A tiny spark of an idea kindled in Henny’s mind. She got up and headed to the spare room—or ‘the shambles’, as her mother used to refer to it. Flicking on the light, Henny had to agree it lived up to its name. Since her arrival home, Henny had been going through her mother’s possessions but she hadn’t tackled this room yet. She knew that if the cottage was going to go on the market she’d have to clear it out, but she hadn’t been able to face it. She didn’t know why. On the right-hand side a large bookcase covered most of the wall, with double rows on most of the shelves and books squeezed into any available space. On the back wall were several large boxes and plastic tubs, which on closer inspection held everything from Christmas decorations to the stuff Henny had sent back from overseas. And leaning against the wall on the left side of the room were several stacks, in varying sizes, of her mother’s paintings.
She walked over and tipped back the first canvas, abstract with a swirl of colours spinning on an ink-black background. It could have been a galaxy or a vortex or even staring into chaos. Henny smiled because she didn’t see any of that: she saw a possible path leading to the future.
Chapter Six
Stephen
Killop Reservoir, 2 February 2008
Stephen stood dumbly as Charlie dragged Henny away. For a minute or two he’d been in heaven as he helped Henny carry the bags up to the barbecue area. It was the first time that he’d managed to actually talk to her and then Charlie went and ruined it all. He let out a sigh and turned away. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault, she didn’t know that he was so stuck on Henny. It was difficult to be coherent in front of her and he’d been too bloody scared to talk to her before now. Let’s face it, he’d had years to do it but had waited till it was all too late. That wasn’t entirely true: over the past couple of months he’d gone to speak to Henny but something always got in the way; he was kind of surprised that she actually knew his name. They were in different groups, ones that hardly interacted with each other, and for most of the year Henny had been tangled up with Ethan.
Stephen glanced down to the water’s edge just in time to see Ethan dunk one of his mates under water.
Jerk.
Ethan was everything Stephen wasn’t: popular, outgoing, captain of the school football team and sure of himself. It wasn’t that Stephen didn’t have interests or friends, but he was in no way as noticeable as Ethan and his crew. He’d always been pretty low-key at school and blended in. Stephen enjoyed cricket but the demands of a farm meant he never had a lot of time to spare. He didn’t resent that, it was just the way things were. He had always helped out on the farm and he’d known for a long time it was in his blood. As his dad always said, the place didn’t run itself.
He started to walk down the hill but stopped when he heard someone call his name. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Henny running to him. For a second it was a little hard to breathe.
‘Hey, I just wanted say thanks for helping me carry the drinks up. I appreciate it. Charlie dragged me away before I could say it.’
Stephen shrugged. ‘No worries. Happy to help.’
‘Well, thanks again,’ Henny said with a smile. ‘Maybe we can catch up later?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Me too,’ she said before giving him one last smile and heading back to her friend.
Stephen watched her go, the fading light filtering through the gums highlighting her auburn hair, red and burnished gold. He took a moment, held his breath and committed this picture to memory. No matter what happened—or, more likely, didn’t happen—this was the snapshot of Henny Bolton he’d always carry in his mind.
‘Geez, man, did you just sigh?’ Dan appeared next to Stephen, making him flinch at the sudden question.
He looked over at his best friend. Dan was wearing black board shorts and his blond hair was swept back off his face, still wet from the res.
‘You scared the shit out of me.’
‘Good, but don’t dodge the question,’ Dan said with a lopsided grin. ‘Just admit it, you’ve got a thing for Henny.’
‘Shhh, you don’t have to announce it.’
‘Why, worried that she’d hear? Maybe that would be a good thing.’ Dan leant closer and gave him a punch on the shoulder. ‘Seems to me that you need someone to push you in the right direction.’
‘I’m alright where I am. Besides, I could say the same thing about you and Georgie.’
Dan shrugged. ‘Nah, that’s different.’
‘How? The way I see it we both like someone who doesn’t even know we’re alive,’ Stephen countered, a frown flitting across his forehead.
‘That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Georgie knows.’
‘Then why haven’t you done something about it?’
‘Timing. That’s what it comes down to,’ Dan said as they kept wandering down the hill to the water’s edge.
‘Guess it’s too late now,’ Stephen added. ‘For both of us.’
‘Maybe, but then again, the day isn’t over yet, is it?’
‘Yeah, but it’s a bit late now to start something. You’re both going to different universities so—’
Dan turned his head and regarded his friend. ‘Who said anything about starting? It’s more about tasting. I’m not looking for a future, just a memory.’
‘Perhaps Georgie wouldn’t see it that way.’
‘Well, we won’t know unless I ask,’ he said with a wink. ‘So you up for a swim?’
Stephen stared out across the reservoir, the evening light gently rippling over the almost-calm water. A flock of galahs flew overhead in a cloud of pink and grey, their colours stark against the cloudless darkening sky. Whenever Stephen had come to the reservoir in the past he was always aware of the peacefulness that was inherent in the place. It was a mixture of the breeze through the gums, lapping water and melodic birdsong. But today was different. The natural sounds of the res were masked by music playing in the barbecue area, the outboard motor that belonged to the dinghy of the fishermen up the bank and the shouts of Ethan and his mates as they mucked about. ‘Maybe later.’
