Angela didn’t think she could write the email to Nick with someone standing beside her waiting. She’d liked the idea of sitting on her own in the business centre, taking her time, carefully choosing her words. Thank you but no, she said. She’d come back in an hour instead.
She took a seat in the foyer, trying to decide what to do next. Go back up to her room? Go for a walk? Then she saw a sign by the lift. Car Park Downstairs. Her car was there. She hadn’t been outside the hotel in nearly two days. She knew exactly where she wanted to go.
She asked the concierge for directions. Just a half-hour drive, he assured her, marking the way on a map. A beautiful view. Well worth the journey.
‘Have you ever been up there?’ he asked.
‘Not for years,’ she said.
‘Nothing like a trip down memory lane, then,’ he said.
‘Exactly,’ she answered.
She was smiling as she waited for the lift to take her down to the car park.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
On a stretch of highway outside Port Augusta, Genevieve, Victoria and Ig were sitting in their car with half-eaten fries and hamburger wrappers on the seats beside them. They were parked outside a McDonald’s. Genevieve and Ig were in the front, Victoria in the back. She hadn’t been happy about it all day.
‘I’m the adult, Ig, you’re the kid,’ she’d said as they set off that morning. ‘Kids sit in the back.’
‘No, it’s my special day out. Robbie and I want to sit in the front.’
‘But there’s more room for you and Robbie in the back.’
‘We’ve got all the room we need in the front.’
She’d had to give up when he buckled himself in, locked the door and pulled faces at her through the window.
‘Can I please have a sundae?’ he asked.
‘Can you actually physically fit any more junk food into your body?’ Genevieve asked.
‘I’ve only had a bit.’
‘KFC for brunch, McDonald’s for afternoon tea. And now you want a sugar hit as well.’
‘I never get this stuff. It’s a treat. You said you’d spoil me today.’
‘I said I’d spoil you, not stuff you to the gills with dangerous additives.’
‘So can I have a sundae? I’ll get you both one as well.’
In the back seat, Victoria groaned.
‘No, thanks,’ Genevieve said. ‘I can’t move as it is. All right, Ig, you can have one. But you have to go in and get it. I’m not your slave.’
‘Cool,’ he said. He took the money from her and was out of the car in seconds.
Victoria was rummaging in Genevieve’s handbag. She took out a paper bag and looked inside at the contents. ‘Do you suppose we should use these pregnancy tests now?’
‘In the McDonald’s toilet? Lovely idea.’
‘It could still be stress, couldn’t it? Or jet lag in your case? Even this many days late?’
‘I hope so,’ Genevieve said.
‘I really hope so,’ Victoria said.
A few minutes later, Ig returned. He was carrying three sundaes in a cardboard tray.
‘That was nice of you to buy all of those with my money, Ig,’ Genevieve said. ‘But I told you I couldn’t eat another thing. Nor could Victoria.’
‘I thought you were joking. Sorry. I’ll have to eat them all myself.’ He started on the first one.
One hundred kilometres away, on the road between the Pugilist Hill lookout and the Gillespies’ homestead, Richard was watching while Lindy changed the tyre at the front of the ute.
‘I’m very embarrassed,’ he said.
‘Why?’ she said, looking up.
‘I’m the man. I should be doing that.’
‘But you don’t know how to change a tyre. I do.’
‘I’m embarrassed I don’t know how to change a tyre.’
Lindy shrugged. ‘You probably know how to do stuff I don’t know how to do.’
‘What else do you know how to do?’
‘Kill a snake. Shoot a gun. Muster sheep. Just ordinary stuff like that.’
‘Can you really do all those things?’
‘I grew up out here, Richard. We didn’t just sit around praying for rain.’
‘No, I guess not.’
They were silent for a moment as Lindy took off the flat tyre and moved the spare into place.
‘That was a great trip today,’ he said. ‘Thanks again. It’s incredible out here.’
