The air was growing cool and there was a decided chill in the air as Pip walked down towards the billabong. She loved this time of the day, as the late afternoon shadows began to fall across the farm. With the house finally settled and their furniture moved in, Pip was enjoying a quiet walk to visit the place she had wanted to come to ever since they had arrived.
It had been a little over a month ago that Uncle Nev called to tell her that he had met a lovely woman in Tasmania and had decided to sell up and move down to be with her. When he offered Pip first option on Rosevale, it hadn’t taken long to reach a decision—she had never really been able to settle back in her old apartment and had sold it and been living in Melbourne for the past six months. The timing to buy Rosevale couldn’t have been better: Chris had put in for a permanent position as detective in Coopers Creek and they had been planning on looking for a house to buy together.
It had been a year since that horrible day she almost drowned, and so much had happened it almost felt like a lifetime ago. Her true-crime book on Allen Knight and the subsequent fall of Karl Butterworth had been released earlier in the year and won her a couple of awards and, just as her publisher predicted, become an instant bestseller. There was talk of a TV series being made, and the whole thing had taken on a life of its own. She had since given up her job at the Daily Metro to become a full-time writer and just finished Forever Yours, Molly, the true story based on Bert and Molly’s life. It wouldn’t be ready for release until next year, but it felt good to have it done.
It was sure to stir up some controversy in town, but she knew she had written the truth, fully and fairly. The sins of the forefathers did not need to be carried over into the next generation—they were to be learned from, to ensure the tragedies of the past were never repeated, and she hoped this book was a good way to start the conversation in this small town.
Pip approached the white picket fence that had been erected in the small clearing near a huge gum tree, enclosing two headstones that sat side by side. The paperwork and red tape had been surprisingly easy to process but had taken a few months to finalise.
It had seemed only right that Bert and Molly be buried together on Rosevale—this is where they belonged.
Pip hadn’t been back since the day of Bert’s funeral a few months after she’d left Rosevale. The plot, though, she was relieved to see, had been well maintained and sat in the bushland just beyond the billabong.
As she got closer, she noticed a man leaving the cemetery and curiously approached. She glanced around but couldn’t see any sign of a car. There had been a stipulation on burying remains on private land—there had to be a covenant of public access to the cemetery for relatives to be able to visit the grave site, and although it had been made, Pip had never heard of anyone using it. Until now.
The man wore a long coat against the creeping chill of the afternoon cold, and a hat was pulled low on his head.
‘Excuse me,’ Pip called out as the man opened the gate. He didn’t look up, but Pip was eager to find out if this could be a long-lost relative of Bert’s.
‘Sir? My name’s Phillipa, I’ve just bought this place.’ The man hesitated. ‘Are you a relative of Bert or Molly Bigsby, by any chance?’ she rushed on.
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but before she could frown at how strange he was acting, he glanced up and Pip was struck by the man’s piercing blue eyes. There was something incredibly familiar about the face she stared at. She was certain he had to be a relative—he looked so much like the younger photos of Bert she had back at the house in the boxes Anne had given her.
‘I’m only asking because we weren’t sure Bert had any relatives left and I have some of his belongings that I’d love to return to his family.’
The man gave a small twitch of his lips as she spoke, but he shook his head. ‘You keep them,’ he said, then moved to turn away once more.
‘Wait!’ Pip called, as a sudden and strange sensation of loss flowed through her. ‘Who are you?’
The man’s smile did break through then, briefly, and only touching the corners of his mouth, as fleeting as a breath in time. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, ‘for everything.’
Pip searched his eyes, confused momentarily. Then she reeled as the truth suddenly dawned.
She took in the pea-green coat that he wore, the frayed material and military look of the garment, and the slouch of his khaki bush hat. As her bemused gaze held his slightly amused yet gentle one, she opened her mouth to speak just as a snap of branches and dried leaves underfoot broke the moment and alerted her to someone approaching.
She turned to look briefly over her shoulder to find Chris heading towards her. When she glanced back, the spot in front of her was empty.
Pip turned in a circle, searching the area.
‘What’s wrong?’ Chris asked, frowning as he took in her distress.
‘Did you see him?’
‘See who?’
‘The man I was just talking to,’ she said impatiently.
Chris eyed her a little strangely and she spun away, frustrated and now uncertain. She’d just been talking to someone … who had somehow managed to vanish. There was no logical way a person could have slipped away unseen by Chris in the clearing, and yet …
‘Pip?’ Chris touched her arm lightly. ‘Are you okay?’
Slowly she turned back to face him and gave a defeated and distracted smile. ‘Yeah. I’m …’ Losing my mind? Talking to dead people? ‘I’m fine,’ she finally managed, sliding her hands around his waist and hugging him with a long, contented sigh. ‘Everything’s just the way it should be,’ she smiled tenderly up at him.
And it was.