by Fiona Lowe
‘Don’t bullshit me, Margaret. You’ve always liked it rough.’
‘There’s a big difference between consensual sex and rape. I said no.’ She hadn’t. She’d taken advantage of his drunken state and lured him there. The next morning when he was sober, she’d showed him the dress she’d ripped and told him he was the one to ruin it. As she’d expected, Kevin was mortified and she’d filed his reaction away for future ammunition. Now she fired it.
‘Who knew all it took was anger to maintain your erection long enough to do the job? Well done! After all these years of subpar work, you’ve knocked me up.’
He winced and looked as if he was about to throw up. ‘What about an abortion?’
Margaret had considered it. Three months earlier, the thought consumed every waking moment and most of her dreams. Terminating an inconvenient pregnancy was the practical thing to do and she’d got as far as booking an appointment in Melbourne. When the day arrived, she’d cancelled. Not because she couldn’t go through with the procedure but because, for months, she’d had a growing suspicion that her mostly compliant husband was bubbling with dissatisfaction. A baby was leverage. Kevin was toast.
‘Of course I considered an abortion. It was the first thing I thought of the moment Andrew gave me the horrifying news. But it’s too late. I’m already four months.’
‘Four months? Surely you had suspicions you were pregnant long before now?’
She thought fast. ‘I’m forty, Kevin. I thought it was early menopause.’
He stared at her, clearly perplexed. ‘But every time you’re pregnant, you’re sick for weeks. Surely that was a clue?’
‘I haven’t been sick this time.’ This was the truth. ‘It has to be the only upside of being pregnant at forty.’
‘When were you planning on telling me?’
She wrung her hands and forced herself to sound penitent. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for days but since your last trip to Melbourne, you’ve been virtually silent. When you’re not at the mill, you’re out in the shed. That’s why I made an effort with dinner tonight, I was trying to smooth things over between us. Not that you appreciated it but one of us had to do something. You know things between us have been … difficult … since the pool house.’ She sniffed and brushed away a tear. ‘Our blameless baby doesn’t deserve to grow up in a broken family just because we didn’t try hard enough.’
Haggard lines tugged at Kevin’s features and she saw the struggle playing out clearly on his face; it was exactly as she’d hoped. Kevin loved being a father and he was a good one. Loving and far more patient than she was, he went to every boring sports match and every interminable music concert with cheerful good grace. Although he always came on the family holidays she arranged— somewhere warm and luxurious where she didn’t have to cook—he also took the kids camping, bringing them home filthy and happy. He might want to leave her but he’d hate leaving the children. This was her first weapon. Her second was George. Although her father-in-law was in his late seventies, his opinion still ruled. Margaret was secure in the knowledge that George would side with her. Kevin knew it too.
Kevin poured himself a whiskey; a sure sign he was at breaking point. ‘Exactly how do you propose we make this work?’
‘Mum?’
Margaret opened her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Did you and Dad … have problems?’
‘Of course not,’ Margaret said indignantly, stubbing out the cigarette with a vicious twist. ‘Honestly, Sarah, sometimes you say the most ridiculous things.’
CHAPTER
15
Ellie slid into her office chair, pleased to be back in the warmth of the neighbourhood house. The morning had been consumed by home visits and the afternoon was earmarked for follow-up phone calls. Consulting her volunteer list, she wondered who would be the best person to give a couple of Burmese women some driving lessons.
‘Knock knock.’
Delight swooped in before she even looked up. All it took was Luke’s rumbling voice for a delicious tingle to skate across her skin. As part of her need to protect Noah and their decision to ‘go slowly’, Luke dropped into the neighbourhood house if he happened to be in Valley View. It seemed he was in town at some point every day.
Skating her chair back from the desk, she stood. ‘Hello.’
‘G’day. Just passing by, thought I’d drop in,’ he said in an exaggerated accent. ‘Got time for a picnic lunch?’
She pointed to the window. ‘It’s six degrees out there and sleeting.’
