Wayward Heart

by Cathryn Hein

She gave a shuddery sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘I guess I’ll have to.’

  ‘Come on.’ Digby steered her towards the bedroom. ‘Standing here in the cold won’t solve anything.’

  ‘What if she does something else?’ Jas asked when they were back under the sheets. ‘What if she hurts Oxy?’

  ‘She won’t. You’re her target, not some defenceless animal. Plus Ox is big and whoever this is, is a coward.’

  All the same, the idea was worrying.

  Neither of them slept well. Jas was restless beside him. Even when she did drop off it was unsteady, punctuated with twitches, small whimpers and moans. Digby tried to comfort her, shushing softly while holding her close to him.

  His own thoughts were messy. What was meant to be a surprise evening of good food and wine, of taking care of her, had been strained by her strange mood on arriving home. Then there was the awkward conversation afterwards when she’d laid claim to him, as though what they shared was more than it was. Her disappointment had throbbed along with his shame. Digby was well aware that he was using her to heal himself, but he’d hoped the exchange was fair. She was hurting from Mike; he was trying to come to terms with his grief. Passion was their solace, friendship their warmth after the cold. It wasn’t meant to be more than that.

  Yet for Jas it seemed to be leading that way. The truth was, if he dug around in his heart hard enough, he could feel a seed of deeper feeling too. A seed that was growing every day.

  And it scared the shit out of him.

  Digby sent her off to work in the morning with the promise that he’d return once he’d escaped Tuesday-night family dinner. If not for the crank phone calls he would have suggested a night off, time away for them to reassess. However, he might be confused about what was in his heart, but of his protectiveness Digby was certain.

  As soon as Jasmine’s car was out of sight, he set to work.

  It was nearing 11 am when he’d completed the plan he’d forged and honed in the sleepless hours of the dragging night. Satisfied with the set-up, he drove to a surfer car park further up the coast and walked the return route along the beach, checking carefully before crossing the dunes back onto Jasmine’s land.

  Digby waited in the house until five-thirty, then locked up, walked back along the beach to his car, and drove home to Camrick. The day had been tedious and wearying but worth every yawn, every pace of frustration, every wayward thought, to know she’d arrive home to safety.

  Dinner in Camrick’s kitchen was as before, a delicious meal made unappetising by his family’s digs and probes. Digby’s only saving grace was that his mind kept wandering, which meant he missed many of the gibes. He was thinking of what else he could do to protect Jas. A guard dog perhaps. Motion sensors at the gates.

  ‘Digby!’

  He started and stared at his grandmother. ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if you’d had your suit fitting.’

  For a couple of heartbeats he was flummoxed. ‘Oh, the wedding.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Granny B, voice like honed steel, ‘your sister’s wedding. The one where you have the honour of acting as best man for Joshua.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Dig,’ said Josh. ‘He’s got everything under control. Buck’s do this weekend. It’s going to be a beauty.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Digby, voice slowing as his thoughts drifted again. ‘It will be.’

  He’d nearly forgotten about Josh’s buck’s night. Jas would be busy with Em’s doe’s night too, which meant ample opportunity for her harasser to attack again. Digby could hire some sort of security patrol, although that was likely to draw more attention than Jas would appreciate. Her property might be outside the village boundary but it was on the main coast road and easily observed by passing locals. Plus knowing she’d had to resort to paid protection would only give the culprit satisfaction.

  Appetite gone, he placed his knife and fork together and stared at nothing while conversation continued to flow around him. Wedding talk. Reception details. Flowers. Excitement. He blanked it out. Though Digby was becoming a little more inured to it, wedding talk still made his chest hurt.

  His mother collected his plate, her soft hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right, honey?’

  ‘Yeah, Mum. I’m fine.’

  She squeezed his shoulder, her gaze sad.

  He reached up to cover her hand. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘I can’t help it. It’s a mother’s job to worry.’

  As soon as he was able, Digby made excuses and escaped. Every eye in the kitchen watched him leave, their silence thunderous with curiosity and concern.

