Rocking Horse Hill

by Cathryn Hein

  Digby glanced at her and quickly looked away. ‘She wouldn’t.’

  Em closed her eyes. Every part of her wanted Digby to be right but only twenty minutes ago a highly confused and agitated Adrienne had rung to say said she’d found the key lodged in the corner of the balcony, an arm’s span from the door. No matter how black the night or poor the light, Granny B couldn’t have missed it. It was one of those old-fashioned keys, with a decoratively curled end, long shank and blocks of distinct square teeth. A quick search would have located it. The only explanation was that the key had been put there after Granny B had been taken to hospital, when the house was empty.

  ‘Then how else did it happen?’

  The sulky, stubborn expression remained on Digby’s face. ‘You just want to blame her for everything, like Gran.’

  ‘That’s the thing, I don’t. I want it to be an accident as much as you.’

  ‘I’m telling you: Flick had nothing to do with it. She was upstairs watching The Hannigans. She told me everything that happened in it.’

  As alibis went, it was pretty weak. ‘She could have found that information on the Internet.’

  Digby looked her up and down, his face screwed up in distaste. ‘This is all about the hill, isn’t it? You being shit-scared that she’ll take it off you.’

  Em dropped her arms and held her palms open. ‘How can you say that after all I’ve done to welcome her?’

  ‘Then why can’t you believe she had nothing to do with Gran’s accident?’

  They stared at one another, Felicity’s past suspended unsaid and toxic between them.

  ‘She has a history, Dig,’ said Em softly.

  ‘I’m not listening to this.’ He banged his mug into the sink, slopping tea over his hand.

  ‘Dig. . .’ She reached out for him.

  His face twisted and ugly, he shook her off. ‘Fuck off, Em. Just fuck off.’

  Aghast, she let him go. The storeroom’s bead curtain rattled and stilled. She leaned shakily back against the bench, taking in deep breaths, but her shock didn’t fade. Tilting her head back, she willed the tears to stay away. The last thing she needed was a customer to walk in and find her red-eyed and snivelling.

  All she wanted was the truth. A truth she hoped and prayed didn’t involve Felicity. But someone had locked Granny B out. Of the others who knew of the key’s existence – Adrienne, Samuel, Digby, Josh, if he remembered the Uncle James story – none had reason for such action.

  Which only left one person.

  The threat of tears over, Em picked up a notebook. Its wire coils remained intact and the cover was remarkably undented, but the delicate pages inside were crumpled beyond saleability. And in that frustration-filled moment, all she could think was how like her family it was.

  The Wallaces might have a rich, glittery shell, but flip back that hard cover and flick through those pages, and their story read no differently to any other.

  Just another tale of human frailty and fragile, crushable hearts.

  Twenty-One

  ‘Adrienne’s very confused over how the key came to be where it was,’ said Samuel, when Em rang him later that morning. ‘To be frank, so am I.’ He made a noise in his throat. ‘With Felicity’s background. . .’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘I’ve known for a while.’

  Em dragged out the photo she kept hidden beside the till, felt a headache crashing at her temples as she digested this new revelation. The frame held a picture of her family, perched like birds along the highest ledge of Rocking Horse Hill. On the far left, her dad, Henry, his arm around Em’s shoulders. To Em’s right, her mother, smiling in that dazzling way she had. Next to her, Granny B, in a queenly pose, and on the far end, Digby, brow furrowed and head half-turned as though expecting some monster to come lurching out of the crater behind.

  The fear that they might never be like that again sapped what little was left of her energy.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘The prosecutor was on my Timor trip.’

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘Not to you, no.’

  She closed her eyes as the realisation dawned. ‘But you told Mum.’

  ‘After a great deal of thought, yes.’

  Em let the silence linger for a moment, wishing she’d found the time to have that lunch with Adrienne, talk to her, let her know they’d all be fine. ‘That’s why she’s been drinking.’

  ‘She worries. About you all.’

