by Fiona Lowe
She put her hand on his arm. ‘None of this is your fault. In fact, there’s a possibility you may have done the entire district a civic service.’
‘What? By inadvertently sparking off a public shaming of my brother-in-law?’ He scrubbed his cheeks with his palms.
‘Oh God, has he really stolen money from the sick, the elderly, the gullible and the greedy?’ She shuddered as she shimmied out of her dress.
‘It’s hard to wrap your head around it, isn’t it? James has always been a bit of a show-off. He likes bright and shiny toys, but I never picked him to rip off his clients.’
‘Allegedly,’ the lawyer in her felt compelled to say, although it was hard to get past the fact that five unrelated people had accused James of withholding their money. She finally asked Steve the question that had been troubling her, the question she hadn’t broached in the car because Georgie and the kids were in the back: ‘Do you think Harry knew?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I doubt it. If she did, she’s a bloody good actress. I reckon she realised what was going on pretty much the same time as the rest of us.’
‘I’ve never seen her look so rattled. I offered to stay with her but she blew me off.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally,’ Steve said, falling back onto the bed. ‘I reckon she’ll want to talk to James with no one else around to overhear their conversation.’
‘I guess you’re right.’ An image of Charlotte as she’d joined the angry group came to Xara. Her skin flashed hot and cold again, just as it had at Miligili. ‘And Charlie. God, did you see her face?’
‘Yeah, poor kid. Are you sure we did the right thing letting Edwina take her home to Glenora?’ He sat up and ran his hand across the back of his permanently sun-browned neck. ‘Maybe she should have come home with us. Your mother’s not exactly known for her coping abilities in a crisis. Your dad was the one who always dealt with difficult things.’
‘That’s true.’ She thought about when Georgie was eleven and her sister had been rushed to hospital after being thrown from her horse. That sparked off the memory of the day Tasha was born and how her father had come alone to the hospital. It wasn’t until she and Tasha were discharged that her mother visited, and even then she’d cleaned and cooked rather than helping with the baby. For a woman with three daughters, she’d never been great with babies, but as they grew into toddlers and beyond she became a lot more hands on.
‘But tonight Mum was amazing.’ She slipped off her underwear and pulled on her pyjamas. ‘I’ve got no idea what’s going on with her or if it has anything to do with Doug, but she was formidable. No one dared not do as she said and short of a fire, I’ve never seen a room empty so fast.’
‘It was impressive,’ Steve conceded. ‘It was a night of bombshells, that’s for sure.’
‘Oh, but it was a trainwreck of a party.’ An hysterical edge tinged Xara’s laugh. ‘There’s a horrible irony to the fact that Harry thought Mum bringing Doug to the party was a disaster. Compared with James’s alleged activities, Doug’s arrival is positively minor in the rumour and gossip stakes.’
‘I had a quick chat with him. He seems like a good bloke, but then again,’ bitterness filled his voice, ‘so did James.’
She squeezed his hand, wanting to give him something when nothing much helped. ‘I’m guessing most people relocated somewhere else to deconstruct the night’s events and take delight in James and Harry’s alleged fall from grace.’
‘Not all of them. Lewis, Rory and David went straight to the police.’ A pained expression crossed his face and he raised his head to meet her gaze. ‘The senior constable on duty called me while you were settling the twins. He also called Kevin Duncan. He wants both of us to go down and give a statement.’
She realised that while she’d been getting ready for bed all he’d done was divest himself of his tie. ‘What? Now? It’s almost eleven.’
He shrugged as if the time was irrelevant. ‘You know more about this than I do, Xar, but I’m thinking the police need enough statements to convince a magistrate to issue a warrant.’
‘Oh, shit, you’re right. The longer it takes to get the warrant, the more time James has to shred and delete.’
‘I know we’re family but we’re not enabling that, right?’ Steve frowned, his expression now deeply worried.
