She couldn’t phone anyone because the landline didn’t work anymore, and she didn’t have her own mobile phone because she wasn’t old enough yet, according to her dad (her mum disagreed but hadn’t got around to buying one yet).
And she couldn’t go up to Rainer and Elke’s because Elke had had a big argument with her mum a few days back. Madison wasn’t sure what it was about, but her mum had told her to keep clear of ‘that mad cow’. And Rainer was always grumpy, too; Madison didn’t want him to shout at her.
Should she wait for her dad? He’d said he’d come around at about six, but that seemed a long time to wait. And she was starting to get worried about where her mum was and whether she was all right. She should really tell someone, in case her mum needed help, though Madison was sure she was OK. It was just a mistake that she wasn’t here right now.
The more she thought, it seemed like the only thing she could do was walk to Sidney’s. She’d better get dressed, and have some breakfast.
There was no milk, so Madison had toast, and then packed her backpack with a book, a bottle of water and a sandwich made from the last of the bread. Her mum never cooked Christmas lunch. They usually went out to eat, if they had Christmas lunch at all. ‘So much effort,’ her mum would say. ‘Besides, what idiot decided it was a good idea to gorge on stodge in the middle of a scorching summer day?’
It was sunny outside, already warm. Madison had no idea how long it would take her to walk, and she hoped it wouldn’t get too hot, otherwise her water might not last.
It was a long way to the main road, and no cars came past. Everyone must be inside, having Christmas. Madison suddenly felt like she wanted to cry and forced herself not to. It would be OK; she’d get Christmas later. That might have even been the plan, and somehow she got the wrong end of the stick? Sidney would help — she’d phone her mum and it would be all sorted.
After an even longer time, Madison realised she was at the entrance to the Booths’ farm, the mossy old gate and the dirt driveway. She decided to run because she didn’t want Tanya or Shari to spot her. It made her feel even hotter and sweatier, but she didn’t stop until she was well past. She should probably have a drink of water, but she wanted to save it, just in case.
Up further ahead, she saw Reuben’s house, which always looked to her like it was haunted. She thought about running past here, too, but then she saw someone sitting outside on a big pile of wood. Someone she recognised.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
She’d startled him, and he’d leapt up, as if he was going to run away. But then Reuben saw it was her, and he was OK again.
‘Are you having Christmas?’ she asked him.
He stared at her with big eyes, like he didn’t know what she meant, and then he dropped his head and shook it quickly.
Madison didn’t feel so bad anymore. Now there were two of them!
‘I’m going into town,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
Reuben looked around, like he was checking if anyone was watching.
‘OK,’ he said, and walked over to her.
Madison offered him half her sandwich and he wolfed it down like he was super-hungry. But then boys were always hungry, Sidney said. ‘They’re like Doctor Who’s Tardis,’ she told Madison. ‘Bigger on the inside.’ The thought of seeing Sidney lifted Madison’s spirits even further. It couldn’t be far now to town. They should be there by lunchtime.
They walked along for a bit side by side, and then Reuben reached out and took her hand. And even though his hand was hot and sweaty and holding it made walking more difficult, Madison did not let go.
Chapter 40
Bernard
When Patricia had, as she’d promised, telephoned Bernard at the three-week mark, he’d thrown dignity to the wind and begged her to come home.
‘I’m touched, Bernard,’ she’d said. ‘And I do miss you, I really do. But I need more time. To think properly — about who I am, or, at least, what kind of person I want to be from now on. I should have thought about all that a long time ago, I realise, but I’m in good health so I should, fingers crossed, have another two decades in me. And I want to live those years on my terms. I want to make sure every one of them counts.’
‘But what about Christmas?’ Bernard had tried not to sound like a plaintive child.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It will be a bit miserable. I’ve no doubt I will get up on Christmas morning and feel so lonely that I’ll want to rush back to you immediately. But,’ she added, ‘it’s important I face those kinds of uncomfortable feelings head on. If I’m to take charge of my life, I need to become more resilient. So I suggest we raise a glass to each other, over our Christmas meal. And I will phone again, on Boxing Day.’
