Gemma let her back sink into the car seat. She tried switching on the radio, but Clay wouldn't let her, insisting on wanting quiet. Fields of mangoes passed them on one side of the road—the other side empty except for a bull with enormously wide black horns.
Clay remained silent all the way into Katherine. Gemma eyed the main shopping strip with interest when they arrived. She hadn't yet seen the centre of town. It was small, with mostly single-storey buildings in an older style. Unlike the farm, many of the residents were Aboriginal. She wondered why Tate didn't employ more of the locals than he did. A darker thought edged in—maybe the locals didn't want to work at Tate's farm. Maybe they knew more than the new recruits. None of the workers seemed to have been there longer than a year.
But what was wrong with the farm? Nothing, as far as she could tell.
Thoughts of Tate moved back into her mind. Thoughts of him never really left. He was always there, occupying a corner. In some way that she didn’t understand, she was obsessed with him. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself.
The psychiatrists' office didn't advertise what it was from the outside. As Gemma walked in with Clay, she saw that there were three rooms in operation. The psych that Clay was seeing had a small, chipped plaque outside her room that said, Dr Leah Halcombe.
While Clay was having his session with Dr Halcombe, Gemma read cheesy celebrity stories in a women’s magazine.
His appointment was only supposed to be an hour long, but it was half an hour past that point when Clay appeared again. The psychiatrist—a short middle-aged woman with red bobbed hair—cast a concerned glance at Gemma.
Gemma stared back, wondering if the psych thought she should come in for a session too. Maybe Dr Halcombe thought everyone could do with a bit of head check.
Taking her hand, Clay tugged Gemma out into the street. “C'mon, let's get something to eat.”
“I don't have any money with me.”
“I do. How about a burger?”
“Sure.”
Rain continued to pour down, running in tiny streams along the street. It was nice, walking like this and holding hands with Clay. Like they could be any couple—a happy young couple, like the ones you saw in adverts.
She tried to stop thinking of Tate. Clay just seemed so pure. Like he was a transparent room, and she could see that everything inside him was good. He’d even trusted her enough to bring her along to his appointment with the shrink. Tate was different. Tate was like a windowless room—you couldn’t see inside him at all.
They ate their burgers under shelter, peering into an art gallery of Aboriginal paintings.
They kept walking. Clay tucked her hair behind her ear, kissing her temple as she examined the pictures of sunsets in the window of a tourism operator. She smiled at him, wishing they could go to the places in those pictures together. No one else. Just the two of them.
She was about to say that when a frown rippled across his forehead and she guessed that he was thinking about his discussion with Dr Halcombe.
“Your psych looked kind of worried when you came out of her office,” Gemma commented.
“Come here.” Taking her by the hand, he guided her to a private spot under shelter, down a small side street.
He swallowed, his eyes steady on hers. “It’s the farm. Tate has got some strange things going on. I just don’t know if I want to be part of it anymore. Gem, I don’t think I’m going to stay to the end of mango season.”
Bitter threads of disappointment pulled tight inside her. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I don’t have much to go home to, but I can’t stay here. It's driving me crazy. You were right when you guessed that Tate asked Eoin to keep an eye on me. Tate doesn't trust me anymore… and I don't trust him.”
She tried to speak, but her throat suddenly felt closed up.
People I get close to always leave me.
A whirlwind started up in her mind, louder than the rain.
They always leave me. Hurt me.
“Come with me,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“Today. Now. You don't need to bring anything. I saw what you walked into the farm with a couple of weeks back—practically nothing but the clothes on your back. I've got some money saved up. We can hitchhike to the nearest city—into Darwin. And get a job there until we’ve got enough cash for flights to the US. We can stay with my dad for a while—”
“Clay. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t just dump Hayley and run.”
“You can get a message to Hayley later on. Trust me. The longer you stay, the harder it is to leave.”
“That’s insane. It’s just a fruit farm.”
