by Cathryn Hein
Em stared hollowly at the benchtop. ‘She told Dig she was watching The Hannigans. She told him everything that happened.’
‘Oh, darling, she could have found that out from —’
‘Still spreading your poison, Em?’
Em whipped around to face the voice. Digby stood in the kitchen doorway, an ugly flush rising up his neck.
‘I haven’t been spreading anything. I’m just trying to find out what happened.’
‘Sure you are.’
‘Look, Digby,’ Emily said, stepping towards him, her tone calm and reasonable. ‘Maybe you should check your computer, see what comes up in the browser history.’ She glanced back at her mother. ‘For our peace of mind.’
‘She didn’t do it!’
Em’s temper snapped. ‘Then prove it!’
‘Stop it!’ Adrienne rose and slammed her palms on the granite bench top. ‘Just stop it!’
Her children stared at her in a horrified silence. Even as a teenager Em had never heard her mother yell. Adrienne’s fury seemed to blaze from Em to Digby and back again, until she abruptly collapsed back down as fast as she’d risen. She slumped forward, crimson-faced, and buried her face in her hands before breaking into loud, hiccoughy sobs.
‘Mum,’ said Em, attempting to wrap her arm around her mother’s heaving shoulders.
Adrienne shrugged her off and ran for the door, still sobbing, and collided with Samuel.
‘Shh,’ he said, holding her and stroking her hair as he glared across the kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’
Em stared at the bench in shame.
‘Nothing,’ said Digby.
‘I doubt that.’
‘It’s all right, Samuel.’ Adrienne pulled away and used what was left of her tissue to swipe beneath her eyes. She sniffed loudly and looked at both Em and Digby. ‘Please don’t fight any more. Things are difficult enough.’ She pressed the tissue to her leaking nose and hauled in a staccato breath. ‘Your grandmother’s safe. That’s all that matters.’
Em could only pray that was true.
*
Jasmine proved as disbelieving as Josh. It didn’t come as a surprise to Em but her lack of support still hurt. Yes, there was doubt, but surely there was a chance Felicity was innocent too? After Saturday night – which had again seen Josh and Em argue, then make up with sex that for the first time seemed to leave them both unsatisfied – Jasmine’s reaction only added to Em’s misery.
Sunday was a fine day, perfect for a beach ride and an opportunity for Em to unburden her heart. She’d started, like she had with Josh, carefully describing all that had happened, taking special care to keep to what was known. Gut feelings, personal anxieties and prejudices weren’t facts, and the facts pointed towards an unfortunate accident.
‘I’m sorry, Em, but Josh is right.’
Em found herself unable to look at Jas, instead focusing on the white line of breakers off Admella Beach.
Tension riddled the remainder of the ride. Changing subjects didn’t alter either Em’s temper or Jasmine’s dismay, and the horses, picking up on it, played up, shying at flotsam and jetsam, waves and seaweed.
By the time Em reached the hospital Sunday afternoon, the self-doubt that had been building with each encounter had the crushing weight of an avalanche.
‘They’re refusing to discharge me,’ Granny B snapped as she came in, as if the situation was Em’s fault.
Although maintaining her regal posture, without make-up and hairstyling, Granny B looked like any other grandmother – old, frail and impotent. A state that didn’t sit well with her. Em’s shoulders sagged at the realisation that she would be the one to bear the brunt of her grandmother’s mood.
Em sank onto the bed and rubbed at her pounding temple. ‘With good reason. There’s still a risk of pneumonia.’ And blood clots, but Em didn’t add that. The thought of pneumonia was bad enough. Besides, her grandmother was safe here. ‘You need to stay here and rest.’
‘I’ve had quite sufficient, thank you.’ Granny B leaned forward and peered at Em, her old face softening. ‘Not well?’
‘Headache.’ Em let her hand drop. ‘I haven’t had a lot of sleep these last few days.’
‘No. I imagine you haven’t.’ She let out a raspy sigh that ended in a disturbing cough. ‘None of us have.’
