Chapter 11
“Hey, you two,” Rita said softly as Falk and Raco came out onto the veranda.
The vineyard had been still and quiet and the cottage lights low when they’d pulled up.
They’d found Rita sitting outside, Henry dozing against her chest. She had a book in one hand and was patting his back with the other.
Just beyond the veranda, a small metal firepit glowed against the dark of the night.
Rita put down her book and reached out to her husband. “How was it?”
Raco took his wife’s hand. “Okay, I think.”
“That bad?”
He smiled at her. “Just a hard couple of hours.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Zara’s still there—”
After the appeal, Zara had simply taken another handful of flyers and shrugged off Charlie’s suggestion that she call it a night and come home.
“I’ve got my key. I’ll be back before eleven,” she’d said and disappeared into the crowd with Joel. Falk was glad no one else seemed to have had an appetite to do the same. It hadn’t even been 9:00 p.m., but he’d felt drained.
“And Charlie’s inside.” Raco glanced toward the kitchen. “He’ll be out in a minute.”
“No worries.” Rita shifted Henry’s weight. “I might try putting this one down.”
“Here. Let me have him for a minute.” Raco took his son and nestled him against his shoulder.
Rita stretched, her back clicking. She noticed Falk’s eye on the firepit below, and her expression softened. “It’s okay, they’re just lights.”
Falk craned his head to see. She was right. Instead of glowing embers, there was a nest of solar-powered bulbs.
“Charlie gave in after I wouldn’t let him light it for, like, three years.
Used to piss him off in winter, but tough shit.
” Raco smiled and pointed to his neck. The skin where his son rested, breathing heavily, had an odd, puckered quality to it.
“Couldn’t really argue with this, made him look like an arsehole. ”
Falk turned his own left hand over. The skin there had improved a lot, but he could still see the scars.
“The lights are nicer, anyway,” said Rita, and Raco ran his free hand over hers.
Falk settled into his chair, listening to the nocturnal chirps floating from the vines in a gentle chaotic rhythm. “How was the fire season this year?”
“Back in Kiewarra?” Raco said. “Yeah, not too bad this time. Cooler summer, you know.”
“And, hey—” Rita put her glass down. “You heard the river’s running again?”
“Yeah,” Falk said. “I did. That’s great.”
It was. Raco had emailed through some pictures. The locals had lined the banks in the rain to watch as the water had finally forged its way through for the first time in years. Even in the still images, Falk could sense their joy and relief.
You should see it, Raco had written. Beautiful sight.
I should, Falk had replied, both of them knowing that he probably wouldn’t. Not now, at least, but maybe—he thought—one day.
Things had changed a bit in Kiewarra in the last few years.
His friends Barb and Gerry Hadler had sold up—their own house, their son’s farm—and moved along the Great Ocean Road.
Granddaughter Charlotte was learning to bodyboard.
Falk had been to visit them four or five times, and Barb Hadler regularly texted him blurry photos of birds on their porch and the sun over the waves.
A nice bloke from Gippsland called Paul had bought the farm from them, plus the Deacon property next door, looking to roll up his sleeves and make a go of things.
He had succeeded, apparently, in both a professional and personal sense.
On his second night in town, he’d gone to The Fleece for a drink and spotted a tall blond woman sipping a white wine and making friendly conversation with the wild redheaded barman.
Paul had asked if he could buy her next glass, and a few months ago they’d got married in the local church.
“Gretchen sends her best, by the way,” Rita said, reading Falk’s mind.
“How was her wedding?”
“Yeah, good, you know. Small.” Raco glanced at his wife, who was watching Falk over the rim of her glass with a look he couldn’t interpret. “Very small, really, mainly immediate family, couple of locals. How many, Rita?”
“A few,” she said simply.
“Just a few,” echoed Raco, and Falk had to smile.
“It’s really okay, mate, I didn’t expect an invite.”
Gretchen had called to tell him, though.
They’d chatted for a while, catching up.
It had been nice. She had, in fact, implied that an extra spot could probably be found for an old friend, should he want it, but Falk could tell they were both relieved when he didn’t take her up on the offer.
He’d wished her the best and truly meant it.
She’d done the same, and he knew her well enough to know she’d meant it, too.
“Her bloke all right?” he said now.
“Paul? Yeah, seems it.”
“Really good with Lachie.” Rita looked over her shoulder as the back door opened and Charlie stepped out, a bottle under his arm and glasses in his hands. “The kid can’t get enough of him. Always tearing around together.”
“Good,” Falk said. And it was good. He accepted the glass Charlie was offering him. “Thanks.”
“No worries.” Charlie opened the bottle of red and poured, then lowered himself into a chair with a heavy sigh. He had a large book wedged under his arm and pulled it out now and passed it to Raco. “Zara got it from here, by the way. That photo with Rita you were asking about?”
“Oh yeah?” Raco reached out with his free hand and opened the book on the table.
Falk could see it was in fact a thick album with photos printed onto the pages.
“Zara had it made up last year,” Charlie said.
“Went through all the photos in the house, all the pics on the computers. Found everything she could of Kim and put it all together. I think she was planning to give it to Zoe, but ended up keeping it.” He swirled his drink, then took a long swallow.
“I guess she can always print another copy.”
“What’s this about?” Rita asked, leaning over to see.
“Zara did a slideshow at the appeal,” Raco said, flipping through the pages. “You were in it, a few others, too. I hadn’t seen that photo before. Was just curious where it’d come from.”
He found the page he’d been looking for and turned it so Rita could see.
“Yeah, I remember that visit. Kim and Rohan had gotten married not long before. That was a nice week.” Rita turned another couple of pages, Kim’s face appearing again and again, before gently closing the cover.
