Lawson glanced to Ned and back to the principal, opened his mouth, closed it again. He was speechless.
‘And unfortunately,’ Carline continued, ‘Ned is refusing to apologise for his actions.’
He raised an eyebrow and turned his whole body to face his son. ‘Ned? Is all this true?’ It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Carline but he had to hear Ned’s side of events.
Ned simply nodded once, none of his defensive body language lessening.
Okay, then. Lawson swallowed, feeling totally unqualified for this situation. If Leah were still alive he guessed she’d be the one sitting in that chair and she’d know how to handle this.
‘I think you’ll agree that no matter what happened between the two boys there is no excuse for violence,’ Carline said.
Lawson nodded. ‘Of course, but—’
She cut him off. ‘If Ned showed some remorse, the punishment might be different, but, as things currently stand, I’m going to suspend him from school for the remainder of the week so he can think long and hard about his actions. I want the other students to get the message that violence will not be tolerated in our school.’
‘You’re going to suspend him? Isn’t that a little harsh considering he’s only eight and this is his first offence?’ Lawson couldn’t help feeling frustrated at what it would mean for himself. With Ned at home, he couldn’t sneak off and spend time with Meg.
Carline nodded. ‘Unless he’s willing to apologise to Tate.’
Lawson looked to Ned again as he remembered that Tate and his brother had been the one to upset him before. ‘Hang on, why did you punch Tate?’
‘Cos he was teasing me about not having a mum again.’ Ned sniffed. ‘I’m not sorry, so I won’t say I am.’
Lawson opened his mouth to address this but Carline got in first. ‘I assure you, Lawson, that I do not tolerate bullying any more than I do violence and Tate will also receive a suspension for his actions, but I’m standing my ground on this decision. I don’t want the other children to think this kind of behaviour is acceptable. I’ve asked Ned’s teacher to get some work organised for him and email it to you this afternoon.’
She stood, making it clear this meeting was over, then glanced down at Ned. ‘I know this is out of character for you, Ned, so I hope that when you come back to school next week we can put this unfortunate incident behind us and learn together to work out alternative ways to deal with conflict. I promise you, Lawson, that this is something we’ll be focusing on with all the children, in all the classrooms. Now, I must go see Tate and his parents at the hospital.’
‘Please tell the Walshes that I’m sorry,’ Lawson said, silently adding that he’d be talking to them himself later. Then he grabbed Ned’s hand and all but dragged him out to the car park. Anger coursed through his body—anger at Tate, anger at Ned, anger at Ms Saunders, anger at this whole damn situation.
The moment they were in the ute, he turned to Ned. ‘What the hell was that about?’
Ned blinked and then started to cry. Lawson immediately felt remorse for his harsh words and tone.
‘Hey, buddy.’ He reached out and pulled his son into his arms. ‘It’ll be all right.’
He simply held him for about five minutes as Ned sobbed and then they spent the journey home having the conversation that had to be had. Ned calmed down and told Lawson that Tate and Levi just wouldn’t let up about him not having a mum, how she mustn’t have loved him enough to live.
‘Well, that’s just ridiculous logic,’ Lawson said. ‘What about Harry Potter’s mum? She died but she loved him so much her love saved him. And trust me, I knew your mum better than anyone and she loved you more than God loves the whole wide world.’
Ned’s lips quirked up at the edges.
Lawson decided to speak plainly. ‘Look, when people do or say bad things, there’s usually a reason and I think Tate and Levi are going through a bit of a tough time at home. Their parents have decided not to live together any more and Tate and Levi are probably feeling unsettled, not knowing who they are going to live with or what their lives will be like. That’s not an excuse but bullies usually pick on people to make themselves feel better, so we should feel sorry for them and forgive them. Violence is never the answer—you know that right?’
‘So have you forgiven the person who killed Mum?’ Ned asked.
Lawson’s grip tightened on the steering wheel and he hoped Ned didn’t notice. He would never forgive that lowlife for taking Leah’s life and robbing him of a wife and Ned of a mother. Hopefully he’d rot in prison before he came up for parole.
