by Maya Linnell
‘Yeah, I guess. I mentioned something before I left …’ Evie trailed off and chewed on her fingernails. ‘I don’t think she was very happy.’
‘Don’t tell me!’ said Holly, twisting in her seat. ‘Did you use all her good shampoo and conditioner when you were home?’
Evie shook her head. ‘She just uses Pantene, same as me.’
‘Ugh, my mum hates it when I use her good stuff. Or did you spring a really expensive camp on her? My camps always give Dad heart palpitations, don’t they, Dad?’
Toby lifted a hand from the steering wheel and pretended to clutch his heart. ‘Sure do. Clever clogs over here seems to have all the expensive hobbies. I never knew Woodwind Camp was even a thing.’
He was pleased to see Evie chuckle quietly. ‘Nah, Mum knows about the camps. We’re already saving up for those. I asked about seeing my grandparents. My dad’s family.’
Toby knew he had to tread carefully here. He didn’t want to pry, but who else would she talk to about it? She might be close to her aunts, but was it the type of thing she’d call them about when she got back to school?
‘And you’re worried you’ve upset her?’ he asked gently.
Evie brushed away tears in the backseat.
‘Did they die when you were little too? I never even got to meet my mum’s folks, but Dad says it’s probably not a bad thing,’ said Holly, a wicked glint in her eye.
Toby laughed. Holly had inherited a sixth sense for situations where comic relief was required, and he was grateful for it at that moment.
‘I also told you never to repeat that, Holly. Especially around your mother.’
‘Nah, I don’t see them,’ said Evie. She paused, and he wondered if she was going to mention that her father was in jail. ‘We don’t have anything to do with them.’
‘You can pick your nose but you can’t pick your family, right?’ he said. ‘I’m sure your mum will come around, if it’s what you really want.’
She seemed buoyed by this, which was lucky because it didn’t look like she had many fingernails left to chew.
‘That’s exactly what my grandpa says!’
Justin Bieber came on the stereo and the girls started singing as they drove through the dusk and into the night.
He dropped Evie off at her boarding house first, then turned to Holly.
‘Stretch your legs before I drop you at your mum’s?’
Her face creased with delight, and they strolled down Ballarat’s main street, admiring the heritage buildings at night. Although it was getting a bit nippy for ice cream, he found himself lingering over a double scoop of macadamia and mango, not quite ready to relinquish his girl.
‘Good weekend, Hol?’
‘Awesome, Dad. The McIntyre family’s so big and noisy, but they’re pretty nice. Do you think we’ll see them next time I’m home? Though I bet you’ll be seeing Evie’s mum before then …’ Holly grinned knowingly.
Toby lifted an eyebrow. Holly had never shown any interest in the women he’d dated before, and he wasn’t even at that stage with Lara.
Yet.
He gave her a little smile. ‘I hope so, Hol.’
Lara swatted at the alarm clock. The overly chirpy reminder irritated her, not because it was 5 a.m., but because she’d been awake for the past few hours and didn’t need reminding. The night had passed slowly, filled with memories of Karl and Edwina supporting their son in court, their stout refusal to believe Lara’s accusations, despite photos, blackmail videos and statements from other women he’d secretly filmed.
Why does Evie want to see them? Why now?
She nearly ripped the blind off its roller as she yanked it up.
After last night’s electrical storm, the sky was clear and bright. Her cattle were visible under the full moon.
Tugging a singlet over her head, Lara dragged herself out for a run. With a hard-fought ten kilometres under her belt, she stretched and took her time making breakfast, steeling herself for the phone call she had to make. The day the police had carted Sam away in the back of a divvy van, she’d made a promise to always answer Evie’s questions truthfully, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable they made her feel. She hadn’t exactly lied to Evie yesterday, but she hadn’t been truthful, and that knowledge had made her sleep like a princess with a pea under her mattress.
Evie sounded groggy when she answered.
‘Mum? Is Basil okay?’
‘Hey honey, he sure is. Basil’s good.’
