‘This was a private conversation,’ Rosalie said. ‘You should know better than to listen in to something that doesn’t concern you.’
‘And you should know better than to have a malicious conversation in public,’ Henny countered back.
Rosalie faced her and crossed her arms. ‘What would you know about it anyway? You’ve been away for years; you may have found him in floating in the res, but that doesn’t mean you know the Turners or what Harley had become.’
‘You don’t have a clue about what I know. But I do know one thing . . .’
‘Really? And what’s that?’
Henny picked up her basket and said, ‘I’m going to use the other checkout.’
Henny walked over to the next queue. She glanced up several times and caught Rosalie sending her dirty looks but she didn’t care. Sometimes you just have to call bullshit when you hear it.
Henny loaded her items on the conveyor belt and gave the cashier a small smile. She was a tall girl with a pale face and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Keeping her head down, she said in a quiet voice, ‘Thanks for saying that.’
‘Sorry about the scene,’ Henny said.
‘No, don’t be. I’m friends with Harley’s sisters and Rosalie has spread all sorts of vicious stories ever since it happened. I’ve asked her to stop but she gets a kick out of it and doesn’t care how much her words can hurt,’ the girl said as she loaded Henny’s shopping into a bag. ‘He wouldn’t have done anything she says.’
Henny nodded and handed over the money. ‘I know—I went to school with him.’
‘Thanks again,’ the cashier said. She gave Henny the change and her receipt.
‘Thank you, have a nice day,’ Henny replied and she dropped the change into her bag. ‘And don’t let her get to you.’
***
‘So this is what you’ve been up to,’ Dan said as he walked up the stairs of the old barn.
Stephen stopped hammering and turned around at the sound of his friend’s voice. ‘Hey, Dan, how are you going?’
‘Good. I see that you’ve been busy,’ he said, turning in a circle to look at Stephen’s renovation.
‘Yeah, I reckon that’s an understatement.’ He put down the hammer and grabbed a large bottle of water from the makeshift table and took a gulp. ‘When I’m not working on the farm I’m here, and that’s pretty much my life at the moment.’
‘Well, that’s not exactly true, is it?’
Stephen frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Rumour has it that you’ve been spending time with Henny Bolton.’
‘A little, but we’re just friends,’ Stephen said.
Dan chuckled. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘It’s true. Henny doesn’t want a relationship. She’s still pulling herself together after her mum’s death.’
‘Listen, mate, she didn’t even see you when we were kids.’ Dan paused for a second before he went on. ‘All I’m saying is don’t let it happen this time, otherwise you’ll end up in the friend zone forever.’
‘I can’t force her to fall in love with me. I don’t think it works that way.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Dan added with a wink. ‘So are you going to give me the tour?’
Stephen laughed. ‘It’s one big room, Dan—hardly tourworthy.’
‘What made you think you could make this old place liveable, anyway? I mean, it’s pretty dilapidated.’
Stephen grabbed an old crate and sat down on it. ‘There’s another one of these over there,’ he said, pointing to the far end of the room. Dan walked over to retrieve it and sat down facing Stephen. ‘Nah, structurally it’s sound—aesthetically, well, that’s a whole other subject.’
The two-storey barn had sat on the edge of the Drake farm for decades—in fact, it preceded them. When Stephen’s father bought the place in the late eighties the barn was already standing. At some stage the electricity and water had been hooked up and in the beginning Stephen’s dad had used the bottom level of the barn as a storage space and somewhere he could tinker on his old car. The place hadn’t been used very much in the past ten or so years as the Drakes had a newer and grander shed closer to the house.
‘It’s still on the farm but far enough away from the house. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.’
‘What does your dad have to say about it?’
‘He’s okay. Mum had only been gone six months when the whole thing happened at the res. He was rattled, which is one of the reasons I didn’t go away to uni or move out, as you know. I don’t regret my decision but I can’t stay in that house forever.’
