Eventually, she stood outside a low iron fence and studied the double-storey stone mansion that was Debra Illingworth’s chambers before stepping into a shaded, earth-smelling courtyard crammed with ferns, hydrangeas and camellias, and continued up to a tessellated tiled verandah. She pushed through the wide timber door to find herself in a small black and white area with marble floors, and a smiling receptionist indicating a row of black leather armchairs against a wall covered with red felt. Mia sat in the middle chair, selected a magazine and rested her head against the wall to the dulcet air of Mozart.
‘Mia Sandhurst?’ snapped a young suited man with immaculately placed hair who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
‘Yes,’ she said, standing and following him along a narrow carpeted corridor with a timber door at the end carrying a gold embossed plaque announcing it as Debra’s office. The young man knocked and with military precision stepped aside for Mia to enter.
Debra Illingworth walked from behind a large glass desk wearing a generous smile and a fitted grey suit with red stilettos. With her hand extended she peered at Mia over red-framed glasses. ‘Hello, Mia,’ she said through glossy red lips. ‘I’m Debra.’
They shook hands and Mia wished she had checked her makeup before leaving the car. Or better still, had worn something corporate.
‘Please take a seat,’ Debra said, indicating a pair of ox-blood chesterfields facing each other over a low coffee table. ‘You’re lucky I had a cancellation,’ she continued, gliding across the carpet to a small drinks cabinet. ‘Now, tell me what your husband has been up to,’ she said, handing Mia a tumbler of sparkling water tinkling with ice.
‘It’s simple really. He’s fallen in love with a colleague named Lucinda Brayshaw-Mahoney. Left home a couple of days ago, ostensibly to live with her. And I’ve noticed slabs of money disappearing from our savings. I hadn’t taken any notice before, because Eric has always invested and moved our funds around. But now … well … I don’t know what to think. He seems capable of things he would never have done before.’
Debra looked at Mia over her glasses. ‘Is Lucinda from the mining Brayshaw-Mahoneys?’
Mia shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Debra made a face. ‘Has he given any indication about his intentions regarding your joint assets?’
Mia shook her head and cleared her throat. ‘Not a whisper. In fact he could hardly bring himself to tell me he was leaving me. He is being very secretive.’
‘What do you want from the marriage, Mia?’
‘I know he’s entitled to a 50-50 split,’ Mia said, ‘but our beach house on the Fleurieu Peninsula has been in my family since I was a child. I’m worried he may try to wrestle that away from me. Is he entitled to do that?’
Debra took a deep breath. ‘Yes, he is entitled to his half, given you have been together so long. But we will do our best to prevent that from happening.’ She glanced down at the notepad balancing on her crossed knee. Flicked through the pages of notes she had taken during their conversation. ‘We have the best forensic accountant in this country. He should check your financial records — just to clarify whether or not Eric is depleting your joint funds.’ She lifted an inquisitorial eyebrow.
Mia nodded. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘I’ll have him contact you for details and we shall take our next steps from there,’ Debra said standing. ‘I won’t get your hopes up, because these matters can get messy, but I can promise you, I am more than capable of fighting like a demented terrier with a bone. I am definitely in your corner Mia.’
The drive back to Ackland Bay was far more relaxed. Mia was tempted to ring Declan to tell him he had been right about the relief she would feel after talking to Debra.
She glanced out at the sun hovering above Broken Bay, about five kilometres from her beach house. On a whim and with a smile, she pulled the car over to take in the majestic sight of the giant sandhills sloping down to the stretch of unspoiled beach. Gazed at the azure blue of the water beyond. Mia had always wanted to visit this spot. Had always wondered what treasures waited to be explored in the flotsam and jetsam lining the water’s edge, but something else had always got in the way. Refusing to be deterred by time or practicality, Mia pulled off her boots, rolled up her jeans and stood on the edge of the sandhill, fully appreciating the enormity of it. She took one giant leap into the air, dropping onto the sand’s warm silky surface and allowing her legs to tear down the steep slope as fast as they could take her. She could not believe how good it felt to be unencumbered, unfettered, to be totally in the moment, if only for an instant. ‘Woohoo,’ she yelled at the top of her voice, her feet gathering momentum, her body eventually pitching forward, sending her facedown onto the sand. Still smiling, she jumped up, brushed the grit from her eyes and, feeling like a child again, threw herself down once more, rolling over and over until she came to a stop on the thick cushion of sand at the bottom of the hill.