‘Jane will kill me for bringing you back late.’
‘We won’t be that late. And she knows why. It’s not as if we deliberately got a flat tyre.’
Lindy had used the UHF radio in the car to contact the Lawsons. She hadn’t spoken to Jane but to her brother Fred, who’d been very warm and friendly. He’d also asked after Victoria. She was brilliant, Lindy had said, laying it on thick.
As she started to tighten the last bolt, she heard a noise from the radio.
‘Lindy? Are you there?’
‘Richard, can you get that? Just pick up the handset and press that button.’
He sat in the front seat and fumbled for the handset, dropping it and disconnecting the call. ‘I’m really failing on the macho front, aren’t I? Can’t change a tyre. Can’t use a walkie-talkie.’
‘It’s a UHF radio, not a walkie-talkie,’ Lindy said, wiping her hands on an old piece of cloth. She leaned past him and picked up the handset again. ‘Jane?’
‘Lindy? Where are you?’
‘On the side of the road with Richard. About ten k’s from our house.’
‘He’s supposed to be back here by now.’
‘I know. Sorry. We got a flat tyre. Didn’t Fred give you my message?’
‘Yes, but how long does it take to change a tyre?’
‘As long as it takes. Why, what do you think I’m doing, Jane?’
‘It’s obvious. You’re trying to keep Richard to yourself for as long as you can.’
‘Actually, you’re right,’ Lindy said. ‘I am.’ She pressed the button and finished the connection. Then she turned to Richard and pulled a face. ‘She’ll really kill me now.’
‘You can drop me off at the gate to their property and I’ll run in.’
‘Their gate is about a kilometre from their house. You’ll need to run fast.’
‘Has she always been jealous of you?’
‘Jealous of me? Are you joking?’
‘That’s what it looks like. She goes to a lot of trouble to put you down. Why does she do that? Because she’s threatened by you.’
‘You really think she’s jealous of me?’
‘Of your whole family, I reckon. She talks about you a lot. In fact, she hasn’t shut up about the Gillespies since I got here. All of you and your mother’s Christmas letter, especially.’
Lindy shut her eyes. ‘Don’t talk to me about that letter. I can’t bear it.’
‘But it was a brilliant letter. The Lawsons had a whole file of your mother’s letters. I read a few of them.’
‘How nice of Jane to show you.’
‘I enjoyed them, Lindy. Your family sounds like fun.’
‘Yes. So much fun. If you like asylums. I suppose they acted this year’s letter out in front of you?’ She could tell by his expression that they had. ‘It must have been hilarious.’
‘It was. But I was laughing at them, Lindy, not at your family.’
‘Sure.’
‘How can I fix this? I know, can I drive? Let me at least show you the tiniest element of masculinity.’
‘Do you know how to?’
‘Please, Lindy, I’m trying to salvage some pride here.’
‘It’s pretty hard on these roads. You have to go really slow, be careful passing other cars, watch out for stones —’
‘Please.’
She gave him the keys.
‘That last letter from your mum was pretty memorable,’ he said as they started moving again. ‘Maybe she’ll start a trend. No one usually tells the tru
th in those letters, do they?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. If she ever sends out another one, I’m divorcing myself from the family and never coming home for Christmas again. Slower, Richard. I know it feels like you’re crawling but you have to take it really easy out here.’
They drove on for five minutes. ‘See,’ he said, smiling over at her. ‘I do have some macho cells in my body.’
‘You’re a very good driver. You’re just going a bit fast again. And there’s a car coming.’
It was a tourist four-wheel drive, also going too fast.
Lindy put her hand on the dashboard. ‘Richard, seriously. I know these roads. Can you slow down a bit, otherwise —’
The other car passed them. A stone flew up into the windscreen. It shattered.
Richard slammed on the brakes. They skidded to a stop. He turned to her. ‘That happens?’
