by Kylie Kaden
Hannah swallowed hard. ‘Molly’s not my sister. She’s my daughter.’ The words caught in her throat, sounding strange out loud.
Will opened his eyes wide, then squeezed them tight. ‘Sorry, I must be really drunk because I could have sworn you just said that Molly was your daughter.’ He laughed, before a slow realisation dawned. He stared at her, dropped the rod into the mud. ‘Jesus.’ He stared some more. ‘Sorry. Okay. Right.’ He gathered his composure. ‘That’s … unexpected.’ Will’s face sunk with concern and confusion. He shook his head, then with a low, knitted brow, asked, ‘Angela and Dan – they raised Molly as their own, just to keep people from knowing?’
Hannah let out a cry that had been dormant for seventeen years; a high-pitched squeak like a corella. But she felt no embarrassment. He was like her priest, open to hearing all her sins with no judgement.
‘That’s fucked up on so many levels. Molly never let on.’
The family secret; it always seemed far more complex when hidden in her guilty heart. ‘She doesn’t know, but she needs to. I’d like to be the one to tell her.’
Will adjusted his weight on the folding seat and almost tipped off. He looked over to Hannah with nothing but compassion and asked, ‘How the hell did you pull that off in a town like ours?’
‘It was the summer before year twelve. I thought I was in love. We were sixteen, irresponsible, clueless about everything, but it was the only time in my life I felt sure about anyone.’ She paused, choked up, eager to show him she didn’t sleep around. That it meant something. ‘After a few months, I started to show – that’s when Mum and Dad concocted the idea about studying abroad. Of course, I never went. I was shoved off to my aunt’s in a duplex in Dubbo until they figured out what to do with their little tramp. They forbade me to tell the father or answer his letters. I had to deal with it all on my own.’ Hannah wiped the tears away. Will waited and listened, and she kept telling, piece by piece. ‘My parents spread the news that Mum was expecting their second child. She started wearing flowy dresses, and when they couldn’t pretend anymore, they hooked on the caravan, came and picked me up from my confinement of hell, and we all set off down south – Dad got work when he could, we moved around whenever anyone got to know us, and I studied half of year twelve by correspondence.’
‘Jesus. And you never told a soul. Not Abbi. Not the father?’
‘I know how crazy it sounds. I know you said your parents never told you that you were adopted and how that affected you, but I really believe they thought they were doing what was best for all of us. You know how old fashioned Dad is. They were desperate for another child. I was scared shitless, couldn’t fathom being responsible for a baby but couldn’t live with the thought of an abortion or handing my own flesh and blood over to strangers. It seemed like the only solution. Molly was breached, so I had to have her via a C-section. She was born in Newcastle, and came home in my mother’s arms. I finished school like nothing ever happened.’
‘Jesus, Hannah. That’s just …’ He shook his head in disbelief.
‘I know.’ Hannah felt like a load had lifted. ‘The whole student-exchange thing – it was just a cover-up. I’ve never even been to Paris. I don’t think I ever could, now.’
Will gave a stuttered cough, which morphed into laughter. Raucous, ugly laughter. ‘Another fucking secret wrecking people’s lives.’ Will leapt up, walked a few feet into the lake, still cackling, until his laughter turned to sobs. He bowed his head, hands on his knees as his breathing raced. He gulped for breath as if the world had been sucked dry of oxygen.
Hannah stood, stepped over to him and placed her arm around his shoulders. ‘Will? You okay?’
His face appeared pained as his lungs grappled for air. Hannah guided him back to the shore. He dropped to the sand, held his face in his hands, his breath racing, close to panic. Hannah sat beside him, rubbing his back through his damp t-shirt. She took a deep breath to calm herself.
‘It’s okay, Will. You don’t have to say it. I know about Eadie.’
The sun dipped behind the horizon, cloaking them in darkness. They sat in silence, as his breathing slowed. He gathered his composure, wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘You know what about Eadie?’
‘She told me today, in the playground.’
He covered his eyes with one hand. A murder of crows gathered on the branches overhanging the lake, bickering over a fish carcass, eyes menacing and cutthroat.
