by Cathryn Hein
‘A final message? The last word? A warning not to do it again?’ Jas tilted her palms. ‘Who knows. People are petty and weird.’ Her hands fell. ‘It’ll sort itself out.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Em …’
‘I know, I know.’ Em opened the fridge and took a bottle of white wine from the door. ‘But it’s hard not to worry after what happened with Digby. Like you say, people can be weird. And dangerous.’ They both knew she meant Felicity.
‘How is he?’
It had been two days since Digby’s surprise arrival at Admella Beach and in the moments when Jas wasn’t distracted by work, Mike, or the craven antics of her trespasser, she’d wondered whether she should call or text, just to see how he was. Perhaps reiterate that he was always welcome, that she harboured no expectations, not even conversation if he didn’t feel up to it.
Em blinked as she poured them drinks. ‘Tuesday night was awful. I told Mum to serve dinner in the kitchen but she wouldn’t listen.’ She rested the bottle down, hand gripped around its neck, her face clouding with memory. ‘You should have seen him, Jas. He couldn’t stop shaking. And he kept staring at the door as if he expected her ghost to walk in.’ Em’s knuckles whitened as her fist tightened. ‘Josh promised he was fine, that he just needs time. But he doesn’t look fine, he looks haunted.’ Anguish twisted her mouth. ‘We’re so afraid for him.’
Jas was about to tell Em not to be, that Digby had been rattled but okay by the time he’d left her place on Tuesday night, but she stopped herself. For some reason, revealing his visit felt like a betrayal. The way he’d looked at her on the doorstep—unable to speak but his gaze brimming with gratitude—had been a moment so intimate it felt too personal to share. The situation with Mike was very different, but there’d already been enough betrayal in Jasmine’s life. She couldn’t do it to someone who was hurting even more profoundly than she was.
Jas peeled Em’s fingers away from the bottle and returned it to the fridge. ‘He’ll be all right, Em. Just give him space to heal. Josh is watching out.’
‘I know he is, but Josh can’t be with him all the time.’ Em stared out the window. The sun was almost set now and the slopes were murky with shadow. Against the darkening sky, the cone’s rocky edge appeared craggy and dangerous, as though the volcano was snapping bites out of the heavens with broken teeth. ‘If anything happens to him it’ll be my fault.’
‘Don’t you dare think that. Digby will be fine and what happened to Felicity was never your fault.’
‘I drove her to it, Jas. If I’d have been more understanding …’ She swallowed as her voice cracked. ‘I know what she did to Gran was wrong but she was so damaged. And our lack of acceptance only made it worse.’
What Em said was true, Felicity had been damaged. More acutely than any of them realised. Her childhood had been appalling, adulthood not much better, but that didn’t excuse what she’d done to the Wallace-Joneses. From her very arrival the girl had worked to cleave their close-knit family apart. It wasn’t enough she had Digby, she wanted everything Em had too, including Rocking Horse Hill. Em had been left in a terrible state over whether her brother, who ultimately owned the property, would force her out of her beloved home.
Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have dreamed of it. Even as a boy Digby had been creeped out by the way the crater loomed over the farm but, as Jas well knew, love could make people behave oddly. Felicity might have been messed up, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to take advantage and Digby, with his intense feelings for her, was easy to manipulate. A year on and the family was still trying to heal from the mess she’d left behind, Digby most of all.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Jas repeated. ‘She ran because she was afraid of what she’d done, not because of anything you said or did. No one knew the quarry was that unstable. No one. You’re getting married soon. You don’t want to start life with Josh with this hanging over you.’
Em let out a sigh. ‘I know you’re right. It’s just that while I can reason intellectually that her death wasn’t my fault, inside …’ She patted her chest. ‘It hurts that Digby blames me still.’
‘He’ll come around. Just give him time.’
Em’s kitchen timer called her to action and Jas couldn’t help feeling relieved. They’d been friends forever and she didn’t like keeping things from Em, especially when they related to her own brother. It wasn’t fair in the face of her loyalty. Even when Teagan, the third member of their close circle, had condemned Jasmine’s affair with Mike, Em had remained sympathetic. As Em once said, hearts were strange creations and sometimes far more powerful than heads. A human vulnerability Jas and Digby knew all too well.