‘Why you calling so early, then?’ Evie’s yawn came down the phone line.
‘I was surprised, last night, and I probably shouldn’t have pretended I was cool with it. It’s a shock you want to see your grandparents, after all this time. Is there anything in particular you wanted to find out? I didn’t know them well,’ Lara admitted, ‘but I might be able to help you with a few basics.’
Much about the Kingsleys’ business exploits and agricultural investments could be found online, but she was pretty sure Evie wanted more depth. Despite being married to their son for a decade, and engaged for a few years prior, her insight into Karl and Edwina’s hopes, dreams and favourite foods was as slim as her knowledge of their medical history. Their casual disinterest in their only son, and their only grandchild had seemed unfathomable at first—Sam’s parents had never been like Angie’s in-laws, with casual drop-ins, food deliveries and offers to babysit—but when Sam showed his true colours, and she’d finally found her feet again, Lara had told herself this distance was an advantage in the long run.
She drummed her fingers on the kitchen bench, then strode across to the kettle and flicked it on. Definitely coffee time.
‘I’m not sure exactly what I want to find out,’ said Evie, yawning again. ‘But I feel like I should know more about them, you know?’
Lara grabbed a mug and heaped an extra-large spoon of coffee into it. She watched steam pour out the kettle. How many times had she moved hot cups and teapots away from the edge of the table when Evie was a toddler? How many hours had she shivered in the Hamilton swimming pool, ingesting unknown quantities of chlorine and God knows what else, until she was sure Evie could swim like a fish?
She’d done her best to shelter her—maybe this was the end of her days safeguarding Evie against pain and rejection?
‘I’ll get used to the idea,’ Lara said, setting aside a niggle of unease.
‘Yeah, Toby said that’d probably be the case.’
Did he now?
‘You were talking to Toby about seeing your grandparents?’ ‘Yep. We spent three hours in the car together, and he asked if you were okay. It kind of went from there.’
Lara wondered what other information he’d gleaned on the drive back to the city, and something made her hope she had come across in a good light.
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed in a whirl. Lara whipped between the nursing centre and the general store, keeping herself so busy she didn’t have time to dwell on the very likely possibility of losing the shop to a twit called Tarquin or losing Evie to the Kingsleys. It felt like she had already lost her daughter to boarding school—she couldn’t imagine letting Karl and Edwina take their cut of the school holidays too.
And although she should have been bone tired by the time she’d locked the store, confirmed the next morning’s volunteer shift and crawled into bed at the end of each day, Lara found the nights stretching. Even a double nip of gin couldn’t ease her racing mind, or the herbal tea Diana swore by, which tasted more like cat’s wee than the soothing, sleep-inducing brew promised on the packet. Longer runs hadn’t helped either, nor the ridiculous meditation CD Penny dropped around. By Thursday afternoon, she felt tired enough to sleep for a week.
‘Nuh-uh,’ said Diana, barring the back door of the general store. They’d manned the shop together the past two afternoons, fine-tuning details for the fundraisers between customers. ‘Hand it over,’ she said, gesturing to Lara’s bulging tote bag.
Lara clutched the bag with the lapt
op and notebook to her chest. The only upside of her newfound insomnia was the opportunity to turn the sleepless nights into something productive. Somewhere between 2 and 4 a.m. she had found herself applying for event permits, updating the list of prospective shareholders and baking enough to keep Mrs Beggs’ refrigerator fully stocked.
‘I need that stuff, Diana. Online donations have to be entered, and I’ve got shop stock that won’t order itself.’
Diana gently prised the bag from her hands. ‘You need a break, Lars. You’ll look like Fester Addams if those circles under your eyes get any darker. Burning yourself out isn’t going to save the general store,’ she said. ‘Mrs Beggs wouldn’t want that, either. She called me this morning, worried about you.’
Lara didn’t need a mirror to know her sister spoke the truth. Her mood was as dark as the clouds that had just dumped two inches of rain. She’d barked at the kids buying lollies after school, mixed up the mail more than once, and muddled the seniors’ exercise class with the Strong Mamas group. She reluctantly handed over the laptop and notebook.
