Stella stood by the Sea Wall, grasping the driftwood frame firmly with both hands. Looking along the decorated panel – past all the bits and pieces she’d tied onto it years ago – she could see Grace at the other end.
‘Ready?’ Stella called.
Grace nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
Together they dragged the structure away from its place by the shed, holding it vertical as they slid it over the ground. Progress was difficult; the Wall was heavy and unwieldy, but they managed to make their way between the vegetable beds and past the apple trees – finally reaching the newly sowed soil of the grave garden. Once there, they rested the Wall against a line of posts that they’d spent the first hours of the morning driving deep into the ground.
It took some time to manoeuvre the Wall into exactly the right position and then to secure it properly. When it was at last in place, the two women stood back to look at their work.
The tracery of driftwood, with its criss-cross lines and graceful curves, reminded Stella of the carved screens that covered the windows of houses built by Moghul merchants in Rajasthan. Their patterns were more ordered, it was true; but they both gave the same impression: of a boundary that should not be crossed, and yet which did not make the onlooker feel closed out.
‘It’s perfect,’ Grace said.
Stella agreed. The Sea Wall, in its new position, hid the grave from the house and most of the garden. When people started coming to Seven Oaks they would be free to wander amongst the vegetable beds and fruit trees – but this area was to be kept private; a place untouched by casual eyes.
Grace bent to pick up a barnacle-crusted fishing buoy that had fallen off. Stella watched her mother tying it carefully back on.
Into the quiet came the distant hum of a vehicle coming along the track. As it drew closer, Stella heard – behind the usual engine sound – a loud rattling that suggested the vehicle was old and being driven at speed over rough ground.
Before long, Laurie’s Jeep came into view. With its camouflage paint it looked like a piece of the landscape jumping along.
Grace looked towards it with interest. ‘Is he bringing us some meat already?’
‘I don’t know,’ Stella said.
Leaving Grace in the garden, she went out to meet Laurie. He waved at her from behind the wheel and then began to climb out. As Stella approached the Jeep, she glanced into the open back. She faltered, mid-step. The whole tray was filled with birds. Amongst the feathery mounds of muted brown and grey – geese and turkeys – were splashes of brilliant turquoise blue. Coloured tail-feathers as long as her arm emerged here and there from between the piled bodies. Stella stared at them. The ends were decorated with the distinctive eye-pattern that belonged to just one kind of bird …
‘Mrs Barron’s been wanting those peacocks off her place for ages,’ Laurie said, coming to stand beside Stella. ‘They keep her awake at night and scratch up anything she plants. They’re very good eating – if you know how to cook them. So are the others.’ He waved one arm, taking in the whole array of birds. ‘I’ve got you a heap of turkeys – they’re farm turkeys that have gone wild – and a couple of native geese.’
Stella stood in silence, her gaze travelling over outstretched wings, beaks stained with blood, curled feet, glazed eyes. It was a daunting sight. Stella had been around people who killed and ate birds often enough – in foreign places, and here in Halfmoon Bay – but she’d never seen so many dead birds at one time. And the blue of the peacocks – so bright and strong – seemed shocking in the midst of such wholesale destruction.
She didn’t even like to think about how Grace was going to react … ‘It’s very kind of you to do this,’ Stella said to Laurie. ‘We really appreciate it.’
She glanced in the direction of the garden, where Grace was waiting by the Sea Wall. Stella was already planning how she should best prepare her mother for what she was about to see. She would remind Grace where the butcher’s meat came from – pointing out that trays of lamb chops began with blood being shed on white fleece, and that beef came from slaughtered cows …
Laurie got some fish bins from the front seat and began tossing the birds down into them.
‘Where do we take them?’ Stella asked. She made her voice sound brisk, her tone firm and practical.
‘Some place where the ground’s not too hard,’ he said. ‘We need to dig a hole.’
Turquoise feathers fluttered through the air, turning in slow circles as they settled into the pit. The bottom was already lined with slivers of the iridescent blue, dotted amongst fronds of speckled brown and grey.
