While I agree with your column about fortitude and resilience, I wonder if sometimes we use these as an excuse for just putting up with things? Maybe we should put more effort into being on top, rather than beneath (and it’s more fun too!).
By Tuesday I was so accustomed to the collar that the few times I took it off, such as for showering, my neck felt thin and exposed. Like a chicken about to become the Sunday roast. The bruises were now at their peak, a miasma of mottled blues that spread across my right shoulder and much of my chest. Even, unaccountably, my left buttock. The good news was that after a Monday spent in a great deal of pain and discomfort, by Tuesday I was feeling considerably more chipper. If I was not yet finding actual strength in the face of adversity, then at least I was starting to look for it.
I have always found this tendency most marked in woman. After the initial shock, if at all possible, a setback is recoloured with a blend of rationalisation and optimism. Storm blew a tree through your window? How fortuitous, now those ghastly curtains can be replaced. Blind date looks like Mr Bean? Yes, but what compelling eyes! And besides, you’ve always wanted to try that restaurant. Offspring drops out of her first year of university? Ah well, no doubt the course wasn’t quite right, or this is all part and parcel of the growing-up process.
Accordingly, by Tuesday I had desensitised myself to much of what had happened and was already beginning the process of reconciliation. There was no denying it was a little scary that somebody had tried to kill me, but at least they hadn’t succeeded. An added bonus being that the clumsiness of their attempt had brought the police on side. Having a security detail was irritating, but it had also given me the chance to get to know Matthew a little better – or rather, have him unable to leave while I asked him a stream of questions. Stable family background: tick. Parents also in shock over this unexpected turn of events: sympathetic tick. Three sisters, which should make for interesting extended family gatherings with my lot but did mean young Matthew should be well-accustomed to females: tick. Genetic history: tick. Career prospects: tick. Ability to make decent coffee: tick, tick, tick... More importantly, it was abundantly clear was that he was very much in love with Scarlet, and over the moon about the baby. And she was right; they made much better sense than he ever did with Lucy. They even complimented each other appearance-wise, brunette against blonde, while Lucy and Matt had always looked a little too Scandinavian; as if they were just about to leap into a hot-tub, or break into a rendition of an Abba song. I was even beginning to get my head around the whole grandmother thing, feeling a little warm and fuzzy about the idea of a baby. That wasn’t Darcy’s.
But where Scarlet was twenty-five, in a committed relationship with a secure job that had maternity leave and career prospects, Lucy was not. She was a twenty-year-old sales assistant who had rebounded from a failed relationship into a one-night stand that left her pregnant. She was also the most sensitive of my children, the most spiritual, and in many ways the most vulnerable. Our Aerie Fairy, her father used to say while shaking his head in bewilderment, because she was the furthest removed from his brand of pragmatism. I knew that giving up her baby would be harder than she could imagine. What I didn’t know was whether she would ever recover.
By Tuesday I was also surrounded by flowers. A beautiful arrangement from my editor, along with a concerned card regarding how the injuries might affect my work output, another lot from Deb Taylor, together with several uneasy emails, and one from Ashley Armistead with a card that simply said You won’t get out of Norfolk Island that easily. Around lunchtime I received yet another bunch, these ones hand-delivered by Elsa Poxleitner on behalf of my Monday book club, who had decided next week’s theme would be near-death experiences, in honour of my wild ride.
Elsa was also able to tell me that my narrow escape was the talk of the town, along with guesswork about who might be responsible. A small faction favoured the serial-killer theory, with me being potential victim number three, but a much larger group were of the belief that I was, literally, my own worst enemy. This theory held that a lack of mechanical knowledge had led to my cutting the brake lines instead of, say, filling the radiator. Simple mistake. The mayor having positioned himself firmly in this group, it was felt that there was still nothing to impede the successful running of the commemoration this coming weekend. Better an incompetent female than an energetic killer; less detrimental to tourism.
I knew differently. I also knew that this latest attempt cleared Ned’s name, proving that he had been murdered also. This was all about the Discovery, with somebody believing that Sam had told me more than he did – and that I was making steady progress on uncovering the rest. The problem, at least one of them, was that this did not narrow the field much. I needed to find out who else Sam had spoken to that evening, or who might have been likely to drop in. I needed a list of the society members. Then I needed to work out which one would be so invested in the Discovery remaining a secret that they were willing to commit murder. Not just once, but three times.
This was one of the reasons that I had been agreeable to Quinn spending the week over at Small Dairy Lane, alternating between family members as required. Sunday night had been spent with her sisters, before Scarlet and Red headed back to Melbourne, and then she had moved over to her aunt’s until they returned on Friday. Her grandmother, to everybody’s relief, was only nominated as back-up.
It was also the reason I was so annoyed that I couldn’t attend Sam’s funeral today. Even though Lucy had offered me her intestinal-pink hatchback, Bendigo was just too far to drive without peripheral vision. I could have hitched a ride with my mother but that would have been a little too much close-confinement bonding for my fragile state of health. And I knew she would want to talk about Lucy, while I didn’t. Instead I had deputised Petra, who was in Bendigo for the day anyway, sourcing some type of Italian granite. Her amenability to this suggestion was no doubt due to guilt over her lack of discretion regarding Darcy. Not that this would be total amends, unless, of course, she managed to finger the perp. Figuratively speaking. Best-case scenario had him or her reveal him or herself by standing some way apart from the general mourners with a foreboding expression. A balaclava would be an added extra.