“I know. I can’t explain it. It’s like I know I want to get away from the place, but it keeps sucking me back. Gem, I’m having some weird dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?”
He shook his head, swallowing. “Crazy stuff. Nightmare stuff. Dead people. Not just dead but sitting up on chairs and facing each other. And it’s fucking cold. Like the dead of winter in the Arctic kind of cold.”
“Maybe you saw a movie like that once. Sounds like a movie. Right?”
“Whatever it is, I want it out of my head. But I can’t get it out of my head.”
Moving close, she held him, feeling a tremor pass through his body. She didn’t know what to say to him. He was having nightmares? How would running away help with that?
“The psych thinks… she thinks that the detail I’m seeing the dreams in isn’t normal,” he said. “And the fact that the same dreams keep repeating. I must have a disturbed brain or something.” He gave a short, hollow laugh.
“What did she say?”
“I asked her straight out what was wrong with me, and she told me she didn’t know enough yet to make that assessment. But she said if I keep having lifelike dreams about death, then I could be heading into a manic episode. Scared of me now?”
She rested her head against his shoulder, trying to calm him. “No. I’m not scared of you.”
He breathed deeply. “She asked lots of questions about the farm. She was especially interested in Tate’s personal meditation sessions.”
“I think I went to one of those a week or so ago. With Hayley.”
“Yeah, you did. In the room upstairs.”
“I felt better… afterwards. It helped me.”
Clay moved back, holding her in his gaze. “I don't want his help anymore. You shouldn't either.”
Gemma looked out onto the street, evading Clay’s intense eyes. The rain had stopped, but the storm had grown wilder.
Wind blustered along the street, whipping Gemma's hair around her face. A plastic bag caught in the storm, swirling and flying high in the air in a frantic dance. She'd felt… good in the meditation room with Tate. He’d made her feel better. Maybe he’d even made her feel whole. And she’d never felt like that in her life before. She’d always been scattered in a million pieces. After the session, she'd wished it could have just been Tate and herself. The thought of leaving him made a hollow space open up in her chest.
“Gem,” he said, “there’s one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“Ellie. It’s Ellie. She’s one of the dead people in my dream. Her skin was mottled and blue, but it was her.”
“Clay, Ellie's fine. Back with her family in Portugal. She’s okay, and you’re okay, and we’re all okay. It's just dreams.”
“Yeah. I know. It's dreams. But damn, it seems so real…”
“Ellie was silly to go off by herself that morning. Especially feeling so sick. Lucky she didn’t hit her head and end up in the water.”
He frowned. “Gemma…? You think Ellie fell?”
Gemma tilted her head at him, not quite understanding. “Yes, of course she fell. You don’t think someone pushed her, do you?”
“She cut her wrists. That’s what happened.”
Gemma shook her head, watching th
e plastic bag tangle and tear to pieces in the tree. “Ellie wouldn’t do that.”
“She did do that. Why do you think her wrists were bleeding? Why do you think we bandaged her up?”
“No,” Gemma told him firmly. “She grazed her arms. She fell onto rocks, after all. Heatstroke got to her. You’re remembering it all wrong. Maybe you really are having problems.”
Clay studied her face, holding his wind-blown hair back with both hands. “See? This is what I mean. This is exactly what I mean. Crazy stuff like this. Listen to me. Ellie tried to commit suicide. Bad things had been happening to Ellie for a while. I don't know what, but it must have gotten too much for her. After Eoin and I got her to the farm, we left her in Tate’s hands. I don’t know what happened after that. And neither do you.”
Gemma recoiled. She could picture the grazes on Ellie's arms. There were no cuts. It'd been nothing serious. Clay was wrong. No wonder he was seeing a psychiatrist.
“Tate told us. She went home,” Gemma said.
“What if she didn’t?”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we need to find out. We could try to contact Ellie’s family. Make sure she got home safe and sound.”
“This is kind of crazy.”
