by Cathryn Hein
‘I’m seventy-nine, Emily. Everything will be the death of me.’ Granny B took another defiant puff and watched the smoke float across the space separating the house from the stables.
The first wisps of a descending fog were curling around the lower reaches of the yard. The rose bushes, yet to be pruned, struck thorny fingers through air that felt sickly cold, wrapping around Em like a clammy flu fever. She rubbed at her temple, wondering if she needed to see a doctor about her headaches, knowing the appointment would be wasted. Stress, worry, lack of sleep. Everyday triggers, easily cured if she could find a way.
‘You needn’t worry about the usurper. She won’t try that trick again.’
‘I’m not worried about Felicity.’ She cast sad eyes towards the stables. ‘It’s Digby more than anyone. He won’t forgive you for the argument. Or me.’
‘As I explained before,’ said Granny B, regarding Em over her shoulder, ‘your brother will come round in time. Besides, I’m safer here. There are a lot of places one could do away with an enemy at the hill, and far easier to make it look like an accident.’
A man’s shout carried from the stables. In unison, Em and Granny B swung towards the noise. Em surveyed the windows, hunting for a gap in the blinds or movement to tell her what was happening. The shouting continued in staccato bursts. Em listened hard, trying to make out the words, but it was impossible. Walls and distance muffled the sound, allowing them to read nothing but the anger.
Suddenly the voices dropped. Em’s eyes strained on the blinds. Then a sorrowful wail trailed off into more silence. She waited, her breath caught, but it was clear the stables show was over.
‘Arguing,’ said Granny B. ‘Now that’s a turn up.’
‘For Felicity, I imagine, but not for me. You should have seen Dig in the kitchen. I can’t remember him ever being so combative. Jas reckons all that sex has raised his testosterone and given him balls the size of an elephant.’
Granny B’s bark of laughter descended into a coughing fit, her eyes watering as the catch in her lungs refused to dislodge.
‘God, Gran.’
‘Oh, be quiet. It’s just the stubborn residue of a cold.’ She headed unsteadily for the cast-iron table upon which she’d left her tumbler and raised it to her lips. ‘There, that’s the way to cure a tickle.’
‘Drowning it in Scotch?’
‘You should try it, Emily. Rather amazing what a good malt will cure.’ She raised the glass in a toast and drained the rest, uttering a satisfied ‘ahhh’ as she returned the glass to the table.
Em watched the lights go out in the windows above the stables. Whatever their argument, Digby and Felicity had obviously made up. An ache went through her as she imagined Digby holding Felicity, calming her, telling her he loved her no matter what.
Sharing something she and Josh once had, and now might never find again.
‘Thinking of Joshua?’ asked Granny B, moving alongside and cutting the dense air with the softer, comforting scent of fragrant tobacco and alcohol.
‘A bit.’
‘Growing old isn’t fun, Emily, but it does have one advantage.’
‘What?’
‘Wisdom.’ She took another puff. ‘I might be able to help.’
Em studied the balcony’s weathered timber floor. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘I rather enjoy complicated. Keeps one’s brain active. Very important in the prevention of dementia.’ Granny B regarded her slyly. ‘You wouldn’t want that to happen to your grandmother now, would you?’
Despite her despondency, Em laughed. ‘No. You’re impossible enough as it is.’ She sobered and considered for a moment, then sighed. ‘I cheated on him, Gran. With Stephen Jacobs. That’s why we broke up the first time.’ Even in the cold, shame flushed her with heat. ‘And I made sure that Josh found out about it.’
Granny B took a slow puff on her cigar and studied the smudged air. ‘I can only assume you thought you had a good reason for such betrayal.’
‘I wanted to break up with him.’
‘And you were too much of a coward to tell him to his face?’ Her lips pursed in disappointment. ‘I thought you were better than that.’
‘Not back then I wasn’t.’
The night air was painfully cold against Em’s hot cheeks, but she talked on. Explaining, in excoriating detail, why she ruined a love she realised too late was unique and precious.
‘And now?’ asked Granny B.