Stella and Grace sat together, each grasping a floppy bird in one hand and using the other to tear out feathers and toss them into the hole. They had already plucked several birds each. It was a still day. The air was fuzzy with floating down, and tainted with the smell of fresh blood.
Laurie squatted on the far side of the hole. He had a pile of stripped birds next to him. He placed them one at a time on a chopping board. With quick, careful movements of his knife, he cut off heads and legs and then slit open the bodies. Pushing one hand inside the carcass, he pulled out the entrails, flinging them towards the hole. As the purplered intestines looped through the air, a crowd of gulls watched with avid eyes. Seeing them gathered there, Stella wondered if they were simply tempted by anything that might be food, or if they were drawn to the sight of a massacre of their own kind, as humans often are. Repelled, yet fascinated …
Stella kept her head down, plucking steadily. The blood was a red haze at the edges of her vision. She glanced up uneasily to assess how Grace was coping with the situation. Stella had not imagined Laurie would arrive so soon – and with all this … It would have been much wiser, she knew, to have begun the project by gathering shellfish, or even abalone. But – to Stella’s surprise – Grace seemed unfazed. The woman watched Laurie’s hands while she plucked her bird, as if she were trying to memorise every move that he made. She’d wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her face. William’s clothes were stained and dirty, but Grace did not appear to care. Stella paused, her fingers closing on a tuft of feathers. Her mother looked alive and interested. She looked almost happy.
Laurie, too, seemed pleased. Looking over to check the women’s progress, he grinned encouragingly. He jerked his head towards the fish bin still half-full of birds. ‘We won’t pluck them all. We can skin some of them, feathers and all. It saves a lot of time. They’ll be good for stews or curries.’ He turned from Grace to Stella and back. ‘You can make a great curry out of native goose cooked in with a bit of wallaby. The Indians would be amazed! We can cut the skinned birds up now, before we freeze them. They’ll take up less room.’
They went on working quietly for a time. Then Laurie spoke again.
‘I should warn you, there’s always the “Skippy” factor to be considered.’
Stella and Grace looked at him with puzzled faces.
‘You’ll get some people turning up who have a thing about eating wallabies – and other game as well. You just have to explain a few things to them. Animals running wild have a good life till the moment they die. That’s more than you can say about most farm animals.’ He shook his head. ‘If you’ve ever been to an abattoir you’ll know what I mean. Most people haven’t, of course. And another thing …’ He paused to give both women a serious look. ‘I never shoot anything that’s in short supply. That’s a golden rule.’
Grace nodded. ‘My father had that rule, too. He used to go pheasant shooting. Perhaps he still does …’ She smiled, a distant look on her face. ‘You know, I remember seeing a painting in our hunting lodge – it was of a medieval banquet. You could see all the food laid out on the table, and the centrepiece was a peacock, served up in its feathers. They were considered the greatest delicacy, I gather …’
‘Wait till you taste one of these,’ Laurie said. ‘You’ll know why.’ He reached for another bird – then he became suddenly still. He looked past the women, in the direction of the track. ‘There’s a car coming.’ He frowned. ‘Looks like a cop car. Spinks! What the bloody hell does he want?’ He jumped up. ‘I might just make myself scarce.’
Stella put down her bird. ‘I’ll find out.’
By the time she emerged from behind the shed, wiping her hands against her jeans, the police sedan was neatly parked in front of the house. Spinks was standing at the back of Laurie’s Jeep, peering down into the tray. He looked immaculate, as always – his hat level on his head, and his shirt-sleeves pressed into crisp lines.
Stella waited in silence for him to notice her. Fluffy down, trapped in her hair, tickled her cheek – she guessed her hair was layered with feathers. A fly kept landing on her cheek, which she suspected might be flecked with drying blood.
If Spinks was surprised at her appearance, he betrayed no sign of it.
‘I came to see how you and Grace are getting on,’ he said. ‘But I see you already have a visitor.’
