In Archie’s bedroom she found a framed photo of a family—a man, a woman, a boy and a girl. She took the old image out of the glass and turned it over. On the back were the words, Archie, Katy, Gemma and Bradley. It wasn’t much to go on, but at least she had a possible name for his son, which she could pass onto the police.
Making a mental note of the name Bradley Weaver, she put the photo back into the frame, then she locked up again and went home.
Chapter Forty
Lawson looked up from where he was mending a fence, surprised to see Tab walking towards him. The day before he’d tried to apologise to her for his harsh words about her interfering with his parenting, but, like his son, she’d pretty much been giving him the cold shoulder ever since.
‘I know you don’t care,’ she said by way of a greeting, ‘but I thought you should know that Archie died yesterday.’
‘Who?’ Yet, even as the question left his mouth, the answer registered in his head. She had his full attention now. He dropped his pliers and stood. ‘How? When? How did you find out?’
Tab crossed her arm over her stump—the closest she could get to folding her arms in a show of annoyance—and said, ‘He had a heart attack. His second in a week, but you probably didn’t know about that either because you’ve refused to talk properly to Meg and haven’t left the farm. He died in Walsh hospital yesterday and the reason I know is because I was with Meg when they called her to tell her he wasn’t doing so great, so I checked in just now to see how he was going and—’
‘You went to see Meg?’ he asked, unsure how he felt about that. His chest squeezed a little, almost as if he were jealous of Tabitha. Or was he simply annoyed that she’d gone behind his back to see her?
‘Yes. You might be angry with her, Lawson, but I like her, and I didn’t like the thought of her out there in Rose Hill so isolated. Breaking up with someone hurts and I wanted to check she was okay.’
‘And?’ he found himself asking.
‘And,’ Tabitha emphasised the word before continuing, ‘she’s heartbroken. She looks almost as bad as you do, just without the ridiculous beard. And that was before she lost her only friend. Now I’m even more worried about her. She’s got nothing, no one but a couple of dogs to live for.’
He’d been feeling pretty damn lousy five minutes earlier, unable to get Megan out of his head no matter how hard he tried, and this news only made that worse.
He ran a dirty hand through his hair in frustration. His instincts told him to go to Megan, but his heart didn’t know if he could take being so close. Then, he thought of how he’d felt after his mum died and how Leah had got him through, and he realised that no matter how angry he was with Meg, he didn’t want her to be alone right now.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he told Tabitha.
‘What are you going to do?’
He swallowed. ‘I’m going to go see her and give her my sympathy.’
Tab smiled and unfolded her arms. ‘You’re a good man, Lawson Cooper-Jones. Let me give you some ice-cream to take with you.’
Chapter Forty-one
Megan slept—if you could call it that—with both Cane and Buster curled up at the bottom of her bed. She woke with scratchy eyes, a parched throat and a sore head—typical symptoms of a hangover, only she hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol last night. The moment she’d come home from Archie’s, she’d taken one look at Buster looking up at her expectantly and had burst into tears again. Her body must have been working over-time to produce them because hours passed and still they wouldn’t stop. She’d sat on the back verandah, Buster slumbering at her feet and Cane chasing insects in the garden, until the early hours of the morning, crying for Archie, crying for herself and wondering what next?
Rose Hill no longer felt like a safe haven and the idea of doing up the building and opening tea rooms was laughable. Now that everyone in Walsh knew the truth about her, they wouldn’t want to patronise her business. Perhaps Eliza’s Tea Rooms had been doomed right from the beginning. Leaving town seemed the obvious solution, but where would she go? And how could she? The measly inheritance she’d got from her grandparents was now tied up in this derelict old building. And while she could perhaps take Buster and Cane with her, what would she do about Archie’s chickens?
Oh, why couldn’t she have been the one to die instead of him? At least he had talent—he’d made a life of sorts for himself in Rose Hill and he’d seemed happy enough, and right now Megan didn’t see how she could ever be happy again. She couldn’t stop thinking how one day her own death would be as lonely and unnoticed as Archie’s.
If it weren’t for the dogs needing to go outside, who knew if she’d have been able to drag herself out of bed, but somehow she did. She carried a nearly-too-heavy Cane down the stairs and Buster trundled behind them—he’d got over the ghost where Cane looked like being permanently scared. As had become her routine, after Megan let the dogs out, she went into the kitchen, drank a coffee and made some toast, though today she barely nibbled at it. The day loomed ahead of her—depressingly long—and she couldn’t even summon enthusiasm for the things that usually brought her joy, such as cooking and crocheting. What was the point? She had no one to feed and no one to buy her tea-cosies.
It was then that her gaze fell upon the notepad and pen on the table, the notepad she usually wrote her daily to-do list on. Making a list of things to achieve had given her a purpose, but suddenly a list of make-work tasks didn’t seem enough. If she were to survive out here alone, she needed to do something that at least had the possibility of being worthwhile. She thought of Tabitha’s suggestion that she write her story and, although she didn’t think she’d ever be eloquent enough to do it properly, she stretched across and picked up the notepad and pen.
