by Di Morrissey
All too good to be true? she wondered. Or was she being a cynical city girl? In Melbourne she loved living close to the city. She had her favourite cafés and shops, and while she knew nothing of their personal lives, she had a casual familiarity with some of the shopkeepers and café staff. No doubt everyone here in this town knew everyone’s business and family history.
She stopped jogging and Sam gave her a grateful look, falling into a dignified walk at her heel. Ellie returned a smile from a woman parking her bicycle outside a small gift shop, then glanced at her watch.
‘Home time, eh, matey?’
Sam wagged his tail and they headed back out of town, stepping up the pace as the gables of the roof came into view through the trees. There was a red truck parked by the front gate, and Sam seemed to know it as he loped past and up the path, nosing open the front door.
As she stepped inside, Ellie recognised the voice of her grandfather’s good friend, Roland ‘Roly’ Bolton QC. She’d met Roly a couple of times and found him to be forthright, smart and knowledgeable with strong, definite opinions. His bluntness could also make him a little difficult. But her grandfather found his ideas and his sharp, pithy observations highly amusing.
‘Ah, Ellie,’ her grandfather said as she walked in. ‘Roly and I are catching up. Want another cup of tea? Or is it time for a glass of the strong stuff?’
‘I’m fine thanks, Poppy. How are you, Roly?’
‘As well as can be expected, dwelling as we do in the twilight zone, where very little is as it seems.’
Patrick chuckled. ‘Roly sees conspiracy theorists behind trees all over the place,’ he said, smiling.
‘We must be ever alert to intruders at our gates,’ retorted Roly. ‘And how about you, my dear? How long are you in town for?’
‘Not sure yet. I’m not in any hurry. I want to enjoy time with Poppy, chill out, make a few plans,’ said Ellie, trying to sound cheerful.
‘Oh, that’s right, Patrick told me you’ve struck out on your own. Wise move. I felt a great sense of freedom when I abandoned my career in the law. It’s a world of the pious and the pompous, numbskulls in wigs and frocks, and dubious subterranean evil opportunists swilling at the trough of padded billable hours. Et cetera, et cetera. So what’re you going to do now?’
‘I haven’t abandoned the IT world. Technology is the path to the future, Roly.’
‘Give her a break, Roly.’ Patrick smiled. ‘Like you, Ellie knows when it’s time for a change of scenery.’
‘Very good then,’ said Roly. ‘You can help your grandfather control some of the parsimonious wankers in this town who think they own the place.’
‘Steady on, Roly,’ Patrick said. ‘You’ll scare the girl!’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, Roly,’ said Ellie, smiling. ‘Poppy, I was wondering if you’d like any help with lunch? And would you like me to pick up anything for dinner? I’m happy to pop back into town.’
‘Done and dusted,’ said her grandfather. ‘Roly brought us some grade-A steak fillets from a friend’s very much in-demand cattle. He swapped them for some snapper he’d just caught.’
‘Thanks, Roly. It’s really kind of you, though I have to admit I don’t eat much red meat these days.’
‘Vegetarian, are you? Or one of those save the planet crusaders?’ Roly peered at Ellie.
‘Not really,’ Ellie replied. ‘It’s not so much about not eating any meat at all. I just don’t want to support those cruel, industrial-sized feedlots where animals are housed in massive indoor sheds and pumped full of hormones and antibiotics. For me it’s about encouraging small-scale, healthy and natural farming.’
‘Trendy indeed. But you can munch away guilt-free in this case as the beast is a new lowline breed, grass-fed, hormone-free, produces limited methane, and is environmentally friendly as it treads lightly on the land due to its size and appetite.’
‘Sounds good. Well, how about I make a salad for lunch and we can have the steaks later?’ said Ellie.
‘Perfect, thank you,’ said Patrick. ‘I can see I’m going to be spoiled while you’re here, my darling.’ He grinned at Ellie. Then, turning to Roly he continued, ‘Oh, I meant to tell you, Seamus O’Neill came in for a chat this morning. Poor fellow, I think he’s bored to death since his wife died.’
