by Ros Baxter
‘You have to eat through it,’ Sharni had explained to Lou as they ordered.
Maybe she was right. The headache was almost gone. But being this full of fat and sugar sure made it hard to disagree with a commonsense argument from a six-foot-something babe in a pair of very tight jeans. The whole effect was simply far too distracting.
Gage had more to say. ‘I’m not asking you to shack up with me, Lou, heaven forbid.’ He rolled his eyes at her.
Oh yeah, heaven forbid.
Gage pulled away from the post and returned to the chairs Lou and Sharni were sprawled on. Lou had to tip her head back to see his face. ‘There just aren’t that many options. Your mum’s place is cactus; Sharni’s place is too crowded now that Dessie and the kids are staying there, and –’
But Gage was interrupted by a nasal voice. ‘Well, hello young people.’ Mary Moriarty had climbed the low stairs, her arms full of shopping from the grocery store down the road. She turned her gaze on Lou. ‘I just heard about your mum, darl. She okay?’
Lou nodded, not trusting her voice not to scream or say things the town really didn’t need to hear, as it doubtless would if she said them to Mary Moriarty.
‘Plenty of spare room at the hotel. I guess you’ll be needing to stay a while now, until things get sorted.’
Lou’s head filled with the horrors of spending another night at the Welcome Inn.
Mary patted her arm in mistaken solidarity. ‘I understand, lovey,’ she said. ‘Hard times.’ And in a first-ever display of tact, she pushed on towards the cafe.
‘As I was about to say,’ Gage drawled, gesturing at Mary’s back as she pushed through the swing doors to the cafe, ‘I’m damned sure you don’t want to stay at the Welcome Inn another night.’ He turned away from Lou and Sharni and paced the wide veranda, giving them an unimpeded view of his fine back encased in yet another close-fitting white T-shirt and his even finer arse.
He swung back. ‘Skye can stay in the house. And you can take the guesthouse for a few days.’ He shrugged. ‘Or however long you need to get things sorted.’
‘I could stay with Dad,’ Lou squeaked.
‘Honey,’ Sharni chastised her gently. ‘You know he lives at the office, right?’
‘He has a house.’
‘No,’ Sharni insisted. ‘He has a room, at Mabel’s. And it’s filled to the brim with –’ She looked stricken and Lou realised she was trying hard not to say ‘his crazy shit’.
It was true Gary had always been kind of eccentric. He liked to collect things. If he was American, he’d be on Hoarders. In Stone Mountain, he was the mayor.
‘He sleeps on the couch in his office, you know that,’ Sharni continued, patting Lou’s arm. ‘Gage’s place is just across the creek from Mum and Dad’s,’ she whispered. ‘So I’d be close. I’ll stay as long as you need me.’
Lou knew it was true. The problem with Gage Westin, the problem there had always been with Gage Westin, was that he was Sharni’s damn neighbour. Just over the creek, all through their childhood. Swimming in the same waterhole, shirtless and Tarzan-like on the rope swing. Lying around in the sun. Riding in his boardshorts on a variety of horses, motorcycles and utilities, always tantalisingly close. Bad, bad Gage Westin – like a beacon of teenage debauchery. To Sharni, he was just like a wild brother. To Lou, he’d always been dangerous and unobtainable. The boy who’d hung with wild girls. The boy who’d called out to them from the trees at the waterhole, daring them to take their bikini tops off. An enticing daydream.
Until the night he kissed her. And the rest.
Lou shook herself back to the moment.
Ensuring Sharni was close wasn’t the problem. Even Gage wasn’t the problem, although how the hell Lou was expected to spend any amount of time in close proximity to him and not find herself hanging around big old trees in hopes of getting pressed against another of them, Lou did not know.
The real problem was that she didn’t want to be here at all. She was due out of town on tonight’s five pm flight, and surely there was still a way to make that happen. She could deal with this whole debacle from Sydney. Sure, she would need to manage insurance claims and repairs or rebuilds from her city office, but for God’s sake, she’d managed projects in Singapore from there.
