by Dean Mayes
“Now,” Hayden announced. “Would you like something to eat?”
Isabelle marvelled at the banquet. “Oh my Lord! Are you planning on rolling us back down the hillside?”
“I can’t claim credit for this,” Hayden admitted. “I asked Annette for a basket.” Hayden flopped to the ground and gestured to the picnic. “She prepared a basket, all right.”
Genevieve skipped across to them, arms full of wildflowers she proudly presented to Isabelle. “Beautiful, kiddo.” Isabelle smiled appreciatively, signing and patting the blanket beside her. Genevieve folded her legs and dropped, examining all the wonderful food.
Hayden raised a finger. “Almost forgot.” He reached into his backpack and took out a bottle of wine and a pair of plastic glasses.
Isabelle’s expression tightened.
“No, thanks.” She shook her head.
“I-I’m sorry,” Hayden apologised. Genevieve, too, looked uncomfortable. Without another word, he returned the bottle to his pack.
“It’s all right,” Isabelle replied, trying to assuage him. “I just, ah—”
Hayden waved his hand. “No need to explain,” he said, taking out a similar bottle filled with lemon cordial. “How about this instead? Another of Annette’s homemade creations.”
“I love her cordial,” Genevieve signed.
“Good,” Hayden responded confidently. “Cordial it is.”
They dined on Annette’s feast, revelling in the tastes and smells. Genevieve’s appetite was robust and she surprised Hayden as she happily ate whatever was put in front of her, regardless of how exotic it seemed.
They chatted in sign, with Hayden relating more of what he knew about the Mormon Town settlement, and recalling how he and his mother used to hike up here in her pursuit of all things botanical. How she drew inspiration from the bush and its plant life. Lavinia Luschcombe was drawn to the colour and movement of the mountains and would spend long hours sketching and making notes, finding ways to incorporate the mountain flora into her urban landscape designs.
Isabelle watched the way Hayden recalled those happy memories through the delicate dance of his fingers. He was almost theatrical in his vast vocabulary. He wasn’t merely relating those memories. He was telling a delightful story, and Genevieve hung on his every word.
Isabelle felt her attraction to him solidify.
This was a very different Hayden to the man she had met several weeks ago and he was certainly different than the awkward little boy with the Coke-bottle glasses from all those years ago.
Full and happy, they tidied up the picnic and stowed everything away. Isabelle brushed Genevieve down and allowed her to take off once more, reminding her not to stray too far. Hayden produced a Thermos and poured them both a coffee. Isabelle leaned back and stretched her legs out, prizing each of her boots off and revealing a colourful pair of socks, adorned with elephants. Hayden blinked in surprise as she wiggled her toes.
“Don’t dis the socks,” Isabelle chastised, taking a mug from him.
She looked over to where Genevieve was crouched before a line of flowers, immersed in some sort of deep conversation with her two dolls.
Turning back to Hayden, Isabelle watched him as he stirred his coffee. “Sorry about before,” she began, rising up on her elbow. “About the wine.”
Hayden settled back on the rug and enveloped his cup with both hands. “I was wrong to assume.”
Isabelle reached out and nudged his arm. “It was a lovely thought. It’s just that…alcohol and I have had a pretty checkered relationship. It’s not one I’m keen on resuming anytime soon. For Genie’s sake.”
“She was…frightened, when I took it out,” Hayden observed.
Quiet settled between them, the sounds of the bush serving as their only accompaniment.
“Genie’s had to bear a lot, for someone so young. A lot of it was my fault. A lot of it was…” Her voice trailed away.
“You don’t have to explain,” Hayden replied gently.
Isabelle sat up and crossed her legs. Setting her cup down, she became pensive. “Genevieve and I came up here to Walhalla to start over. We were in a pretty awful situation in the city.”
Hayden shifted towards her as she continued. “I was far from being a golden child when I lived down in Moe. I thought I had it all figured out. I rebelled against everything. When I met Mitch—well, he was everything I wanted. Rugged and dangerous. Connected, but with all the wrong types of people. I was completely taken. I left home at sixteen to be with him. He got work on the docks in Melbourne and I got a job in a bakery. We lived like there was no tomorrow. Partied, took drugs, drank ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Life was just one big weekend.”