‘I didn’t say it was going to be outside.’ He leaned in and she tried hard not to tense as he dropped his head and planted a kiss on her cheek as if they were a normal couple.
She craved normality but she feared it too. Since the night at Mill House, when she’d accepted his outstretched hand and he’d gently cuddled her against him, she’d been working on relaxing into his touch. Not that they’d done much more than cuddle and kiss, but he did both particularly well. Each night after Noah was in bed, Luke FaceTimed her and they talked; sometimes for two hours. He always started by asking about her day. He sounded genuinely interested in the goings on at the neighbourhood house. They talked politics, books and films, Mingunyah gossip, his family—never hers—and the night before, at his suggestion, they’d streamed the same TV show simultaneously, talking on the phone as they’d watched it. It had been like sitting together on the couch and she was both surprised and relieved that she missed having his arm around her and snuggling in. Missed putting her head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat. Missed his body heat and musky male scent.
True to his promise, Luke hadn’t mentioned sex. She was grateful for that but at the same time she couldn’t stop feeling that sex was the baby elephant in the room that was only going to grow bigger. But for now, instead of passion, excitement and high-octane sex, she was mostly embracing and appreciating old-world courting. She’d never experienced anything like it and she wanted to believe it was a sign of intrinsic good. However, that was a part of the problem. Her instincts with men were never good and in the past they had done nothing to protect her.
There are good men in the world. Only you can decide if you believe that.
‘I thought we could have a carpet picnic.’ Luke pushed back some chairs to create a space and spread out a rug before producing two baguettes and two piping hot lattes from Le Fournil, Valley View’s very own French bakery. It was a recent and blessed addition to the town courtesy of Phillippe, a baker from Bordeaux who had fallen madly in love with a local winemaker. Phillippe had the lightest touch with pastry and even the most homophobic folk in the district could be seen enjoying one of his eclairs or profiteroles.
‘One vegetarian baguette for you and the charcuterie for me.’
Luke bit into the fully loaded sandwich and bliss broke over his face. She watched him with a freedom that was both foreign and enjoyable, trying not to let her mind catastrophise that this liberty might come back to bite her.
‘Food isn’t just fuel for you, is it?’
‘Just fuel?’ He gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘My taste buds are offended. Mum’s a fantastic cook and I was raised on the mantra that good food is one of life’s joys.’
She tasted the memory of burned chops and gluggy tuna casserole. ‘Not when my mother cooked.’
‘Is that why you’re vego?’
‘Not really—I kind of fell into it. It started in Thailand as meat was scarce and continued in Sydney where meat was expensive. Then, when I moved to Guthrie Farm, the household was vegetarian. As we shared the cooking, it was just easier if I was vegetarian too.’
He cocked his head and his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it back. ‘So it’s not an ethical issue? If I cooked you a roast, would you eat it?’
She considered the question. ‘If it was a free-range chook, I might be tempted.’
‘You’re on. When?’
He looked ridiculously happy at the idea of cooking for her and she worked on
relaxing into his delight. ‘I have to work tonight and it can’t be tomorrow, because I’m not leaving Noah two nights in a row.’
‘Noah can come. The more the merrier.’
‘Not yet, Luke.’ She steeled herself for a snide or manipulative comment but he merely shrugged.
‘Fair call. It’s early days.’
‘Thank you.’ Relief made her lean over to kiss him. ‘Really.’
‘Wow. If that’s all it takes for you to kiss me, I’ll have to agree with you more often.’ He put down his baguette and pulled her into his lap. Sliding his large hands into her hair, he kissed her long and deep but without demand; giving far more than he took.
Her limbs liquefied and she looped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss. This time her mind was thankfully out of the game and her body took advantage of its silence, revelling in responding uninhibitedly to his touch and taste.
When they both drew back for breath, he rested his forehead against hers.
‘I’ve fantasised about this for longer than I’m prepared to admit.’
‘Kissing me at work?’
‘Kissing you full stop.’ He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘But I have to admit there’s a definite thrill sneaking a kiss from you at work.’
