‘I know, but the council decided they wanted to make it an event this year and left it a bit late to organise everything—so the seventeenth of February it is. They’ve commissioned a local artist to make a sculpture that will be unveiled at the same time. I think the Women’s Auxiliary are putting on an afternoon tea as well.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel about it, to tell you the truth. What about the families—how do they feel?’
‘Some are for it. I think the initial idea of some sort of commemoration was suggested by the Sanders family a couple of years ago,’ Stephen said.
‘So why now?’
‘Probably because the council is up for election—or, should I say, Eric Jacobs is.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘Actually, some of them are pretty good and a couple of them really have the interests of the town at heart,’ Stephen said before he took a mouthful of coffee. ‘So what do you think? Will you come?’
‘I’m not sure—I’ll have to think about it. I assume you’re going?’
‘Yeah, and so will Dan and Charlie and most of the others, I think.’
‘Are there many of the class still here in town?’ Henny asked.
‘Quite a few. Mikey Lawson, Leon Chang, Jamie Flint and Ethan Hamilton are still here. There’s more, but I was never that close to them—you bump into them every now and again down the street but that’s about it. I reckon Tina Kennedy and Greg Pearson will turn up for the ceremony; they both live in Bendigo.’
‘I didn’t realise that there were so many of us still here. I thought that most would have taken off as soon as they could,’ Henny said, looking down at her now empty cup.
‘Some did and some came back.’ Stephen took a last mouthful and put the mug on the table. ‘Anyway, I guess I’d better get going. I just thought I’d let you know.’
‘Thanks, Stephen, I appreciate it.’
‘No worries,’ he said as he stood up. ‘It’s at two o’clock on the seventeenth. We’ll all be there, Henny, so you won’t be alone.’
‘Thanks. I’ll think about it.’
‘Okay then,’ Stephen said as he walked over and opened the front door. ‘I’ll let you get back to it.’
She nodded and gave him a smile. ‘Okay.’
‘Oh, and Henny? I’m glad you came back,’ he said before he turned and walked away.
Chapter Nine
A couple of weeks had passed since Stephen had dropped into Wattle Cottage. The actual anniversary of the Killop incident had come and gone without fuss or much mention. Henny had planned to stay home that day but was forced to venture into town for milk, where Lawson’s Bend seemed to be going about business as usual. But as soon as Henny got out of the car she sensed a restraint, a kind of quietness that wasn’t normally present. The drownings had torn at the town’s heart and even after ten years the healing still continued. The sadness was even more palpable on the anniversary—as if the wound had been reopened. Henny wondered if the townspeople would ever move past the tragedy; she somehow doubted it, as she had never been able to.
Henny had no intention of going near the reservoir that evening but in the end there was a pull she couldn’t resist. She’d bought a bunch of flowers while she’d been in town, a colourful collection of gerberas in red, orange and yellow. Henny was going to put them in her bright-blue vase on the kitchen table but sometime that evening, just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the tall trees, she found herself standing at the water’s edge clutching the bouquet. The air was warm but a chill came off the water, or maybe that was just her imagination. It was peaceful and quiet except for the soft buzz of the occasional blowfly and the melancholy song of a magpie in a nearby tree. Henny looked across to where the old swimming platform had once been; the water had taken on a golden glow as it mirrored the sky in its refection. One by one she broke off the heads of the flowers and cast them into the water. They bobbed up and down on the gentle ripples, some washing back towards Henny while others drifted out towards the middle of the res.
She stood there for a long time, staring at nothing and remembering everything from a night ten years ago. The colourful flowers floated through the dark shadows cast by the tall trees as the sun began to sink. For a moment she could almost feel her friends there as she remembered their faces. But a breeze blew through the trees and the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Henny brushed away the tears that ran down her face with the back of her hand and turned away from the water and towards home.
***
Henny threw herself into planning her new venture. Everything was beginning to fall into place but she knew she couldn’t have got this far without Aunt Janey’s help. It was almost the end of summer and with luck she hoped that she’d be able to open her shop by winter. That should be enough time to fix it up, get all the stock organised and catalogued, and get her business plan, insurance and finances ready.
When the day of the memorial service arrived, Henny was still in two minds about attending. She understood the idea behind it but the notion that council elections were its impetus really irked her; she would hate to think the deaths of her friends were being exploited for catching votes. But perhaps that was being unfair.
Henny squeezed her little green car into the uncharacteristically full car park at Killop Reservoir. She turned off the engine and took a breath as she stared across to the softly lapping water. Taking a moment and another deep breath to fortify herself, Henny got out of the car and leant on the door. It was hot and reminiscent of a day long ago. Even though the temperature was into the thirties, there was a cool breeze and the heavy shade from a mixture of gums and pines gave some relief.
Henny wasn’t even sure why she’d come. She supposed Stephen had something to do with it—he’d gone out of his way to tell her about it so maybe she just didn’t feel right ignoring it. The memorial was a nice gesture, she supposed, but the people who had been there and their families didn’t really need a special day to remember because it was never forgotten. From where she was standing, Henny could see a small stage erected on the bank of the res. There were rows of chairs, someone fiddling around with a microphone and colourful bunting hanging between a couple of trees over the makeshift stage. Who puts bunting up at a memorial?
Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, she made her way down the gentle slope towards the stage area while scanning for Aunt Janey, but she didn’t seem to be there yet. Most of the chairs were occupied and some of the crowd turned to watch her approach, which was uncomfortable to say the least. Henny gave a small smile and nodded to a few people she recognised as she hung at the back. She glanced around quickly but couldn’t see Stephen, though she figured he was there somewhere.
Spotting a lone chair sitting by a couple of trestle tables, Henny carried it over to the shade and sat down. Now safely separated at the back of the crowd, she looked around at all of them; some she knew but most she didn’t recognise at all. A snuffling noise came from behind her chair and she looked over her shoulder to see a brown shaggy dog with happy eyes walk around and put his head on her lap.
‘Aren’t you a lovely boy,’ she said quietly as she patted him. ‘It’s Dover, isn’t it?’
Henny looked around but couldn’t see Harley Turner, although she figured that he wouldn’t be far away. A woman walked past in front of Henny and looked over, frowning. Middle-aged with blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, she would have been attractive if it weren’t for the hostility in her eyes and tight lips.
‘This is no place for a dog,’ she said in a stern hushed tone. ‘This is a memorial—you should show a little respect for the people who were involved.’
Henny was taken aback for a second. Normally she always let rude comments roll over her and then later thought of all the witty things she should have said. But today was different. She bristled and met the scowling woman’s gaze.
‘To begin with, this isn’t my dog,’ she said evenly. ‘But as far as I can see he isn’
t doing any harm and has as much right to be here as anyone else. Secondly, I have more than respect for the people who lost their lives here—they were my friends, my family, and I loved them. I was on the platform when it collapsed, I went in the water just like everyone else—funnily enough, I can’t remember you being there that night.’
Dover let out a short yap that Henny took as a reinforcement as the purse-lipped woman’s face reddened and she walked on without another word.
‘Well said, Dover,’ she smiled as she gave him another pat.
‘He likes you.’
Henny turned her head and saw that Harley had materialised by the tree. She gave him a smile. ‘Well, I like him too.’
He walked over and squatted down next to her chair. ‘I’m really sorry about your mum.’
She glanced at Harley as the dog went over and sat next to him. ‘Thanks.’
‘I didn’t remember until after I saw you. Sometimes I forget things.’
‘I forget things too.’
Harley stared into her eyes too long and Henny felt the urge to drop her gaze.
‘I remember that you’re kind, Henny Bolton. You’re good, just like your mum.’ He was silent for a minute and Henny was beginning to wonder if she should make some sort of small talk when he finally spoke again. ‘I meant what I said last time I saw you. For you, for her, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not your home anymore.’
Henny was taken aback by this, but decided not to react, as she was not sure how to handle Harley. ‘Perhaps that’s true, but I think I’m going to stay all the same. I’ve been running for too long—it’s time to build a life and a future.’
He grabbed one of her hands in his and held on. His palms were rough and his nails broken and dirty, but there was an air of desperation about him and Henny didn’t pull away. ‘You’ve got to go, Henny Bolton. It’s not safe.’
‘Harley, what do you mean?’ For a second Henny thought she saw clarity in his eyes and was reminded of the Harley she’d known as a girl.
He blinked, pulled his hands away and started to turn. Henny reached out and grasped his arm. ‘Harley, what are you saying? Tell me, please, I don’t understand.’
He shook his head again and, when his eyes met hers, the old Harley was gone. ‘This is a bad place and we shouldn’t be here.’
Henny nodded. ‘It’s a place full of sad memories, but I’m not sure it’s evil.’
‘I think I see them sometimes, sitting over there, laughing, splashing and calling me over,’ Harley said as he pointed towards the water. ‘Sometimes I want to join them but then I get scared.’
‘Who, Harley—who do you see?’
‘Georgie, Amber, Alistair and Laura.’
A shiver skittled up Henny’s spine. ‘They’re not there, Harley. I promise.’
‘They’re in the water, but he’s on the cliff.’
‘What? Who is?’
‘He was on the cliff. Run away, Henrietta Bolton. Run away and don’t come back. Not safe—no accident,’ he whispered before he bolted back up the hill, his dog running after him.
Henny turned around in her chair to watch him. When he was almost at the old gas barbecues he stumbled and continued scampering on all fours before he regained his feet. There was something almost animalistic about Harley and all Henny could do was wonder what the hell had happened to him.
Henny stood up—she was unsettled, rattled even. She moved away from the trestle table and circled towards the water, needing to clear her head of the image of Harley running up the hill. She found a spot on the bank where the sun shone down and made the water shimmer in the light. It was beautiful, magical, and no one would have believed that such a place could be the setting of death. Henny took a breath, as if inhaling the peacefulness of her surroundings, and leant against a thick tree trunk and tried to pretend she was the only one there.
‘If everyone could take their seats, we’ll get started.’
Henny turned at the announcement and saw that a man was now standing on the stage and speaking into the microphone. She ignored the instruction and looked back to the peaceful scene of the water.