Isabelle’s gaze became unfocused and a bitter smile pulled at her lips. “It was fun, for a while. He embraced that life. When he saw an opportunity to profit from it, he embraced that, too. The deeper Mitch went in, the harder he became. I was in love with him, but he became…chaotic, violent. I made excuses, but I was starting to see the consequences and they scared me.”
Hayden was still.
“I started to put more of an effort into my job,” Isabelle went on. “I thought it was the one thing I could do to keep us on some sort of straight path. It led to an apprenticeship and an opportunity to get away from that life. I quit the drugs and the alcohol. I cleaned myself up. Then I got pregnant.”
Isabelle’s last sentence was filled with regret as much as affection.
“Mitch got worse. One moment he was overjoyed by the idea of being a father. The next, he was filled with rage. He was unpredictable, volatile. I stupidly thought he’d be better once Genie arrived, so I stayed. But he wasn’t.” Isabelle looked off into the distance. “One night, when Genie was three, he came home, high as a kite and totally out of control. I don’t remember what happened. He knocked me unconscious. When I came to, I was holding Genevieve in my lap—in an ambulance. There was blood coming out of her ears.”
Isabelle lifted a trembling hand to her mouth as she recalled the memory.
Hayden sat straighter and he reached out to touch her hand. Isabelle let him, thankful for the comfort.
Her emotions rolled over her and, eventually, the moment passed. Her composure returned.
“We got out. Mitch went away to prison. I brought Genevieve here. To Gran’s. I started over, on my own. Turns out, it was a good time to do it. There were bed-and-breakfasts popping up all over the hillside and there was a need for housekeepers. I did that for the first couple of years, until I was able to establish the bakery.”
Hayden regarded her with both pity and awe. “I’m so sorry.”
Isabelle flicked an errant leaf off the blanket near her foot. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Our life is simple here but we’re both happy and Genevieve is thriving. I have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Walhalla has a way of helping people heal,” Hayden mused. “I didn’t expect to find that here. Not that my situation is in any way comparable.”
Isabelle fixed him with a frown. “I’m sure what you’ve gone through was pretty devastating.”
“In its own way. Maybe.” Hayden lowered his head. “I was as much at fault as anyone.”
Quiet settled between them again. The breeze rustled the leaves in the treetops above.
“You’re a decent man, Hayden Luschcombe,” Isabelle said. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”
Hayden looked up and found himself captured by her gaze.
She leaned in close, until her face was centimetres from his. He caught the scent of her perfume—the same perfume she’d worn that night at the pub. It mingled with the aroma of the coffee in his cup, creating an intoxicating mix. Her tongue touched her lower lip.
Then, she pressed her lips to his, gently at first, inviting him into a kiss that caught him by surprise. Enveloping his mouth, her tongue searched and found his, and she reached out and drew him closer. Hayden’s grip on his cup loosened and it fell away from his hand. He reached up
to touch the side of her face, stroking a loose strand of hair over her ear. Isabelle surrendered to his touch, feeling a pleasant electricity crackle through her.
Hayden lost awareness of anything beyond the sensation of her lips, the power of the emotion behind them.
Over by a wattle bush, Genevieve turned and saw her mother and Hayden, their arms reaching around one another. She crouched down out of view and watched them.
Isabelle drew back and opened her eyes. Hayden gazed at her for a long moment, realising his hand still cupped the side of her face. He went to take it away but she placed hers over it and pressed it there, tilting her head to intensify the touch of his fingers on her skin.
“That was—,” Hayden stammered. “Lovely.”
Isabelle grinned.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Genevieve appear from behind the wattle and creep across to them. Her face was concealed by her doll’s wild hair.
Feeling awkward, Isabelle rubbed the back of her neck, while Hayden made a sound akin to clearing his throat.
