GRACE SWUNG OUT of bed again, her mind racing.
‘Relax,’ Erin said. ‘No one knows.’
Grace eased onto the edge of her bed, bare feet on the room’s threadbare carpet. She wriggled her toes in agitation: she couldn’t run far without shoes. And one ankle was swollen and bruised. Funny she hadn’t noticed that until now. Maybe Hendren had stamped on it.
‘When…?’
‘I’ve known since soon after you came to live here,’ Erin said. Her gaze was as flat and searching as Sergeant Swanwick’s—or any cop Grace had ever encountered. A newer, more self-reliant Erin, expecting the truth.
‘That was ages ago.’
‘Well, look at it from my point of view. You suddenly turn up at the shop, asking for a job. You didn’t offer any references—I didn’t ask, of course, I liked you straight away and you were quite knowledgeable. But I didn’t know who you were or if you could be trusted.’
Grace nodded.
Erin leaned back in the chair, extended her legs and folded one pale foot over the other. Small, slender feet full of bones close to the surface. Grace concentrated on them, feeling a kind of feverish intensity as she waited for the story to finish.
‘For all I knew, Brodie could’ve sent you. That’s how I used to think—if anything out of the ordinary happened, it wasn’t to be trusted.’
‘I get that,’ Grace said, pulling her gaze away, trying to look into Erin’s mind this time.
‘That first time I left him? Brodie bugged my new place. Cameras, microphones. So when you were settled, I did a search. The flat when you were at work, and the shop the day you went to Woodside Auctions.’
‘Okay.’
Erin cocked her head. ‘Interesting escape packages—if that’s what they are.’
Grace said nothing.
Erin shrugged. ‘When I finally left Brodie, I just grabbed my phone and wallet and a couple of changes of clothes, and ran. If I’d been better prepared, like you must’ve been, I might have spent time putting aside more cash and other things worth money. I owned a nice Thea Proctor, for example. But clearly you knew what you were doing. I mean, how did you get those sets of ID?’
Lying was habitual for Grace. Practicable and easy. She would lie now—or offer a half-truth to facilitate this conversation, assuage Erin’s doubts and save herself. And maybe even secure a future here. ‘I used to know people who could supply those kinds of things. A long time ago.’
Erin nodded. ‘Some dodgy characters in our field.’
‘Yes.’
‘Wish I’d known how to do that—then maybe Brodie wouldn’t have found me.’
A lot I could teach you about that, Grace thought.
Erin sipped her tea. ‘Are you cold? Let’s sit in the sun.’
The sunlounges again, their mugs of tea on the slatted table between them.
‘This might go better with gin and tonic,’ Grace said.
Erin toasted her and took a swig of tea. ‘No alcohol for you, young lady. You’re an invalid.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
This was strange; Grace wished she didn’t have to lie to Erin and felt a kind of breathlessness, waiting for a judgment to fall on her head. She drained her tea and closed her eyes under the sun, feeling suffused by light and heat. The elderly man next door started mowing. Just a whirr, an electric mower, but she opened her eyes and glanced towards the back fence.
Erin had also responded to the sound. Eyeing the lawn, then the unwieldy TradeWorks mower in her lean-to shed, she sighed, ‘It’s time we mowed.’
There it was again: we.
‘Yes,’ Grace said.
Erin settled back in her sunlounge, turning her head to Grace. ‘Has your ex ever come close to finding you?’
Grace shook her head. This was a part of the lying she wished she could avoid. On the other hand, there had been a cruel ex. Galt would abuse and belittle her then crawl for forgiveness, in a confusing dance that kept her defenceless and insecure. ‘No. I think he’s dead now.’
Something in her eyes made Erin turn away, nodding slowly, tilting her face back to the sun. ‘I grabbed your stuff as soon as the police told me about the tracking device yesterday morning. I took an Uber and put everything in a locker at that self-storage place near TradeWorks.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I thought if Brodie didn’t find them, the police might. I’ll give you the key later. You might as well use it, I paid for six months in advance.’
