by Maya Linnell
‘They don’t have your fruit cake in Ballarat either,’ said Evie. ‘Or your yo-yos and lamingtons.’
Lara missed baking for Evie as much as she missed the quiet weekends they spent poring over recipe books together and cooking up a storm. Would the other boarding-school mums send their girls back with brimming cake tins too? Would Toby be in the same boat as her this morning, wishing the weekend was twice as long, and already dreading this afternoon’s bus-stop farewell? With Basil still at the vet and Evie gone, the house would be extra quiet. Stiflingly quiet.
Determined to make the most of their day together, Lara shook off the melancholy and collected their plates.
‘Let’s get this show on the road, Evie-girl. You washing or drying?’
Even little chores like dishes were more enjoyable when it was the two of them.
Evie finished drying the frypan and looked at the clock. ‘Maybe we could have a barbecue lunch at Wannon Falls after seeing Mrs Beggs?’
The bush setting was always a winner and the waterfalls would be flowing more than normal this year, thanks to the drizzly weather.
‘Sure thing. And Amy gave me the security code for the vet clinic, so we can visit Basil anytime we like. When’s your bus leaving?’
‘At three, but Holly said I can catch a ride home with her dad. He’s driving back to Ballarat later in the afternoon.’
Lara tapped a pen against her shop notebook. ‘Right. Works out well …’
Evie gave her a hug. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind,’ she said brightly. ‘That way I can quiz him in person, see if he passes the Evie McIntyre litmus test.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ said Lara, snapping her notebook shut.
Evie bounced out of the room, throwing an impish look over her shoulder as she pulled open the hallway door. ‘Too late, Mum. I’ve already gone online and cancelled my bus ticket.’
Lara groaned as the hot-water system outside the kitchen rattled and the shower spluttered on. Diana, Angie and Penny had a lot to answer for with all this singles ball rubbish. But Evie was no better.
Toby pulled the laptop off his bedside table as soon as he woke up.
The articles he’d found last night were still on the desktop, and he took another look at the Kingsleys. The haughty Kingsley matriarch—Edwina—had been easy to find in the society pages, tilting glasses of champagne towards the camera at local charity events. Her pearls alone would pay the deposit on the general store, he’d noted. Toby’s research showed they moved from their rural property into a Toorak McMansion a decade ago.
But it was the articles on their son, Samuel Kingsley, that had kept him awake into the wee hours of the night.
The more Toby knew about Kingsley’s crimes, the angrier he felt. None of the women were named in the articles, but Toby’s colleague, who covered the court reports, would have more details.
Sure enough, there was a reply waiting in his inbox. Toby skimmed the off-the-record email. It made his blood boil. As he had feared, the charges reported were only the tip of the iceberg. Lara hadn’t been his only blackmail victim. Several women had retracted their statements or refused to appear.
That bastard.
He wrote back, thanking his colleague for his help, and then flicked off an email to Mick, telling him he definitely wouldn’t be pursuing the sex-scandal line of enquiry. He would get a phone call, no doubt about it, but he would deal with Mick’s wrath another day.
Toby’s body ached in new, surprising places when he pulled his sneakers on and headed out into the inky dawn. Lugging heavy quarters of beef from the cool room to the McIntyres’ kitchen hadn’t been great for his lower back. He could only imagine how sore Pete would be.
Overall, it had been a good day. They’d packed two chest freezers and three eskies full of meat; his fun-run idea had been well received; the McIntyre family had welcomed him and Holly into their home; and he had taken enough notes to write three feature stories. Even after Holly culled his mediocre shots, there would be a hundred photographs to choose from, and he was keen to try the fresh meat Angus had insisted they take home with them.
But Tim’s revelation had taken the shine off the day.
You can’t change it, and Lara doesn’t need your pity, Toby told himself. And he was pretty sure she wouldn’t want it either.
The sky brightened and he filled his lungs with fresh air. Last night’s showers had added a moist, earthy tang to the paddocks either side of him and he caught a whiff of soggy wool from the penned-up sheep in a nearby stock yard. He dashed along the avenue of honour, not lingering to listen to the rows of trees whisper their secrets, and gritted his teeth at the base of the Windmill Track.
