The Accusation

by Wendy James

  She made the call, keeping her voice low, as if she was at risk of being overheard. Dougal’s voice was similarly subdued. He’d heard the news, he said, had been waiting for her call.

  ‘I couldn’t phone straightaway,’ she said. ‘The media were everywhere. It was insane. You can imagine.’

  ‘I think I can.’

  She got straight to the point. ‘You do know that it was all just rubbish?’ She was surprised by her own sudden breathlessness.

  ‘About you visiting Suzannah’s? And talking to the nurse?’

  ‘Yes, that, of course. You know I didn’t have anything to do with it. But I’m talking about Ellie too. That witness, David Lee – he’s lying, it’s been fixed somehow. They must have—’

  ‘Honor—’

  ‘Surely there’s something we can—’

  ‘Honor.’ His voice was stern. ‘David Lee was telling the truth. Everything Ellie Canning said was a lie. From beginning to end. She was never in that house. I know it.’

  She felt cold suddenly.

  ‘And you know it too.’

  She ignored his final assertion. ‘What do you mean you know it?’

  ‘Because I was the one who told the defence about David Lee.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was trying to contact you. You’d gone out somewhere and left your phone at home, and I picked it up. He told me he was ringing to tell you he had information about Ellie Canning.’

  ‘Why would he call me? Why not the police?’

  ‘Perhaps he was ringing to blackmail you. I don’t know. I don’t care, to be honest. But I wanted that information – so I paid him for it. He told me that she’d been with him – sent me the photos, the footage.’

  ‘And you sent it to Andy Stiles?’ It was impossible to disguise her fear.

  ‘I did it for you. I thought Ellie was trouble. I was trying to protect you.’

  He paused. ‘But it turns out you didn’t need protecting. When I heard what went on in court today, it all suddenly fell into place. You buying the property up the road from Gascoyne’s. All those visits back to see your father, pretending to be the dutiful daughter. Encouraging me to stay home, saying you needed the peace and quiet, that you wanted time alone. My God. I don’t know how I managed to be so blind. You and Chip – childhood sweethearts! – how you must have laughed.’

  ‘Dougal, I—’

  ‘It must have almost killed you when he chose Suzannah. After all that effort.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Even she could tell that her words lacked conviction.

  ‘Of course you do.’ He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about, Honor. You always have. It’s a talent. I used to admire it, that ability you have to listen properly, to work people out, spot their weaknesses and exploit them.’ His voice was full of a deep, dark sorrow. ‘I just never imagined you’d need to exploit mine.’

  SUZANNAH: JANUARY 2019

  CHIP PULLED UP IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE.

  ‘I’m just going to go home and check on a few things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  He helped Mary out, and we both stood by the idling car and watched her climb up the verandah steps. She gripped the railing, dragging each foot onto each stair slowly and painfully.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I might wander over when she’s asleep. I feel like a walk.’

  ‘A walk? Now? In this heat? Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ He paused, looked at me worriedly. ‘And don’t you think we need to talk?’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, God. No. Not today. I just can’t.’ I gave him a reassuring smile. ‘And anyway, it’s history.’

  ‘It might be history, but it almost—’

  I cut him off. ‘Honestly Chip. Can’t we just forget it for now? I’d rather talk about the future. Actually, I’d rather talk about the price of mutton.’

  ‘Fine.’ I could hear his relief. ‘As a matter of fact, there have been some interesting developments in the sheep industry. We’ll have plenty to discuss.’

  I laughed. ‘How about I just wander over when it cools down. I need to get out. It feels like I’ve barely moved since this all began. I’ll come over through the paddock and we can walk back over together.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t know that you should really be out in the dark alone.’

  ‘It won’t be that dark. What if I bring the dogs?’

  That almost satisfied him. ‘Bring a torch. And your phone.’ He ran his hand down the firm curve of my belly. ‘And walk slowly.’

  ‘I don’t really have much choice about that, do I?’

  ‘Probably not.’ He kissed me lightly and slid back into the car.

