by Jane Harper
Alice didn’t reply.
Lauren looked at her. ‘You know she was involved, Alice.’
‘What, with that problem with Rebecca? That’s all been dealt with, you know that. The school investigated. The girls responsible for the photos were suspended.’
‘The girls they could prove were responsible were suspended. You think I don’t know they were all in Margot’s group? She was involved, no question about it. She was probably the bloody ringleader.’
‘If that were true, the school would have said.’
‘Really? Would they? How much extra did you donate to the school this year, Alice? How much did it cost to buy Margot that blind eye?’
No answer. Something rustled in the bush.
‘Yeah, I thought so.’ Lauren was shaking so hard she could barely draw breath.
‘Hey, I have tried my best to help you, Lauren. Didn’t I recommend you for this job in the first place? And haven’t I covered for you – how many times lately? – when you’ve been distracted and stuffed up.’
‘Because you feel guilty.’
‘Because we’re friends!’
Lauren looked at her. ‘No. We’re not.’
Alice said nothing for a minute. ‘Okay. Look. We’re both upset. It’s been a really hard few days. And I do know how difficult everything is with Rebecca. For both of you.’
‘You don’t know. You can’t imagine what it’s been like.’
‘Lauren. I can.’ Alice’s eyes were shining in the moonlight. She swallowed. ‘Look, apparently there might be some photos of Margot and –’
‘And what?’
‘So I need to get back –’
‘And you expect me to care now that it’s your girl on the wrong end of a camera and not mine?’
‘Oh Christ, Lauren, please. Your daughter was bloody miserable long before any of those stupid photos got sent around –’
‘No, she wasn’t –’
‘She was! Of course she was!’ Alice’s voice was an urgent whisper. ‘You want someone to blame for Rebecca’s problems, why don’t you take a good hard look at yourself? Seriously. You honestly can’t see where she gets it from?’
Lauren could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Alice was standing close but her words were distant and faint.
‘No?’ Alice was staring at her. ‘You need a clue? How about sixteen years of her watching you get pushed around? Letting people walk all over you. You’re never happy with yourself. Bloody yo-yo dieting for years. I bet you’ve never taught her to stand up to anyone in her life. You wonder why you always end up with a raw deal? You asked for it at school and you still let it happen to you now. We could all be walking out of here with your help, but you’re too scared to trust yourself.’
‘I’m not!’
‘You are. You’re so bloody weak-minded –’
‘I am not!’
‘And if you can’t see the damage you’ve done to that girl, you’re a worse mother than I thought, and honestly, I already think you’re a complete mess.’
Lauren’s head was pounding so loud she could barely make out her own words.
‘No, Alice. I have changed. You’re the one who’s still the same. You were a bitch at school and you’re even worse now.’
A laugh. ‘You are kidding yourself. You haven’t changed. You are who you are. It’s just your nature.’
‘And Rebecca isn’t well –’ Guilt rushed up Lauren’s gullet so fast she nearly choked. She swallowed it down. ‘Her problems are complicated.’
‘How much do you pay your therapist to make you believe that?’ Alice sneered. ‘It’s not that complicated, it’s the way of the world, isn’t it? You think I don’t realise that my daughter can be a scheming little bitch? And aggressive and manipulative and everything else that comes with it? I’m not blind, I can see what she is.’
Alice leaned in. Her cheeks were flushed. She was sweating despite the cold and her hair stuck to her forehead in a clump. She had tears in her eyes.
‘And God knows, she does some stupid, stupid things. But at least I can admit it. I can hold my hand up and accept my part in it. You want to waste thousands of dollars trying to find out why your daughter is sick and starving and sad, Lauren?’ Their faces were so close their cloudy breath mingled. ‘Save your money and buy a mirror. You made her. You think my daughter is just like me? Your daughter is just like you.’
Chapter 30
The trail was slippery and damp underfoot. Falk pounded along as fast as he could, his chest heaving as overgrown branches reached out, catching and clawing at him. The thunderous sound of rushing water drew closer and he burst from the tree line, panting, the sweat already cooling and clammy against his skin.