Despite Jasmine’s tough words, on her arrival home that night she made sure to secure the gate behind her. The previous Saturday she’d hauled out the whipper-snipper and cleared away the thick grass that had taken root around the rails and strainer posts. As the machine vibrated her arms, she’d told herself it was just a precaution. The gate wouldn’t need to be closed and it certainly wouldn’t need padlocking. Yet in the wake of the latest assault, creating at least the illusion of security seemed prudent. This was only for her peace of mind, like the newly fitted front door chain. A safeguard to ease her disturbed sleep.
When the chain was on its hook she stood at the gate and gazed towards Port Andrews. The breeze was mild and sea-scented, the lights along the foreshore and breakwater glowed prettily. Out to sea the lighthouse danced its beam over the reefs. It was a scene that would normally feel comforting, but not tonight. Tonight her stomach was knotted with the fear that someone here, someone she knew, hated her. Jas might not be a true local but she’d lived in the area long enough to feel part of the community. To think someone within that small group had come to despise her enough to intrude onto her property and feed dog crap through her screen door was nauseating.
And it wasn’t fair. Not now. Not after she’d given Mike his marching orders and broken her own heart doing it.
The breeze caught the moisture in her eyes, turning it cold. Jas sniffed and turned away. Closing the gate wasn’t much in the way of defiance, but perhaps it would send a return message that she wasn’t to be messed with either.
She drove the car into the garage and locked it, then dumped her handbag and lunch box on the back verandah and trudged over to Ox’s paddock. He was waiting by the fence, his grey coat protected from tail to ears by a heavy rug. He released a deep rumbling whicker at her approach and Jas felt her eyes sting again. No matter what, this was one sweetheart whose love she could guarantee.
She kissed his long regal nose and pressed her face against his silky cheek. ‘Foxy Oxy, what am I doing?’
His ears twitched and his breath was warm, and he stood solid and stoic as she poured her heart out in a babble of confusion and misery and despair, while the sea sang its soothing song and the moon rose higher, blessing them both.
Jas looked up at the sound of a slowing vehicle. This time of year there was little traffic along the coast road. She frowned as the headlights dipped and swung towards the house. Planting a quick kiss on Oxy’s muzzle she darted back to the garage, keeping to the sheltering shadow of its rainwater tank.
The car was idling at the gate entrance with its door open. A figure stood by the strainer post, head bowed, unmoving. He remained that way for a few seconds longer before suddenly pivoting to survey the road back to Port Andrews.
Jas squinted, trying to make out who it was. The car was dark, sleek and low, like Mike’s BMW, the figure around his height with a similarly long, lean build. Her heart began to thud hard and loud as she pleaded silently for it not to be Mike.
The man turned back, reached for the gate latch and stopped. He retreated a step and rubbed the back of his neck. Jas frowned, observing this strange behaviour with deepening confusion as he swung back to the car and opened the door. Once again he didn’t follow through, stopping with one hand on the car roof and th
e other on the door.
What felt like minutes passed. Jas waited, torn between wanting to run for the relative safety of the house and watching the stranger.
Something in her gut told her this wasn’t Mike. This person was nervous and wary. Mike’s confidence was so high he never hesitated over anything. He was never wrong, never out of place. Never the one to step down. An unmovable king on a false throne.
The man rubbed his dark hair and with purposeful strides crossed back to the gate, unhooked the latch and pushed it open. As he passed back in front of the headlights, Jas caught the outline of his face and in a single breath the fist of anxiety that had gripped her so fiercely released.
She left the shadows and went to fetch her belongings off the back verandah step. By the time she’d made it to the front of the house, Digby had pulled up at the end of the drive. She waved and headed up the steps to the door, expecting him to follow. Despite scrubbing with soap and water, the smell of crap lingered. She’d have to unhook the screen and blast it with the power washer. Another chore for the weekend.
