Megan couldn’t help gasping—the way he said it, it almost sounded like he’d meant to do it.
He answered her next question before she asked it. ‘My wife and our daughter died on impact. I went to prison and my son went to live with my wife’s family. That was the last time I ever saw him.’
‘Shit.’ No matter how bad Megan’s losses had been, she never failed to be affected by other people’s. Maybe her own grief and heartbreak made her even more attuned.
‘Did you ever try to make contact with your son … after you got out? Didn’t you want to get him back?’
Archie nodded and spoke gruffly. ‘Course I did, but he didn’t want to be with me after what I’d done to his mum and sister. I wrote to him from prison and I wrote to him for years after. He’s an adult now and I don’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with me. I can say I’m sorry a hundred times but he’ll never forgive me and I can understand, because I’ll never forgive myself either.’
‘So how’d you end up here?’
‘Saw an ad in The West for a caretaker. Didn’t know if they’d want me with a criminal record but I guess they didn’t find anyone better. If I’d had my way I’d still be in prison—no amount of time served will ever be enough. I’d have killed myself but that seemed like a cop out. I deserve to spend every day for the rest of my life reliving that awful moment and being punished for my stupid mistakes.’
Megan nodded. She understood. She too had briefly contemplated suicide but had decided against that option for a number of reasons. As Archie said, it seemed like an easy solution and she didn’t deserve easy when she had no one to blame for her mistakes but herself. Also, somewhere deep inside, she believed she should try and make amends, try to be a better person, live a better life, because she’d been given a second chance. There’d been plenty of others like her who never got that chance.
‘You don’t look particularly freaked out by my story,’ Archie said, breaking her thoughts. He paused a moment, then added, ‘It’s because you’ve been there as well, haven’t you?’
Megan glanced down at the floor as she reached out and ran her fingers through Cane’s fur; she didn’t need to ask what he meant by ‘there’. He’d obviously seen something in her he recognised—prison left its mark on everyone, but not everyone could see it.
‘Don’t worry, missy, your secret’s safe with me. You don’t have to tell me what happened.’
But she wanted to. She hadn’t talked about it for so long that being able to tell someone who would understand and not judge felt like a lifeline.
‘My parents and brother died in a fire when I was seventeen and I didn’t handle my grief well,’ she confessed, her voice not much more than a whisper. ‘I stuffed up my final school exams, then got in with a really bad crowd and made some terrible decisions. I started smoking a bit of weed to try and numb the pain, to deal with my grief. It worked at first—when I was high I felt as if I could cope, I felt good, almost happy. But after a while I needed more and I got into ice—that nearly destroyed me.’
Archie gave her a nod of encouragement but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask questions; he just let her get what she needed to off her chest.
‘It was an expensive habit—I couldn’t hold down a job because I was too unreliable, but I lived rent-free with my grandparents and had money from my parents’ estate to feed my habit. It wasn’t a lot but if I hadn’t squandered it on drugs, I would have had a roof over my head and enough money to help me get through university, although by then I was too messed up to even contemplate study. I lived from one hit to the next and I was generous because I didn’t give a damn about myself. I thought I had good friends but in hindsight I know they were nothing but users, addicts just like me, unable to think about anyone but themselves. After a few years my money ran out and most of them disappeared, but surprisingly my so-called boyfriend at the time didn’t abandon me. Instead, he told me he had a sure-fire plan to finance our next hit.’
She told Archie everything, didn’t leave out one sordid detail, and when she was finished she felt lighter than she had in years.
‘I was sentenced to four and a half years, which was about the harshest anyone has ever been sentenced for being an accessory to such a crime, but you see, my dad’s father is a supreme court judge, so the system came down hard on me. They made an example of me.