‘I went and told Blake. He told me what you believe – that it was Trevor.’
He stilled, turned to her. ‘What I believe?’
Awkwardness rose in the silence like gas. ‘I’m so sorry this happened. Whatever comes of it, I want to help.’
Will’s chin lifted. ‘You don’t think he did it.’
They were on a knife edge. One wrong move, and he’d scuttle away. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ He stood, stumbled around in the shallows again, disturbing his fishing gear, knocking chairs. ‘Another example of the pervasive culture of victim blaming.’
She stood, floundered a bit, unsure of how to paddle out of this shit creek. ‘Okay, I admit, it’s hard for me to believe. It’s not the same as being accused of armed robbery, or drunk driving. This behaviour – it means he wasn’t who he said he was. I knew him well, and I just … I don’t believe he was that depraved.’
‘You think they come with warning labels? Monsters rarely look like evil shines from within, like movies have you believe.’ He turned to her. ‘After what you just told me about how your parents made you live a lie for their own fucking reputation, how can you not accept that people can surprise you?’
Hannah looked to the darkening sky. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Some things are true, whether you believe them or not.’
Hannah tried to stay focused on the matter at hand. ‘Developmentally, a child of five doesn’t know the consequences of their words. Perhaps you just misconstrued a comment she made—’
‘Accept it, Hannah. Get it through that pretty head of yours. The man indecently dealt with a little girl. I’m sure Eadie wasn’t the first. But at least she’s the last.’
‘You think he ran his car off that cliff out of guilt? Is that it?’
‘I know this much is true: fingers are pointing, but no one seems to know why the bastard died.’ He paused, gazed out at the darkening sky where it met the rippling horizon. ‘He’s one of them now, the lost souls at the bottom of the sea.’ He threw the empty bottle of Bundy across the lake, concentric circles spreading from where it broke the surface. ‘Now we’ll never fucking know.’
The look on his face told her there was no doubt he’d suffered a trauma. God, it must be true. She lifted her hand to her mouth as a shudder ripped down her spine. ‘Poor Eadie.’
‘She’ll be fine. I’ve talked her through the whole thing – her feelings about him, how wrong it was of him. How it was never her fault. She understands what happened as much as a five-year-old can. We just have to give her time to process it. It’s the rest of us I’m worried about.’
Hannah nodded. Eadie was young. She had that in her favour. ‘I’m sorry, Will.’ Their eyes met, a fleeting, nervous look, before his gaze fell to the swoop of the lake, the sandy shore beneath them. The crows had abandoned them. Even the cicadas had stilled. Hannah had a sense of them being in their own private world, no phones, nothing to link them to reality. No one else, other than her miserable father and the Office of Births, Deaths and Marriages, knew her secret. And now she knew his. Warmth rushed the skin on her neck, the smell of sweet rum and bushfire smoke invaded her senses.
Hannah hadn’t planned this, but in the moment, under the darkening sky, it felt inevitable. As if every casual remark, every lingering look or shared drink had led to this. Hannah reached up and found his face, traced her fingertip along his brow, down the curve of his cheek. Her heart thumped. They bumped noses. The darkness was a dome, their own private bubble. He was blank
faced, a little stunned, but he didn’t turn away. Her lips wavered below his jaw, scratchy with whiskers, before pressing onto his mouth.
His lips felt electric, and she flinched from the shock.
Will came alive, a sharp inhale as he kissed her back. Heat rushed through her as he reached around her backside, picked her up, curled her legs around his waist like she was weightless. She’d never felt so feminine. He carried her effortlessly over to an old wooden jetty, the smokiness mingling with the salty river, the moon a swollen globe above their heads as he lowered her onto the deck. There was a fumble of arms and legs, hands and wrists before he pressed himself hard against her.
The weight of him was suffocatingly good.
Chapter 30
40 DAYS AFTER THE MOON FESTIVAL
The jet-black night engulfed the town, made way for a canopy of stars. Abbi stepped onto her deck, the romantic view only heightening her loneliness. Will’s wetsuit flapped in the breeze. His surfboard, lumpy with wax, leaned against the outdoor shower. Where was he now? What was he thinking? Was he even missing her?
