Chapter Three
In the bathroom next to the waiting room, I throw water on my face and push back my hair.
My skin is pale and my eyes are navy. I still feel nauseous, but I haven’t thrown up again.
Dr Brown must be responsible for the mess.
Why disconnect the fridge? Is this related to his illness, whatever that is, or the spirit bottles Cameron took away?
This is merely a hiccup, I reassure myself.
A bump in the road. I sit behind the counter in the waiting room and book a specialised cleaning company.
Their hazmat-suited team can’t come until Wednesday, but the owner tells me I’m lucky there was a cancellation as they’re fully booked until Christmas.
‘Damn Christmas.’
Next, somewhere to sleep. The pub has rooms available, but it would be impossible to sneak Keith Urban up the stairs without someone noticing.
The caravan park isn’t taking bookings because they’re upgrading their laundry facilities.
The motel is further away, but it’ll be easier to hide Keith Urban there than in the pub, and it has vacancies.
‘I’d like to book for six nights, possibly seven.
’ From the little I saw, Dr Brown’s living area and kitchen were sparsely furnished, but whatever furnishings are there can go to the tip.
And, given what I’ve seen, the bed can go there too.
I’ll explain to Dr Brown that I’ll box up any personal items he left behind, but I’m doing him a favour by getting rid of the rest. I’ll buy inexpensive furniture, a table and chair, a small sofa, a bed.
‘Did you hear me?’ the receptionist at the motel says briskly.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t.’
‘I asked if you were the only guest.’
Besides Keith Urban, yes. ‘I only need a single room, but if I could have somewhere away from the restaurant and road, that would be great.’
‘The rooms at the back of the motel are quieter, so I’ll give you one of those. Your name?’
‘Amelie Peterson.’
Silence. Muffled speech—the woman must have put her hand over the mouthpiece. The other voice sounds male. Then, ‘I’m afraid we have no room on those dates after all.’
‘You just said you did.’
‘As I’ve run this motel for over twenty years, I know when we have a room.’
‘I’ll pay in advance.’
‘Are your parents with you? Will they be staying too?’
‘No! And what—’
‘This is a small town, and people have very long memories.’
Did my parents owe her money? They must have. Nauseous all over again, I push aside thoughts of all the other people they must have been in debt to. Focus on what you can achieve, not what you can’t change.
I blink at the recollection. They were Claudine Fortier’s words.
Claudine the librarian who, every Saturday morning when other children had school sport or socialised with friends or simply stayed at home with mums or dads who were nothing like mine, would usher me to my favourite spot in the library, the desk between J and K that fronted a window criss-crossed with vines.
Like a princess, I’d perch on the chair and consider the books that Claudine had selected during the week.
Some were fiction. The Silver Brumby. I Can Jump Puddles.
Watership Down. Many were non-fiction. David Attenborough’s Galapagos.
The Secret Lives of Dogs. All Creatures Great and Small.
‘That’s a lot of books, Miss Fortier.’
‘Now you’re in high school, you may call me Claudine.’ A gentle smile. ‘Only read the books that interest you.’
‘They all interest me.’
‘Then read them all.’
How many times did I repeat Claudine’s words?
Walking to school and then walking home again.
When my parents dragged me to the markets to sell eggs and vegetables and whatever other produce they had.
Getting back on my horse after he’d thrown me off again.
Hiding in the school toilets, a library book on my lap, at recess and lunchtime.
‘I don’t need this right now.’ Keith Urban must detect something in my voice because he’s leaning against my leg. ‘Let’s find an Airbnb where no one will know me.’
When the doorbell rings, I jump.
‘Dr Peterson!’ A woman’s voice. ‘Amelie? Are you in there?’
‘Coming!’
An attractive, fair-haired woman with a cherubic, dark-haired toddler in her arms stands at the front door. ‘I’m Anna,’ she says. ‘Anna McLeod, Julia’s daughter. I doubt you’ll remember me, but I wanted to welcome you to Summerfield.’
Her face is rounder now, her body fuller, but she’s no less beautiful than she used to be.
‘You used to work Saturdays with Dr McLeod.’ I match her smile. ‘I stared at you, didn’t I?’
She thinks about that. ‘Maybe.’
‘I thought you looked like a Barbie doll. Your mother’s other receptionist was beautiful too.’
‘That was Khari Gupta,’ she says. ‘I went to her wedding last year.’
‘CJ is your son, right? He was looking for Cameron and said he should meet him at the nets.’
‘He left me and Cam messages too.’ She sets the little girl down on her feet. ‘This is Tara, CJ’s sister.’
‘He’s a lot taller.’
Anna laughs. ‘Yes, it’s a big age gap, and this little munchkin looks nothing like her brother.’