She’d said it kindly, but Bernard was still jarred by her toughness, her lack of compromise. Not even Christmas sentiment could sway her. All those years of giving each other thoughtful presents — book vouchers and the occasional scarf. It was as if there’d been a sudden run on the bank of mutual regard, and its coffers, built up over the decades, were now empty.
‘Where are you?’
The plaintive child would not be suppressed, it seemed; his voice went all high and quavery.
‘I’m in a small shack by a wild coast,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘Getting in touch with the elements. Literally — the place leaks like a sieve.’
He wanted to demand, ‘What coast? Whose shack? Are you alone?’ And, most pressingly, ‘Do you still resemble my Patricia or have you transformed into someone I won’t recognise?’
But Patricia had gently but firmly ended the call. And now here he was, at ten o’clock on Christmas morning, still in his dressing gown, not a decoration in sight, the radio silent because carols sickened him, his Christmas Day stretching out before him as dull and interminable as a long-haul aeroplane flight, in economy class.
Blow to this.
Bernard got up out his armchair.
At noon, the community hall’s doors would open for a shared Christmas dinner. Bernard might not qualify as needy in the financial sense, but he’d be damned if he’d spend Christmas alone. Besides, he could always volunteer to dish soup, or whatever was on the menu. Probably not soup, now that he came to think of it. Roast goose á la the Cratchetts seemed also unlikely. Perhaps turkey?
And with thoughts of Dickens in his mind — of the ‘God bless us, every one’ ilk, as opposed to ‘Darkness is cheap’ — Bernard dressed in appropriate clothing, feeling marginally more cheerful with every minute.
Chapter 41
Sam
Sam no longer minded being made to help out at the community hall. His parents had been cheerful for the girls that morning, but he could see they were still worried about him, and still upset that Brownie hadn’t been found.
The search team had located the site where he’d fallen, marked a trail of broken bushes and dislodged rocks, and found the rifle caught in a branch. But no sign of Brownie. After four days, the official search had been scaled back, and now only Sam’s dad, Uncle Gene and Jacko were going in whenever they could, along with a few other locals, hunters and the like, who knew the area. They were even heading out again this afternoon, after lunch, and not even Sam’s sisters had protested. Everyone knew how important it was to keep on looking.
But it’d been nine days now. Sam’s dad had already sat him down and broken it to him that the chances of finding Brownie alive were pretty much nil. Falling from that height, he would have been badly hurt on the way down, and if he’d gone into the river, which everyone agreed he must have, he would have been too injured to swim. The search was now concentrating on the river because that’s where they expected to find, well, his body. Trouble was, it was almost inaccessible in parts, so it might take a while. Sam’s dad had hugged him, said he was sorry, and he knew how sad Sam must feel.
Sam couldn’t tell him that the only emotion he felt was shame. He’d got so angry with Browni
e for what he’d seen then as a betrayal. But wasn’t Sam the one who’d let his best mate down? Brownie might have kept his problems from him, but in return Sam hadn’t bothered to take a good, hard look, or ask questions that might lead to answers he didn’t want to hear. He’d ignored everything that might ruffle the surface of his comfortable, easy life. And then he’d forced Brownie to run away, when what he should have done is said he’d support him. He should have promised to stick by his mate, stand up for him, rally help around him. It was Sam’s fault that Brownie was probably dead.
Deano had talked to Casey Marshall, and hadn’t been seen since, though apparently he was OK. Helping the police with their enquiries — that’s what Casey had said. Thing is no one knew exactly what they were enquiring into. ‘All very black ops,’ as Uncle Gene put it. He also muttered about Devon’s woo-wah or something, but Sam wasn’t really listening. Because what did he care? What did it matter what Brownie had been into? He was out of it permanently now.
‘Sam, can you carry these out to the serving tables?’
