Lyrebird Hill (19 page)

Please don’t see me.

Rob always said my dog phobia was normal, after the attack when I was a kid, but he’d also pointed out that I was using my fear as an emotional crutch, an excuse to avoid responsibility for the way my life was – for my anxiety and overeating and worrying. According to Rob, fears stemming from childhood were the hardest to let go of; and yet often they were the most irrational, too.

One of the dogs let out a question-mark whine. Then its head jerked in my direction. It gave a surprised, angry-sounding
bark. Then, like demonic shadows from my own personal hell, both creatures began racing up the slope towards me.

My scream was brief, but shrill enough to crack glass.

The man shot to his feet and saw me. ‘Stop!’

I froze in place. Even if I’d wanted to run, my legs were suddenly trembling so hard I wouldn’t have managed two steps.

Then I realised his command had been directed at the dogs. They had halted in their tracks a couple of metres from where I stood. They continued to bark, but neither made a move to come any closer.

‘Old Boy, Bardo,’ the man said sharply.

The barking ceased. The man strode past the dogs and lifted his hand in greeting.

‘Are you all right?’

I might have asked the same of him. His hair was a shaggy mess of light brown, streaked gold at the tips. His square face was half-hidden behind a beard. Most striking of all were his eyes; they were red-rimmed as if he’d been crying, but the irises were a pure bright kingfisher blue.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, glancing at the dogs. ‘I got a bit of a shock, that’s all.’

‘They’re harmless,’ he said, scrubbing his palms over his face. ‘Bark’s worse than their bite, and all that.’

Under the beard, he had a friendly face; a bit weathered, freckled by the sun, a generous mouth, and cheeks dimpled with laugh lines. But it was his eyes that got me – not just the colour, but the way they were regarding me, warmly, almost intimately as if—

Impossible. I was sure I’d never seen him before. He was probably only staring because of my dishevelled appearance. My shoes and track pants were covered in mud, and after spending the night in the car, I’d been so intent on getting
to Lyrebird Hill that I’d neglected to brush my hair. And if I’d bothered to check the mirror, I knew I would have found raccoon-like mascara-eyes.

‘This’ll sound crazy,’ he said, ‘but we’ve met before, haven’t we?’

I stared at him in surprise. ‘I don’t think so.’

Was he flirting? I took a closer look, taking in the wide mouth, the windswept hair, and threadbare T-shirt and jeans; there
was
something about him, but I couldn’t be sure.

He shook his head, apparently embarrassed, and it was suddenly clear to me that he
hadn’t
been flirting, but genuinely curious. He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes crinkled up in a friendly way. My heart did a double-beat. Maybe it was the power of suggestion, or maybe his regretful little half-smile sparked – not
recognition
exactly – rather, a tiny ember of wishing that I
had
met him before.

‘Are you a relative of Esther’s?’ I asked.

‘A friend,’ he said quietly. ‘I live on the next property. That is, I bought a hundred acres off Esther a few years back. I run a small nursery business – native trees, that sort of thing. On my days off, I’m Esther’s gardener. At least I was,’ he added quietly.

I was about to ask what he meant, when his gaze sharpened suddenly on my face. He smiled – an almost shy smile – and dimples appeared in his cheeks.

‘Ruby?’

I blinked. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’

‘I’m Pete,’ he said. He must have registered my lost look, because he quickly added, ‘We were at school together.’

I smiled, relieved. At least now I had a reference point.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, shaking my hand in an oddly formal gesture, grasping my fingers snugly in his. ‘I don’t expect you to remember me. I was only in the area for six months. Esther told me ages ago that you lost your memory after your sister died. I never got to tell you how sorry I was about that.’

‘Thanks.’ I hesitated. ‘Did you know Jamie?’

He shook his head. ‘She was in high school by the time I came on the scene. You were the one I was—’ He cut off, and shrugged. ‘You know, close to.’

I searched his face, trying to summon the features of the boy he’d once been. Had we really been close? How was it possible to draw such a blank on someone I’d known?

‘I’ve got a rotten memory,’ I said, trying to make light of it. ‘That’s why I’m here, I was hoping to see Esther. Of course, on the way my old car broke down and I got stranded, had to walk here this morning, through the mud. I ran into Esther a few weeks ago in Armidale, and she invited me to stay. We got talking about the past. She said she might be able to help me remember.’

‘Oh hell, Ruby.’ Pete’s face crumpled. ‘I’m really sorry. Esther died last night.’

I stared, hoping I’d heard wrong.

Pete pointed down the slope that led to the river. ‘She had a fall, slipped in the rain. I found her late last night on the riverbank. She’d been there for hours.’ He slumped and seemed to shrink into himself. ‘Listen, I’ve just got back from the hospital. I’m going to make a cuppa, are you up for one?’

‘Sure,’ I said shakily. Shock was taking hold, making an empty hollow around my heart. I flashed back to the gallery, to the vibrant woman I’d chatted with so easily; to her kind smile, and her bouquet of wildflowers, and her promise to help me navigate back through my forgotten past. If my car hadn’t broken down, if there hadn’t been a storm, if I’d arrived yesterday afternoon as intended – then Esther might have still been alive.

‘Do you think,’ I began, then cleared my throat. ‘Do you think Esther might have something a little stronger than tea?’

Pete looked at me. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s some brandy stashed in the larder for just this sort of emergency.’

We climbed the verandah steps, and Pete opened the back door, then ushered me in and followed silently as I made my way out to the kitchen.

‘As you know, the storm hit suddenly,’ Pete told me. ‘I waited until the worst of it was over, then drove here to see if there’d been any damage to the new seedlings we’d planted.’