‘It’s understandable. I remember Leon saying that his mum wouldn’t let him out of her sight for four years.’
‘Yeah, I think that’s a natural response, but after a while you feel constrained. But I didn’t mind too much, and it wasn’t as if I had a relationship going on like Leon did. Nothing that really came to anything, anyway.’
Dan reached for the bottle of water and took a sip. ‘Ew, how can you drink this stuff?’
Stephen grinned but said nothing.
‘You know, you’ve got a bit of a reputation for breaking hearts.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Stephen said. ‘At least, I never meant it to be. Look, I tried with Alison, we went out for what . . . five months? It just didn’t work out.’
‘And neither did Sarah, Trinny or Mia,’ Dan added with a broad smile.
‘Mia and I are just mates. We went out a couple of times but it was a mutual decision for us just to be friends.’
‘That’s because Mia is a savvy type of girl—she saw through you, unlike poor old Alison.’
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’
‘That Mia knew that you were stuck on someone else. It’s pretty damn obvious to everyone that you’ve been half in love with Henny Bolton since we were sixteen.’
Stephen went to say something but closed his mouth and shrugged; there was no use denying it to Dan. ‘Well, she doesn’t want me that way so I’ll just have to move on. It was a schoolyard crush and now it’s time that I got over it. I thought I had until she rolled back into town.’
‘Alright then, at least we’re on the same page.’
‘Is it really that obvious?’
‘Only to those who really know you,’ Dan said with a wink. ‘Oh come on, don’t get all maudlin on me—show me around your new place.’
Stephen sighed and stood up. ‘Like I said, it’s one big room. This bit will be the bedroom and over there by the windows is the lounge. There’ll be a small kitchenette on that wall over there, so it’ll be open plan. The bathroom is downstairs.’
‘It’ll cost a bit,’ Dan said.
‘I’m doing most of the work myself and using reclaimed wood where I can. Other than that, Greg Pearson and Kris Larsen are hooking me up with the wiring and the plumbing.’ Dan gave a nod. ‘I guess it pays to count a certified plumber and electrician among your friends.’
‘Sure does—mates rates. So the whole thing is working out a hell of lot cheaper than I thought it would, which I’m grateful for,’ Stephen said.
It wasn’t that Stephen and his dad were poor but they still had to be careful—farming could be a fickle business and was always at the whim of the elements. For the most part the farm made a profit, some years better than others, and over the past ten years Stephen had really poured himself into the place to try to improve whatever he could. But the fact remained that there had been a couple of years where they only scraped by: a drought had lasted longer than expected, and a fire three years ago had burnt through the top paddock. One year they lost several pregnant ewes to a dog pack that had terrorised the area until they had been caught. So it wasn’t always sunshine and roses, and it was in fact a lot of back-breaking work for, at times, nothing.
‘Well if you want my opinion, I reckon it’s going to look great,’ Dan said. ‘So changing the subject altogether, I heard that Henny has been talking to peo
ple, you know, asking all sorts of questions.’
‘Questions? I don’t follow.’
‘I ran into Rosalie at the supermarket yesterday. She said that Henny had told her off just for saying what she’d heard about Harley’s death.’
Stephen frowned and huffed. ‘Yeah, because Rosalie isn’t a toxic gossip at all.’
Dan laughed. ‘She played down her role in it like she was an innocent victim. But she said that she’d heard that Henny had been asking other people questions about Harley. Do you know what that’s all about?’
‘No. Maybe she’s just curious, or maybe she can’t accept what happened and is trying to find an answer.’
‘What do mean?’
‘Dan, she lost her dad when she was little and her mum just died. Add to that the fact that a whole lot of her friends were drowned at the res, including her best friend, and then to top it off she discovers Harley’s body. Maybe she’s not dealing with things well. Maybe she wants an answer that isn’t really there.’
Dan frowned and stood up. ‘Do you think she needs to talk to someone? I mean, now that you’ve said it, I can see that she could be a bit fragile.’