After tearing off the first page, which still had Friday’s to-do list on it, she started to write.
Mum and Dad bickered a fair bit and a lot of the time my brother and I could barely stand to look at each other. For three months one year when the house was being renovated we had to share a room, and both of us thought this was the worst thing ever. We put a line of masking tape down the middle of the room and fought over who got the bed near the window. We fought over everything back then, but when I really think about my brother, it’s not the fighting I remember. It’s things like getting up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, sneaking downstairs together and unwrapping some of our presents and then wrapping them again. It’s the way he used to fall asleep on the journey to visit Granny and Pop in Ballarat and how his body would slump onto the seat and his head would rest on my knee.
When I think about my parents, it’s not their fights over who forgot to put the bin out, it’s the secret kisses in the kitchen when they thought we weren’t looking. It’s mum’s cooking and how every single thing she made—whether it be a ham and cheese toastie or a full roast dinner—she made with love. She used to make our clothes when we were little too—not because they couldn’t afford to buy new ones but because she loved doing it. I wasn’t a girly girl but the dresses Mum made for me, I wore with the biggest grin on my face. They were gorgeous and unique—I never went to a birthday party and found myself in the same pink dress from Target as another girl. I remember the way Dad used to read us bedtime stories every night, even when we were in high school. When they died, Dad was in the middle of reading us Two Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I never have managed to finish that story.
Having never been much of a writer before, it surprised Megan the way the words poured from the pen onto the page. Pages. The dogs came in from outside—Buster slumped at her feet under the table and Cane nudged her with his nose, trying to get her attention, trying to get her to play—yet still she wrote. She wrote about her childhood—the good parts and the not-so-great parts. She wrote about her family—her mum’s parents whom she couldn’t have been closer to and her dad’s parents who never seemed to approve of their son’s choices. His decision to go into teaching rather than follow t
he family profession of law, his choice of a wife, his slightly unruly children.
She was just sending herself off to school camp—excited about the contraband lollies she and her friends carried in their bags—when a knock on the front door startled her. The first time someone had knocked on her door in Rose Hill, she’d almost died, and although it had happened a number of times since, it still shocked her every single time. She glanced down at the scruffy T-shirt and shorts she’d slept in, then, reasoning it would either be Tabitha or the police, she heaved a sigh and went to answer it.
Standing on the other side of the door was the last person she expected to see. At least it looked like Lawson, though over the last few days he appeared to have grown a beard. She’d never thought facial hair attractive but on him it made her knees wobble. Her fingers itched to reach out and run themselves over his jawline, but somehow she resisted.
As he bent down to greet Cane, he glanced back up. ‘Hi, Meg.’ His voice was even deeper and sexier than she remembered.
This was where she was supposed to reply but all she could do was stand there gaping, her mouth wide open like the little boy from Mary Poppins.
Lawson cleared his throat and straightened again. ‘Would you prefer I call you Megan, rather than Meg?’
She finally found her voice but it came out not much more than a whisper. ‘I like Meg,’ she said. Especially when you say it, but she managed swallow that last bit. She didn’t know why he was there, but remembering his treatment of her on Friday night, something told her it wasn’t to kiss and make up.
He nodded. They stood there awkwardly, staring at each other for a few long moments before they both spoke at the same time.
‘I was sorry to hear about Archie.’
‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’
He smiled a little and she felt the effects in her core. ‘Yes, please,’ he said and then held out the small cooler bag he’d been holding. ‘This is a little something from Tabitha. She sends her sympathies too.’
‘Thank you.’
‘She thinks ice-cream can fix everything,’ he added with a clearly nervous laugh.
Megan returned an equally nervous smile, then stepped aside to let him into the house. Cane followed without being asked, no doubt hopeful that Lawson would be more fun than Meg had been the last few days. They walked down the hallway into the kitchen without a word spoken between them.
‘Is that Archie’s dog?’ Lawson asked when he saw Buster still lying on the floor where he’d been when she’d gone to answer the door.
‘Yes.’ Megan unzipped the cooler bag and put the ice-cream into the freezer. She liked having something to do and immediately set to making drinks. ‘The poor thing is broken-hearted. He’s not really eating and he barely moves. I don’t know what to do for him.’
Lawson dropped to his knees and rubbed Buster’s neck. ‘Give him time. His master only died yesterday. How are you doing?’
‘I’ve been better,’ she said as she spooned coffee granules into mugs. And that was saying something.
He nodded, then stood again and shoved his hands in his pockets.
‘How’s Ned?’ Megan asked, not really wanting to talk about Archie for fear she’d cry in front of Lawson and he’d think she was trying to manipulate his emotions or something.
‘He’s good.’
When he didn’t elaborate, she added, ‘And the farm? Have you heard anything more?’
‘I’ve been looking into other possible processors for our milk come July, but I think our best bet is looking at alternative options, like selling off some of our herd or trying to make more of Tabitha’s ice-cream business.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said because she didn’t really know what else to say.
‘Thanks.’
She put the coffee mugs down on the table. ‘Would you like to sit?’
