Authors: Bunty Avieson
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’ He spoke directly to Clare, his manner blatantly suggestive. Clare felt Gwennie bristle beside her.
‘We’re looking for Terri. Is she around?’ asked Clare. She sounded casual and confident, as if Terri was an old mate, and she wasn’t the least perturbed by his lewd evaluation of her, but she was aware of Gwennie’s obvious discomfort.
‘And whom may I say is calling?’ he replied with mock manners.
‘Oh, a couple of old friends,’ said Clare.
‘I think she’s in the potting shed,’ he said, wiping his hands on his singlet and taking a step forward.
Clare tossed back her hair, intentionally seductive. ‘What about Micky. Is he around?’
Gwennie gasped. They hadn’t discussed in the car what they would do when they got here. There was no plan. Clare had just naturally assumed the lead but Gwennie was shocked by her audacity. The change in the workman’s demeanour was pronounced. His smile disappeared in an instant. His flirtatious mood was gone and he became wary and hostile.
When they heard a woman’s voice behind them Clare and Gwennie realised someone else had entered the shed. ‘Are you looking for me?’
The mechanic picked up his spanner and returned to the engine. ‘Sorry, love,’ he called over his shoulder to Clare. ‘Don’t know anyone by that name.’ He nodded to the woman behind them and slid back under the tractor.
Clare couldn’t tell if the abrupt change in attitude was a response to her question or the appearance of the woman. She and Gwennie turned towards the voice.
Standing in the doorway was a trim, elegant woman with bright red hair, bold scarlet lipstick and an enigmatic smile. She was smartly dressed in a tartan skirt with green jumper, dark stockings and mid-heel court shoes. She would have looked more at home in the main street of Leura than in
this workshed. She was in her sixties and wore an air of authority that made it clear she was the boss around here.
‘Are you Terri Pryor?’ asked Clare.
The woman ignored her, addressing herself to Gwennie. ‘Hello. It’s nice to see you again.’
‘Hello,’ replied Gwennie.
‘Would you like to come in for tea?’ She didn’t wait for a response but turned and walked towards the farmhouse, obviously expecting they would follow. ‘You’ve found us in the middle of bushfire season and nearly everyone is off at a special training day so I’m afraid things are a bit quiet around here at the moment. They couldn’t have picked a worse day to be away. We have a big order to fill for a nursery just opening down at Springwood. But there you go. Learning to fight fires is a worthwhile distraction from day-to-day business.’
She talked all the way to the house, glancing from time to time at Gwennie. She gave no indication that they were unexpected or in any way unwelcome. With Clare her manner was polite, yet distant, but with Gwennie she seemed motherly and concerned.
The house was built in the style of a traditional Queenslander with an open verandah wrapping around the whole building. She took them down a dark hallway to the kitchen at the rear.
It was cheery and modern with a long pine table that would comfortably seat twelve. Double doors opened onto the verandah and a view across treetops to the valley.
A young woman of about twenty was at the sink peeling potatoes.
‘Could we have tea, please, Briony,’ Terri said.
Briony looked with open curiosity at Gwennie and Clare. ‘Sorry?’
‘Tea for three, out on the verandah,’ repeated Terri. ‘Now, please.’
Briony wiped her hands on her apron and stared at the two women.
‘We don’t often have visitors,’ explained Terri.
She continued to talk about the business while they waited for tea. Terri and her husband, Giles, had both been nurses. They had quit nursing and moved to Blackheath, making ends meet by propagating local wildflowers to sell at city markets. That was twenty-five years ago. Now their business turned over millions of dollars each year supplying hardware and merchandise to local nurseries.
Unfortunately she had lost Giles along the way. He died of cancer four years ago, leaving Terri and their eldest daughter to run the family business. Gwennie and Clare nodded politely, feigning interest. When Briony brought out the tray Terri closed the double doors behind her, poured the tea and sat back. The heavily wooded valley was lost in a misty blue haze.
‘I’m pleased – and not really so surprised – to see you both,’ she said. ‘Though I must say I didn’t expect to see you together. I’m amazed you even know each other.’
‘You know who I am?’ asked Clare.
Terri smiled gently. ‘I’d say you would be
Marlene’s daughter. She was an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. And so are you. You’re the spitting image of her.’
