and tobacco. She took them past several rooms, all of them dark despite the bright day outside. Jean felt tears prick behind her eyes. This was no life.

  ‘He’s in the lounge. He just sits and looks out the window. There’s not even much to look at, poor bloke,’ the woman said as they entered a bigger communal room. She saw him by the large window at the front of the house. The sight of his head, bald and vulnerable, his skinny shoulders, made her heart ache.

  ‘Hasn’t paid me in months and months, but I can hardly turn him away. He’s no trouble, not really. Doesn’t even eat much.’

  ‘Oh, I’m awfully sorry. I’ve been away from Sydney. I thought he had enough from his pension.’

  The woman shrugged and Magnus put a hand on Jean’s arm, nodding. ‘Here, let’s let Miss Rose have some time with her father and I’ll write you a cheque.’

  ‘No, Magnus, you don’t have to–’

  The woman shot her a disgruntled look and Jean thanked him silently with her eyes.

  She watched them leave the room and stood for a moment observing her father. Time had made him shrink and cower. His back was hunched in a way she hadn’t remembered.

  There was a seat next to him by the window and she sat down slowly, not wishing to startle him.

  ‘Dad?’

  He looked at her and she remembered those eyes in some deep, elemental way. A long-ago memory that would never fade. They were known eyes. She would never forget them for they were the same eyes she had looked into her whole life. They were still blue under the heavy folds of skin.

  ‘Patty,’ he said, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Her mother’s name. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  Jean shook her head and fought back tears. ‘I just came for a visit.’ She reached out and took his hand, the bones gnarly under his thin skin.

  His eyes lit up and she laughed, feeling a tear slip down her face. ‘I hope you’re okay here,’ she said.

  ‘Jean and I are just fine.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘We miss you, Patty, but she’s a strong girl. You’d be so proud of her. Her dancing. She has a gift. I wish you could see her onstage. Such a beauty, too. Like you. I miss your dear face, my Patty.’

  Jean was silent. She held her father’s hand, letting his words wash over her, like a caress. She brushed the tears from her cheeks. ‘I miss you too, Dad,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t visited. I’ve been far away in a valley. We don’t have any money to come visit.’

  ‘Love is more important than money. Isn’t that what we always used to say?’ He nodded, smiling into the middle distance, his mind lost in his memories.

  She looked towards the door, checking that Magnus hadn’t returned. Her voice was a whisper. ‘Dad, I don’t know what to do. I miss my dancing so much. It’s like it’s my spirit. It’s who I am. But I have a husband, and a daughter I adore. I have responsibilities. I’m not sure I can have both.’

  He let go of her hand and pressed both palms to his ears. He began to rock and speak softly. ‘I don’t want to hear that she’s dead. My Patty. The cancer took her. My poor Patty.’

  ‘Oh Dad. I’m sorry for confusing you.’ She patted his arm, trying to still his distress.

  The woman entered with a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits. She set it down next to them on a small table.

  ‘Your father will be looked after handsomely thanks to your friend,’ she said. ‘New clothes and bedding and better food. I’ll make sure of it.’

  Jean looked into the woman’s eyes and believed her. She placed her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s not me you should be thanking, love.’

  She looked up to see Magnus enter the room. She smiled and he returned it. Maybe she had underestimated his ability to be a good man. Maybe he was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  CHAPTER 30

  Pen

  Pen studied the photo on the phone. There was a face in the window of the old building. It looked like a woman. It felt as though someone had traced her spine with a shard of glass.

  ‘I don’t want Will to see this,’ she said, straightening her shoulders and handing back the phone. Thank goodness Nathalie had taken the kids into the dining room for more cake.

  ‘He’s tapped into something, that kid,’ said Macie.

  Pen pressed her mouth into a line. She wanted to scream at Macie to leave Will the hell alone and stop making him seem like even more of a freak. She could feel the muscles in her jaw working hard. ‘It’s probably a trick of the light. These things always are. Ridiculous it’s got so much attention. I’m sure it’s nothing.’

  ‘People love their ghost stories. And don’t you think it’s a little fascinating that Will has been seeing a woman around the place and here is photographic evidence?’ asked Macie.

  Pen struggled to keep her voice even, to keep the bite out of it. ‘Well, it’s not really evidence, is it? It’s just a grainy shadow in a photo. And as for Will, I really don’t think he’s some kind of ghost whisperer or something crazy like that. Ghosts . . . what a load of rubbish.’

  Macie raised her eyebrows. Pen felt like slapping her. She was so superior. God.

  ‘Maybe if you showed him the picture it might build up his confidence a bit,’ Macie said.

  ‘How dare you,’ said Pen, the vitriol running in her veins finding her voice. ‘How dare you presume all these things about Will. I’m his mother,’ she said. Immediately she regretted her words.

  Macie squared her shoulders in subtle defiance but said nothing.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea a simple picture of the kids . . . what I thought was a simple picture of the kids would cause such a fuss,’ said Emmie, inching closer to Pen.

  Emmie had tears in her eyes. Pen wished Macie would leave them alone so she could have a proper conversation with Emmie. This woman did not take normal social cues. She’d just been chastised for God’s sake.

  ‘I should have asked for permission. I don’t know, I just did it without thinking,’ said Emmie, her eyes imploring Pen.

  Pen sighed. She was pissed off the photo was out there, an
d that Will would probably see it, but she couldn’t be angry with Emmie. ‘It’s not your fault. How were you to know there was a weird shadow and how did anyone even notice it there in the first place?’

  ‘I have no idea. I just got such a shock when I checked on it and it had hundreds of likes and comments. I had to read them to see what they were about. And then the next time there were thousands.’

  ‘And what were they about? Why is everyone making such a fuss about it anyway? I mean, yes, it does look like a face in the window but making the news? Is so little going on in the world?’

  ‘Apparently people love a ghost mystery. There was a famous case of a woman going missing in the valley in the 1940s, Clara Black was her name, and so everyone’s convinced it’s this woman’s ghost,’ Emmie said.

  ‘Sounds like fairy tales,’ said Pen.

  ‘Yes, the Clara Black story is well known,’ said Macie. ‘Poor woman was never seen again after disappearing from a lavish ball at the hotel in 1948. At the time people were probably more superstitious than they are now about the valley being haunted. The area has seen its share of atrocities, like the massacres Caleb mentioned. This valley has always been haunted by its past.’

  ‘God, I don’t want to hear anymore,’ said Pen, pressing her hands to her cheeks. ‘I don’t want Will to hear a word of any of this.’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m so sorry to have dredged all this up,’ said Emmie.

  ‘Shall I make us all some tea?’ asked Macie, as though this would solve everything.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Pen. Her words were clipped, rude even, but she didn’t care. She just wanted Macie to leave them alone. When Macie had picked up the empty cups strewn around the lounge and left the room, Pen let out a sigh and turned to Emmie. ‘I tell you, if it wasn’t for this weather, we’d be out of here.’