by Jaye Ford
Hannah walked past her into the barn. ‘Don’t tell me. It sounded like thunder.’
Jodie followed her in, wanting to throttle her, and paced around looking for signs of disturbance. The room seemed a little off kilter, as though objects had been picked up and put down in slightly different positions. The corner of a rug was flipped up, a chair at the table was out of place, an overhead cupboard in the kitchen was ajar. And there was a faint tang in the air, like old fruit. Or sweat.
Across the room, Hannah pulled the curtains wide.
Jodie remembered how the drapes had been open when they’d eaten breakfast and sucked in a breath. ‘Were the curtains closed when you left?’
Hannah gave a not-this-again kind of sigh. ‘I don’t know.’
Jodie had wanted to keep her damn mouth shut. But she couldn’t. She was suddenly filled with an anxious, nervous energy that made the blood pump so hard in her legs she couldn’t stand still, kept moving back and forth between the two old tree trunks. ‘If someone broke in, they’d pull the curtains closed so they couldn’t be seen.’
‘But no one broke in. Corrine just left the door open,’ Hannah said, securing the drapes with tie-backs.
Jodie walked to the island bar. ‘No, someone was in here.’ She paced to the lounges. ‘Louise and I heard them.’ She ignored the way the three of them were looking at her and thought about the sound. ‘They were in the bedroom.’ She turned to Hannah then Corrine. ‘Your bedroom.’
Neither of them said a thing, just looked perplexed. Okay, so violence and danger weren’t their first thoughts, but who comes home to an open front door and says, ‘Oh, dear, silly me’? What the hell was wrong with them? ‘Someone has been in this barn.’
She marched down the hall, all the way into Corrine and Hannah’s bedroom. The room was neat and organised, both beds made, suitcases stowed somewhere out of sight but the curtains were … wrong. Sort of messed up and the pattern of sunny squares on the floor was bent out of shape. She took three quick steps to the double doorway, stopped and stared at the small gap where one side was open, remembered how she’d seen it from the verandah – closed. She slammed it shut, locked it. Locked the windows, too. Then she turned, saw the en suite and walk-in wardrobe on either side of the bedroom door and felt a twang in her gut.
Maybe someone was still here.
She’d been a little afraid before but now she was just mad. How dare someone intrude on their weekend? Force a wedge between them all? She was still holding the candlestick, she realised, and gripping it tight at the base, she held it high and gave the en suite door a shove. A quick look left and right told her it was empty. She did the same to the walk-in robe – apart from a few of Hannah’s and Corrine’s things, it was empty. She went back into the hallway, stood at the door to the second bedroom and felt the hackles rise on her neck. The curtains were haphazardly closed there too, her suitcase on the bed had been opened and she knew – she just knew – the stuff on her bedside table had been moved about.
Louise, Hannah and Corrine were standing together at the island bench, heads together, talking quietly when Jodie hustled in from the hall.
‘Someone has definitely been here.’ She opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and drank straight from the neck. It was wrong. It was all wrong. She shut the fridge then opened it again. ‘Where’s all the food?’ She pulled the door wide to show the others. ‘We had more than this.’
Corrine frowned. ‘I used a lot of it for breakfast.’
‘What about the orange juice and the fruit and the bread? There was more bread.’
‘Okay, so we pigged out,’ Corrine said.
‘And what about the steaks I brought? Where are the steaks?’
‘Are you sure you brought them? Maybe you left them at home,’ Louise suggested.
‘Like a Freudian slip,’ Hannah added.
They all knew the only decent meal Jodie could cook was a steak. They ribbed her about it every year. But this wasn’t funny. ‘No. Someone was here. Your French doors were ajar, the curtains are messed up in both bedrooms, my suitcase is open and food is missing.’ The three girls stood shoulder to shoulder on the other side of the island bench. There was something different about the way they were watching her – the irritation wasn’t there, or the mockery. Or any agreement either. ‘I’m not making it up. Someone has been in the barn!’
‘It’s okay, Jodie,’ Louise said.
