Late April 1970
Catherine
‘Hello?’ Catherine called. ‘Where are you?’
Sometimes Charlie would hide when she arrived on Sunday afternoons, prompting a game of hide and seek, but today there was an odd stillness to the pickers’ hut. Mark wasn’t on the porch waiting for her, and Charlie hadn’t given away his hiding spot by giggling as he usually did.
Her sense of unease grew as she walked inside. The small rooms were silent and bare. In the bedrooms, the beds were made, with sheets and blankets tucked in tight and the pillows in straight lines. It was as if Mark and Charlie had never lived there.
It had been almost a fortnight since the discovery of Lara’s body. During that time Mark had become withdrawn and distracted. She’d wanted to offer comfort, but he’d kept her at a distance. He’d been impatient for the coroner’s report and anxious to put Lara’s remains to rest. Catherine had known he’d have to go to Melbourne to sort things out, but she’d thought she would’ve seen them before they left. Why hadn’t Mark said goodbye?
She moved heavily to the porch, disappointment creating its own sense of gravity. Her eyes scanned the ground where Charlie had played with his hand-me-down Matchbox cars, making roads in the dirt, but there was no trace of the young boy she loved. She walked down the steps, counting in her head the way Charlie used to – one, two, three – and headed to the back of the hut. There, in the small clearing before the rows of apple trees began, a small wooden cross still stood. One thing had not been erased.
‘Good boy, Benno,’ she whispered. ‘Good boy.’
Ever faithful, Peter’s best friend and then Charlie’s beloved companion, Benno, had succumbed to old age with patience and acceptance. He’d made it clear when he was ready to go, and the vet had come to them. Benno went to sleep peacefully among the apple trees where he’d spent his life. Catherine had cried so much, even the vet was moved to tears. Another part of Peter gone.
And now Mark and Charlie were gone as well.
They’d had their own loss, of course, and it had been unexpected and shocking. Catherine would never admit it to anyone, but her first thought when she’d heard Mark’s wife was dead was that finally they could be a happy family. That she could become, legally, the mother Charlie had always needed. She knew she should feel guilty for having such thoughts, but the relief of Mark finally being free had been overwhelming. Perhaps their sudden disappearance was her punishment.
She stumbled back to the porch. They’d sat there so often. Catherine remembered Mark’s eyes, his hands, his touch. The memory of their only kiss, his lips firm and warm against hers, still lingered like a flower pressed between the pages of a book. The colour had faded, but the imprint remained, fragile and thinner than paper, but still real, and more precious because of its frailty. She’d put a stop to the kiss because he was married. And all that time, Lara was dead, down a gully along the treacherous Huon Road. All the slander she and Mark had endured. For what? Now, when they were finally free to take up from where that kiss had been leading, he’d shut her out then left without a word. Had she been a fool all this time? A diversion to entertain him while he was playing at being an orchard hand? Had Annie been right? He couldn’t be trusted. A hard lump formed in her throat. No. She refused to believe it.
Catherine didn’t know how she found the strength to get up. She walked through the trees towards Annie’s house. The pickers had done the first pass through this part of the orchard and the remaining apples were colouring up. They’d need to be harvested within a few days to be right for export. These thoughts kept her mind busy; a distraction she knew wouldn’t last.
Annie’s kitchen was in its familiar disarray with piles of washing heaped on the table.
‘Have you come to help with the ironing?’ Annie looked exhausted. Two months into the picking season, her workload was relentless. ‘I could use a hand.’
The sound of the boys playing footy in the backyard filtered through closed windows, along with the crack and clatter of Dave splitting wood. Angela was playing with her dolls under the table. Catherine couldn’t believe everything was so normal here. ‘Mark’s gone. And Charlie.’
Annie kept her head down, busying herself with the washing. ‘Other pickers are moving into the hut tomorrow. Mark doesn’t know when he’ll be back. Couldn’t have come at a worse time. As if I didn’t have enough to organise with the harvest.’
‘He didn’t tell me.’
‘You knew he had things to take care of. The funeral.’
‘I know, but I thought he’d say goodbye before—’
‘I don’t understand why he lied about going to the police.’ Annie sounded angry, suddenly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘A couple of weeks after the fires, Dave and Mark went to Huonville. Mark said he was going to the police station to report Lara missing. Thing is, he never did. He told us he did, but he didn’t.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Catherine was already bewildered by Mark’s disappearance. Annie’s words added to the doubts she was desperately trying to push aside.
‘We didn’t know he’d lied until the police interviewed us after her body was found.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Put us through our paces. Those coppers ask a lot of questions.’
‘No. Mark.’
‘Not a lot.’ Annie looked Catherine in the eye for the first time since she’d arrived. ‘I never did like him or his wife. Something off about the pair of them. He’s done you a favour by leaving without letting you know. Shown his true colours. You should forget about him.’
Catherine was shocked by Annie’s words. ‘How could you say—’
‘He doesn’t belong here, he never did. Mark turned your head and it was a disaster. I never told you the worst of the gossip. I’m glad he’s gone back where he belongs. You should be too.’
‘But Charlie—’
‘Honestly, Catherine. I have a ton of work to do. If you’re just going to mope I’d rather you left.’
Annie had never spoken to her like this. She’d come here hoping for answers, but instead found hostility. This day had brought nothing but confusion and sorrow. Mark and Charlie gone, and now Annie angry with her for a reason she couldn’t fathom.
Despite her mounting turmoil and despair, Catherine held it together. ‘You know what? I’ve got work to do at home, the kind I can do while moping.’
She walked down the hallway, expecting Annie to call her back with an apology. By the time she reached the front door, Catherine knew it wasn’t going to happen. At the end of the driveway she turned towards the ever-flowing river, beyond to the purple peaks of the Hartz Mountains and the arcing vault of cold blue sky. So much space. So much emptiness. And her, so small in the midst of it. So small and so utterly alone.