Lyrebird Hill (10 page)

‘Yoo-hoo, Ruby, are you decent?’

‘Come in, Earle,’ I called, grabbing a third plate. ‘We’re in the kitchen. Hope you’re hungry.’

A stooped man in a wide-brimmed hat and oversized tartan shorts shuffled in bearing an armload of pink roses. Earle was in his seventies, an ex-florist who had in retirement discovered a passion for books – which was how he’d ended up working part-time in the Busy Bookworm.

‘How are you today, Earle?’

‘Fighting fit, old girl.’ Placing his flowers on the table, he grabbed Sissy and lifted her with some effort into his arms, rubbing her generous belly.

‘What’s this, Sis? You’re skin and bone.’ He kissed her pink nose, then eased her back onto the floor. ‘Hurry up with that breakfast, Ruby. Poor old Sis looks like she’s about to fade away to nothing.’

Sissy let out a yowl and ran to my legs.

‘Stop teasing her, Earle. You’ll give her a complex.’

Earle chuckled. ‘Dear old Sis, I love her to bits no matter her size. She was my wife’s cat. Did you know that, Ruby?’

I nodded. Earle’s wife had died five years ago. He often talked about her with great affection, and I knew he missed her terribly. ‘It must be good to have a link to her.’

‘It is, old girl. Indeed it is.’

Rummaging under the sink, Earle located a vase and filled it with water. By the time I’d topped his plate with bacon and eggs, he’d arranged the roses into a delightful spray and given them pride of place on the kitchen table.

‘They’re gorgeous,’ I said, passing his plate. ‘You really are a gem, Earle.’

We adjourned to the patio, Sissy quick on our heels, meowing for her bacon. Earle wedged himself at the small picnic table that took up most of the limited space, while I pulled my chair into the only patch of shade.

Earle tucked into his eggs with relish. ‘You look peaky, old thing. Been sleeping okay?’

I pulled a face. ‘Not really.’

‘You worry too much.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘How’s your young fella, is he behaving himself?’

I scraped my toast corner through a smear of egg yolk, and faked a bright smile. ‘He’s fine. On his way to Melbourne as we speak, promoting his book.’

‘How long this time?’

Peeling off a bacon rind, I dropped it onto Sissy’s plate. ‘All week.’

Earle muttered something I didn’t catch, then asked, ‘How’s the shop? Any of my customers complaining that they never see me?’

‘They
all
miss you. Even that grouchy Mrs Altman.’

Earle rolled his eyes, and forked up a mushy tomato. ‘I’ll have to watch that one. I think she’s taken a bit of a shine to me.’

‘Oh Earle, I’m really glad the op was a success.’ I lifted my tea cup. ‘I propose a toast. To new skin. And new beginnings.’

‘Hear, hear.’

We clinked, then ate for a while in silence. Sissy began her wash, the warm sea breeze ruffling her long hair. Earle mopped his plate with a bread crust, then sat back. His hat – which he rarely removed – shadowed his eyes, but I could sense his gaze on my face.

I feigned interest in the ocean but Rob’s words continued to haunt me.

Maybe you and Margaret aren’t meant to be friends.

In the dazzling morning light, with the sun bleaching the colour from the sky and the waves crashing on the beach below, his advice seemed rational, the logical ending to a relationship that had been fraught with conflict and resentment. But in the quiet darkness inside me, I ached with fear. Without her, I’d be cast adrift; a nobody, a nothing. A ghost. Anything was better than that. Even being in my mother’s too-hard basket was preferable to being out of her life altogether.

‘You all right, old girl?’ Earle asked, watching me.

‘Yeah,’ I said, too brightly. Then I slumped. ‘Well, no actually. I’m a bit out of sorts.’

‘Thought so. Boyfriend trouble?’

I hadn’t told Earle about the bra; I knew he didn’t really approve of Rob, and I wanted to avoid a lecture, so I just shrugged.

‘Not really.’ I sighed.

‘Then it can only be your mum.’

