by Fiona Lowe
Any other time she’d have rolled her eyes and delivered a dry, ‘Dream on, mate.’
She was about to tell him she needed to talk to him when he said, ‘I’d love to but sorry, I can’t.’ Regret rang in his voice. ‘I promised Dad I’d help him load the old wreck he’s bought onto the trailer. Experience has taught me that’s never quick. On the plus side though, he did say he wanted to start early. We should be done by noon.’
Bugger. Sneaking out early was one thing. Disappearing in the middle of the day was going to be impossible. Even though she doubted the family lunch Xara had proposed last night would happen, she’d be expected to be around to monitor the situation with Harriet and James and provide support. ‘I’ve got a family thing I really can’t miss.’
‘No problem,’ he said easily. ‘I’m free tonight and it’s parma night at the motel. We could eat here.’
By tonight, eating out in Billawarre would be a nightmare. Hell, by lunchtime the media would have spread the word far and wide about Billawarre’s infamous mayor. Everyone who knew she was related to James—even if she didn’t know them—wouldn’t hesitate to walk over to her and Ben’s table at the restaurant and demand the deets on what was going on. She could hear the gleeful questions already: Is he guilty? Did Harriet know about the money? How long has it been going on? How can you stand to be related to him? Then, when they’d finally finished picking all the meat off that particular juicy bone, they’d notice Ben. His presence would start another round of inquisitive and overly personal questions. Questions that risked Eliza and Jason being mentioned. It was a subject that Ben needed to learn from her if and when, after a certain period of time, they got to a place in their relationship that warranted it. If they survived James’s situation.
No, eating in public, hell, being seen in public was completely out of the question. Every cell in her body tensed. She was going to have to tell him over the phone.
‘Ah, Ben, you know how you’re really good at listening? How good are you at keeping secrets?’
‘Unless the secret comes under the ruling of mandatory reporting or the proceeds of crime, I’m pretty good. Why?’
‘Um … you know those television news crews?’ She chewed at her lip, ineffectively delaying the inevitable. ‘They’re in town because of my brother-in-law.’
There was a moment’s silence before he said slowly, ‘I’m guessing it’s not because of a feel-good news story.’
‘Ah, no.’ She pressed a booted foot against the wall and stretched her Achilles tendon, welcoming the pain. It hurt less than the words. ‘He’s been … he’s been accused of fraud.’
‘Shit.’ His shock reverberated down the line.
‘Exactly. And it well and truly hit the fan last night at Mum’s party.’
‘That sounds like a fun night.’
His sympathy buoyed her. ‘Oh, Ben, it was awful.’
‘Did you suspect anything?’
She heard the wariness in his voice and cursed James for putting her in this position. She thought of Harriet and guilt slugged her. Here she was trying to protect the tender new shoots of a fledging relationship when Harriet was dealing with the badly damaged roots of a mature marriage. ‘Nothing. It’s so hard to know what to believe.
‘Harriet and James have always had an enviable lifestyle. From the outside looking in, not much has changed over the years so there was nothing to be suspicious about until last night’s accusations. Obviously, the press has got wind of it and I’m sure horrible stuff is going to be reported today about James and Harriet.’
‘Is your sister involved?’
‘God, I hope not. If she is, she’ll be struck off the medical register.’ She tugged her windblown hair back behind her ears, trying to stay calm. She’d spent half the night lying awake in the narrow single bed, listening to Tasha’s noisy breathing and asking herself similar questions. ‘Harriet’s got her faults,’ she said, ‘but stealing isn’t one of them. Then again, I never thought in a million years that James might be propping up their lavish lifestyle with other people’s money.’
‘So if all this is going to be public,’ Ben said, ‘exactly what are you asking me to keep secret?’
She sucked in a breath. ‘I know this sounds really shallow, especially as we’re nowhere near ready to meet each other’s rels yet. And you probably haven’t even mentioned me to your father …’ She knew she was gabbling but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I’d really appreciate it if—’
‘I didn’t tell him I’m seeing the sister-in-law of an alleged criminal? No sweat.’