Jas had unlocked both doors and opened them when she realised Digby hadn’t moved. She stood against the screen, tilting her head in a way she hoped was welcoming. Finally, the car door opened.
She said nothing as he approached, afraid it might be the wrong thing. The skin around his pale hazel eyes was crinkled with fatigue and he looked sadder than ever.
‘Hi,’ he said, both fists rammed deep into the front pockets of his jeans.
‘Hi.’ Jas smiled. ‘Doctor Who and a drink?’
His head bowed and his brow furrowed in a way that suggested suppressed tears and shame. Jas knew all about that, but it seemed more awful to observe it in a man, especially one as blessed by the genetic gods as Digby. It didn’t seem right to spoil that beautifully handsome face with grief.
All Digby had done was love with the fullest of hearts.
‘Come on. You can sort my fire out while I’m getting the drinks.’
This time she chose ‘Voyage of the Damned’, a Christmas special made even more memorable thanks to the casting of Kylie Minogue as the Doctor’s potential love interest. As always, Jasmine’s face was wet with sentimental tears by its conclusion.
‘I love that episode,’ she said, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose rowdily.
‘Yeah,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘It was good.’
She began tidying the remotes and stopped. It had to be late, after ten-thirty at least, but she didn’t want Digby thinking she was shooing him out into the night.
He noticed though. ‘I should let you get to bed.’
When Digby made no move to rise, Jas busied herself ejecting the DVD and putting it away.
‘Your gate was shut,’ he said as she was sliding the drawer closed.
She stayed crouched on her haunches. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘No reason. Just security.’
He picked up his empty wineglass and regarded it. The fire gave a snap that jolted Jas but Digby seemed too consumed with thought to notice.
Digby looked up and held her gaze. ‘What’s up, Jas?’
‘It’s nothing, Dig. Don’t worry about it.’
‘I don’t like—’ He stopped, his mouth tight as though holding something in. For several seconds he stayed that way, then he let out a breath and rose, lifting the glass to her in a half-toast. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Digby. Any time.’
At the door he lingered, hands once more thrust into his pockets and brow deeply furrowed. His words, when they came, were stilted with uncertainty. ‘If you’re in some sort of trouble …’
‘I’m not.’
He opened his mouth as if to protest and thought better of it. He bent to kiss her cheek, the touch so brief and light it was like the whisper of a falling feather, then he was striding to his car as if escape couldn’t come quick enough.
When Jas arrived home Friday evening, she found a reeking pile of dead slimy rock cod smothering her front step. Jammed into the mouth of the topmost fish was another note. Though her eyes were watering and her body screamed for her to run, she bent and tugged the paper free.
The words ‘whore’ and ‘marriage wrecker’ were dismissible for their unoriginality. What had her throat closing over and her lungs squeezing painfully was the final shouted salutation.
GET OUT.
That night, she padlocked the gate.
CHAPTER
5
Jas felt like she was shrivelling, crawling in on herself like a scrabbling, frightened animal. Every thought was full of suspicion and fear. Prickles kept rising on her neckline whenever her back was turned to Port Andrews, as if she could sense her harasser watching her from the village, but whenever she jerked round there was nothing except blue and white shacks, Norfolk Island pines and a sleepy village street.
The front step still stank of rotten fish. She’d spent a disgusting hour and a half the evening before dumping cod carcasses into a bucket and trekking over the dunes, spade handle clenched in her fist, to bury the fish below the high water mark. At least crabs and other sea scavengers would gain something from their deaths. All Jas had gained was fear.
Saturday had dawned crisp and clear. The air was warm with positivity that Jas tried to draw strength from, but worry and lack of sleep kept her sapped, her movements sluggish. After removing the screen door and setting it flat on some limestone blocks, she sprayed the front step, door and walls of her house with heavy-duty car wash, before using the power scrubber attachment of her high-pressure cleaner to remove every last trace of faeces and fish from the house and screen door. Then, gripping the pressure gun like an AK-47, Jas blasted everything clean, muttering action-movie lines as she pretended she was mowing down enemies.
