Matt drew his hand through his unkempt dark hair and blew out a breath as he turned the webcam on. For a moment he just looked straight ahead, staring into the lens.
‘Hi, I’m Matt Harvey. Some of you may know that I’m a suspense writer and my first book, Complicity, has done okay. So here’s a shout out to all of you who bought it – thanks, guys, believe me, it’s much appreciated. The second book in the Alistair Tremayne series is called Paranoia, and it was released almost six months ago now. So, just to give you an idea of where I am . . .’ He panned the camera around to give the viewers, if indeed there were any, a good look at his trim desk and this small section of his inner-city, uberindustrial apartment. Everything about it was cool and sleek and modern except for an old 1930s clock that was attached to the wall opposite his desk. He’d always thought this place reflected who he was, but now – well, he wasn’t so sure.
‘Here I am sitting at my desk – where I spend way too much time,’ he said as he reached up and angled the webcam back towards himself.
Matt paused for a second as he glanced over to the pretty brunette who was leaning against the door. She grinned back at him and gave him a two thumbs up. A hint of a smile touched his mouth as he turned back to the camera.
‘So why am I making a video blog? I guess I was bullied into it by my well-meaning baby sister, Jules.’ He looked over to the door again and saw that Jules was frowning and giving him ‘that’ look. ‘She’s worried about me. You see, five months ago, just before Paranoia was released, I was involved in an accident and my life was pretty much turned upside down. Since then I’ve been shut up in my flat feeling sorry for myself and howling at the moon. Apparently howling doesn’t go down well with the neighbours and they had a quiet word to my poor sister. Jules has taken it upon herself to push me back towards humanity. She thinks it’s time that I should start living again. I don’t see the point myself but you know, if it makes her happy . . .’
Juliet Harvey’s frown deepened as she put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother. Matt registered the resemblance between them, as he often did when he recognised one of his own expressions on his sister’s face; both had dark hair and eyes and their father’s well-defined cheekbones, as well as many of the same mannerisms.
‘I don’t really know what to say or what this vlog is going to be about. I have to write the next Alistair Tremayne novel but I’m still mulling over the storyline. I’ve got a few ideas but I really need to let them solidify before I start to get the words on paper – or, more accurately, the text on the monitor. It’s taking me a while to get back in the swing of writing. That is, writing anything decent and not illegible scratchings that make no sense. Other than that, I’ve been drinking way too much coffee, watching old movies and flicking through magazines.’ To make his point Matt grabbed an open magazine from the desk and held it up.
‘Jules has been keeping me in a constant supply of mags for the last few months.’ He turned the magazine around and peered at the photo before holding it up to the webcam. ‘Like this one, which is on self-sufficiency and country living. Actually, sis, I don’t know why you got me this. I mean, when was the last time either of us was in the country? We’re born and bred city dwellers . . . although I have to admit, that cottage is kind of cute,’ he said as he tapped the page with his finger.
Jules took a step forward. ‘Maybe I thought you’d find some peace in the pretty pictures, because let’s face it – they’re as close as you get to being outside at the moment. If I can’t get you to leave this damn apartment, I can at least bring the outside to you. Maybe I was crazy enough to think they’d inspire you to start living again.’
Matt chucked the magazine back on the desk and turned off the camera. With a sigh he reached for his walking stick and, wincing, he pushed himself out of the chair. He limped over to Jules and stood in front of her.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Jules crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. ‘You didn’t.’
‘Yeah, I did. I pissed you off and you’re only trying to help me – sorry for being a jerk.’
Jules wrapped her arms around Matt’s neck and hugged him. ‘It’s alright, I’m used to it,’ she said with a hint of laughter in her voice. ‘Listen, I just want my brother back. I just want you to be happy again.’
Matt hugged her with one arm. ‘I’ll try,’ he said, but it was a lie, because deep down he knew that he’d never be truly happy again.
***
‘Listen, old man Hargreaves is being cagey about selling his land. I had a word to him this morning and the rumours are true – he’s subdivided his farm into several lots and is selling the whole thing off. Sneaky old bugger, no one in town had a clue about what he was up to.’
Bec Duprey looked at her father, who was sitting near the large window which overlooked the front garden. ‘But is he willing to sell us the land up to Boundary Road?’
Jack blew out a sigh. ‘I think so, although I’ve been trying to buy that bit of land for almost twenty years and he’s always refused to sell it. Maybe this time will be different. But you know what he’s like – he always wants to lead people on a merry dance and make them think . . . God, I don’t even know. He’s pushing ninety, so I don’t expect that he’ll change now.’
