She heard a door shut somewhere inside the house and blinked in shock. Nash killed Kim? she thought. He killed her? The next thought came immediately: Gemma was going to spend the night alone with him in the house. Get a grip! Some saner part of her brain kicked in and took charge of her hysterical thoughts. If he were a murderer, surely all those people he’d been chatting to earlier in the pub would have avoided him? They certainly hadn’t treated him like a killer. On the contrary, it seemed that he was well respected in the town. Did murderers usually receive such a warm welcome?
She turned and made herself go inside. Rather than torturing herself with questions, she decided to find some answers. If she didn’t, there was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight.
She closed her bedroom door and opened her laptop, then connected to the wi-fi and typed in Nash’s name. To her surprise, the search brought up several links to agriculture articles he’d written for various rural newspapers and magazines. She was briefly distracted by these, skimming through some of them, impressed that he had written such pieces. Then, on the second page of results, she found a link to the local newspaper from eight years earlier. Opening it, she saw a photo of a pretty blonde girl. The heading read: ‘Local girl killed in car accident.’
Gemma’s heart was pounding as she quickly read the article. She discovered that Kim Sweeney, seventeen, had been a passenger in a car that had hit a tree, killing her instantly. However, the person named as the driver wasn’t Nash, as she’d expected, but Ben Henderson, then aged eighteen. He had walked away from the accident with only a few minor cuts and bruises; when breathalysed, he had been three times over the legal limit.
She searched for further reports on the accident; from an article dated around a year later she learned that Ben had received a ten-year prison sentence. After searching fruitlessly for any more information about the incident, she eventually gave up and shut down the computer. She frowned, baffled. Why would Nash say that he’d killed Kim when Ben was the one who had been charged with drink-driving and sent to prison? Was there something more to it? Had Nash been involved in the accident somehow? Had he been driving and for some reason Ben took the blame? But it didn’t make any sense.
At least she felt reassured that she wasn’t about to end the night buried in a shallow grave, but Gemma felt sad for the poor girl who had died in the accident. What a waste of such a young life.
She was distracted by the creak of the screen door opening at the front of the house. In the afternoons, Gemma and Jazz sometimes sat out on the verandah to catch a cool breeze. But tonight it could only be one person, and she decided to venture out and try to talk to him, although she was unsure what kind of reception she would get.
She took the seat next to his. ‘Can’t sleep?’ she asked, when he didn’t even look up.
‘Nope.’
Well, this is going well, she thought as a silence settled once more between them. ‘I read about what happened to Kim,’ she said, and braced herself for an angry outburst. When none came, she risked looking at him; in the light falling out through the front door she saw that he was staring dully out across the dark paddocks. ‘I don’t understand how you had anything to do with it. Ben was charged with drink-driving.’
For a long time the only sound was the high-pitched chirping of crickets. Gemma waited.
‘Ben may have been driving,’ Nash said quietly at last. ‘But I made her get in that car that night.’
Once more, Gemma waited for him to continue, but it seemed that he was finished. Was that the only explanation she would get?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly.
‘Not as sorry as I am.’
She had no idea what to say to him. Her first instinct was to reassure him that Kim herself must have decided to get into that car, and that if anyone was to blame it must be Ben; but she didn’t know anything more than what had been in the paper, so how could she presume to tell him? Still, she didn’t like seeing him so silent and withdrawn.
‘Do you want a cuppa?’ she finally asked. ‘I thought I might make one.’
‘I’m right, thanks.’
She bit back a sigh and stood up. Obviously the man just wanted to be left alone and she had to respect that, but still it went against the grain to leave him out here alone with his grief.
She turned on the lights in the kitchen, then switched on the coffee machine and took down a mug. As she looked around the little kitchen, she couldn’t help smiling. She’d grown attached to this little house. It had a homey feel to it. Her mother loved everything to be modern with clean edges, and their house had always been immaculate. This house was all mismatched fabrics and old furniture, and yet somehow it worked, in an old-fashioned, slightly shabby way. Almost the only modern thing in the kitchen was the sleek black coffee machine. Last week, after deciding she couldn’t stomach another cup of instant coffee, Gemma had driven all the way to Curranjuck to pick it up.
‘I changed my mind. Is it too late?’
Gemma jumped as Nash’s deep voice cut through her thoughts. ‘Too late?’ she repeated dumbly.
‘For that coffee?’
‘Oh. No. Sure.’ She quickly turned to grab down another mug. From the corner of her eye she saw him move further into the room and lean against the sink. He watched silently as she dropped in another pod and pushed a button.