The lapping waves seemed louder at night, yet the sounds that used to bring comfort had been replaced by other memories. Memories she was anxious to forget.
Abbi heard footsteps down the side of the deck and her throat tightened in the hope it was Will, until she saw Blake’s stocky build block the staircase.
He wandered up, sat. ‘Saw your light on.’
She tried to hide her disappointment. ‘From your house?’
Blake scowled. ‘What, I need an excuse to visit you?’
‘I just thought Hannah would’ve grounded you.’
‘She knows.’ His look lingered. He was pale. Obviously, he wasn’t referring to that business with Hannah asking about what they got up to as teens. It was more than that.
Heat rushed to her face. All those months, keeping it from Will, for him to share it with Blabbermouth Worthington. ‘You told her?’
‘Eadie did. At least, about what started this. I’ve been working all night trying to figure out what the hell to do now. This changes the goalposts.’
Abbi felt heartsick. Eadie talked about it. Talked about it to Hannah. It was still on her mind. All at once, Abbi doubted every decision she’d made since that night, doubted not seeking out the best counsellor she could find to attempt to dampen the trauma of what her little girl went through. But psychologists were under mandatory reporting regulations, which meant seeking counselling meant risking an investigation, and uncovering Will’s role in the perpetrator’s death. She wanted to believe that forcing Eadie to retell, relive the memories of the event with strangers would just allow the act itself to grab a tighter grip around her. Abbi wanted it to be erased. But here was living proof that it hadn’t been. ‘What did she tell her?’
Blake exhaled. ‘She knows what he did to her.’
‘But not that we—’
‘What’s this “we” business?’ Blake’s face coloured. He did the nostril flare he reserved for complete frustration. It reminded her of Ferdinand the bull. ‘And don’t bloody mention that stuff.’ He looked around as if expecting the walls to gasp. ‘Since we found the car, the media pegged it as a suicide. It kind of filled a gap, in a way.’
‘That’s good then, right?’
‘She doesn’t buy it. Thinks it was out of character, doubts he actually did anything.’
Abbi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ugh.’
‘She dated the guy. No one wants to think they got jiggy with a paedo.’
‘She’s calling us liars.’
Blake’s face pinched. ‘We kinda are, aren’t we? I’m just giving you a heads-up, okay. No point denying it. She’ll probably badger you about it. Incessantly.’
Abbi shook her head. ‘She’s a bulldog when she wants something.’
‘Passive–aggressive is more her style. But she’s smart. She won’t let this go. Don’t antagonise her. It will just make things worse.’
It was only a matter of time before Hannah linked Trevor Adler’s seedy habit to why he might have ended up in the lake, and started looking for the people who’d put him there.
‘There’s something else. I can tell by your face.’ Abbi braced herself. ‘Just tell me.’
‘My partner knows.’
‘Penny? How?’
‘Ho overheard Hannah’s story. She’s informed CIB. They got a judge to grant a warrant already, they’ve done a computer search in light of the suspicion, found lots of dodgy shit. She’s already gone to the school. Homicide wants statements.’
‘Jesus. I can’t, Blay. I’ll fucking cave. I’ll spill the lot.’
‘I’ve already written them. So, that’s what I’m doing with you now, if anyone asks, okay? You’ll have to sign it.’
‘Okay.’ He pulled out the statements, piecing the fabrication together like a quilt. She read over them, and signed.
* * *
His lies seemed completely plausible. ‘Everyone will look at her differently now. I didn’t want it to become part of who she is. How she views herself.’
‘It’s always gonna be part of her, Abs, but not because of this report. Cops take confidentiality seriously, especially with kids.’
Abbi’s hand covered her mouth as tears welled. This made it real. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’
He dismissed her apology with a tightly set jaw. ‘I’ve made you a copy. Memorise it. I didn’t know about the abuse until recently, okay? You can’t hint otherwise.’
‘You think I’d do that?’
‘You threatened to.’ Blake looked away.
Abbi was confused. ‘What?’