But things felt different this time. The world seemed to have tipped a little on its axis. Skye was dying, and while it didn’t change how Lou felt about her, it did change … something. The only desire Lou had ever had in relation to Stone Mountain, at least for the last twenty years, had been to get the hell out of it. Even mention of the name had the power to unsettle her, send creeping goosebumps up her arms, catapult her back to a time and place she couldn’t bear to think about; a place she had parked for some other time.
But now she felt differently, in ways that were hard to explain, even to herself. She wasn’t after some big reconciliation scene with Skye. She didn’t expect the two of them could be civil to each other for very long, let alone lay their shit to rest before Skye was, but something had definitely changed.
And Lou needed to hang here long enough to work out what it was.
So the plan, such as it was, seemed to require her to stay a few days right now. Sort the house, the insurance, the police investigation and her mother’s treatment plan – such as it wasn’t. Find her mother somewhere more suitable and permanent to live than Bo Westin’s place. Say her goodbyes and finally close the book on Stone Mountain.
Sharni dragged herself to her feet. ‘I’ll go pay,’ she said, waddling to the door.
Lou closed her eyes, trying to let the warm breeze wash away all the confusing thoughts. When she opened them, Gage was standing in front of her. ‘Lou.’ He sounded serious and uncertain. ‘While she’s gone, I have to say something.’
Lou waited, having truly no idea what it might be.
‘About last night …’
Oh dear, sentences that start like that never end well.
Gage kneeled in front of her on the side veranda, as all the folk of Stone Mountain ambled by, going about their business, barely registering Gage Westin kneeling in front of Lou Samuels like it happened every day. ‘I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m so sorry I made things awkward between us. It was just –’
‘Just what?’ Lou’s voice sounded breathy and far too interested. She wished she had a single ounce of Skye’s skills with men.
‘When I saw you in that alley, it was all I could think about. Twenty years ago, same place. From the second I saw you, I wanted to do that again.’ He picked up Lou’s hands and ran them across his cheeks, which were scratchy with stubble. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. ‘But I promise, Lou, if you come and stay, I’ll leave you alone.’
Good, her brain said primly.
Bad, her heart and something lower and less ladylike snapped.
‘Thanks, Gage,’ Lou said finally. She studied his face – hot eyes boring into her; full, wild mouth tightening into a hard line so different from the lush, sensuous thing that had assaulted her the night before. ‘It’s a really generous offer. I’d love to come and stay.’
Lou and Sharni were sitting by Skye’s bed, waiting.
‘What time did they say?’ Skye asked for the fifth time in the last half-hour. She was sitting up, and Lou noticed she had applied a little lipstick and mascara as soon as the tubes had been removed. Not much, just enough to take the pallor away but ensure she still looked duly sick and vulnerable.
Lou glanced at her watch, almost as impatient as Skye. ‘Four thirty,’ she said, working hard to clench her jaw. ‘It’s only four twenty-five.’
They all went back to watching the little television that hung above Skye’s bed. They’d struggled to make conversation for a few minutes at the beginning of the visit before giving up and giving in to reruns of Sale of the Century. Programming came slow to Stone Mountain.
‘Who wrote the seminal popular text on gravity and cosmology, A Brief History of Time?’
�
��Stephen Hawking.’ Skye’s voice was low and hoarse and Lou was sure she had been sneaking out for cigarettes, despite the stern warnings Dr O’Brien had given her during her visit a couple of hours before.
‘Stephen Hawking,’ the compere echoed after no buzzers sounded.
Sharni shook her head. ‘How do you know them all?’
Skye tapped her temple. ‘Never forget a single thing I ever see or hear,’ she declared.
Except birthdays, school concerts and your own name if you’re high enough, Lou thought uncharitably. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t say anything.
‘In which year was Gough Whitlam elected Prime Minister of Australia?’ the tinny voice from the television whined.
‘Nineteen seventy-two,’ a big cheerful voice boomed from behind the curtain, as a body that matched the voice perfectly stepped through. ‘A great year, so my mum tells me – year I was born. Although she wasn’t happy about how it all ended up for poor old Gough.’
Lou assessed the newcomer. He was very tall, leaving Lou to wonder yet again whether there was one of those height barriers at the entry to this town, like the kind they have for kids’ rides at the country show; a little cartoon character holding up a hand and saying, ‘You have to be this tall to ride.’ Well, it must be invisible and she had somehow missed it, because she was the only genuinely short person she had ever seen in Stone Mountain.
