I paid off the taxi and staggered in through the big roller door at the end of the drive. We left it open all day anyway, to let in some light and air, so most people ignored the front door.
Ben perched on his customary stool behind the counter, face stuck in another pulpy thriller. He wouldn’t read a decent book if you paid him, but show him some third-rate Clive Cussler knock-off, and he was your man. He’d let his dark hair grow long enough that its natural curl gave him the look of a Greek god. All he needed was a laurel wreath and a white robe, though he cut a pretty fine figure just the same in jeans and a T-shirt.
He looked up at the sound of my heels on the concrete floor and laid the book down.
“How’d it go?”
I wobbled to a stop, one hand groping for something to lean on. The rough brick wall was all that held me up while I focused on not heaving my guts all over the floor. Dust motes spun lazily in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the roller door, and my vision danced too. Ben’s handsome face flickered as if I were watching him on a badly tuned TV station.
“Kate? You okay?”
He came round the counter in a smooth movement, long legs eating up the distance between us in three steps, hands reaching out to steady me. A familiar scenario. Ben had been holding me together for months now. Dark, worried eyes searched my face as I breathed in the familiar woodsy scent of his aftershave. He smelled of forests and bracing fresh air. His hands were warm on my bare arms as he half-carried me past racks of costumes to the tiny staff kitchen at the back.
He pushed me into a chair and felt my forehead, hand lingering almost in a caress. “What’s the matter? You’re all clammy.”
My skin prickled with heat, as if a million tiny spiders crawled on me. I shut my eyes against a wave of nausea and lay my head back against the cool bricks behind me. “Feel sick.”
“Getting-a-cold sick or throwing-up sick?”
“Throwing-up sick.”
“Let’s get you to the bathroom, then.”
I felt his hands on my arms, ready to help me out of the chair, but I shook my head. Even that much movement hurt.
“Just let me sit here.”
“Hang on. I’ll get you a bucket.”
He left and I heard him clattering around in the laundry room next to the kitchen. Thank God for Ben. Always so practical.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d held a bucket for me either. I’d given him plenty of practice in the first few weeks after the accident, trying to drink the pain away, or drink myself to death. I hadn’t much cared which. What was the point of existence without Lachie? I’d been lost in those first agonising days, and only Ben’s persistence had pulled me through.
My sister had tried to help, but she still had kids, and I didn’t, and it formed an impossible barrier between us. Mum tried too but eventually she had to go home to Brisbane, which left me sitting alone in Lachie’s room drinking till Ben had dragged me out of there with a job and a bracing, no-nonsense kind of friendship.
“Here.” He shoved a bucket at me, and I had to open my eyes. My vision darkened in that same alarming fade-to-grey thing it had done in the bathroom at the shopping centre. I tried to focus on his face. His eyes were a deep, warm brown, now full of worry. He had lashes any girl would kill for—long and lusciously curled. Seemed a criminal waste. He steadied me as I swayed on the chair. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”
“Can’t make any promises.”
“What happened?” He tested my forehead with the back of his hand again, checking my temperature. I inhaled his comforting pine forest smell as he leaned close. “You were fine when you left here.”
“I don’t know. It came on all of a sudden, after I changed disguises.”
“You had no trouble, then, with the outfit?” He grinned. “No running required?”
“Told you it’d work. You guys are so easily distracted.”
“What about the pick-up? What was the big rush?”
The pick-up had been booked with less than an hour’s notice. I’d barely had time to pull my outfit together and make it to the address—a house in The Rocks—in time. There’d been trees there. Lots of trees.
I frowned, letting my head fall back against the wall again as I thought. Yes, lots of trees, and … what else? I remembered a garden, I remembered arriving at the shopping centre afterwards; I even recalled when I’d first spotted the two guys tailing me. But in between? Nothing.
“Kate? You falling asleep on me?”
Why couldn’t I remember? The image of my arms, red to the elbow, dripping blood—that was clear enough. As if I’d been bathing in gore. I shuddered. That couldn’t have happened. Who forgets a thing like that? But then where had the blood under my nails come from?
“I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember what was so urgent?”
“No.” My voice was very small. “Can’t remember any of it.”
I opened my eyes. Ben crouched beside me, lanky body crowding the tiny room, bucket at the ready. He leaned forward, urgency in his gaze.
“Have you still got the necklace I gave you?”
I blinked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Have you got it?”
“Geez, what’s your problem?” The necklace sported a little silver man with a Robin Hood-style hat and tunic and tiny wings on the back of his sandals. The detail was pretty good for something so small—the figure was no bigger than the first joint of my little finger. I pulled the charm on its silver chain out of my singlet and he sat back, the urgency gone.
He’d given it to me when I’d first graduated from manning the shop counter to going on these odd little courier jobs of his. He had one too, on a leather thong round his tanned throat.
“Never take it off,” he’d insisted. “Wear it the whole time you’re on the job.”
“What for?” I’d asked, watching it spin on the end of its silver chain.
“It’s always been a good luck charm for me.” His dark eyes had softened. “God knows you could use a bit of luck for a change.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that, and if it made him happy it was no skin off my nose, though I couldn’t see why he was bringing it up now.