‘Tell me again why you needed to transform the kitchen into the flight deck of the Enterprise?’ he asked, eyeing the flashing blue and green lights as the little machine made its robotic-sounding noises.
‘Because life’s too short for bad coffee,’ she told him, and saw the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile. When his expression almost instantly became solemn again, Gemma realised what she’d said. Her cheeks ablaze, she turned away from him, relieved to be able to focus on heating the milk.
‘We were at a friend’s eighteenth-birthday party,’ he said suddenly, his voice soft.
Surprised, Gemma carefully placed the mug of coffee on the countertop beside him, then waited for him to go on.
‘We had an argument, and she spent the rest of the night hanging out with Ben. She was only doing it to make me jealous. Anyway, trying to ignore the fact that Ben had his hands all over my girlfriend, I drank more than I usually would have. Later on I saw them leave the party. I was so pissed off at her for doing it in front of all our friends,’ he said, looking up at Gemma. ‘I should have dragged her away as soon as I saw her getting into Ben’s car. We’d all been drinking, but Ben was completely smashed. But I was just so angry at her for making me look like a loser in front of everyone . . .’ He trailed off, and Gemma could easily imagine the hot-headed teenager whose pride had taken a beating in front of his mates. ‘I should have stopped her getting into that car.’ He slumped back against the counter.
‘Could you have, though?’ Gemma asked timidly. When he looked up at her, she saw the heart-wrenching pain in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘I mean, clearly she was angry too. If you’d told her not to get in the car, chances are she wouldn’t have listened to you.’
‘But that’s the thing—I did tell her to get in the car,’ he said quietly. ‘I told her to go with him, Gem. She came over and told me she was leaving with him. I knew she wanted me to tell her not to, but I didn’t. I yelled at her to go, then just stood there and let them drive away.’ His voice was hollow, his expression so bleak and miserable it stabbed at her heart.
‘I’m sure no one blames you for it, though. I mean, how could they? You weren’t the one driving. Ben was. He was to blame.’
Nash dropped his head and stared at the floor. ‘Her parents did.’
‘I’m sure they couldn’t—’ Gemma began.
‘They did,’ he cut her off harshly. ‘They asked me how I could let her get in the car with him. And I’ve been asking myself the same bloody thing all these years.’
‘Oh, Nash.’ Gemma felt tears pricking her eyelids as she bit her lip, picturing the whole horrible scene in her mind. The room was suddenly very quiet once more.
‘Would you like me to make something to eat with this?’ she asked at last, unable to think of anything to say that might comfort him.
He shook his head. ‘No thanks,’ he said, and gave a shaky laugh, finally moving to sit down at the kitchen table with his coffee. ‘I’m becoming addicted to your cooking, you know.’
Gemma smiled. ‘It’s a treat for me to be able to cook for someone. It seems a waste to only cook for myself.’
‘What about your Siamese twin? You don’t cook for her too?’ Gemma was relieved to hear the teasing note in his voice.
‘Well, sometimes, but Jazz has more of a social life than I do. We lived in the same house for the first year of uni and then mutually decided we were not cut out to be flatmates,’ she said dryly. ‘Jazz moved in with some other kids from uni, so we actually don’t spend that much time together.’
‘I’ve been trying to work out how the two of you are even friends. You’re so different.’
‘Yeah, I know, it baffles a lot of people,’ she said. ‘Maybe we complement each other. She’s the outgoing, popular girl I’ve always wanted to be.’
‘And you’re the smart, sensible one she’s never been?’ he added.
Gemma’s smile faded slightly; she might consider strangling Jazz on a daily basis but no one else got to put her best friend down! Not even obscenely good-looking farmers with tortured souls. ‘Jazz is smart; she just tends to hide it from most people.’
‘I’ve never understood why people do that. There’s nothing wrong with being smart.’
‘I guess it’s her way of coping with life. She’s had a tough time herself, and she’s always been there for me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. It was kind of lonely growing up—my dad worked all the time, and my mum was pretty busy with committees and things. There was a lot of pressure on me to do well in school . . . Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had brothers and sisters, you know? Someone else for them to focus on. Anyway, Jazz made things bearable. She saved my life.’
Nash looked at her sharply and she bit her lip. But she realised she’d come too far not to tell him the rest.