  Digby was in the car, about to press the ignition, when Josh caught up with him. He wound down the window and braced himself.

  ‘You were pretty distracted tonight,’ said Josh.

  ‘Stuff on my mind.’

  Josh nodded. He leaned his hand on the roof of the car and glanced around the garage and back at Digby. ‘We’re right for the weekend though?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s all set. Should be good.’

  Josh patted the roof as if in farewell but didn’t move.

  Digby suppressed a sigh. ‘Look, I know you’re all worried but I’m fine.’

  ‘It’s not me, it’s Em.’

  His gaze hardened. ‘It’s none of her business.’

  ‘I told her that but she’s worried sick you’re going to get yourself hurt or something. She’s got some rebound idea going on. You know what women are like.’

  ‘Hurt? Jesus, Josh.’ If the notion wasn’t so infuriating it’d be laughable. No hurt, no agony, could ever compare to what he’d already experienced.

  ‘I know. But do me a favour? Take care. I need my best man.’

  Digby let out a breath. ‘I am.’

  Josh gave the car another pat and stepped aside. Digby started the engine, put the car in reverse and began to back out, Josh casually following.

  ‘Must be a hell of a lay,’ remarked his friend when the car was almost out.

  Digby took his eye off the reversing camera to look at him. Josh was grinning like an idiot. Happy for him, trusting. The anger that had been fermenting inside Digby calmed.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to answer ‘She is’, but the day was rapidly approaching when his relationship with Jas would no longer be a secret. It was one thing to speculate, another to know, and Digby wasn’t about to do the ungentlemanly thing. Instead he gave Josh a cryptic smile and said, ‘I’ll see you Saturday,’ abandoning him to his conjecture.

  The phone was unplugged when Digby arrived at Jasmine’s.

  ‘She’s still at it?’

  Jas rubbed her face, wilted with fatigue. ‘Yes.’

  There were no dishes in the sink, just a mug. He wondered if she’d eaten.

  ‘Did you get a chance to call your phone company?’

  ‘No. I had meetings, and then some idiot did his nut at one of my staff. Some mix-up with a credit card transfer. It took forever to sort out. By the time I’d calmed her and finished with him I’d missed my lunch break. I had enough time for an apple and a couple of cracker biscuits and that was it.’ She gave a ragged smile. ‘Good for my figure if nothing else.’

  ‘Your figure’s fine.’ And it was. Digby liked that she was so womanly. In an attempt to lighten her mood, he snuck a fondle of her breasts. ‘As long as you don’t lose anything off these.’

  His efforts were rewarded with a chuckle. ‘Fat chance. Those things would survive a desert island.’

  Jas was so exhausted she fell asleep almost immediately. Digby held her close, listening to her steady breathing. She wasn’t Felicity, but he cared about her more than he ever thought would have been possible. They had friendship, sex. Important things. Yet with Flick only gone a year, to long for more seemed wrong.

  That didn’t stop a little part of him from hungering.

  Though Digby kept vigilant watch, Wednesday held no sign of Jasmine’s attacker and he started to fear that he’d been sprung. She coul
d have been watching when he’d fixed the fake cameras to the front and rear eaves. Could have spotted his return from the beach. Maybe she was satisfied with phone harassment. But as this was his only hope of catching her, Digby was determined to endure until the end, however testing the wait.

  At 2:55 pm on Thursday he was finally rewarded.

  To while away his boredom, Digby had bought a pad of graph paper and dug out an old draftsman’s set of pencils and tools from the office at Camrick. Jas wasn’t much of a gardener. Her current efforts ran mostly to keeping alive an overthatched buffalo lawn and a few hardy ornamental plants. Digby set himself the challenge of drafting plans to transform it into something special. With its beachside vista and mild micro-climate the space had potential, and Digby had hours in which to think and imagine. If the design proved interesting enough, he might even build it.

  He set himself up in the laundry, which had a window overlooking the rear yard and a clear view of the dunes. If Jasmine’s harasser was going to appear, it’d be from there, but to ensure he didn’t miss anything, Digby raised the sash window just enough to allow outside noise to carry in.