‘I could talk to her but I’m not sure what I would say.’
‘Maybe point out that even though you can understand where she’s coming from, her asking questions could end up hurting some members of the community. For some of the families, Harley’s death has brought the res disaster back, and Henny asking questions is prolonging the pain.’
‘I think she’s trying to make sense of it all. First her mum dies in an accident, then Harley. And it’s easier to blame someone than accept he might have taken his own life. I’ll have a word with her.’
‘That’d be great,’ Dan said. ‘Now, if you promise to buy me a beer later, I’ll give you a hand. I’ve got about an hour before I’ve got to be anywhere.’
Stephen grinned. ‘So how are you at sanding?’
‘Hmm, I think I might regret this.’
***
Henny walked out of The White Stag and followed the publican’s directions down a narrow lane that ran alongside it. The lane was only just wide enough for a car to drive down. This was one of the oldest parts of town; the pub being one of the first buildings to be erected after the gold rush. There wasn’t that much to see in the lane other than a series of high fences, with the exception of an old stone miner’s cottage right on the edge of the road. The lane was straight as it followed The White Stag’s fence but then it veered sharply to the left and continued for another hundred metres or so. At its end there was a tiny white house with a tinier verandah. It looked like a doll’s house. Henny paused in front of the wire gate and took a breath before pushing it open and walking up to the front door.
After she knocked there was a moment’s silence before Henny heard a gruff voice on the other side of the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Tavish, it’s Henny Bolton. We met the other day at Harley’s funeral.’
‘So?’
‘Well, I was wondering if I could speak with you. I just had a couple of questions and I thought you might be able to answer them. Please, Mr Tavish, I’d really appreciate it.’
‘What questions?’
‘About Harley,’ Henny said.
Mr Tavish didn’t respond and the silence seemed to drag on. Henny was debating whether she should knock again or just walk away when the security latch scraped as it was slid back. The door inched opened until Mr Tavish was staring at her. His watery blue eyes blinked several times from the bright afternoon sun and Henny wondered how often he ventured outside.
‘What do you want, Henny Bolton?’
‘You spoke to Stephen Drake and me at the funeral. Some of what you said I didn’t understand. You said that Harley knew that the res was cursed—what did you mean by that?’ Mr Tavish stepped back from the door. ‘You’d better come in.’
‘Thank you,’ Henny said as she walked into the almost-bare lounge room. From what she could see, the place was the typical layout for an old cottage—four tiny rooms and that was about it. A battered recliner sat on a wooden floor, in one corner a small television was propped up on a skinny chest of drawers along with a half bottle of Scotch and in the other corner was a bentwood chair.
‘You can sit down if you want, or not,’ Tavish said, slumping into the recliner.
Henny walked over to the chair and carried it back, sitting down in front of Mr Tavish.
‘Mr Tavish, what can you tell me about Harley?’
‘What’s to tell? That boy was never quite right after he came out of the water,’ he replied, before giving her a squinty look. ‘What’s it to you, anyway? What do you really want?’
Henny straightened on her chair and for a moment grasped for the right words. ‘What do you think happened to Harley?’
‘I don’t know—except he didn’t kill himself. Of that I’m sure.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘He was scared of the place. I told you that the other day—he said that it was haunted by all those friends you lost . . . along with my girl.’
‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
‘No. Though the thought of Amber existing somewhere is a comfort of sorts.’
Henny nodded; she understood the longing for lost family.
‘You believe it too, don’t you? I can see in your eyes that you do, or why else would you bother to come here and ask your questions?’
‘I don’t believe in ghosts, Mr Tavish.’
He gave her a sceptical look.
‘But I do think the res has a sorrowful feel to it.’
‘So you didn’t see anything when you pulled Harley out?’ There was a masked hopefulness in his voice.
‘All I saw was Harley in the water—and that was enough. The res brings up painful memories and, like the old quarry, I doubt that I’ll visit it again.’
‘Just staying away from it won’t help. You should leave town, girl—it’s the only way you’ll be safe.’