“Is it? Consider this—you and Hayley had a session with Tate. And then Eoin had a session with him. And you all believe the same thing. You all think Ellie fell that day. But I turned Tate down and didn’t do the session. Doesn’t it seem strange to you that I remember a different version of what happened? I don’t know what is going on, but—”
“Please,” she begged, “let's just go back to the farm. I'll talk Hayley into leaving, and then we'll all go together, okay? Just a couple more days?”
She didn't mean a single word of it.
Even if she went to America with him, she couldn’t stay there very long. Their government wouldn’t allow it. Clay would return to his family and friends, and she’d have to return to Australia all alone.
He wasn’t thinking ahead. He was going nuts and trying to take her into his crazy-land with him.
Tate had at least offered her somewhere she could belong.
24
Hayley
Hayley pulled the oilskin coat closer to her throat and glanced sideways at Tate. He appeared unconcerned by the downpour, moving as slowly and gracefully as always under the protection of a golf umbrella. He made her feel ashamed of the way she looked, slobbing around in cheap high-street dresses while Tate gave the impression that all his clothes were tailored just for him.
The change in the weather had been sudden, and yet the farm remained as oppressive as ever. The scorching hot sun had been transformed into a blanket of rain that made the place seem smaller. Hayley had been feeling claustrophobic all morning.
“We may need to get you a towel,” Tate said as they stepped into the farmhouse. “Perhaps it's best to dry off upstairs before we head to the lab.” He placed the umbrella in a rack by the door.
She couldn't reply because her throat was so dry. Going upstairs with Tate had been a fantasy of Hayley's since she’d first met him, though she had worried it came across as childish and silly, a girl with a crush on a film star. This is how movies begin, isn't it? A gorgeous, elusive man, torrential rain, an isolated mansion. She had to focus. Not let herself get carried away with the fantasy of it all. And yet her mind was never far away from the moment in the orchid greenhouse where she’d felt a spark between them both.
As Tate hung his coat on a rack near the door, Hayley followed suit, before letting him lead her up the stairs to the same room she had been in with Gemma. The room where Tate had let them know that Ellie was going home to Portugal after her fall at Katherine Gorge.
“The wet season has started,” Tate said as they walked slowly up the stairs. “Sometimes it rains so hard here that the roads flood and cause chaos. It makes deliveries quite troublesome. In fact, it makes leaving the farm at all very difficult.”
“Will it rain constantly now?” Hayley didn't mind not leaving the farm for a while. The place felt like home now. It felt safe.
“No.” Tate opened the door into the upstairs room and strode across the lounge area. “It comes and goes. It's unpredictable. I'm not a fan of the unpredictable. Would you care to take a seat while I fetch you a towel for your hair?”
“Thank you.”
Hayley chose the same chair she had sat in the day before and relaxed into it, feeling slightly guilty about her wet clothes against the expensive fabric. She closed her eyes and thought about Ellie for a moment. It was such a shame about her accident.
She'd dreamt about Ellie last night. It was strange. In her dream, Ellie was talking to her in Portuguese. Hayley had been holding a bloodied shirt wrapped around Ellie's arm. Dreams always exaggerated real life, didn't they? Then Ellie had said something about the night and Hayley had woken up.
“How's this?” Tate handed Hayley a soft blue towel. “Oh, your feet are wet too. You must be freezing. Shall we have some tea before we head to the lab?”
“That would be nice.” Hayley rubbed enthusiastically at her hair before she realised how frizzy it was becoming and that it wouldn't be particularly attractive. She calmed down and combed it with her fingers instead. “You're so nice to everyone here.”
“It's a family,” he said with a shrug. “We have an ethos here that I'm keen to maintain. Everyone has a responsibility to make sure the farm remains up and running. Even you, Hayley.”
“I do?” She smiled, pleased to be important.
“You have fitted in perfectly well here.” A door opened, and the tea was brought in, exactly how it was yesterday. Tate paused to pour her a cup, and she took it from him and blew on the liquid. “Both of you have, but you in particular, Hayley.”