“It’s nothing.” He frowned, lost in thought for a moment. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
Well, that wouldn’t take long. I strained after odd bits of memory that wouldn’t stay still to be caught.
“I went to the address. There was a garden—a big garden.” Big for The Rocks, anyway. Most of the houses there were well over a hundred years old and all crammed in cheek by jowl with their neighbours in neat little rows. “I remember lots of trees. Someone was waiting for me.”
“Man or woman?”
“Don’t know.” I clenched my fists. What the hell was the matter with me? I tried to bring back a face, a voice, anything, but there was nothing but fog. “I guess they gave me the package, because I definitely had one when I got to the shopping centre. Oh, boy, did I have one.”
His gaze was suddenly sharp, predatory. “What does that mean?”
“It was addressed to me. A note telling me not to go home, for God’s sake.”
“A note? On normal paper?”
“No, on the flayed skin of virgins. Of course on normal paper!”
He rose, clearly agitated. I was missing something here, but before I could ask, he thrust the bucket into my hands, looming over me. “Where is it now?”
The intensity of his expression was alarming.
“In my bag.” I gestured vaguely out into the shop.
In a moment he was back with the bag, note in hand. He scanned the brief message. “Shit.”
“What do you mean, ‘shit’? Do you know who it’s from? Why should I check into a random hotel on the orders of some lunatic who won’t even sign their name?”
He said nothing, staring down at the note as if he could read a whole novel in its scant line
s.
“Don’t give me that poker face, buddy. If you know what’s going on you’d better tell me.”
He looked up, forehead creased in a frown. “Makes no sense to me.”
Liar. I could tell, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. All those years of practice being married to Jason had well and truly fine-tuned my personal lie detector.
“Don’t bullshit me, Ben.” I put the bucket down and surged to my feet. Marvellous how a little rush of righteous anger could make me forget my heaving stomach and pounding head. I glared at him, nose to nose in the tiny kitchen.
Or nose to collarbone, at least. He towered over me, which meant I always ended up looking like a Chihuahua yapping at a Great Dane when I had a go at him.
“A person I don’t remember gives me a cryptic note saying I’m in danger. How is that possible? A good half-hour of my life has simply disappeared into a black hole. Gone. Have I been drugged? What am I supposed to do now? Go to the police and accuse someone I don’t know of doing something I don’t remember? They’d lock me up.”
“You can stay at my place.” His deep voice had the soothing tone I’d heard so many times before when I’d cried on his shoulder. Now it just made me mad.
“So you think I am in danger? Why?”
“Look—”
The bell on the counter dinged. “Yoo-hoo! Anyone there?”
“I’ll get it,” said Ben. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I glared at his back as he escaped into the shop. Talk about saved by the bell. He was my closest friend—one of my only friends, since the accident—but how much did I really know about his past? Only that he’d been Jason’s best friend till Jason had dumped us both, and that he ran a costume shop and occasionally a rather peculiar courier service. Like me, he had one sister and a couple of nieces, and he kept pretty much to himself. No girlfriend, despite looking like Eric Bana’s sexier twin.
And that was about it. He was a pretty private guy. I’d trust him with my life, but I knew I couldn’t trust him on this. He knew something he wasn’t telling.
In the shop the customer asked for Elizabethan costume ideas and their voices receded as Ben led him through the racks to the English historical section. There were a lot of choices on that rack. They could be lost in Elizabethan England for a while.
I massaged my aching temples. I could wait here, but if I didn’t get a headache tablet soon my head would explode, and the kitchen cupboards held nothing but a couple of chipped mugs and some teabags and biscuits. Was I really going to let some nutjob keep me from my own comfy bed and well-stocked medicine cabinet?
I grabbed my bag and headed out the back door. If Ben wanted me to stay at his place, at least I’d get a chance to worm the truth out of him—but I’d need to collect some clothes first. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to duck home for a few minutes. I could grab a couple of Panadol for my head at the same time.
My little car beeped a welcome as I unlocked it. I wouldn’t be long—and maybe if I could get this headache under control I’d be able to figure out what had leaked out the hole in my brain.
***
I drove home with one eye squinted shut against the pain. My head felt like someone in heavy boots was trying to kick their way out of my skull. When I finally pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, I dropped my pounding head on to the steering wheel, trying to work up the energy to open the door. Maybe I’d sit in the car for the rest of my life instead.
Only the siren call of Panadol got me to open my eyes again.
I shrieked. A thick coating of blood dripped from my fingers. I slammed them against the wheel and the blood disappeared, leaving me shaking. Enough with the crazy! I jack-knifed out of the car and stood panting, leaning against its sun-baked metal.
It was still hot. The cicadas were going for their lives, screeching up a storm in the trees. There’d be no relief till it got dark, which at this time of year wasn’t till after eight. Daylight saving was a great idea, but it had its downsides. I’d certainly had my issues with it when Lachie was alive. Trying to get him to go to sleep on summer nights was always a battle.
“But Muuum! it’s not night-time yet!” No kid wants to go to bed when the sun’s still shining through his window.