  She pushed the photo back into place and crossed to PaperPassion’s door and scanned the street. Shoppers bustled along the footpaths. Friends chatted in weak patches of sunshine. A couple of workers in fluoro polar fleeces strode towards the Arms for an early knock-off beer or counter lunch. Normal Levenham people going about their normal lives. She pressed her head against the cool glass and wished she was one of them.

  ‘So, do you think we need to talk to the police?’

  Samuel was silent for a moment then let out a slow breath. ‘No, I don’t think so. A formal investigation would only set the gossipmongers off and your mother has enough to cope with. Plus if it was an accident, this could cause a rift between Digby and the rest of the family that might never heal.’

  ‘Gran swears the key wasn’t there.’

  ‘I’m sure she believes that, but we mustn’t lose sight that we could also be dealing with a garden-variety accident.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’

  ‘Leave it with me. I have a friend who might help.’

  Samuel’s friend turned out to be a retired chief inspector who spent half an hour late Friday afternoon looking around Camrick before pronouncing the incident an accident. Granny B was elderly, her enjoyment of a drink well-known. The key, he said, had probably worked its way loose from under the mat and been flicked, unnoticed, to the side. Perhaps it had been inadvertently dislodged during cleaning. Its dull surface acting as camouflage against Camrick’s weathered timbers, easily missed by someone who’d had one tipple too many.

  Em clung to the result. Of course it wasn’t Felicity. How ridiculous that they could have thought that. Her grandmother was mistaken.

  Except the memory of Felicity’s eyes the night of the argument at dinner refused to fade.

  Em slid the door open for Josh and was engulfed by the comforting scent of fresh chips. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of how little she’d eaten that day. Aware of how sleepy a proper meal would make her, Em had stuck to coffee and PaperPassion’s supply of homemade macadamia shortbread biscuits. They had kept her awake but done nothing to calm her exhaustion or emotions.

  Josh stepped inside with a large butchers’-paper-wrapped parcel. ‘Fish and chips. And a couple of potato scallops because I remembered you used to like them.’ He lifted his right hand. ‘And a bottle of verdehlo from Pikes of Levenham. Bloke at the bottle shop promised me it was good.’ He leaned forward and kissed her. ‘And this because you look knackered.’

  ‘Thanks. But I could have cooked.’

  ‘No, you couldn’t have.’

  A wave of emotion caused by his kindness threatened to set Em crying, but she tucked it away alongside everything else, and forced a smile. ‘I’ll fetch some plates.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ He nodded towards the lounge. ‘You sit down. I’ll sort everything.’

  ‘But you don’t know where —’

  ‘I’m a big boy. I can figure it out.’

  Arguing would take energy she didn’t possess. Leaving him to it, Em dragged her weary body to the couch and sank into it, watching Josh hunt for plates and glasses. He looked handsome and comfortable in a pair of faded jeans and a zip-neck fleece with the sleeves pushed up. Sexy stubble, the length she liked it, coated his jaw and his hair curved cutely where his cowlick lay. Em wished he could take her to bed now, make gentle love to her, then hold her in his strong arms while she slept, but her stomach growled in protest.

  He brought plates and glasses over, sneaking a light kiss bef
ore returning to the kitchen for the food and wine.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have any sauce?’ he asked, standing in front of the fridge with the door open.

  Em threw him a look.

  He grinned. ‘Thought not.’

  ‘I’ll make some come tomato season.’ She yawned widely. ‘If I don’t sleep through it. God, I’m tired.’ She stroked his arm as he settled down next to her. ‘Don’t expect too much tonight.’

  He stilled, before leaning over and unwrapping the paper parcel. ‘I’m not here for that, Em.’

  They ate with the television tuned to the football, the turned-down volume made up for by Josh’s one-eyed commentary. After, he cleared the plates and wrapping, feeding Muffy a few leftover chips in her basket.

  Sleepy now she was full, Em snuggled under his arm with her legs curled up and her arm hooked around his muscled stomach.

  Josh kissed the top of her head. ‘Better?’

  ‘A bit.’ She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

  He rubbed her shoulder. ‘Your gran’s a tough nut. She’ll be out of hospital before you know it.’