  The metallic clang of a chain at the back gate caught his ear before anything else. Setting his pencil down, Digby shifted to the side of the window, ensuring he was out of sight.

  From a distance it was tricky to tell much about her. She was wearing an untucked flannelette shirt in an ugly brown check and khaki trousers, and she was taller than Jas, with a rangy body. A fawn bucket hat covered her hair and shadowed her face. If it weren’t for the way she moved and the tell-tale swell of her chest, he might have mistaken her for a man—an ambiguity that was likely intentional.

  She was dragging a stained hessian sack behind her, every now and then hoisting it up and hurling it forward, the sack collapsing soggily as it impacted with the ground. Whatever was inside was heavy, and caused her to pant. As she reached the clothesline and lifted her gaze to scrutinise her surrounds, Digby caught a wrinkled face and blinked in surprise.

  The woman was perhaps in her sixties. Jas had imagined someone younger—a woman around her own or Mick’s wife’s age, perhaps married, perhaps with children, who would factor Jas as a threat. Not a woman who should know better, who should have the experience of age and the capacity to see that life’s stories weren’t told in black and white, but in a thousand shades of grey.

  Somehow that made it worse.

  Digby’s heart hardened.

  When he was sure the woman’s destination was the rear of the house and not the front, he snuck away from the laundry, careful to keep himself quiet and hidden. He paused next to the front door and set his phone to video, then stealthily made his way around the side of the house, his ears tuned to the curious sounds emanating from the rear.

  At the corner he stopped to film her in action. She was standing close to the house, on one of the cracked concrete pavers that ran from the rear verandah to the clothes line. Her sleeves were rolled up and she’d donned a pair of pink elbow-length rubber gloves. Beside her the sack lay open. A lift of breeze sent the reek of it in Digby’s direction. He zoomed in, his stomach lurching in disgust as he realised the contents. It was some sort of animal guts. From more than one slaughter, judging by the tangle of entrails.

  Her eyes were bright with malevolent glee, her mouth tilted in the curdled smile of a woman thrilled with her own daring. Oblivious to his observation, she bent, lifted a string of slimy intestines in one hand and hurled them at the house. They splattered on the walls and across the laundry window, clinging for a second before plopping to the ground, leaving behind streaks of blood and fluid like a gore-filled abstract painting.

  Still filming, Digby stepped into view. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

  She stumbled and yelped but recovered quickly, and lunged for the phone. Digby let her snatch it, watching with controlled calm as she flung it on the concrete and jabbed the heel of her boot into the screen. The phone cracked and snapped under her assault, well and truly dead. Giving the phone a last savage stomp, the woman regarded him with triumph.

  ‘Won’t help you,’ he said. ‘I set the video to upload straight to cloud storage. There’s also that.’ Digby indicated the fake camera he’d fixed to the eaves, unobtrusive enough for both Jas and the woman to miss but easily recognised once pointed out. ‘More than enough to go to the police with.’

  Dread contorted her face. She attempted to dash around him but Digby blocked her path. Twice more she tried, Digby foiling her each time, until she gave up and simply stood with her legs apart and glared.

  ‘I know you.’ Her sneer strengthened. ‘You’re that Wallace boy.’

  That she recognised him wasn’t a surprise. After the tragedy and then the inquest, Digby had had his face plastered all over the media. He’d have been more shocked if she didn’t know who he was.

  ‘So I am. And you are?’ He tilted his head. ‘Not keen on introducing yourself? That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll be easy to identify from the footage.’

  She licked her lips, eyes darting as if searching for escape before settling coldly on him. ‘I suppose you think yourself in love?’ Her top lip rose, exposing her teeth like an animal. Her words emerged in a snarl. ‘You’re wasting your energy. She’s using you the same way she used him. She’s a whore.’

  Digby breathed through his nose to steady his temper.

  ‘Bet you didn’t know they were together Monday.’

  Together? Jas and Mike? The news was like a stab. He blinked at how much it hurt.