For a second she thought maybe he’d refuse, but then he dragged back a chair and lowered his large, ridiculously gorgeous body into it. He wrapped his fingers around the mug, lifted it to his mouth and took a sip. ‘Good coffee,’ he said after a few more moments.
‘Thanks. Can I offer you a biscuit?’
She opened the container that was already in the middle of the table, but he waved his hand in dismissal. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’
Argh. Megan wanted to scream. They were being so damn polite—he felt more like a stranger than on the day they’d first met and it broke her heart. She almost commented on the arrival of his beard, simply for something to fill the silence, but he got in first.
‘What was it like being in prison?’
She blinked, surprised by his question, but also grateful that he was no longer dancing around the elephant in the room.
‘You don’t have to say,’ he rushed, sitting forwards slightly. ‘It’s just I’d like to understand more what you’ve been through.’
She wanted to ask why? Why did he care? Why did he want to know? Would telling him change anything? Instead, she told him straight. ‘It was hell. It’s not something I find easy to talk about but I want to tell you.’
His gaze dropped to his coffee as she continued.
‘People think prisoners have it easy these days with gyms and flatscreen TVs and stuff but, even if that were true, none of that makes up for the showering in full view of strangers. Having to sleep in the same cells as people you don’t trust is terrifying. I didn’t sleep properly the whole time I was inside. And it was lonely too. I didn’t make friends and I got teased and bullied for being a goodie two shoes.’
‘What did you do during the day?’ he asked.
‘For the last couple of years, I worked in the prison kitchen, and I also did any extra learning opportunity that came up—I learned about car repairs, how to build and fix things around the house. I even did a unit on nail art. They were trying to give us skills so we could earn a living when we got out, but I wasn’t really thinking that far ahead. I exercised in the yard whenever we had the chance and became obsessed with the gym too; I did anything that helped pass the time and gave me an avenue for my grief that wasn’t drugs.’
‘And in prison … is that where you finally got help for your addiction and counselling for your grief?’
She nodded, again doing her best not to cry. Most of the time she tried not to remember her time inside and the huge battle she fought to recover. ‘Gran had tried to get me counselling just after the fire. Unfortunately I refused to talk to anyone. Talking about things hurt; taking drugs made that stop. It was the shock of seeing someone die that broke the cycle. I didn’t shoot the bullet that killed him, but I was there and I associated with the kind of people who could do that kind of stuff.’
‘I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have gone through everything you’ve been through, Meg.’ He sighed deeply. ‘But the fact you couldn’t trust me enough to share it? That hurts and I can’t help wondering what else you haven’t told me.’
‘I understand.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to go over all this; I came because I wanted to check you were okay after Archie. I just wanted—’ The ringing of his phone somewhere deep in his pocket interrupted him and he glanced down as he dug it out. He gave her an apologetic look before answering.
‘Hello, Lawson speaking.’
A few seconds later, it became clear he was speaking to the school and Megan took a sip of her now-cold coffee, trying not to look like she was eavesdropping. The only thing she could think of to do was clear their mugs from the table but she didn’t want to do that because she didn’t want him to think she wanted him to go.
He disconnected and shoved back his seat. ‘I’m sorry, Meg, but Ned’s got himself into some more trouble at school. I’m going to have to go.’
‘Of course.’ She nodded, also standing. She wanted to ask what kind of trouble because she cared about his son, but she didn’t think it was her place any more. ‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Th
anks.’ He started out the kitchen and she and Cane followed him down the hallway. Cane as usual took as wide as possible a berth around the stairs and this time Lawson noticed. He frowned and paused a moment. ‘He’s still scared, I see.’
Then, he rubbed his arms a little and glanced around him. ‘Did you find anything else out about Eliza?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did,’ she said, wondering if it was the right time to offer her thoughts on Penelope Walsh being a murderer. Considering they’d just been talking about her own prison time, it felt somewhat audacious. And he had somewhere else he had to be. ‘But it’s a long story.’
Lawson sighed. ‘Maybe one for another day then? Bye, Meg.’
Where only days ago he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her till her lips ached, this time he turned and strode off towards his ute as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. But even as Megan waved him goodbye, she couldn’t help clinging to the little bit of hope she found in his final words.
Another day.
What did that mean? Would she see him again? Did he think maybe they could be friends?
She closed the front door and then leaned back against it, emotionally exhausted from the weirdness of Lawson’s visit. While she couldn’t deny a certain happiness at seeing him again, in some ways it only made things worse. Him sitting across the table from her was akin to someone waving a chocolate cake under her nose, yet telling her she couldn’t taste it.
And what good was a cake you couldn’t eat? How could she ever be satisfied with his friendship—if that’s what he was offering—when she wanted so much more?
Chapter Forty-two
Lawson gripped the steering wheel hard as he drove away from Meg’s house, away from Rose Hill. As worried as he was about Ned, the phone call had been a welcome distraction because he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have been able to withstand Meg’s company without losing the plot. Even in old shorts and a shapeless T-shirt, with puffy bags under her eyes, which he guessed were the result of crying and too little sleep, she turned him on like he’d never imagined possible and his body was starting to affect his head.
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