by Sue Whiting
I skim through the other links and trawl through the information. The other sites say much the same thing, but with each site and each listing, my insides tighten and twist. I feel as if Celina is standing behind me, peering over my shoulder. I snap my head around. There’s no one there. Of course. But I have come to realise that just because you can’t see something, it doesn’t mean it’s not there.
I keep trawling. I note the continuous mention of the “extensive search”, the “thorough investigation” and how they had “exhausted all leads”. I find an article about how a band of about ninety volunteers from the surrounding district, led by the shire president himself, searched for more than six weeks after the police search was called off.
I lean back in my chair. My brain checks through all the things that have happened since I got here, the information I have gathered. Celina wants me to do something – I’m sure of it. It’s as though she has been waiting all these years for me to open the peace chest and put on those jeans.
But what is it? And why doesn’t she simply tell me, instead of giving me tiny glimpses of her life? Does she want me to find her remains? Uncover the truth? Find her killer? I go all goosebumpy. And for some reason the image of that stranger and his haunting words Holy mother of God! Holy mother of God! come back to me. Instinctively, my eyes lift to gaze out through the window towards the lake, and my nostrils fill with that sickening smell. That snarling face looms large in my mind’s eye. But why? Wasn’t that Oliver’s pop?
This is crazy!
I turn my thoughts to the phantom Robbie and whether he existed or not, and whether the other things I have “seen” actually happened. The best person to help me here is Deb. I search for a website for Deb’s store and find a rudimentary homepage with contact details.
I compose an email.
Subject: Celina O’Malley
Hey, Deb.
This is Bayley. The girl you met the other day who is living in Celina O’Malley’s old house at the lake. Sorry for giving you such a fright. I didn’t realise that I looked like Celina. No one had ever said before. No one. Ever. Not even Gran O’Malley – which is actually weird. I found Celina’s old album and it was spooky. There are some photos of you and Suzie too.
I can’t stop wondering about Celina and what happened to her. Why was everyone so sure she vanished? Was there any evidence that she was kidnapped or hurt? Did anyone think that she might have just run away? Was she unhappy at the time? Did anyone go searching for her in Sydney or somewhere else?
Or perhaps she fell off a cliff or something? Did they ever find any of her stuff – like her school bag or anything? I read on the internet that a friend was waiting for her at the bus stop. Was that you? That must have been so horrible. Also, did you guys know someone called Robbie?
Sorry for all the questions, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
Thanks for taking care of me when I fainted.
Cheers
Bayley.
I press send before I can change my mind.
I know the questions about Celina running away are stupid though. I know Celina is dead. Know that a dead girl is communicating with me.
fifteen
I step into the stillness of the early morning. The air is crisp and, setting out across the gravel towards the lake, I am transported back to happier times – to those mornings a lifetime ago when the world was barely awake and I would slip on my joggers and head down the hill to the beach with Dad before even the streetlights had blinked off. The sun’s first rays bursting from the horizon. The surf fresh and silvery-blue. Sand squeaking beneath my shoes. The wind in my hair.
This morning, the lake is smooth and shiny, but to the south, banks of towering dark clouds loom, threatening to spoil the early brilliance.
I take what seems like a track leading from the jetty to the southern edge. The track follows the shoreline for as far as I can see. I am almost tempted to run. Here. Right now. To stride out, pound my way along the track. But I don’t. Running was part of my life before. It has no place now.
I round a bend. The landscape here is very different to the rocky northern side. Here it is open paddocks. Fences. A few horses grazing in the distance. This land can’t belong to us, and I wonder if I am trespassing. The hills roll into the darkening horizon, leading, I suppose, to Oliver’s house somewhere.
Oliver. My attention turns to the lake.
And I am not disappointed. In the radiance of the low sun on the lake, I see that I am not alone. A single kayak is making a path from south to north.
Oliver. Training.
Oliver. Determined. Disciplined.