‘We can do it, can’t we, Dad? I mean, if he offers the land to us we’ll be able to get it, won’t we?’ Bec frowned as she ran her hand through her strawberry-blonde hair and leaned forward on the couch.
Her father manoeuvred his wheelchair around to face her. ‘Yep, but it means that I’m going to have to have a talk with the bank. I hate to do it but it’s the only way. If we’re careful and pull in our belts a bit we should be able to get the loan paid off over the next ten years.’
‘He’ll be asking a lot for the land, won’t he? I mean, it’s thirty acres and an old cottage. Surely it’ll take us longer than ten years to pay back the loan?’
‘Maybe, but when I spoke to Hargreaves, he hinted he’d give us the land at mates rates. He’s counting on making a tidy profit from the rest of the farm. At least, that’s kind of what he said. I can’t pin him down to give me a definitive answer,’ Jack said.
‘Well, if that’s what we have to do, then that’s what we’ll do,’ Bec said as she toyed with her coffee mug. ‘But you know we’re going to have to replace the tractor within that timeframe.’ She glanced at her father. It was a sore point.
Jack sighed. ‘If this goes ahead, I think you’re just going to have to make do with the old one.’
‘Dad, you know it’s on its last legs. It might last this season, and if we cross our fingers, the season after that. But there’s going to come a time when we’ll have to get a new one. I can’t be without a tractor, you know that as well as I do.’
‘We’ll have to wait and see – that’s all I can say. If we get this land then paying off the loan is going to be the priority.’
‘But Dad, we’ve weathered the summer pretty well and financially we’re okay. Besides, there’s always the emergency fund.’
‘Yeah, we’re alright, but you know we have to plan for the future. Besides, you never know what fate has in store for you. Look at what happened to Grandad – he almost lost this place once, not through any fault of his own but because of circumstances beyond his control. Living through that was bad enough and I’m going to make bloody sure that it never happens again.’
Silence descended over the room. Bec knew that the lean times that had shaped her father’s adolescence had troubled him deeply; she’d heard the story many times. Dupreys had only managed to hang on to Bluestone Ridge by selling off some of their land.
‘There’s one other thing, Dad,’ Bec said gently. ‘Ned Shifton has quit.’
Jack turned to her. ‘When?’
‘This morning – which means the number of our farmhands has shrunk to one part-timer.’
‘Did he give a reason?’
‘Yeah, something like, I’m not taking orders from a girl I’ve known since she was in nappies.’ Bec tried to impersonate Ned’s voice but didn’t quite pull it off. ‘He was drunk the other night and decided to go into town. He left open every one of our gates and he and his truck ended up in the side of the old shed by the peppercorns. I took him to task over it, hence his comment about taking orders from a girl. It took me and Jamie most of the morning to round up the sheep he’d let out.’
‘The man’s a fool – he always was. You’re better off without him.’
‘I don’t disagree, but don’t you think we need to advertise to get another farmhand?’
‘I think we should hold off on that, at least until we know what’s going on with the land.’
‘You know I can’t run this place all by myself.’
‘And you won’t have to, but let’s just wait and see what old man Hargreaves and the bank say. Besides, if you get stuck you can bring Jamie in.’
‘Can we offer him full-time?’
‘Let’s just see what happens first, okay? Speaking of which, I’ve got an appointment to see the bank manager at three this afternoon.’
‘You have? Do you want me to come? I mean, I don’t mind.’
‘No need, I’ll be right.’
‘Come on, Dad, it’s a big step and I’d liked to be involved.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m just having a chat with the bank manager about our options. We don’t even know for sure if the old man will sell yet. If you want to be useful, why don’t you pop over to Hargreaves’s place and see if he’s actually made a decision yet?’
‘Me? Why me – wouldn’t you want to talk to him?’
‘Yeah, but I reckon we’ve got a better chance if you do it. He’s always regarded you as a surrogate granddaughter. Go and see if he’s actually going to sell the land to us.’
‘Okay. I’ll try,’ Bec said with a sigh, though she doubted that she’d influence his views. She stood up and started heading to the door. ‘So, I guess I’ll see you later.’
‘Yeah,’ Jack said absently. He’d already turned back to the window, and whatever connection had been between them a few minutes ago was now gone.
Bec went outside and took a deep breath. She and her dad had always had a tempestuous relationship, and they still clashed about most things. Her mother would say that was because they were too much alike, and maybe she was right. Bec admired her dad, she always had. Jack Duprey always kept his word and tried to do the right thing, but the flip side of that was that he was set in his ways and could be as stubborn as the day was long. Bec knew, though, that if she was being honest, so could she.