‘Rob thinks I should cut ties with her.’

Earle sat back. ‘Cut ties? That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?’

‘You don’t know my mum.’

‘I know
you
, and you’re all right. Whoever raised you can’t be that much of a dragon.’

I stared out to sea. A flock of gulls swarmed overhead and then dissipated in a squall of cries. Taking a deep breath, I told Earle about the conversations with Esther Hillard, and then my mother, and how they had left me feeling so unsettled.

Earle listened intently. When I finished speaking, he looked directly into my eyes and asked quietly, ‘They think your sister was murdered?’

I hadn’t heard those words spoken aloud until now. I searched Earle’s face, terrified that he would join the dots and arrive at the same conclusion my mother had apparently come to all those years ago.

Did you have a fight? What did you do to her?

But Earle only shook his head and gave a low whistle. ‘That puts a spin on things, doesn’t it? What about suspects? Didn’t the forensics crew find anything?’

‘Mum said it rained that day, and any evidence was washed away.’

‘Which means that the police would have given you and your mother the third degree. Do you remember being questioned?’

I shook my head. ‘That whole year is a blank. At least, it was until recently.’

‘You’ve remembered something?’

I nodded, and before I could change my mind I shared the awful memory that had returned: Mum and me, the hair scissors. Any resemblance I shared with my sister, gone. Cut away.

Sissy must have heard the tremor in my voice because she rubbed against my legs and started up her purr engines. Reaching down, I dragged her onto my lap and buried my face in the soft fur of her neck. Only then did I find the courage to go on. ‘I think Mum believes I was the one who hurt Jamie.’

Earle studied my face, his frown scaring me. But his eyes were kind, and when he finally spoke his voice was gentle.

‘And you’ve been carrying that burden all your life, haven’t you, old girl.’

I hunched into myself, digging my fingertips into my ribs. The question burned, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘What if it
was
my fault she died? What if I was the one who killed her?’

Earle collected the dishes and piled them in the centre of the table, then made a tower out of our tea cups. Resting his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers against his mouth and regarded me.

‘Seems to me like you have some remembering to do.’

‘Rob says digging up the past is dangerous for some people.’

‘Poppycock.’

‘But he says—’

‘
Living
in the past is dangerous, old thing. But in my humble view,
remembering
can be a way to heal. Especially when your wounds run deep.’

‘But what if I remembered that I’m responsible for my sister’s death?’

Earle examined my face a long while before speaking. ‘Then you’d have to face the music and deal with it. But you can’t pass judgement on yourself until you know the facts. Innocent until proven guilty, right?’

Below on the beach, the waves rushed along the shore, smoothing the tracks made by dog walkers and joggers and the lone man with his metal detector. They all seemed a world away from the bubble of confusion and fear in which I suddenly found myself.

‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ I said.

Sissy head-butted me, then curled against my chest and began to settle in for a nap. She’d grown heavy and my legs had pins and needles.

Earle adjusted the tower of plates. ‘Everything you need to know is locked away inside your old noggin. All you have to do is find the right key.’

‘You make it sound easy.’

‘If it was me,’ Earle said, ‘I’d be talking to that neighbour of yours, the one you ran into at the gallery.’

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to rearrange my legs under Sissy’s tremendous weight. ‘She
did
invite me to visit. She even suggested I stay a few days.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’

I slumped, still daunted by the idea of returning to my old home. ‘Maybe for my courage to kick in?’

‘Courage is overrated, old girl.’

‘Not when you don’t have any.’

Earle sighed. ‘Ruby, do you want to spend the rest of eternity torturing yourself over what you may or may not have done? Don’t waste your young life worrying about events you can’t change. Just make the decision, take the first step, and then see what happens from there. You’ll find a way to cope, I promise.’

Despite myself, I laughed. ‘You sound like Rob.’

Earle shook his head and grimaced. ‘Lord help me.’