The wall of water tumbled down. He made himself stop and look properly, his breath ragged as he squinted into the failing light. Nothing. The waterfall viewpoint was deserted. He swore under his breath. He was wrong. Or too late, a small voice whispered in his head.
He took a step onto the bridge, then another, and stilled.
She was perched on the jutting rock face at the top of Mirror Falls, almost invisible against the craggy backdrop. Her legs dangled over the edge and her head hung down as she stared into the churn of white water crashing into the pool below.
Lauren sat, sad and shivering, and very much alone.
Day 4: Sunday Morning
Your daughter is just like you.
The words were still echoing into the night when Lauren crashed hard into Alice. The move took even Lauren by surprise as her body rammed against the other woman’s and they stumbled, their hands scrabbling and flailing. Lauren felt a scratch of pain as fingernails raked down her right wrist.
‘You bitch.’ Lauren’s throat felt hot and tight and her voice was muffled as they twisted and fell back as one, smashing against a boulder by the side of the trail.
A smack resonated in the air and Lauren felt the breath forced out of her lungs as she smashed into the ground. She gasped and rolled over, feeling the rocky trail bite into her back and her heart pounding in her ears.
Next to her, Alice groaned softly. She had one arm over Lauren’s and was lying close enough for Lauren to feel the body heat through her clothes. Her backpack had fallen by her side.
‘Get off me.’ Lauren pushed her away. ‘You’re full of shit.’
Alice didn’t reply; she lay there, slack-limbed.
Lauren sat up, trying to breathe deep. The adrenaline spike had plummeted, leaving her shaky and cold. She glanced down. Alice was still on her back, staring at the sky, her eyelids fluttering and her lips slightly parted. She moaned again, lifting one hand to the back of her head. Lauren looked at the boulder by the trail.
‘What? Did you hit your head?’
No answer. Alice blinked, her eyes closing and opening slowly. Hand to her head.
‘Shit.’ Lauren could still feel the anger, but it was more muted now, washed over with a layer of regret. Alice might have gone too far, but so had she. They were all tired and hungry and she had lashed out. ‘Are you okay? Let me –’
Lauren stood up and put her hands under Alice’s armpits, hauling her to a seated position. She propped her up with her back against the boulder, and her backpack by her side. Alice blinked slowly, eyes hooded and hands slack in her lap, her gaze focused on nothing. Lauren checked the back of her head. There was no blood.
‘You’re okay. You’re not bleeding, you’re probably dazed. Just take a minute.’
No reply.
Lauren placed her hand on Alice’s chest, feeling for the rise and fall. Like she had when Rebecca was a baby, standing over her cot in the dark of the early hours, strangled by the tightness of their bond, trembling under the weight of responsibility. Are you still breathing? Are you still with me? Now, as Lauren held her own breath, she felt the shallow rise and fall of Alice’s chest under her palm. Her sigh of relief was audible.
‘Christ. Alice.’ Lauren stood. She took a step back. Now what? She su
ddenly felt very alone and very scared. She was exhausted. With everything. She felt too tired to fight.
‘Look. Do whatever you want, Alice. I won’t wake the others. I won’t tell them I saw you, if you don’t tell them –’ She stopped. ‘I just lost my temper there for a minute.’
No reply. Alice stared at the ground ahead through half-closed lids. She blinked once, and her chest rose, then slowly fell.
‘I’m going back to the cabin now. You should too. Don’t disappear.’
Alice’s lips moved a fraction. There was a small noise from the back of her throat. Curious, Lauren moved closer. A small noise again. It was almost like a groan, but over the rush of the wind in the trees and the blood in her skull and the ache inside her, Lauren felt sure she knew what Alice was trying to say to her.
‘It’s okay.’ Lauren turned. ‘I’m sorry too.’