Her father had run the farm productively and efficiently before he’d come off the quad bike. But the accident had changed him – hell, it had changed a lot of things. He could no longer actively participate in the running of the farm, but his word was still law. Unfortunately this was where Bec and her father had trouble seeing eye to eye.
Straight after high school, she’d gone off and done a Bachelor of Agricultural Sciences. Her father had encouraged her to go and had seemed enthusiastic about the new methods and ideas she would learn. So Bec had left to study all fired up, excited to think that she would be able to contribute to and improve Bluestone Ridge when she came home. However the reality had turned out to be quite different – Jack didn’t seem very interested in her ideas. He would sit and listen to her, and then would dismiss her suggestions as being too hard, or too costly, or too untried.
Bec gradually realised that Jack had very fixed ideas about how things were done on the farm, from which shearers to employ to what drench to use – damn it, even down to what bloody brand of chainsaw to buy. It was her father’s show all the way, and he would never deviate from his tried and trusted course. If the job, whether it be crutching sheep or digging a fencepost, had been done Jack’s way for the past twenty years, then he could see no reason why it couldn’t continue being performed the very same way for the next twenty.
After her father’s accident things had got even worse. Bec understood that Jack was trying to hold on to control of the farm, but there was something in her father’s behaviour that was more than just annoying. She tried not to admit it, but the constant rejection of all her ideas hurt more than she could say.
***
Matt Harvey stepped out of his car and leant against the door. Absently he reached down and tried to rub the dull ache out of his right knee. It had been a long drive – the extra half-hour he’d added to it when he’d taken a wrong turn hadn’t helped – and his whole leg was twitching. He straightened up and stared at the ramshackle cottage. Despite his discomfort, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this excited. A smile crept to his mouth as he drank in the sight of his new home. Everyone except Jules thought he was going through a phase and he’d be back in the city where he belonged by Christmas. But they were wrong.
He sucked in a deep breath of clean country air and congratulated himself on one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Moving out of the city to his own rural idyll was just what he needed. He guessed that he owed part of this to Jules, because without her badgering and the piles of magazines she’d procured, Matt would never have come up with this radical idea to turn his life around. He’d spent far too long in the shadows, and it felt good to be in bright sunlight again.
Matt stood still for a moment and listened; there was the soft sound of the breeze blowing through the old willow tree in the front yard and the faint twitter of small birds. How peaceful was that! He reached back into the car and grabbed his phone to make a video, then finger-combed his hair in a vain attempt to smooth it before he turned the lens onto himself.
‘Hi guys. I know you’re probably all bored by my I’m moving to the country rant but no more talking – I’ve actually done it. Yep, that’s right, I’ve left the city and gone bush. I’ve found the perfect place to write the next Alistair Tremayne novel and dabble in a little home reno with a dash of self-sufficiency thrown in. Twenty minutes ago I picked up the keys, and here we are outside my new place. Want to have a look?’
Matt flipped the phone’s camera around and framed up the perfect quintessential shot of rural Victoria: a shabby miner’s cottage nestled in a wilted garden.
‘I know it needs some work, but once it’s all finished, I promise it will be amazing,’ he said before carrying the phone towards the wire fence and dilapidated gate. Matt had to give the gate a hard shove to get the damn thing open, and the old metal scraped against the crumbling cement path.
The garden was full of plants and trees but Matt wasn’t sure if many of them were actually alive. The cottage was shaded by the old willow, but other than that the majority of the plants looked as though they hadn’t made it through the summer. Everything looked dry and dead. Matt hoped he was wrong and that with a bit of water and a whole lot of wishful thinking some of the plants would revive. He wandered over a patch of dirt which probably had once been lawn; there was a pile of old bits of wood, paper and assorted junk sitting in the middle of it.
Matt turned the phone’s camera back towards himself. ‘As I said, it needs some work but I’m up for the challenge, and by the looks of things, I’ve got one,’ he said with a chuckle.
He headed up the three grey stone steps which led to the verandah. The steps were worn and smooth, and Matt found something about that comforting. A wooden slated balcony enclosed the front verandah and there was a large terracotta pot containing a straggly geranium hanging on for dear life. Still trying to hold the phone steady, he twiddled the key in the lock in the old front door.
‘Okay, so here we go,’ Matt said as he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold into a small room. ‘Well, this is the lounge room. Tiny, I hear you say, but I prefer to call it cosy.’