Stella felt an urge to look round and check whether Grace and the bins full of birds could be glimpsed between the bushes. She did not relish the idea of taking Spinks out to the pit. If he and Laurie got together, she suspected there could be trouble. She wasn’t sure if it was legal to shoot peacocks – even ones that had gone wild and were causing a nuisance. Not only this: the presence of the policeman – with his symbols of law and order – somehow made the chaotic scene that surrounded the plucking and cleaning of the dead birds appear barbaric.
‘Where’s it all happening, then?’ Spinks asked. ‘You’ve dug a pit, I hope? Best thing to do – bury it all well where the flies can’t get at it.’
‘You know what we’re doing …’ Stella said faintly.
‘Mrs Barron told me,’ Spinks said. He smiled. ‘She’s looking forward to her first good night’s sleep in years, with those birds gone. Let’s have a look, then.’
Stella wasn’t sure if it was an official demand or a request. Either way, she felt she had no choice but to obey. She led the way back past the shed and into the paddock.
When they reached the pit, Grace was squatting in Laurie’s place. Her sleeve was rolled up and her arm was buried up to the elbow inside a huge plucked bird. As Spinks came to stand nearby, she dragged out a handful of innards. Catching sight of the man, she paused – a bloody mess dripping onto her feet. She seemed at a loss for a second – then she flung it away into the pit.
‘Morning, Grace,’ Spinks said. He raised his voice. ‘Morning, Laurie! Come on out – I won’t bite.’
After a few seconds, the hunter shuffled out from the bushes. He gave Spinks a cold look and offered no greeting.
There was an awkward quiet. In the stillness the gulls risked moving a few steps closer. Then Laurie picked up another bird and began cutting off its head.
Spinks directed his gaze to Stella and Grace. ‘I need to talk to you two. About this idea of building a café.’
‘How did you know about it?’ Stella asked.
Spinks gestured towards Laurie. ‘Once you’ve told him, everyone knows! But before it goes any further, there are a few things you need to consider.’
‘Here we go,’ murmured Laurie.
Stella looked down at the ground, where ants were gathering around a lump of dark red liver. She focused on their frantic movements as a chill of foreboding spread through her. Spinks was about to tell them, she sensed – perhaps in just a few blunt words – why it was that their plan could never work.
‘I’d like to have a look at your kitchen, if you don’t mind,’ Spinks said.
Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever for? I can assure you, it’s very clean.’
Watching her mother, Stella was struck by the confidence that Grace seemed suddenly to have found. There was something almost regal in her manner – the way she held her head, and projected her voice. She might have been addressing an impertinent guest.
‘I’d like to see the toilet facilities you plan for guests to use,’ Spinks continued. ‘And a few other things as well.’
Stella looked at him in confusion. She was not surprised that there would be rules about facilities in a place serving food to the public, but she did not understand Spinks’ attitude. Ever since her arrival at Halfmoon Bay he had been so kind and helpful. Yet now there was an officious tone in his voice.
Laurie picked up on it as well. ‘Agh – give them a break, Spinks,’ he said. ‘They’re just trying to make a living.’
‘That’s why I’m here – to help,’ Spinks responded.
Laurie muttered under his breath. He picked up his knife and began slitting the skin of a feathered bird. A few seconds later, he ripped the whole skin off in one movement and flung it away. Flies rose in a small cloud as it landed in the bottom of the pit.
Spinks stood in the middle of the kitchen, rocking back and forth on his toes. Grace and Stella eyed him from a place closer to the door. Laurie came to stand behind them, looking over their shoulders.
‘It’s not me you need to worry about,’ Spinks was saying. ‘The health inspector from St Louis will be on to you like a ton of bricks. He’ll go through your kitchen with a magnifying glass – he’ll make notes on your food-preparation surfaces, dirt traps, unsealed drains. The more problems he finds, the more particular he’ll become. You’ll end up with a list of tasks you could never pull off.’