The word ‘criminal’ lashed her and she made an involuntary gagging noise.
‘Georgie, are you okay?’
Ben seemed genuinely worried and she sighed. ‘I really don’t think anyone in my family is okay today.’
CHAPTER
9
The morning after the party, Edwina was in the garden and working by seven. Despite the early morning chill of the autumn air that made her hands cramp, being outside was preferable to lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling. For most of the night, sleep had eluded her. She’d put it down to the monumental events of the previous evening, although she knew deep down that part of her restlessness was due to being alone in the bed for the first time in a week. It surprised her how quickly she’d got used to Doug’s reassuring bulk snuggled up against her.
As she weeded, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Glenora felt empty without Doug’s presence. He was incapable of doing anything quietly and he moved around enthusiastically both inside and out. He whistled while he raked leaves, he clanged saucepans and banged cupboard doors when he cooked, humming all the while. All the noise was a stark contrast to Richard. She had no need to compare the two men any further, because how they acted in the kitchen was the perfect summation of all their differences.
For the thousandth time she thought about the party. Nothing about the evening—from the reaction of her acquaintances at Doug’s presence to the exposure of her son-in-law’s possible law-breaking behaviour—had matched her expectations. From the moment she and Doug had walked under the balloon arch, he hadn’t left her side. She’d thought that by taking him to her party she’d be making a statement to a critical group of people, one that said, I’m with this man, like it or lump it. As it turned out, he’d been as busy protecting her as she’d been him. They’d been a team of two and perhaps that solidarity had been the reason none of her social circle had dared to make any polite-yet-barbed comments to her face. No doubt there was chatter behind their backs, after all, this was Billawarre. But amid the curiosity, most people had been relatively welcoming. Granted, it had been her birthday but even so, the response had come with an element of irony: if she’d arrived at a party with Doug forty-eight years ago, they’d have asked him to leave. Were they welcoming now because so many years had passed or had they forgotten him? David McGowan was the only person who’d remembered Doug, not, as it turned out, from his time on Murrumbeet but from a shared tour of duty in Vietnam.
Their united front also delayed the inevitable third-degree grilling from Harriet—an unexpected bonus. Now that James’s activities had redirected the limelight, she and Doug had been given some breathing space. It was space Edwina needed, because there was still so much between the two of them left unsaid. Despite almost five decades apart, their reunion held some of the elements of their original time together. The stolen moments. The secret meetings.
Determination straightened her spine. Not anymore. Taking Doug public last night was the first step and the freedom she’d glimpsed was the unanticipated by-product. It had been fleeting, but it had existed. She eventually had to face the girls and their questions but last night alone in bed she’d settled on a story that was rooted in the truth. They only needed the basic information about her and Doug; the intimate details belonged to her.
Xara would have already told her sisters the sketchy information Edwina had shared with her and Georgie was unlikely
to ask questions or demand difficult answers. The only regret Edwina had about taking Doug to the party was the timing. In her desire to try to right a past wrong, she’d inadvertently added to the debit side. She should have told Primrose. She should have told Primrose a lot of things a long time ago.
At eight, her phone rang and Doug’s name appeared on the screen. She tried to answer it but the screen didn’t respond to her gardening glove. Frantically, she pulled it off with her teeth and she caught the call just before it went to voicemail. ‘Hello,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No, I’ve been in the garden for an hour. I couldn’t sleep. I missed you,’ she said, her honesty surprising her. She had a lifetime of keeping her emotions buried down deep.
‘I missed you too.’ His gravelly voice rumbled softly down the line reminding her of how he whispered into her ear when they made love. A delicious shiver coiled through her just as it had when she was seventeen.
‘Your bed’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than the motel’s. I reckon it was new when we first met.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No need to be sorry. You need to be with your girls. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy today.’