Blake regretted bringing it up. ‘You know.’
Abbi frowned.
He couldn’t believe the little control freak. She’d threatened him that night in her neighbour’s shed, brought up the one thing that would have wrecked his chances with Hannah forever, not to mention his job, and now she’d forgotten. Blake finally mustered the courage to say something. He wasn’t backing down now.
‘You told me, in your little pitch to cover your arse, that it wasn’t the first time I’d covered for a mate.’
Abbi’s eyes fell. Her chin trembled. Realisation dawned. ‘I would never—’
‘You just thought you’d hang it over my head anyway. Guarantee I’d toe the line.’
She reached out to him but he pulled away, determined to let his anger find its way to her this time, but before he could yell, she retaliated in true manipulator form. ‘You know that wasn’t your fault, what happened to Angela Worthington. You weren’t to know how drunk Malcolm was when you let him back behind the wheel.’
Blake cringed. He didn’t want to think about that night. It was ten years ago, but as fresh as yesterday. He’d pulled over Malcolm Hawley not half an hour before the man lost control of his vehicle and ploughed into Hannah’s mother’s pushbike. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d prioritised the relationship he had with the likeable dentist he’d known his whole life, and didn’t breathalyse him despite his partner indicating there was cause to. That the car had wandered across a lane. That procedure required it. That he could have taken Malcolm’s keys, prevented it. That Hannah and Molly would still have a mum. And a dad, for that matter.
Abbi looked heartsick, like she knew what he was thinking. ‘It was your first week, Blake. Everyone makes wrong calls when they’re starting out. God, I declared the wrong bloke dead in an obituary, my first day at the paper.’
‘Yeah, well my mistake caused a real death.’
‘Half the town felt bad about what happened to her, wound it back to being their fault. Was it Molly’s, for drinking the last of the milk that day? Was it Dan’s, for not replacing his wife’s broken bike light? The council’s, for not widening the road on the blind corner? Or, let me think, Trevor-fucking-Adler, who was on the board that rejected the request for council funding – perhaps you can blame him? It wasn’t your fault.’
Blake woul
d never forget the wording in the local news. ‘Mother dies buying milk’, above a photograph of Angela’s twisted bicycle, a broken wicker basket in the gutter. He thought of it every time he passed the dairy aisle at the shops. Thought of what he could have done to prevent it. The driver was twice the legal limit. He should have smelt it on his breath, heard it in his slur. But he didn’t. He’d been tough on every drunk driver since.
‘I was a coward. I was unwilling to let a bloke I admired be embarrassed by a young, wet-behind-the-ears constable. I wanted to look like a man who made my own decisions, not a newbie who followed procedure blindly. I’ve lived with that every day since, vowed to never compromise my job for anything. And yet you made me. You used that knowledge, something I shared with you in confidence, the one shameful thing I’ve done in my career, to cloud my judgement.’
‘God, Blake. That’s not what happened. I swear, I was just—’
‘Using my own self-doubt against me, for your own good. Like you always have. Like you see me as nothing more than a lapdog. A resource at your beck and call.’ He looked past her, rather than at her.
Abbi tilted her head. ‘What must you think of me, Blake? If you thought me capable of that? Doing something so awful.’
Blake almost laughed. ‘Are you forgetting you fucking killed someone?’
Abbi sighed. ‘I can’t do this anymore, Blake. I’m going to bed.’
‘Wait. That’s not all.’ Blake looked back at Abbi and shook his head. ‘I followed her. Hannah. After barging in at the station, just to check she got home okay.’
‘And?’ Abbi knew it was about to get worse.
‘She turned onto Stilton Road, out to the highway. She went to that old display house, you know, that abandoned development out by the southern bank of the lake?’
Abbi frowned. ‘What for? A drug deal?’
He smiled. ‘No, that’s always the 7-Eleven car park.’ He swallowed. ‘I parked on the road, walked through the bush. There was a campfire. I saw his car.’
‘That’s where he is?’ Abbi’s chest tightened as thoughts crashed through her mind. Will. Hannah. A deserted camp. Tears welled. ‘He wouldn’t.’