Faster, Paxton.
Toby’s watch beeped. Six k’s down. The lush hillside turned golden under the sun’s gentle ascent. He normally saved the hilly tracks for runs that didn’t involve sprint sessions, but somehow his feet had led him in this direction, mapping out the proposed course for his fun run while he wrestled with the notion that Lara had been hurt by Samuel Kingsley.
The windmill was going hell for leather, creaking as it tried to keep up with the blustering southerly. Toby pressed on, maintaining his pace past the windmill and back home, only letting up when McCluskey’s shearing shed came into view.
The donkeys were in the yard and as he drew closer, Toby saw Clyde was in with them.
‘Morning,’ said Toby, waving as he approached.
His neighbour barely paused as he ran the curry comb down the largest donkey’s flanks. The sight of donkey hair flying everywhere gave Toby an idea. He pulled up at the fence.
Classical was playing—Mozart, from the sound of it. The small donkey wandered over, her welcome distinctly warmer than her owner’s. She nuzzled his hand with her velvety mouth.
‘Had them long?’
Clyde kept grooming. Toby was debating whether to repeat his question or leave when the older man eventually spoke over his shoulder.
‘They were my wife’s donkeys. Edna wasted hours teaching them to pull a cart, always fussing over their hooves. That’s when she wasn’t volunteering in town, for all the good it did her.’
The small donkey watched Toby with big, soft eyes. He reached out and stroked her tall ears.
‘You must miss her,’ Toby said quietly.
The donkeys would miss her too.
Clyde harrumphed and busied himself with cleaning the comb. The larger donkey wandered over, nudging the smaller one out of the way. Soon Toby’s hand was black with dusty donkey grime.
Toby looked along the track dividing their properties. It must have been where she walked them. ‘It would’ve been nice to see donkeys pulling a cart up Windmill Track.’
The austere man went back to his grooming, barely acknowledging Toby’s farewell.
As he continued up the driveway Toby tried to get a handle on the old farmer. Pete’s comments yesterday had confirmed his initial impressions, although McCluskey’s gruff voice had lost its bite when he spoke of his wife. He clearly missed her. What if they could find a way to honour Edna McCluskey and her donkeys. Something that might pave the way for the fun run. Toby arrived home sweaty and dirty with the beginning of a plan.
Mrs Beggs’ lounge room was awash with colour, with more floral fragrance than any Myer perfume counter. Evie rearranged the bouquets on the coffee table to make room for their plate of biscuits while Lara showed Mrs Beggs the sausages.
‘Beef and fennel, my favourite. Even better than pork and fennel. Makes a nice change from all those sweets,’ said Mrs Beggs. Lara smiled sweetly at Evie. Told you so.
While Evie took a seat on the tartan sofa, Lara couldn’t help herself, straightening the magazines and books on the dining table, moving the TV remote so it was in reaching distance from Mrs Beggs’ recliner, and topping up the water jug with fresh rainwater.
‘Tea, Mrs Beggs?’
‘Yes please, Lara love. And I wouldn’t say no to one of those snags either if you wanted to fry th
em up. All this resting makes me a bit peckish.’
Lara quickly found a frypan, and moved around the kitchen, emptying the dish rack as they cooked. She carried a tray into the lounge. ‘Bet it’s lovely being home, though?’
Mrs Beggs tucked into a sausage. ‘My word it is. Nobody waking me up late at night to take my vitals, though it seems awfully quiet here in comparison. I miss the shop too,’ she said wistfully.
‘Try not to think about the shop too much, Mrs Beggs,’ said Lara. ‘We’ve got it under control. You’re supposed to be recuperating, remember.’
‘Ah, there’s good news there too, Lara. You’ll be able to hang up your volunteer’s hat sooner rather than later, I suspect.’ Lara maintained a neutral expression while she digested the news.
This doesn’t sound good. Has Dallas miraculously conjured up the cash?
‘Weren’t you waiting until the new financial year to make a decision?’ she said evenly.