  Her eyes lit up at Digby’s reaction. ‘Didn’t know that, did you?’ She nodded, pleased. ‘The little whore can’t help herself. Slut like her deserves to be run out of town.’

  If she hadn’t looked so gleeful at his upset Digby might have maintained his temper, but her malice had him losing it.

  ‘How Jas lives her life is none of your fucking business.’ He stepped closer, fists clenched at his side, looming, his fury stinking like the guts she’d flung. ‘You have no right. None. No right to be here, no right to judge. You’re a vicious, shrivelled-up old woman with nothing better to do but spy and spit hatred.’

  To her credit the woman stood her ground. ‘I have every right. That man is married to my cousin’s daughter. It was a good marriage, a loving marriage. Until she came along.’ She jabbed a finger towards Jasmine’s house. ‘That whore seduced a good man away from his adoring wife and family.’ Her voice dropped, shaky with rage. ‘I know what it’s like to have your life destroyed by a woman like that. To be abandoned, to have children left fatherless. I won’t stand by and see that slut do it to Tania.’

  ‘Mike Boland a good man? Jesus, get your head out of the sand. He’s the one who lied and cheated, not Jas. He lied about his marriage, about his kids. And for what? So he could get his leg over whenever he wanted.’

  ‘She led him to it!’

  ‘No. She didn’t. He’s a piece of shit.’

  She jerked her chin up and down. ‘Look at you, defending her. You’re as blind as he is.’

  Digby gave a bark of laughter. Blind was one thing he wasn’t. He’d had enough of arguing with this vicious cow anyway. ‘Clean up your mess.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘Make me.’

  Digby shrugged. ‘It’s either that or I take the footage to the police along with a well-documented list every other act of vandalism you’ve done. They’ll want to know why, of course. Which means I’ll have to tell them all about your precious can-do-no-wrong Mike. How long before that bit of gossip gets around town? I might even spread a bit myself, just for the fun of it.’ He smiled nastily. ‘Trust me, dragging his name through the mud would satisfy me no end.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Oh, I’d dare. You know why? Because I don’t give a shit about you or Mike or anyone except my family and Jas.’ He held her gaze. ‘Now clean up your fucking mess.’

  The dead sincerity in his tone must have worked. With a last look over her shoulder she
began scooping up guts. Digby stood guard, legs apart, arms akimbo. When only a few smaller entrails remained, he went to the shed, retrieved the power washer and scrubbing brush attachment, and connected it to the hose.

  ‘Not a smear left,’ he ordered, handing her the wand.

  To Digby’s relief the walls and windows, not having had a chance to dry out, washed down easily. Any more minutes spent with this woman than necessary was an anathema. He wanted her gone. Permanently.

  She turned off the washer and glared at him. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘More punishment?’

  ‘No doubt your small mind will take it that way.’

  Her jaw worked.

  Digby held up a finger. ‘One phone call, one single step near this place, one word to Jas, and I will come after you. And I will drag your precious Mike, and his wife and kids, along for the ride.’ His finger flicked towards the sack. ‘Now take your filth and fuck off.’

  It wasn’t the best of speeches but it was enough. Digby dogged her to the back fence and out to the top of the dunes where he stopped, tracking her progress along the beach until she disappeared behind a small headland.

  After another five minutes’ surveillance to be sure she wasn’t coming back, he trudged to the house. The sack had left a stain on the concrete that he needed to wash off, the cleaner had to be put away, and there were the remnants of his phone to sweep up.

  When Digby was satisfied all trace of the afternoon’s drama was erased, he trekked back to his car and drove into Levenham. First stop would be for a new phone, then the florist for Felicity’s tulips, followed by the badly needed solace of her cool and constant grave.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Jas woke Saturday morning with excitement and optimism bubbling through her veins. Since Wednesday night there’d been no more phone calls, vandalism or any other torments from her mystery harasser. Although she wasn’t quite as confident, Digby seemed assured the trouble was over. His voice on the phone line asking who was calling had frightened whoever it was into backing off. Jas could only pray he was right.