‘He’s not that bad, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Ethan.’
Stephen shrugged but stayed quiet for a second or two. ‘If you say so. Anyway, Charlie’s dad just brought a heap of food. I think I’d rather eat now and swim later.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Dan said as he turned around. ‘I’m starving.’
Chapter Seven
Henny walked down the main street towards Aunt Janey’s newsagency. She nodded to a few people as she went but kept her pace so she didn’t have to stop and chat. That was probably unfair as the Lawson’s Bend she remembered was all about the chatting. Interestingly, there were several people she didn’t recognise; inevitable, she supposed, as new people coming in was the only way the town would survive. She assumed many worked at the large old-age facility on the north side of town. It had always been part of the fabric of Lawson’s Bend but over the past twenty years the original old hospital had been remodelled and enlarged to accommodate the growing aged population of the area.
Henny walked past the bank, which sat on the corner of Tuckers Lane and the main street. She was musing that while the town felt different in a lot of ways, there still seemed to be an undercurrent of sorrow, as if the foundations of the town were steeped in it. Henny glanced to her right before stepping onto the lane to cross when a large shaggy brown dog whipped around the corner and almost knocked her over.
‘Hey, watch where you’re going, big guy,’ she said as she steadied herself. The dog stopped, sat down on the curb and gave her an apologetic look—well, that’s how she interpreted it, anyway.
Henny squatted down. ‘So why are you in such a hurry?’ She held out her hand and the dog sniffed it before she gently patted him. ‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’
The dog seemed to agree and thumped his tail. Henny gave him another pat and realised that he wasn’t much more than an overgrow
n pup. He was content with the attention for a few moments more but then something caught his eye and he stood up. Henny followed his gaze and saw a man in a tatty shirt and ripped black jeans cross the lane and walk towards them.
The dog’s tail thumped harder.
‘Come on, Dover,’ the man said without meeting Henny’s gaze.
Henny sucked in a breath. She may not recognise the blank look in his eyes but she knew the face—Harley Turner.
‘Harley?’
The man stopped and studied her, seeming to take a moment to focus. He ran a hand through his unkempt dark hair. ‘I know you,’ he said in a soft voice.
‘Yes, we went to school together. It’s Henny—Henrietta Bolton.’
He stared at her for a second and she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes.
‘You shouldn’t stay here, Henny Bolton,’ he said as he walked away with the shaggy dog by his side. ‘Bad things happen here.’
Henny watched him go. He wasn’t how she remembered. At school he’d been one of Dan’s friends and played a lot of sport. He had always been a little different due to his mild autism and a few learning difficulties, but the students at school—in fact the whole town—had always protected him; looked after him and helped him to fit in and make something of himself. But now he seemed to have a fragility that was unsettling. Her gaze tracked the man and his dog until they disappeared around the corner.
Henny was a little rattled as she continued towards her destination. What could have happened to Harley to make him become so lost?
Nevertheless a smile flitted across Henny’s face as she walked through the door of the newsagent. Aunt Janey was serving behind the long counter and her eyes lit up when she saw Henny. She wandered over to the magazine shelves and waited for her aunt to finish with a customer.
‘Hey, kiddo,’ Janey said as she walked over and gave Henny a brief hug. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Just been mulling things over. I’ve got an idea and I’d like to know what you think.’
‘Wow, that sounds ominous,’ Janey said with a laugh. She looked up at the old wall clock. ‘Well, it’s eleven—let’s go and have brunch.’
‘Are you sure, Aunt Janey? I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.’
‘Of course I’m sure. Barry and Lisa can hold the fort. Besides, some days need interrupting. I’ll just grab my bag and then we’ll go over to The Wren.’
‘I didn’t know that place was still going. I haven’t eaten there since . . . well, ages ago.’
‘The Nichols family have been running The Wren for more than eighty years. I don’t see them stopping, do you?’
Henny smiled. ‘I guess not.’
‘Right, back in a tick,’ Aunt Janey said. While she was out the back, Henny flicked through a couple of magazines. She was just reaching for another high-fashion edition and pondering if she should spend the money on it when Janey materialised by her side.
‘Shall we?’
Henny nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
They headed out of the store and down the street, using one of the town’s few pedestrian crossings to get to the other side. Ahead of them sat a squat one-storey shopfront with a large window and a bright blue door. It was built from local stone and the cartouche above the doorframe read, Est. 1905. In Henny’s mind it seemed the same as always, but as they walked through the door she was pleasantly surprised. The old country theme that she remembered had gone and been replaced with a simplicity that was almost French provincial, or maybe it was a touch of hygge. There were scrubbed wooden tables with tiny vases of fresh flowers and aromatic herbs such as rosemary and thyme, which made Henny think of a garden just after rain. The look was finished off with little ornate metal chairs and a large floral wreath on the whitewashed wall. As Henny slid into the nearest table she looked around the entire room—while everything was stripped back there was still a country vibe to the place but with a modern interpretation. The only thing that she recognised was the painting of a bright blue fairy-wren sitting on a branch on the wall behind the counter. The artwork was iconic to Lawson’s Bend, the little wren having presided over things ever since the place opened.