‘He’s always at the club in Melbourne, I’m informed,’ said Roly. ‘Maybe it’s time the octopi O’Neill clan had a spanner thrown among their nefarious tentacles. Then he’d be too busy to just sit around counting his shares and assets.’
Patrick smiled. ‘That’s why we put up with you, Roly. You keep us entertained. The O’Neills may be wealthy and have undue influence, but nefarious? Certainly not Seamus or his dear old mother, Kathryn O’Neill.’
‘You think this town is upwardly mobile, cherishes its heritage and history, and is full of friendly folk? It may look that way on the surface, but the hierarchy do not like the tables being rearranged from where they’ve been for decades. Nor do they like anyone nosing into their business. If it wasn’t for your paper, Patrick, no one would know anything. You’re a brave man with a big heart.’
‘What are you up to now, Poppy?’ asked Ellie.
‘Just doing my job, love. I’m too old and too wily for anyone to go after me and get anywhere.’
‘And too stubborn,’ added Roly as he reached for his cap. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Be seeing you, Ellie.’ He touched her grandfather’s shoulder lightly. ‘Stay there, Patrick, I can see myself out.’
‘Does Roly still live alone in the caravan park?’ Ellie asked curiously after she heard the front door close.
‘Yes. But he isn’t there due to reduced circumstances, that’s for sure. Any time he wants, Roly can go to Melbourne and wine and dine in places I certainly couldn’t afford. And once a year he puts on the formal gear and goes to the Silks and Bar Legends Dinners. I think he just likes living here.’
‘Do you ever get tired of working?’ said Ellie. ‘You could swan around too, if you wanted. Not have any pressure. When, or are you, going to retire, Poppy?’ she asked fondly.
‘I’ll get around to it. The town needs the paper. Like Roly said, how else would people find out what’s really going on? They’ve come to trust us and they rely on the Chronicle for local news as well as our take on the nation. We might be just a little paper in a little town, but you’d be surprised how word spreads from here.’
*
When they’d finished the washing up after lunch, Patrick suggested they sit out on the cane chairs on the front lawn.
‘I take your point about locals liking the physical paper to read,’ Ellie said, picking up the conversation about the paper they’d been having on and off over lunch. ‘I enjoy browsing through the Chronicle with a coffee. But it should be online with a good website as well.’
‘This is an older demographic, Ellie. The place is overrun with rich retired Western District graziers and there’s also a lot of “ordinary” people retiring here, buying new places out on the coast. These oldies might be computer savvy but the bulk of them still like their news in-depth, with some background analysis and a crossword, and tea and coffee stains all over it.’
‘But why not give them a choice between printed and online, Poppy? Don’t your advertisers insist on both?’ Then, seeing him shrug, she added, ‘Well, that’s something I can help you with while I’m here, if you like. Who’s your IT person? Is Jon across things?’
‘Absolutely, he’s always talking about stuff to do with computers and technology. He just upgraded his wheelchair to autopilot or something.’
Ellie laughed. ‘Sounds good. But I don’t imagine Maggie is very high-tech. I noticed she has an ancient computer on her desk. Don’t worry, I can be your go-to IT specialist.’ She leaned over, touching his hand. ‘You’ve done such an amazing job with the old paper, brought it up to date. We’
re so proud of you.’
He smiled. ‘A town needs a good paper, sweetie. Keeps the bastards honest.’
They sat quietly, enjoying the shade cast by the wide old branches above them.
Ellie shifted in her chair. ‘I know the O’Neills are the wheelers and dealers in Storm Harbour and have been since their family were among the first Europeans to settle here. I remember Ben slightly from when I went to high school down here.’ She paused. ‘I assume the older son is still up on the Queensland property?’
‘Actually, no. Ronan and his family live here again,’ Patrick replied.
‘Oh,’ Ellie said, her hair falling over her face as she leaned down to pat Sam. ‘I didn’t know he was back.’
‘It wasn’t that long ago that they moved home. As for his and Ben’s sister, as far as I know she lives in Melbourne. Ben doesn’t live in Storm Harbour anymore, though I gather he’s in town at the moment.’