  I poked my head through the open window. ‘And can you put a bottle of something in the fridge? We need to do something to celebrate.’

  Mary was surprisingly compliant. She barely ate her toasted cheese sandwich, which was pretty much the only dinner I could concoct with our dwindling supplies – a loaf of frozen bread, cheese, butter, some wrinkled apples.

  We’d ordered new pyjamas online, and they’d just arrived the day before. They were short-sleeved cotton pyjamas, not quite the same as her lovely satin ‘Chanel’ pair, but at least the colours were similar, and she was eager to put them on and go to bed, happily forgoing her bath and the might game of Trouble. Instead, she listened to a few chapters of the abridged version of Heidi we seemed to have been reading forever. We were up to the part where Heidi put on all her clothes to travel down to the city with her aunt.

  Mary laughed. ‘I did that once, you know.’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Once when I was coming back from LA I couldn’t afford to pay for my extra luggage, so I wore half of my outfits under this big coat. I was so huge I could barely squeeze into my seat. And it was bloody uncomfortable. But I was coming back for good.’

  ‘You were?’ This was a story I’d never heard.

  ‘Yeah. It was just after me and Jonno split up. I’d had enough. I thought I’d come back to Australia. I was going to go back to Sydney, try and make a go of it with you. See if I could actually do the mother thing, you know, settle down, make some sort of family.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  She didn’t respond. I could see her eyes drifting, losing focus.

  ‘So why didn’t you come back, Mary? I prodded. You flew to Sydney, and you were coming back for good?’

  ‘I . . . Oh, it was just the usual.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I met someone at the airport. This guy I used to know. He offered me some blow.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I didn’t make it home that time.’ She patted my hand. ‘But I’m here now, aren’t I? We’re together.’ She wriggled down in the bed and gave a deep satisfied sigh.

  ‘We are.’ I closed the book, pulled the blankets up under her chin and tucked her in. Her eyelids were fluttering.

  I turned out the lamp. Kissed her forehead. ‘Night, Mary.’

  ‘Night, kiddo.’

  She closed her eyes and turned on her side away from me. As I started down the hallway I could just make out her quiet singing.

  I soon will be in New Orleans, and then I’ll look around,

  And when I find Suzannah, I’ll fall upon the ground.

  But if I do not find her, then I will surely die,

  And when I’m dead and buried, Oh, Suzannah, don’t you cry.

  HONOR: JANUARY 2019

  SHE HAD CALLED HIS NUMBER OVER AND OVER, LEFT MESSAGE after message, but there had been no response. She had sent dozens of texts, desperate missives, rambling and incoherent. She had abased herself in every way possible, begged forgiveness, promised the world. Nothing.

  When a message finally lit up her screen, it wasn’t even Dougal, but an unknown number.

  Just heard them bitchs have got away with it. J & D are goin for a drive up Wash rd tonite. Cheryl

  Honor read the message twice. She thought about call
ing back. Thought about calling the police.

  Revenge: they say it’s best served cold, but who knows when it’s digestible.

  SUZANNAH: JANUARY 2019

  I WAITED UNTIL MARY WAS ASLEEP, THEN CALLED THE DOGS, who were both immediately eager for adventure, despite the late hour. They rushed ahead of me when they realised we were heading for their home, barking excitedly, dashing off to snuffle in the bushes before running back to check on me. It was dark now, darker than I’d expected, the only light from a small sliver of moon, and my flickering phone torch. I trod cautiously, not wanting to trip or stumble, the new house a brightly lit beacon at the end of the rough path. I paused for a moment as I approached. Chip was facing the kitchen window, a glass of wine in his hand, gazing out into the dark. I waved my little light a few times to reassure him, the dogs rushing forward noisily. He returned my wave, and walked towards the verandah door. I heard his even footsteps across the timber floor and then faster as he walked down the driveway to meet me.

  The dogs reached him first, raced around him yapping. He clicked his fingers and they immediately ceased their antics. Although they sat obediently, their pleasure in seeing him was still evident in the swishing of their long elegant tails, their hopeful panting.