There she lay, gazing up at the fading sky, knowing at once that for her, there would be life after this mess was sorted — even if it was to be a life spent alone. It will be her choice to make of it what she will. While beauty exists, such as this, she thought, it will override any pain.
‘Is that you, Dr Sandhurst?’
Squinting through the sun’s glare, Mia could only just make out the small silhouette standing at her feet. She quickly jumped up and with as much elegance as she could muster, brushed at the sand clinging to her hair and clothes.
‘Rachel. Yes. It is. Oh my god,’ she said frantically brushing.
‘That’s pretty cool — what you just did,’ Rachel said. ‘For an older person, I mean.’
Mia slapped at her jeans and unrolled the cuffs to release more sand. She stopped and beamed at Rachel. ‘It felt soooo good … the only trouble is that I now have to climb all the way to my car,’ she said frowning up at the road.
‘No, you don’t. I know a short cut. I’ll show you,’ Rachel said, pointing about 200 metres north along the beach.
Mia followed closely behind Rachel, the teen’s knobbly spine clearly visible even beneath her jacket, her legs hidden inside black tracksuit pants. ‘No school today?’ Mia asked increasing her pace to walk alongside.
‘No, not today,’ Rachel answered, stopping and turning to face Mia. ‘I love this bay. It’s even quieter than Ackland,’ she said, her pale complexion emphasising the dark shadows beneath her empty brown eyes.
‘Did Tim tell you I’ve seen him in the street a couple of times — and fishing on Ackland Bay?’ Mia said cheerily.
‘Yeah.’
‘Did he pass on my message?’
‘Yeah, he did.’
‘Well, I’m here for a couple of days. Why don’t we have coffee tomorrow? I’m sure I can help you, Rachel,’ she said growing slightly breathless from the effort of keeping up with the teen’s pace.
Rachel stopped and turned to Mia — her all too familiar jaw-jutting expression fleetingly appearing before she seemed to relax.
‘That’d be good but I’m really behind with my schoolwork. Can I ring you when I catch up?’
‘Yes. Sure. Let me know. Do you still have my card?’
Rachel nodded. Wordlessly, they sauntered along the beach and turned towards a narrow path on their right, which meandered gently up the hill towards the road.
‘I heard about your horse, Rachel. I’m so sorry. I know you truly loved her.’
Rachel stared silently at Mia with a glazed expression for longer than would be usual, before finally saying, ‘A snake bit her. We didn’t get to her in time and she died.’
‘You could talk to a counsellor. Grief is normal, but it can be difficult to deal with alone. I get the impression that your parents are not on the same wavelength as you.’
‘They’re not,’ she spat, ‘but I have Tim.’
Mia thought about talking to Rachel as her doctor. Slipping on an imaginary lab coat. But it had not worked before, and there was no reason to believe it woul
d work now. Worse — it could only recreate the chasm she felt she and Rachel were currently filling between them.
‘I’m glad you have Tim. He seems like a really good guy. Would he help you see a doctor or a counsellor?’
Again Rachel shrugged. ‘Probably, but a counsellor is not what I need.’ She pointed up towards Mia’s car on the verge of the road. ‘If you keep walking to the top you’ll be back on the road.’
‘That’s great. Thanks, Rachel,’ Mia said, staring briefly at the road. ‘Now, please ring me. Your teacher says you would make a good doctor. And I agree with her.’
‘There’s no point,’ Rachel murmured.
‘Yes, there is. You are very bright. You’ll make a great uni student and an even better doctor. Just look after yourself. Remember there are lots of people who love you.’
