Ethan heaved his shoulders back. He remembered the reports on the tragedy. Hadn’t realised it was his father. They kept names out of it, for the child’s sake, probably. Or perhaps because they couldn’t find the murderer, even though his prints were all over the scene.
If he’d known Thomas O’Donnell—whatever the hell his real name was—was alive all those years, he would have found him. Repaid him for what he’d done to Linnie Granger. That woman in Sydney might have lived too. ‘I looked for him, after my mother died. I couldn’t find any trace of him, neither could the police. But he was killed himself three years after that woman died. The cops came looking for me, to tell me. I was in university.’
‘And who did this killing?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ethan lowered his voice to match Grandy’s as a few townspeople took the steps from the road up to the walkway. Kookaburra’s doors had been swung open. Families would start arriving in town soon, getting set for Friday night dinner. ‘Probably some criminal he was hanging around with. The cops said they’d found his body south of Canberra. They’d been looking for him, hadn’t closed the case—that woman and her child.’ A nightmare scenario Ethan had never liked to think about for too long. It might have been his mother. Himself. ‘That child might be Thomas’s,’ he said. ‘My brother or sister.’
‘She isn’t.’
She? A sister? ‘How would you know?’
Grandy didn’t answer for a moment. ‘The cops spoke to me, too. Trying to get a few answers.’
‘What do you know about his death?’
‘Enough.’
Shit. Ethan straightened on the bench. ‘Are you about to tell me he’s still alive?’
‘Oh, he’s dead. Believe me, Thomas O’Donnell is in hell.’
Ethan lifted his gaze to the early evening sky, relief washing through him.
‘I set upon him myself one day, after I saw Linnie’s face.’ The set of Grandy’s mouth and the narrowing of his eyes told Ethan there were thoughts in Grandy’s mind he felt he had to get straight. ‘He’d hit her, you too. You were five years old.’
Ethan forced memories forward. Which time was Grandy referring to? He remembered the hidings but couldn’t always distinguish one from the other.
‘I thumped him good then,’ Grandy said. ‘I did it again, a few years later. I don’t regret anything I did.’
‘I understand,’ Ethan said. ‘No-one who knew him would blame you.’
Grandy didn’t seem to hear. ‘You were holding onto Linnie’s hand that day as though she were the only thing in your universe.’
Ethan ran a hand over his head. ‘She was.’
‘Yes, she was. To me too.’
Grandy had helped his mother, many people in town had helped her—mainly by keeping quiet about her secrets and the abuse she’d taken. Offering assistance from afar—by just letting her get on with her life.
‘You don’t have to worry none about what your kids will inherit from Thomas, Ethan.’
Ethan shook his head. ‘My mother told me not to worry about being like him, but I always thought I must be. That somewhere inside me, my father’s violent blood was waiting to run through my veins. That’s what scares me. That’s why I pulled away from Sammy.’ He pictured Sammy painting her fence, digging her kitchen garden. ‘I might turn out the same way. One day something inherently wrong within me will fly at her.’
‘I never hit a woman or a child in my life,’ Grandy said firmly. ‘But some men need putting down and curbing. That’s what Thomas needed.’
‘Same with me,’ Ethan agreed. ‘Only fought when I had to, when I was younger and felt pushed to it. Some of those young men I hung around with were mad. I put a few of those down.’ He paused, a single memory hitting home. ‘I lashed out at my father once, I was eight, it was just before he left. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took a spade handle to him—to his legs. He was so shocked, he walked away. Didn’t touch me. Went for my mother instead.’
‘He went away after that,’ Grandy said, his tone of voice placating, as though he were speaking to the child Ethan had been, not the grown man.
‘He lived long enough to do damage elsewhere though,’ Ethan said. ‘Maybe some drifter got hold of him in the end. Never thought there was a man big enough to take him down. But I’m glad there was.’
‘There was.’
Ethan put his hands on his knees and hauled in a breath. ‘I don’t want to be like him.’
‘You won’t hit Sammy, Ethan, or any children you have. I know it.’