The exercise proved cathartic and it was with a lighter step that she walked up the road to the gate, removed the new combination-lock bike chain she’d purchased on the way home the night before, and swung the gate open. Em was bringing her horse Lod down after lunch for a ride along Admella Beach. Leaving the gate shut and locked would only lead to more interrogation and nagging, and it seemed unnecessary, perhaps even weak, to keep it closed while she was home. Her harasser preferred the cowardice of covertness.
It was the perfect day for a ride. Spring was finally bounding joyfully across the landscape, bringing with it the scent of anticipation, and the hypnotic cadence of Oxy’s gait combined with the rhythmic, back-and-forth flush of tide would be good for thinking. Now she was rid of Mike and his curdled love, Jas needed to consider the future. At last she had the freedom to plan her life. The expectation that any day he would leave Tania and come to her was gone. He was never going to abandon his marriage and Jas had been an idiot to believe he ever would. Plus what guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t do the same to her as he’d done to his wife? Unlike Digby, whose love for and loyalty to Felicity had never wavered in life or death, Mike had no comprehension of either virtue. All the man cared about was himself.
She twirled the chain a few times and squinted towards the village. Whoever it was spoiling her idyll was targeting the wrong person. He was the one who cheated and lied, not Jas. It wasn’t her who was married when the affair began. It wasn’t even Jas who’d made the first move. And she sure as hell wasn’t the one who’d lied about being single. A lie he’d maintained until his suspicious behaviour proved otherwise.
Jas had wanted to break it off the moment she found out about Tania, but Mike had insisted his marriage was a sham, that he didn’t love his wife and was only staying for the kids. That if Jas could hang in there, believe in him and the unique passion igniting them, they’d be together. What a fool. Any movie, any book, any magazine article about infidelity revealed what a hackneyed tactic that was. Yet she’d chosen to believe him, against the advice of Em and Teagan, and the truth in her own soul.
That human frailty called love had a hell of a lot to answer for.
Twirling the chain one last time, Jas trudged back to the house.
Em’s company and the soothing, familiar sounds and sights of Admella Beach eased Jasmine’s anxiety. The ride, Em’s friendship, the pure dome of sky and wrinkled glass sea, felt normal, unsullied by Mike or her harasser’s corruption. She chatted to Em as they rode, about nothing in particular: Jasmine’s Melbourne-based brother Richard, how her parents, who owned a grazing property north of Levenham, were faring, local news, a touch of national politics, mutual friends, wedding preparations. As they talked, the horses swivelled their ears, occasionally skittering and dancing at the fizzing tide and wash of seaweed. Joyous, like their mistresses, to be out in the sun on this glorious stretch of beach.
This time of year, Em, Teagan and Jas would typically be at a show, competing in saddle horse and other equestrian events. The spring season ran from September until early December, with the two-day Levenham show in the middle. But Teagan was now settled in New South Wales with her new love Lucas, and without her the season had lost some of its charm. And with Em’s wedding only five weeks away, and preparations and parties taking up a lot of their time, this year they’d decided to restrict competition to a few select shows only. Jas couldn’t help lamenting the change. For all Teagan and Jasmine’s disagreements, with Em as peacemaker they’d formed a solid trio and had enjoyed their days together, competing and sharing laughs and end-of-long-day fatigue and satisfaction. This change made her feel like they were all finally growing up, moving into the next phase of their lives. All except Jas.
She let Oxy have his head but Lod, who was as competitive as his mistress, always seemed to keep a nose in front. Jas didn’t mind. It was the rush of air past her ears and the sheer thrill of the gallop that filled her with delight, along with the emancipating sense of tossing all her troubles to the wind.
Seagulls swept skywards in squawking flocks and settled again behind them. The horses’ hooves made wet slaps against the sea-washed sand. In the gully between two reefs a couple of dedicated anglers bobbed in their dinghy, eyeing them as they raced. Every now and then the brightly coloured floats of a crayfish pot would pock the sea surface, like lost Christmas baubles. Jas sucked in the pleasure of the day, filling her soul with its purity. Fortifying her strength.