The following Friday I pulled up outside Coffs Harbour airport. Rob was due back early that morning because he had a ten
o’clock session in the clinic. What better way to welcome him home than with a healthy deli breakfast and a surprise pick-up from the airport?

I arrived right on eight. The terminal was small, which meant there were limited flights in and out every day. A plane had just come in from Sydney, and newly disembarked passengers were making their way across the tarmac. The single arrival-and-departure lounge faced the airstrip, and had a view beyond to grassy flatlands. I searched the stream of people but Rob wasn’t among them.

Back in my car, I wondered if I’d got the day wrong.

Then again, maybe he’d arrived last night?

I drove back to the link road and followed it into Coffs, turning at the roundabout and heading east to the jetty. I found a park along an embankment of garden, and hurried up the street to Rob’s apartment building. It was a balmy autumn day, the air from the ocean salty and fresh. Inside the building, I climbed the stairs and pressed Rob’s buzzer, pleased when the intercom crackled to life and Rob answered.

‘Rob, it’s me.’

A pause. ‘Hey, babe.’

Another moment passed, and I shuffled impatiently. ‘Can I come up?’

Rob opened the door, fresh-faced and damp, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His cheeks were pink and he seemed a little breathless; judging by his suit pants and white shirt, he was on his way to the clinic.

‘Surprise,’ I said.

He smiled, but there was a hint of a frown in the equation.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I thought you’d like breakfast,’ I said, trying to swallow my disappointment. ‘Fresh croissants and Jarlsberg and Earle’s organic tomatoes. But I can see I’m too late. I thought your session wasn’t until ten?’

‘It was brought forward.’

I took my string bag of goodies to the kitchen. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed Mum’s painting; it looked a little crooked on the wall, and I had to resist the urge to rush over and straighten it. The entire place was a tad untidy, which was unlike Rob. Maybe his cleaner was on holiday. I could smell coffee, and a faintly sweet, somehow familiar chemical smell, like insect repellent.

Dropping my car keys on the bench, I unpacked my bag and placed the croissants and cheese in the fridge. In the door was a bottle of Dom Pérignon, half-empty. I frowned.

‘Good trip, was it?’

Rob went over to the sideboard and collected a coffee mug, then brought it back to the kitchen and stowed it in the dishwasher.

‘A huge success. I sold a mountain of books, and the publisher is excited about my concept for the next one.’

‘Did you wow them with your seminar ideas?’

He brushed a scattering of crumbs off the counter into his palm, and emptied them into the bin. Was it my imagination, or was he having trouble meeting my eyes?

‘Not only did I wow them,’ he said, sending a smile over my shoulder, ‘but I had them eating out of my hand. And I’m pleased to report that I’ve got bookings for several big author events in Melbourne in the next few months.’

‘Great.’ My heart was sinking fast. Something was definitely off. ‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.

Rob stopped flustering around in tidy-mode, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ruby. I’m running late, I’m a bit keen to get going.’ This time his smile was high beam, and it struck me full force. Wiping his hands on a tea towel, he crossed the kitchen to wrap me in his arms. ‘Come here, you. Did you miss me?’

His hot-blooded kiss took me by surprise. He smelled clean after his shower, and normally I’d have eagerly kissed him back. Instead, I pulled away. I was confused by his behaviour. One minute cool, the next minute hot. What was going on?

Paranoia, that’s what. Relax.

Melting back against him, I kissed his earlobe and breathed him in. I
had
missed him, I decided. Playfully tickling my fingers up under his shirt, I whispered just how much.

‘Steady on there, cowgirl,’ he said softly, disengaging himself from my embrace and readjusting his shirt. He pressed a kiss on my nose, then collected his briefcase from beside the lounge and headed for the door. ‘It was really sweet of you to bring breakfast, but I’ve got to rush. I need to be at the clinic in exactly eight minutes, and the cleaner’ll be turning up any moment.’

I stared after him, puzzled. Maybe I wasn’t being paranoid, after all; maybe things between us were not as rosy as I’d thought.