It put the fear of God into him. He’d buried the consideration of what might surface within him years ago. He’d placed himself in enough solitude so he could hide and stem the abusive instincts, believing one day they might surface. How could they not, with his history? Then Sammy turned up and his world had flipped. ‘You can’t tell me you know who I am inside,’ he said, teeth gritted, ‘or what I might or might not do.’
‘Oh, but I can, Ethan.’
‘Robert hit. Look at what he did to Carla.’
Grandy shifted. ‘Well, I can’t speak for Robert. He wasn’t my son.’
Twenty-One
‘At least you’re dressed well,’ Verity Walker said. ‘I had a vision of you stepping inside the door wearing dungarees and carrying a spade.’ She turned, made her way down the narrow hallway of the house Sammy had grown up in. ‘Come in,’ she said over her shoulder.
Sammy stepped inside, closed the front door and inhaled the aroma of her childhood. Potpourri. Waxy furniture polish, but not the supermarket, spray kind—the real stuff that came in a tin you had to prise the lid off. And coldness. It was the smell of cold, clean, and perfect she remembered most.
‘How are you, mother?’ She put her holdall down in the living room, unzipped it, took a few moments to find what she wanted, then took out a box of soft centred chocolates her mother liked and placed them onto the coffee table.
‘The suit is a little out of date,’ Verity said, her glance skimming Sammy’s jacket and skirt, and resting on her shoes before she looked up. ‘The colouring suits your pale complexion though, warms you up a bit. The hat is a good touch.’
Sammy looked down at her raspberry-rose suit. Something she’d bought from one of Kate’s young designers. She was as fashionable and as refined as Kate, as though this was her world and she was comfortable in it, but her mother would never acknowledge perfection in anything Sammy did, said, or wore. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t worn these city clothes; wished she was back in her house in Swallow’s Fall in her soft track pants, forking her kitchen garden and getting another T-shirt dirty and stained with the warmth and comfort of her efforts.
Ethan had been stunned to silence at the sight of her dressed this way. He’d told her how beautiful she looked. The man who had undressed her patiently, carefully stripping the work clothes from her body, his eyes full of desire. The man who had loved her in bed, naked, yet stroking and stirring her body as though she’d worn velvet and furs … even Ethan had liked her more in her glamorous city wear. His inability to see beneath the type of clothes she wore crushed her faster than anything her mother could ever say to her.
There was a woman inside Sammy who was waiting to break free. Not a designer-dressed parody of business, nor a track-suited workaholic. Somewhere in between there was the real Samantha, living contentedly. A woman who loved, and showed femininity whatever she wore. She didn’t imagine she’d find that woman soon but she didn’t have any intent to stop looking for her.
‘I won’t stay long.’ She faced the moment she’d prepared for. ‘I wanted to tell you that I will accept my responsibility to you, and that I will help in whatever way I can. But I won’t be living with you.’
Her mother breathed through her nostrils. ‘And Oliver?’
‘I’ve told him I’ll pay him back the money.’
‘And the paperwork?’
‘I don’t have it. I burnt it,’ she lied.
‘You told him tha
t?’
‘No.’
Her mother turned and studied the carpet. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re hiding something.’
‘Let me worry about Oliver. I’ll handle him if he threatens us anymore. I’ll call in the police if necessary.’
‘And where would that leave me? I took that money off him. You’d implicate me in all of this by going to the police. You have to leave it alone, forget it. You have to tell Oliver you won’t do anything about it and that you believe him.’
Sammy raised her brow. ‘Believe him? Do you really think he didn’t take that money from his clients?’
‘He told me he’d put it back.’
‘What?’ Sammy stepped closer. ‘When? Has he called you in the last week?’
Verity shrugged. ‘He scares me, Samantha.’
A shudder ran down Sammy’s spine. ‘He scares me too,’ she said softly, wanting to ease her mother’s concern. Verity was a difficult woman and an unloving mother, but she must have had sleepless nights worrying about this. ‘I’ll fix things. I won’t implicate you.’ Oliver had probably put the money back like her mother said. The fear of having someone even suspect a wrongdoing would have forced him to replace the money and attempt to wipe out any proof of what he’d done. Except that Sammy had proof. Only dates and amounts but if it was audited the truth would come out.