Em plucked at the waffle blanket. ‘I don’t know what to think any more, Gran. Everyone except Digby seems to believe it was her, but I’m trying my best to be fair and not point the finger without proof. Jas says I’m being naive and Josh looks at me like. . .’ She shook her head as her eyes prickled, unwilling to give voice to what she feared Josh really felt in case that somehow made it real. ‘Mum’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and Digby hates me because I want proof that she didn’t do it.’
Bony fingers tightened around her arm. ‘Don’t worry about your brother. He’ll come round.’
‘But Gran’ – Em couldn’t help the hot spill of tears – ‘what if it was her? What will happen to us all then?’
‘I don’t know. But this family has endured bigger scandals than this. Wallaces are survivors. Always have been. She won’t beat us.’
Granny B’s answer did nothing to ease Em’s anxiety. This wasn’t about beating anyone. This was about holding a family together.
She swiped at her tears. ‘It’s not worth it, Gran.’
‘What’s not?’
‘Pursuing this. It’s destroying everything. Our family, my friendships. Josh.’
Granny B’s expression turned fierce. ‘The only person destroying anything is that girl.’
But as Em stared blankly at the pale green ward wall, remembering Digby’s fury and her mother’s sobs, she couldn’t help wondering if the truly destructive person was herself.
Twenty-Two
The workshop’s fluorescent lights countered the falling night but still Josh felt the gloom. He’d been in a funk since Friday night, when the evening with Em he’d thought would see them back on track hadn’t turned out that way. Saturday night was the same, except then even sex hadn’t made things right.
He couldn’t help the sick feeling that kept churning through his guts like sour milk every time he thought of what happened to Granny B. Her ‘accident’, so soon after what sounded like a pretty massive argument, was too much of a coincidence.
What he didn’t get was why Em was being so stubborn about it. Sure, people deserved the benefit of the doubt, but if something walks like duck and quacks like a duck. . .
Josh let out a sigh, wishing he could stop thinking about the whole mess and get on with his work. He flicked a look at his dad. ‘I don’t understand women.’
Tom glanced up from the shed’s front bench, where he was tidying one of the legs of Em’s easel. A few more days and it’d be ready for assembly and oiling. Josh hadn’t decided how he would present it yet. The way their relationship was deteriorating, he wasn’t sure it’d ever happen.
‘Isn’t anything new in that, son.’
Josh reset his dad’s thicknesser to the size he wanted. At some point he’d have to invest in a larger machine, but that would take a cash outlay he couldn’t afford right now, and the twelve-inch machine did a good enough job. ‘Em’s acting weird.’
Tom didn’t reply. Josh supposed there wasn’t a lot to say. All the women in their lives were acting weird. His dad placed the leg down and came over. Josh turned on the machine and readied his piece of timber – some blackbutt he’d discovered going cheap at a clearing sale, and thought to recycle into a coffee table.
Protective glasses lowered, Josh guided the timber into the machine, his dad at the other end, ready to hold the milled plank steady, the noise blocking further conversation. Satisfied the plank was planed to an even smoothness, they placed it on the growing pile.
Josh ran his hand over the surface. Stained, with the right layout, the coffee table would make a great centrepiece. There was more timber for other items too. A simple entertainment u
nit. A small bookshelf. Perhaps matching lamp tables. He’d put the table on the website, use it as an enticement for commissions to match. Investing in that much timber stock was a risk, but it’d been too cheap to pass up and he had enough faith in his business that it would sell. Maybe not immediately, but soon enough.
The milling complete, Josh followed his dad back to the bench, where the easel pieces were laid out, the cypress warm and pale against the marked and stained bench surface. Once again Josh lamented that he hadn’t had the foresight to scrounge enough timber for a matching stool. The easel would still be beautiful, though – a mix of utility and craftsmanship.
From a square base, the easel rose up on adjustable legs to form a work surface split into two distinct parts. The left and larger side consisted of a large board, modifiable to any angle and height, with a wide lip at the base to keep pencils and rubbers handy. To the right was a side table, flat but also height adjustable, and cut down one edge with a wide, square furrow to keep ink bottles in place. Another circular well had been cut to hold a metal or glass cylinder, suitable for storing pens and brushes, or a drink if Em wished.