She barely remembered getting back to the cabin. Inside, three bodies lay still, breathing gently. Lauren found her own sleeping bag and climbed in. She was shivering, and as she lay down against the floorboards, everything seemed to be spinning. A hard ball pressed painfully in her chest. Not just anger, Lauren thought. Not sadness. Something else.
Guilt.
The word rose up, coating her throat like bile. Lauren pushed it straight back down.
Her eyes were so heavy and she was so tired. She listened out for as long as she could, but there was no sound of Alice creeping in after her. Finally, exhausted, she had to let go. It was only on the cusp of sleep that she realised two things. One: she had forgotten to take the phone, and two: her right wrist was bare. The friendship bracelet her daughter had made for her was gone.
Chapter 31
Falk climbed over the guard rail and onto the rocky surface. It was as slippery as ice under his feet. He made the mistake of looking down and felt himself waver, as the rock swayed beneath him. He gripped the rail and tried to focus on the horizon until the sensation passed. It was hard to tell where the land met the air, as the treetops bled into the deepening sky.
‘Lauren!’ Falk called, as softly as he could over the roar of the water.
She flinched at the sound of her name, but didn’t look up. She was wearing only the thin long-sleeved top and trousers she’d had on earlier. No jacket. Her hair was wet from the spray and stuck to her head. Even in the growing dark her face had a blue hue. Falk wondered how long she had been sitting there, freezing and damp. It could have been more than an hour. He was worried she might topple over from sheer exhaustion.
He looked back towards the trail, unsure what to do. The path was still empty. Lauren was so close to the edge it made him feel dizzy looking at her. He took a deep breath and started to inch his way across the rocks. At least the clouds had cleared for now. In the twilight, the pale sliver of the early rising moon cast a little light.
‘Lauren,’ he called again.
‘That’s close enough.’
He stopped and risked glancing down. He could only make out the bottom from the crash of the water. He tried to remember what Chase had said on that first day. A drop of about fifteen metres to the black pool below. What else had Chase said? It wasn’t the fall that killed people, it was the shock and the cold. Lauren was shivering violently already.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing up here. I’m going to throw you my jacket, okay?’
She didn’t react, then nodded stiffly. He took that as a good sign.
‘Here.’ He unzipped his coat and took it off, leaving himself in only a jumper. The spray from the falls immediately clung to the exposed layer and within moments it was damp. He tossed his jacket to Lauren. It was a good throw and landed close. She dragged her gaze away from the water but didn’t move to take it.
‘If you’re not going to use it, chuck it back,’ Falk said, his teeth already rattling. Lauren hesitated, then slipped it on. He took that as another good sign. The jacket swamped her tiny frame.
‘Alice is really dead?’ Her words were hard to hear over the rushing water.
‘She is. I’m sorry.’
‘In the morning, when I went back to the path and she was gone, I thought –’ Lauren was still shivering violently, struggling to get the words out. ‘I thought she was the one who was going to make it.’
Day 4: Sunday Morning
Bree wasn’t sure what woke her. She peeled open her eyes and was greeted with the cold grey stirrings of early dawn. The light leaking through the cabin windows was faint, and most of the room still wallowed in murky darkness. She could hear the gentle sound of breathing all around her. The others weren’t up yet. Good. She groaned silently and wondered if she could get back to sleep, but the floorboards were hard against her bones and her bladder was aching.
She rolled onto her side and saw the blood spatter on the floor nearby. Lauren’s, she remembered. She curled her feet up in her sleeping bag in disgust. The fight of the night before came rushing back and this time her groan was out loud. She stuffed a hand over her mouth and lay still. She didn’t want to face the others any sooner than she had to.
Bree slipped off her sleeping bag cocoon and pulled on her boots and jacket. She crept to the door, wincing as the floor creaked, and stepped out into the frigid morning air. As she pulled the door shut, she felt a footstep in the clearing behind her. She jumped, stifling a scream.
‘Shh, don’t bloody wake the others.’ Beth was whispering. ‘It’s only me.’