Matthew had now been replaced by the big-breasted policewoman. Her name was Amber July, which sounded more like she should be gambolling on a nudie calendar than protecting middle-aged women. She had proved herself remarkably versatile, however, making superb coffee as well as taking the insurance representative on a tour of the shed and even reading through my latest column draft and offering fairly sound suggestions.
It was rather pleasant to feel protected. The truth was that despite feeling more chipper, I still felt battered, both physically and emotionally. Rationalisation was all very well, but it didn’t reduce actual content. And my standard compartmentalisation default was ineffective when there was more content than cupboards. My mind was like the spare closet in the hall, which burst open every so often to regurgitate sleeping bags and sporting equipment and the box of scrapbooking material that had seemed such a good idea at the time. I needed to spring-clean, or at least stop shovelling stuff in. Woman’s head explodes. Family leave mess for her to clean.
With luck, this evening’s get-together at Deb Taylor’s would go some way towards at least a partial cleanse. She had dropped several hints that headway had been made by her husband but would not be drawn on the details. My hope was that this headway was significant enough that we could put our heads together, tie off a few loose ends, and then hand the whole lot over to the police. Who, it seemed, I would be bringing along with me anyway. Then I could concentrate on family. And work, and the upcoming festivities, and living arrangements, and a new car.
Assisted occasionally by Amber, I spent the afternoon working on the latest doll’s house. We threaded electric wire through the joints and hung two miniature sconces and a chandelier in the lounge room, then laid moss-green carpet in the main bedroom. I left the new lights switched on when I closed the house up, letting the glow filter through the leadlight windows.
‘It looks gorgeous,’ said Amber. ‘I’d have another baby if I knew it would be a girl, so I could do one too. But knowing my luck, it’d be another boy.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Two. Ky is three and Finn’s seven months.’
‘Only little then. My daughter’s pregnant, actually two of my daughters are pregnant. But one of them is in the police force as well. How’s the maternity leave?’
‘Brilliant.’ Amber had pulled her wallet from her pocket and was flipping it open. She passed it over, pointing to a photo of two blond boys, the baby sitting on his brother’s lap. ‘Your daughter’s name is Scarlet, isn’t it? I don’t know her but I know Matty Carstairs. He talks about her all the time.’
‘Good. And they’re gorgeous.’ I passed the wallet back as the phone rang. ‘Excuse me.’
Amber diplomatically removed herself to the far end of the room as I perched on a bar stool to answer the phone. It bumped against the top of my collar.
‘Hello?’
‘Nell. It’s me.’
‘Ah, I was expecting a call. Have you heard from your daughters then?’
‘I certainly have,’ replied Darcy in an aggrieved tone. ‘I thought we agreed that I would tell them my news. Being that it’s my news?’
‘Actually, you asked me not to say anything and I didn’t reply. That’s not the same as an agreement. Besides, I didn’t tell them. Petra did.’
‘Then you told her.’
‘That’s true, but you didn’t ask that I not tell anyone. I need to have someone to talk to. Or are you telling me that you don’t discuss anything with Tessa?’
‘Of course I do! But she’s my …’ He had the grace to peter off at this point before finishing lamely. ‘It’s different.’
‘Ah, so I have to be sleeping with someone to be able to tell them stuff.’ I twisted awkwardly to check that Amber was still over the other side of the room. ‘Okay, I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. These are our daughters. If you asked me not to tell them something, I wouldn’t. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Whatever.’
‘You know what else? You’re so busy setting up camp in the moral high ground that you won’t admit for a minute that you might not be perfect either. Too fond of painting me as the villain.’
‘Oh my god, you are so right,’ I said agreeably. ‘We’re absolutely as bad as each other. In a moment when I was incapacitated with pain, I witnessed my sister divulge information that she shouldn’t have, while you slept with other women and then deserted your family. You’re right, that makes us absolutely even.’
Silence fell, although I could hear his breathing. After a few moments he sighed, a sound that seemed to envelop my ear. I flinched.
‘You mean from your car accident? How are you?’
‘Fine. Thank you for asking.’ Gusto pattered into the room, looked around and then came over to nuzzle his snout against my leg. I ran my hand through his fur.
‘You should look after that car better.’
‘Yes, I’ll put a sign on it asking that no-one cut the brake lines.’
‘You don’t seriously think that someone deliberately cut them, do you?’ I could hear the frown in his words. ‘I thought the police were just being careful. What with Sam Emerson and Ned. I couldn’t believe that. Poor buggers.’
‘Poor buggers indeed. Did the girls tell you their news?’
‘Yes! Christ almighty. Have you met him? This Matthew bloke?’
I pushed Gusto away. ‘Matthew’s lovely, and they’re lovely together. It’s Lucy I’m more worried about.’