  ‘I hope you don’t expect that sort of behaviour from your women.’

  He clicked his fingers again, feigning disappointment when I refused to obey. ‘You probably shouldn’t be sitting out here in your condition anyway. You could . . . well, I’m sure it’s not good.’

  ‘So what should I be doing?’

  I knew what I should be doing at this point, what anyone sensible, anyone else in my position (but who has ever been in this particular position?) would suggest: that we should debrief, decide on next steps, ways forward. But right now I didn’t want to be sensible; I didn’t want to think.

  ‘Oh, I dunno exactly,’ he held out his hand, ‘but I’m thinking it involves a medicinal glass of wine, some soft music, and er . . . putting your feet up.’

  I took his hand, let him pull me towards him.

  I dreamed I was standing beside my grandfather at a barbecue, holding a platter he was loading with badly burned sausages. Suddenly my grandmother was there beside me, pulling the heavy platter from my fingers. ‘Where’s your mother?’ she asked, and her voice was filled with the familiar disappointment-tinged exasperation. ‘This is Mary’s job, not yours.’ The acrid smoke from the burning timber stung my eyes, and Nan’s form blurred as my eyes filled.

  I woke up, my eyes still watering, a tickling at the back of my throat. Chip was fast asleep beside me, pushed up against the cushions, snoring gently. The French doors were wide open to catch any night breeze, and there was a smell of burning in the air, a slight haze. Even from my position on the lounge I could see a faint orange glow coming from the direction of my house. I nudged Chip, and when there was no response, pushed him hard. By the time he was up and dialling triple zero on his home phone, I was heading for the path, with Rip and Ned racing ahead of me, barking up a storm.

  The house was ablaze. It was terrifying – the sight, the smell, the sound, the heat. It was a scene I’d seen countless times in films, on the news, but the reality didn’t compare. The flames already seemed to be everywhere, but somehow kept expanding, like some monstrous devouring beast that had broken its shackles and was intent on making its escape – licking under doors, bursting through windows, running along the guttering and on to the roof. I edged towards the bottom of the verandah steps, moving as close as was bearable, and screamed out desperately, but I couldn’t even hear my own words over the roar. There was nothing I, or anyone, could do. If Mary was still inside, there was no way in – and no way out, either.

  I staggered back on legs that were barely working, unable to do anything other than watch, helpless, as the beast consumed everything in its path.

  There was a momentary lull in the angry roar and I heard, but only just, the shrill barking of the dogs. In all the terror I had forgotten them completely, but there they were, safe, at the end of the breezeway, barking and scratching frenziedly at the laundry door. I was across the yard and had wrenched open the door before I’d even managed to process what I was doing. And there inside was Mary, sitting cross-legged on the cement floor, the washing basket upended, its contents in a pile before her. She’d changed out of her pyjamas, and despite the heat was wearing a pair of flannelette pyjama bottoms belonging to Chip, and an old T-shirt. The dogs rushed at her, licking her face, barking exuberantly. She pushed them away and looked up at me, her expression sorrowful.

  ‘I wanted my old Chanel pyjamas. That pair you bought me weren’t right – they were scratchy. I thought maybe you’d put my old ones in the laundry basket, but they’re not here.’

  ‘Nice PJs, Mary,’ Chip said later. Mary was lying on a stretcher while a paramedic checked her oxygen levels. ‘But don’t think you’re keeping them.’

  She gave a luxuriant stretch. ‘I’ve decided I’m only wearing nightdresses from now on. I remember my mum always said it was important to let your lady parts get some fresh air at night. There’s not much airing going on with these things.’ She flicked the elastic waistband. ‘You should probably be more careful of your parts, Mr Chips. You don’t want to damage them, do you?’

  The paramedic attending her looked appalled, but Chip laughed. ‘Last time I looked my, er . . . parts were doing fine, Mary. Anyway, how are you? No scratches?’ He turned to the paramedic. ‘Is she okay?’