Her voice was calm and soothing and it made Jodie want to scream. ‘No, it’s not. We should call the police. You should check through your things. Make sure nothing’s been stolen.’
Louise smiled gently, a sentiment that seemed so out of place with Jodie’s aggravation. ‘Try to relax a little, Jodie.’
‘What?’ Jodie looked at Louise, then at Corrine and Hannah. All three of them seemed concerned and … something else. Then slowly, like a camera lens being pulled into focus, she saw it. A pulse started up in the base of her throat and the temperature of her blood started to rise. ‘What the hell have you been saying, Louise?’
15
‘They didn’t understand what was going on,’ Louise said. ‘They needed to know.’
Jodie clenched her fists. ‘What did you tell them?’
Louise took a moment to answer, as if she was suddenly not so sure about what she’d done. ‘Just about Angela and the flashback.’
Jodie felt sick. A hot churning high up in her stomach. ‘Jesus Christ, Lou. You had no right.’ She turned away from them, braced herself against the bench on the opposite side of the kitchen, the marble cold against her hot hands. She felt like her friends had just trampled through her deepest, darkest, most shameful memories. Corrine’s exclamation of mock fear she’d overheard this morning came back to her – Oh my God, the scary men are back – and she cringed. She didn’t know what was worse – the mockery or the pity she’d just seen in their faces.
Louise spoke to her back. ‘I didn’t think it was right for them to be pissed off with you when there’s a reason you’re going over the top about everything.’
Jodie turned around and glared at her. ‘You had no right to tell them anything, Louise. I get to choose who and when I tell that story. And you’re wrong. This has nothing to do with what happened almost twenty years ago.’
‘I think it does,’ Hannah said, lifting her head in a challenge. ‘I’ve done some psych training and I think the crash last night set something off and the flashbacks and the nightmare and paranoia are symptoms of some kind of breakdown.’
A sarcastic laugh escaped Jodie’s lips. Her years in therapy beat Hannah’s semester of uni psych. ‘I don’t know how much Louise managed to tell you in the minute it took for me to check the bedrooms but I think you’re talking out your arse. And by the way, I’ve had self-defence training and I think the fact that the front door was open and the curtains were closed and some things have been moved are symptoms of someone breaking in.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘You’re not well, Jodie. You need help.’
If it wasn’t so hurtful, it’d be hilarious. ‘I’m not nuts. Believe what you want to believe about last night but someone was in here just now.’ She looked across their faces and her blood boiled at the sympathy she saw. ‘Louise, you were here. You heard the thud on the verandah. What the hell made that sound, if it wasn’t someone getting out in a hurry?’
Louise shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t know. It could have been anything. A possum, maybe.’
‘A possum? It’d have to be a fucking big possum to make that kind of noise. Why are you doing this, Louise?’
‘Jodie, it’s okay,’ Lou said.
‘No, it’s not okay.’ She stepped up to the island bench, faced them over the barrier between them. ‘It’s not okay for my friends not to believe me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Louise said.
Hannah frowned. ‘We’re worried about you.’
‘Jodie, honey, I know what it’s like to lose someone.’ Corrine inc
lined her head in empathy. ‘It takes a long time to get over it. Maybe we never will. It hurts to talk about it, I know, but it helps to share it, too.’
Jodie stared at her caring, sanctimonious smile. Corrine didn’t have a bloody clue. She turned away, ran her hands through her hair, fighting the urge to throw something. Don’t lose it, Jodie. Don’t give them another reason to think you’re losing your mind. She looked back at them. ‘I know you’ve done it tough the last couple of years, Corrine, and I respect that. But, not to put too fine a point on it, Roland died of a heart attack on the squash court. You got a phone call from a friend. I was tied to a tree a couple of metres from where Angela was beaten and raped. I heard her screaming until they cut her throat. And someone stuck a knife in my gut. Do you want to share how it feels to be covered in your own blood? Or how it feels to leave your best friend behind to get murdered?’