Ellie gave Sam one final pat and then straightened in her seat. ‘So what does the family do as a business? Do they still run sheep?’
‘Not just “sheep”. Stud merinos and new breeds. And they still have the cattle property in Queensland that old man Boyd bought when the wool crisis struck – they have a manager there now Ronan is back. And Craigmore, that historic home of theirs, is getting up into Palace of Versailles territory. Someone sent us some drone shots of the gardens. Unbelievable.’
‘Did you print them?’
‘Nope. That would have been an invasion of privacy. I wouldn’t like sneaky photos of my backyard appearing in the local newspaper.’
‘True.’ She gently nudged the old dog, who had started to snore, with her foot. ‘You know, in your quiet way you wield a lot of influence through the Chronicle. I’m sure you’re the first person people think of when they want the truth and leadership and the facts. Seems to me if someone has a complaint or a problem, they don’t call the council, they call you.’
Patrick gave a wry smile. ‘Ain’t that the truth. I never set out for the Chronicle to be a serious investigative kind of newspaper. Though I can’t deny it’s been a welcome distraction since your nana passed away.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘We know the O’Neills have influence over the council. It’s not just that money speaks, it’s the built-in power base and control that comes with wealth, position, prestige and privilege. They also do some very good things for the community, of course.’
‘Noblesse oblige. It’s not hard to do that with authority and money behind you,’ retorted Ellie.
‘Don’t be too cynical. But equally, people in positions of power also take advantage – simply because they can. Over the years that family has built up a sense of righteousness and entitlement.’
Ellie looked away, frowning, then said, ‘Until someone comes along and calls them out. Like the Chronicle.’
Patrick smiled and stretched. ‘I enjoy the chase for a story. Now, as it’s Saturday I reckon it’s time for an afternoon nap.’
‘Great idea,’ she said. ‘Sam and I will head out for another walk soon. After hours in the car it felt so good to go for a jog this morning.’
*
Long shadows stretched out over the river, and the waterfront was busy with strolling couples and families, people dawdling on the way home.
At the lookout at the top of the headland, Ellie unclipped Sam’s lead and he set off at a good romp. Not bad for an old dog, she thought.
Standing against the clifftop fence, she could imagine the cold wind blowing straight in from Antarctica. She shivered, even though it had been a warm day, and walked down to explore the cannon emplacement from the war years that was aimed at the horizon to ward off invaders.
Sam ignored a group of women who were working out on exercise mats and trotted along the path before lurching towards a cluster of trees in pursuit of some intriguing smell. Ellie followed, knowing this was a short cut, if a bit steep, down to the car park.
Sam was sniffing around a tree as she caught up with him, but then he turned, ears pricked, ready to bark. ‘C’mon, Sam, let’s head towards the river and go home for dinner.’
The dog looked up at her and immediately Ellie sensed something was wrong.
Ahead of them she saw a woman, and barrelling towards them was a solid hunk of dog, fangs bared as it snarled ferociously.
Sam was hunched, growling protectively in front of Ellie. ‘It’s okay, Sam.’ She leaned down, about to clip his lead on his collar, at the instant the powerful dog lunged at him.
As the two dogs rolled and snapped in a snarling, screaming fight, she heard the woman calling her dog, but all Ellie wanted was to rescue Sam. She threw herself at them, kicking the other dog to let go of Sam as the animals tousled on the ground, biting at each other’s throats.
There was a stab of pain in her arm as she yanked at the other dog’s collar, twisting it. Momentarily the animal must have felt his air waves blocked as it turned to bite Ellie, releasing its grip on Sam, who rolled on his side, gasping. There was blood everywhere. Ellie kicked the other dog in the ribs, screaming, ‘Get off!’
‘Stop!’ the woman yelled at Ellie as she reached down, snapping a leash on the spiked collar of her dog and pulling it to its feet. ‘Don’t you kick my dog!’ she shouted in Ellie’s face.