“I’ll make it night-time,” I’d say, pulling the blind down with a flourish. As a single mum, I was always desperate for some child-free time back then. Ironic, isn’t it? I’d give anything now to have that time over again. “Abracadabra! See? Night-time! Now go to sleep.”
He’d lie down again, his bright curly head sweaty on the pillow, and try some other strategy to keep me there. A drink of water, another story—or a sudden compelling need to tell me every last detail of his latest Lego construction. The kid could talk underwater and he was never chattier than five minutes after bedtime.
“Goodnight, Monster.”
“’Night, Mum.”
I sighed and pushed myself upright. Panadol, here I come.
Tanya was watering her roses next door. “Hi, Kate!”
I gave her a little wave and kept walking, but she came over to the fence, dark hair bouncing with the force of her strides and her fierce tugs on the hose to make it stretch the distance. She was tiny, with all the energy of a Jack Russell and just as exhausting.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” she said. “How are you?”
Tanya was the only person besides Ben still trying to be my friend. Everyone else had taken the hint and drifted out of my life, but Tanya didn’t do hints. She threw herself one-hundred-and-ten per cent into any project, including her current favourite: rehabilitating me. We’d been close once, with her oldest starting school at the same time as Lachie. The kids had been in and out of our houses all the time, treating both like home. I didn’t need the reminder of her happy family in my face, but admitting defeat was another thing Tanya didn’t do.
“Oh, you know,” I said, trying to keep it vague. My pounding head wasn’t up for one of Tanya’s long chats. “Been busy at work.”
“You still working at the costume shop? With that good-looking fella?”
“Ben. Yeah, he’s great.” Except when he kept secrets from me.
“How are things going? Any chemistry there?” Tanya played the hose over her azalea bushes, pretending it was a casual question, but I knew her better. “He’s pretty hot.”
“You think so?” I knew if I agreed with her she’d be planning our wedding before she’d finished the watering. Hey, I had eyes, didn’t I? I could see the man was gorgeous, with his black curls and chocolate brown eyes.
Since Jason and I broke up Ben had been the glue that held my shattered world together. Even more so after the accident. But did people truly think it was that easy? Sure, my husband dumped me, then killed our child with his lousy driving, but I’ll just jump into bed with the next hot guy who happens along. Romance wasn’t exactly top of my priorities. Love was a country I wasn’t planning on travelling to again. If other people wanted to go there, well, good luck to them. They could send me a postcard.
As for Ben, he hadn’t had a steady girl in a while, but I’m pretty sure he’d held a bucket for me a few too many times to be interested. Maybe if I’d met him before Jason, things might have been different. Sometimes I wondered. But it was too late now.
Besides, he had such crap taste in novels. It would never work.
“We’re just friends,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. My sinuses were about ready to explode. Even the gentle patter of water on the leaves sounded like thunder to my aching head.
“Rubbish. I’ve seen the way he looks at you—like he could eat you up with ice cream on top.”
“He does not. Truly, we’re friends, that’s all.”
“Shame.” Tanya grinned. “He could fit my costume any old time.”
“I’m sure Roy would be thrilled to hear you say that.” There was no getting away from Tanya when she wanted to talk. I sighed and gave i
n. A couple of minutes wouldn’t kill me. Probably. “Your roses look great.”
Her whole garden looked fabulous, in fact, in complete contrast to the scorched-earth vibe going on in mine. Tanya had a green thumb for sure. All her plants were the vivid green of blooming health.
Water from the hose dripped through the leaves and soaked into the rich loamy soil, releasing an earthy scent that teased at my memory. I’d walked down a shaded path past garden beds bursting with colour and breathed in that same smell just recently. Today? A woman had waited under a tree in dappled sunlight. She’d had her back to me, but as she turned the image froze, like a DVD on pause, and try as I might I couldn’t find the play button.
Had she given me the envelope? And maybe a spiked drink? Did that mean the blood was hers?
Tanya chattered away, smiling at her garden like a proud mother. It took me a minute to realise she’d asked me a question.
“Well?” she prompted. “Would you like to come in and have dinner with us one night this week?”
Dinner with Tanya and Roy and their two adorable little girls? I’d rather chew my own arm off.
“Oh, that’d be nice.” I’m sure she knew I was lying, but even after seven months I wasn’t ready. Time for another lame excuse. “It’s just—I’m kind of busy at the moment, with work and everything. Maybe some other time.”
Sometimes I thought it would be easier if I moved away, somewhere people didn’t know me. But then I’d lose my last connection to Lachie. He’d lived here his whole short life.
I’d brought Lachie home here from hospital, a red, squalling newborn, and watched him sleep with the exhausted wonder common to new mothers everywhere. He’d fallen down those front steps when he first started toddling around, all pudgy legs and fat inquisitive fingers, and he’d carried a scar on his chin for the rest of his life.
It had been a fine house once, and it still had good bones if you looked beyond the peeling paint and sagging gutters. I loved the old-fashioned walled veranda, its high ceilings and roomy bedrooms. I loved its dark hardwood floors and the cheerful green exterior it showed the street. But I loved it most for the memories it held.
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