‘That happens,’ Lindy said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Angela was halfway to the lookout point. She wouldn’t stay long, she decided. She was beginning to regret even deciding to come. She could have been back in her hotel room, enjoying the luxury and comfort while she waited for the computer. Not on a solo drive to what was probably still a lovers’ lookout. Some sight she’d be, there on her own as couples smooched all around her. She turned on the radio, a talk show filling the car with noise.
At least the concierge’s directions were easy to follow. The roads were quiet through the suburbs. As she drove closer to the foothills, the houses grew farther apart. She drove around bend after bend, past road signs warning of corkscrew turns. She loved to drive but this wasn’t easy, a twisting, unfamiliar road at twilight.
Another sign appeared. One kilometre to go. More tight bends ahead.
She had slowed to forty kilometres an hour when she saw it. An enormous huntsman spider on her windscreen. Not outside the car, inside the car. Centimetres in front of her. The fat body, the long legs, as big as her hand. She screamed. She took her hands off the wheel for only a second. It was enough. The car went out of control, veered to the left, and slid off the bitumen.
The last thing she saw was a huge gum tree coming towards her.
The last thing she felt was a searing pain in her left side as her body was thrown against the steering wheel.
The last thing she heard was the car horn, blaring in response to her sudden weight against it.
The last thing she tasted was her own blood.
(Deliberately blank.)
(Deliberately blank.)
Angela’s whole body felt so strange. So heavy. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut. She couldn’t seem to open them. Her left side hurt. A lot. Not just her left side. Her chest too. Her head. Her arms. Everything.
Had she just been in a car crash? She must have. That had to be why she was slumped against the steering wheel like this. But how had it happened? Had someone run into her? As she tried once again to open her eyes, she became aware of something.
Voices. Lots of voices from lots of people. Gathered around her car. All talking about her.
Is she alive?
I think so. Look, she’s breathing.
I saw the whole thing! Her car just suddenly ran off the road and hit that tree. Is she okay?
Yes, thank you, she wanted to tell them. But she couldn’t seem to make a sound.
What if the car explodes? Should we try to get her out?
The car might explode? Oh yes, please, do get me out!
No, don’t move her. She might have spinal damage.
I don’t think I have, she wanted to tell them. But my left side hurts. It really hurts.
Should we risk it? I can smell petrol.
No, don’t. Here comes the ambulance now. Let them do it.
She waited, listening for sirens. Nothing. All she could hear were the voices. But was ‘hear’ the right word? No, she decided. It was more like she was ‘seeing’ the words somehow, as though they were subtitles on a film, lines of words running across the inside of her eyelids. But how could that be? Had she actually died in this accident? Was she having a peculiar out-of-body experience? Somehow drifting away from her physical self, looking down on the last moments of her life?
Stand back, please. Everyone, stand back! Let the paramedics through.
She waited, wondering if she would be able to feel them reaching for her. There was nothing.
Only more voices.
That’s it. Lift her out. Careful now.
Her pulse is low. It’s gone. Stand back, everyone. Stand back. Defib!
Pain, a rush of something, like sparks, fireworks behind her eyes, in her head, and a force of something. It felt like someone had shoved her, hard, in the chest. There was still that excruciating pain in her left side. She wished she could talk out loud, tell them about that pain, but she couldn’t speak or open her eyes. There was just more of those voices, more talk of her pulse, her lack of pulse. They sounded so serious. They were talking about the hospital. They were taking her to hospital. She was in the back of the ambulance being taken to hospital.
A short time later, or perhaps it was a long time later, there were more voices, more discussions.
Can someone check for ID?
Here it is. I’ve got it.
Was she at the hospital now? It sounded as though the police were there too, as well as the paramedics. They’d found not only her driver’s licence but an In Case of Emergency card, listing all her personal details.
Everything’s here, names, numbers, addresses.
If only everyone was this organised.
She couldn’t remember filling out anything like that.
Her name’s Angela Gillespie. She’s fifty-five years old.