‘Um, right, well then,’ the man said. ‘We’re here today to commemorate the tragic events of ten years ago that ripped our little community apart—but it didn’t break us. We’re here today to remember with fondest memories the young lives that were lost—forever young and never forgotten.’
Henny visibly rolled her eyes at the last comment. She knew that they were the right words to say, but somehow they seemed hollow and meaningless. It was so generic and standard—and none of it seemed relevant to the devastation and loss that she felt. Words . . . empty words.
‘And we’re also here to unveil the beautiful sculpture that was created to stand here, an eternal vigil on the water’s edge.’ Henny winced. An eternal vigil? That was going a little too far.
‘Now, would you please welcome to the stage a man who needs no introduction, our mayor, Eric Jacobs.’
Eric Jacobs took the stage and shook the other man’s hand and then gave him a one-armed hug. They were acting as if it was a re-election rally rather than a memorial service. The mayor welcomed everyone and started recounting the events of that fateful day ten years ago, but Henny was barely listening.
‘Are you alright?’
Henny looked up and saw Stephen leaning against the other side of the tree.
‘Hi, I didn’t see you there.’
Stephen gave her a smile. ‘That’s because I snuck up on you. I was sitting over there with Dan and a couple of others when you arrived.’
‘I’m just trying to get over the circus,’ Henny said as she nodded towards the stage.
‘Yeah, I know—it’s a bit much, isn’t it?’
‘Whose idea was this anyway? I mean, does it make any of us who were there or the families feel any better?’
‘Probably not. Although I think the initial idea came from the Hogans and Laura Sanders’ family. They wanted their kids’ deaths to be remembered, but maybe this isn’t how they envisioned it.’
Henny let out a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, I guess I was being too harsh. People need to remember and deal with it any way they can. If this makes Alistair and Laura’s families happy then I’m all for it, but I’m not a fan of how it’s being delivered.’
‘I doubt that anyone is—that is, except our mayor. So other than having to endure over-the-top speeches by people who have no ties to what happened, how are you doing?’
‘I’m okay,’ Henny said as she looked over at him. ‘I’m still coming to terms with losing Mum. I knew coming back here would be hard—the hurt and grief seem to feed off each other.’
‘And the guilt.’
‘What do you mean? We didn’t do anything wrong.’
He picked at a piece of bark on the tree trunk. ‘I mean, it’s the guilt of surviving. We both lost friends, good friends, and sometimes I wonder if there was something more I could have done.’
Henny reached around the tree and touched his arm. ‘I’ve felt that too. But, Stephen, we did everything we could. It took me a long time to forgive myself for letting go of Georgie’s hand when we went into the water, but eventually I did because she would have wanted me to live. And I haven’t forgotten that it was you who saved me that night—I’ll never forget that and neither should you.’
They were quiet for a moment as Henny’s words settled over them. His hand came up and rested on hers.
‘Thanks, Hen.’
‘It’s the truth.’
Stephen gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. ‘I saw you talking to Harley. You looked a bit spooked.’
‘What happened to him?’
He shrugged. ‘No one is really sure. I suppose that night affected us all in different ways. I’m not sure if recovered is the right word, but most of us who survived found a way to keep on living. That didn’t happen so easily for Harley.’
‘So he’s been like that since the accident?’
/> ‘Yes and no. I think he got worse as the years went by. He keeps to himself mostly. A few of us look out for him, make sure that he’s got enough to eat and stuff like that.’
‘Aunt Janey said that he stays away from his family, even though they want to help.’
‘It’s true. As far as I know he hasn’t spoken to his little sister in years, didn’t even go to her wedding. It’s pretty sad—nearly everyone who knows him has tried to help but he doesn’t want it.’
‘That’s awful.’
They were silent for a moment, both staring out across the sunlit water.
‘Do you come here much?’ Henny asked.
Stephen shook his head. ‘No, the res is one place I generally stay away from—too many ghosts.’
‘I understand.’
He looked over at her. ‘So, I hear that the shop is going ahead.’
Henny nodded. ‘Yep, that’s right. I’m going to open both a storefront and online. Aunt Janey is letting me have The Matchbox.’
‘I heard,’ Stephen said with a growing smile. ‘You must know this town can’t keep any secrets—gossip is its lifeblood.’
Henny let out a soft laugh. ‘Yeah, I forgot about that.’
‘So what’s the business?’
‘I’ll be selling art prints and pretty things.’
‘Some of your mum’s artwork?’
‘Yes. I just feel the need to share her work.’
‘I’ve got one of her paintings, you know,’ Stephen said. ‘She gave it to me a couple of years ago.’
‘Really? I’d love to see it—I mean, if that’s okay.’
‘Any time,’ Stephen said before he glanced over to the stage. ‘Looks like they’re about to unveil the memorial plaque and sculpture. Should we go and check it out?’
Henny smiled at Stephen. ‘I suppose we should.’
He held out his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.
Chapter Ten
Henny and Stephen wandered back towards the stage. The mayor was winding up his sentimental speech about the town healing itself through friendship and love and Henny glanced up at Stephen.
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