Chapter 1 #3
books. She worked as Tad’s business manager and assistant for decades, but she had only just started to learn email when he
died in 1999, and that was the end of that. “I think it’s an excuse to talk to me, to be honest. A few weeks ago she was thinking
about getting ‘an internet.’ Today she wanted to talk about whether or not you really can put radios onto ‘aisle pods.’ But . . .”
“Tell me you didn’t mention—”
“Well, Mum, funnily enough it didn’t occur to me for even a second that you wouldn’t have mentioned you’d bought her brother’s house and were moving five minutes down the road from her farm!” Caitlin cries. “I explained iPods to her and
offered to help her pick one next time she’s in the city, or I said, ‘Maybe Mum can take you shopping in Forbes now that she’s
going to be so close.’ Imagine my surprise when she had no idea what I was talking about!”
“It’s all happened so fast,” I say weakly.
“Seriously, Mum.”
“It did! Jon only agreed to sell me the place three weeks ago and I’m already here!”
“You couldn’t find time to call her in the last twenty-one days? Seriously?”
“Maybe I’ve been avoiding it a little too,” I mutter.
“I don’t understand. She must get lonely all the way out there with Alan and their farm workers. Surely she’ll be thrilled to have you so much closer.” I wince, and Caitlin hesitates before she adds, “Once she gets over the shock, I guess.”
“When did you speak to her?”
“I got off the phone about five minutes ago—”
And just then, I hear the roar of an engine on the road out front.
“She’s here, Catie. I’ll have to go.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t feel bad, honey. It’s my fault for not telling her sooner. Have a good day.”
We swap our I love yous and end the call, just in time for me to hear a car door slam, followed by pounding against the front door. I sigh as I
walk to pull the front doors open, then wince as the hinge gives that long, ominous creak. Mum winces too, but she doesn’t comment.
“What have you done, Fiona?” Mum whispers fiercely. “What have you done?”
Virginia Winslow is famously calm and reserved. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry—maybe I even assumed she was incapable
of the emotion—but right now, her small hands are curled into fists by her side. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes narrowed.
She’s standing a few steps back from the door in the middle of the wide veranda, dressed in her usual chinos with a busily patterned button-down.
Her only concession to the cold wind is a knitted navy vest. Mum’s thick hair has been a steely silver for as long as I can remember, cut into the same short style.
She’s eighty years old but she’s always looked much younger than her age.
She brushes off compliments on how “well” she’s aging, crediting good genes and her daily use of Oil of Olay.
I’ve attempted to follow the same regime but I’m not sure it’s been anywhere near as effective for me.
I never knew my father; in fact I’ve never even seen a photo of the man, but I assume I inherited my rather ordinary skin from him.
“Come in,” I say carefully, and I step back from the door to hold it open, making room for her. A pained, fearful twist passes
across Mum’s face as she glances into the foyer. All at once I am reminded that we held Uncle Tad’s wake here in the ballroom
because it was the logical place to do so, but my mother tried everything to insist on a different venue, to the point that
Jon had to put his foot down about the matter. As much as Mum loathes this house, Tad loved it, and there was no more fitting
venue to celebrate his life.
But even at the time I understood where Mum was coming from. It was Mum who found Tad the morning after he died, and she found
him right here in his bed. Plus, she didn’t exactly love Wurimbirra even before she discovered her brother’s body here. Even
when I was a child, Mum jumped at every creaking floorboard, and shuddered every time a window rattled in the wind.
And then to arrive one ordinary New Year’s Day to find her brother had died in his sleep overnight . . . I can’t imagine how
that moment has haunted her.
Her shoulders slump, and she takes a step backwards, towards the stairs.
“Tad treated you like his own daughter,” she says, shaking her head. “He showered you with love and generosity and care. After
everything he did for you, he asked one thing from you and Jon, and you kids can’t even honor that.”
“Mum, Jon couldn’t ignore this place forever. He had legal obligations—”
“You think you know this house,” she interrupts me, nostrils flaring again. “You’ve been so sure that you had already figured out everything there is to know about it. Well, now you’re going to be here all alone, and maybe you’ll finally understand.”
She turns to leave, and goosebumps break out all over my skin as a shiver runs down my spine. I take a step out the door towards
her as I blurt,
“Understand what, Mum?”
She glances back at me and gives a heavy sigh. Her gaze is hollow.
“History doesn’t always stay in the past, Fiona. I hope to God you know what you’re doing.”