The storm hadn’t let up all day, and the sisters were both drenched in the short time it took to lock the shop behind them and dash to their cars. Deep puddles sprayed water in every direction and Lara had the windscreen wipers working overtime just to see five feet in front of her. Her cattle would be grateful for the extra growth that would shoot after the opening rains, like all the other farmers in the district, but the downpour only added to her frustration.
Her headlights illuminated the house, and Lara groaned at the sight of the lounge-room window slightly open. It would be freezing inside the stone homestead, too, and the carpet underneath the window would be damp.
So much for saving the firewood until winter.
Feeling a lot like a drowned rat, Lara ran back and forth between the woodshed and the house, ferrying kindling and wood inside. Once the wood basket was full, she pulled a pot of soup out of the fridge and set it to heat slowly on the stovetop before jumping in the shower. The house was icy cold when she emerged.
She arranged scrunched-up paper in the fireplace, expecting the tee-pee of kindling to take straightaway, but it was too damp to catch. She blew gently, only for a plume of smoke to puff up in her face.
Her bed, with its thick flannelette sheets and extra blanket, was looking more tempting by the minute, and if it weren’t for lack of mobile phone reception in the southern end of the house, she would have skipped tea and jumped straight into bed. But Lara would have to be frozen solid before she’d forgo her evening conversations with Evie.
‘Catch, damn it.’ She struck another match, blew impatiently and received another face-full of smoke for her efforts. One of those stinking synthetic fire-lighters would have it roaring in seconds, but she couldn’t bring herself to toss them into her shopping trolley.
She set the matches aside. A bowl of soup and one of Annabel’s quilted knee-rugs would have to suffice for tonight. Lara’s back creaked like the old windmill as she straightened up but another sound caught her attention.
Scritch. Scratch.
She cocked her head, looking around the room as it came again. There were plenty of mouse traps lurking under cupboards and couches to keep mice at bay, but this sounded bigger. A possum in the roof, escaping from the rain?
The phone rang as she pulled a stepladder from the linen press.
‘McIntyre possum exterminators. Can I help you?’
Evie’s laugh echoed down the line.
‘You’re so weird, Mum. What if it was someone else calling? And what are you doing hunting possums at this hour? Cam said you were supposed to rest up tonight. Aren’t you tired?’
Lara held the phone to her ear and angled the ladder under the manhole in the hallway.
‘Drop-dead tired, but I won’t get a wink of sleep if a brush-tail’s in the roof again. I’m going to grab him by his big furry tail and drag him out backwards if I have to.’
Evie let out an exasperated sigh.
‘Righto. Want me to call back after you’ve tossed him into next weekend, hammer-throw style? Or can you leave the possum in peace for two more minutes? I wanted to ask about ordering a new school jumper. Mine’s gone missing.’
How can you lose clothing that’s clearly labelled with your own name tag?
‘You’ve got to be kidding? Have you checked the lost property?’
Lara ignored the scratching noise as she shifted back into the lounge room. At the price of the woollen uniforms, she wanted to exhaust every possible avenue before forking out for replacements. The possum would keep another few minutes. She settled on the couch with her bowl of soup and lap rug and brainstormed possible places Evie could have left it.
‘Wear your jacket, and a thermal under your shirt until it turns up,’ Lara said firmly. ‘It’s freezing with this cold change.’
‘Any news on Basil?’
‘Home tomorrow.’
‘I thought you’d sound happier about that?’
Even though she was more than 200 kilometres away, there was no fooling Evie. Lara also had a suspicion she was checking in after all the talk about her grandparents.
‘Mrs Beggs has had another offer on the property. Seems like there’ll be a bidding war.’
Evie laughed. ‘You were worried it wouldn’t sell, now you’ve got the opposite problem. What about your fundraisers?’
Lara swallowed her spoonful of soup, welcoming the liquid warmth.