Mrs Beggs grimaced apologetically. ‘I know, dear, but I hadn’t imagined there’d be so much interest in it. One of the buyers has such innovative plans. Crushed avocado, New York rolls, California subs.’
Lara didn’t bother correcting Mrs Beggs’ mix-up with the trendy foods. In-house baked pies were about as fancy as Mrs Beggs got, and that was the way everyone liked it.
‘Not my cup of tea,’ Mrs Beggs continued, ‘but a change is as good as a holiday, isn’t it?’
Lara’s heart lurched.
‘Those guys?’ The ones who’d shamelessly criticised every inch of the shop? The postmistress’s heart would break if she knew how they had spoken about her beloved store.
‘We’ve almost got the funds raised, Mrs Beggs. Penny and Diana are planning a black-tie ball, Toby’s arranging a fun run, and I’m about to release the raffle tickets for the upstairs apartment. Please, Mrs Beggs, give us a little longer.’
‘I wish I could, Lara, but I can’t expect all and sundry to keep volunteering at my shop in the meantime. This will be easier for everyone. The money will be enough to keep me in romance novels and perhaps a cruise or two when I’m better. Tarquin said he’d put down a deposit if I took it off the market early.’
Evie lifted a box of wilted red roses.
‘The same Tarquin who sent these flowers?’
Lara drew in a breath. This Tarquin bloke sounded like a charlatan. A charlatan with bad taste in clothes and bad manners.
‘Don’t do anything rash,’ said Lara. ‘You ran the store for thirty-something years, you deserve to walk away with some money in your pocket. Give me a month.’
She cast her gaze around the room, desperate for something tangible to mark the time. She looked at the stack of slim-spined novels on the side table, almost high enough to topple over and suffocate Mrs Beggs in her sleep.
‘By the time you’ve finished that stack of books, I’ll have an action plan drawn up so we can judge how much money we’ll raise from the three fundraisers and a firm offer for the store. Please, Mrs Beggs.’
‘Those are Clare Connelly’s finest works,’ Mrs Beggs said with a cheerful smile. ‘I’ll have that pile of books done and dusted by the end of the week.’
‘June. Give me until mid-June, then. Please.’ Lara leaned in closer, preparing to play the last card in her deck, even though she knew it was a dirty tactic. ‘Mum would’ve wanted me to give it my best shot, and I’ll work my butt off to better his offer. I give you my word.’
Mrs Beggs’ face crumpled at the mention of her best friend, but slowly she nodded, each of her chins wobbling like the middle layer of a pineapple sponge.
‘Mid-June then, but not a moment more. No sense in dragging this out, dear.’
Lara and Evie were both quiet on the drive to the vet. Even a detour to Wannon Falls failed to lift their spirits. The sound of Evie packing her things and wheeling a suitcase into the hallway came all too soon.
‘Holly said they’ll be here to pick me up in five,’ said Evie, fidgeting with her nails.
Lara looked at her watch in disbelief. It had gone too quickly and she’d squandered the last half of the day worrying about the shop.
‘I’m going to miss you, Evie-girl,’ she said, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind Evie’s ear.
‘Mmm,’ said Evie distractedly. She gnawed at her fingernails. They’d be bleeding soon, at this rate.
‘Hey, what’s up? You worried about the shop? Or Basil?’
‘Nah. I know you’ll smash it, Mum. And Baz is looking better every day. It’s just …’
Lara’s stomach dropped. Whatever was coming, she had the feeling she wasn’t going to like it.
‘We’re doing a genealogy project next term, and I found the photo album when you were out for your run this morning. There’s not many photos of …’ Evie paused. ‘I mean, I remember Dad’s eye colour and things, but what about his parents? I can’t even remember what they look like.’
Lara held her breath, instantly wary. She hadn’t seen Karl and Edwina Kingsley since the court case several years earlier. When Sam was put behind bars, his parents had been more concerned about saving face than helping her and Evie. They had never made much of an effort to build a relationship with their granddaughter before Sam showed his true colours, but their underwhelming lack of support since then had been a kick in the guts.