Lowering the dolls, Genevieve revealed a funny little grin and she closed the remaining distance to her mother. Flopping down, she wriggled protectively into her mother’s lap.
Hayden went to put some space between them, when Genevieve’s hand shot out and grabbed his. She pulled him back towards them, into a little group hug.
~ Chapter 19 ~
DARK CLOUDS LOOMED OVER THE ADELAIDE SKYLINE, CASTING A PERPETUAL GLOOM THAT BLED INTO THE CREVICES of the buildings. At street level, the street lamps and traffic lights glowed in the falling rain. No sooner had one storm front crossed the metropolitan sprawl, than another followed in its wake, bringing with it biting wind and a driving rain. Traffic inched its way back and forth, headlights piercing through sheets of water.
Amanda Rischmiller sprinted along the path beside Halifax Street, wrangling an unwieldy umbrella. She struggled to keep her grip on it against the wind as she wheeled through the gate of the office and dashed in under the shelter of the veranda, just as the rain turned to a deluge.
She stopped before the door, tossing the umbrella upside down in the corner, and pulled a brown paper bag from her jacket—lunch for her and Bernadette.
Blowing a puff of air up and over her face, Amanda shoved the door open and lurched inside. “Bernadette?” she called, setting the bag on her desk and shrugging her jacket from her shoulders.
It was Amanda’s half day today. Other than the quick text message she’d received, asking her to pick up their lunch on the way in, she hadn’t yet spoken to Bernadette.
She was growing to appreciate this fact.
She kicked off her shoes and stripped off her soaked stockings, scrunching them into a ball and tossing them underneath her desk. She put her shoes next to the wall-mounted radiator, hoping they would dry before she had to put them on again. She grabbed the lunch bag and went through to the rear.
Bernadette was sitting at her desk, staring at her computer screen, the glow reflecting in her glasses making it impossible for Amanda to see her eyes behind them.
Bernadette was tense.
She was often tense lately. Since they had taken on the government portfolio, they’d been putting in numerous twelve-hour days, and Bernadette had called on Amanda to help with the increased workload. If their work had been frenetic before, it was insane now.
Although Bernadette hadn’t said much, Amanda knew the effect of Hayden’s leaving and his continued silence. While Bernadette hadn’t volunteered any details—and Amanda hadn’t asked—it was growing apparent that Bernadette’s personal life was chaotic.
It hadn’t stopped James Fitzner from hanging around. Even though he was now, technically, Bernadette’s partner so far as the portfolio was concerned, it was clear there was something intimate going on between them. And it hadn’t escaped Amanda’s notice that Bernadette had not worn her wedding ring in some time.
Frankly, Amanda didn’t care for the entire situation.
She’d liked Hayden. Sure, he was a little goofy, but Amanda had heard he was an amazing paediatrician and he was loyal to Bernadette. Amanda thought the gifts of oversized bunches of flowers and frog cakes that neither of them liked were particularly cute. Bernadette had only found his attempts at romance embarrassing. Whatever had happened, Amanda suspected it had not been Hayden’s behaviour that had caused it.
Bernadette didn’t acknowledge Amanda, even when she proffered the bag.
“Lunch?”
Bernadette looked up, frowning when she caught sight of Amanda’s bare legs and feet.
“Saturated,” Amanda explained, setting the bag down on the edge of Bernadette’s desk and fishing the baguettes out from inside. Bernadette’s frown didn’t shift. “It’s pouring out there. Hadn’t you noticed?”
Leaning back in her chair, Bernadette saw the rain peppering the glass of the skylight above her head and arched her brow. “No. I guess not.” She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She looked pale, and was clearly exhausted.
“Would you like some tea?” Amanda offered.
“Mm-mm. No,” Bernadette mumbled, reaching across and grabbing the bag. She took the baguette from its wrapping, but before she even lifted it to her mouth her nose wrinkled in disgust. She set it down on the desk and shunted it away from her. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not feeling well today. Do you want this?”
Now it was Amanda’s turn to screw up her nose. “Ew, no thanks. Salmon is gross.”
