by Evans, Ilsa
Chapter Twenty-Four
While I was horrified to hear about your recent experience, I do have to admit that watching the updates on TV became rather addictive. Probably because I’ve been reading your column for so long that it was good to ‘humanise’ you despite the circumstances. Things like your messy garden, the daughter around the side sneaking a smoke, the other one who flipped the bird, your sister flirting, your mother driving over the reporter’s foot. So glad everything worked out okay, but I’m going to miss it! You should write a book.
Tourism to Majic increased exponentially over the following days, both in casual daytrippers and bookings for the school holidays. So many people wanted to see the wine cellar that the Historical Society began regular tours for five dollars a head. Cup of tea and Tim Tam included; free guinea pig optional. Petra, who promptly took a tour herself, told me that considerable effort had gone into creating ambience, with a single candle and suitably haunting music in the background. Our meagre supplies were also on display; the torn cloth, pickle jar, corkscrew, pair of wineglasses complete with lipstick kiss, and condom. Visitors were left to appraise the usefulness of these items, particularly the last.
Unexpected benefits were also experienced by Mrs Emerson, who fielded such a demand for her dill pickles that she was now taking orders for next August. Sam Emerson had suggested buying up all available pickles from the local shops and re-labelling the jars but she would have none of it, maintaining it was the quality of the pickle juice that had saved the day and she thus owed it to her fans to produce the real deal. I had three of these real deals beneath my Christmas tree this very minute, each prettily cellophaned and each holding a version of the same message. Merry Christmas, Nell, here’s a little something for your next pickle!
They sat beside another present, tissue-wrapped and book-shaped, that had appeared a few days ago. It was anonymous, but fortunately my natural curiosity had led to me holding it up to the light and deciphering the title. Fifty Shades of Grey. I suspected strongly that the benefactor in this case was my sister, as it fitted with her sense of humour. To show my own sense of humour, I had since removed the book and replaced it with Little Women. And to show my appreciation I was giving her a five-year membership for the Richard III Society.
The tree was now decorated also, a sumptuous triangle of tinsel and ornaments, with lights blinking higgledy-piggledy amid the fake fir. Just in time, given Christmas was in less than a week. We were expecting extras this year; my five were a given, plus my mother and sister, but this time we also had Ned Given, who was literally dining out on his notoriety, and Uncle Jim, who had been cast into temporary bachelorhood by Rita’s sudden decision to visit her sister in Wagga Wagga. I still had no idea what was going on there, and decided I might be better served that way. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. Which was not the case with our last prospective guest – Darcy, who due to arrive on Christmas Eve, sans Tessa Sheridan.
It appeared that the soul-mate relationship, worth sacrificing his marriage of twenty-five years, had hit a rocky patch, leaving him with a two-year lease on a Gold Coast apartment and a revamped wardrobe that included skinny-leg jeans and a pork-pie hat. I cared – but not as much as I would have expected. It was more a dull feeling of regret, cushioned by grim gratification that the whole thing had lasted such an embarrassingly brief time. I wondered if I would have felt differently a few weeks ago, before my near-death experience. If so, what had changed? Was it spending what could have been my last days beside a wineglass with a ruby-red rim? Or waking in hospital beside everyone who mattered, and realising that was enough? Or perhaps it was just an awareness that life was short; and some people never change. Nevertheless I sincerely hoped that he enjoyed Christmas dinner, if only because I wanted him to have a sense of what he had thrown away. Perhaps I might lend him my new book.
I was still having nightmares, and suspected I would for some time. Big, black affairs with shadows that loomed around corners and woke me at odd times, chilled by a sheen of sweat that felt like oil. I slept with a night-light now, something I hadn’t needed since I was five. I attended one of the counselling sessions recommended to counteract post-traumatic stress disorder but found it fairly unhelpful. I didn’t need to spend another hour silenced by the enormity of what almost happened; I had spent more than enough already. No, I trusted in time as the great healer, along with the little blue anti-anxiety pills I’d been prescribed.