‘Inside I had to go cold turkey on the drugs and, although that time was excruciating, going to prison was basically exactly what I needed. By the time I finally got counselling and was offered drug treatment, I’d been through the worst and I knew I never wanted to go back to that place ever again. In prison, I kept to myself because I was so terrified of getting back in with people who would test my resolve. I threw myself into working hard, studying, exercise, anything on offer to keep my mind of the cravings. It wasn’t easy—and I wouldn’t wish that kind of sentence on my worst enemy—but it taught me to appreciate life, to appreciate my second chance. I looked forward to getting out and starting again, but I was totally naïve on that front.’
Finally Archie spoke. ‘Life had moved on? Left you behind?
She sighed. ‘My grandfather’s position meant my case had got a lot of publicity at the time and some journalist latched onto the story of me getting out. My face was on the front page of every Victorian newspaper.’
‘Geez.’ Archie gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s a pretty face but not the kind of publicity anyone wants.’
‘Damn straight. Any friends I had at the time of my parents’ and brother’s deaths no longer wanted anything to do with me and no way I wanted to track down any associates from my drug days. Once an addict, always an addict. I started looking for work but of course, even if I’d had experience, no one wants to hire a convicted criminal. That was disheartening but the worst of it was that I couldn’t even walk down the street without someone recognising me. I’d been out three months when I decided enough was enough. Being in Melbourne wasn’t working. I came here—I figured it would be unlikely anyone would know me in a town where no one else lived.’
‘Apart from me,’ Archie said with a chuckle.
‘Well, yes, apart from you.’ Despite feeling wrung out from sharing her story, she couldn’t help but smile. ‘The real estate agent failed to tell me about you though.’
Archie smiled sadly. ‘What did your grandfather, the judge, think of all this?’
‘He and my grandmother disowned me; they’ve made it clear they want nothing to do with me.’
‘And they’re your only family left?’
‘Yes.’ Megan sniffed. ‘Both my parents were only children so I don’t have aunties, uncles or cousins. My mother’s parents took me in after the fire and despite all the hell I put them through, they never once gave up on me. Gran and Grandpa visited me in prison, until they died. Grandpa had a heart attack last year and Granny Rose had a fall like three weeks later. She didn’t have it in her to …’ Meg’s voice failed her; for a minute that grief felt brand new again.
Archie sighed. ‘No doubt you’ve had it tough, kiddo. And I understand you’re scarred from your many awful experiences, but you’re young and I can see you’re a good soul. You lost your way for a while, but you had good reason, and you deserve a fresh start. However you may feel, that man’s blood is not on your hands. I hate to see you locking yourself up in this shithole. You may as well still be in prison.’
Her life in Rose Hill didn’t feel like a prison to Megan. She had a wonderful freedom out there with none of the temptation to return to the dark side. But she suddenly realised she didn’t want to end up like Archie, all cut off from the world with nothing but the company of pets (and ghosts).
‘That’s nice of you to say,’ she said, ‘and I’m not locking myself up. I’m doing the markets on Sunday, aren’t I? And I told you, I’ve made a few friends.’ Warmth filled her as she thought of Lawson, Tabitha and Ned, and of course Archie himself. ‘But I must admit I’m terrified of what they’ll
say when I tell them about my past. About who I really am.’
‘Then don’t tell them. As you said, it’s the past. Don’t let it define your future. You’ve been clean four and a half years, that’s something to be proud of.’ Archie reached over and took her hand in his old, papery one. ‘You are a kind, warm-hearted, lovely girl and anyone would be lucky to be your friend.’
‘Ditto,’ she said.
He chuckled. ‘I haven’t been called a lovely girl in a long time. Now, enough of this sombre conversation: what’s the latest on your ghost?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Good night, little man. Sleep tight; don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ Lawson bent down to kiss his son on the forehead.
As he straightened again, Ned said, ‘Can you lie with me while I fall asleep, Dad? Please?’