Josh planned to fix castors to the base so she could roll it wherever the light was best, even outside if she wanted. An equally mobile stool would have finished the easel perfectly.
‘Don’t suppose you know of anyone with a spare cypress tree?’
‘Keep your eye out. There’ll be timber around.’ His dad looked him up and down. ‘You should ask your mum about Em. She was around visiting when you were at footy training last night.’
‘Mum never said.’ Neither had Em, but that didn’t surprise him as much. Since the incident with Granny B and their unresolved arguments, she was keeping closed-mouthed about a lot of things.
‘No. She’s a bit secretive about it all,’ said Tom.
‘Think they’re up to something?’
‘Doubt it. From what I overheard they talked cooking and gardening.’
Like they used to when Em was young. Josh picked up a piece of timber and admired the turning – his dad’s expert work. The legs were square at the top, before tapering into elegant rounds, the design stylish, curving in all the right places, very much like Em.
‘Looks good.’
‘Think she’ll like it?’ asked Tom.
‘Yeah, she’ll like it.’
His dad caught his eye. ‘Hope you two don’t break up before it’s finished.’
‘Me neither.’ Josh said it with a laugh but there was an edge to his words that even his father caught.
He studied Josh for a long moment before gripping his shoulder. ‘Take it from me, son. If you love her, tell her.’ Tom turned his pensive face towards the house. ‘Just don’t leave it too late. Nothing sucks a man’s soul drier than regrets.’
*
Though his parents’ bedroom door was open and he could see the outline of his mum’s feet at the end of the bed, Josh still knocked before poking his head around the edge.
‘Joshy.’ She held out an arm, beckoning him in.
His stomach clenched at how ill she looked. This latest dose of chemo seemed to be more debilitating than all the others, making her nauseous and weak. She swore it was no worse, that it was the hair loss that made it frightening, but Josh wasn’t convinced. Before, his mum had kept her humour and natural cheekiness. Now, she seemed too exhausted.
She curled onto her side to create a space for him. He perched carefully, not wanting to disturb the bed too much in case it caused her pain or made her ill, and took her hand between both of his. Her skin felt moist and cool, as though all the blood was circulating further inside, fighting an internal enemy intent on killing her.
‘How much more to go?’ she asked.
‘Just a matter of making sure the joinery is right. The height adjustment is the hardest bit.’
She smiled sweetly but tiredly. ‘She’ll be so thrilled.’
‘Will she?’
‘Of course.’ Michelle threw him a look of puzzled amusement. ‘Why on earth would you think she wouldn’t be?’
Josh looked towards the window. A gap in the curtains exposed the garden and the glow of streetlights beyond. A shower had passed through a few hours before and the world still glistened with raindrops. Tuesday night. He wondered if Em had gone to Camrick for dinner or boycotted it. He hoped the latter. Bad things had a habit of happening in that house.
‘What’s up, my sweet?’
He looked down at her hand and toyed with her fingers. Some days he felt as if there was too much going on in his head. That morning, Karen told him that the mastectomy woman had to postpone her trip a week, which meant yet another week of uncertainty and sweat-filled disturbed sleep. The only time he seemed to sleep normally was with Em, but the weekend had seen even that scrap of grace disappear.
‘The usual. Worrying about you.’
Michelle’s lids half-closed. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘That’s the trouble. You won’t. And you know it.’ He fought a shameful urge to cry. Losing Em, should it happen, he would handle, the same as he handled losing Bianca, but not his mum. Not his precious mum. He needed her. They all did. She held them together, made them a family. ‘Why do you want to leave us?’ His voice choked. ‘Is it because we’ve done something wrong? Disappointed you somehow?’
‘No! Don’t you dare think that. You’re all gorgeous and perfect and I love each one of you.’ She clutched at him. ‘And I am deeply proud of you all.’
‘Then why?’
