All she had to do was make friends with these lower-level staffers, gain their trust, and then figure out who was the most likely to turn on their employer.
All she had to do was lie. Her chest tightened.
A young man sat next to her and pulled out a Caesar salad for lunch. ‘Hey, newbie. I’m Kyle.’
‘Lara.’ Not too far from the truth. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘And you. What brings you to this sacred playground of political intrigue?’
‘A job to make ends meet, like everyone.’ She forced lightness into her voice.
‘And what did you do before joining us?’
All she had to do was lie.
Except she couldn’t. Looking into Kyle’s happy, innocent eyes, she couldn’t lie to him. If he was twenty, she’d have been surprised. So young. So not fair to lie to him.
Lies and secrets led to pain. Someone always got hurt, even if the intention of the person telling the lie was justified. Secrets and lies always ended in pain. She touched the pendant hanging around her neck.
‘Excuse me, Kyle. I’m not feeling well.’ She stood up and ran out of the office, texting Maher as she went.
Back at Lillian’s house, Laura waited for Maher to turn up. He’d never been to her place before and she ran around making sure everything was tidy.
When he arrived she offered him a coffee, which he refused. ‘Out with it, Prescott. You didn’t get me to come over to infuse me with caffeine.’
‘I . . .’ She took in a deep breath. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘The story? Is it too much for you?’
‘No. It’s more than that.’
‘You were close to that Heath fellow, weren’t you?’
She nodded. But it wasn’t that either. It was everything. ‘I think . . . I think it might be time for me to move on. From work.’
Maher sat up straighter and raised his bushy eyebrows.
‘I’m not sure if I can be the reporter I was. To go undercover, to lie, and dig into people’s lives. I just . . . my heart isn’t in it. I don’t . . . I don’t want to be that person anymore.’
He furrowed his brow and Laura waited for him to respond.
And she waited.
When he spoke, it was with a low voice. A kind voice. ‘You haven’t quite been yourself since you got back, have you?’ He raised his hand, letting her know he wasn’t actually expecting an answer. ‘There’s one rule I’ve never taught you, Laura. And that’s rule X. It’s best learned firsthand, but sometimes people need a little push to get there.’
‘Rule X?’
He stood up, put his hand on her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. ‘Always be true to yourself. Maybe you need to figure out what that is.’ He kissed her on the top of her head. ‘I love you like one of my own children, Prescott.’ He smiled. ‘Go and find yourself.’
After Maher left, she made a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and turned his question over in her mind.
What was her truth now?
Alone. Sad.
The next morning she rang her mother and arranged to meet for coffee. It would take time for them to build any kind of relationship, and she wasn’t sure if they ever truly could, but one thing her time in Banksia Bay had taught her was how important family was. It was worth a try, at least.
‘You seem sad,’ Donna said, once they’d exhausted all the small talk. She reached across the café table and patted Laura’s hand. ‘When was the last time you were truly happy?’
The answer to that was easy, and Laura’s heart ached for the quiet stretch of beach that haunted her dreams.
She looked into Donna’s eyes. Should she tell her what had happened in Banksia Bay? Would it perhaps help her understand Lillian? Would it make a difference? She hesitated. Was it even her story to tell?
The moment passed and she didn’t mention a word about Virginia, or the history she was now custodian of.
Back at Lillian’s house that night, Laura sifted through all the questions and doubts and quandaries that had plagued her since coming home. She opened the kitchen cupboard and pulled out the box of files she had on Lily and Gigi. She took out the photo of Gigi and Lily on the beach and placed it in a photo frame on the mantelpiece.
She skimmed through her notes, the copied articles, the pages of The Bugle. So many people had lost so much, paid so much.
Perhaps sometimes it was better to let the truth fade into the dark.
She flicked through the files again and stopped. The missing pages of The Bugle were in her hand. She hadn’t noticed them before. As she scanned the articles, each word of Richard’s death, of Costas’, made her stomach churn. So embellished, nothing more than tawdry gossip to fuel hate and scandal. Laura placed the files in the kitchen sink and lit a match. Rule number three, trust your instincts. Truth always lost its battle with gossip, people being far more eager to believe the latter. And in turn, gossip became truth. That Laura knew what had happened was enough now. Watching the past burn, she let the last of the tears she had inside her flow.
Sunshine filtered through the trees as Laura waited on the stump in the middle of the clearing, breathing in the fresh air. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming. When she booked the holiday house, she’d used a pseudonym. One last lie.
As the Bodhi Bus came round the corner, she stood up and her heart swelled with joy when she saw Trish behind the wheel.
‘Well, bless your soul.’ Trish billowed out of the van, her blue kaftan a cloud around her. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ She embraced Laura, squeezing the air from her.
‘I was afraid I’d chicken out at the last minute and then I’d let everyone down.’
‘Nonsense. But why don’t we have a little fun with it?’ Trish giggled and came up with a plan.
The holiday house was exactly as Laura remembered, even her surfboard on the verandah resting up against the wall of the house where she’d left it. She ran her fingers over it before heading inside.
