Marion Lennox - Banksia Bay

It was eight o’clock. Philip’s night out would be over by ten and she had to be back here by then.

Of course she’d be back. Ten minutes drive out. Two minutes to collect Kleppy and say hi to Sarah. Ten minutes back.

Just go.

She hadn’t been out there since …

Just go.

‘When will she be here?’

‘Any time soon.’

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here. There was bound to be something cop-like that needed his attention at the station—only that might look like he was running, and Rafferty Finn wasn’t a man who ran.

‘She never comes here.’

‘She likes going to cafés with you too much.’

Sarah giggled, hugging Kleppy close. This place was pretty relaxed for a dog. The screen door stayed permanently open and the dogs wandered in and out at will. The gate to the back garden was closed, but Kleppy seemed content to be hugged by Sarah, to watch television and to occasionally eat popcorn.

Raff watched television, too. Or sort of. It was hard to watch when every sense was tuned to a car arriving.

The Finn place hadn’t changed.

The moon was full but she hardly needed to see. She’d come here so often, to the base of Black Mountain, that she knew every bend. As kids, she and Ben had ridden their bikes here almost every day.

This had been their magic place.

Her parents had disapproved. ‘The Finns,’ her mother had told them over and over, ‘are not our sort of people.’ By that she meant they didn’t fit into her social mould.

Abby and Ben didn’t care.

Old Mrs Finn—everybody called her Gran—had been the family’s stability. Gran’s husband had died long before Abby had known her, and it was rumoured that his death had been a relief, for the town as well as for Gran. After his death, Gran had quietly got on with life. She ran a few sheep, a few pigs, a lot of poultry. Her garden was amazing. She seemed to spend her life in the kitchen and her baking was wonderful.

Abby barely remembered Raff and Sarah’s mother, but there had been disapproving whispers about her as well. She’d run away from home at fifteen, then come home unwed with two small children.

She’d worked in the local supermarket for a time. Abby had vague memories of a silent woman with haunted eyes, with none of the life and laughter of her mother or her children.

She’d died when Abby was about seven. Abby remembered little fuss, just a family who’d got on with it. Gran had taken over her grandchildren’s care. Life had gone on and the Finns were still disapproved of.

Abby and Ben had loved it here. They had always been welcome.

And now? She turned into the drive but her foot eased from the accelerator.

‘You’re always welcome.’ She could remember Gran saying it to her, over and over. She remembered Gran saying it to her after Ben’s death. As if she could come back here …

She had come back. Tonight.

This is only about a dog, she told herself, breathing deeply. Nothing else. The past is gone. There’s no use regretting—no use even thinking about it. Go get your dog from Raff Finn and then get off his land.

Raff never meant …

I know he didn’t, she told herself. Of course he didn’t. Accidents happened and it was only stupidity. Could she forgive stupidity? Ben was dead. Why would she want to?

He saw her stop at the gate. It was after eight—would Philip have finished his wild night out? Would she have him with her?

Maybe that was why they’d stopped. Philip would be doing his utmost to stop her keeping Kleppy.

Would she defy him? She’d need strength if she was going to stay married to Philip. She’d need strength not to be Philip’s doormat.

But the thought of Abby as a doormat made him smile. She’d never been a doormat. Abby Callahan was smart, sexy, sassy—and so much more. Or … she had been.

She’d followed him round like a shadow for years. He and Ben had scoffed at Abby and Sarah, the little sisters. They’d teased them, and had given them such a hard time. They’d loved them both. Until …

Until one stupid night. One stupid moment.

He closed his eyes as he’d done so many times. Searching for a memory.

Summer. Nineteen years old. Home from Police Training College. Ben home from university. They’d spent weekend after weekend tinkering with a car they were trying to restore. Finally they’d got it started, towards dusk on the day they were both due to go back to the city. They were pumped with excitement. Aching to see it go.

They couldn’t take it on the road—it wasn’t registered—but up on Black Mountain, just behind Isaac Abrahams place, there was a cleared firebreak, smoothed for access for fire trucks.

If they could get it out there, they could put it through its paces.

He remembered loading the car on the trailer behind Gran’s ancient truck, Ben’s dad watching them in disapproval. ‘You should be home tonight, Ben. Your mother’s expecting you.’

‘We need to see this working,’ Ben had told him and Mr Callahan had left in a huff.

Sarah was watching them, wistful. ‘Can I come?’

‘There’s not enough room in the truck.’

‘What if Philip brings me?’

‘Sure. Bring Abby.’

‘You know Abby’s mad at you—and she’s not talking to Philip, either.’

But neither Ben nor Raff were interested. They were only interested in getting their car going.

And it worked. Up on the mountain, he remembered Ben driving, yahooing, both of them high as kites. Months of work paying off.

He remembered getting out. Swapping drivers. Thinking it was too dark to be on this track, and it was starting to rain. Plus Ben had to get back to have dinner with his parents.

But Ben saying, ‘We have lights. If I can cope with Mum being fed up, you can cope with a bit of rain. Just do one turn to see for yourself how well she handles.’

Then … nothing. He’d woken in hospital. Concussion. Multiple lacerations. Broken wrist and broken ankle.

All he knew of the accident was what was written in the official reports.

Philip had driven Sarah onto the track to find them. He’d turned off the main road onto the firebreak, and ventured just far enough down the break to reach the crest …

Philip had been the only one uninjured. His recall was perfect, stark and bleak.

Raff had burst over the crest on the wrong side of the road, driving so fast he was almost airborne. Philip had nowhere to go. Both drivers swerved, but not fast enough.

Both cars had ended up in the trees. The rain and the mess from the emergency vehicles had washed the tracks away before the authorities could corroborate Philip’s story. Raff couldn’t be prosecuted—but he had punishment enough. He’d killed his best mate and he’d destroyed his sister. He missed Ben like he’d miss a twin—an aching, gut-destroying loss. He’d lost a part of Sarah that could never be restored.

His grandmother had died six months later.

And Abby?

Facing Abby had been the hardest thing he’d had to do in his life. The first time he’d seen her … she’d looked at him and it was as if he was some sort of black hole where her heart used to be.

‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said and she’d simply turned away. She’d stayed away for ten years.

Her brother was dead and sometimes Raff wished it could have been him.

Which was dumb. Who’d take care of Sarah, then?

Let it go.

Go greet Abby. And Philip?

Abby and Philip. Banksia Bay’s perfect couple.

RAFF was waiting on the veranda and Abby felt her breath catch in her throat. She came close to heading straight back down the mountain.

What was it with this man? She was well over her childhood crush. She’d decided today that it was the uniform making him sexy, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform now.