She leaned in and kissed him. ‘No, we’re not enabling that in any shape or form. He’ll have his chance in court to prove he hasn’t stolen money from the respite-care house fund.’ And the rest.
‘And if he has,’ Steve growled, ‘I’ll rip his bloody arms off.’
‘No, you won’t or you’ll land up in court too.’ She rested her forehead gently on his, a little alarmed by his violent reaction. ‘Besides, you’re not one of those aggressive, moronic blokes I used to date. You’re my wonderful, level-headed, rational guy.’
He stood up and resumed pacing. ‘I don’t feel rational, Xar. I feel like I need to go and chop a hell of a lot of wood.’ He swung around and looked at her, his expression completely nonplussed. ‘Tell me. What kind of bloke rips off kids? Let alone kids with disabilities.’
A desperate one. Her heart tore at his bewilderment but she knew there was no point having this conversation with him tonight. Not when he was angry and struggling with betrayal.
‘He’s lower than pond scum.’
The night’s events caught up with her and suddenly she was incredibly cold. Shivers ran over her skin and she crawled under the covers. ‘And if he’s found guilty, you can tell him that as part of your victim impact statement.’
‘Oh, he’s guilty all right.’ Steve’s usually soft eyes hardened and flashed shards of emerald green. ‘And the bastard’s never setting foot on my farm again.’
Xara flinched at his resolute tone. If Steve, who was usually the voice of reason, was this incensed, hurt and raw, how was the rest of the town reacting? James and Harriet were Billawarre’s favourite couple and as much as many had wished to be—and tried to be—included in their circle and the accepted ones had gloried in it, most people loved nothing more than watching tall poppies fall. James, as mayor and a successful—allegedly successful—businessman, had definitely stumbled if not fallen. Suspicion and allegations were enough for the newsmakers to pounce and when you added in his position as mayor of one of the larger rural cities in the state, this story was bigger than Billawarre. By morning, the haters would have started seeding their vitriol across the internet, using social media to act as both judge and jury. Those savage and venomous comments would stay on the net forever, appearing over and over whenever the names James Minchin or Harriet Chirnwell were typed into a search engine.
The treacherous question she’d thought she’d put to rest bubbled up again. Had Harry known about James’s theft?
Alleged, alleged, alleged theft. But the lawyer in her was losing the battle to the woman with a strong gut feeling.
For the first time in her life, Xara felt sorry for her talented, bossy, designer-wearing, privileged sister. Harriet’s perfect life had suddenly become even messier than her own.
* * *
Georgie sat on top of a hill with her back resting uncomfortably against a dry stone wall. Long blades of summer-dried grass tickled her bare legs but the air was blessedly autumn-morning cool. She watched the dawn leach into the sky, sending out its wash of pale pink and orange. It wasn’t long before the colours quickly faded; absorbed into the distinctive blue that was the Australian sky.
She’d been woken early by the bleating of sheep, the happy warbling of magpies and the raucous and shudder-inducing squawks of galahs. She swore all the rustic sounds of the country were louder than the early morning rumblings of city traffic and the buzz, crank and thump of the recycling truck. Perhaps she had become that city chick Xara liked to tease her about.
If she had, it had been unintentional. After spending five years at uni, she’d taught for two years in Melbourne before heading off overseas. After three years of t
ravelling and teaching English in Vietnam and Brazil, she’d returned to Australia and immediately been offered a short-term teaching contract at her current school. Almost broke, and never one to ask for money from her parents, she’d accepted the job as a stopgap measure until she got herself more organised. Only, each time the contract ended, someone else went on maternity leave, long-service leave or sick leave and she was asked to stay on. She loved the school and she enjoyed the classroom work, but her true love was teaching art. Sadly, there were few specific art teacher jobs on offer.
