Zara watched the car leave and then started her own, following as Essie drove down the main street and then turned into the road to the oval.
‘Beauty,’ Zara said. ‘Nettie practice maybe?’ It would be a perfect chance for Zara to approach Essie. Paris would be busy on the court and if the other mums’ reactions were anything to go by, there wouldn’t be too many people lining up to talk to Essie.
Seeing eight cars parked around the netball courts, and two other little girls throwing a ball to each other, she realised she was right, so she swung the car in and parked next to the footy ground.
The grandstand lay empty, as did the playground, but there was a lone car that Zara didn’t recognise parked near the goal sticks and, on the oval, a woman dressed in lycra and a long-sleeved T-shirt jogging near the edge.
Zara shuddered as her eyes landed on the scoreboard.
The footy club had named the scoreboard in honour of Will. His name was now emblazoned across the top, reminding everyone, every time they went to the grounds, that Will was dead. He wasn’t going to run onto the footy oval ever again. He wasn’t going to come in through the door, laughing.
Will would never celebrate his engagement, never kiss his bride, never give their mum grandchildren or Zara nieces or nephews.
She dragged air into her lungs, trying to catch the breath that seemed to have disappeared. Her breaths were short and sharp and she couldn’t control them, just as she couldn’t control the dots that were appearing in front of her eyes.
‘Stop it,’ she told herself. ‘Stop it. It’s just his name. It doesn’t mean anything.’
Yes, it does, her brain told her. Will isn’t here anymore. His ashes are in the creek, being tossed around by the wind. There’s probably not even anything of him left where we scattered him now. There’s nothing of him left …
‘No,’ Zara moaned, clenching her fists together.
She was hit with another blast of cold air, and as quickly as the panic attack had started, it left her body. Turning away from the scoreboard so she didn’t have to see his name, Zara dug through the back of the car to find her sneakers and put them on.
Rearranging her thoughts so Will wasn’t foremost in her mind, she wondered how best to play this. Accidentally bumping into Essie was going to be hard to pull off at the netball court.
‘Wing it like you always do,’ she told herself. Putting her head down against the wind, she started towards the netball courts, just as the girl running the edge of the oval jogged past. She flicked her hand in acknowledgement and wiped the sweat from her brow.
Zara frowned, wondering who she was and why she was training in the bitter wind on a Wednesday afternoon.
‘Zara!’ A familiar car sidled to a halt alongside her. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hi, Jackie,’ Zara said to her neighbour from three doors down. ‘Hello, Miss Tori, are you here for nettie training?’
‘Zara, come and watch me play?’ Tori said, putting her head out the window.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Jackie said. ‘Zara is busy. Looks like she was about to go for a run. I didn’t know you trained, Zara.’
Looking down at her tracksuit pants and runners, she didn’t want to say she just couldn’t be bothered getting dressed up today. Side-stepping the question, she answered: ‘I’d love to come and watch you play for a bit. Who’s in your team?’
‘There’re seven of us—all the girls from grade one.’
‘Well, then, I’d better come over, hadn’t I? I tell you what, you go on and I’ll be there shortly.’ To Jackie she said, ‘Are you staying? We haven’t caught up for a while.’
‘Nope, this is just a drop and run. I’ve got to get back to work.’
‘Do you want me to bring Tori home? I’m going that way, obviously.’
‘Would you? I’d really appreciate that.’
‘No worries. I’ll be able to watch you play, Miss Tori,’ Zara told the child. ‘I’ll see you later, Jackie.’
Zara turned away and closed her eyes. She saw her brother’s coffin being carried out by the boys from the footy club, heard her mum’s soft sobs.
Maybe Dave was right, she thought. There is something wrong with me. She’d put all these feelings down as grief—the times she’d snapped at Jack or woken sweat-laden from a nightmare.