  ‘It’s not just Gran. It’s everything else.’ Her throat began to close as tears brewed. She swallowed hard to force them away but they lingered, held in place by tiredness. ‘Mum’s drinking and I had a horrible argument with Digby this morning.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Felicity. He thinks I believe she locked Granny B out.’

  He leaned back to study her face. ‘Did she?’

  ‘It seems not.’

  Em sat up, crossed her legs, and explained the inspector’s findings. Of Felicity’s past she made no mention, afraid Josh would succumb to the same suspicions as Em had, much to her shame.

  Josh watched her closely as she spoke but other than the intensity of his gaze, she had no further clues as to what he was thinking. No nods, no agreeing noises, just solid eye contact and a fixed jawline.

  ‘I’m not sure that rules her out,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Your gran doesn’t strike me as a person who’d be easily foiled. If she says the key wasn’t there, I’m inclined to believe her.’

  ‘It’s a big call, accusing someone of deliberately locking an old lady out in the cold.’

  Josh reached for his glass of wine and took a sip. ‘People are impulsive. Maybe she only meant to give her a fright.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me they had a full-on argument at dinner?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not a good enough reason to do something like this. Granny B’s still Digby’s grandmother.’ Suddenly Em’s energy died. Emotion swept over her, stinging the backs of her eyes with tears and her throat with gravel. ‘I don’t want to blame her, Josh. She’s been through enough. She deserves a second chance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Em reached for her wine glass and took a long drink, then put it down and stared at it, scraping the nail of one thumb down the hard surface of the other. ‘She’s been in jail.’

  Josh stiffened. ‘For what?’

  ‘Attempted manslaughter. She stabbed her fiancé with a kitchen knife.’

  ‘Jesus, Em.’ He scraped his hand over his head. ‘Jesus.’ He looked at her. ‘And you want me to believe that she’s not capable of hurting your gran?’

  ‘You don’t understand. It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Then what was it like?’

  ‘It was self-defence.’

  ‘Then why did she go to jail at all?’

  Em had no answer for that. She only knew the broad picture, from what Charles and Felicity told her. The whole affair had made her feel so dirty she hadn’t wanted to probe. Or maybe the actual truth was that she didn’t want to know.

  She shook her head and looked out the big window, wishing she could see the crater instead of the reflected light. God, Em hated this feeling of doubt. She knew what it was like to do something terrible and carry the burden, to know that some people would never forgive, no matter how much she changed or tried to atone. But Felicity’s past wasn’t Em’s.

  Perhaps it was time to stop comparing them.

  Even with Josh by her side, his warm body wrapped against hers, the deep rest Em hoped for failed to come. Exhaustion had put her to sleep readily enough, but she woke in the early hours with her mind whirling. She lay on her side, staring across Josh towards the window and the moonlit orchard, fretting, until she finally dropped into a restless sleep that broke with a clammy sweat and dawn’s first light.

  A frost had fallen overnight, coating the landscape in sparkling white. The air smelled sharp as though flavoured by billions of spiky ice crystals. Kicki’s and Cutie’s breath plumed as Em threw them hay. Heat rose like a miasma off Lod’s body as she stripped him of his thick night rugs and replaced them with lighter rugs in prep­aration for the predicted fine day ahead.

  Josh helped with hay and gates, and played with the donkeys and Muffy when he wasn’t needed, but she sensed his constant keen appraisal.

  ‘Gerrinton’s playing at home,’ he said, standing by his car, preparing to go. ‘Do you want to come? Might be good for you. Take your mind off things.’

  ‘I’m going to visit Gran. Then I’m going to Camrick to check on Mum, and see if I can talk to Digby and get this mess sorted.’

  ‘Okay.’ His farewell kiss was light, a far cry from the drawn-out goodbyes of other weekends. He settled in and wound down the car window. This time there was no mistaking the worry in his expression. ‘Be careful. Please.’

  ‘I don’t need to be. Everything’s fine.’

  He reached out for her hand. Em let him take it, comforted by his touch.