Em sighed. ‘He thinks I’m being naive about Felicity.’
‘He’d be correct on that front, as has been proven.’
‘But that’s it, Gran. Nothing has been proven. What if we’re letting our ingrained Wallace snobbery get in the way of seeing the good person that Digby does? What if we’re pointing fingers because her history and background makes her such an easy target?’ She held her grandmother’s gaze. ‘I don’t want to do to her what I did to Josh.’
Granny B took a last puff of her cigar and flicked it out into the night. Em watched it fall onto the gravel below. A glow filtered through the fog and was gone.
‘We are all snobs in our own way, Emily. Even people like Joshua and his family, who hold onto their working-class roots with pride. We all need someone to look down on to make us feel better about ourselves. It’s a sad fact of life. But with Felicity, it’s not because of snobbery or prejudice. That girl has always wanted a different life. She wants the fairytale and will do anything to get it.’
‘But Digby’s given her the fairytale.’
‘Yes, but without Rocking Horse Hill, the castle isn’t complete.’
Car lights swept along Bradley Road, igniting the south-western side of the lava vent. For a fanciful moment, Em imagined the rock as a tall black monster, a Tolkienesque stone giant, heaving itself from the soil. Then the car slowed for the corner and the lights swept left and the vent melted back into darkness.
Hands burrowed in her pockets, head down, she stepped off the road. The car accelerated, passing her, and travelled a short distance before sliding to a sudden standstill. Reversing lights lit the gravel, followed by the whine of the engine as the car backed up Stanislaus Road. A window wound down. Em winced and kept walking without looking up. She didn’t want to talk to a yahoo or drunken idiot, not at this time of night.
‘Em?’
She stared at Josh. It was after eleven when she’d begun her descent from the hill, which must make it close to half past now. He shouldn’t be here.
‘What are you doing out? It’s freezing.’
‘I’ve been up the hill.’
‘At night? Jesus, what were you thinking?’
She shrugged. ‘I know my way.’
He raised his eyes in disbelief and indicated the passenger seat. ‘Come on, get in.’
Em obeyed, though she didn’t particularly want to. She’d returned from Camrick with Charles’s papers, and settled down with a glass of wine to study them, seeking the facts about Felicity’s trial, anything that might show that what she did was in self-defence and without any hint of premeditation. If the incident with Granny B required anything, it was planning. Proving a difference between the two events would help assuage some of her fears. Instead, Charles’s notes had left her head pounding.
The notes revealed a pattern of violence. Two suspensions from school for fighting, one that left the other girl with a broken elbow. An incident in jail involving Felicity and another woman that was logged as an accident. Fourteen stitches from a laundry mishap? Em didn’t think so. There were others, too, and in every case Felicity was let off.
Deeply rattled and realising sleep would be unlikely, Em had rugged up and headed for the one place she felt calm and right.
The car was warm and smelled of timber and oil, and a faint scent of something she took a moment to recognise as beer. Em leaned against the door with her frigid fingers pressed against her mouth, staring out at the vent.
Josh put the car into gear and his hand on her thigh. ‘Are you okay
?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not acting it.’
Neither was he, turning up late and unannounced with beer on his breath. It reminded her too much of the other time he’d turned up late, after the club, when Em had been convinced he wanted to end it. Between her talk with Granny B and Charles’s papers, she was too raw for this.
Em glanced at her watch as they turned into her drive and shifted to look at him. ‘What are you doing here?’
He returned his hand to the wheel and wrapped his fists around it, and guided the ute to a halt. Muffy stood in front of the bonnet, tail wagging, brown eyes glowing devil-red in the lights. ‘I had a bit of a fight with Mum. Went to the pub for a while.’
‘I’m sorry.’
His mouth tightened. ‘The doctors say she needs a mastectomy.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘She told me on Monday when I was there.’
‘Did she also tell you she’s refusing to have it?’
Em nodded, careful of the emotional territory on which they trod. She and Michelle had shared intimacies that weren’t for others. Although very much friends, they also enjoyed a sense of distance brought on by time and circumstance. In this neutral space they’d been able to confess their innermost feelings without fear of bias or judgement.