‘Two days before I was due to sit my HSC exams, Jazz found me curled up in the corner of my room clutching an empty bottle of sleeping tablets.’ It still made Gemma ill to think about that time in her life. The pressure she’d felt to get into the university she was expected to attend had pushed her to breaking point. She’d been a mess, exhausted and on the brink of a nervous breakdown. If Jazz hadn’t been worried enough to come looking for her, she would have died that night. ‘Jazz called an ambulance and stayed with me at the hospital till my parents got back from a business trip.’
She shuddered to remember how badly she’d disappointed her parents, how upset they’d been. She never wanted to put them through something like that again.
‘So you see, I’m not always the smart, sensible one.’ She’d never before told anyone about that night. It was something she was deeply ashamed of but since he’d been brave enough to tell her about his own painful past it seemed fitting that she should be equally as frank.
‘I stand corrected. We could all use a friend like Jazz,’ he said, making a toast with his mug.
They drank their coffee in silence after that, both lost to memories of things they would rather forget.
Later that night, Nash lay in bed with his hands linked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the house creaking and groaning, making the same noises it had been making his entire life. He hated thinking about the accident. He did his best to forget about it, but now and then something would set off a memory. Something like Ben’s release from prison a few weeks ago, which was big news in the district. He’d often wondered what he’d say to the bastard if he ever saw him again. Well, from what happened tonight, it seemed that when it came to Ben Henderson he was still chicken shit. He’d seen Ben twice now and what had he done? Nothing.
For as long as Nash could remember, Henderson had been a thorn in his side. Ben was a year older than Nash and always a bully. He’d given Nash a black eye on his first day of school just because he didn’t like the way Nash had looked at him. Over the years, Nash had learned to avoid Ben and his mates whenever possible, but they’d made his primary school days a nightmare. Once Nash went to high school and began to catch up to Ben in size and strength, the physical bullying had stopped, but he still gave Nash grief in any other way he could. It was on the footy field that Nash really enjoyed getting back at Ben. Many times they’d been pulled aside and reminded that they were on the same team. But their mutual dislike hadn’t softened with time.
Now Nash thought back to the night of the party and the smug grin Ben had flashed him as he cupped Kim’s arse in his hand and gave it a territorial squeeze. He was daring Nash to go over and do something about it. Right up until the end, when he’d held the door open for Kim to get into his car, his gaze had been locked on Nash’s, silently telling him that he’d won. He’d managed to take Nash’s girlfriend off him in front of everyone.
Part of Nash had wanted to race over and drag Kim from the car and wipe that grin off Ben’s face once and for all. But another part just couldn’t be bothered. He was tired of Henderson’s constant provocation. It was like an annoying drip from a tap. It went on and on until it almost drove you insane. So instead of pulling Kim out of the car, he’d told her to go with Ben. Good riddance to both of you, he’d thought at the time, turning away from Kim’s disappointed look. Deep down he knew she’d wanted him to take Ben on and fight for her. She wasn’t a bad person, she was just young and maybe a little bit spoilt and bored. She’d used the boys’ mutual hatred on and off over the last twelve months to play them off against each other, but Nash had finally had a gutful. He wasn’t playing her game anymore. If she wanted excitement in her life she’d have to find it in Ben bloody Henderson.
Later, when the sirens of the local Volunteer Rescue Association truck had screamed past, everyone had known that something was very wrong. The ambulances weren’t far behind. When someone finally came to the hall with word on what had happened, Nash called his father to come and get him so he could go up to the hospital.
As he walked through the front door of the hospital he saw Mrs Sweeney clutching at the doctor’s shirt. Then she’d looked straight at Nash and just stared. He remembered taking a few steps towards her, even though his whole body screamed at him to run away. Mr Sweeney had gently detached his wife’s hands from the doctor’s shirt and wrapped her in his arms, but she continued to stare at Nash as he stood frozen to the spot. Then she’d begun to cry. Big, ugly, gut-wrenching sobs that tore at his very soul. ‘Why did you let her get in that car? Where were you?’ she’d screamed.
The words cut through him. They cut so deep they hit bone.
Nash thumped the pillow into a more comfortable position as he rolled over, trying uselessly to push away the memories.
Where were you? Kim’s mother had demanded. He’d been right there, and what had he done? He’d told Kim to get into a car that minutes later would slam into a tree and obliterate her body and decimate her family forever. He could have saved her. He should have saved her, but instead he’d done nothing.
It was going to be another long night filled with the echo of crunching metal and Mrs Sweeney’s cries and the endless, gut-churning guilt that hovered above him like a cloud.