Then her mother looked up at her and almost smiled. Perhaps it was relief that they could pull this off in front of the whole town. That even though they knew they were being observed with great interest, Cate wouldn’t let them down. She slotted in next to her mother, pulling Henry down with her, and nodded to her father, who returned the nod briefly, then resumed his mute appraisal of the pulpit.
Ida’s casket lay at the front of the church, beautifully adorned with flowers, memories, prayers and love. Ida, who had lived her whole life working for her community, laughing, celebrating and facing life’s hardships without bitterness, now lay, stopped, while people she knew acknowledged her fine life.
Cate hadn’t been to many funerals, but she remembered Brigit’s like it was a nightmare she had had the night before. Her casket had been covered in roses, and Cate remembered thinking it was a pity because Brigit had loved white lilies. The timber had been a pale feminine shade, and it had seemed at once too large for such a young woman and yet too small to contain her. Cate had approached the coffin in the stillness that had smothered the assembled, feeling their eyes upon her in the grim unreality of the occasion. She had stood for a moment while she took Brigit’s diamond earrings from her ears and placed them on the coffin. They had only been on loan, after all. She had gone back to her seat alone, and had sat through the service contemplating the meagre twenty-five years they had had to celebrate, and the terrible grief of the loss and the waste of the other seventy. And the crippling guilt, which still visited Cate every night after midnight. If only she hadn’t taken the pills and climbed into the car. If only she hadn’t. She glanced at her mother’s still hands and composed profile.
Henry took her hand and turned to look at her. ‘You okay?’ he mouthed and she nodded. She was okay about Ida, but her stomach was in knots at the proximity to her family, who were barely acknowledging her. She glanced instead at all of Ida’s friends and colleagues, some of whom had travelled many miles to be there. This was a good turnout. Ida would be very pleased. Cate half listened to the sermon, imagining Ida and Jack together again.
They headed to the cemetery shortly after, and the crowd moved with friendly dignity, talking in hushed tones as they left the church and made the brief journey to her grave. When they got there, Henry hung back a little.
‘You go up the front,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not family.’ She glanced around and saw Audrey and Deirdre, who were gesturing frantically for them both to take their place at the graveside. She took his hand and they moved to the front of the crowd, which parted almost apologetically and stood patiently for the burial. She ignored her father glancing uneasily at Henry, who was regarding Ida’s coffin as if nobody else was there.
Everyone milled about after the service.
‘Well, she’ll be happy to be next to Stan and Jack,’ Audrey said. ‘Stan often played the piano at the dances at Windstorm. And just there,’ she gestured to a couple of graves nearby, ‘are her own parents, Enid and Robert, and over there is my grave.’
That got Cate’s attention. ‘You know where you’re going to be buried?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that a little macabre?’
Audrey shrugged. ‘Not really. We’ve all got to go. And we mean something here – the people who come to see their family and friends will know us and remember us. You can’t do that in a city lawn cemetery.’ She pointed at the tree near her plot. ‘See that tree?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been watering it for years. I want it to provide a bit of shade when I’m buried here.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t want to be left out in the blazing sun. I water it and the boys water it sometimes when they come by. Deirdre’s going in next to Bob, so we’ll all be neighbours again.’
Wow. Creepy but nice. Cate glanced over at her father, who was chatting to some locals he knew from his days here before he’d decided to be a financial planner. He looked like he was having a good time, and a couple of the church ladies were delighted to see Cate’s mother. They were having a great catch-up. From where Cate stood, she could almost feel Ida smiling.
Okay, there was no way she was getting out of a cup of tea with everyone at the lake afterwards. She held out her hand, smiling, and took the cup from Tricia, who knew she was suffering.
‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Take your medicine.’
Cate sipped it slowly. She was about to do a lot of talking. She looked for Henry, surprised to find he wasn’t by her side. She found him a few metres away, chatting to Kel and watching her carefully. She got the feeling they could settle in to chat the afternoon away quite happily. She turned back to see her father studiously ignoring her, talking to Luise. She bet he didn’t know Luise made the best sponge cake in the district.