‘Did she say why?’
Em eyed Muffy through the windscreen. The dog stared back at them, head swivelling from one to the other. Catching Em’s stare, she wagged her tail and then stopped, uncertain. Em reached for the door. ‘Muffy’s getting cold. Let’s go inside.’
The fire had burned down in her absence. Em waved Josh towards the bottle of red she’d opened earlier and concentrated on reloading the stove with logs.
She stayed kneeling, watching the rising flames, when he brought over her glass. She thanked him with a smile and waited until he’d perched on the arm of the lounge before turning back to the fire.
‘I can’t tell you about your mum. We spoke in confidence.’
‘I couldn’t give a shit about confidences. I just want her to live.’
Em assessed him over her shoulder, the angry clench of his hand around his wine glass, the spread of his legs. ‘She’ll come round.’
‘When? She needs the operation now, Em.’
‘Give her time.’
He leaned forward. ‘She doesn’t have time.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I let her tell me how bad things were and didn’t try to convince her otherwise? She’s frightened.’ At his confused look she steepled her hands against her mouth, considering. She’d revealed too much already but Josh needed to understand. ‘A mastectomy isn’t a guarantee.’
He looked away, blinking hard. ‘But the risk of not having it. . .’
‘She knows.’
He took a slug of wine. ‘It’s Dad, isn’t it? She thinks she’s going to die no matter what and wants to stay whole for him in the time they have left.’
‘She loves him, Josh.’ Em rose and went to stroke Muffy. The dog’s coat still held traces of the cold. ‘People don’t think straight when they’re in love. You only have to look at Digby to see that.’
She only had to look at herself.
To Em’s surprise, Josh was already up when she roused. The climb up Rocking Horse Hill, followed by their talk and the glass of wine had given her a much-needed full night’s sleep. They’d cuddled instead of making love, seeking simple comfort from the touch of bodies, and Em had drifted off curled against his chest, her head cradled in the strong curve of his arm.
She wrapped herself in her fluffy terry gown and shuffled up the hall, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stopped at the door, anxiety surging through her stomach.
Josh was at the dining table, a mug by his arm and Charles’s papers spread before him. He turned to look at her, his expression ravelled with something that tugged hard at the tight knot in her belly. ‘Hey.’
Em pressed her lips together and headed for the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. ‘Good morning.’
‘I’ve already let the chooks and Muffy out.’
‘Thanks.’ She peered through the window at the orchard and drive. ‘Another frost. Should be a fine day, though. Might bring a few shoppers out. If it stays fine I’ll be able to get in a ride after work. Lod’s so unfit at the moment. Which reminds me, I need to ring Teagan.’
‘Em?’
Em kept facing the window. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. The kettle clicked off but she made no move to pour tea.
Josh’s chair creaked with movement. ‘Em?’
She opened her eyes and looked further out. To Kicki and Cutie scratching each other’s necks in the rising dawn. To Lod covered from neck to tail in his bright new rug, breath steaming as he plodded a well-worn path to his gate.
And beyond, to the right, with the rising sun peeking over its stony ridges, Rocking Horse Hill.
‘Where did this come from?’
She didn’t need to look at him to know what he was referring to. ‘A retired journalist friend of Gran’s. She asked him to investigate Felicity for her. Those are his notes, along with the trial transcript.’
‘And you’ve only decided to read it now?’
‘What Gran did was wrong.’ She turned to face him, her chin high. This wasn’t about Felicity any more. This was about him and her. About trust and forgiveness and second chances, but the conviction she tried to inject into her voice came out flat. ‘We should accept people for the way they are now, not for something they did in the past.’
He scrubbed his hand down his face, the gesture pained and frustrated, and stared at the papers. ‘You know it was her, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.’
‘I don’t know anything. And neither do you.’