His mum, holding a huge dish of potatoes, looking hot and harassed. The community hall had no air-conditioning and it was twenty-five degrees already outside. People had started trickling in as early as ten-thirty and it’d been hard juggling the cooking with showing people to seats and getting them water and sparkling grape juice — Sam had to explain over and over that there was no alcohol, and Corinna even had to confiscate a Coke bottle filled with Jim Beam. Plus, there were quite a few families with kids, which surprised Sam, but his mum told him there were more people in Gabriel’s Bay than he might expect who struggled at Christmas. Sam felt bad, like he should have known this, but he was a bit relieved, too. He’d been expecting a bunch of crusty old people, like Ngaire Bourke, who was one of the first to arrive but who kept getting up again and going outside to smoke. She looked like a raisin that had been rolled in grey ash. And her cough made him feel ill.
Sam ferried roast potatoes to the line of trestle tables, where Mr Weston stood guard. He’d turned up unexpectedly and asked to help, which had caused Sam’s mum and Corinna to exchange a look. They had enough cooks, so they put him on serving duty. He had on a frilled apron like the kind Sam had seen Jacko Reid wearing. On Jacko, it didn’t look ridiculous.
‘Ah, potatoes!’ said Mr Weston, like they were some magic vegetable.
‘Yup,’ said Sam.
‘And what is the allocation for each person?’
Sam blinked, managed to decode. ‘Dunno. I’ll ask.’
‘Good lad,’ said Mr Weston.
Yeah, like Brownie’s dad was a good guy, thought Sam.
More kids in the doorway. Two of them, holding hands. Wait, was that—?
‘Madison?’
Sam squatted down. ‘You OK?’
She looked knackered, her face, clothes and shoes all covered in dust and grime. And the little dude holding tight to her hand wasn’t much cleaner.
‘Reuben and I are going to see Sidney,’ she announced. ‘But we’re very thirsty, so we decided to stop here first. Could we have some water?’
‘Of course!’
Sam straightened up, took her hand, and the three of them became a small human chain. He led them to the water cooler, poured them a plastic cup each and then two more, as the first lot disappeared with hardly a glug.
‘Madison, why aren’t you at home?’ he said.
‘There’s no one there,’ she told him. ‘I need Sidney to find my mum.’
Shit, really? Her mum was missing on Christmas?
‘Corinna, Ms Marshall’s in the kitchen,’ said Sam. ‘I should go get her.’
‘No!’
Madison looked as if she was about to cry. ‘I want Sidney,’ she said. ‘Sidney!’
‘OK, OK.’ Sam got out his mobile. ‘I’ll call her now.’
Chapter 42
Kerry
Sidney’s mobile rang right when she was at a crucial moment with the gravy.
‘I’ll step in,’ Kerry offered.
He took the wooden spoon, and set about beating lumps into submission.
‘Mu-um, when’s the food coming?’ Aidan stuck his head around the door. ‘We’re starving.’
‘Your mother’s on the phone,’ Kerry told him. ‘Have another breadstick.’
Caught up in the mania of Christmas Eve food shopping, he’d thrown boxes of the things into his shopping trolley, along with some of that cheese with fruit bits that smelled and looked like a vomit terrine, and a dry panettone which would end up, he knew even at the time, being thrown out on the back lawn for the birds. On the plus side, he had managed to snaffle the last box of scorched almonds, and his credit card hadn’t been declined. Roll on gainful employment and a salary.
Sidney re-entered the kitchen.
‘I have to go.’
He saw her white face, dropped the wooden spoon in the roasting tray.
‘My God, what’s happened?’
She threw off his attempt to embrace her. ‘No time to explain. I have to go!’
‘Where?’
‘Community hall.’ She was heading for the front door. ‘Feed the boys. And yourself. I’ll be back.’
‘No, no, no.’ Kerry hurried after her.
‘We’ll come, too,’ he said. ‘The food will keep. I’ll bring the breadsticks to keep the boys from expiring.’
Gratitude vied with doubt on Sidney’s face.
‘OK, but I can’t wait. You walk down and meet me down there in ten.’
‘Roger that,’ said Kerry. ‘I’ll scramble the troops right away.’