I celebrated the first seven days of freedom by setting up a deckchair on the back patio. My column this week amounted to little more than an ‘exclusive’ interview conducted over the phone, with the scheduled letters segment being postponed until after Christmas. Along with my editor’s latest brainwave, which was the development of a blog to take advantage of the current surge in reader response. All of which meant busy times ahead, but right now I was going to make hay while the sun shone. It was certainly doing just that, with a blossoming warmth that felt therapeutic itself.
Yen was at the old Fletcher house, giving it a thorough clean with the help of Ruby and Red. Lucy was working at Renaissance, while Quinn had set up camp in the living room with Caitlin and a couple of other friends for an impromptu movies-about-vampires marathon.
I opened my book and read the first page, then read it again. The sunlight danced across the words, giving them an iridescence that sparkled like the filaments of a butterfly wing. I laid the book against my chest and closed my eyes instead, knowing that this wouldn’t help with sleep tonight, but not really caring.
‘Mum! Mum!’
I opened my eyes into thick confusion. ‘What?’
‘Mum! Are you awake?’
‘Of course I’m awake.’ I peered up at Quinn. ‘Why wouldn’t I be awake?’
‘Because you’re drooling?’
‘I am not.’ I reached up one hand and wiped my chin. All I wanted was to curl up and go back to sleep. ‘What is it?’
‘That detective is here.’
I lifted my sunglasses, as if that would help me comprehend, and then flicked my gaze to where Ashley Armistead stood with the sunshine creating something of a halo around his head. The only thing missing was the appropriate music and the scene could have come straight from a movie. I sat up a little straighter.
‘Thanks,’ he said to Quinn, then turned back to me. ‘Must be a good read if it sent you to sleep.’
I glanced down at my book, and my eyes widened as I registered which book. I shut it quickly and turned it over before thrusting it beneath the deckchair. I cleared my throat. ‘Ah, so how are you?’
‘Good, good. I just thought I’d drop around and see how you’re going. Fill you in. Oh, and I wonder if you’d autograph my paper?’ Straight-faced, he held out a copy of today’s newspaper. It was folded so that my replacement column was uppermost. MAJIC HAPPENS! screamed the headline, and, See our exclusive interview with long-time columnist Nell Forrest. My grimace deepened as I realised they had used my least favourite photo, which my editor thought made me look interestingly bohemian and I thought made me look like Sideshow Bob from The Simpsons.
‘Yes.’ I tried to work out whether he was joking. ‘But don’t you already have my signature? On all those statements?’
‘True.’ He slapped his thigh with the paper, grinned. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Lovely. Actually you’ve saved me a trip. I was going to drop in to the police station tomorrow, pass on my thanks for all your help.’
‘Just doing our job. Speaking of which, I suppose you’ve heard he’s been remanded?’
I nodded. ‘I also heard that he pleaded not guilty.’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s going to have his work cut out for him defending all the charges.’ He bobbed down, dropping the paper by his side. ‘Did you also hear that Fiona Ramage has been to see him?’
I was surprised, but not particularly shocked. I visited Fiona when she was first discharged from hospital and suspected even then that a rewrite might
be on the cards. As with Beth Craig, she was also busily making excuses for the inexcusable. I regarded Ashley thoughtfully. ‘Ah, you think she might forgive him. She can’t really change her testimony, can she?’
‘No. But she can become uncooperative, which makes you quite important.’
‘And I wasn’t already?’
He grinned, laughter lines fissuring. ‘Of course you were. Very much so.’
‘I thought you might have dropped in a little sooner. Given my importance. I haven’t seen you since you took my last autograph, with the statement in hospital.’
‘Thought I’d give you some space. Hell of a thing you went through.’
I nodded, but didn’t want to discuss that part. ‘Can I get you a cup of coffee? Tea?’