She caught sight of the clock and scrambled out of his lap. ‘I don’t want to shock the good women of Valley View who offer their time free of charge to tutor English on a Thursday afternoon.’
‘I dunno. A bit of voyeurism can be healthy.’
She laughed and stood up. ‘Time to get back to work, plumber boy.’
‘Yep. The Parrys’ state-of-the-art AC system awaits.’
‘They’re organised. The first hot day’s months away.’
‘And sadly, they’ll never use it.’ He scrunched the white bakery bags before tossing them into her bin with the accuracy of a basketball player. ‘Warrnbatt’s down on the river flat with a clear view of Mount Defiance. Between the sound of rushing water and the cacophony of bird song, it’s idyllic, but I reckon they fell in love with the dream. That and probably watching too many re-runs of Grand Designs.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They overcapitalised on the reno. Then they got hit by last year’s flood. Chris took a job in Albury and they figured—wrongly—that Warrnbatt would sell fast, so they bought a place there. The bridging finance has gotta be killing them. Anyway, your brother’s the agent and he called me the other day to set up the job. He reckons the lack of a decent heating and cooling system is putting off his city-slicker buyers.’
‘I would have thought being close to the river was more of a problem?’
‘Could be. It’s flooded twice in the last five years and given how weather events are changing …’ He lifted the picnic rug she’d folded out of her hands and kissed her. ‘Catch ya later.’
She almost asked, ‘When?’ but she wasn’t doing needy ever again so she said, ‘Totally,’ and immediately felt foolish.
* * *
Operation Get the Key to Mill House was keeping Anita fully occupied.
With Margaret’s favourite coconut and jam slice tucked in her basket, Anita hummed as she walked down the hospital corridor to visit her mother-in-law. She had the visit all planned. After tea and as much jam slice as Margaret could eat, Anita would mention the new locks in passing. Margaret would be appropriately shocked and horrified by the situation and immediately instruct Sarah to give Anita a key. Sarah, who, unlike Ellie, found it almost impossible to refuse Margaret anything, now had an added incentive to comply: the thorny issue of the will and the inheritance. Sarah would oblige her mother. The Mill House key was in the bag.
Margaret was resting on the bed and Anita opened the conversation chattily, mentioning how well Vintage Glamour was doing. ‘That gorgeous early Jenny Kee jumper of yours almost melted eBay.’
But the mention of it seemed to catapult Margaret back into 1975 and she became increasingly agitated about her diamond brooch.
‘You’ve stolen it, you little tramp.’
Anita jumped at the vitriol in the words but reminded herself Margaret was unwell. ‘I’m your daughter-in-law, Anita. I love you and I haven’t stolen your brooch.’
Margaret’s laugh was vicious. ‘You can’t sweet talk me, Anita. I know all about your wide-eyed innocent pixie act. You covet those diamonds as much as I did the moment I first saw them. We’re a lot alike, you and I, except I’m not a doormat. I know how to handle my husband.’
The words slashed Anita like the slice of a knife and her heart thumped faster. In fifteen years, Margaret had never said anything like this and the accusations rattled her. How should she handle it? What should she say? Where did she even start? She rang the bell.
The personal care attendant came quickly, took one look at Anita and said, ‘Being difficult is she? Take her for a walk and a ciggie, love. That always calms her down.’
Tucked away in a pretty garden nook by the pond, Anita lit two cigarettes with a shaking hand and passed one to Margaret. Despite all her years of not smoking, it was alarming how desperately Anita craved to slip under the heady nicotine spell and escape for a few precious minutes.
Be a love, Anita. Go and buy me some smokes.
There’s no money in your purse, Mum.
You hate me drinking and I’m trying hard not to but I’m stressing out here. You know I wouldn’t normally ask, hon, but you’ve got some money. Just one packet. For your mum. You know they relax me.
They’re not good for you, Mum. I’m not getting you any.
You little shit. You’ll bloody well buy them if you know what’s good for you.