Angela Gillespie? The Angela part was right, but that wasn’t her surname. Her name was Angela Richardson. They must have found someone else’s handbag. Someone who happened to have the same first name. She wanted to explain, but she still couldn’t make a sound.
Next of kin is her husband, Nick Gillespie. According to this, she’s got four kids – three daughters and a son. She lives somewhere called Errigal via Hawker.
Hawker? That’s practically the outback, isn’t it? Wonder what she was doing here in Adelaide?
Adelaide? The outback? A husband called Nick? Four kids? No, no. They had it all wrong. She was married to Will. He’d been her childhood sweetheart. She’d kept her own surname, Richardson. Will hadn’t minded at all. He’d always wanted her to be independent. They had one daughter called Lexie. And what was this about Adelaide, the outback? She and Will and Lexie lived in London, not the outback. London, England. The other side of the world. There must have been a terrible mix-up. They were talking about another Angela. A different Angela. She tried once again to open her eyes, tried to speak. She couldn’t.
Try the husband first.
Yes, please ring my husband, she wanted to say, to shout somehow. Ring Will. He’d sort all this out in an instant. He was probably already worrying where she was. Not that she could remember where she was going or where she’d been when she had the crash, but surely he’d be expecting her home by now?
She wished she could tell them that, tell them everything. But Will would get to the bottom of it all.
Beside her, one of the voices began to make a phone call. She had to strain to make out the words. It was as if the letters on her eyelids were growing smaller, fainter. As if she were moving away, drifting somewhere. Her left side was really hurting now. She felt like she was plummeting into velvety darkness. Not into sleep, but something deeper, heavier . . .
Mr Gillespie? Nick Gillespie? Is your wife Angela Gillespie, aged fifty-five? Does she drive a blue Holden Commodore? Mr Gillespie, I’m sorry, I’ve got bad news. Your wife has been in a car accident. She’s alive, but she’s unconscious . . . Yes, yes, I promise you, she’s alive —
Angela didn’t hear the rest. She was already far, far away.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The landline rang ten times before Nick remembered he and Celia were the only ones in the house. The twins and Ig were in Port Augusta, due back soon. Lindy was dropping that friend of hers back to the Lawsons.
Celia was in the living room, with the TV turned up to full volume, watching a soap opera. ‘Phone’s ringing, Nick,’ she said as he went past. ‘I thought there was no point getting it, it wouldn’t be for me.’
Five minutes later, he was back, ashen-faced.
She stared up at him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘That was the police. It’s Angela. She’s had a car accident. She’s in hospital. It’s serious.’
‘A car accident? Where?’
‘In the Adelaide Hills.’
‘The hills? What on earth was she doing there?’
‘I don’t know, Celia.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. I need to get to Adelaide now, as soon as I can.’ He stopped. ‘I don’t have a car. All the cars are gone. Oh, Jesus.’
‘Ring Joan.’
‘She’s an hour away.’
‘Contact the girls. See how far away they are.’
He took out his mobile phone and dialled. ‘No answer. No bloody answer.’
‘But you can’t get a signal from here, can you? I meant their car radios.’
‘I’m not thinking straight.’ He went to the radio in the kitchen and tried Genevieve first. ‘Answer,’ he said under his breath. ‘Come on, answer.’
Genevieve’s voice filled the room. ‘Ten four, big daddy, you’re coming in loud and clear.’
‘Where are you? I need the car.’
‘Hello, Dad. We missed you too.’
‘Your mother’s had a car crash. I have to get to Adelaide. Tonight. Now. It’s serious.’
‘Oh, Dad. Oh God. Is she all right?’
‘She’s in hospital. They’re operating. I don’t know any more than that. I have to get there now.’
‘Oh God. You don’t have a car, do you? We’re not far, Dad. Half an hour maybe. I’ll be there as fast as I can.’
‘Hurry,’ he said.
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