She wondered if her mum had the same problems. If Lynda did, she never talked about them. Her mum hadn’t called her back since asking her and Jack out to Rowberry Glen for dinner. Zara would have to phone her. Perhaps she could ask the question then. She really didn’t want to though. Displaying weakness was something Zara despised and, by asking, that’s exactly what she was doing.
Gathering herself, she looked towards the netball courts. Essie’s car was still there. The elderly woman was sitting alone on a bench away from the other mums, watching the girls run up and down the court. Zara felt her heart go out to Essie. It appeared everyone was avoiding her.
She headed over to the courts. Pushing open the wire-framed gate, she nodded to a few of the other mums who were calling out encouragement from the sidelines, and stood watching Tori for a minute.
Tori saw her and gave a big wave. Zara waved back and then casually walked over to Essie.
‘Can I sit here?’ she asked. ‘Doesn’t seem like there’re many other places.’
‘Of course, you’re more than welcome,’ Essie said.
‘Nothing like netball practice in the middle of winter,’ Zara laughed, pulling her coat tightly around her as she sat down.
‘You’re right there. That wind chills to the bones. Thankfully it’s not raining.’
‘That is a bonus,’ Zara agreed.
They were quiet for a moment, then Zara asked, ‘Which one is yours?’
Essie pointed to Paris, who was next to Tori, bobbing up and down with warm-up squats. ‘Paris is my granddaughter.’
‘Oh, she’s next to Tori, my neighbour. That’s why I’m here, she asked me to come and watch.’ The perfect excuse. ‘I’ve heard Tori talk about Paris. They must be friends.’
‘Yes, they often play together.’
‘So, you’re on the grandma delivery round? That must be nice to spend some time with her.’
Essie’s mouth tightened. ‘Paris lives with me. Her mum left her with me years ago.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Zara was quiet, not liking that she wasn’t being wholly truthful. ‘I’m Zara Ellison.’
‘Essie Carter.’
‘Sounds like you have a challenging life. A child should always have their mother, but the next best thing is a loving grandmother and you’re clearly that.’
Giving a small smile, Essie nodded. ‘That’s really nice of you to say. We’ve certainly had some tricky times, but we’ve adjusted.’ She looked at Paris fondly. ‘I don’t think I could be without her now.’ She looked over at Zara. ‘Do you live in Barker? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.’
‘I was living in Adelaide for work. Came back last year when my brother was sick.’ As she said the words, Zara felt her heart rate kick up a notch. ‘He, uh, he died.’
‘Oh, are you Lynda Ellison’s daughter? I heard about your brother. I don’t know your family but I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Yep, that was Will.’ She paused. ‘Life is a funny thing, isn’t it? I’ve lost Will and you’ve gained a granddaughter. Was Paris born in Barker? Or did she come here to live with you?’
‘Oh, no, Port Augusta, where her mother was living at the time. Wasn’t very far away for me to go and visit. But they were staying with me in Barker when my daughter ran off, leaving Paris behind. Worst day of my life.’ She paused. ‘Almost.’
‘Well, I think you’re doing an amazing thing by raising her. She’s lucky to have you.’
‘You’re very kind.’
Sitting there in comfortable silence, Zara looked over at the other mothers. Some of them had their arms crossed, looking at Essie, but Essie seemed to take no notice. Rather, she called
out encouraging comments from the sideline.
‘Great pass!’
‘Good try. Throw a little higher next time.’
Zara ran back over what she knew about Essie. Certainly, the conversation they had just had didn’t suggest she was a drug-running mule. She must have gone through hell when Melissa had overdosed, but, Zara reflected, she wouldn’t have had time to dwell on it because she had Paris to look after.
The sound of a sharp whistle brought Zara back to the present and she realised training was nearly over.
The girls were now all lined up on the court for a mock match. Tori was playing Centre, and Paris was in the Wing Attack position.