‘Actually I brought a bottle of wine.’ He plucked a piece of grass from between the patio pavers and twirled it in his fingers. ‘In case you felt like a drink.’
For the first time I realised that he was wearing cargos and a T-shirt rather than his customary trousers, shirt and tie. ‘Are you off duty?’
‘I thought it would be more appropriate.’ He began shredding the grass. ‘Given I wanted to ask you out.’
‘Well, in that case I think a glass of wine is definitely called for.’
He dropped the grass and stood in one fluid movement, which was only spoiled by one of his knees emitting a loud crack. He grinned. ‘I’ll get it. You stay there.’
I watched until he disappeared from sight, then ran my fingers through my hair and tied it back with an elastic from my wrist. I could feel several corkscrew tendrils escape immediately but fancied that only made me look romantically dishevelled. While there was no mirror around to tell me different, that was what I was sticking with.
Ashley returned bearing two glasses and a bottle of very nice white. Gusto burst from the back door at the same time, heading straight for his favourite tree, where he cocked a leg and let loose a stream of urine that just went on and on. Ashley pulled over a chair from the outdoor setting and then poured the wine, passing me my glass with a flourish. ‘Quite the gathering happening in there.’
‘Which is why I’m out here.’ I watched the dog as his pee finally decreased to a dribble. He shook his leg fastidiously, had a good sniff of the fruits of his labour and then wandered over to rest the same snout on the detective’s leg. It left a wet patch. I took a sip of the wine. ‘Nice.’
‘Speaking of Leon, why didn’t you tell anyone about Dustin Craig being his father?’
I took another sip and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘So you know about that?’
‘Fiona included it in her statement.’
‘Oh.’ I was disappointed, and it probably showed. ‘It just didn’t seem relevant. I mean, he wasn’t aware of it until after. It wasn’t a mitigating factor, or a motivating one either.’
‘Except with regard to his attempted murder of you,’ said Ashley quickly. He was ruffling Gusto’s fur. ‘As soon as he saw those trophies and put two and two together, your days were numbered.’
‘I prefer to think it was my canny investigative skills.’
Ashley grinned. ‘Okay, let’s say it was your canny investigative skills. This is a man who just tried to kill you; why protect him?’
‘I’m not protecting him,’ I said defensively. ‘It’s more that I didn’t think it served any useful purpose. I might not be crazy about Beth Craig, but does she need that knowledge on top of everything else? That she slept with her husband’s son? That her girls’ brother is also their father’s murderer?’ I shook my head. ‘Anyway, it’s like he’s almost an accidental murderer. Like this whole chain of events sprang from coincidence. Timing.’
‘I hate to tell you this, but most of them do.’ He shrugged. ‘Plus I don’t know that sleeping with one’s neighbour can be classed as coincidence. Unless they just happened to be wandering around the neighbourhood naked and ran into each other. Literally.’
I laughed, and then tried to find the right words. ‘I mean the murder itself was sort of accidental. Something spur of the moment that spiralled out of control. And yes, I know Berry’s death and what happened to Fiona and me was fed by Leon’s self-centredness and so on. But … I don’t know, to find out you just killed your father when you’d been searching for him for years, that’s so huge. He’ll live with that forever, and I’m not sure even he deserves everyone else knowing as well. Not when it’ll serve no useful purpose other than a lot of headlines that use the whole Oedipus angle.’
‘It is pretty amazing. If you read it in a book, you’d think it was over the top.’
‘Maybe.’ I finished my wine, rather surprised at how quickly it was affecting me. I felt warm, and bubbly, and a little fuzzy around the edges. ‘So what’ll happen? I suppose the information will come out in court.’
‘It’ll be up to the DPP, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they use it as leverage. If he’s so desperate to keep it under wraps, it might even change his plea.’ He topped up our glasses, then sat back and patted his knee. Gusto immediately resumed his position. ‘Did you know that the teenage pregnancy was the reason the Craig family moved away? His brother told us. They were worried pressure would be put on Dustin to marry the girl down the track.’