‘She’s dangerous, Em.’ He swept up a series of pages and thrust them towards her. ‘Read her history. She hurts people. People that get in her way. People like your Gran. Like you.’ He dumped the pages on the breakfast bar. ‘You say you need proof before condemning her? There’s your proof. Page after page, from school to jail. It’s scary.’
‘That isn’t proof!’
‘Jesus Christ. What is wrong with you?’
‘I’m being a decent person,’ she said, slapping a hand to her chest. ‘Unlike you.’
‘Oh, right. You want to lecture me on decency? The person who cheated? Decency, like fuck.’
Em blinked. There it was. The words that proved it. That, like Felicity, she’d never be forgiven.
Josh closed his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘But you did.’ She walked on stilted legs to the sliding door and opened it, standing aside as cold air blasted the room. ‘I think you should go.’
He said nothing for a long while, his expression tired and incredibly sad. Em wanted to go to him, to make things right, but they never would be. The words had been said now.
‘Don’t, Em.’
She swept her hand towards the outside, her jaw clenched against tears that were so close to bursting.
Josh stepped to the threshold, staring out at the kaleidoscope colours of the sparkling, dawn-lit frost. Em held her breath, willing him to leave quietly, wanting him to stay.
‘I promised myself I’d fight this time.’ He looked across his shoulder at her and she could see him working hard to keep his emotions in check. ‘But it turns out there’s nothing to fight for.’
Em wanted to ask what he meant but her throat was closing over with pain. A single tear slid. His gaze traced it. A muscle in his jaw flexed but he didn’t move. It was as though he was fixing her in his mind as she was fixing him. The man she loved.
The man who would never forgive.
Muffy’s basket creaked, severing the silence. She crossed the floor, the taps and scratches of her nails on the slate impossibly loud. Josh broke from Em’s gaze as the collie pressed against his calf, eyebrows furrowed as though not understanding why he was l
eaving so early.
Josh crouched, stroked her cheek and placed a gentle kiss on her head. ‘You be a good dog and look after your mistress.’
Then he was gone.
Twenty-Four
Em stared at her drawing of G.K. Chesterton’s king and traced her finger around a face she’d touched in real life only the night before. Lips she’d kissed with passion and meaning, softly tilted eyes that had, for a few short weeks, held an emotion she’d hoped was love.
But hoping didn’t make things real.
She placed the drawing back down and sank her face into her hands. Sorrow crept through bones already weak with defeat. Since learning the true cost of selfishness and pride, Em’s ego had never been huge but today she actually disliked herself. For so many reasons.
Traffic noise filtered through PaperPassion’s door. As predicted, the frost had burned off, leaving Levenham crystal bright. Too bright. She wanted rain, wind that slashed through thick clothing, treacherous, slippery footpaths, anything to keep customers away and leave her alone with her broken heart.
After Josh left Em had walked outside, oblivious to the cold, and stood at the edge of the hill paddock, watching the crater come to life.
Its majesty never changed. Hundred-metre-high slopes were shadowed a deep dark green, the crater edge gnawing at the peach and blue sky with rocky teeth. The quarry scar was a proudly shown-off war wound, the volcano the victor against the battles of man.
The morning smelled earthy and raw. Across the sky, birds wheeled. The lowing sounds of dairy cattle drifted on a zephyr. Lod whickered from his paddock. Yet as idyllic as the morning seemed, Em wondered if it was worth it. All this pain, all this fear and for what? A strip of land at the base of an extinct volcano.
No one’s castle. Not even for Em. Just a home, now empty of the one thing that kept it warm.
The shop door chimed. Em took a moment to compose her face before looking up.
‘Felicity, what are you doing here?’
If it weren’t for her fair hair and blue eyes, Felicity could have been mistaken for a Wallace. An expensive navy trench coat swirled around her small frame and cut with military precision across her shoulders. Wool crepe trousers draped her legs, the fabric flowing with each step. A printed blouse billowed softly from the waistband. She’d styled her hair into a piled-up loose knot of the sort favoured by Em and Adrienne, showing off a pair of large diamond earrings. Another family heirloom. Make-up completed the picture of wealth and refinement.