When Anita got home, she didn’t mention the brooch, the cigarette or his mother’s accusations to Cameron. All she said was, ‘I didn’t realise how much damage the stroke did. I’m not even sure Margaret knows what year it is. There’s no way she’s going to be able to help us with Mill House. Our only choice now is—’ She braced herself for an explosion. ‘—for you to make peace with Ellie.’
‘Fine,’ Cameron snapped. ‘Leave it with me.’
* * *
Sarah walked into the house at Riverbend and tried to staunch the flow of heartache. How could the artwork still hang on the walls? Why was the winter sunshine defying the gloom that should be shrouding the house? How could their resident kookaburra sit patiently on the deck railing waiting for his afternoon strips of beef as if everything was normal and her world had not suffered a violent schism?
‘Gus?’
Silence met her.
After the disastrous non-lunch on Sunday, she’d telephoned Gus that night and they’d talked. Who was she kidding? She’d talked and he’d made unintelligible grunts, but she’d wrung a promise out of him to visit her after school. Now it was Thursday and Gus had still not visited, so if the mountain wouldn’t come to her …
Dropping her handbag onto the island bench, she glanced around at the upsettingly neat and tidy house, seeking evidence of Kelly. She hated herself for doing it. Hated that the whole situation was turning her into a paranoid and angry woman always looking for ways to hurt Alex, but at the same time she felt powerless to stop it. Where were the piles of clean washing waiting to be folded and put away? Where were the dirty dishes in the sink? Was Kelly responsible for the unexpectedly organised house? Did she think keeping house would weld Alex to her? Hah! If that were the case, Sarah would still be here.
The whiteboard on the fridge sported Rita Bosco’s distinctive writing: Buy more Domestos. Of course. This was the answer to the clean house—Alex had upped the cleaning woman’s hours. After all, it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to have someone come in daily and pick up after him. An empty Cooked By a Friend container sat by the sink, taunting her. Bloody hell, Anita! Whipping open the freezer, she saw neatly labelled meals stacked high. She slammed the door so hard, it bounced open on the insulating rubber.
Sarah had assumed Anita would be supporting her by not continuing to cook at Riverben
d now she was no longer living here, but she’d got that wrong. Boy, had she got so much about Anita wrong. How had she fallen for her sister-in-law’s shining eyes and heartfelt declarations over the years, telling her that marrying Cameron and gaining her as a sister were the best things that had ever happened to her? What a load of crap. Anita was as money-grubbing and as unprincipled as Cameron. Sarah had never laboured under any illusions about her brother, but she’d always assumed he had familial feelings for her and Ellie. Not once had she thought him cruel but his betrayal hurt almost as much as Alex’s. As much as her mother’s. Had she gone through life totally blind to the faults of the people she loved?
Crossing the light and airy family room, she walked down the hall and found Gus sitting on his bed, headphones on and playing his guitar. Her heart rolled at the sight of her beautiful and talented son. God, she missed him.
‘That’s sounding good,’ she said loudly to penetrate his noise-cancelling headphones.
He looked up, a momentary flash of surprise in his eyes before the shutters slammed shut. He pushed one earphone aside. ‘What are you doing here?’
Hurt and despair hit with the spasm of a cramp and she gripped the architrave to prevent herself from doubling over. Smile. Act normal.
‘I came to see you. I miss you.’
His mouth turned down as if he didn’t believe her and her heart rate picked up. Be honest.
‘And I came to apologise. To say how very sorry I am that you overheard Dad and me arguing. It’s not something I wanted you to hear.’
Gus fiddled with the guitar pegs.
Mother annoyance bubbled. ‘Gus, did you hear what I said?’
‘Yeah.’
The antipathy in the word was new and it sucked the air from her lungs. Anger at Alex leaped with new energy. ‘Have you talked to Dad about what happened? He’s part of this too and—’
The chords from ‘Smoke on the Water’ drowned out her words, the message clear: I don’t want to listen to you.
‘Darling, I love you. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’d do anything to make it better but I can’t. Dad’s the one who—’