As Paris ran forward and planted a foot to take the throw from Tori, she spun around and faced Zara just for a moment. Zara felt a jolt as she watched the girl. She’d seen a similar face before, she was sure of it. She searched her memory but couldn’t come up with anyone. Who did Paris remind her of?
‘Your granddaughter looks very familiar. Have you got any other family in Barker?’
Everyone broke into claps and they both looked over at the netball court, where Tori and Paris’s team had scored a goal. Zara clapped along with them.
‘She’s the spitting image of her mother. Melissa grew up and went to school here. She’s older than you, I’d say.’
‘Oh, really?’ Zara turned to look at Essie. ‘What was her name? Maybe I know her.’
‘Melissa Carter.’
Zara pretended to think about the time she’d spent at school in Barker, then shook her head. ‘Not a familiar name. How old is she?’
‘Forty. I don’t know where that time has gone.’
‘Oh, yeah. She’s a bit older. Maybe I’ve just seen her around when she’s visited.’
‘Right-oh, girls, that’s it for today,’ the coach called.
‘Gosh, where’s that hour gone?’ Zara asked as she stood up. ‘It was nice talking to you. I hope to see you around again.’
Paris and Tori ran up to them.
‘Zara, did you see me?’ Tori said. ‘I helped Corrina get a goal, because I threw the ball to her.’
Grinning, Zara nodded. ‘I did. You’re a little legend!’ She glanced at Paris. ‘Hi, Paris, I’m Zara. You looked like you were having fun on the court.’ Zara committed the little girl’s face to memory. She was positive she knew it and was determined to figure out how.
‘I was.’ She turned to Essie. ‘It’s freezing. Can we go home?’
‘Of course we can. We’ll see you later.’
They said their goodbyes, and Zara led Tori to her car, the little girl talking the whole time.
Chapter 23
Flicking through old school magazines, Zara searched for Melissa Carter’s face or name in its pages. The school library had proved a good source of the old yearbooks, and Zara narrowed her search to the eighties. She’d calculated that Melissa must have been born in 1980, to make her forty now.
Back at home, she had poured herself a glass of wine and lit the gas heater on the front porch, where she would be sheltered from the wind, and started to look through them.
The first two were lying on the swing seat alongside her and there were another two to go. So far, she’d found nothing to indicate Melissa had attended the school. She wasn’t in any class photos and didn’t have any work published on her year-group pages. Zara reasoned she could’ve been absent on the days the photos had been taken.
‘Where are you?’ Zara muttered.
The sound of a car driving sedately down the road caught her attention and she looked up just as it passed. The vehicle continued to the end of the street, where it did a U-turn and came back along. The investigative reporter in Zara made her get up and move to the edge of the alcove to look out. Had someone missed turning into a house, or was it something more?
As the car came back, it slowed right down and Zara saw the flash of a camera from inside the car just as it drew level with her house. Fear ran through her body and she backed away from the entrance and behind the wall, where she couldn’t be seen.
When the engine noise faded, Zara ran out to the edge of the pavement, staying in the shadows, to try to see the numberplate. The car drove through the pale dome of the street light, and another flicker of fear ran through her and her face flushed hot. It was the same vehicle she’d seen parked at the oval during Tori’s netball practice.
An interstate numberplate that she couldn’t read taunted her as the red glowing tail-lights disappeared around the corner.
Holy fuck, she thought.
She grabbed her wine and journals and raced inside, slamming the door behind her and turning the lock. Letting the magazines fall onto the couch, she put her glass down and checked the back door and all the windows and drew the curtains.
Flicking off the lights in the front room, she leaned against the wall for a minute, trying to calm herself. She’d been in scary situations before, but none that really could have threatened her life. If this had anything to do with the Essie Carter case and the drugs, Zara knew that whoever was threatening Essie wouldn’t think twice about killing her to avoid being exposed.
Zara took her mobile phone from her pocket and flicked her finger over the screen, getting Jack’s number up in case she needed to call him, and crept to the window. Opening the curtains a crack, she stared out. No one would be able to look into the house, but she would be able to make out whomever was outside.