‘How are you going to pay him back?’ Verity asked.
‘I’ve seen Kate today, and she’s going to put more work my way.’
‘And what about us?’
Sammy paused and met her mother’s eye. She felt her own gaze grow as determined as Verity’s. ‘We’re not exactly happy in each other’s company. I think we should take it slowly. We both hold bad feelings for each other, but if we can get to a point of mutual understanding, I believe we have a chance for a similar kind of respect.’
Verity sniffed. ‘Are you going back to that town?’
‘I’m returning to Swallow’s Fall today. I have a number of things I need to make arrangements for … ’ She faltered at the thought of seeing Ethan and telling him what she had decided on. It would upset many an applecart, but he needed to know it first, before the town. It would affect him.
‘There are people I need to speak to,’ she said. ‘I had begun to make a life there, I’ve already made commitments to the town, and I need to sort all that out and see how it can be managed.’
‘Then what?’ Verity asked. ‘What are you going to do?’
She had to take her plans one step at a time, and no doubt there’d be embarrassment involved. Someone at Kookaburra’s would draw up the tab, take the dollars thrown down on the table, and then the town would sit back and watch as Sammy put her plans into place in her own time, not rushing for anyone. Not dissimilar to Ethan, she thought, and found a rueful smile on her mouth. At last, Samantha Walker had staying power.
‘I don’t know what you’ve got to smirk at,’ Verity interrupted, ‘but my patience is running thin.’
Sammy turned from her mother, picked up the holdall. ‘Patience was never one of your virtues. And I think I’ve already outstayed my welcome.’ She smiled, politely, and kept her gaze straight. ‘I’ll telephone you each week. Perhaps in a month or so, we could meet up.’ She raised her hand as Verity opened her mouth to speak. ‘But not here. I don’t wish to set foot inside this house again until we’ve reached that respectful place where we can both talk without disliking each other so much.’
She took her holdall, pushed down all the art materials Kate had given her, with the promise of more help for the young people of Swallow’s Fall and the art classes. Was there anyone in town who could draw? It might be best if someone else took charge of the classes. She zipped the bag closed. There would be time to sort it out.
She walked through to the hall, knowing her mother wouldn’t offer any parting goodbye or remedy; no, Let’s discuss it. Can’t we sort out our differences now? But comfortable with her own efforts at redress. It would never have been easy. She’d made the move, now she had to wait; do it again in a week or so, on the telephone.
The front door opened before she reached it. ‘Hello, Samantha,’ Oliver said, his teeth too white against his flawlessly tanned face. ‘Coming home? Or leaving again?’
Sammy stalled, nearly dropped the holdall.
‘You almost missed her,’ Verity said behind Sammy. ‘I’ll pack an overnight bag. You can tell her while I’m doing it.’
‘Tell me what?’ Sammy swung around to see her mother head up the stairs.
She gripped her bag firmly, squared her shoulders and turned to face Oliver. ‘I’m leaving. Alone. I’m catching an afternoon flight to Canberra. There is nothing for us to talk about.’
Oliver’s gaze pinpointed Sammy, the smooth skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. If a person didn’t know him, they’d be captured by the ingratiating façade, wouldn’t notice the deviousness behind his smile. Like a gambler about to deal a fixed deck of cards to a group of novice players.
‘We planned ahead,’ he said. ‘We’re coming with you. We can have a little financial discussion on the way.’
‘I expected much better service,’ Verity said. ‘No wonder nobody knows that Canberra is the capital of Australia. Nobody would want to know, if this is what they refer to as excellence. This is an international airport. How long have we been standing in this queue? We disembarked an hour ago and still haven’t got a car.
‘For God’s sake, Verity, give it a rest, would you?’ Oliver said, giving Verity a sharp look over his shoulder.