Grip loosening, she turned her head to the side. ‘Don’t, Joshy.’
He looked at her in despair. What was the point? No matter how much it hurt them, she’d made up her mind. And it made him even more miserable to acknowledge that a little bit of him hated her for it.
Television noise drifted in from the lounge. Josh thought about sitting in front of it for a while and zoning out or maybe phoning a mate and heading out for a beer, but where he really wanted to be was with Em. Normal, sexy, smart Em, not the one from the weekend.
He ran his hand over his beard, remembering his dad’s advice. The trouble with Em was he didn’t know what her response would be. That day on Rocking Horse Hill he thought he knew what she wanted. Now, he had no idea.
Josh wasn’t so sure of his own feelings any more either.
‘Why don’t you go and see Em?’ said Michelle, reading his mind.
‘It’s Tuesday night. She’ll be at Camrick.’
Michelle glanced at the bedside clock radio. ‘It’s after eight. She’ll be home by now.’ She nudged his leg. ‘Go on. You two need each other.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
She regarded him as though he was nuts. ‘Joshy, darling, she loves you.’
‘Told you that, has she?’ His mother couldn’t hold eye contact. ‘Yeah, I thought so.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘Dad said she was here yesterday.’
‘For a while.’
‘Did she tell you about what happened to her grandmother?’
‘Yes. And the rest. She didn’t want to, but she seemed so not herself that I insisted she tell me what the matter was.’
‘I don’t like it, Mum.’
‘I know. I don’t either.’
Not words Josh wanted to hear. Needing to be alone to brood, he rose and looked down on the bed. ‘I don’t think it’s going to last anyway.’
‘Of course it will. If you want it to.’
‘Wanting isn’t enough if the other person doesn’t love you back.’ He shook his head. His mum was the last to talk about false hope. ‘I’ve got to go.’ He planted a quick kiss on her clammy forehead and headed for escape before his anger and self-pity took over.
‘You’re wrong,’ she called out as he reached the door. ‘She hasn’t said, but I know how she feels about you.’ Michelle thumped her chest. ‘I know.’
‘Right. And why should I believe you?’ Anguish at his failing relationship with Em, at his mother’s refusal to save hers
elf, infected his words with bitterness. ‘You don’t even know how to live.’
Twenty-Three
Em folded her arms and leaned against the balcony rail at Camrick. ‘I really wish you’d reconsider.’
Em was desperate for her grandmother to relocate to the hill, a move Granny B was equally determined to refuse. Jack the Ripper could be living in the stables for all she cared. She was staying put.
‘And I rather wish you weren’t such a nag.’ Smoke caressing the front edges of her severely lacquered hair, Granny B savoured her cigar for a moment, a dreamy expression on her face, before once more turning her focus to the stables. The upstairs lights were on, filtering through the blinds. A shadow flickered near the bedroom as someone moved around, and was gone.
Her grandmother had been discharged that morning and, ever since, Em had been on edge. Reluctant to take more time off from PaperPassion, she’d stayed at work, leaving Adrienne and Samuel to collect Granny B. She’d driven straight to Camrick from the shop, nervous at what the night might hold but with the hope it would encompass some sort of welcome back, conciliatory dinner, only to discover that for the first time in years Tuesday dinner had been cancelled.
Samuel was taking Adrienne out for a counter meal, while Digby and Felicity were making their own arrangements. Em had stood awkwardly in the kitchen with a carton of eggs from the hill in her hands, feeling like an intruder in the place she’d always considered her second home, while her mother suggested omelettes or a frittata as a solution to Em’s and Granny B’s dinner problem. It was as though no one wanted to acknowledge the trouble the family was in.
She tried again. ‘Please, Gran.’
Unmoved, Granny B removed the cigar to inspect its tip before delicately picking a scrap of something off her tongue. She coughed, an awful hacking that had lodged in her lungs the night she was locked out. Em’s fingers twitched with the urge to rip the cigar from her grandmother’s hands and toss it into the garden below.
‘And I wish to God you’d stop smoking! The doctor said it’ll be the death of you.’
