Friday-night revelries weren’t yet in full swing when we entered The Arms. Most of the tables were adorned with drinkers, but the volume was still at semi-sober.
‘You look really nice tonight. That top suits you well,’ Cole said. The hint of colour that rose in his face gave away his self-consciousness.
I brushed at some non-existent crumb. ‘Oh, thanks. Yeah, I think I spilled some dinner on it.’ I was never very good at taking a compliment.
There were several raised eyebrows as we made our way through the pub. A few people stared momentarily before turning back to their drinking companions – to fill them in on the gossip, I was sure. Cole must have noticed them too, as he put his arm around my shoulders and gently ushered me towards the bar.
‘Good to see you, young Samantha. What will you have?’ Pat Buchanan always had a handle on what was happening in the town. If he was genial towards me, it was a good sign, though my choice of chaperone probably helped. I was just about to reply when I caught a glimpse of Lockie in my peripheral vision. My pulse jumped and the atmosphere in the bar suddenly became very close.
‘Oh, just an IPA,’ I stammered as I craned around to make sure I had seen correctly and wasn’t on a codeine-induced hallucination.
‘Ahem,’ rumbled a deep voice beside me. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking.’
‘Oh, shit, yes, that’s right…’
Lockie was working his way over to the bar.
‘A lime and soda, then, thanks.’
He was making slow progress as well-wishers came up to him and shook his hand. I supposed it was his first public outing since Gaby’s death.
‘Ahem,’ came the voice beside me again. I tore my gaze away from Lockie to see a frown disturbing Cole’s face. ‘I believe you’re supposed to be shouting me a drink.’
A blush crawled its way up mine.
‘God, sorry Cole, I just saw,’ I gestured towards Lockie, ‘you know. What will you have?’ I couldn’t meet his eyes. That was really good form, Shep.
Cole looked over, saw who was coming and said, ‘Why don’t you find a seat over there?’ He pointed in the opposite direction to Lockie. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’
I grabbed the opportunity for a dignified retreat and headed for the armchairs. Shit. Lockie was the last person I expected to see. Surely Cole wouldn’t have brought me here if he knew Lockie was going to be in attendance. They were mates, and I was absolutely certain Cole would have filled Lockie in on his opportune rescue. It had probably provided Lockie with some welcome comic relief.
None of the other patrons seemed to pay me any attention now; curious eyes instead followed Lockie. I hastily reapplied some lipstick and rearranged my clothes. I eased the fabric of my skirt straight with my hands. I always felt slightly exposed in a skirt, but Maggie had insisted. She’d also insisted on me wearing my long boots to cover up the decidedly unattractive gouge down my shin. Alas, there wasn’t much that could be done with my hair other than try to hide the lovely split down the back of my head.
I looked about to see where Cole and the drinks were. They were over talking to Lockie. I saw Cole indicate, beer in hand, in my direction and Lockie pat him on the shoulder as he turned to make his way back.
Jesus bloody Christ, what the hell did Cole think he was playing at?
My eyes must have been laden with accusation, because he started to explain as he sat the drinks down on the table.
‘Lockie just wants to pop over for a second. He’s come in to finalise a few arrangements for tomorrow. He’s not staying.’
Of course, I should have figured that one. The funeral. It would be a big one, at the Catholic church. As well as his and Gaby’s families, Lockie had a lot of loyal friends and acquaintances who would be there to support him. There would be his workmates, members of the local community, professional mourners and opportunistic morning-tea eaters, as well as the straight-out curious. A high-profile death invariably brought out the rubberneckers and vultures who feasted on the misfortune of others.
It was also common for the perpetrator of a murder to make an appearance at the funeral – to add a final insult to their victim. To gloat over the destruction and grief their act had created, and savour the mourners’ homage to their work. Would I recognise them if I saw them there? Would I be able to look Gaby’s killer in the eyes and identify the evil that inhabited them? I would certainly be paying close attention to those present.
Lockie had almost woven his way over to our possie when a new song began to drawl through the speakers.
‘Stand By Your Man’. Just perfect.
Cole excused himself as Lockie took up position perched on the edge of a chair.
‘How’s the head?’ he asked, immediately breaking the tension.
‘It’s letting me know it’s still there,’ I said, and smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry about abandoning your ute. I’m rather grateful no one flogged it.’
‘Yeah. I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with the Boss. I had to tell him about your involvement.’
‘I know. I’ll deal with it, but I’m still going to keep looking into things. How does the saying go? In for a penny?’ We sat in silence for a while. Lockie looked around the room and jiggled his leg up and down. I recognised the mannerism from our years together. Besides driving me nuts, it was a sure sign of something on his mind.
‘What’s the matter?’ I finally asked. What wasn’t the matter was probably the more appropriate question.
Lockie looked up at the ceiling, then with a big sigh looked me dead in the eye. ‘I need to ask you a favour,’ he said.