‘That’s horrible, Jodie. You’re just trying to upset me now.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m being straight with you. You have no idea. And I hope you never do.’ Jodie was shaking. Damn them for making her think about it. Like it made any kind of difference. ‘And now that I’ve shared all that, guess what? I still think someone broke into the barn. So does that make me nuts, Hannah?’ She looked at the concern on Hannah’s face and decided not to wait for a reply. ‘Actually, I’ve heard enough of what you all think and, frankly, I’d prefer my own conversation right now. So who’s got the car keys?’
‘What do you need the keys for?’ Hannah challenged.
Why was she making this so hard? ‘To get my car from the service station, which at the moment sounds a whole lot more fun than hanging out here.’
Hannah lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be driving at the moment.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re very upset, Jodie.’
‘Just give me the damn keys.’
‘No, don’t,’ Louise said. ‘She shouldn’t be driving like this.’
‘Lou’s right,’ Hannah said. ‘What if you have another flashback while you’re behind the wheel?’
Jodie felt the air leave her lungs. Something heavy and hot filled them up again. She stared at them for a long moment, her mouth clamped. ‘Oh my God,’ she finally said and even to Jodie her voice sounded strangely calm. ‘You just reminded me why I never told you about Angela. You’re just like James. Once you know the story, you can’t listen to me without hearing the horror of it all. But try to hear this. I have lived with what happened for eighteen years without needing your advice on whether I should drive a car. So give me the keys so I don’t have to listen to any more of your psych-trained, editorialising, caring-sharing ideas about how I should handle my life.’
For a moment, it looked like Hannah might make a stand and refuse to hand the keys over. Jodie glared at her, hoping she didn’t have to physically take them from her. Then Hannah reached into her jacket pocket and dropped them on the counter with a clatter.
Jodie swiped them up, grabbed her handbag from where she’d stowed it beside a lounge, checked quickly for signs of tampering – it seemed fine, but that didn’t prove anything – then stormed through the front door. She was so angry, she wanted to kick something. Her hands were shaking and her legs were like jelly and by the time she reached the unsealed driveway, tears were welling in her eyes. At the bottom of the drive, she was batting them away with the back of her hand. A kilometre down the road, she was crying so hard the view through the windscreen was a blur and her breath came in jagged gasps.
She was in the bend before she knew it and pulling the steering wheel to the right too late. Her left-hand tyres thunked off the tar and scrabbled in the rough surface on the shoulder. She hit the brakes, the bush at the side of the road scratching along the paintwork as she came to a jarring stop more off the road than on. The flood of tears halted in its tracks, adrenaline tingled in the tips of her fingers. She stepped shakily out of the car, went around to the passenger side and checked for damage. It was fine. She was fine.
Goddamn it, she was fine!
She wasn’t having a breakdown. She wasn’t. She stomped around the car and kicked a tyre. Okay, she probably shouldn’t have been driving but her friends had pulled a damn intervention on her. What the hell was wrong with them? Someone broke into the barn and they thought she was nuts. Well, she wasn’t. She was mad. Angry. Pissed off.
She kicked the tyre again. They’d decided she couldn’t cope because she had a flashback and a bad dream. They didn’t have a fucking clue what she could cope with.
Jodie rubbed at the dried tears on her face. She was hurt and sad and angry at herself. After Angela, she hadn’t wanted any more friends. Didn’t want the responsibility of another friend on her conscience. If she hadn’t run that night, Angela might still be alive. The bastards might have left her alone if they’d been able to rape Jodie as well. Or maybe she could have fought them off – she was fit and fast back then, under-eighteen state hockey captain and she had three brothers, she knew how to throw a punch. But she hadn’t stayed with her friend. She’d made the wrong choice.
Jodie leaned against the warm hood of the car and closed her eyes. Louise was the first real girlfriend she’d had after Angela, and only because she’d refused to take no for an answer. Then Hannah and Corrine had come along and Jodie eventually let them in, too.
‘I’m better off without them.’ She said it out loud, as though she’d believe it more if she heard it. And she had to believe it because if she wasn’t better off without them, if she needed them around, if they were the good friends she’d thought they were, then she had to consider there might be some truth in what they’d said. And that scared the hell out of her.