  She squeezed his fingers, wanting him to understand. ‘I know Felicity’s been to jail for a terrible crime, but that doesn’t mean she’s to blame for everything that goes wrong now. The inspector did his investigation and said she had nothing to do with it. Unless we discover something else, I have to believe him.’

  ‘He spent half an hour at the house. Hardly enough time to work out anything.’ His mouth turned flat. ‘I don’t trust her, Em.’

  She withdrew her hand and crossed her arms. ‘That’s hardly fair. You barely know her.’

  Disappointment flickered across his face. He hesitated, as though wanting to pursue the conversation further, then reached for his seatbelt and started the car. Radio noise jolted the air but Josh didn’t turn it down. Instead he waved, his smile thin and worried, and wheeled away from her, tyres crunching on the frozen ground.

  Em crouched down to Muffy’s height and held the warm collie to her chest, watching the cloud of Josh’s exhaust and the flash of his ute through the tall grass until his car disappeared around the bend in Bradley Road.

  At the feel of a rough tongue on her hand, Em forced cheer when she felt none. ‘Don’t you worry, Muff-Muff. We’ll be okay.’

  The dog answered with a whine that had Em clutching her tighter.

  *

  The frost dissolved into a brilliant, springlike day that brought out Levenham’s Saturday-morning shoppers. PaperPassion’s door swung open regularly, welcoming customers on the hunt for Father’s Day gifts and gossip. Several locals tried to probe her about her grandmother, but Em maintained the Wallace account: Granny B had a minor accident and would make a full recovery.

  Most were satisfied with that. But when Mrs Callahan – a contemporary of Granny B’s and a pinch-faced woman Em had never warmed to – made a loaded comment regarding Felicity, Em realised Felicity’s secret was out.

  She watched the old lady’s proud back as she left, keeping her own manner aloof and untroubled until she was out of sight, then sank onto her stool and pressed her face into her palms. Felicity’s secret could never have been maintained for any period – too many people had family in Adelaide; too many had a good memory for scandal – now the news would spread like a virus.

  It wouldn’t be anyone’s fault
but the way Digby had been in the shop yesterday, he’d probably blame Em for it.

  Despite the glowing day, Camrick appeared closed up and cheerless when Em arrived at lunchtime. The curtains were drawn on Granny B’s floor, as were those of the front lounge, normally left open to let in light to that shaded, south-facing side of the house. In contrast, across the carriageway, the stables’ blinds were all open, with the kitchen and bedroom windows ajar.

  Em found Adrienne in the kitchen, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed from fatigue, tears or both. A scrunched-up tissue was held tight in one hand. A cup half-full of milky tea sat on the table in front of her, a gingernut biscuit with the edge nibbled out of it alongside.

  ‘Mum,’ said Em, leaning down to kiss her cheek. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not too bad.’ Adrienne smiled, but her fingers plucked at the tissue, leaving a trail of tiny dandruff-like scraps on the granite. ‘It’s been a worrying few days.’

  ‘It has.’ Em slid a stool next to hers and sat down, placing a hand over her mum’s to still the nervous movement. ‘Samuel told me you know about Felicity.’

  ‘She frightens me, Em.’

  ‘How? I thought you got on well.’

  ‘We did, at the start.’ Adrienne gave a watery smile. ‘I thought it was fun to have her borrow my clothes, like playing dress-ups. Then she started to talk differently. Even walk differently. Mum said she used to study me all the time. I just laughed it off. It was all so harmless.’ She closed her fist around the tissue. ‘Then she went to the farm and it all seemed to grow worse. The clothes, all that talk of riding; it was almost like she wanted to be you.’

  ‘She just wants to fit in.’ Even to her own ears the excuse sounded lame, but Em hated seeing her mother like this, so stressed and frightened.

  ‘It’s more than that.’ Adrienne dabbed at a leaky eye. ‘I think she really did try to hurt Mum.’

  ‘But the inspector checked.’

  Adrienne dismissed the comment with a flick of her hand. ‘He hardly looked. He thought we were being hysterical.’ She sniffed. ‘Mum always said the man was a fool.’