‘Mr Tavish, I don’t believe that a large body of water just outside the town is plotting our demise.’
Mr Tavish pushed himself out of the chair, walked over to the bottle of Scotch and took a slug.
‘Believe what you want, girl, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Harley told me that he was going to tell you to go away—he knew what was going on.’
‘And what exactly is that?’
‘That there’s a danger, that’s what he said. And now look what’s happened—the poor boy is dead just like my Amber. Harley hated the place and had no business being there. Something lured him there and then it killed him.’
‘What sort of something?’
Tavish took another slug before looking her in eye. ‘Evil, pure evil.’
Chapter Nineteen
Henny stood in the middle of the shop floor and looked around. The Matchbox had seen better days, that was for sure. The ugly dark-cream paint job that seemed to draw the walls in was peeling in places and Henny’s fingers itched to scrape it off. The room was in good repair otherwise but had an air of neglect and emptiness, which wasn’t surprising as it had been languishing as a storage area for years.
Aunt Janey had handed Henny the keys and given her free rein to do whatever she wanted with the place. The whole idea was thrilling and a little scary at the same time, but her excitement outweighed the fear and if she closed her eyes, Henny could see what this place was going to look like.
Henny picked up a stack of paint charts that she’d been poring over for the past few days and had finally narrowed it down to two colours: a barely-there blue called ‘Cloud’ or the equivalent in pale green named ‘Whisper’. Her hope was that either would help brighten up the space and also produce a calming feel.
There was a quick rap on the door before it swung open and Aunt Janey sailed in with a man in tow.
‘Hey, kiddo, have you picked the paint colour yet?’
Henny shook her head
. ‘It’s down to two.’
‘Well I don’t mean to push you but do you think you could make a decision?’ Aunt Janey said with a smile. ‘Oh, where are my manners? Henny, this is Shaun Pearson. You probably remember his little brother Greg from school.’
‘I do. Hi, Shaun, it’s lovely to meet you,’ Henny replied. You could see the family resemblance; both Shaun and his brother shared a similar bone structure with dark-blond hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. But where Greg was wiry his brother had a stockier build.
‘Henny,’ he said with a nod and a smile.
‘Shaun and his team are painting your shop, so that’s why we need to know which colour you’re going with,’ Janey said.
‘Aunt Janey, you don’t have to—’
‘Of course I do, I want to,’ she said as she touched Henny’s arm. ‘So don’t make a fuss, just show me which colour.’
Henny held up the paint samples. ‘It’s down to Cloud or Whisper. Which one do you like?’
‘Not up to me, kiddo.’
Henny thought for a moment as she looked at the swatches. ‘Cloud—we’re going with the blue.’
Aunt Janey clapped her hands. ‘Excellent, we’ll get that organised.’
Shaun took the blue sample. ‘Just leave it with me, I’ll order the paint as soon as I leave here,’ he said. ‘All being well we should be able to start next Monday.’
‘Wow, that’s soon,’ Henny said with a smile.
‘Well, we’re between jobs at the moment. The crew just finished painting the old mansion last week and out next job starts in a fortnight.’
Henny frowned. ‘But will that be enough time to paint the shop?’
Shaun laughed. ‘Henny, have you seen how small this place is? We’ll get it done in no time.’
Henny smiled. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the finished product.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll be beautiful,’ he said with a wink before heading out the door. ‘Ladies.’
***
With the painting now taken out of her hands, Henny went back to finding the things she needed for the shop. She’d already taken care of sourcing jewellery from Mia and so she turned her attention to one of her favourite pastimes—shopping online. She was looking for shop fittings and design ideas. Once she had discovered some interesting suppliers, she got around to finally calling Gemma about her scented candles. Gemma was at work at the hospital but Henny organised to catch up with her that night at seven. There was no use staying at the shop after that because until the place was painted there wasn’t too much to do—well, at least until she managed to track down some fittings and fixtures.
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