Rachel was not visible from the top of the road. Mia concluded she must have doubled back behind the sandhills. The conversation she had had with Noah Tamblyn only two days ago came to mind, causing her to wonder about the social worker’s plans for helping Rachel and her family. She hoped Lauren Quayle realised how diabolical Rachel’s situation seemed to have become.
That evening, after showering and changing into loose pants and an oversized shirt, Mia sat on the deck with a hot mug of coffee and watched the sunset. By the time the glowing circle had sunk below the horizon, she had made up her mind what she had to do.
In the bedroom, she fished in her bag for the card Noah Tamblyn had given her and nestled on the settee where she dialled the number.
‘This is Lauren Quayle from Child Welfare. I cannot take your call at the moment. Please leave a message.’
‘Hello, Lauren. This is Mia Sandhurst. Could you phone me on this number as soon as possible, please? It’s about Rachel Hooper.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tim gently tapped the chisel until another chunk of timber fell onto the floor along with the others. Eventually he screwed the lock into place, taking some comfort in the knowledge that from now on Rachel would at least be safe in her own bedroom. But he also knew that the solution to this mess was deeper and more complex than simply fixing a sliding lock to her door. A familiar hollowness crammed his gut. But he reminded himself there were now three of them who knew the sickening truth. And that gave him an unyielding sense of power and control over the old man.
He pondered the irony of the old man’s grimly feigned innocence, evident again this morning when Tim had wandered into the kitchen to see him spooning soft-boiled egg into his mouth. He had lifted his black eyes as Tim had passed the table. ‘You and I are doing the fences today,’ he had rasped. No one else had been in the room at the time so Tim had leaned into him, gathered up a handful of his windcheater and looked into his suddenly anxious eyes. ‘Not me, old man. I have something more important to do first.’ The old man’s silently puzzled frown had been the sole mitigating factor against Tim shoving him back onto his scrawny arse.
‘What are you doing love?’ Annie said, breaking into his thoughts. With fresh washing balanced in her arms she surveyed the woodchips scattered over the floor.
‘I’ve just put a lock on Rachel’s door. She said Ben is coming in and disturbing her without knocking.’
Annie’s frown deepened and she shook her head. ‘I don’t know, love. What if we need to get to her in a hurry?’
‘She’s at an age where she deserves her privacy, Mum,’ he said.
Annie eventually nodded, wandered into Rachel’s room and over to her wardrobe. Pulled out drawers and filled them with the clean clothes. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right. If she’s asking for privacy she obviously needs it. By the way, love, you haven’t seen a fitted sheet, have you? I can’t for the life of me find the one I thought I’d put on her bed last week.’
Tim shook his head wordlessly as she passed him on her way back to the kitchen. ‘You’re a good brother, love. Rachel is lucky to have you,’ she said surveying his handiwork again.’
‘Would you like a cup of coffee and a slice of cake before you help Dad with the fencing, Tim?’ Annie said when Tim had returned the vacuum cleaner to the laundry after cleaning up the sawdust and woodchips from the floor.
Tim was ready to do anything to avoid being out in the paddocks with the old man. ‘Yes please, Mum.’
The coffee burnt his top lip. He blew across its surface.
‘Now that Rachel is at school again, and things are getting back to normal after poor Monnie’s death, I’m going to ring Dr Shepherd. That should keep that social worker person happy,’ she said over the rim of her mug.
Tim was undecided as to whether a medical exam would be best. Were the injuries they spotted in hospital from what Peter had been doing to her, or from horse riding? He watched his mother chew and swallow another mouthful of cake, and decided it was best to avoid a medical just in case. ‘Given she’s so nervous about it, maybe the doctor could just talk to her … you know … about how she’s feeling,’ he said. ‘I reckon Rachel would be more likely to go along and see him if he wasn’t going to be prodding at her.’
Annie looked doubtful. ‘That Lauren person said she had to have a medical. But it’s worth a try. I’ll talk to Rachel about it after school.’
Tim eventually avoided Peter by working on the eastern fences while Peter worked on the southern side of the pasture. With one eye on the time while he was out there, it was on the dot of 2.30 that he finally downed tools to buy some groceries for his mother and collect Rachel and Ben from school.