“Thank you.”
“Does Gemma enjoy it here?” Tate asked.
Hayley took a sip of her tea and thought about it. “She seemed sad today. I suggested that we write Ellie a letter, but it didn't seem to cheer her up. Ellie is in Portugal, isn’t she? Have you heard from her?”
“Of course,” Tate said. “She's with her family. How is the tea?”
“Delicious.”
“Good. Like I was saying, everyone here has a responsibility to the farm. It's a wonderful place, isn't it? So much natural beauty. So much freedom of expression. We become our best selves here.”
Hayley smiled. It was true. She quickly finished the last of her tea and leaned back in the chair, happy and content.
Tate looked her up and down. “Well, you really are wet as a cat today. I think you'll need to clean up a bit if you're going to work in the lab. Everything has to be sterile. Why don't you use my bedroom to shower and change? We have a box of spare clothes left over from previous workers, all clean and warm. Won't that be nice?”
“Yes.”
Tate stepped over to her with one hand outstretched and helped her out of her chair. “It's good that you would do anything for the farm. And you would do anything, wouldn't you?”
“Yes. Anything.” Tate's hand was warm inside her own. She leaned into his side.
“That's it, pretty orchid. Lean against me.”
Hayley rested her head on Tate's shoulder. It was so clear to her now, she loved him. She loved everything about him and wanted to make him happy.
A door opened, and they stepped inside. Hayley's strides were in time with Tate's, and that made her giggle. The farm did bring out the best in people because Hayley hadn't felt this happy in a long time.
There was a low whistle. “She's a stunner.”
The room blurred as Hayley sought out the new voice. Was there someone else here? There was a shape in the corner of the room. A wide shape, but the face was all wrong. Contorted. Ugly.
“Tate?” Hayley asked hesitantly.
A hand stroked her hair softly. “Everything is all right, pretty orchid. You want to make me happy, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“You'll be a good girl, won't you?”
“Yes.”
Her footsteps were no longer in unison with Tate's as she was taken to a soft place to sit. When she was still, her vision improved, and she realised she was sitting on the bed.
“Don't go too far with this one,” Tate said. His voice sounded distant, an echo.
“I can do whatever I want with them. You know the rules.”
“Well you broke the last one, and even I couldn't fix her.”
“That's your problem, not mine. I get to do whatever. You want the police to hear about what’s really going on here?”
Hayley's head suddenly felt too large to hold herself upright. She fell back into the bed, and the soft sheets enveloped her. The room smelled like lilies, and the chandelier above twinkled like light on diamonds. There were orchids on the wallpaper, and Hayley thought about her perfect day in the greenhouse. The tall shape of Tate was looking down at her.
“Be a good girl, Hayley. Remember that you would do anything for the farm, wouldn't you?”
“Yes,” she said, but it felt wrong, everything felt wrong. The large bulk of the other man stepped out from his corner and moved towards her. She looked back to Tate's tall form, but he was gone and the door was closed. Did she hear the click of the lock? She wasn't sure.
“Get on your knees, bitch.”
She would do anything for the farm.
Tate was right about the rains. They came and went whenever they felt like it. Difficult to predict, but often a welcome break from the hot sun. It was warm with clear skies as Hayley headed to the food hall with the rest of the workers. She was in a good mood because she would get to see Tate, and she hadn't seen him since she'd helped him in the lab a couple of days ago.
She had to admit that she'd felt a little disappointed that Tate had only handed her a towel to use, rather than the seduction she'd been hoping for, but she still cherished any moment she got to spend with him. It was okay if he didn't love her back. He didn't have to. Her love for him was selfless. He had more important things to deal with than a teenage girl working on his farm. He had to run this place. This wonderful, magical place. She realised in that moment that she would do anything for this place. Anything at all.
Poison Orchids: A darkly compelling psychological thriller Page 19
