‘He seemed pretty nice,’ I said.
CHAPTER 32
Millie’s Contribution
I’ve known Millie Green all my life, though I don’t KNOW her, if you know what I mean. We don’t go to dinner at her place, and neither does Millie visit our place or anything like that, but she’ll say hello in the supermarket if our trolleys pass, or she’ll ask me how school is going if we are side by side in the newsagent’s.
Millie Green is about Grandma’s age, but I don’t think she was a close friend of Grandma’s. She lives in this house that looks like a postcard picture. In fact, the Chamber of Commerce did make a postcard of it—all white-painted stone and the sort of garden that looks as if it flowers all by itself but I bet is a lot of work, because Millie spends most of her life in it when she isn’t painting.
I don’t know if Millie’s a good artist or not. She sells her stuff in a couple of places which I suppose means she IS an artist, but she doesn’t do the sort of stuff Mr Latter at school is always talking about. She mostly paints houses and gardens and old bridges and sometimes cows on a hill.
They are not always pretty paintings. Sometimes the grass is brown instead of green, for example, but in another way I suppose they are pretty, even if the grass is brown. The sort of paintings about which you would say, ‘I’d like to have that on my wall.’
Anyway, I was at Mum’s that afternoon, doing my homework as usual and wishing I wasn’t, when there was this knock at the door. So I answered it.
It was Millie with the great big floppy straw hat on that she always wears, and builders overalls, except being Millie she had ironed and starched the overalls and had embroidered a frog on the front. There was a large brown paper parcel under her arm. She blinked a bit, as though remembering my name and then said, ‘Sara, how lovely. Is your mother in?’
I shook my head. ‘She won’t be long though. Would you like to come in?’ Even if it was Mum’s house, not mine, I knew she wouldn’t mind.
‘Well, if it’s no trouble,’ said Millie. ‘I do hope I am not interrupting you or anything.’
She followed me into the living room and sat on the armchair opposite me, while I tried to think of something to say.
‘Would you like a cup of tea … or coffee?’ I asked.
‘I have never really taken to tea or coffee,’ said Millie, in that half bright, half vague voice of hers.
‘Er … a cold drink then?’
‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Millie gently.
‘It’s no trouble.’
It was better than just sitting there trying to think what to say. So I jumped up and made her a cordial with cold water from the fridge and even put ice into it just to take up more time in the hope that Mum would come back before I finished, but no such luck.
‘That looks lovely, Sara,’ said Millie, when I handed it to her. ‘So few girls your age bother to make things look really nice, do they?’
‘I suppose not,’ I said.
Millie glanced at my books on the dining table. ‘I have interrupted you. Please don’t bother about me. Just go on with what you are doing.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, because there was no way I could keep working with her there and, anyway, it was just homework.
At that point Mum came in.
Millie stood up, after checking to make sure her drink was on a coaster so it didn’t leave a stain on Mum’s coffee table. ‘Phyllis, dear, how lovely to see you,’ said Millie, just like she’d said to me. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Millie … it’s nice to see you too,’ said Mum, sort of surprised because, as I said, we don’t exactly KNOW Millie, not the ‘calling in to say hello’ sort of knowing.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ said Millie again. ‘I wouldn’t want to disturb anything.’
‘No, no that’s quite all right,’ said Mum.
‘It was just that … well, you see, I finished this yesterday, so I thought I’d just drop it in,’ said Millie. She handed the brown paper parcel to Mum.
It was tied up with string and lots of knots as though whatever was in it might try to escape.
Mum struggled with the knots for a while with her fingernails, then said, ‘Excuse me a moment’, and went out to the kitchen to cut the string with a knife.
There were still two layers of paper to unwrap when she came back and sticky tape and all the rest of it, and then she held it up and said, ‘Millie … it’s … it’s lovely!’
It was a painting, of course. I’d guessed that from the shape. Mum turned it round to show me.
‘It’s lovely,’ I said, echoing Mum, and it was. Millie had painted two old bridges, one after another. The bridges are about ten minutes out of town and there are willow trees all around them and platypus in the pools—you can sometimes see them floating on top of the water sunbaking in winter—and native hens running between the tussocks. Millie hadn’t put the platypus in the picture but there was a native hen with a bright red beak, ducking between one tussock and another like they always do.
‘Is it for me?’ asked Mum, just to make sure. After all, it wasn’t her birthday or anything.
‘Well, I thought you should have it,’ said Millie as though it all made perfect sense. ‘I couldn’t sell it or anything, not after everything that’s happened. It’s not that I want to bring back bad memories,’ she added anxiously. ‘But after what’s happened, I thought I should give it to you.’
‘Millie, I’m not sure I understand,’ said Mum a bit bewildered by all of this.
‘You see I painted it the day she disappeared,’ said Millie simply. ‘I started it the day before actually, but I really only got into it on that Thursday and then with everything that happened afterwards, well, it seemed like Reenie’s picture. Oh, I do hope I’ve done the right thing.’
Millie looked really worried by now, in case she might have hurt us in some way, or reminded us when we didn’t want to be reminded, but Mum was smiling. Millie’s so deep-down kind that you always feel good after talking to her, no matter what she says.