It was sudden and disconcerting. What had been an abstract concept that Clare was still processing in her own mind became concrete with that one statement. Marlene’s daughter.
Terri turned her attention to Gwennie, who was following the conversation, but with an air of confusion. ‘And how are you, my dear? You looked so sad at the service, so frail and alone. My heart cried for you. Grief is such an awful business. There really is no way around it. You just have to go through it and come out the other side. You do, you know. Come out the other side.’
She placed a hand, covered in silver rings, on Gwennie’s arm.
‘He loved you very much,’ said Terri quietly. ‘You were his world.’ She pressed her lips together. It was a nervous gesture and spread the bold red lipstick still further around her mouth. The sun shone through the clear roof of the verandah, setting her titian hair aflame.
The woman with red energy. She helped Pete and she
will help you. If you let her.
The shaman’s words echoed in Gwennie’s memory. The tears welled up, spilled over and ran down her face. It was as if she had unleashed a flood. Staring fixedly at the older woman, her eyes heavy with suffering, Gwennie seemed unaware she was weeping. She grabbed Terri’s hand and squeezed it hard, urgently. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you want to know.’
Gwennie struggled to swallow. ‘Why did he come here?’ Her voice was low and faltering, almost inaudible.
Terri looked at her with sudden understanding. She stared out towards the valley, seemingly lost in thought.
‘There,’ she said finally, pointing into the bush.
Clare and Gwennie followed her gaze. Picking blackberries was a man in khaki overalls and a faded baseball cap. He was carrying a plastic bucket and as they watched he stopped and gently placed some fruit in the bottom. He studied each berry closely, bending down and peering at the fruit, before making his selection.
‘He is picking fruit for dessert tonight,’ said Terri. ‘Jimmy,’ she called.
The man looked up at the sound of her voice, took off his cap and waved it vigorously. It was an exaggerated gesture that seemed odd. Clare and Gwennie watched as he made his way over to them. He had a pronounced limp in his left leg, which slowed him down and gave them plenty of time to study him. He was a tall, solid man around forty. What once might have been muscle had long since turned to flab and he was markedly overweight. As he walked closer to them his face became discernible under his cap.
Gwennie gave an involuntary yelp. It was a mixture of shock and disbelief. The colour drained from her face.
Clare immediately understood. She watched carefully, analysing his features as he came up to the verandah. His gait was awkward as he manoeuvred his legs up the stairs, but he didn’t seem self-conscious.
‘Jimmy, I have some guests I would like you to meet.’
The man turned and smiled as Terri introduced Clare and Gwennie.
‘Hello,’ he said. His manner was shy and childlike.
Gwennie was dumbstruck and unable to respond.
‘Hello, Jimmy,’ said Clare.
He smiled at her. ‘I’m picking blackberries. For Briony.’ His face was open and affable, with no hint of curiosity about the two strangers.
‘Oh,’ said Clare in the sort of sing-song voice she normally saved for children.
Gwennie, watched by Terri, continued to stare.
‘Jimmy, why don’t you take the berries in to Briony and then wash your hands with the special soap in the laundry,’ said Terri.
‘I got lots,’ said Jimmy.
Terri smiled gently. ‘I can see that. You’ve done well. I’m sure Briony will be very pleased.’
It was all the encouragement Jimmy needed. He carried the bucket carefully through the double doors. The three women watched him go.
‘He’s been here ever since that night, when Peter brought him here,’ said Terri.
Clare felt great sadness and yearning. She felt the tears well in her throat but she swallowed them. ‘Why is he like that?’
‘It was the fight. He had lost so much blood that he very nearly died. We were sure we would lose him. He was out of it for five days. When he regained consciousness he was like this. He has been this way ever since.’
‘What fight?’ asked Gwennie. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Terri. ‘I’m not sure what you do and don’t know. Peter didn’t want you to know and yet somehow you have found your way here. I always disagreed with Peter’s keeping it from you but he wanted to protect you. He was right, I suppose, but I don’t believe in secrets between a husband and wife.
‘I knew everything about Giles – and not all of it was good. But when you love a man you take it all. That’s just how it is.
‘But Peter didn’t want to involve you, make you an accessory to his crime.’