Stella exchanged looks with Laurie. She could see that the man agreed with what the policeman was saying. Grace, too, was nodding her head. A gloomy quiet settled over the group. Stella looked at Spinks in dismay. She was surprised to see that he appeared completely untouched by the effect his words were having. In fact, the man’s expression was almost bright – as if he were nursing some secret that brought him pleasure.
‘So, I think the thing to do,’ Spinks continued, ‘is for me to have a look first. You make some changes. Then I’ll call the inspector and ask him to come and check it all, before he hears about it on the grapevine. That way you can get everything ready. Bake a special cake.’ He threw a glance over at Stella and Grace. ‘Make sure you look clean and tidy.’
Stella glimpsed Laurie nodding his head again. He was looking at the policeman with grudging approval. ‘I can see what you’re getting at,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad plan.’
Spinks walked slowly around the kitchen, followed closely by Grace, who held her notepad in her hand. Stella and Laurie watched from the hall doorway.
‘All the outside drains must be covered,’ Spinks said. ‘Flies will always find a way to get inside, so we need to make sure there’s nowhere dirty for them to have been sitting beforehand.’
‘Yes, that’s a good point,’ said Grace. ‘What next?’ She held her pencil poised above her notepad. Watching her, Stella saw again the Grace who had been raised in a family where cutlery bore coats of arms, and banquets for twenty were served in the dining room.
‘The sink won’t do,’ Spinks said. ‘You’ll need a double sink.’
Grace eyed the spotless sink and draining board critically. ‘It is small,’ she agreed. ‘And we’ll be using big pots – they’ll be difficult to wash in there.’
‘But a new sink like that will cost a fortune,’ Stella protested.
‘It would,’ agreed Spinks, ‘except I’m pretty certain Joe’s still got the one Griggs took out of the pub. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’ll give it to you, or sell it cheap.’ He scanned the room for the third time. ‘You’ll need more space for food preparation. Joe’s got the stainless-steel benchtops from the pub as well. The kitchens were completely renovated, you know, before the place was put on the market. Joe’s got all kinds of things you could use.’
Stella listened with growing alarm. Spinks spoke casually, as though it were an easy task to install a new sink, make new benches. Next, she feared, he’d be talking about new cupboards, doorways …
‘You’ll need help to do all that,’ Spinks stated. He scratched his head, looking thoughtful. Then he turned to Laurie. ‘Why don’t you ask your mate Zeph to give these women a hand?’
Laurie looked at the policeman in surprise. ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time! He’ll be glad to help. I know he will.’
Grace turned from Spinks to Laurie, and then finally to Stella. ‘Who is this man, Zeph?’
Stella felt Spinks’ eyes watching her face as she framed her reply. ‘He was with me when I found Dad. He was driving the car.’
Grace became still, painful memories crossing her face. ‘I don’t really remember him.’ After a brief pause, she continued, addressing Spinks. ‘We can’t possibly ask him. We hardly know him. We’d have to insist on paying for his time.’
Laurie grinned. ‘Just try,’ he said.
‘You could cook him a few meals,’ Spinks suggested. ‘A single bloke like that – he’d be glad of a good dinner at the end of the day. A meal prepared by the famous chef of Halfmoon Bay.’ The policeman was addressing Grace, but he kept his eyes trained on her daughter. ‘What do you think, Stella? Shall we ask him to come out here at least – and look at the work to be done?’
It was the moment of choice, Stella knew – to pull back and close the door, or step out and let everything begin …
She met Spinks’ gaze. Behind the aura of confidence that the policeman always carried with him, she sensed uncertainty – as if he understood the implications of his seemingly simple suggestion.
‘I’m not pushing you,’ Spinks said. ‘You could look at getting a tradesman from St Louis. The job’s not huge, after all. Couldn’t cost that much …’
‘No,’ Stella said quickly. ‘Let’s … Let’s ask him.’
‘That’s the way,’ Laurie said approvingly. ‘I’ll come and give him a hand, too. I’m not much good with jobs like that – but I can hammer a nail in straight.’ He rubbed his hands together restlessly. Then he gave Spinks a little salute. ‘I’ll get back out to the birds now – if you don’t mind – before the crows move in.’