Working hard to achieve his goals. I envy him – wish I had the guts to be following my dreams, to be training again.
I stop and watch – the strength of each stroke, the smooth efficient pull through the water – and wonder what is going on between him and Amelia. Where and when did they meet? I feel a stab of jealousy. Jeez, Bayley, get over yourself.
I shrink back into some bushes before he spots me, just as the first spits of rain wet my face. Crap! I hadn’t noticed how swiftly the dark clouds had won over the blue. I turn up the collar of my jacket, say a silent farewell to Oliver and charge off – aware of the maddening nervous flutter in my chest that seems to erupt whenever I set eyes on him.
I scoot round the back of the house to slip inside through the laundry. It’s about half six and I am soaked to the skin. The damp drizzle had given way to a sharp downpour with little warning. What is it with the weather round here?
I yank off my jacket, toss it on the floor and grab a towel from the shelves that are masquerading as a temporary linen press. I dry off my face, then tip my head over to towel my hair dry.
There are voices in the kitchen. I wind my hair into a towel turban on top of my head, and lean my ear to the door. Who could be up this early?
“Now, don’t be getting yourself in such a stew, Kath.” Gran.
I wait for Mum to respond, but all I hear is what sounds like crying. “I’m just hopeless,” is my mother’s eventual reply. “I’m here, what – three days – and I have to call you to come to my rescue. Again.”
“That’s what mothers are for, Kath, you know that. Don’t beat yourself up – you’ve been through a heck of a lot, what with David, and then Amelia acting up …”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face this out here, alone. What was I thinking?”
“You’re only trying to do what’s best, love.”
“But my best isn’t even near good enough, is it? I thought this was going to be perfect. That it would be what David would do – we were planning to come out here anyway, once the girls were off at uni or whatever. It seemed like the most logical solution. But it’s stupid. So bloody stupid! It’s been a struggle to get the power and water working, let alone anything else – I didn’t think it through.”
“Hey, Kath. Shush. You had to do something – you had no choice. Amelia’s one angry young woman with her finger planted firmly on the self-destruct button; you had to get her away. It’s brave, what you’ve done. And David would be proud of you.”
At this, Mum dissolves. “I can’t do it,” she sobs. “I haven’t a clue how to handle her. Can’t seem to handle anything or anyone.”
“Yes, you can. You’re made of stronger stuff than you realise.”
“Don’t patronise me. I’m not one of your clients at the Soup Van who needs their ego stroked–”
“Kath, stop it. I don’t stroke egos – yours or the people at the van. Far from it. I tell it how it is. And you are strong. You can do this. Many of the people I deal with can’t. But you can.”
Mum blows her nose. “Can you ring up and cancel Saturday for me? I can’t handle meeting new people at the moment. I feel too raw.”
I hear tap water swirling into the kettle. “I’ll do no such thing. You need people, Kath. You can’t hide yourself out here. It’ll do none of you any good. Part of the reason Tallowo
od was your answer, was the community, remember? Have a cuppa, you’ll fee–”
“The community. Ha! If the other night is any indication, the community is not going to help one iota. Busybodies – the lot of them – throwing so many questions at me, I felt like I was under interrogation. They may as well have sat me down in the middle of the restaurant and shone a light in my eyes. Are you really related to the O’Malleys? Has the family recovered yet? Why have you moved way out here? Did you know that house is cursed? I don’t know if I can hack it, Mum.”
“Give it time, Kath. Or better still, why don’t you forget about the whole waitressing thing and ring up some of your old clients, and get back into what you are best at. You’ll feel so much better once you do; it will be good for your soul, love. Truly, it will make all the difference.”
Yay, Gran! I am glad that I am not the only one who sees how simple it is.
“It’s not that easy, Mum. I’m not the same person I was be–”
Seth’s voice bursts into the gloom. “It’s raining,” he declares. “Can we still swim in the lake, Mum? Hey, why are you crying?”