He panned the camera around the room. It was indeed small, with a wooden floor and ceiling and one double window facing out onto the verandah. There was a little fireplace on the far wall and a nook for wood next to it. Matt opened the door opposite the fireplace and revealed another room which was a carbon copy of the first.
‘Guess this will be my bedroom; and then if we go back and through here – we find the kitchen.’ He panned the camera back into the lounge and through an opening which led into the next set of rooms. Maybe there was meant to be a door on it; Matt wasn’t sure. He walked through and stood in an outdated and very cramped kitchen. Another small room led off that, which Matt had already earmarked for his office. Beyond the kitchen was the back verandah, which had been built in to house a small bathroom up one end and the tiniest excuse for a laundry down the other. Matt opened the back door and wandered out into a little bricked courtyard which was surrounded by a few scraggly rosebushes, lavenders and a peppercorn tree. A small path led past a dilapidated clothes line and a shed. There was also an ancient wire fence that looked as if it had seen better days. It ran behind the shed and separated the rest of the five acres from the garden.
Matt swivelled the camera around again. ‘Well, it needs a bit of TLC, but it’s going to look great by the time I’m done with it. Anyway, I’ve got to unpack and settle in. So, thanks for joining me and I’ll talk to you soon.’ Matt smiled into the camera before he turned it off.
***
Matt stood by the open front door of the cottage. The early evening air was cool and carried the scent of something sweet. He couldn’t work out what it was, but he liked it and hoped it came from one of the plants in his garden that he would be able to save. Matt didn’t really know that much about gardening, but he was willing to learn. Maybe in the morning he’d find a local nursery and get some advice.
This would be his ninth night in the cottage and this was the first time he’d actually stopped to ponder what his new life was like – well, what he hoped it would be like, anyway. The past week he’d been busy, buoyed by the experience of moving in and buying new furniture. Each night he’d fallen into bed exhausted – too tired to think and too tired to dream, which was a blessing. The move had taken its toll, though; Matt’s leg had ached more and more with each passing day and he’d found by day six that he had needed to take a day off and rest.
But even if his leg throbbed and he needed to swallow some painkillers, Matt knew that the move was worth it. Living in the cottage had given him something he’d never had in the city – peace. Everything about his old apartment had reminded him of Leanne and the life they’d shared. Sometimes the walls had seemed to press in on him so much that he’d found it hard to breathe.
Hardly anyone had supported his decision to move. His parents couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around the idea. For them, being in the city meant he was close to people who cared about him in case he needed help. So why on earth would he sell his perfectly decent apartment and run away to the country?
He loved them, but sometimes . . .
Matt took another long look outside, past his garden to the old dirt road which led up to his neighbour’s place. What his friends and family didn’t understand was that this place was quiet, calm and just what he needed to find himself once more. Matt had been stagnant for too long – his life, his health . . . hell, even his writing. But the cottage would change all that. It was a clean slate and a new beginning – at least, that’s what Matt hoped for.
Shutting the door behind him, Matt made his way through the lounge room and into the kitchen. The cottage boasted all new furniture – well, some of it was just new to Matt, like the slightly banged-up kitchen dresser that he’d found for a bargain. With the exception of his books, his desk, his grandfather’s 1930s clock and some useful odds and ends, he’d sold off most of his old stuff before he’d made the move so that nothing would remind him of the past.
As he went to put the kettle on, his phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket. He smiled as he saw his sister’s name blink up on the screen.
‘Hey, Jules.’
‘Hey yourself. Listen, I’ll be up soon with supplies. I’m hitting our favourite delis and shops.’
‘You know I’m not exactly isolated, don’t you?’
‘Not if I take any notice of Mum. According to her you’ve become a hermit in the back of beyond.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Living in a tin shed.’
Matt let out a laugh. ‘Seriously?’
‘Well, our mother does like to exaggerate a little. I tried to tell her it was because of your artistic bohemian nature.’
‘You’re full of it, you know that?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I think she’s going to run with it – it’ll give her something to talk about and embellish upon next time she lunches with the ladies.’
‘Artistic bohemian?’
‘Hey, it’s better than being labelled freaky twisted recluse.’
‘You always have such a way with words.’
‘Thanks, it’s my gift. So, when I come up, there will be somewhere for me to sleep, right? I mean, I won’t have to sleep on the floor among the stack of unpacked boxes?’
‘I think I can squeeze you in somewhere.’
‘Excellent. So is everything alright?’
Matt took a second. ‘Yeah, it is.’ And for the first time in a long time, he actually believed it.