She wanted to wrap her arms around Evie and reassure her it didn’t matter. Having a father in jail was bad enough, Evie shouldn’t have to deal with indifferent grandparents too. Angus did his best to make up for Annabel’s absence, and was more hands-on than many men of his vintage, but the Kingsleys barely even tried.
A little voice piped up inside Lara’s head. At least you don’t have to share her with them, though …
‘It’s their loss,’ said Lara gently. ‘Have you changed your mind about seeing them?’
Or had Evie just said that after the court case, when I was still shellshocked by the media circus that followed?
It felt like an age passed before Evie replied. Lara tried not to be alarmed by the silence.
‘Not really, but … It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?’
Sad the Kingsleys knew the price of everything and the value of nothing? Lara vividly recalled the first time she visited their home, with a butler’s pantry bigger than a hotel room and painfully expensive artwork featuring its own lighting schedule. Edwina with her pearls and charities; Karl more interested in the share market than his son. The frigid hug, where she’d discovered Edwina’s bony frame had been even sharper than her cutting wit.
It was sad, all right. Sad that one day they would realise they’d stuffed up with Sam and completely missed out on the chance to know Evie.
My beautiful, funny, smart girl. Who wouldn’t want a slice of Evie-sunshine in their life?
‘It is sad,’ Lara agreed, cautiously. When it came to love and nurturing, she knew she had Evie covered. But she would never be able to match the Kingsleys in wealth, luxury or connections.
Lara eased out a breath. ‘And your father?’
Evie’s reply was immediate: ‘No. Definitely not. I don’t ever want to see him, not after what he did.’
Feeling somewhat bolstered by relief, Lara found herself wanting to be the bigger person. ‘Let me know if you want to contact your grandparents, okay? I have their address.’
She felt like kicking herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The feeling compounded when Evie scrambled for a pen.
They’ll never respond, Lara told herself as she looked through her address book and wrote down their details. Evie put the address into her backpack, looking almost relieved at the sound of wheels crunching on gravel. She dragged her suitcase towards the door.
She’s been thinking about them the entire weekend and waited until now to tell me.
It hurt more than Lara could have imagined.
Even the sight of Toby Paxton walking up her steps, a smile on his face and horribly clashing socks on his feet, couldn’t stop an
anguished noise slipping from her mouth.
Two minutes, Lara. You can endure anything for two minutes, anything. Hold it together.
She kissed Evie goodbye and drew her into one last hug. ‘Miss you already.’
‘You really don’t mind, Mum?’ Evie asked.
‘Course not,’ said Lara. The lie burned like hot bile.
‘Thanks. Drive safely,’ Lara said to Toby, pretending not to notice the surprised look on his face at her brusque manner.
As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, Lara took her frustration into the kitchen. Rummaging through a recipe book, she decided on a batch of hedgehog slice. After all those years as a teenager, making endless trays of the slice to sell at Mrs Beggs’ shop, she could practically make it with her eyes closed. Silver mixing bowls clanged and cocoa powder went everywhere as she thumped ingredients onto the marble benchtop, clattered through the utensils drawer until she found the rolling pin and pummelled the Arrowroot biscuits into submission. It wasn’t until the ingredients had melded into a gooey chocolatey mix, and she’d scraped it into a baking tin, that she felt some of the tension ease.
Apart from the car stereo streaming an ear-piercing assortment of pop music, and the packet of chips Holly accidentally upended during their game of Car Colour Bingo, the drive from Bridgefield to Ballarat went smoothly.
While the girls chatted and shared highlights of the weekend, Toby spent the first leg of the drive trying to work out what or who had caused the haunted look on Lara’s face.
He hadn’t been expecting an embrace and a kiss on the cheek—hell, he wouldn’t have knocked it back either—but the stiff set of Lara’s shoulders and her sombre mood had surprised him.
Did Tim say something to her? Warn her off me?
They grabbed a quick counter meal at the Lake Bolac Hotel, the designated halfway point, and it wasn’t until they were back on the road that he broached the subject with Evie.
‘How’s your mum? Tuckered out after yesterday’s slicing and dicing?’
He looked in the rear-view mirror, glad it was just light enough to see her response, but not happy to see her sunny smile dip.