After an uncharacteristic hold-up at the supermarket checkout, Tim ran with his small bag of groceries and jumped into his car, arriving to find the school grounds all but deserted. He regretted having to make Ben and Rachel wait while he shopped, but anything was preferable to dragging Ben, with his consumer addictions, up and down the shopping aisles.
Scowling the scowl of the highly aggrieved, Ben ran towards the car.
‘Where’s Rachel?’ Tim said watching him climb deftly into the car and settle in the front seat.
‘I dunno. You’re late. Maybe she’s walking home.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Tim said, rolling his eyes.
Ben shrugged and dug through his backpack, withdrawing a Spider-Man action figure.
‘Where did you get that?’ Tim said, his eyes scanning the school grounds and the oval for Rachel.
‘Mandy Furtherington gave it to me. She’s got a Spider-Man and an Action Man. I’m going to tell Mum. It’s not fair.’
‘Yeah. Mum might get you one for your birthday,’ Tim said, glancing behind him to the opposite side of the road. Still, there was no sign of Rachel.
‘No. There’s other stuff I want for my birthday. Hey, there’s Rachel,’ Ben said pointing at her running towards the car from behind the school building, her rucksack thudding against her back as she ran.
‘What were you doing over there?’ Tim said, starting the ignition after Rachel had climbed into the rear seat.
‘It’s my turn to water our class plot in the school garden,’ she said. ‘I forgot to do it at lunchtime.’
Tim turned to look at her flushed face, her ponytail that had only a finger’s-width of hair still caught in its band. But it was her oddly bland expression that bothered him most. ‘Rach, are you okay? You seem strange.’
‘I’m fine. Just drive.’
‘We had reading today,’ Ben said, having just finished a story about his exploits with the canteen ladies. ‘Blake Sorensen’s mother listened to me read. I don’t like her much. She treats us like babies — like rubbing our hair and stuff.’
Tim bumped over the pothole into the driveway and idled across the bridge. Wound down his window. Stopped and listened. The creek had almost ceased flowing. In less than three months it would be dry, he thought.
Ben squirmed in the front seat. ‘Come on, Tim. I need to go to the toilet.’
‘You’re totally weird the way you examine the creek every time,’ Rachel told him as the car continued along the
driveway.
‘Who’s that?’ Rachel said on spotting the strange white car sitting empty where no one ever parked, at the front door.
‘It’s that bloody social worker,’ he muttered spotting the government plates.
‘Shit,’ Rachel said, paling.
Finally pulling up at the back door, he turned around to the backseat while Ben gathered his things together in the front.
‘Just chill. Don’t tell them anything,’ Tim whispered.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Ben said, slamming the car door.
‘Nothing, Ben. Mind your own business,’ Rachel spat as she climbed from the backseat.
‘Muuummm, Tim and Rachel are whispering,’ Ben called as the back door thumped closed behind him.
Lauren Quayle sat at the kitchen table beside a girl who looked about 12, her frizzy hair making her head seem twice its size. An open notebook sat on the table before her. Annie sat opposite them, obviously not enamoured by these surprise visitors.
‘Hi,’ Lauren said to Ben as he ran past towards the bathroom, the sound of the toilet door slamming seconds later. ‘Hello, Rachel. Hi, Tim,’ she said. ‘This is Melissa, a student social worker. Do you mind if she joins our conversation?’
‘They want to have a word with you alone, pet,’ Annie said to Rachel ignoring Lauren’s question. ‘Perhaps you can take them to your room.’
‘Why can’t they talk here?’ Rachel snapped, glaring at Lauren.
‘We need to talk to you in private,’ Lauren said standing. ‘It won’t take long.’
Rachel sighed. ‘This is totally insane. There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘Which way to your room?’ Lauren persisted. ‘Your mum tells me you have heaps of cups and ribbons. I’m sorry to hear about Monnie by the way. You’re having a tough time, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ Rachel’s voice echoed emphatically as they moved in the direction of her bedroom.
‘Ben, go and change out of your school uniform, lamb,’ Annie said.
‘Why do they want to talk to Rachel in private?’ Ben asked.
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