Grace had mixed feelings about self-storage yards. They were secure, and accessible at any time, but rarely within reach if you had to run. Banks were generally easier to get to, but only during business hours. Both, it seemed, were more secure than a bathtub or an old cabinet. Come the morning, she’d amalgamate everything and stow it all at the storage yard while she worked out what to do next—worked out how to liquidate it, worked out what to do with her life now, in fact.
She said, hesitantly, ‘With your ex incapacitated, you won’t have to leave here after all.’
Erin toasted that. ‘Fingers crossed. Of course, he might miraculously walk again, or arrange for killers to come after me while he’s in jail—but I think I’m safe.’
How do I broach it? thought Grace: What about me?
As if to underscore the unvoiced question, Erin said, ‘I look forward to growing the business. Getting out and about more—clearing sales, auctions…’
Grace shifted uncomfortably, a sack of bruised and battered bones, the chair’s plastic webbing moist and sticky under her. She didn’t know how to respond. ‘I think I’m due one of the pills they gave me. Every four hours, and I missed at midday.’
Erin checked her watch. ‘I can get it.’
‘I also need the loo,’ Grace said, and something in her tone must have registered, for Erin subsided again.
Tipping the dregs of her tea onto the grass, Grace crossed to the veranda steps and into the flat. Clunked her mug down on the kitchen bench, ran the tap, distractions as she stalked from room to room, thinking. She didn’t want to take a pill and muddle her head. She didn’t want to leave Battendorf. She didn’t know what to do, but it occurred to her that she was in no fit state to make decisions.
She returned to the yard and eased herself painfully onto the sunlounge again. ‘Erin—’
‘You will stay on, I hope.’
The knot loosened in Grace. ‘You mean, the flat and the job?’
‘You’re good at what you do. You’d be a great help, and we can maybe think about a more permanent arrangement.’
She didn’t say ‘partner,’ but that’s what she seemed to mean. ‘Thank you.’
‘Good.’
‘There’s a lot you can teach me,’ Grace said, warming to the idea. A straight life and security.
‘I think,’ Erin said, ‘it’s a case of teaching each other.’
Grace looked down at her bandaged paw, resting in her lap, and lifted it briefly. ‘I might not be able to polish any of your sideboards for a while. I probably shouldn’t drive, either.’
‘Not to worry.’ Erin gave her an unfettered smile and cast her arms wide in the sunshine. ‘I can do anything now.’
She’s putting on a brave front, thought Grace. But it’s going to take a while before she feels really safe.
The days passed and Erin changed Grace’s dressing every morning and the doctor expressed satisfaction at the end of the week. The women drove to the shop together, worked together, returned to Landau Street together, and Grace’s edginess flattened without disappearing. Ready to spike if she came under threat.
As when Sergeant Swanwick called at the shop. ‘Just to catch up,’ she said. ‘Go over a few things.’
She didn’t, though. She chatted, bought a beer stein for her husband and seemed unconcerned about Grace and all that had happened. So that Grace was ready when the sergeant switched gears. ‘How’s the hand?’ she asked, her tone almost accusatory.
Grace said pleasantly, ‘Not bad. Unless I knock it.’
Swanwick snorted and glanced around at the bulky furniture. ‘Life’s offered you plenty of things to knock against lately.’
Grace returned the laugh, thinking: Not knocking against a woman like you is all I want from life.
A week and a half later, Grace received a text: the Blamire Young watercolour was ready for collection.
‘I’ll go,’ Erin said. ‘Nothing to stop me now.’
Grace felt unsure. She’d been reserved—almost secretive—in her dealings with Gaynor Bernard. What would the conservator think if a different woman turned up to collect the watercolour? Probably nothing: after a few words from Erin, she’d soon understand the relationship. But it might be useful to let Bernard see them together.
‘Why don’t we both go?’