“Your mother just tripped and hurt her ankle.” I am shocked at the slippery ease of Gran’s lie.
“Come here and give me a hug, little man,” says Mum.
“Where does it hurt? Hey, Gran, can you sleep with me tonight?”
“Mmm, maybe, we’ll see.”
“You might be more comfortable, Mum. I was surprised at the state of Bayley’s room. Nothing unpacked and stuff strewn everywhere. It’s odd – especially for Miss Neat Freak. She’s been a strange one since we got here, that’s for sure.” Mum sighs. “I guess it will take us all a while to adjust.”
I hold my breath as I wait for Gran to spill that I wasn’t even in bed when she got up.
“Exactly,” says Gran. “Time. Time and a bit of effort takes care of everything. Now, Batman, tell me, do you still snore like a freight train?”
“No way! You do,” Seth answers.
I tiptoe out onto the back landing.
I have heard enough.
sixteen
It’s the pale blue eyes in the portrait that frighten me the most. Those luminous orbs hold me captive and seem to peer right into my soul. I admire the clever way the dark curls make the round shape of Celina’s face and how bizarrely the portrait seems to capture the spirit of Celina, just as Deb described – her energy, her enthusiasm for life – but at the same time there is something in her expression, something in those eyes that leaves me cold. Whatever, there is certainly something eerie about this picture. I fumble with the string across the back of the frame and peg it over a nail in the picture rail above the chest, right next to the Karinya sign. If only that sign would bring me peace.
I step away, and take in the rest of the room. At last I have been motivated to get it organised. Everything is unpacked and in its place. And I feel oh-so-virtuous. Lighter. Energised. Almost settled. And not even Gran giving me the O’Malley Silent Treatment and moving into Seth’s room can dampen my mood. Besides, let’s face it, I deserve Gran’s wrath.
Stacked on one side of my desk are my pile of notebooks and a jar of sharpened pencils, beside it, my laptop and, dangling from my desk lamp, my running shoes. I have only ever worn them once. Dad bought them for me a few days before he died, as an early birthday present and reward for the effort I had put into training. Now they have been relegated to the world of mementos.
I fiddle with the laces, my mind slushy with memories, when suddenly the lid to the chest slams down. I jump back and knock the pencil jar, scattering pencils across my desk and onto the floor.
As I reach down to pick them up, my skin prickles. The silvery notebook I had stashed under my mattress is also on the floor – lying open at the page about Celina and Robbie.
“Honestly, Bayley, do you have to slam everything all the time?” Amelia pokes her head through the doorway and pulls her iPod earbuds from her ears. “I spilled my coffee, thanks to you.”
I don’t respond. I grab the book and slip it onto my desk behind me.
“You still writing that creepy story?” Amelia’s lips curl into a sneer and she cups both hands around her coffee mug.
“Where’d you go the other night?” I say, my voice as shaky as my insides.
“What does it matter? I got home before Mum, like I said.”
“And my bangles, where are they?”
“What do you care? You never wear them.”
“Doesn’t matter. I want them back. Now.”
“You’ll get them back, don’t worry your pathetic self about it.”
What did I do to deserve Amelia for a sister?
“And what about Oliver?” I hear myself saying. “Where’d you meet him?”
Amelia gives a sly smile. I can hear Seth running down the hall, calling out to Gran. Amelia slides into the room and closes the door behind her. “Ah, you have the hots for our athletic neighbour?”
“No – I only want to know when you met him.”
“Yeah right. You’re jealous! This is hilarious.”
Amelia’s words set a fiery heat rushing up my neck. “I’m not jealous, you idiot,” I snarl. “It’s just … just that this is a small town and Mum will catch you out if you’re sneaking into town with one of the locals.”