Spinks smiled. ‘Good plan.’
Stella stared blankly across the room. She felt she’d just made a crucial decision – but what it might mean, she did not know.
As soon as Spinks and Laurie were both gone – and all the birds were stacked away in the freezer – Stella retreated to the sleepout. There, she sat on her bed, resting her back against the wall and hugging her knees to her body. She fixed her eyes on a vase of yellow daffodils that stood on the chest of drawers, and tried to think calmly about what Spinks had proposed.
Laurie seemed certain it would happen – that Zeph would come here to Seven Oaks to work in Grace’s kitchen. He would stay for hours, Stella realised. He might even stay for dinner.
She told herself that Zeph would just be coming here to help – nothing more. She reminded herself that they were different people now – both of them. And that the events of the past stood between them, a chasm that could not be crossed.
Yet the hope was there – the hope that a miracle would happen. Their love would be reborn, bright and strong.
She turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. Grace came to stand in the doorway. The late sun shone in from behind her, making her a dark cutout shape. As she stepped inside, Stella saw that she held a bundle of folded clothes cradled against her chest.
‘I brought these for you.’ Grace spoke almost shyly. ‘They’re from my trunk. When I was putting your washing away yesterday, I noticed you’ve hardly got anything to wear.’ She lifted the bundle to her nose. ‘They were a bit musty, but I aired them and washed them. They’re fine now.’
She laid the clothes on Stella’s bed. There were two shirts made of silk, and another of dark green twill. A pair of corduroy trousers. A pleated skirt. And a black jumper knitted from fine, soft yarn.
‘That’s cashmere.’ Grace brushed a finger over the jumper. ‘I bought it in Paris.’ She smiled at Stella, her gaze travelling tenderly over her daughter’s face. ‘It will look perfect on you, with your dark hair and fair skin.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Stella murmured. As she looked up at Grace, she forgot about Zeph for a while. She felt a sudden rush of joy. For so many years after she’d left home, she’d dreamed of sharing a moment like this with her mother. It was something so simple – a gift of old clothes – yet so precious. She’d never hoped it could be real.
‘I’ll go and bake a cake now,’ Grace said. ‘We’ve got visitors tomorrow, remember. You know – Laurie and his friend. What was his name?’
‘Zeph,’ Stella said. His name seemed to linger in the air – sounding too loud, too big, in the little room.
‘That’s right – Zeph,’ Grace said. ‘They’ll be hungry, I’m sure.’
When Grace was gone, Stella climbed off the bed. Pulling open a drawer, she added the new clothes to her small collection. As she cast her eyes over her well-worn trousers and shirts, she was reminded of all the adventures they had shared with her. Each stain that they bore – each ragged tear – had a story to tell. They were emblems of the life she’d made for herself. The strong, independent person she’d become, without Zeph …
She opened another drawer and looked at the rest of her possessions – the camera, notebooks, shoelaces. Daniel’s emergency supply of bathplugs tied together like keys on a ring. She smiled at the memory of him handing them to her.
‘Bathplugs, my dear. Essential. When things start to fall apart, they’re the first items to disappear from hotel rooms for some reason. It’s very difficult to wash when there’s just a trickle of water and no plug.’
Stella wished suddenly that she could speak to Daniel – to ask his advice. Was this the time to retreat and build up a wall around herself? Or should she risk being hurt again?
Daniel had been right about so much, Stella thought. He’d brought her back to life, and shown her how to survive. She looked over to the corner of the room at the travel-worn backpack that had once belonged to him. Then her eyes moved across to where the stone angel sat on the table beside the bed. Stella thought of all the years when the carving had been her only symbol of belonging. Suddenly, she leaned forward to look at the angel more closely. There was a spider there – spinning a web between the two stone wings. As Stella watched the spider at work, it came to her that for all Daniel’s wisdom there was one important lesson he had not been able to teach her. How to know when it was time to stop and let the dust gather for a while. To settle down and make a home.
There were some things, Stella realised, that you had to work out for yourself.