The street was quiet.
Across the road she could see Dave and Kim’s lights behind their closed blinds; their dark shadows moved behind them.
Normally, Zara wouldn’t have thought twice about racing over there to ask for help, but there was nothing to ask for at this point. Plus, Dave’s words kept playing in her ears.
‘Don’t ring me …’
Why? she thought. What’s this about? Essie? It has to be.
Grabbing a piece of paper, she wrote down the afternoon’s activities.
School pick-up. Was the car there?
Netball. Observed the car parked on the footy oval.
Girl running/training.
Watched Tori and Paris train. Didn’t move.
Took Tori home. Saw the car still parked on oval.
Woman not sighted.
Same type of vehicle drove past my house at …
She checked her watch: 6.50 p.m.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember if she’d seen the vehicle at school pick-up. In her mind’s eye she heard the noise and saw the kids swarming around. The school buses and cars …
Damn it! I wasn’t looking for it, so I can’t remember.
What was the driver looking for? The obvious answer was Essie. Could they be watching her, and because they saw Zara talking to Essie they had followed her too?
Zara went back to stand at the window, realising with relief that, finally, the wind had dropped. The stillness was now only broken by the occasional drop of rain. She looked upwards. Maybe the heavens would open tonight.
Listening hard, the sound of an engine reached her. Racing into her office, she grabbed her camera and opened the back door, sliding herself quietly along the wall, watching.
There it was again. Driving slowly along the road. This time it pulled to the side of the road and cut the lights. As Zara watched, the window slid down, and a camera’s zoom lens appeared through the crack.
Click, click, click.
Pause.
Click, click, click.
Pause.
The driver took still more photos of Zara’s house.
In turn, Zara raised her camera and tried to zoom in on the numberplate.
‘Shit.’ No luck, but glancing down the road, she realised the streetlight would be throwing light towards where the car was parked. Stealing around the back and along the other side fence, Zara held her breath as she crept into the garden bed and settled behind a geranium bush before peering out.
As she blinked to get her eyes accustomed to the soft light, she h
eard the car start up again and slowly start to drive off. Whoever was stalking her was pretty amateurish. Starting an engine on a calm night, in a country town, where strange vehicles were always noticed, was nothing short of crazy. Almost like they wanted to be caught.
Glancing across at Dave’s house, it didn’t seem like the blinds had moved at all; maybe he hadn’t heard the car’s engine or noticed there was something strange happening.
The light illuminated the numberplate, and Zara quickly raised her camera to her eye and zoomed in.
Click.
She ducked down as the car swung around and the headlights flashed across where she was crouching.
This time it was anger more than fear that ran through her. This was bullshit! What she wanted to do was race out into the middle of the road and demand the car stop. Make them tell her what this was all about.
Deep down, she already knew. Whatever Essie was caught up in must be big.
After waiting until the car had driven by, she got up and ran back inside.
Checking the display screen on the camera, she smiled. Yes!
YNE-807.
Turning on her computer, she tried googling the numberplate, hoping to find a name on the registration. Nothing, but the ACT numberplate check website came up in the top hits, so she clicked on the link.
All ACT numberplates start with Y, she read. Finding the search bar, she entered the plate and waited while the database search went to work.
Numberplate not found.
‘What? Of course it is!’ she snapped. Hitting the keyboard with extra force, she typed the letters and numbers in again, checking the photo on her camera screen against what she’d already typed. A match.
Number not found.
Going out into she kitchen she poured herself another wine. All plates had to be registered.
She really needed Dave.
Shit, shit, I can’t ring him, she thought. But he needs to know this.
Another mouthful of wine and she wrote the numberplate on a piece of paper and unlocked her front door. Slipping outside, she checked the street before ducking across, avoiding the lights.
The Shearer's Wife Page 17