Inwardly Lawson groaned. Since Meg’s message that afternoon, he’d been counting down the hours and minutes until Ned was in bed and he could call her. It wasn’t just that he was curious to find out what she’d discovered about their ghost—he wanted to hear her voice again. For two nights in a row now, they’d talked for hours past his usual bedtime. He should have been exhausted during the day but he’d had more energy than he’d had in a long time. That afternoon Ethan had even caught him whistling.
‘Sure, little man, slide over,’ he said, trying to curtail his disappointment as he kicked off his thongs, climbed in beside Ned and drew him in for a cuddle.
For years, he’d needed the comfort of his son’s little warm body as much as Ned had needed him. Holding onto him had always made him feel somehow close to Leah, as if she lived on in their little boy. And she did—he often saw her smile reflected in Ned’s, heard her laugh when he did—and it always made the day brighter. But although he’d always love Leah, and their son would always take precedence over anything and anyone else, Ned wasn’t quite enough any more.
Just thinking like this filled Lawson with guilt, but he craved a different kind of companionship.
‘What vegetable would you be, Dad?’
‘What?’ Lawson blinked.
Ned sighed as if frustrated by Lawson’s lack of comprehension. ‘If you were a vegetable instead of a human, what would you be?
He loved hypotheticals and often asked random questions; they could be anything from deeply philosophical to just plain out there like this one. Lawson loved his enquiring mind, but right now, he wasn’t in the mood to answer anything.
‘I dunno, maybe a tomato.’ It was the first vegetable that came into his head.
Ned laughed. ‘For one,’ he said, ‘tomatoes are fruit and two, you are much more like a carrot—you’re tall and strong and everyone likes you.’
Lawson grinned. ‘That’s nice of you to say but, as fascinating as this conversation is, it’s time to get some rest.’
‘I’m not really tired,’ Ned confessed in a matter-of-fact tone.
Lawson could have screamed. ‘Well, I am,’ he lied.
‘I could read you a bedtime story if you want or go make you some warm milk?’
‘No thanks. I’d rather you rest. Let’s have a quiet competition.’
Generally if Lawson suggested a quiet competition they’d both end up falling asleep eventually but often Lawson beat Ned to it. Tonight he was determined to keep his eyes open and outlast his son. He lay still beside Ned, listening to his breathing, until finally, after what felt like hours, the sound changed and he knew he’d fallen asleep.
He manoeuvred himself off the bed, then tiptoed out of the room. As usual Tab was sitting out on the back verandah knitting, Bonnie and Clyde sprawled at her feet.
‘Shall I get you a beer?’ she asked.
He shook his head and feigned a yawn. ‘Nah, thanks. Think I’m gunna call it a night. Ned took ages to fall asleep and I’ve got an early start in the morning.’
She could have pointed out that he was a dairy farmer and had an early start every morning, but instead she nodded and smiled knowingly. He suspected she knew what he was up to but she didn’t say anything.
He went back into the house, then into the bathroom, showered the day’s grime off in record time, brushed his teeth and retreated into his bedroom, where he fell into bed with his phone in his hand. His feet had barely touched the mattress before his fingers dialled Meg’s number.
She answered after only two rings. ‘Hi, Lawson.’
‘Hey, Meg.’ He loved the sound of his name when she spoke it. ‘Hope it’s not too late to call. Ned took a while settling tonight.’
‘Of course not. Is he okay?’
‘Yes, just not tired enough after a week of no school.’ He leaned back against his pillows, getting comfortable. ‘Anyway, how are you? How was your day?’
‘It was great. You’ll never believe what I found.’ She paused for obvious dramatics.
He grinned at the excitement in her voice. ‘Well, don’t keep me waiting. What was it?’
‘I was just about to give up for the day … to be honest, I was thinking of giving up entirely. While I’m sitting there rifling through old records in the historical society, the renovations aren’t doing themselves. But then I found this photo. It was of the general store, and out the front was a chalkboard sign advertising … Eliza’s Tea Room.’
He got honest-to-God goose bumps and sat up straight in his bed. ‘What?’