‘The singles ball is almost sold out, and half the apartment raffle tickets have been snapped up, but we’re still a way off matching the asking price.’
‘You’ll get there, Mum.’
Lara swivelled in her seat as the noise came again, like fingernails on a chalkboard. She set the soup aside and walked towards the fireplace.
‘Mum?’
‘Sorry Evie, it’s the possum again. Stupid thing’s in the chimney.’
‘Gotta go, Mum. The Bachelor’s about to start.’
Lara clasped the fire door handle with a groan. ‘You won’t get those brain cells back, you know.’
‘Oh Mum, you’re so old fashioned. Night, night.’
Lara signed off before opening the wood burner. The scritch-scratch noise was louder. She peered into the fire box, relieved the fire hadn’t caught—she didn’t need roast possum on her conscience, but she did need a plan to evacuate the marsupial. The animal’s movements became more agitated. She reached up to shake the flue. Each tap sent a flutter of soot and debris down into the firebox. The scratching sound slowly moved lower.
She grabbed a towel and draped it over the open door, then pulled on the welding gloves she kept in the wood box and rapped the chimney more forcefully.
As quick as a flash, she crouched down like Warnie defending the Ashes.
A puff of soot came from the top of the fire, followed by a bustling in the firebox. Slowly Lara extended her hands, pushing the towel past the pile of kindling to enclose the possum. But instead of the buzzing bundle of fur she had anticipated, her fingers closed around something small and trembling.
Baby possum? Rat? The latter thought made her skin crawl as clouds of ash rained down on the hearth. She brought the towel into the room, feeling the creature tremble through the thick welding gloves.
Lara peeled back the sooty towel. A pair of beady brown eyes peered back at her.
‘Well, well, well. You’re not what I expected …’
Fifteen
Lara dusted off an old budgie cage, removing dirt and cobwebs, but the magpie was not nearly as impressed with the cage, nor the bell and multi-level platforms, as Elmo the budgie had once been. She didn’t know much about birds, but she was sure its wing wasn’t supposed to sit like that. There wasn’t a great deal she could do for him so late at night, so she draped a towel over the cage.
She ate breakfast quickly the next morning and carried the cage out to the car.
‘Don’t look at me like that, mate. You’re the one who deci
ded to skydive down my chimney,’ said Lara, checking the cage door was fastened before closing the boot.
The magpie sang out a few times on the way to Hamilton and flapped as Lara placed it on the vet’s lino floor.
‘Here to collect a dog and drop off a bird,’ she said to the receptionist. He leaned over the front counter as she lifted the towel.
The baby magpie glared at them both and scurried to the other side of the cage, its long black claws scrambling for purchase on the newspaper.
‘Doesn’t look good,’ he said. ‘The wing’s at a funny angle. They’ll probably put him out of his misery.’
Lara felt the bird watching her as she took a seat in one of the hard plastic waiting-room chairs. It was like he was pleading with her to steer clear of the ‘green dream’.
C’mon, Amy.
But her veterinary friend confirmed the receptionist’s earlier prediction.
‘Sorry, Lara. I already called the local wildlife carer about an orphaned joey this morning and she said she’s at capacity. Birds never manage well from shock anyway, her backyard is like a bird cemetery,’ said Amy. ‘If you’re not keen on taking him, we’ll have to euthanise.’
Fifteen minutes later, Lara found herself driving home from the clinic with not one but two patients in the back of her Subaru: a recovering snake chaser and a magpie she’d named Vegemite.
By the end of the week, Toby had uncovered more information about Samuel Kingsley and the charges that had kept him in jail. But how the only son of a wealthy family had crossed paths with Lara McIntyre, he was still none the wiser.
He unfolded the latest edition of the Bridgefield Advertiser and re-read it over breakfast. There was always something gratifying about reading it in print, even though he’d written the articles and proofed them several times digitally before sending them off to the printing press.
Toby paused when he got to the Farming Focus, studying the article he’d done on the McIntyre family. The full-page photo from meat-packing day had come up even better than he’d hoped.