She took another sip of cold tea. She probably needed to speak to him at some point, but not yet.
Cate was overwhelmed by the kindness of the township, and was pulled into endless comfortable exchanges with people she was beginning to know. It was a couple of hours before she had time to glance around the hall again, which had stood by the lake for so many years. It was here that Stan had played at the dances, and Audrey had held her engagement party, and Ida and Jack had danced so often. There was the faint scent of wood polish, and old blue metal chairs were piled up along the back wall, next to a tall box-like structure that had served as a ticket booth for hundreds of special occasions. She imagined Jack and Ida leaving the dancers to take a stroll down at the lake.
‘Bloody good turnout for the old girl, eh?’ a voice asked her. Cate turned to see Matt, the barman from the pub, nursing a beer.
‘Yeah,’ she answered. ‘I can’t believe how many people have come – she was a very old woman. I guess I assumed most of her friends were already gone.’
Matt shook his head. ‘Nah – people have come from miles for this, and a few have come from interstate. She was very well thought of, your aunt – that means a lot around here.’
‘Well, I’m very proud of her.’
‘I think we like to keep the numbers up for the people who really matter. Kind of like a vote.’
Cate smiled. ‘Well, I think Aunty Ida just made prime minister.’
He considered his glass for a moment. ‘Nah – she was already the queen.’ He grinned and saluted her with his beer, before moving on.
Deirdre found her and handed her a piece of lemon cake.
‘I made this for you and Henry. It was one of Ida’s favourites, too,’ she announced.
Cate smiled and took a bite. ‘Thank you. It’s delicious.’
Deirdre nodded. Once. She already knew. ‘I’ll come over as soon as you like, to teach you how to make it. You should have one decent cake under your belt.’
‘Oh! Um, do you really think —’
‘I’ll bring the ingredients. Too many lemons, they’re all going rotten, and the cow’s producing too much milk, so I’ll bring some of that, too. Your swagman like cake?’
‘Uh, depends what you mean by my —’ Deirdre glared at her for being a time waster. ‘Yes, he does,’ she said quickly, and mentally saluted.
‘How are those windows looking?’
‘I cleaned them all this morning for Ida’s big day.’
Deirdre blinked five times in quick succession. ‘Good,’ she said gruffly, and was gone.
A number of Ida’s friends had banded together to organise a photo display to run on a screen at the front of the hall, slowly cycling through the pictures of Ida, Jack and their friends. Cate paused to watch them, staring, in case there was another clue to her aunt to be found in the slowly changing images. Here was Ida digging a hole to plant a tree by the lake, with a bright-red scarf around her hair and a tired smile. Here she was in a yellow lacy dress and white gloves holding a cup of tea, laughing with a couple of other older women Cate didn’t recognise. Here she was in trousers, reading the paper on someone’s lawn, and here she was accepting a plaque at a meeting for someth
ing, and here she was, holding a tiny baby.
Cate looked more closely at the photo. The baby was so small and new, its little face staring back at Ida’s old countenance in fascination, as if it was asking her the biggest question of all. And Ida was looking at the baby with such wonder, such love and joy, that Cate felt warmth in her face and in her heart. It was taken some time ago. Ida’s hair was already grey, and the little baby was watching her, waiting for her answer. Ida was holding the baby’s hand and looking deep into its heart.
‘That was the day she met you,’ Audrey murmured.
Cate stayed perfectly still, unable to look away from the screen. Not for a moment.
‘We had been working on planting new flowerbeds over at the school, and your parents were coming by – I think your father had a meeting in Corrigin. Anyway, he recognised Ida’s car and pulled in to introduce you. I was there, dear, and I snapped that silly little photo, but that –’ she gestured proudly at the screen – ‘was the moment you met.’