  He nodded. ‘She’s been very lucky.’

  We all looked over at the house. The flames were finally under control, but the homestead was beyond salvaging. Mary and I were homeless, but we were both alive.

  I knew there was probably no point, but I asked anyway. ‘What I don’t understand is why you stayed, Mary. Why didn’t you get out of the house? The doors aren’t locked. You could have just walked out through the laundry.’

  ‘It was the dark,’ she said. ‘I looked out that window, and I saw how dark it was and I didn’t want to go out there on my own. I was scared I’d get lost. But I knew you’d come.’ She paused for a moment, added wistfully, ‘To be honest, I was hoping it’d be Chip.’

  There was no answer to that.

  ABDUCTED: THE ELLIE CANNING STORY

  A documentary by HeldHostage Productions © 2019

  VOICEOVER

  Only a few hours after Suzannah Wells’ sensational committal trial, Canning, holidaying on an exclusive resort in the Pacific, was interviewed by her then boyfriend, Jamie Hemara. During the interview, which was live-streamed on the 180Degrees YouTube channel, Canning claimed that the accusations against Wells had been fabricated by Honor Fielding, and that her own participation had been secured under duress, when she was in a state of mental confusion and fragility.

  [Cut to footage from 180Degrees interview]

  CANNING

  I’m not saying I went with David Lee against my will or anything – and I know that there are people who will say that I asked for it – but I really didn’t understand what I was letting myself in for. That whole set-up was just way out of my experience. By the time I left I was a complete mess, and I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was just so grateful to Honor when she took me in, I think I would have done practically anything she wanted me to do. I’m not trying to make excuses, what I did was, like, totally wrong, but I was super easy to manipulate. So when Honor told me that Suzannah had once imprisoned a girl and gotten away with it, I really believed she deserved it. I’d heard the rumours about that girl in Manning, so it actually seemed legit. I now know it was stupid and wrong, and I really can’t apologise enough for what I put Suzannah and her family through . . . But once the story became public, it was so big, and so overwhelming. It was like I was stuck in this nightmare and it just kept getting worse – there was absolutely no one I could talk to, tell the truth to, I was stuck in this terrible tangle of lies . . .

  VOICEOVER

 
In early February 2019, both Honor Fielding and Ellie Canning were arrested for Perverting the Course of Justice. Canning, who agreed to act as a witness for the prosecution in return for criminal indemnity, was released without being charged. Honor Fielding was released on bail. A trial date has yet to be set.

  Fielding, who continues to maintain her innocence, launched a civil suit against Canning in April 2019.

  David Lee, the self-styled soft porn ‘artrepreneur’ who testified for the defence at the committal hearing is currently under investigation by the Fair Work Commission, following recommendations by the presiding magistrate.

  Ellie Canning remains a popular figure in Australia and internationally. In spite of Wells’ exoneration and Canning’s own admission of guilt, a recent online poll found that 48% of people continue to believe Ellie Canning was abducted by Wells. Paris-based cosmetics giant L’Andon have honoured their contract with Canning, despite pressure from critics, and their Escape line is already an industry top-seller.

  Canning is a regular panellist on a variety of Australian talk shows and has appeared in several celebrity reality TV shows. She also pens a popular ‘iGen’ advice column, and is writing a self-described ‘ficto-memoir’, which is due to be published in all territories in late 2019.

  Canning has spent the last six months attending drama lessons at the esteemed Finch institute in Sydney. She has been cast as the lead in an upcoming HBO drama based on the life of Violet Charlesworth, and will shortly be relocating to Los Angeles. Canning plans to establish a scholarship for disadvantaged girls at her former boarding school.

  According to online sources, Honor Fielding’s marriage to millionaire financier Dougal Corrigan has ended, despite his initial public declaration of faith in his wife’s innocence. Their Sydney penthouse was sold for an undisclosed sum. Fielding, who resigned as CEO of Honor Talent and relocated to Byron Bay, is also said to be writing a memoir.