‘Yes, I have,’ he said, knowing that it was the right thing to say. He didn’t want his anger and bitterness to affect Ned and lead him to live a resentful life. ‘The man who killed your mother had big problems of his own and, although that doesn’t make what he did right, it makes me realise that he didn’t do it to hurt us. Losing your mother was a tragedy but what would be an even bigger tragedy would be holding onto my anger and letting it affect how I live. Your mum wouldn’t have wanted that and she wouldn’t have wanted you hitting Tate either.’
‘I know.’ Ned made a face. ‘Do I have to say sorry to him?’
Lawson sighed. ‘It would probably be the right thing to do, but I’m going to leave it up to you to make that decision.’
Ned nodded. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
Lawson smiled at how mature his little man sounded. ‘And while you’re home this week,’ he said, ‘don’t expect to be lying around playing Xbox and watching TV. When you’re not doing your schoolwork, you’ll be helping me around the farm.’
Ned groaned, but Lawson knew working around the dairy wasn’t punishment at all his eyes.
As he turned the ute into the farm’s long gravel driveway, his phone beeped, signalling a message. He waited until he’d stopped the vehicle to check, glancing down at the unknown number as Ned leaped out.
I hope Ned is okay. I forgot to tell you I finally have a mobile now. Thanks for all your help with the ghost. Meg.
As Lawson stared at the message, he started to smile. Meg had a phone! He’d almost forgotten giving her his number that very first day, and he couldn’t remember ever being so excited by a text message before. Although having her number meant he no longer had an excuse to just drop round, at least in the days ahead where he couldn’t go see her because of Ned, he’d be able to message, or even phone her, to ask if she’d found anything more about the dead girl.
Any excuse to hear her voice again.
Chapter Seventeen
The next few days passed faster than all the days Megan had been in Rose Hill before. Following Lawson’s sudden departure, she studied the article he’d found as if it were a text book and she were about to sit the most important exam of her life.
The woman who’d supposedly thrown herself from the top of the stairs was called Eliza Jane Abbott. She was twenty-one and the daughter of the general store owners, Isaac and Mary Abbott, who had no other children. She was described as a free spirit, had apparently been caught in a local horse race disguised as a man and often won card games at the local pub. The article was part news report, part obituary, and the writer, obviously not a fan of Miss Abbott, described her shenanigans as not becoming of a lady.
But no matter the opinion of the writer, it didn’t sound as though Eliza had a care in the world for what other people thought of her and she certainly didn’t sound like the kind of person who would want to kill herself. Then again, Megan knew from personal experience that life could change you in an instant. If Eliza had taken her own life, there must have been a damn good reason. And if she hadn’t, then somebody had killed her.
Clutching the newspaper to her, she’d collected Cane from Archie’s and then hurried home.
‘Eliza?’ she called, as she stepped inside the building. ‘Eliza, are you here?’
She walked toward the stairs as she spoke and then she froze, waiting.
Talk to me, please.
Jus
t as she was about to give up and go make herself a cup of coffee, the lights flashed on above her. And then immediately flashed off again. A chill swirled around her and Cane let out a high-pitched yowl, before running away into the lounge room.
‘Eliza?’ This time Megan whispered as goose bumps sprang up on her skin. ‘Did you kill yourself?’
The strangest thing happened next. A loud clattering came from the kitchen. She hurried after the noise, turning into the room to find a pile of dishes had fallen from the drainer to the floor and smashed.
‘I’m sorry, Eliza,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t believe you committed suicide.’ Her heart squeezed and she wished she could hug the spectre, which she strongly felt was in her presence.
Instead, she said, ‘I’m going to find out exactly what did happen to you, I promise.’ She didn’t know if this would help the ghost feel more settled, but she felt a deep need to do something.
