by Sasha Wasley
‘You have to let it go,’ I pleaded. ‘The guilt. It’s not your fault. He made that choice, not you.’
‘Yeah, but now it’s my secret to protect. I don’t want to, but I have to, because if I tell the truth, it will hurt Mum and Pris and it won’t solve a bloody thing. It will just make everything worse. So I’ve been carrying this secret around for almost ten years, always looking over my shoulder, scared the insurer will clock to it. Scared they’ll discover that Dad cancelled his Farm and Plant Trader subscription the month before he died. That he spent those last few weeks writing up lists of all our seasonal procedures, all our suppliers – everything he could think of to make the farm run smoothly once he was gone.’ I yanked Angus close again and he whispered into my hair. ‘I’ve tried to honour his last wish, to keep it all going for Mum’s sake, for the town’s sake. But fuck, Lottie, he took the easy way out and I would rather have lost it all.’
We clung together, my cheek against his. He put his hand on the back of my neck and moved so his lips were on mine. A strange noise cut the night. Angus froze.
‘What was that?’ I said.
‘Shh.’
He listened intently. I panicked – was it sirens? A car? The Dalgetys, or maybe the cops. Then a distant squawking arose, followed by an ungodly noise – a cry that sounded like a demon baby had been born.
‘Shit!’ He stood up, lifting us both to our feet. ‘That’s a fox.’
Angus dashed for the gate with me close behind. He was yelling as he ran towards the chicken yard.
‘Get out of it, you bastard!’
I wasn’t sure if he’d spotted the fox or was just trying to scare it off. Then I saw it – a flash of movement. The fox streaked into the trees beyond the beehives. It wasn’t carrying anything, thank God. I lumbered after Angus in the old workboots and we both came to a halt at the chicken yard fence. He whipped his phone out of his pocket and fumbled with the settings to produce a light, shining it in the direction of the squawking.
It was carnage. Of the Brookers’ twenty-odd birds, at least half had been attacked. Some were running around, panicking and clucking. Others lay still or injured – twitching and trembling. A shriek of dismay ripped from me. I shoved the gate open and ran into the yard to stoop by each chicken in case it might still be alive. They were warm and bloody, making soft noises, their bodies heaving with the effort to breathe.
‘No, no, no.’ I stumbled from bird to bird, sobbing.
‘Lottie!’ Angus said behind me.
I fell to my knees beside a black one and ran my hand over her dark feathers. Was it Chooky? She shuddered under my touch, letting out a peculiar squawk and fell still. I touched her again and she didn’t move.
‘Oh, God!’ I gasped. ‘I should’ve – I should’ve …’
‘Lottie!’
Angus caught my arm and tugged me up into a standing position. He pulled me close and I howled. I sobbed and screamed into his chest, tried to shove him away so I could run but Angus held on until I just stood there, wailing with deranged grief.
‘Fucking Pris! She wouldn’t let you lock them away! I should have argued with her, the selfish bitch!’ I had no control over the words pouring out of me any more. ‘Why didn’t I argue? I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’
Angus held on tight. I kept shouting, crying and berating myself for being weak, for not paying attention, for not looking after them properly, for being helpless. At last I comprehended I was hysterical. I grew quiet, just heaving the occasional sob.
Angus pulled me out through the gate and sat me down on a feed bin, then went back to gather all the dead birds he could find. He probably had to put one or two out of their misery, but I didn’t watch. He dropped them one after another into an empty grain sack and tied it shut, then ushered the final few frightened birds into their night cage, latching it closed. Angus put the bag of the dead into an empty feed bin, sealing the lid.
He shut the gate and looked over to where I sat clutching my arms around myself. ‘Come on.’ Angus took my hand and we went back to the house.
Inside, we cleaned ourselves up and I went to sit on the couch. A minute later Angus joined me, carrying glasses and a bottle. A drink appeared in front of me. I knocked it back, coughing a little when the spirit hit my throat.