It was her. It was Cate with Ida, the silly old aunt she had thought she didn’t really know, who had felt such joy to meet her, who had held her tiny hand and wished her a good life. Who had come into her world as she was leaving, to show her how to live. The picture had gone, but Cate could still see it, she could still feel it, and she knew she would feel the love of that gaze forever.
Audrey put her arm around Cate. ‘She had a wonderful life, dear. I’ll miss her every day, but I’ll always know that my life was so much better for all the joy she brought me.’
‘And you did the same for her, Audrey.’
The old lady smiled briefly, wavered, with her eyes shining, and squeezed her arm again.
‘Take her with you, won’t you?’ she whispered, and was drawn away by a friendly arm into another conversation.
It was late in the afternoon when Cate’s family caught her again.
‘It’s time we went back now, Cate,’ her father said stiffly. ‘Goodbye.’ He turned to leave.
‘Dad.’ There was a long pause, then he continued to walk from the hall to where he had parked the car, near the lake. Henry took her hand and they followed him down. ‘Dad,’ she called again.
He turned to her. The car door was already open. ‘What, Cate?’ he responded with a sigh.
‘I wanted to say . . .’ Nothing came to her.
‘What?’ This had happened to her before. Something like shame choked her when his face was this tired of her. Henry squeezed her hand.
‘I wanted to say thanks for coming.’
A police car pulled in to the parking area by the lake, cruising slowly and carefully behind the gathered utes and cars. One or two smokers looked across to see if Sergeant Glasson had come for the funeral, and a couple of mourners raised their hands in greeting. Cate’s heart stopped beating. He was there for her. She knew it. Her mother rushed to her and held her other hand, squeezing it hard, and she realised her own grip was wet with anxiety. She watched as the policeman climbed out of his car, carefully donned his hat, and closed the distance between them.
‘Hello, Sergeant Glasson,’ Cate said, her voice betraying her.
‘G’day, Cate. I was very sorry to hear about your aunt. Ida was a great lady.’
Cate nodded slowly. ‘She was.’ She gestured to her parents. ‘Have you met my parents? This is Derek and Claire Christie.’ She looked apologetic. ‘And this is Sergeant Doug Glasson.’ Her father shook his hand, and her mother gave her fingers another squeeze and reached out to greet the sergeant. There was a brief silence.
‘I’m sorry to come today, but I wanted to be sure to catch you, Cate.’ Bad choice of words. ‘I mean, I wasn’t sure if you were heading back to Perth right away, and I need to re-interview you at the station.’ Her mother clasped Cate’s arm, and she turned to see the loose crowd that had spilled casually and curiously from the double doors to the hall. ‘But we could do it tomorrow.’
‘We’ll all go, won’t we, Derek?’ her mother interjected.
‘No, Mum – I’ll go,’ Cate said. ‘This is my business, and I’ll deal with it.’
Her father gazed across at the town hall, where the locals had stopped pretending not to look.
‘I think the rest of the town disagrees with you,’ he grumbled.
Henry put his arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m coming,’ he told her.
‘No. You’re not. I’m a grown woman, and if I need to go with Sergeant Glasson now, then that’s what I’ll do.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll see you when I get home.’ Henry didn’t look sure she was coming home.
‘Why don’t I give you a lift?’ the sergeant offered. Her mother looked mortified, and her eyes flicked to the small crowd.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Henry insisted.
‘I’ll go in the police car,’ Cate decided. She looked back to the hall, where she could see Audrey holding her cup of tea suspended halfway to her mouth, and Deirdre glaring in outrage in her general direction. The shame of it was visceral. These people knew what she’d done, and if they didn’t, they were about to find out. This wasn’t society as a concept, this was a group of people who had the time to know who she was, and who had the energy to care what she did. ‘Everyone’s watching. Why pretend this isn’t happening? Let them think what they like.’ She glanced at Henry. Her father patted her back lightly, and her mother hugged her briefly and moved to hold her husband’s hand. Cate made a vague farewell gesture and climbed into the passenger’s side of the police car, which the sergeant was holding open. He closed the door behind her, and she saw Henry get in his car to follow them to Wickepin.