Always one to keep her promise, Megan threw herself wholeheartedly into this task for the rest of the week. She neglected the house—reasoning there was no rush to de-clutter and renovate—choosing instead to spend her time researching during the day and crocheting for her weekend stall. Had there not been Eliza to think about, she might have felt more nervous or even decided to back out of the Walsh Country Markets, but she felt as if Eliza wouldn’t be the kind of person to hide herself away and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be any more either. At nights, while she crocheted and Cane slumbered at her feet, Megan spoke to Eliza, certain she could feel her presence. It was more comforting than she’d ever imagined that of a ghost would be.
During the days, Cane spent some of the time lounging around the historical society with her—when she was quietly working, he tended to sleep the time away—and at other times he went to Archie’s to play with Buster. Archie showed amused interest in her findings, but nowhere near as much as Lawson, with whom she’d been in frequent contact since sending him a text message.
He’d texted back almost immediately, filled her in on the Ned school drama and asked her how she was feeling after the discovery of the suicide article. These couple of messages had grown into hundreds more, so that she was going to need to go buy more credit for her pre-paid mobile. After two days of messages, he’d called Wednesday night and they’d talked for over an hour. Just the memory of that conversation (and the one that had followed on Thursday night) made her smile.
She’d told him about the few photos she’d found of Eliza—most of which were with other people and, unfortunately, unlabelled. She’d been working her way through them trying to put names to faces, which was an arduous task. The historical society had an abundance of information but there didn’t seem to be any system to any of it. It wasn’t like the historical societies she’d visited with her grandmother long ago in some small towns in Victoria—most of them were like mini-museums, their artefacts categorised in library-type perfection. Lawson had apologised for not being able to help her but she’d told him not to be so silly. He had a job and a son to think about and she respected that. He didn’t owe her anything, but she had to admit she often lost herself in a daydream thinking about what might happen if they were left to spend more time alone together.
When she was with him, she sometimes forgot herself for a moment. She started to let go, as if he were just a guy and she were just a girl and flirting with him was totally normal and acceptable.
Their long conversations didn’t only revolve around Eliza. They talked about the dairy, about Ned, about Cane; their childhood memories and funny anecdotes from the past. Megan had got good at conversing about the past without giving away any suspicious details. And talking to Lawson on the phone seemed safe somehow. It felt wonderful to have a friend and she kept reminding herself that was exactly what they were. Although her insides might quiver every time she heard his voice or even thought about him, the way he always fiddled with his wedding ring told her he was clearly still in love with his wife and that meant her stupid crush was also safe. Just because Lawson was male didn’t mean their friendship was any different from hers with Tabitha, or so she kept telling herself.
With that thought, Megan yawned and glanced at her watch. It was Friday afternoon and she was making dinner for Archie to say thank you for being such a good sport about Cane, so she really needed to make a move.
Just five more minutes, she promised herself and then turned back to the pile of photos she’d been sorting through. The next few held nothing of interest, and she was just about to call it a day when her gaze fell upon a photo of her building. She brought it closer and saw a line of people waiting for their turn at full tables on the front verandah, and a blackboard saying: Grand Opening: Eliza’s Tea Room.
Her heart skipping a beat, she clutched the weathered black and white photograph to her chest as a shiver scuttled down her spine. Goose bumps sprouted all over her arms. So that’s where the idea for the tea room had come from. It looked as if Eliza had planned on serving afternoon tea on the verandah of the general store, proving herself to be a businesswoman looking for ways to bring in more profit for her family. Megan turned the photo over and saw that the date was only one day before Eliza’s death. This only made her more certain that Eliza hadn’t committed suicide—what could have happened in such a short time to take her from a new business success to giving up so completely?
Although she had no idea of the answer, she couldn’t wait to tell Lawson about this latest development.
But tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she thought of this unfulfilled dream. What had happened to the tea room after Eliza’s death?
These thoughts circling her head, Megan got up, locked the historical society building and went home to cook up a feast for her and Archie’s dinner. She glanced at her watch, contemplating calling Lawson immediately, but he’d be smack bang in the middle of milking and so she settled on a message instead: Found spooky information about Eliza.