This latest giant was heavily muscled, with curly brown hair and a square, open face. He stood straight and strong and carried an air of satisfaction, as though the last forty-two years had treated him well and given him no cause for bitterness or regret. He greeted the three women with a huge smile, revealing dimples that made it acceptable to use the term ‘boyishly handsome’. His light blue uniform fitted well where it touched, showing off his heavy arms and muscled legs. A firearm sat in a holster on his hip, but he carried a large bunch of Asiatic lilies in his arms.
‘Well hello, stranger,’ Skye drawled from the bed.
‘Hello indeed,’ Sharni muttered, looking the cop up and down appreciatively.
Lou stood up and held out her hand, to try to distinguish herself from the drooling women with whom she was keeping company. ‘Sergeant Brooks, I assume?’
‘The very same,’ the Big Friendly Giant boomed, passing the flowers to Sharni. ‘You think you could rustle up a vase for these, lovely?’ He eyed Sharni with the same naked appreciation she had afforded him. ‘They’re for you, Mrs Samuels,’ he said, winking at her. ‘Hoping you feel better soon.’
‘Why thank you, honey.’ Skye was grinning so hard her cheeks were turning pink. ‘They’re lovely. I didn’t know they were going to be sending you over here.’
Oh God, how many times had this cop interrogated Skye?
‘Mind if I sit?’ He gestured to the spare seat on the other side of the bed.
‘Be my guest, darlin’,’ Skye gushed.
Lou wanted to throw something at her mother. Had she no idea this was the one they’d sent to interview her about the fire? He was not an ally, despite all the bonhomie and flowers. He was, to use one of Skye’s favourite sayings, ‘with the pigs’.
An hour later, Lou wasn’t so sure. Sergeant Brooks – Mick, as he had insisted they call him – had covered a wide range of topics in his open, rambling way, from the local high school football competition to the drought to the state of health care in the nation. And he still hadn’t touched upon the fire.
Of course, he had spent a good proportion of the time chatting almost directly to Sharni. But he was so charming, with all his anecdotal tangents about being a cop, and about Goonabarraga, the neighbouring town he hailed from, that Lou had almost forgotten to be anxious about where he was headed next, and even Skye wasn’t annoyed to be playing second fiddle to Sharni.
Finally, he carefully settled the empty cup in which Sharni had fixed him tea on the side table, extracted a tiny notebook from his breast pocket, and dragged his chair around a little to face Skye directly. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I guess I had better stop gasbagging and get this show on the road.’
Lou’s body tensed, the lawyer in her leaping to attention and shuffling her mental papers. ‘Er, Mick, I should let you know I am also here in the capacity of legal representative.’ Sharni blushed and Skye looked like someone had passed wind. Lou wanted to scream at the unfairness; it wasn’t as though Skye hadn’t been perfectly happy to have Lou bail her out a dozen times before.
‘Of course.’ Mick nodded enthusiastically. ‘No problem.’ He winked at Skye in a way which managed to look jovial rather than sleazy. ‘Handy to have one in the family, eh, Mrs Samuels?’
Skye covered her irritated scowl at his continued use of her grown-up name with a small smile. ‘I’ve told you dozens of times it’s fine to call me Skye, Mick.’
‘Well, I sure do appreciate that, Mrs Samuels,’ the jolly giant said. ‘But it wouldn’t be right.’ He shook his head, as though considering. ‘Nope, don’t think I could do it, doesn’t seem respectful.’ But the smile he gave her was so full of genuine warmth the women liked him all the more for it.
‘Well, alright then,’ Skye said graciously, waving a hand at him. ‘Fire away.’
The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘Now, Mrs Samuels, I’m going to start right from the beginning, that okay with you?’
Skye nodded and smiled, but Lou noticed her knuckles were white where she gripped the top of the sheet.
‘Where were you when the fire broke out?’ The sergeant’s voice was slow and smooth.
Skye pouted like she was struggling to remember. ‘In the bedroom, I guess,’ she said, reaching over to the bedside table for her water. ‘I didn’t know about it till I came to here.’ She gestured to the hospital walls. ‘Figured I musta dropped a butt on the way to bed.’