‘I know, right.’ She elaborated a little, giving him the exact details of the photo. ‘If there is a ghost, and if she is Eliza, the woman who fell, then it looks like she had the same ideas as me for the building.’
‘That’s amazing.’
‘It makes me feel like I came to the right place, like I’m here for a reason and maybe that reason is to help fulfil Eliza’s dreams so she can rest in peace. Does that sound too whacky?’
He chuckled. ‘No more than the idea of a ghost to begin with. You said you weren’t really sure what drew you to Rose Hill. Maybe this was it?’
And just maybe it was also because they were meant to find each other. He’d never been a big believer in fate and stuff like that before, but then again, until Meg had opened his mind to the possibility, he’d never believed in ghosts either. Whatever the reason, he was glad she’d come.
‘But do you really think this is why she’s still lingering in our world? Because she wants her dreams realised?’
He frowned, but before he could contemplate her question, she continued. ‘You know, something about all of this still doesn’t sit right with me. It just doesn’t make sense. I thought spirits only stayed in this world when there was unfinished business … and while I can understand the tea room might have been important to Eliza, it just doesn’t seem a big enough reason to stop someone resting in peace. I can’t help but feel her death wasn’t suicide or an accident.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said, but his mind had gone to Leah. If ghosts were a thing, why had he never felt her presence?
‘I don’t know why it matters to me. Whatever happened, it was so long ago that even if I found out the truth, I wouldn’t be able to do anything with it.’ Meg sighed—she sounded so utterly deflated, and he wanted to cheer her up, to give her hope.
Even though Lawson agreed there wasn’t much she could do all these years later if she discovered something about Eliza’s death, he admired how she wanted to fight for the underdog, or in this case, the under-ghost.
‘It might make you feel better,’ he said. ‘And surely after all this time it also can’t do any harm. If you’re right and she didn’t commit suicide, then maybe she just needs someone to believe that. To believe in her. And I guess, in opening your own tea room and maybe somehow honouring her while doing so, you might give her exactly what she needs.’
‘You know, that makes a lot of sense. Thank you for not thinking I’m absolutely crazy about all this.’
Crazy was the last thing he thought of her.
‘How was your day anyway?’
‘You know, the usual,’ he said, ‘wranglin
g cows, wrangling Ned—it’s all in a day’s work. Tonight he wanted to know what vegetable I would be if I were indeed a vegetable.’
She laughed. ‘Sounds like there’s never a dull moment with Ned around.’
‘Indeed,’ he said, smiling. ‘Are you all ready for the markets?’
‘Yes. I’ve just come back from dinner with Archie and I’m going to finish one last tea-cosy before heading to bed.’
They talked for a little longer, until tiredness finally crept up on him. He couldn’t stifle a yawn and she heard it.
‘I should let you go,’ she said. ‘It’s getting late. Thanks for the chat about Eliza.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘Yeah, Sunday,’ he said, before disconnecting the call. He could hardly wait.
Chapter Nineteen
When Megan drove into Walsh early on Sunday morning—car loaded with crocheted goods, Cane leaping about dangerously and excitedly on the front seat—her hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Despite her conversation with Archie on Friday night about chasing dreams and living for the future, she felt sick in the stomach at possible discovery. The more people she met, the more likely it was that the truth about her past could emerge. Perhaps she should tell Lawson and Tabitha before they found out some other way.
With this thought sitting heavy in her gut, she almost turned her car around, yet excitement at seeing them again gave her the courage to find a parking space and start unloading. She wound the passenger window down slightly and left Cane in the car while she went to find out where she needed to set up. Her heart beat a heavy tattoo as she passed unfamiliar faces, but then she heard someone calling, ‘Meg, Meg,’ and recognised the voice as Ned’s. She turned to see him and Tabitha waving from a stall about ten metres away, twin warm and welcoming smiles on their faces, and a little of her anxiety eased.
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