Angus eyed me. ‘That reaction wasn’t just about the chickens, was it?’
I pictured Jai, thrashing and dying on the gleaming bathroom floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my glass.
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ Angus said. ‘You know that, don’t you? What happened to Jai was beyond your control.’
‘I know.’ My mouth didn’t seem to be working properly.
‘And it doesn’t matter if you loved him or not. It happened, you were there, and it was fucked up.’
I swallowed against a tight throat. ‘Yeah.’
Angus finished his whisky and poured us both another. A single lamp struggled to illuminate the room with its low-voltage bulb.
‘When the cops come for me, would you look after Mum?’ he said. ‘She’s going to be upset.’
This was what he’d been hinting at on the dance floor. ‘Of course.’ I sipped this time instead of gulping.
Angus kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the coffee table. ‘I should probably let Toby know.’
I shrugged. ‘Let him enjoy his night out. Everyone will know soon enough.’
‘That’s true.’
I still felt raw inside: torn open like a rabbit skin and left to dry in the sunlight. Angus put his glass down, holding out an arm to invite me in. I wriggled closer on the couch, allowing him to pull me into his arms, and let out a long breath, relaxing into him. He stroked my hair back from my cheek and I turned my face upwards so that our lips could touch. We kissed slowly in the dull lamplight.
Soon that wasn’t enough. One by one, I undid the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. He slid the straps of my dress off my shoulders and dipped his face to kiss my neck while I pushed his shirt down off his arms. He pulled at my dress until it dropped to my waist and undid my bra so he could kiss his way along my breasts.
He pushed the dress down so emphatically that it went straight past my feet, taking all of my underwear with it. Angus paused while I unbuttoned his pants, his gaze running over my naked body, but as soon as his clothes were gone, he pushed me back so that I was the one lying on the couch, and his mouth continued its journey downwards. His lips tickled and tongue stroked in the best way, and I made noises that sounded like I was in torment, squeezing my thighs against his cheeks.
Then he was kissing me again. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him close, whispering that I needed him inside me. And then he was, and I was coming within moments, hanging on to him with my fingers in his hair, using my legs and mouth to grip him as close as I could, moaning through his kisses.
We stayed wrapped up together on the couch all night. I’d half expected the Dalgetys to turn up but it was quiet, and we slept in peace. It was daylight when I woke, a crocheted rug pulled over me. Angus was already awake, watching me where I’d had my face pressed against his chest. I blinked up at him. Hard physical work in an orchard sure gave a guy some fine muscle definition. I rubbed my eyes and pushed my tangled hair back from my face.
‘Good morning.’
Angus smiled and I decided it was my favourite way for his face to look.
‘Do you have to get to work?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, but not right away. Some of my pickers are already working. No one’s called me yet, so I guess they’re managing without me.’
That made me disproportionately happy. I extricated myself and wrapped the crochet blanket around my shoulders. Angus sat up.
‘No sign of the Dalgetys?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Toby messaged me a couple of times last night to ask where I’d gone and there’s outrage on the local Facebook group about the tree. A bit of speculation about who
did it, mostly correct.’ He didn’t seem worried in the least.
‘I’m surprised Gemma di Bortoli hasn’t called yet.’ I picked at a loose piece of wool on the blanket. ‘Do you think it will get rid of the spot? Taking out the old tree? It might have already spread.’
‘It has,’ he said. ‘But the Dalgetys have taken out the affected trees in the older parts of the orchard. I think the Olde Peach Tree was the main risk. Getting rid of it might be enough to stop the spread.’ He shrugged. ‘It had to be done. If the spot keeps spreading, we’ll just have to deal with it, but at least I now know I’ve done everything I could.’
‘I should get dressed,’ I said. ‘I want to check on the surviving chickens. And I’ll go and pick up your mother.’
He reached for me. I abandoned all my plans.
When I got out of the shower, I could hear Angus on the phone.
‘Yep, no worries. I’ll be there within the hour. No problem. Okay, see you then.’