She unpacked her things, spreading Ian’s photos across the dining table. She was going to finish the story. A little late, she knew, but hopefully it would still help. She’d decided to go freelance while she figured everything out, and she was going to start with her story about Banksia Bay.
The money Lillian had left her was substantial. She’d be able to pick and choose her stories, and the freedom filled her with excitement.
At three o’clock, just as Trish had instructed her, she headed down the beach towards the shack.
As she came around the sand dune she made out familiar figures gathered on the deck of the old fishing shack.
Aiden was the first to see her and he ran towards her, throwing himself into her arms. He’d grown so much in the months since she’d seen him.
Ian saw her next and stared at her as she neared the shack. He coughed. Loudly. Everyone looked at him and he pointed in her direction. They followed his gaze and Laura could hear the collective gasp.
Ryan waved and Charlotte let go of his other hand to step forward and hug Laura. ‘Welcome back.’
Trish winked at her and Ian caught the exchange. ‘You knew?’ He frowned at his partner. She simply smiled sweetly at him.
There were balloons in bright colours on the tables and food and drink for everyone.
From inside the shack a voice rang out. ‘Why has it gone quiet out there?’ Virginia walked outside, helping Yvonne manoeuvre her Zimmer frame. When she saw Laura, Virginia gasped. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Someone told me there was a birthday.’ Laura beamed.
Yvonne, looking smaller than Laura remembered, paler, wiped tears from her eyes.
As the afternoon grew cold, Laura talked to Ian about finishing their story. He was excited to help. Even more excited when he learned his name would be included in the by-line. They put their heads down and started to make a plan for what photos to take and how they should structure the story.
‘All right, you two. You
can continue this tomorrow. She’s here for a while, Ian.’ Trish grabbed his hands. ‘It’s time for us to go home. Not as young as we used to be.’
People started to take their leave, hugging and kissing each other goodbye.
Aiden stole another piece of cake as Charlotte packed up his bag of toys. Ryan saw him but said nothing, and Aiden grinned at him.
‘It’s so good to see you again, Laura.’ Charlotte gave her a quick hug. ‘Can we catch up properly tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’
‘Can I get a lift home?’ Yvonne called out and Ryan helped her navigate her walker over the sand. ‘It’s so good to have you home.’ She clasped Laura’s hands on the way.
Laura stayed back to help with the last few dishes that had been missed in the tidy-up.
‘How long are you staying?’ Virginia lowered herself onto the sofa.
‘I don’t know. Depends on the story. I don’t have a schedule.’
There it was again, that sense of freedom.
‘And after that?’
Laura could see the question in Virginia’s eyes.
‘I burned my files, Virginia. There’s nothing left.’
The old woman’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath. She got up and walked over to Laura, reaching out and squeezing her hand. ‘You head home. I’ll finish these off.’
The next morning Laura sat on the sofa tying up her sneakers. The angel wing pendant slipped from her neck and she reached down to pick it up. Under the sofa she felt something solid. She pulled out a long cylinder. Heath’s blueprints. She spread them across the coffee table.
As she looked over them, an idea began to form in her mind.
Taking the familiar route over the banksia-covered hills, she passed the lookout and a sense of peace washed over her.
She continued running north until she reached the headland where the cheese factory lay forlorn. The morning clouds hadn’t yet lifted and the scene was veiled in mist.
Picking her way over the ruins, she made her way to the centre of the site. So much had happened here. A life had been created, one had been taken. Dreams had been made, shared and shattered. So much joy, so much tragedy.
As the clouds began to burn off, sunlight filtered through the holes in what was left of the roof and she pulled the blueprints out of her backpack. She spread them over one of the broken tables and looked around the space. Heath’s vision came to life in her mind.
The copper kettle, polished and laden with jars of honey; Heath’s sculptures hanging from one of the restored beams; the cart repurposed and propped up just so, heavy with sourdough and nut loaves and bowls of olives, all sitting on a red polka-dot picnic blanket; artworks by local artists hanging on that wall over there. She could see the back wall transformed into glass French doors opening out onto a brand-new deck, a café full of people enjoying meals made from local produce. They’d call it ‘Heath’s’.
She walked out to the edge of the headland and looked at the view before her, unable to contain her excitement.
She pulled out her phone. ‘Charlotte, do you think you can meet me at the old cheese factory? I think I have an idea.’
Back at the holiday house, Laura changed into her wetsuit. Charlotte had been almost as excited as she was at the thought of bringing Heath’s vision to life. It would take some work, but she knew they could pull it off.
She headed to the beach and stood at the edge of the water, her surfboard under her arm. She closed her eyes, searching for the courage to go in. When she opened them again, she could see Heath sitting on his board, bobbing in the swell behind the waves. So many times since he’d passed, she’d seen his echo in the water. This time, though, she felt him pulling her in.
She reached beneath her wetsuit and held the angel wings that hung around her neck. Heath’s silhouette shimmered, then disappeared, and Laura ran into the white wash.
‘I’m back,’ she whispered to him as she sat beyond the breakers. She could feel him next to her. Sadness mixed with joy, for what they’d had, for what could never be. Close to him now, she knew she was home.