‘Hello, Tara.’ I crouch down low. ‘I love your sparkly shoes.’
The girl smiles shyly.
‘How old are you?’
‘She’s two and CJ is fourteen,’ Anna says.
‘I didn’t mean—’
She waves a hand. ‘CJ’s father took off before he was born, but as it turned out, he did me a favour. I was twenty-two and Cam was only eighteen, but he’s been a dad to CJ from the start.’
‘CJ was proud of Cameron’s all-round cricket skills.’
‘They announced the Australian test team for the next test this morning, which would have been why CJ was looking for Cam. Statistics and players? They’re both crazy about them. Adam, that’s Tara’s dad, is relieved he doesn’t have to even pretend to like cricket.’
Should I ask Anna to come into the terrace? How can I when—
‘Milly, she’s the receptionist who sometimes works with Julia, was planning to be here to welcome you too, but she got held up.’ Anna smiles. ‘She and her partner Benedict are a little on the alternative side, but they’re great. You’ll like them.’
‘I won’t be here for long.’ Too blunt. Too direct. Too—
Anna touches my arm. ‘Summerfield has changed, Amelie. I hope you’re able to stay long enough to see that.’
When I had appointments at Julia’s surgery on Saturday mornings, Anna gave me National Geographic magazines. Had Julia briefed her? I guess she had, but Anna always smiled kindly as she placed them on my lap.
‘Was it so obvious I didn’t like it here?’
‘Your parents were committed to their causes and could stick up for themselves. You couldn’t.’
‘I tried to.’
‘You should never have had to.’ When Tara points to Keith Urban, Anna takes her hand. ‘Julia and I are curious though. Why did you come back?’
I refused to answer Cameron but …
‘I taught myself to ride here,’ I say. ‘I loved the animals, the sunsets, the bushland. I want to put the bad memories behind me and focus on the good ones.’
When Anna crouches next to Tara and pats the ground, Keith Urban, tail wagging, comes to join her. ‘How’s Mr Henry getting on?’
‘He should be out of hospital soon.’
‘Gordon used to keep an eye on the native birds that nest at the primary school. I’m a teacher there now. Your name is still up on the Dux board—four years straight.’
‘I was probably a nuisance.’
‘You were sent to high school two years early.’ She grimaces. ‘That’d never happen today.’
‘Schools didn’t know what to do with me.’
‘You were special needs in a different way. They should have catered to that.’
‘Just to make things clear …’ My attempt at a smile fails dismally. ‘I didn’t come back to Summerfield to revisit my school days.’
She puffs out a breath. ‘In which case, you might not want to do what I was going to ask you to do.’
‘Try me.’
‘The school has a farm project, like a small hobby farm, so the town kids can get hands-on experience in animal husbandry and land care. When Dr Brown was still around, he looked after the stock when they needed it. After what you’ve just said I’m not sure you’d want to do it but—’
‘Are the animals kept in the school hall?’
‘You have my word they aren’t,’ she says mock solemnly, before smiling again. ‘We have two goats, twelve sheep and a pony.’ She winks. ‘We also have chooks; their eggs are a bonus.’
‘Sign me up, no problem.’
She reaches into her bag and takes out a foil-wrapped container. ‘I made you a lasagne. Vegetarian, just in case. You might have something sorted for tonight, but pop this in the fridge and it’ll keep for days.’
‘Thank you, but …’ The thought of the decomposing cat turns my stomach. ‘I can’t use the kitchen in the terrace. It’s not habitable. Not yet.’
‘Why not?’
When I give a sanitised version of what I found, Anna winces. ‘For the past year, Dr Brown has refused to let Julia past his surgery. She and Cam were worried he’d left things in a mess.’
‘The waiting room and vet spaces are fine, but I can’t risk having animals or people in here until the kitchen is scrubbed and sterilised, the fridge is taken away and the rest of the place is assessed.
I’ve booked a specialist team to do it, but they can’t start until Wednesday.
After that, I’ll have to get a new fridge and whatever else I need delivered. ’
‘Where will you stay until it’s done?’
‘I’ll find an Airbnb.’
‘There’s only one in Summerfield.’
‘If I give you my number, can you text me a link? I’ll only need it for a week.’
When she scoops Tara up, the little girl squeals. ‘It’s not on Airbnb yet,’ Anna says, ‘because the owner hasn’t got around to listing it.’
‘I’m happy to call them directly.’
‘Cam didn’t want the hassle of setting it up.’ Smiling brightly, she settles Tara on her hip.
‘I don’t want—’
‘He bought the cabin, it was originally a tiny house on a trailer, so he’d have somewhere to live when he was building. Since he moved into the main house the cabin has been empty, but it’ll have everything you’ll need and the views are sensational. You’ll love it.’