I dressed quickly and came into the kitchen. Angus passed me a cup of tea, looking at me with such raw adoration I almost couldn’t believe he was the same man who’d stood before me like a terrifying outlaw just a few weeks earlier.
‘The police rang,’ he said. ‘They want me to come down and answer a few questions.’
‘Shit. What are you going to say?’
‘I’m going to tell them the truth. Almost the truth.’ He caught my eye. ‘I’m going to say I was on my own.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ I said. ‘Just tell the whole truth. I don’t care about getting in trouble. If they question me, I’ll be honest. I did it – I helped, so I’ll take the consequences.’
Angus sat down at the kitchen table and I joined him. ‘Lottie, I need you to back me up. You’ve been in the media – just last month your name was still being dragged through the mud. Think what this will do. Your reputation will be trashed all over again. It will look crazy – cutting down a heritage-listed tree. The media won’t give any reasons or look at the context; they’ll just say, “Look what Charlize Beste is up to now.” I refuse to let that happen to you again. You’ve worked so hard to free yourself of all that crap. Don’t screw it up now.’
I was shaking my head. ‘I don’t care what they say.’ But I did. He was right. This was going to be horrible. ‘You know I can’t lie, Angus. No lying, no faking.’
‘Can you please, just this once, make an exception?’ His dark eyes were locked on mine and I was weakening. ‘This isn’t like Jai or Jack the Lad. You won’t look like a troubled young celebrity this time – it will look like you’re unhinged.’
‘I don’t even want to work in the industry any more,’ I protested feebly. ‘What does it matter how I look?’
He took a breath. ‘Do this for me, Lottie. It was my decision to cut down the tree and I need to own it.’
I held the warm china cup in my hands and stared at the table. Eventually I sighed.
‘Fine. Okay. I’ll lie. But if they push me, I’m not going to keep lying. If they pull out an eye witness, I’m telling the truth.’
He nodded. ‘So here’s our story. We left the ball and went home together. You thought we were going to have a romantic interlude, but I dropped you off and went out again. I got home an hour later. I never told you where I went.’
I baulked. ‘So our story is: you offered me a good time, I said yes, then you jilted me at the bedroom door and went to cut down the tree instead? I’ve got some pride, you know!’
Angus fought a smile. ‘It’s the only realistic reason we would leave the ball together, other than to cut down the bloody tree.’
I frowned into my teacup. ‘Okay, how about this? I told you I wanted to go home because I was tired of people asking for selfies with me. You dropped me off and said you were going back to the ball, but you came home an hour later, smelling suspiciously of gasoline and smoke.’
He laughed aloud. ‘Fine. Did we still get to have the romantic interlude afterwards in your story?’
‘Yes,’ I conceded. ‘I overlooked your smoky odour and ravished you on the couch. Just in case they do a blue-light scan of the house.’
He nodded and, after a moment, took my hand. ‘Thanks, Lottie. It’s got to be my crime, no one else’s.’
I eyed him and put on an official voice. ‘Okay, so you left the ball early, Mr Brooker. What time was that?’
‘About ten, I’d say,’ he answered, smiling.
‘And Miss Bentz went with you?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘And why did you leave?’ I asked, my voice heavy with suspicion.
Angus was amused. ‘You’re good at this. I’m starting to get a bit hot under the collar, sitting here with this hard-boiled detective.’
‘Why did you leave?’ I persisted.
‘Lottie asked me to drop her home.’
‘Why did she want to go?’
‘She was sick of people coming up and wanting selfies with her on the dance floor.’
‘I see. Did you tell anyone you were leaving? Your friends, perhaps?’
‘No. Lottie didn’t want to make a fuss.’
‘So you left quietly. Did anyone see you leave?’
‘There were a few people in the carpark, from memory. No one I could name.’
‘And you drove straight out to the old tree?’ I asked casually, but I couldn’t trip him up.
‘No, I dropped Lottie home first.’
‘Who opened the gate? Did you drive in? Did she have a key to the house?’