Eight months after meeting Jason, she was encouraged by the school to apply for a permanent classroom position. She’d prevaricated but Jason had urged her on, telling her writing her CV and taking the interview would all be good experience. If she was honest with herself, she’d known his suggestion was more to do with keeping her in the city: he had no bucolic interests at all. On their infrequent visits to Billawarre, he’d always tried to convince her to return to Melbourne earlier than planned. When the school offered her the permanent job, he’d proposed she accept it and that they move in together. At the time it had seemed like a commitment from him, the first step toward a long and happy future together.
So she taught kids and Jason sold wine on a huge scale. His job was very Melbourne-centric. For the top end of the market he needed to be in the heart of the upper-middle-class leafy suburbs, snob central, as well has having easy access to the growth corridor where women stranded in the outer suburbs with young children drank copious amounts of cheap sauv blanc; bitch diesel, as he’d taken to calling it.
She winced and it wasn’t just from the pain of the jagged rock pressing against her spine. There was a lot not to miss about Jason. The fact that he kept popping into her thoughts, especially now when she’d just stumbled across a rock-filled paddock in the dusky dawn light to call Ben, bothered her.
And why do you think this keeps happening, Georgina? The question skittered across her mind in the soft and calm voice of the counsellor she’d seen after Eliza’s birth. Georgie immediately tried to shy away from the answer but it caught her by the throat anyway. She and Jason shared a child. He was part of Eliza and Eliza was always going to be a part of her. Her hand closed tightly around her phone, welcoming the painful press of the edges against her palm as she both reminded and berated herself that Jason had always been ambivalent about having children. How had she missed that about him? She’d brought up the topic of kids on and off during their first couple of years together and he’d said, sure, in the future. He’d asked her to wait until the business was fully on its feet and, against the sound of a loudly ticking biological clock, she’d complied. She knew enough about relationships to know that falling pregnant before he was ready was a direct path to rancour and resentment.
When she’d unexpectedly found herself pregnant following a bout of gastro—turned out she’d not only thrown up all food for two days but also her contraceptive pill—she’d been delirious with happiness. Jason had expressed just enough interest in the pregnancy to allay her fears that he didn’t feel tricked into becoming a father earlier than he’d preferred. He even got as far as downloading a pregnancy for dads app on his phone and had agreed to attend classes. But they never made it to class.
Eliza’s unexpectedly abrupt arrival and precipitous death hadn’t affected Jason in the same way it had Georgie. He’d quickly accepted the outcome. She had not. She’d railed against the devastating unfairness, weeping and wailing and furious at the world. Three months after she’d last held her perfectly formed daughter, with her translucent skin and soft covering of downy hair, he’d told her what had happened was for the best. He’d said it was time for her to face facts, take it in her stride and move on.
God, how she hated that overused, psychobabble phrase. People who had no understanding at all of her grief said it so easily. She could almost forgive acquaintances and strangers, but she couldn’t forgive Jason. How could a mother just move on from the death of her child? She wanted to remember forever and he wanted to forget.
Her phone lit up and she realised she must have accidently pressed Ben’s number when she’d squeezed her phone. She brought it up to her ear just as he answered.
‘Georgie.’ His sleep-filled voice quietly stroked her name.
She quivered as she remembered how his large and talented hands had stroked her two nights ago. Her pulse quickened. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘Hang on,’ he said softly.
She heard some rustling, a thump and then footsteps before the noise of a door closing. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, his voice now normal volume. ‘Dad and I are sharing a room at the motel and he’s still snoring. How are things?’
She thought about everything that had happened since she’d dropped him off at the motel yesterday. ‘Weird.’
He laughed. ‘Is that code for “family”? I know the feeling. The longer I live away from mine the more weird they seem when I return.’
‘Actually, my sisters are being totally predictable.’ She pulled up the blade of grass that was prickling her leg and chewed on it.
‘Predictable is good.’
‘I guess,’ she said, thinking that nothing else about her visit so far had been predictable.
A flock of sulphur-crested cockatoos swooped past, a white flash against the deepening blue sky. A moment later they landed in a nearby gum tree, announcing their arrival with a loud and distinctive car-car sound.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘The home paddock of my middle sister’s farm.’