Bernadette pursed her lips. “For once, I agree.”
She stood and made her way towards the bathroom. Stopping with her hand on the handle, she turned.
“You know, on second thought, I think I will have that tea. Can you put the kettle on?”
Amanda watched her boss with concern. “Okay,” she ventured as Bernadette closed the door behind her. She winced when she heard her boss belch and was about to turn her attention to the kitchenette when the telephone chimed. Amanda reached for the nearest handset, on Bernadette’s desk. “Projection Events, this is Amanda speaking.”
As she listened to the voice on the other end, Amanda turned her body to face the rear door, trying to block the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.
Bernadette emerged several moments later, having splashed water over her face. Amanda noted her pallor as she passed the handset over. “Are you all right?” she mouthed with concern.
Bernadette took the handset and waved her assistant away, signalling this was to be a private call.
Amanda gathered her baguette from the desk and hurried from the room.
Bernadette lifted the handset to her ear. “Sorry for the wait. Can I help you?”
Listening to the speaker, she sidestepped to her desk and sank into her chair. She stared at a spot on the computer screen. All remaining colour had drained from her face.
She closed her eyes. “Are you certain?”
WITH THE CLICK OF A lock and the thump of a boot, the door swung inward, squeaking on rusted hinges. Haloed by daylight that flooded the darkened interior, he stood, holding his duffel bag in one hand and a box filled with groceries in the other.
Mitch Crowley hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder at the four-wheel drive as it pulled away from the kerbside and tooted its horn. He stepped inside.
The house was spartan, kitted out with second-hand furniture one might find at a charity shop. The air was stale with the odour of cigarettes. To his left, just inside the front door, was a living room with a single chair and a couch that sported dirty green corduroy upholstery. A flat-screen TV stood on what appeared to be a packing crate. He regarded the bedroom door opposite but didn’t go to it. Further along the narrow hall, he spied a bathroom with cracked tiles stained with mold.
The hall opened out onto a gloomy kitchen, featuring a wraparound bench that was surely a relic from the 1970s. There were cupboards above and below a rusted sink. An old refrigerator hummed. A microwave was perched on the corner of the bench.
> Mitch dropped his bag to the floor, set the box of groceries beside the kitchen sink and regarded the dripping tap. He tested the handles, but it stubbornly refused to stop.
Two fat envelopes—one large, one small—sat leaning against a sugar bowl on the table, his name scrawled on each of them.
He picked up the smaller one, noting it hadn’t been sealed. There was some formal paperwork bearing the logo of the Victorian Magistrates’ Court and some Centrelink documents, but Mitch’s attention was drawn to two slips of notepaper that appeared to have been added as an afterthought. The first had a phone number and a message to “Call the Yard Manager about the job” written in cursive. The second had another phone number and the words “Police Station—3 p.m.”
Mitch crushed them in his fist. He flirted with a potent anger for a moment before he extinguished it.
There was no point in letting it get to him. This was his situation for now and he had to accept it.
He opened his fist and unfurled the wads of paper, considering them briefly. His eyes were drawn to the second envelope. Tossing the wads of paper down, he reached for it and tore open the end. Inside were two folded maps.
The anger was replaced by curiosity as he unfolded one of the maps and set it down on the kitchen table. The document was large enough that it hung over the edge. It was a detailed—highly detailed—survey map of the mountains, covering a sizable area that stretched almost to the Victorian border.
Someone had marked a series of waypoints on it in pen, forming a rough line stretching north from the first point—his current location. Walhalla had been circled to the east of this line. Beside each waypoint was a series of notations: environment, road surfaces, recent weather conditions. Several settlements had been circled near the line and additional notes added.
Mitch picked up the second map, turned it over in his hands and began to unfold it, but instead, he folded it around so that he could see the last of the marked waypoints that had been added. Beside the bright blue of an ocean, a town had been circled in pen, not far from the border between Victoria and New South Wales. Beside it was the name, “Hambledown.” He’d get there eventually, once he’d taken care of that other piece of business. He reckoned it was as good a place to start over as any.