Miraculously, his tactic of telling the boys they were on a top-secret rescue mission not only got them moving without protest, but also, as it transpired, wasn’t an outright lie. When they arrived at the hall, Sidney was sitting with Madison and Reuben in a corner, while nearby stood Corinna Marshall, speaking in a terse manner to an unknown party on the phone.
‘Madison woke up to find no one home,’ Sidney explained.
‘On Christmas Day?’
Sidney stroked the girl’s hair. ‘But it’s all right. Ms Marshall has found mum. She’ll be here shortly.’
‘And?’ Kerry slid his eyes to Reuben, busy with a plate of food balanced precariously in his lap.
‘Corinna’s sorted that, too.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Apparently someone didn’t mention that they were going on a walk, and his poor sister has been beside herself. Corinna’s organised a ride home for him.’
‘Mum, can we have some of the food?’
Watching forty-odd people, including other children, tucking into turkey and all the trimmings had been too much for Aidan. Breadsticks were a poor substitute.
‘Go and ask Sam.’
Sidney pointed at the line of tables where volunteers, including Sam and, to Kerry’s astonishment, Bernard, were waiting for anyone who wanted seconds. Aidan and Rory sprinted over, and were duly given a plate each, piled with food.
‘They’ll still eat what we have at home,’ said Sidney. ‘And, yes, I do worm them.’
Then she said, ‘Oh, God. Here she is.’
‘Mum!’
Madison jumped up, ran to her mother, threw her arms around a waist no wider than an HB pencil. Dear Lord, there was more flesh on the turkey bones Aidan and Rory had already sucked clean. Kerry had never actually met Olivia, only Rick. However, he trusted Sidney’s judgement that the woman did not eat actual food, but was preserving herself in a solution of alcohol and bile.
Kerry became aware that Sidney was on her feet, vibrating with fury.
‘I’m going to kill her,’ she said. ‘I am going to punch her clean into next week.’
He could empathise fully with this sentiment, but he didn’t want her arrested for inciting a fracas. He stood beside her, wondering how best to manage the situation. In her current mood, she might punch him.
‘You don’t know what happened,’ he ventured, preparing to duck. ‘There might be a very good reason.’
/> ‘For leaving a nine-year-old child alone? And on Christmas morning?’
‘OK, no,’ he agreed. ‘No, there can never be a good reason for that.’
Corinna marched past them, and Sidney made to follow, but Kerry, having seen Corinna’s expression, gently restrained her.
‘Let Corinna deal with it,’ he suggested. ‘She looks in no mood to compromise.’
Sidney was still battling her fury, but seemed to accept that Corinna was better qualified to deal with Olivia. Besides, there was always the chance that Corinna might punch Olivia into next week.
From what they could see, Corinna’s conversation with Olivia was brief, terse and primarily one-way. Olivia had her head bowed, but the angle of her body suggested a schoolgirl in the headmistress’s office, who’d been caught bang to rights on an expulsion-level offence but was still attempting to preserve some semblance of ‘up yours’ defiance. Kerry thought of Sophie Barton. His drink with her had been enjoyable enough, but he’d been very aware that her hackles needed only the minutest excuse to rise. He hoped that Olivia and Sophie would never meet. The fabric of the universe would be but damp tissue in the face of their combined resentment.
At the conversation’s end, Corinna bent and spoke to Madison, who shook her head and held tightly to her mother. Corinna hesitated before straightening up and making a motion with her hands as if she was wiping dirt from them. And then Olivia scuttled out of the hall, Madison still attached to her waist. Kerry heard Sidney gasp.
Corinna marched back. If she were in a children’s cartoon, she’d be frying unwary bystanders with lasers from her eyes.
‘Olivia was up at Rainer’s cottage,’ she told them. ‘Christmas Eve drinks. Had a bit too much, slept there instead. Came back to the house, she swears at half-eight, to find Madison gone.’
Corinna puffed a breath in and out, to keep control. ‘Thing is, I know she wasn’t back at half-eight because that was Casey on the phone just before. Olivia and Rainer were both turfed out of bed at ten by the police.’
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