Today was probably the tip of the iceberg of what was ahead for Harriet and Charlotte. She swallowed a sigh. ‘I’m not sure how long my granddaughter will be staying with me.’ Last night in the car, Charlotte was silent on the short drive to Glenora. Her granddaughter had refused the offer of a hot chocolate and she’d gone straight to bed. To bed but not to sleep. Edwina had heard sounds of padding feet and the clicking of door latches until the early hours of the morning.
‘I don’t want to complicate things for her.’ The moment the words left her mouth she worried he might think she was giving him the brush off. ‘I really want to spend more time with you. We’ve still got so much to talk about and …’ She changed tack then, veering away from a topic she didn’t want to broach on the phone. ‘You know, I could shoot James for doing this. His timing is lousy.’
‘I reckon he probably thinks it’s lousy timing too.’
‘Indeed,’ she said waspishly, not able to muster much sympathy for her son-in-law.
‘Remind me never to cross you.’ A smile danced in Doug’s voice. ‘You’re bloody good at that polite voice that could cut—’
‘The balls off a bull? Yes, I know.’
Doug roared with laughter. ‘I was going to say cut glass. One day I hope to hear you use those rounded vowels to swear.’
‘It doesn’t happen very often.’ She thought about how she’d been raised and her position in the town. ‘Old habits die hard.’
‘No worries. I plan to be around for a long time.’
The past rushed up to choke her. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Doug added, ‘I promise you, Eddy. This time, no matter what, I’m not going anywhere.’
This time. Her stomach swooped. She knew it was juvenile—she was sixty-five years old for heaven’s sake—but she couldn’t stop herself from testing him. ‘What if your son-in-law’s suspected of fraud?’
He snorted. ‘He’s a good bloke and a great dad, but I don’t think he’s smart enough or organised enough to manage something like that.’
‘Okay.’ She took a tense breath. ‘What if there’s some sort of family disaster?’
‘Unlikely. But if I have to dash home, I’ll tell you I’m going before I leave.’
Her lips pursed but not hard enough to cut off the words, ‘And if the government needs you?’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Eddy,’ he said firmly. ‘Take all the time you need with your family. When you’re free, I’ll be waiting.’
She wanted to believe him, she really did, but the past was back creating havoc and cleaving her trust. She fought it by remembering the events of last night and how kind he’d been. How kind he was still. ‘What are your plans for today?’ she asked, moving the conversation away from all fraught topics.
After the call ended, she stowed her gloves and trowel in the garden shed and walked inside. The house was silent but for the burr and click of the fridge and freezer. She put on the kettle and telephoned Harriet. The call went straight to voicemail and her mind blanked in panic. She felt foolish saying, ‘Just wondering how you are?’ Of course Harriet wasn’t going to be great, good or even fine. She kept the message brief: ‘Charlie’s still asleep. I’ll call again when she’s awake.’
As she hung up the phone, it occurred to her that for the first time since she’d given birth to Harriet, she had a pretty fair idea how her daughter might be feeling. Her own world had fallen apart once and it had been like drowning in choking sand.
During that bleak and devastating period, every time Edwina had tried for a foothold, she’d tumbled backward and slipped even further under. Eventually, she’d managed to shore up her life and rebuild the foundations only to find that, without warning, they could shake and shift and send her plummeting back into the breath-sucking sand with no obvious escape route.
The kettle sang and she sloshed hot water around the teapot to warm it before tossing it out. As the kettle boiled again she used the tea scoop to measure the tea—one for each person and one for the pot—and then poured the bubbling water over the fragrant leaves. The clink of the china lid sliding into place was as familiar as time, as was the placement of the tea cosy. This one was a hand-knitted, rose-covered woollen cosy. Georgie had made it for her during a frenzy of craft activities that Edwina knew was a form of therapy after losing Eliza and ending things with Jason. She’d also knitted a black-faced, woolly white sheep cosy for Xara and an elegant cardigan cosy, complete with an intricate cable and tiny pearl buttons, for Harriet.