She hauled herself off the car and got back in. She wiped at her eyes, started the engine and pulled onto the road. Was she having a breakdown? Was it possible she’d invented everything out of fear? Her reactions had been intense but she’d thought it was because the others wouldn’t believe her, their denials only making her more determined to convince them they needed to protect themselves.
She tried to think it through from their perspective – the tyre iron, not letting Hannah onto the verandah, following her with the brass Buddha. Then the car in the night and telling them Matt Wiseman was suspect, freaking out because the front door was open. They hadn’t seen her crying so hard she’d run off the road – but they’d predicted it.
‘Oh, Christ.’ A pulse started up in her temples, a loud hammering that made the blood rush in her ears. If she’d got it wrong, if she was having some kind of belated breakdown, then they’d won.
The filthy, murdering bastards had won. They’d got her, too.
A single tear worked its way down her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Angie. I should have fought them for you. I’m so, so sorry.’
16
‘Hey, Wisey, you’re a fucking mechanic.’
Matt took a second to compose a smile before glancing up from his desk. ‘Christ, look what the cat dragged in.’ He pushed back his chair and held out his hand to the man in the doorway. ‘Dan the Man Carraro.’
Carraro ran a judgemental eye around the small room at the side of the mechanics bay. ‘You left the cops for this? You must be nuts.’ He laughed like he was a real blast.
‘Suits me fine.’ Matt sat on the edge of the desk and waited while Carraro smoothed down his tie, pushed his hands into his pockets. Matt had wondered who’d turn up. Had thought about it more than he wanted to. All the way to town this morning, his mind kept going back to John Kruger and the wheels that would be turning. Bald Hill’s single officer didn’t have the resources or the skills to conduct a murder investigation. He’d call for extra uniforms from Dungog to help set up the crime scene and detectives from Newcastle would be sent to handle the investigation. Six months ago, Matt would have been the obvious first choice – head of the squad and former local. As Carraro eyed off trade magazines on top of the filing cabinet, Matt felt a certai
n sense of relief. The smart-arse knew how to do his job, which meant one less thing he had to feel guilty about, even if he couldn’t escape it.
The rumours had started early. Someone at the post office said John’s face had been smashed beyond recognition, his skull crushed. The cashier at the mini-mart said she’d heard there was no sign of a fight, that maybe he’d walked in on intruders. Reg, who ran the pub, who knew everything that happened from here to the Queensland border, said he had it on good authority there was no evidence of robbery, that the local cops thought it looked like someone had walked right up to him and beaten him to a pulp, poor bastard.
After that piece of news, Matt had worked his arse off at the service station but cleaning and stacking and sorting and lifting hadn’t stopped his brain from worming its way back to it. And the buzz had started up – the tick-tick in his head, the hum down his spine – that he got when he knew something big was happening. He used to think of it as instinct, some kind of intuitive adrenaline rush. But that was bullshit – he knew that now. More like some egotistical urge to get in on the action. It was dangerous, it got people hurt. Killed. And he was mad as hell it was back.
‘So what d’ya reckon?’ Carraro said.
Matt shrugged, tried to make it look casual. He didn’t want to be drawn in. ‘I’m out of it, Dan.’
‘Yeah, right. As if Matty Wiseman wants to take a back seat.’
Matt pushed himself off the desk and distractedly shuffled papers about as he spoke. ‘No, seriously. I’m out of it.’ He held up a bunch of bills with a tight fist. ‘Got plenty to do here.’
A beat passed before Carraro pointed a finger at him like a gun. ‘Hey, good one. You almost had me convinced. Wait till I tell the others.’ He laughed loudly. It was hilarious. ‘So what about this Kruger bloke?’
Shame and anger burned in Matt’s chest. He didn’t want to be asked what he thought. Didn’t want to think about it. Any of it. ‘Look, I hardly knew him. His family knows my sister-in-law’s family. Go ask them.’