‘Xara, right?’
She smiled, both delighted and surprised by his memory. ‘Well done.’
‘Hey,’ he said, his tone both teasing and serious. ‘I listen. Why are you out there?’
‘The house is too small to have a private conversation.’ And I’m keeping you private.
‘No. I meant why are you out at the farm? I thought you were staying with Harriet.’
‘Wow, you really do listen.’
‘Told you.’
She could picture his cheeky and endearing grin and she had an overwhelming urge to see him right this second and kiss those lips that curved crookedly upward. ‘Yes, you did and I guess I have to believe you.’
‘Too right,’ he said, his voice deepening. ‘Why are you out there instead of in town?’
‘Um …’ She bit down on the grass, feeling the stem split in her mouth. The monumental events and subsequent fallout of last night were just too enormous to explain over the phone.
A ripple of unease forced her to her feet. Was she really ready to tell Ben that her prim and proper mother had produced a boyfriend who was unlike anyone in her usual social set? Tell him her wealthy and successful brother-in-law had allegedly committed fraud? The idea made her queasy. She and Ben were so new and shiny, still with so much to discover about each other that she wanted to keep them in their blissful bubble—immune from the world of family and dirty little secrets—for as long as possible.
‘You still there—’ The roaring sound of an engine tumbled down the line, obliterating Ben’s voice. He whistled. ‘Whoa, that scattered the grazing kangaroos.’
She could picture the scene. ‘Let me guess, the morning milk trucks just rumbled through town heading toward the factory.’
‘Nope. Wasn’t the milk trucks.’
‘Okay, logging trucks.’
‘Wrong again. I thought you said this town of yours was quiet.’
‘It is. In fact, I’d bet money on absolutely nothing happening on a Sunday morning at seven-thirty. You could fire a cannon down the main street and not hit anyone.’
He laughed. ‘In that case, I should ask you to bet me twenty dollars. It would be the easiest money I’ve ever made.’
Curiosity got the better of her. ‘Spit it out then. What’s going on in the thriving metropolis of Billawarre this fine morning besides the vicar and the priest setting up their sandwich boards?’
‘Something
big, otherwise the five Melbourne television stations wouldn’t have sent news crews.’
Her mouth dropped open and the dried grass she’d been chewing landed on her thigh. Shit, shit, shit. The odds of keeping Ben in the bubble just massively shortened.
She didn’t want to tell him about James. She and Ben were only just getting to know each other and she wasn’t certain how he’d react to the news. Would it prejudice him against her? Her mind spun on that thought. If it did make him think worse of her wasn’t it better to know that now and walk away? Walk before she’d sunk too much energy and emotion into yet another dead-end relationship. Walk before it hurt too much.
Who are you kidding? You slept with him. It’s gonna hurt either way.
Her stomach flipped over. Did she even have a choice whether or not to tell him? Her family’s dirty laundry was about to be pegged out for all to see via radio, television, print and online newspapers, as well as the goliath that was new media. She searched her brain for any possible way to keep it a secret from him.
A fizz of hope trickled through her. She’d never mentioned James and he had a different surname from hers. Harriet doesn’t. A pain burned under her ribs. She was seeing a guy who listened and remembered her sisters’ names. Hell, he’d asked her why she wasn’t at Harriet’s place. She wouldn’t need to tell him, he’d put two and two together in a heartbeat. It was suddenly vitally important that he heard about this mess from her and not the press or the Sunday morning bakery queue. At least by telling him she might have the opportunity to hose down spot fires that might flare from his reaction. Or perhaps this would be the end of something she’d prayed might be good.
Injecting cheeriness into her voice, something she didn’t remotely feel, she said, ‘Any chance I could shout you the big breakfast at the Staff of Life café this morning? They do awesome bacon and eggs.’
‘Can’t go an extra twenty-four hours without me, eh?’ He sounded pleased.