Eliza. Edwina had forced herself to attend the funeral of her youngest granddaughter and had plumbed the depths of her resolve to get through the day. After surviving that there’d been nothing left over for her to offer Georgina by way of support. She knew she’d failed her daughter on that bitterly cold July day, when the weather had perfectly reflected the bleakness of the occasion, but to explain why was fraught with debilitating memories, secrets she couldn’t divulge, and the risk of inflicting pain on too many people. The rose cosy had become a kind of totem; each time she tucked it around the pot she thought about all of her very different daughters and their daughters. The tiny baby, who’d struggled so valiantly for life and had lost. Tasha, who struggled every day in so many ways. And Charlotte, who was fast approaching adulthood with the world at her feet.
Dear Charlotte, whose father had just turned her world upside down. An unusually silent Charlotte. Her granddaughter was a normal teenage girl with her fair share of ranting and raving. Given what had happened last night, Edwina had fully expected her to fling out her arms and ask dramatically, ‘How could he do this to me?’. But apart from the quietly tortured question she’d asked Harriet at the party—Is it true?—she’d been almost mute. Surely that wasn’t normal?
Leaving the tea to steep, Edwina decided to check if Charlotte was awake. She carefully dodged the creaky floorboard that had always been a handy herald back in the day for detecting recalcitrant teenage daughters—mostly Xara—who snuck home late. Making her way to Harriet’s old room, she pressed her ear up against the closed door, straining to hear any sounds. The faint sound of coughing drifted to her and she tapped lightly on the door before opening it and peeking inside. The bed was rumpled but empty.
She heard a retching sound in the ensuite bathroom. ‘Charlie, darling? Are you all right?’
A strangled sort of a sob followed.
‘I’m coming in.’
She found her granddaughter slumped on the bathroom floor with her knees under her chin and her arms around them. Any other time she would have suspected period cramps but not today. ‘Upset tummy?’
Charlotte nodded, her usually brilliant blue eyes dull and listless in her pale face.
Edwina wasn’t surprised that her granddaughter was nauseous.
‘When you were a little girl and you got overtired or upset, your face would drain of all colour and you’d vomit.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘I do,’ Edwina said with a gentle smile. ‘When you were three and we were in the car after a weekend at the Royal Melbourne Show, you threw up all over the leather seats in Gramps’ Mercedes. Lucky he loved you,’ she teased as she filled a glass with cold water and passed it to her. ‘After that, whenever you were in the car with us, he always had an empty ice-cream container on hand.’
‘Poor Gramps. He always kept his cars so clean.’ Charlotte drained the water and handed back the glass. ‘Thanks.’
Edwina moistened a face cloth and wiped her granddaughter’s sweaty forehead. ‘Last night was a big shock for you. It’s only natural your body’s going to react. Some people eat junk food. You vomit.’
‘I think I’d rather eat chocolate.’ Charlotte suddenly trembled and dropped her forehead onto her knees. ‘Mardi?’
She caressed the girl’s bent head. ‘Yes?’
‘What if I … if I knew something? Something that would upset Mum. Should I … you know … tell her now … after last night?’
Edwina knew all too well about the fallout of family secrets and the pressure to keep them hidden away. She wouldn’t wish that or its effects on her granddaughter, especially if James was guilty. ‘If it’s something to do with your father and the missing money, you need to tell the police first. Then you can tell your mother.’
Charlotte gave a violent sniff. ‘It’s not about Dad.’
Something that would upset Mum. Edwina passed her a tissue and thought about Harriet. Her daughter was dealing with the possibility that her husband was a criminal and that his actions may have destroyed good people’s financial security. If what Charlotte knew had nothing to do with James, was it something to do with school? If it was then it could probably wait a few more days before she told Harriet unless … ‘Is it a life and death situation?’