Amelia bends over laughing. “Green eyes don’t suit you one bit, Bayley. But you can put them away. He’s too Serious Sports Star for me. Gawd, give me a break! Have you heard his laugh? Could it be any more ridiculous? But it doesn’t matter anyway; he’s way out of your league, little sister. I reckon he’s a bit of a god with the girls around town – from what I’ve heard.”
“From what you’ve heard? Where? When?” My cheeks are well alight now and I feel like a big baby.
“Forget him, is all I’m saying. God, it’s freaking freezing in here.” Amelia pops her earbuds back in, takes a sip of her coffee and slips out.
I sink down onto my desk chair. Amelia is so infuriating! He’s out of your league. I picture Oliver this morning on the lake. Remember the bewilderment on his face when I yelled at him on the rocks the other day. Remember how I threw my little wobbly and ran off. She is so right.
My guts lurching, I flip open the silver notebook. Was it just a spooky coincidence that the book was on the floor opened to the page about Celina and Robbie? I look at the scrawling handwriting and shiver. My attention shifts from the notebook to Celina’s portrait, with those cold, cold eyes that pierce deep into me and chill the blood in my veins. Swarms of words and sentences and images cram into my head until it is fit to burst.
I am compelled to write. I have no choice in the matter.
It got serious with Robbie and me almost immediately. One minute we were barely talking to each other, bearing that childhood grudge with a vengeance; the next minute we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was intense to the max. Marvellously, giddily, amazingly amazing. Quite simply, we were in love.
We loved each other all summer long and then into the autumn. Robbie met me on the school bus each morning, and we rode it to school sitting side by side, tingling at being so close. Some days he had a wildflower for me.
Robbie consumed me. Totally. I opened my heart to him and he filled it to bursting, and gave his own heart to me in return. And I knew how lucky we were to have found each other so young. Some people wait their whole lives and never experience what we had.
He is so great, Bayley. Wait until you meet him. You’ll love him to bits. He is the best ever.
seventeen
“Hurry up, Amelia,” Mum calls from the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get there and I don’t want to be late.” Mum thumps off to the kitchen.
I scrutinise myself in the hall mirror: smooth back an errant curl and adjust my scarf. Ridiculously, it has taken me all afternoon to decide what to wear. Everything I tried on made me look pathetic. It wasn’t until I slipped on a spotty red dress from
the peace chest that I felt satisfied. The skirt is made from a floaty material that flares out from the waist in a way that makes you want to twirl. I finished it off with a chunky silver medallion.
Gran comes up behind me, looks over my shoulder into the mirror. “That suits you,” she says, appraising me. “Are they Celina’s clothes?”
I nod, wondering how Gran is going to react. “Do you mind?” Our reflected eyes meet.
“Mind? No, not really. I guess it’s good that they are being put to use.” Gran runs the back of her hand affectionately across my cheek. “You’re a beautiful young woman, Bayley. Don’t ever forget that.” She picks up her handbag off the hall seat and shakes her head. “That chest! I still can’t quite fathom how we left it behind. And for everything to be in such good condition after all these years – says a lot for camphor wood.”
I turn away from the mirror. “Gran – I’m sorry about before … those things I said …”
“No need for apologies. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that. That chest – well, seeing all those things of Celina’s, it threw me.” She pushes another stray curl out of my eye. “And you’re right, you’re just like Celina – the resemblance is uncanny, actually, and I can’t explain why I hadn’t noticed it before. Forgive me?”
“Sure – but it … it all makes me feel a little weird.”
“There’s nothing weird about it. It’s called genetics – Celina was your mum’s cousin. That’s all there is to it. Now, what I should have been telling you, Bayley, is how proud I am of you – the way you have been holding your family together, it’s been extraordinary, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
I shake my head. “But Gran, how can you say that? We’re in bits. I’ve done nothing but–”
“You have shown great gumption. And I’ve been feeling more than a little guilty about not doing my share – always tied up with the Soup Van and everything – when I should have been there for you lot more. Anyhow, I’m rectifying that now.”