When they got to the station, the sergeant took her into the interview room and set up the video-recording equipment. There had been little small talk on the short journey, mostly chat about Ida, and now Cate’s stomach was twisting with anxiety again. He started with the formalities once more, recording the time and date, and who was in the room. Cate took a sip of water and tried to keep the tiny, shy tears of guilt and shame from her eyes. There were words of preamble, which Cate found she couldn’t listen to. She wondered if Henry was sitting on one of the plastic chairs in the reception area. She imagined him walking back and forth instead.
‘Now,’ Sergeant Glasson was saying, ‘I’ve read your previous statement, that you were driving the vehicle on the night in question.’
Cate nodded.
‘But I’ve brought you in today because we found your story a little contradictory. When I spoke to you, Cate, my suspicions were raised due to some inconsistencies in your version of events. That gave us reason to reinvestigate your case, and we’ve found forensic evidence that it was, in fact, Brigit Cornell who was driving the car, not yourself.’
Cate’s heart stopped. ‘No.’
‘Yes, Cate. You had a minor injury to your arm, and your blood was found on the passenger’s side of the car. Also, a small amount of bodily tissue from the victim, from Brigit, was found on the driver’s side door.’
‘No.’
Sergeant Glasson looked at her patiently. ‘Cate, why were you lying?’
‘What tissue?’
‘A couple of Brigit’s hairs and skin fragments. Can you tell me why you were lying, Cate?’ His voice was gentle.
She shook her head. Her heart was racing. It was over. She was caught, and there was nothing more she could do.
‘Cate?’
‘For Brigit,’ she whispered. ‘For Brigit.’
That evening she was home again, on the back verandah, staring into the distance at the windmill next to the dam. Henry handed her a beer. ‘So.’ He sat down next to her. ‘You’ve been lying.’ She didn’t respond, but she made it through at least half of the stubbie before he spoke again. ‘Lying. You even let Ida die thinking you were driving.’
Silence
‘Cate! I’ve been worried sick. But you were lying, Cate.’
‘Shut up!’
He shook his head, appalled. ‘And now they’re charging you with wil
fully misleading police?’
She nodded.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’ll probably get charged for the cost of the investigation. I wasted their time and resources.’
He glared at her again. ‘How could you?’ he breathed. ‘Don’t you care?’
‘No I don’t care! Not for me! I’m here, and you’re here, and Finley’s here! But you know who isn’t? Brigit. She’s dead. Wherever I am, she’s still dead, and it’s my fault. I lied about only one detail, because the real truth of it isn’t a lie, Henry. I killed my best friend and I have to live with it now. I wanted them to send me to prison. I wanted to prove to myself that I care – that I’m not trying to skip out on this thing that I did. I wanted to protect Brigit’s parents from ever thinking one bad thing about that girl! She was my friend, Henry. My friend. She did me the favour of being my friend – and I’m her friend, too. And I don’t care how dead you think she is!’ She was in tears now, and Finley was whining, his ears flicking up and down uncertainly.
Henry sat next to her and listened to her cry for a long time. ‘I’ve been afraid for you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been so worried that you’d have to spend time locked up for this one mistake, and that it would hurt you.’
‘I don’t think anything can hurt me anymore.’
He smiled at her, then dropped his huge arm around her and held her there. ‘Life is long,’ he murmured. ‘Give it time.’
When he cracked her another beer, she took it, and they sat together with Finley, watching a couple of willy-wagtails dancing around the lawn. The sun was setting, hanging low over the garden fence, and the evening air was cooling. ‘First thing in the morning, we’re going to see Brigit’s parents.’
Her heart froze. It was too much. She couldn’t do it now. Not now. She needed time. She needed to deal with one thing at a time. ‘No we’re not.’
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