Gwennie trembled as she listened. The woman’s manner was kind and she had a softness about her that encouraged Gwennie’s trust. But at the same time she felt a growing wretchedness that Pete had kept any secrets from her. She felt betrayed … and scared.
Terri seemed to understand. ‘He loved you very much. All his actions, whether I agreed with them or not, stemmed from that. Please don’t ever doubt it,’ she urged.
Gwennie nodded.
Satisfied, Terri continued. ‘Micky had a violent fight with a man called Charles Dayton.’
Terri turned to Clare. ‘Marlene’s father. I’m
sorry to say this to you, but he was a pig of a man.’ She turned back to Gwennie. ‘Micky was eighteen, full of raging hormones and a hothead by nature. I know it’s hard to believe looking at him now but when he was eighteen it was a different matter.
‘He was dating Marlene and Dayton caught the two of them together in his shed. They had been fooling around and Dayton went berserk. His little girl. He beat up Micky pretty bad. Dayton was a nasty piece of work. I never liked him. You never wanted to be alone in a room with him. He worshipped his little girl though. And the idea of Micky and her was just too much for him, I guess.
‘Marlene ran home leaving them to sort it out man to man. They fought and Micky was really copping it but he must have got in a lucky blow to the head. Dayton dropped. Micky hadn’t meant to kill him but there he was, dead at his feet. He panicked and tried to cover it up, setting fire to the shed. Then he limped home to Hat Hill Road and woke up Peter.
‘He was in a bad way but wouldn’t let Peter take him to hospital because then they would know he had been in a fight and the police might ask questions. He just wanted to lie low for a while to see what the police came up with. He hoped it would look like an accident. Peter insisted he had to get help so, as a compromise, he came here.
‘We were old friends of their parents, Fiona and Alex. They were good people. I went to school with Fi when we were teenagers. It was tragic when they died. It was in a car accident just down
the hill from Leura, a particularly dangerous stretch of road. Of course this was before the new highway with its double lanes. Back then there were some stretches that were black holes for accidents. Fi and Alex were coming back from Sydney and their car went off the road. No-one knows exactly what caused it. The boys were still quite young. Peter was nineteen and Micky just seventeen. They had been such a close family.
‘It was about a year later that the fight happened with Dayton. I’ll never forget opening the door that night and seeing Pete standing on our doorstep supporting Micky. Micky’s face …’ Terri shivered. ‘It was covered in blood. He couldn’t see. There was blood in his eyes, dripping off his hair. Peter was just about carrying him and he had blood all over him too. At first I thought they had both been in an accident.
‘Giles, God bless him, immediately took them in. No questions. Fi and Alex’s boys were in trouble and had come to us. That was all he needed to know. They would have done the same if it had been our kids.
‘We got Micky cleaned up and tended his wounds. He had a smashed jaw, broken ribs and his hip was dislocated. His blood pressure was way down. We put him to bed and overnight he developed a fever. The next morning he was burning up so we set up an antibiotic drip. Peter came every day and sat with him. But then the old lady that lived in Hat Hill Road, opposite Charles Dayton’s shed, told police she saw Micky there that night.
They wanted to talk to him. It took them long enough I must say. I suppose they had a lot of other things on.’
Terri stopped as the back door opened. Briony’s smiling face appeared. ‘We’ve run out of eggs so Jimmy and I are just going up to the shop. Can we get you anything?’
‘No dear, I’m fine.’ Terri waited till Briony closed the door. She continued, her voice low and conspiratorial. ‘By the time they started looking for Micky he had regained consciousness and it was obvious he wasn’t quite right. He had no memory of who he was or where he was. We think he suffered a massive stroke. It was like everything in his brain was wiped. He knew how to eat and dress himself but that was about it. There was no way he could face a trial. Peter didn’t want him to and nor did we. Even if he was just found guilty of manslaughter or declared unfit for trial, he would be taken away. Put in an institution. Peter couldn’t bear the thought of that.
‘Peter told the police that Micky hadn’t come home that night. They didn’t know about us, that we had been friends with their parents. There was no reason why anyone would know our connection. Giles and I kept pretty much to ourselves. We grew a bit of dope here so we never exactly welcomed outsiders. And, apart from Fi and Alex, we didn’t socialise so much within the community.