‘It was lovely of you to think of it,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll always treasure it, Millie. And think of you.’
‘Of course, it’s where I painted it that connects it all as well,’ said Millie, and it was only then that I realised.
The bridges in the painting are on the road to Johnnie’s place. And Millie had painted it on the Thursday Reenie disappeared …
‘Millie. Were you there all day? That Thursday?’ I asked.
‘Of course, Sara dear,’ said Millie in her gentle voice. ‘I got there at about nine-thirty for the light. And then I stayed till about three o’clock in the afternoon. The light changes then you know. You really shouldn’t keep working after that. I took my lunch with me, but, I was so absorbed I forgot to eat it. You know they’re planning to replace those bridges, don’t you?’ Millie looked sad for a moment then shook her head. ‘But I suppose they need to be replaced. It would be so terrible if there was an accident.’
Millie could never say anything bad about anyone, not even the Council.
Mum had realised what I was getting at by now. ‘Millie, this is important,’ she said, her voice shaking just a bit. ‘When you were painting, could you see anyone who drove by?’
‘Oh, yes, dear. I was painting the bridges, after all. I’d have seen anyone who crossed them.’
‘Did you see Reenie?’ asked Mum. ‘Did Reenie go out that way on that day?’
Millie looked pained. ‘Of course not, Phyllis. I’d have told the police—I’d have told you—if I’d seen Reenie.’
‘Did you see Johnnie drive that way?’
‘No,’ said Millie. ‘No one drove along that road the whole morning. I remember that distinctly, because when I found out about all the trouble I thought, there I was, with everything so peaceful, never dreaming what was happening in town. That road only goes to the Blackstone’s farm, of course, and then out to Bridge’s and Macaboy’s and, of
course, the Calare’s, but they’re hardly ever there …’
‘You’re really sure, Millie?’ asked Mum.
‘Yes, Phyllis, of course I’m sure.’ Millie looked mildly offended.
So there it was. Johnnie hadn’t gone into town or back from town the day that Reenie disappeared. He’d been at home all the time.
It didn’t totally clear him. As Mum said, he could have cut across the paddocks in his ute, then cut through Beardmore’s place and got to town that way, without passing Millie and the bridges.
But Johnnie would only have done that if he’d been trying not to be seen and why would he do that? No one ever thought he planned to kill Reenie, only that it might have happened by accident.
And Terry Beardmore would probably notice if someone drove through his place. His dogs would bark for one thing. And Johnnie would have had to drive back that way too.
Maybe Johnnie had followed Reenie into town the night before, and been there all the time. But then his parents would also have needed to lie about it.
There were still a lot of might-have-beens.
But the most likely might-have-been—that Johnnie drove in to town in anger that Thursday morning, and that Reenie either got into his ute outside the supermarket to try to calm him down or he met her back at the flat—well, none of that ever happened.
CHAPTER 33
The Reward
Mum and Dad offered a reward.
They hadn’t liked to offer a reward when it seemed that Johnnie might have done it—it would have seemed like a slap in the face to his family and anyway if it had been Johnnie a reward wouldn’t have been much help. But it was different now everyone knew he’d been at home all morning.
The reward was for fifty thousand dollars. If anyone found Reenie, Dad would have to remortgage the farm and Mum her house to pay it.
Mum wanted to make it a reward for Reenie’s safe return, but the police argued against that. They asked, What if Reenie didn’t want to come back? What if she’d gone of her own accord?
So Mum and Dad made it ‘for knowledge of her whereabouts or information leading to the arrest of her killer’ instead.
The stuff about the reward was on the TV news, but it didn’t make much difference at school because everyone in town knew about it already.
Nothing came of it. Well, a lot came of it—all sorts of calls—but the police dealt with them. People rang who said they had seen her in Western Australia or at a garage in north Queensland, and a nursing home in Melbourne thought she might be a patient …
None of them were Reenie, but we kept on hoping for weeks afterwards. It was good to have something to give us hope, so even if the reward never came to anything, it was worth it for a while.
The hope died slowly, but even so it was just about all gone by my birthday.
CHAPTER 34
Birthday
The phone rang at 6.21 a.m. on my birthday. I know exactly what time it was because I was asleep, and the first thing I do when I’m woken up by the phone is to look at the clock beside the bed.
My bedroom is closer to the phone in the kitchen than Dad’s room is, and I thought that as it was my birthday maybe it was for me, so I staggered out and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
No answer. Was that someone breathing down the line or my imagination?
‘Hello?’ I said again.
Still no answer.
‘Is anybody there?’
Nothing.
I waited a few seconds more, then put the phone back.
‘Who was it?’ asked Dad blearily from the doorway. He was wearing his dressing gown that the moths started on years ago—there are more little holes in the front every year—and the ugg boots I gave him.
‘Dunno. Wrong number maybe.’
Dad just nodded and clumped back up the hall, which would mean he’d get to the bathroom before I did. There was no point going back to bed—I’d only have to get up in twenty minutes or so—so I began to fill the kettle for Dad’s morning cup of tea.
‘Happy birthday!’ he yelled from the bathroom.