We were sitting on the verandah, the tray between us crammed with tea and biscuits, brandy bottle, and two glasses. The dogs lay side by side at the foot of the stairs, their ears pricked to the soft murmur of our voices.

Pete continued. ‘I guess I knew the minute I got out of the car that something was wrong.’

The raspy emotion in his voice made me look more closely at him. He could not have been more different to Rob. He was like some kind of wild bush mechanic, with his raggy jeans and crazy hair and beard. His hands were knotted and looked stiff from years of hard work, but he wasn’t old. My age, maybe a year or so older. But while I had the rosy glow of a pampered town dweller, Pete seemed worn and somehow battered, as though the nicks and cuts and tiny scars on his hands went more than skin deep.

‘Esther always had this uncanny sense of knowing I was on my way,’ he said. ‘Even if I walked over from my place, she’d be waiting on the verandah, as if she’d heard me approaching from a mile away. I even tried sneaking through the pine forest at the back of the house, or cutting along the river, but she was always there, dusting her hands on her apron, the kettle already on the boil.’ He sighed. ‘Last night, it must have been about eight, I ran through the house calling, but she wasn’t here. That’s when I really started to worry.’

‘Why was she down at the river if it had been raining?’

‘She liked to sit on the rocks when she had something on her mind. The sound of the river soothed her, she always said.’

Pete was quiet for a time. His big body trembled, and I felt my eyes well in sympathy. Despite our history as school friends, this man was a stranger to me, but as I watched him his evident sorrow touched a nerve in me and I found myself wanting to soothe him, or at least distract him.

‘You found her on the riverbank?’ I gently prompted.

Pete looked up, scrubbing away his tears. ‘At first I thought she was dead. I carried her to the house. Her head was gashed and she was blue from cold, but still conscious. I wrapped her in a blanket and got her into the car and cranked the heater, then drove like billy-o to the hospital. They managed to stabilise her, but I guess the damage was already done. Just before midnight she drifted off to sleep, and didn’t wake up. If only she’d carried the PLB I bought her, she could have signalled for help.’

I looked at him. ‘PLB?’

‘Personal locator beacon, bushwalkers carry them in case of life threatening falls or snakebite, that sort of thing. The device alerts emergency services via satellite. Esther didn’t want to know about it, so it’s gathering dust under my sink. She always insisted that something like that was an invasion of her privacy.’

After a while, Pete dragged out a hanky and blew his nose. ‘You know the worse thing? If I’d turned up an hour earlier – hell, half an hour, fifteen minutes – then she’d still be here.’

‘You can’t know that.’

I heard a scuffle, and saw that one of the dogs, the sharp-featured female, had crept up the stairs and quietly settled herself against Pete’s feet. Pete reached down and absently tugged her ears. She was comforting him, I realised, and although I shifted uneasily on the bench, I didn’t have the heart to wish her away.

‘Esther taught me not to beat myself up for my mistakes,’ Pete said. ‘But I’ve got a feeling this one’s going to haunt me.’

He was blaming himself; I recognised the signs. The pinched lips, the distant-focused eyes, the way he sat hunched into
himself as if unwilling to take up space; I’d been seeing those same signs in myself for years.

He got up. ‘I’m sorry, Ruby, I’m rotten company at the moment. I’ll go for a swim and lighten up, and get these dogs fed. You’re probably starving, so I can make us breakfast. Then I’ll get to work on the ute.’

I was still thinking about Esther, so his words took a moment to sink in.

‘The ute?’

Pete sighed. ‘I was upset coming home this morning, and I got careless. I swerved to miss a kangaroo and hit a rock, buggered up my front end. I wasn’t sure the Holden would get me home, which is why I came here – it’s closer to the main road than my place. By the sound of that rattle under the bonnet, I won’t be driving anywhere until the wishbone’s fixed.’

‘Wishbone? Ouch.’

‘Yeah, nasty. I can repair it – I’ve got the parts in the shed at my place – but it’s tricky work. Fiddly and time-consuming. Once it’s fixed, I’ll drive you in to Armidale. I’d take you in Esther’s car, but that’s out of operation, too. If luck’s on our side I might have the ute working by tomorrow afternoon. Although,’ he added darkly, more to himself, ‘I don’t like my chances.’

‘So, we’re stranded.’

The blue eyes locked on mine for an instant, and his smile seemed somehow regretful. ‘Nothing that drastic. There’s a landline at my place. You can call a cab if you like. The Armidale drivers don’t like coming out here – once you get past Clearwater, the road’s a goat track at the best of times, and after last night’s rain it’ll be a mud nightmare. A taxi ’ll cost a bomb, but at least you’ll get back to civilisation. Are you in a rush to be somewhere?’

I thought about my cottage overlooking the beach with its breezy windows and inviting patio. There was mud cake in my freezer, new bubble bath to try out, fluffy slippers and clean
pyjamas to snuggle into, fresh sheets on my bed – and a bottle of shiraz stashed in the linen press for an emergency. I thought about my friends and our late dinners and boozy book rambles. I thought about my little bookshop with its sweet papery aromas and tranquil atmosphere, and Earle happily fossicking among the shelves.

Then back came the sharp, sweet smell of Rob’s bathroom, and the likelihood that he’d already forgotten me. We were finished, I realised. I’d be alone again. Trudging through the days of my life, empty and sad.

Pete was watching me, his eyes curious.

I drummed up a smile. ‘I was planning to spend a few days here, anyway. Do you think that’d be all right?’