I ran a competition for anyone who donated to my family’s JDRF One Walk fundraiser to go into the draw to win a character named after them in The Banksia Bay Shack. Thank you everyone who donated, and a special thank you to the winners, Sarah Mercer, who asked me to use her daughter Charlotte’s name, and Yvonne Trunley. I hope you both love your characters as much as I do.
A very special thank you to Mishell Currie, who reads anything I send her, no matter how long I give her to do it, and who came on tour with me for The Cottage at Rosella Cove. She kept me in good company over long stretches of country roads where we survived the scariest petrol station on earth and battled the elusive Ebor panther.
To my amazing critique partner, Léonie Kelsall, who is a whiz with feedback and the fastest reader I know: thank you, Lee, for always being there for me. Thank you also to Jennifer Johnson for your eagle eye and amazing cheerleading.
As always, thank you to Dianne Blacklock, my mentor, for continuing to share your knowledge and wisdom with me and reassuring me when I message you in a panic.
Michael Denner, thank you for sharing your surfing knowledge with me. You are a beautiful soul and I’m lucky to have known you most of my life. Thank you to Joanna Nell for your insight and knowledge regarding Heath’s medical condition. You were invaluable in bringing his story together.
Claudine and Steve, thank you for helping me with Costas’ story, for allowing me to use a family name, and for sharing your insights into immigrant struggles in the sixties.
To my ‘Wednesday Writing Buddies’, Michelle, Claudine, Georgie and Cassie, thank you for our fortnightly writing sessions. Your support and enthusiasm are a lifeline I couldn’t do without.
Thank you to the ladies at Park Beach Bowling Club for the amazing support you have shown me since my first book hit the shelves. You are all so very special to me. There’s a book in there somewhere, I’m sure. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to write about you crazy lot!
Ali, my publisher; Elena and Fay, my editors; Emily and Sophia, my publicists; Laura, my cover designer: thank you all for your care, insight and support, and for helping turn the jumble of words inside my head into this beautiful book.
To my friends and family, for your continued support, thank you.
Mum, three books in, thank you for continuing to recruit readers and introduce people to my little stories about small towns.
To my sister, Karen, you have believed in my writing since this journey began. Thank you for being such an amazing support, often when I’ve been at my loneliest.
Chris, you had no idea what you were getting into when we met twenty-five years ago, but you have stuck by me through the many ups and some pretty horrendous downs, and none of this would be possible without you.
My daughter, Emily: life threw you yet another curve ball while I was writing Banksia Bay and you took it in your stride with characteristic strength, determination and humour. You are the might that I infuse into my characters, the resolve behind every word I write, the laughter that keeps me going.
And to all the readers, reviewers, libraries and booksellers, thank you for giving my words life.
Gigi and Lily form a very strong bond, despite the differences in their upbringings. What is it that draws them together?
What is Lily’s motivation for trying to push Todd and Gigi together?
Gigi doesn’t tell Lily the truth about the night Richard dies. Do you understand her motivation? How would life have been different for Gigi and Lily and Costas if she had?
Yvonne shows incredible loyalty to Virginia. Where does this loyalty come from? Is it justified?
How does prejudice influence the events in The Banksia Bay Beach Shack and the characters’ behaviour?
Discuss the ways in which the events of the novel are indicative of the era. How might things play out differently today?
‘Where there’
s breath, there’s hope.’ Discuss the importance of hope for both Gigi and Heath.
Laura applies her rules of journalism to her time in Banksia Bay. Do you think the rules help or hinder her in her search for the truth?
Heath is worried his condition will change the way Laura feels about him. Is it ever right to keep something from someone you care about?
‘Maybe the truth wasn’t just the first casualty of war. Perhaps it was the first casualty of life.’ What does this statement mean?
Sandie Docker grew up in Coffs Harbour, and fell in love with reading when her father encouraged her to take up his passion for books. Sandie first decided to put pen to paper (yes, she writes everything the old-fashioned way before hitting a keyboard) while living in London. Now back in Sydney with her husband and daughter, she writes every day.
ALSO BY SANDIE DOCKER
The Kookaburra Creek Café
The Cottage at Rosella Cove
LOST
Nicole has left her city life for the sleepy town of Rosella Cove, renting the old cottage by the water. She plans to keep to herself – but when she uncovers a hidden box of wartime love letters, she realises she’s not the first person living in this cottage to hide secrets and pain.
FOUND
Ivy’s quiet life in Rosella Cove is tainted by the events of World War II, with ramifications felt for many years to come. But one night a drifter appears and changes everything. Perhaps his is the soul she’s meant to save.
FORGOTTEN
Charlie is afraid of his past. He knows he must make amends for his tragic deeds long ago, but he can’t do it alone. Maybe the new tenant in the cottage will help him fulfil a promise and find the redemption he isn’t sure he deserves.
Welcome to the cottage at Rosella Cove, where three damaged souls meet and have the chance to rewrite their futures.
The Banksia Bay Beach Shack Page 32