He replied almost instantly: Sounds intriguing. Can’t wait to hear all about it.
Feeling buoyed with her discovery and the prospect of talking to Lawson on the phone about it later, Megan threw herself into preparing a good, healthy, delicious meal for Archie. She’d seen what he usually ate—eggs, cheap biscuits, microwave pies and two-minute noodles—and she was on a mission to improve his eating habits.
Just before six pm, she carried a big tray of lasagne, some homemade garlic bread and two salads over to the old servo. Archie had told her he didn’t do vegetables, so unbeknownst to him she’d hidden some in the lasagne—but she also reckoned if he’d just give her coleslaw and tomato salad a try he’d be hooked.
‘Looks like you’ve made enough to feed an army,’ he said by way of a greeting when she arrived.
While Cane greeted her in his usual enthusiastic manner, Archie took the two salad bowls off the top of the pile precariously balanced in her arms.
‘You can keep the leftovers for dinner over the weekend,’ she told him.
Archie fed the dogs outside, while Megan made herself at home in his surprisingly clean and tidy kitchen, serving the lasagne onto plates. Knowing he likely wouldn’t try the salad on his own, she put a large serving on each of their plates and then set the garlic bread down in the middle of the table.
‘I’m sorry I don’t have any wine or beer to offer you,’ Archie said as he came back into the house, ‘but the water’s been in the fridge all day.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ Megan replied with a smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had alcohol.
It was the first time they’d actually sat down together and shared any of the food she’d brought, but judging by the way he’d gone to the effort to set his small plastic table, she guessed he was as happy with her company as she was with his. Thank God she’d discovered she was quite fond of her lone neighbour.
‘I told you, I don’t eat vegetables,’ Archie said, sitting down in his seat, picking up his fork and prodding a cherry
tomato like it might jump off his plate and bite him on the nose.
Megan smiled. ‘I’ll be offended if you don’t at least try after all the effort I went to make those salads.’
‘What makes you think I care about offending people?’ Archie replied, with a cheeky grin.
‘Do it for yourself then. If you don’t start eating better and looking after yourself, you’ll have a heart attack.’
He shrugged as if this idea didn’t much bother him, but he popped the tomato into his mouth nevertheless.
She knew better than to think he might actually admit to liking it, but the evidence spoke for itself. Archie all but scraped his plate clean of lasagne and salad.
‘Can I get you a cuppa?’ he asked when they’d finished eating.
‘That would be great.’ She stood to start clearing the table.
‘Leave the mess,’ he said. ‘I’ll clean up later after you’re gone. In my house, the rules were always whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean.’
This was the first time he’d made any reference to any kind of family—until now their conversation had revolved mostly around Cane and Archie’s menagerie of animals. Once Archie had made the coffees and they’d sat down in his lounge room with a container of cookies she’d given him earlier in the week between them, she broached the subject.
‘Where’d you live before Rose Hill?’ she asked, knowing she was giving him tacit permission to ask her some questions of his own.
‘I was a tenant of the Department of Corrective Services,’ he said.
Megan blinked. That she hadn’t been expecting. She didn’t know why she seemed so surprised, but perhaps it was his art. She’d pegged him as a quirky, hermit artist, not someone more like, well, herself. ‘Why? What did you do?’ She blurted before remembering the rules. ‘I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.’
Archie chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned being inside if I wasn’t willing to talk about it.’ He took a sip of his coffee and started to talk as if he were telling a child a fairytale. ‘About twenty-five years ago, I was a respectable businessman, but then I made some less than smart decisions and got myself and my family into a lot of debt. I drowned my sorrows and then one day I drove my wife and two kids—they were ten and twelve at the time—home from the pub where we’d been celebrating her birthday. Katy, that was my wife, insisted I’d drunk too much to drive but I got angry and told her to stop being a nag. I made them all get into the car and then less than a kilometre from home I drove us all into a tree.’
Talk of the Town Page 18