Mick nodded encouragingly. ‘That was a lucky escape.’
Skye nodded vigorously.
‘Do you remember what time you …’ he paused delicately, ‘… went to bed?’
Skye sniffed. ‘I … er …’ She glanced quickly over at Lou, who was working hard to keep her face neutral. ‘I had some pain, and so I needed to take some pills.’ She flapped a hand, and Lou knew she would hate referencing her illness; her mother had always had the constitution of an ox, and been proud of it. ‘Sometimes they make me feel a little woozy, so I lie down.’ She sniffed and reached to the bedside table to extract a tissue. ‘Musta got the dose wrong. But I do remember the time because the last late-night rerun of Wife Swap had just ended. So about twelve fifteen I guess.’
Twelve fifteen. About the same time Lou had been pinned to the tree refamiliarising herself with Gage’s mouth. The thought sent a wave of hot guilt through her, but she wasn’t sure whether it was at the thought of kissing Gage, or doing that while her mother OD’d in a burning house. She slapped it away.
‘Uh-huh.’ Mick was scratching in his little pad. ‘And you say you think you might have left a cigarette burning when you went to bed? Had you been smoking in the lounge room?’
‘Yep,’ Skye said, working hard at looking regretful. ‘Terrible habit, Mick, I do hope you never take it up.’
Lou almost choked on her own spit. Skye loved to wax lyrical to anyone who would listen about how smoking was the vice of the gods and they could bury her with her beloved Marlboros.
Mick leaned forwards. ‘Safe so far, Mrs Samuels,’ he said, pointing to his chest. ‘Used to be asthmatic.’ He looked quickly at Sharni. ‘When I was a kid,’ he added quickly. ‘Strong as an ox now.’
Sharni smiled at him like she could well believe it.
Mick grinned in response to Sharni’s brilliant smile and looked down at his notebook. He leaned closer to Skye. ‘Now Mrs Samuels, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but it might be important once forensics gets back.’
Skye nodded.
‘Was it tobacco you were smoking, or something else?’ Mick smiled in a way that seemed to suggest he was pretty relaxed about these things, even if othe
r folks might be all stiff about them.
Before Lou could instruct her mother not to answer, Skye blurted out: ‘A little of both I think, honey.’
Mick nodded sagely. ‘Weed does burn like a fucker.’ Then he covered his mouth with a huge paw. ‘Pardon my French, Mrs Samuels.’
Skye nodded in delight. ‘Pardoned, m’dear.’ She made a sign near his head that Lou assumed was supposed to be some kind of blessing of absolution.
Mick wrote in his book again. ‘Now, where were we? Oh yeah. Now, again, Mrs Samuels, I do have to ask you this, even though it may seem strange, and it seems like maybe the bedtime toke is probably the culprit, but …’ He paused, scratching his ear. ‘Do you think it’s possible someone lit this fire deliberately?’
Skye stared at the policeman and blinked slowly. ‘You mean …’ She wound a loop of hair around her pinky finger, and lowered her voice. ‘Arson?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mick said. ‘We need to check out all possibilities.’
Skye shook her head vehemently. ‘I can’t imagine such a thing happening,’ she said, reaching again for her water as her voice cracked. ‘Not in Stone Mountain.’
The sergeant sighed as though in relief and Lou had the strangest feeling she was watching a pantomime, every actor playing their part without really convincing anyone.
‘Well now, that is a relief and I’m sure you’re probably right,’ Mick agreed good-naturedly as he snapped his book closed. Then he seemed to remember something and flicked it open again. ‘One last thing, Mrs Samuels, before I leave you to your rest. Who was it found you, and called the ambulance?’
A contented smile spread across Skye’s face, transforming it so suddenly and completely Lou almost gasped. ‘My honey,’ she sighed. ‘Bo Westin.’ She grinned at Mick. ‘Least that’s what they told me when I woke up in this shithole.’ She gestured around her, a disgusted frown crinkling her pretty nose. ‘He was a regular hero – dragged me outta there and called the ambulance.’ She smoothed the covers down over her as though they were a prom dress. ‘Even got himself some smoke inhalation in the process and had to be admitted.’ She shook her head. ‘So brave.’