‘Lucy? Why?’
I froze, and then thought quickly. ‘Ah, just generally. You know.’
‘God, Nell.’ He laughed. ‘You always have to find something to worry about, don’t you? Here’s Scarlet with this amazing news and you have to shift focus to create problems where there aren’t any. Luce’ll be fine; she just needs time to work out what she wants. Give her a few more months and I bet she’ll find her feet.’
‘A few more months and she won’t be able to see her feet,’ I replied, but with my hand over the mouthpiece so that Darcy couldn’t hear.
‘I have to say Scarlet threw me for a loop though,’ Darcy continued chattily. ‘Not sure how you feel but I’m not ready to be a grandparent! Especially not with … you know.’
‘I know.’ I stared at the kitchen cupboards. There was a splatter of something grey and glumpy across one of them. It looked like cereal, or brain matter. Most likely cereal.
‘Tell you one thing, Nell, I can’t quite get my head around it. Any of it. Christ.’
‘You and me both.’ I took a deep breath, wondering how I could end this conversation before Darcy started using me as a sounding board or, even worse, began reminiscing about our own children’s infancy. As if attuned to my need, the phone began emitting a series of beeps. ‘Sorry, Darcy, but there’s someone trying to get through. I’ll have to go.’
‘Oh, okay. Well, no doubt we can catch up over the weekend. We’ll be down on Friday.’
‘Looking forward to it.’ I pressed end briskly and picked up the other call. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey,’ said Ashley.
‘Hey.’ I swivelled my stool so that I could see Amber. She was checking her mobile, one finger deftly flicking at the screen. It occurred to me that I was speaking to yet another man I’d slept with. All I needed was for Ferris Buttafuoco to ring the doorbell and I’d have a hat-trick.
‘How are you getting on with your protective detail?’
‘Lovely, thank you. But are you sure they’re necessary?’
‘No, I’m not,’ replied Ashley frankly. ‘But there’s no doubt your car was tampered with, so until we discover who’s responsible, we have to take precautions. Hopefully we find out it’s some young idiot.’
‘Oh yes. That’d be a relief.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said with a laugh, and then continued in a more serious tone. ‘I wanted to ask you a few questions. I know your statement says you thought you’d heard someone at the cemetery, but I just want you to think for a moment, are you sure there were no cars in the car park? Either when you got there or when you left?’
‘None. Just me.’
‘What about on the way home? Did you pass anyone, even a car on the side of the road? Anything like that?’
I frowned. ‘Not that I can remember, but then I wasn’t really looking. Sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ he sighed. ‘Oh well, worth asking. I’m due a break in this case.’
‘Are you not making much progress? What about with Sam and Ned?’
He sighed again. ‘Not as much as I’d like. Which is another reason I rang. You mentioned that Sam was working on something for you, and that’s why he rang that night.’
‘Ah.’ I smiled. ‘So now the detective sergeant wants to hear my theory?’
‘Given the possibility that your … accident might be connected, yes, it does seem prudent to consider all possible angles.’
‘Well, well, well. I tell you what, I’ll trade you. Tell me who else Sam Emerson rang the evening he died and I’ll give you everything I have.’
‘You do realise I could have you arrested for withholding information? Besides, it won’t help; we’ve already ruled him out. He has an alibi.’
‘James Sheridan.’ I waited for confirmation and then realised that the silence was confirmation itself. ‘So, apart from Loretta and me, he was it? No-one else?’
‘No-one. Now for my part.’
‘Hang on. What about the landline? And Ned’s phone?’
‘Landline hadn’t been used, and Ned only used his to order two takeaway meals from the pub. And before you race down there interrogating the staff, it’s a dead end. My turn.’
‘Okay.’ I filed the information away for later. ‘But I’ve got a better idea – why don’t you join me this evening?’
‘Nell …’
I slid off the bar stool and glanced over at Amber, who was watching me with interest. She immediately dropped her eyes to her mobile. I lowered my voice. ‘No, not that. I’m meeting a few friends who have been researching exactly what it was that Sam was looking into. I’ll email you the background, what we’ve discovered thus far, and the address. Feel free to join us if you like.’
‘My god, you’re the bane of my existence. What part of “don’t get involved” did you not get? Christ, I’m tempted to tamper with your bloody car myself.’
‘Tamper away,’ I replied cheerfully. ‘It’s a write-off anyway. I’ll send you the address of the garage when I send you this other stuff. Let me know if you’re coming.’
‘Fine.’
I hung up the phone and tugged down on my collar for some temporary relief. Gusto padded around to the kitchen and began licking the cupboards. Deb Taylor had said that it couldn’t possibly be James Sheridan because he was far more likely to bribe someone than kill them, and he would never risk his reputation, while Yen had said it simply wasn’t his style. But what if the Discovery threatened his reputation? What if bribery didn’t work? Wouldn’t he be more likely to pay someone else to get their hands dirty, thus enabling him to establish an ironclad alibi? He was the only person, other than Loretta, me and the order staff at the pub, who had been contacted that night. He also had motive, means and opportunity. Plus he was a politician. Enough said.