‘Your dog is trying to kill my dog! For no reason!’ Ellie screamed at her. ‘Keep the brute on a leash!’
She fell to her knees over Sam.
‘Oh, Sammy, are you okay?’ She pulled the scarf from her ponytail and wrapped it around the bleeding wound on Sam’s flank. ‘Oh my God. It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay.’
The woman held her straining, growling dog on its leash.
‘He’ll be okay, just take him to the vet.’
‘It’s Saturday and I have no car,’ said Ellie coldly. ‘Go away and take your vicious monster dog with you.’
Shaking, Ellie picked up her phone. ‘It’s okay, Sammy, you’ll be fine.’ She tried to soothe the dog as Patrick answered.
‘Sundowners are ready –’
‘Poppy, Poppy, Sam has been attacked by another dog. There was this –’
‘Where are you?’
‘The cliff path near the cannon.’
‘Stay there, keep him calm. Try to stop any bleeding.’
The bleeding was staunched, but Sam’s gums were pale and his breathing laboured. Ellie lay beside the dear black dog, remembering all the adventures they’d shared over the years. The dog seemed calm, resigned.
‘Don’t leave me, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘I need you. You’ve always been my protector. I came home to see you . . . you look after Poppy, we can’t do without you, Sam. Hold on, dearest Sammy . . .’ She buried her face in his flank. Flashbacks of shared times together raced through her head as her heart clenched and her breath came in wrenching sobs.
But then she was being eased to one side as Patrick leaned over her and scooped up the heavy dog in his arms with a grunt. Together they got him into the back seat of the car and Ellie sat beside him, his head on her lap, while Patrick turned onto the main road.
‘I’ve called the vet – he’s a friend. He’ll open the surgery for us,’ explained Patrick as he drove.
Later that night, as Ellie lay wrapped in a blanket next to Sam, he stirred and lifted his head. His eyes were untroubled and as loving as always. She hurried into the kitchen and came back with a small bowl of warm milk. Sam lapped slowly, then gingerly shifted his torn flank to a more comfortable position as Ellie moved her pillow.
Curled together, they slept, waiting for the new day.
2
Ellie parked behind the Chronicle offices and ducked along the alley to the main street, deciding to grab a coffee before heading inside.
She took in details of the café: the baskets of flowers hanging from the awnings, the colourful artwork and posters on the walls, the l
ittle street library of shelves of books tucked into an alcove. The tables outside were being set for the first meals of the day. She ordered her coffee from the footpath takeaway window and, while waiting for it, picked up a book and flipped through it.
‘That you, Ellie? You back here too?’
She turned to see a man standing by a table. He was around her age or a bit younger and looked scruffy, with wild curly hair, a five o’clock shadow that was probably the work of a few days, and wearing jeans, a crumpled shirt and loafers.
For a moment her breath caught in her throat at the familiar features. She did a double take, then he gave a lazy smile as it hit her. ‘Ben? Ben O’Neill?’
She was rather rattled to see him, feeling almost as if she’d manifested him after the conversation about his family with her grandfather the day before.
He walked over to her. ‘Didn’t know you were in town. You living down here now?’
‘No, I’m in Melbourne these days. I’m just visiting my grandad.’
‘He still got the paper?’ Ben glanced over at the office across the road.
‘You bet. Still stirring the pot. What about you, what are you up to? When we were at school you always said you were going to be a vet.’
‘Me? Nah. I’m the oddball of the family.’ Ben’s smile widened. ‘In fact, worse, I’m an artist. I’ve been bumming around the world. Doing this and that. How’re things with you? What do you do now?’
‘I’ve been working in IT.’ Ellie quickly changed the subject. ‘Are you just visiting too?’ she asked.
‘Yep. For my grandmother’s ninety-fifth birthday.’
‘Wow, how is she?’
‘I dunno. Haven’t been able to see her yet. Family orders.’
Ellie blinked, wondering what he meant. ‘That’s an amazing milestone.’
‘Grandy’s pretty special. She still rules the clan.’ He smiled at her. ‘My mother was ill for a long time and my gran looked out for me after she died.’