‘I like it,’ Henny said. ‘It feels fresh and airy, not at all like it was when I was growing up. But I’m glad they kept the wren.’
Janey glanced over her shoulder. ‘Well, they couldn’t get rid of that—besides, Charlie didn’t want to. She sees the bird as her family emblem.’
‘Charlie?’ Henny said with surprise. ‘I thought that she would follow her dad and brothers into the police force. I mean, I thought that’s what she told me back at school.’
Janey shrugged. ‘You’re right, that was her intention, but sometimes plans change. She took over running it about four years ago and the place has flourished.’
‘Well, it looks great,’ Henny said as she picked up the menu and skimmed over it. ‘I had a bit of an odd encounter on my way to see you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I ran into Harley Turner. He looked . . . different.’
Janey sat back in her chair and nodded. ‘It’s a terrible shame. Poor Harley hasn’t been the same since the accident up at the res. A lot of people have tried to help over the years, especially his family, but Harley pushes them away and keeps to himself.’
Henny was a bit shocked to hear that Harley had been this way for ten years. ‘He doesn’t live with his parents?’ she asked, but the waitress walked up before Janey could answer.
‘Are you ready to order?’
‘I think so,’ Henny said with a smile. ‘Aunt Janey, have you decided what you’re getting?’
‘Sure have. I’ll get the usual, Katie—a caesar salad and a sparkling water.’
‘Sounds good, make that two. Thanks.’
‘Nice choice, ladies,’ the waitress said before turning away.
‘So, Harley?’ Henny asked again.
‘Oh yes. I talk with his mum, Cheryl, a lot. She was so relieved when she found out he was okay after the accident, but right from the get-go she knew something wasn’t right.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you know there was a lot of counselling offered at the time.’
‘I remember. Mum made me go to some of the sessions, but after a few I just couldn’t do any more.’
Janey reached across the table and squeezed Henny’s hand. ‘It affected everyone in different ways. The entire town was touched by it one way or another. Most did their best to recover and try to move on, but for some like Harley that night has a hold on their minds. It really seems to eat at him from the inside. He never went to the counselling, and seemed to just withdraw from everyone. He lives by himself over near Dover Point.’
‘But there’s nothing out that way except bush.’
‘I know. He’s built some sort of hut up there near the spring. The council doesn’t have the heart to move him on and he’s no trouble. Oh, bloody Eric Jacobs tried to cause trouble but he was shut down pretty quick. The boy’s not a danger to anyone. It’s just even after all these years the Killop Res accident has a long reach.’
Henny nodded. ‘I can’t argue with that. Can’t Harley live with his parents?’
‘They’d have him but he won’t stay. No, Harley’s off in his own world,’ Janey said.
‘Not entirely alone—he has his dog.’
‘That’s true and I’m thankful for it. I think Dover is good company but also gives Harley something to look after—something that ties him to the world. He loves that dog.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘Someone dumped him and his brother up at Dover Point.’
‘Hence the name, ’ Henny smiled.
‘Yeah, although I think it kind of suits him—he just had to grow into it. Anyway, as Sara the vet tells it, Harley found the pups in the bush. They were rambunctious little bitzers and he brought them in to be checked out at the vet clinic. Long story short, Harley decided to keep Dover. And Sara, bless her, cov
ered the costs of the visit as well as the inoculations and worm tablets. She also made him promise to come in once a month so she could keep a check on Dover. That’s probably where he was going this morning.’
‘And Dover’s brother?’
‘Belongs to Sara.’
‘I’m glad,’ Henny said. ‘Listen, Aunt Janey, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to jog my memory,’ Janey said with a smile as Katie set down their drinks.
‘You know, when you said that it was time to put down some roots and that maybe moving back here wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Well, I’ve been thinking about that and about what I could do if I did.’
‘And?’
‘I found Mum’s paintings in the spare room—there’s a lot of them. Looks like she was quite prolific while I was away.’
‘That’s true. No matter what committee she was on she made sure that she always had time to paint. Other than you, it was her life. So what’s your idea?’
‘Well, remember when she had a couple of exhibitions in Melbourne and there was quite a bit of interest?’
‘Yes, there was—in fact, there still is. A month or two ago she told me that she was in touch with the same gallery and that there was talk of another exhibition. You should give them a call. I know that she was pleased at the idea of having another showing and was about to launch onto another series of paintings.’
Henny nodded. ‘I found her visual diary. She’d written down her inspiration and the theme and sketched out a series of four paintings. She started the first painting—I cried when I saw it. It’s so beautiful. I can’t get over the fact that series will never be completed.’ Henny stopped as her throat seemed to close and tears gathered.
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