Sammy sighed. Verity had taken issue with everything so far; the toilets, the coffee, the lack of choice in sandwiches and cakes. She ought to be grateful she was here. Oliver hadn’t wanted Verity to come any more than Sammy had wanted Oliver to come.
Verity stepped back from Oliver, moved closer to Sammy and whispered, ‘This is not how I’d thought it would be, Samantha.’
Sammy looked at her mother. ‘What did you expect when you made your plans with him?’
Her mother swallowed, then moistened her mouth. ‘I made a mistake.’
‘Stop arguing with him for a start. Let him think he’s in control for the moment.’
‘What good is that going to do us?’
‘It’ll give me more time to think.’ Sammy hadn’t interfered in the verbal ping-pong match between her mother and Oliver. She’d been at the hands of Oliver’s vicious influence before. It had been far from pleasant. But here he was, at her side, despite her best efforts at alternative suggestions. She’d said she’d stay overnight in Sydney, but Oliver had said he wanted to see ‘the country dump where you live’ and her mother had insisted on tagging along, telling Oliver that if it wasn’t for her, he would never have found Samantha in the first place.
‘There, Oliver,’ Verity said, her voice pinched, suggesting tiredness alongside her worry. ‘There’s a man in uniform. Get his attention.’
‘Yes, yes, I see him.’ Oliver lifted his hand and beckoned in his most patronising manner.
Sammy patted her mother’s arm, feeling a little sorry for her. She’d be playing dutiful daughter for a long time, but at least now it would be on her terms. Once they’d got rid of Oliver.
She kept her head bowed, her holdall clutched in her hand. Her fingers were numb from the tight grip she’d had on it during the last hour as they queued and waited and filled out forms and showed ID, trying to get a hire car Oliver felt was suitable for his status.
She looked over her shoulder at the Domestic Arrivals gate they’d come through earlier, at the people hugging each other, smiling in greeting, taking luggage from weary travellers whilst slapping shoulders in welcome. Children skipped into the arms of fathers who hugged them tightly, looking over their heads at wives who waited for their turn.
All sorts of people: men and women obviously in political or marketing arenas, and those in casual attire, farmers maybe, flying home to Canberra from a visit somewhere, their big country 4WD’s p
arked at the long-stay car park, tanks full of fuel, ready to take the drive back to the land.
Oliver handed his credit card to the man on the other side of the counter. By the look of steely annoyance on Oliver’s face, his patience was still as easily broken as her mother’s.
Sammy closed her eyes and pictured home. How the hell was she going to get rid of Oliver?
‘I’ve loved two women, Ethan. One was my wife, and the other was your mother.’
The words hadn’t been said aloud but they were beating a primal rhythm in Ethan’s head. Father and son. Father and son. ‘It can’t be.’ As he said it every fibre in his being wanted it to be true but he was struggling to understand. His mother had married Thomas late. She’d been in her early thirties when Robert was born. Grandy would have been fifty five, his mother thirty eight when Ethan was born. ‘I’m having a bit of trouble … ’ He swallowed. ‘Getting my head around this.’
‘I know. You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I can’t see it.’
‘That’s because you never expected it. Look at me.’
Ethan turned his gaze to the old man on the bench. He didn’t have to sweep a look over him, he could see plainly enough that Grandy was built the way he was built. Older, much older, but the shadow of the younger man was still imprinted in the strength and the features. Grandy had looked like a strong giant to the young Ethan. Reliable, dependable and never pushy … well, not so much that a person would understand in what direction they were being persuaded. Ethan drew a breath, frowning, and saw the same creases around Grandy’s blue eyes that he saw in the mirror every morning as he shaved.
‘What’s my name?’ Grandy asked.
‘Edmond Morelly.’
‘Edmond Ethan Morelly.’
Ethan pushed the breath out of his lungs.
‘It’s alright, son. Take it in as best you can.’
‘I need … ’ Time.
‘I have some explaining to do,’ Grandy said, ‘and I’d like it if you listened. There ain’t much daylight left and I’m hoping you’ll get a deeper understanding before that Canberra bus comes back into town.’
The House On Burra Burra Lane Page 22