Was that all? It couldn’t be that bad.
‘What do you need? Of course I’ll help.’
‘I need you to stay away from Gaby’s funeral.’
I felt the blood drain out of my face, only to surge back as the rest of me registered the kick to my solar plexus. I fought back the tears that leaped into my eyes, unbidden.
‘Why?’ I managed to choke out the word.
‘Ah, Christ,’ he said as he looked back up towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through pursed lips. ‘There’s no kind way to say this. People are talking. The police still view you as a suspect, there’s the TV thing. I want…’ He ran his hand through his hair and that tortured look which had become a familiar feature of his face twisted further. ‘I want tomorrow to be about Gaby. I don’t want any distraction, any unwanted attention. I don’t want anything to taint this for her. I’m sorry, I just can’t have you there.’
He stood up abruptly and retreated back into the hubbub of the room. Tears prevented me from seeing where he went. There was a roaring in my ears, too, and I barely registered someone sitting next to me, the arm around my shoulders.
‘Sam.’ A voice filtered vaguely through the murk.
‘Sam?’ A large hand turned my face and I registered Cole’s concerned eyes swimming inches from my own. ‘Sam, are you OK?’
I didn’t know if I would ever be OK. The blur of noise refocused into the sound of voices, the clinking of glasses, Tammy’s lament more mournful than ever. I remembered to breathe.
‘Do you want to go?’ he asked.
I shook my head. The thought of getting up and walking through that room of pitying eyes was unbearable. What I wanted was an anaesthetic.
‘I need a drink,’ I said.
Immediately a glass was thrust into one hand.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, as I wiped beneath my nose with the other.
It looked like a big one, and I downed it in one gulp – then coughed violently as the fumes hit me square in the sinuses.
‘You knew what he was going to say?’ I spluttered.
‘Yes,’ was the simple reply.
Of course he did. I tried to feel some resentment, but the only sensation I could really muster up was exhaustion. I leaned heavily against his shoulder.
‘Did he ask you to look after me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have another drink?’
‘No, but I’ll get you a coffee.’
I tried to resent that too, but instead felt a flicker of gratitude. He propped me back up into the vertical, and then cupped my cheek with his giant hand before he uttered, ‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ with surprising tenderness, then disappeared off. My hand reached up to where his had been and I squeezed my eyes tight shut against the confusion that boiled in my head.
It took a couple of coffees before I was outwardly calm enough even to consider moving. For once, I was actually grateful that Cole was not the talkative type and didn’t need to fill my silence with hollow conversation. He sat, content to sip on his beer and assume the role of minder. On the odd occasion, when someone went to approach me, he subtly turned them away with a simple shake of the head.
Inwardly, I was still a writhing mess. How had it come to this? I was a suspect in a murder; I’d probably completely screwed my career; I felt a physical and emotional wreck; and now the man I still cared for most in this world had banned me from his wife’s funeral. That kind of thing only happened to social lepers and pariahs. My brittle veneer of composure ran the risk of fragmenting again.
‘Get me out of here, please.’
Cole helped me to my feet, then took my hand and led me to the door by the most direct route possible. I studied my footsteps the whole way, not daring to meet curious or accusing eyes, but I was acutely aware of the wane in conversation as we passed, and the crescendo that followed in our wake.
As the door shut behind us, that small part of me that had maintained some degree of strength succumbed to the strain. I stumbled my way down the steps, then collapsed to my knees, my body no longer able to contain the sheer size of my desolation.
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ Cole’s hands grabbed me under the armpits, and he lifted me up and over his shoulder, then rearranged me so he could carry me like a child. With one arm around the back of his neck and the other around the front, I clung on and wept into his collar.
‘Hey, hang on there!’ A voice hailed us from the other side of the car park. I heard running footsteps approach.
‘What’s going on? Sam, are you alright?’
I lifted my tear-streaked face out of Cole’s neck and saw Paul Frost’s troubled features wavering before me.
‘She’s a bit upset,’ Cole said. ‘I’m just taking her home.’
‘Are you OK with that, Sam? Or do you want me to take you?’
I nodded my head at the first question and shook it for the other.
‘Hang on a second, mate.’ Cole opened the door to his ute and carefully lowered me into the seat. He rummaged in the glovebox and handed me a grimy man-sized handkerchief, then shut the door. I leaned my head against the window and watched the two men in discussion. Their voices were low; I couldn’t catch what they were saying and I didn’t really want to. It was fairly obvious who the topic of conversation was. They both stood stiffly, hands thrust in pockets except when pulled out to point or gesture, feet slowly shuffling. Several minutes later, I saw the conversation end as Paul waved his finger at Cole. Cole threw his hands up in the air, then strode around to the driver’s side of the ute. He climbed in and closed the door with enough force to make me jump.
‘What was that about?’ I asked. God, my voice sounded foreign.
‘Nothing,’ Cole said, and turned the key in the ignition.