‘God, you scared me. I thought you were still inside.’ Bree made sure the cabin door was closed and stepped away, further into the clearing. ‘What are you doing up so early?’
‘Same as you, I guess.’ Beth nodded towards the outhouse.
‘Oh. Okay.’
There was an awkward pause, the ghost of the previous evening still clinging to them like smoke.
‘Listen, about last night –’ Beth whispered.
‘I don’t want to talk about it –’
‘I know, but we have to.’ Beth’s voice was firm. ‘Look, I know I’ve caused a lot of trouble for you but I’ll make it right –’
‘No. Beth, please. Just leave it.’
‘I can’t. It’s gone too far. Alice doesn’t get to threaten you and just get away with it. Not after how hard you’ve worked. She can’t push people around and then be surprised when they push back.’
‘Beth –’
‘Trust me. You’ve always helped me. All my life. Helping you now is the least I can do.’
Bree had heard words like these before. Day late, dollar short, she thought, then immediately felt mean. Her sister was trying. To her credit, she always tried. Bree swallowed.
‘Okay. Well, thanks. But don’t make things worse.’
Beth waved a hand towards the bushland with an odd half-smile. ‘Could they get any worse?’
Bree wasn’t sure who moved first, but then she felt her arms slip around her sister for the first time in years. It was a little awkward, the body that had once been as familiar as her own now felt so different. When they pulled away, Beth was smiling.
‘Everything will be all right,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
Bree watched as her sister turned and slipped back inside the cabin. She could still feel the warmth of Beth’s body against her own.
She ignored the outhouse – there was no way she was going in there – and instead walked around the side of the cabin. She stopped short as she saw that horrible dog grave. She’d almost forgotten about that. Bree turned her face away and walked straight past it to the back of the cabin, through the long grass towards the trees and the trail until the grave was well out of sight. She was about to undo her trousers when she heard something.
What was that? A bird? The sound was coming from the trail behind her. It was a tinny noise, artificial and piercing in the still of the morning. Bree held her breath, her ears almost ringing with the effort of listening. That was no bird. Bree recognised that sound. She spun towards it and broke into a run. Up the trail, almost tripping o
n the uneven surface.
Alice was sitting on the ground, her legs out in front of her, leaning back against a rock. Strands of blonde hair lifted gently in the breeze, and her eyes were closed. Her head was tilted back a little towards the sky as though she was enjoying a ray of non-existent sunshine. And the pocket of her jeans was ringing.
Bree fell to her knees.
‘Alice, the phone. Quick! The phone’s ringing!’
She could see it wedged against Alice’s thigh. The screen was smashed but it was glowing. Bree grasped it, her hands shaking so violently it nearly tumbled from her fingers. It rang in her hand, shrill and insistent.
On the shattered screen, the caller’s name flashed up. Two letters: A.F.
Bree didn’t know and she didn’t care. With thick fingers she stabbed at the answer button, nearly missing it in her haste. She pressed the phone to her ear.
‘Hello? Oh my God, please. Can you hear me?’
Nothing. Not even static.
‘Please.’
She took it away from her face. The screen was blank. The name had disappeared. The battery was dead.
Bree shook it, her hands slippery with sweat. Nothing. She pressed the power button, then again, and again. The screen stared back, completely blank.
‘No!’
Her stomach lurched as hope was snatched away like a rug pulled from under her feet. She turned and vomited bile into the bush, tears stinging her eyes, the disappointment crushing her chest. Why hadn’t Alice bloody answered it sooner? There might have been enough power for even one call for help. What was the stupid bitch thinking, leaving it on at all? Wasting the battery.
It was as Bree turned to ask exactly that, vomit and anger burning in her throat, that she realised Alice was still sitting in the same position, leaning against the rock. She hadn’t moved.
‘Alice?’
There was no response. The relaxed pose of Alice’s limbs now looked floppy and puppet like. Her back was at an awkward angle, too, with her head lolling back. She didn’t look peaceful. She looked vacant.