He hesitated. ‘She opened it. I gave her my key to use but didn’t drive the ute in.’
I nodded in approval. ‘And you went inside the house with her?’
‘No, I said I was going back to the ball and drove out to the Olde Peach Tree.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘I didn’t check. Maybe twenty past ten?’
‘Ten-twenty. So you left at ten and dropped Miss Bentz home and made it to the old tree by ten-twenty?’ My voice dripped with doubt.
‘Sounds about right, but I didn’t check.’
I skipped the section where he felled and burned the tree. We wouldn’t need to have that section of our stories straight. ‘What time did you get back to the house?’
‘Maybe eleven or so,’ he said. ‘Could’ve been later.’
‘You didn’t check your phone?’ He shook his head. ‘For the tape, please, Mr Brooker.’
He chuckled. ‘I didn’t look at my phone or a clock. Eleven’s my best bet.’
‘How did you enter the house?’
‘Through the back.’
‘But Miss Bentz had your key …’
Angus’s gaze barely flickered. ‘She’d left the back door unlocked for me.’
‘Was she awake?’
His expression softened. ‘She was. She waited up for me. She was in the lounge room, having a drink. She poured me one.’
‘What was it?’
‘Whiskey.’
‘Why was Miss Bentz waiting up for you?’
‘She was upset. She’d had to save the chickens from a fox attack. I tried to comfort her.’ His eyes were intent on mine.
‘Did she ask where you’d been?’
Angus thought for a moment. ‘Yes, but I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I told her I went back to the ball but decided to leave again.’
‘She must have asked why …?’
‘I told her it was because I wanted to be with her.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re determined to make me sound like I was falling at your feet, aren’t you?’
‘How’s that falling at my feet?’ he countered. ‘I said I wanted to be with you.’
‘Yeah, but you were lying to me. The real reason was that you were off saving the town from peach spot. Then you heroically came back and pretended it was because of me, and I fell for it like a moron and dropped my knickers on the spot.’
He was grinning. ‘Okay, come up with something better.’
I thought for a minute, then groaned. ‘Fine, we’ll say that. But I don’t appreciate being typecast as desperate, you know.’
‘They’ll know who the desperate one was.’ He got up and tossed the remainder of his tea into the sink.
‘You’re going?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. Will you pick Mum up at some stage? Don’t tell her what happened if you can avoid it. I’ll break it to her later.’
I nodded. Angus gave me a long look as though he thought it would be his last.
‘I’ll still be here when it’s over,’ I said.
He smiled at me – a genuine smile – and left. I went outside to let the chickens out of their night-time cage. They dashed for the food and water containers as though nothing had ever happened. I shook my head, amazed at their resilience. There was a dead chicken in the corner of the yard that Angus had missed in the darkness. I held my breath and picked it up by the foot, dropping it outside the enclosure gate, then went back in to refill the water bowls. There were twelve hens left, which meant they’d lost about eight, as well as the rooster.
A small black hen hovered at my feet as I retrieved eggs. Is it – was that Chooky? I put the eggs down and scooped her up, searching for distinguishing features but she was as black-feathered and red-wattled as the rest of them. She cocked her head and gave me a knowing look with her orange eye. Definitely Chooky. I sang her a snatch of Destiny’s Child’s ‘Survivor’ and left her to peck at the plum peelings from Mrs Brooker’s cake.
There was a shovel beside the manure box, so I chose a patch of soft dirt and dug a hole. It needed to be deep and long for all those lost in battle, and the task took me a long time. There was something therapeutic about it – hard physical labour in the hot, late-morning sun. It worked some of the grief out of me. Flies were going nuts over the floppy brown body near the gate so I put her in first, then went for the sack of dead birds inside the bin. For a moment I had the ghastly thought that there might be one alive in there – but the sack was still and cold. I laid it in the grave and covered it over with the dirt until there was a mound. It looked like a human grave. I thought of Jai. I thought of Angus’s father.