‘Thanks!’ I yelled back over the noise of the water trickling into the kettle.
I hadn’t been looking forward to my birthday. It seemed wrong to celebrate for one thing.
But I knew both Mum and Dad would make a fuss because they felt they should. I was the only one they had left and, even if I didn’t feel like it, I’d have to be all delighted and happy so maybe they’d feel a bit of it too.
The other reason I didn’t feel like having my birthday was because Reenie’s birthday was only two weeks away, with Dad’s birthday in the middle, which made the whole celebration thing three times worse than if it was just mine.
Then the phone rang again.
I picked it up, thinking that perhaps the first call hadn’t worked for some reason. It happens, especially with country exchanges. Dad says Telstra doesn’t really care how bad the phone lines are out here. If you can at least hear a sort of bat-squeak down the line, they think that’s good enough and won’t fix it.
‘Hello,’ I said again.
But, just like the last time, there was nothing—or was it nothing?—on the other end.
‘Hello. Hello? Hello?’
No response.
‘Look, if this is some kind of a joke, it’s not very funny.’
Still nothing.
I put the receiver down again.
‘Another wrong number?’ Dad was towelling his hair.
I nodded. ‘Or someone playing a silly joke.’
‘Not much of a joke,’ said Dad. ‘Bathroom’s free.’
He always says that, even though it’s obvious with only two of us in the house.
So I went to have my shower and I was just lathering my hair when I heard the phone ring again. But Dad was there to answer it and, anyway, I knew no one would say anything on the other end.
‘Sara, it’s for you!’
I’d got the shampoo out of my hair by now, so I wrapped myself in a towel and froze my toes getting out to the kitchen.
‘Is it Mum?’ I asked.
Dad shook his head. He had a funny look on his face, so for a heartaching moment I thought it might be Reenie. But then he said, ‘No. It’s male. Long distance.’
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Hello, is that Sara?’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ I said stupidly. I wasn’t thinking what I was saying because for some reason I had guessed who it was.
‘It’s Tom here. Tom Burnley. We met up at the café …’
‘Yes, hi,’ I said. I didn’t know what else to say, and I could feel my heart going glob glob glob under the towel. For a horrible moment I thought: he’s just ringing to see if there’s any news about Reenie. He can’t possibly know it’s my birthday. It’s Reenie he’s interested in …
‘I just rang to say happy birthday. I mean, Johnnie mentioned your birthday because it’s near your sister’s and so I thought …’
He sounded a bit like he wished he hadn’t rung at all, so I knew I had to say something.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s really great that you rang. It wasn’t you ringing before was it?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘It’s just we’ve had two calls already this morning and there was no one on the other end.’
‘Bad line or something,’ said Tom. He sounded more relaxed now. ‘You doing anything special for your birthday?’
We spoke for about five more minutes, mostly about had I been to the football match in town last Saturday, and then I asked how uni was going. He said, ‘Great,’ and told me a bit about what he was doing. Dad was right—it was engineering. Then he said he had to go, so I went back to dry off properly and get dressed and I thought about the call.
He might just have been being nice, knowing it was my first birthday after Reenie’s disappearance, but boys don’t usually do that sort of thing and, besides, he hadn’t sounded like he was just ringing up someone
’s younger sister. He had sounded like he really wanted to talk to me.
So I went back to the kitchen and there was Dad carefully sprinkling exactly one dessertspoon of brown sugar on his porridge like he always does and just as carefully not saying anything about the phone call.
‘That was Tom Burnley,’ I said. ‘He just wanted to say happy birthday.’
‘I thought it might be,’ said Dad, and that was all he said about it.
It was an okay birthday.
Dad gave me an electronic organiser (I knew what catalogue he had ordered it from!) and Mum gave me this really cool jacket in a plain dark blue wool and cashmere blend—more a sort of coat really—that I could wear with jeans or over a skirt, either good or casual, depending on what I was doing.
I really loved it, till I thought, ‘Reenie would have looked great in this,’ and then I wondered what if Mum had bought it for Reenie and was giving it to me instead?
But of course that was silly. Reenie had disappeared in autumn and winter clothes would hardly have been in the shops then. And, anyway, Mum wouldn’t … so I buried the thought as fast as I could, though the trouble with burying things in your mind is that they float back up to the surface.
Mum gave me a big box of chocolates from Grandma because, of course, Grandma is past giving anyone anything. But it’s what she would have given me if she did remember, and it’s what she gave me two years before when she was remembering birthdays, so she would have liked it if she knew. I called into the hospital to pretend to thank her, but she was dozing, and didn’t even wake up when I kissed her cheek.
Di gave me this book I had wanted to read for ages, and about five minutes before recess Miss Marlatti sent me out to take a message to the headmistress and when I came back there was a cake on her desk and every kid in the class was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and I just broke down. I couldn’t help it, because no one had ever done anything like that on someone’s birthday before and I knew they were doing it because of Reenie.
I was crying for everything I guess.
Dad and Mum took me out to dinner—together—to The Oak Tree.
They’d never had dinner in the same room with each other since they’d separated, except at someone’s wedding or something like that, much less at the same table.
Missing You, Love Sara Page 8