‘What charmers.’
‘Yep.’
Silence fell, placid and pleasant. A kookaburra laughed in the distance, a rollickingly jovial sound that, oddly, only added to the tranquillity. I examined the detective through my sunglasses, wondering if it was true he was a player. And whether this knowledge added to his appeal. Maybe I was masochistic? Certainly I was finding him very attractive at the moment, significantly more than when I had first met him. But that might also have something to do with a growing suspicion that if I wandered into my bedroom right now, and picked up my little vial of blue anti-anxiety tablets, I would find the words Not to be taken with alcohol. Another glass of wine and I would probably find the dog attractive.
‘So your girls must be a handful.’
I frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, they’re so … noisy.’
‘No noisier than any others. In fact, sometimes they hardly say a word.’
‘Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just when I grabbed the wine in there they were so … giggly. That’s all.’
Still frowning, I followed his glance towards the house, and then realised his mistake. ‘Oh god, they’re not all mine! For starters, they’re all the same age! What, did you think I had quintuplets or something?’
‘Well, I knew you had five girls and there were five girls there. So I put my highly tuned detective skills to work and came up with a deduction.’
‘Do you have children?’ I asked, already suspecting the answer. It was also something of a test, as any man who appended their answer with ‘… that I know of’ automatically lost brownie points.
He shook his head. ‘No. Not that –’
‘Ever been married?’
‘Once. For about six years. We’re still good friends.’
‘That’s great,’ I said, meaning it. ‘I think acrimonious break-ups are such a waste.’
‘Agreed.’ He gave Gusto one last neck ruffle and then leant back, gesturing towards the house. ‘So where are the rest of yours then?’
‘Spread around the countryside. The others are all adults, you know.’
‘Oh.’ He looked relieved. ‘Oh, that’s marvellous.’
‘Thank you. I count it as quite an achievement myself.’
‘Although you look too young to have that many adult daughters.’ He added this quickly, as if it was de rigueur.
‘I was a child bride.’
He grinned. ‘And where might the husband of the child bride be nowadays?’
‘In an apartment on the Gold Coast,’ I replied smoothly. ‘Rueing the day he left.’
‘Was that day fairly recent?’
‘Seven months ago.’ I took a sip of wine. ‘Which is long enough.’
&nb
sp; ‘Good to hear. So …’
I took another sip, stalling. Everything was a little nebulous, as if it didn’t quite count. ‘So a date would be very pleasant, but I should tell you at the outset that I’m not interested in a relationship. You know what would be even better? A weekend away!’ I imagined transferring this scenario, with us sharing a bottle of wine, to a hotel balcony. Perhaps dressed in white fluffy dressing-gowns. I smiled and then realised Ashley was staring at me, clearly surprised. ‘Maybe I should explain myself better. I’ve just got out of a twenty-five year marriage to a serial philanderer and both before and after we split I thought the permanency of a relationship was what I wanted. No matter what. So even a few weeks ago, if you’d asked me out, I’d have been really thrilled and hoped it might lead to another, and another. But not any more. See, for the last seven months when I’ve been pretending to extol the joys of solitude, I actually had a point. I just wasn’t listening.’
He was still staring. ‘Um, look, I was just asking you out on a date. That’s all.’
‘And the old me would now be feeling all embarrassed at oversharing, but the new me is just going to shrug –’ I demonstrated ‘– and say honesty is the best policy. All I want to do is draw a line and then cross it. Maybe twice. I don’t want you to end up getting hurt.’
‘I don’t want to get hurt either, so thanks.’ He leant back even further, balancing the chair on its rear legs for a few minutes. ‘You’re very interesting, do you know that?’
I nodded, quite pleased.
‘Most of the time I’m the one trying to slow things down. Yet here you are laying down the ground rules from the beginning. I could point out you’ve already agreed to a date. Sailing, if I remember right.’