“Can I—?” Falk asked, and Rita passed it to him.
The photos were in rough chronological order.
Kim as a baby smiled out from the opening page, followed by missing teeth and Santa visits and a first day at school.
Falk flipped forward, then stopped because suddenly there was Charlie.
He was sitting on a wall with Kim. Their faces were unlined and their hands were flat on the brickwork, fingertips touching.
“Did tonight go like you wanted, Charlie?” Rita asked gently.
“Well, what I really wanted was to help Zara.” He took another deep swallow and considered. “So, as far as that goes, I’m not sure.”
“Give it time to settle,” Raco said. “See how she feels in a few days. I think it was still worth doing.”
“Hopefully.” Charlie rubbed his eyes. “I suppose we were lucky Gemma said yes to it at all. Some of the committee didn’t want to approve it, did I tell you?”
“The appeal?” Raco was whispering now as Henry stirred. He rose delicately and began to pace a slow circuit up and down the veranda.
“Felt it was too much of a downer for the opening night. I can see their point, to be honest.” Charlie stifled a yawn and glanced at Rita. “Oh, I caught her on the way out to say thanks, and she said hi, by the way.”
“Gemma?” Rita said.
“Yeah. And to you, mate.” He nodded at Falk, then leaned back and closed his eyes. “Said you guys met once a while back? In Melbourne or something.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Falk tried to keep his voice casual. “That’s right.”
Raco, still pacing, didn’t seem to notice, but Rita certainly did, her interest instantly piqued.
Honestly, the woman had the instincts of a bloodhound when it came to any hint of activity in Falk’s largely dormant love life.
They eyeballed each other steadily across the table, and Falk suddenly had the strong sense that while Raco could barely remember him and Gemma crossing paths, this was not news to Rita.
Finally, a tiny smile on her lips, she looked away, leaving Falk wondering what exactly she’d heard.
“Rohan and Shane didn’t want to come back for a drink?” Rita returned her attention to Charlie, who opened his eyes.
“No. Shane said he’d stick around at the stall. And I guess Rohan needed to get back to Zoe.”
“What did he talk about at the appeal?”
“A few things,” Charlie said. “How he and Kim met—”
As they chatted, Falk turned several more pages of the album.
He was deep in high school territory now.
Kim with her ponytail. Charlie’s hair was certainly a statement, although so was his younger brother’s, and Falk couldn’t stop himself flashing a grin at Raco.
Raco was still rocking his son and laughed when he saw what Falk was looking at.
“Tread carefully, mate,” he whispered. “You’re one choice comment away from being invited to step into your car and drive yourself back to Melbourne.”
Falk smiled and turned another page. Footy games, parties, the usual rites of passage.
“God, look at that. I remember my own formal,” Rita said suddenly, leaning over for a closer look at the ill-fitting suits and shiny dresses.
“I went with Caleb Maloney. Wait. Maroney?” She shook her head and turned back to the book.
“And there’s Shane. Wow, he was big, wasn’t he?
Even then.” She tapped a kid already head and shoulders above the others in the group shot. “And Rohan, there. Charlie.”
Falk pointed to a blond girl he also thought he now recognized. “Is that Naomi?”
“Let’s see.” Rita leaned in. “Yep. I’m sorry you haven’t met her yet. But she’s coming to the house tomorrow, by the way. The priest wants to meet you both.” She winked at Falk. “Brief you on your godparenting duties.”
“Okay. Sounds good,” Falk said, with as much enthusiasm as he could manage at that time of night, and Raco laughed.
“Power through it, mate. It’s a fifteen-minute chat.”
Falk smiled and went to close the album, but Rita put a hand out.
“Oh God, look at Dean,” she said, turning the page to better see a young guy captured laughing at something just out of shot. “That’s a lovely one. Zara should make a copy of that for Joel.”
“Let’s look.” Charlie leaned in and stared at the boy without saying anything more, then handed the album back.
“That’s Dean Tozer,” Raco said quietly to Falk over the baby’s head. “The bloke in that accident I started telling you about at the reservoir? With the memorial plaque. He died about—what? Is it five years ago this year?”
“Six.” Charlie didn’t have to think about it.
“Gemma’s husband.” Rita glanced at Falk. “Joel’s dad.”
Falk nodded. He looked at the man, back when he was still a boy. He had been stocky, with freckles running along his arms and a friendly, open face. Falk wondered what exactly had happened. Car accident, obviously. Unexpected, Gemma had said. The police were involved.
“Hit-and-run,” Charlie said, guessing his question. “Start of festival weekend that year. Early morning while he was out walking his dog.”
“Shit, really?”
“Yeah. Back when you used to be able to drive along the reservoir track. Some people used to try to go that way to avoid breath tests on the highway.”
“And it was at the Drop? Same spot as Kim?” Falk felt himself frown at that, and Raco caught the look.
“I know, mate.” He shrugged as best he could with Henry in his arms. “We all hear how that sounds, but the fact is, the rest of the reservoir’s pretty flat and safe.
If an accident’s going to happen, it’s pretty much always going to be at the Drop.
It’s a blind bend, then you’ve got walkers stopping there, catching their breath, looking at the view or whatever, so it’s a bad mix.
That’s partly why they blocked the track off to cars after what happened to Dean.
Service vehicles only now. So, I dunno. I guess that’s better, at least.”
Falk looked over at Charlie, who was frowning into his empty glass but had not reached for a refill. “I’m sorry, mate. That’s rough.”
“Thanks. Yeah. Dean was a good bloke. Kim was mates with him, too, so maybe—I dunno.” The frown deepened.
“Maybe she was—” Charlie stopped again. He pushed his empty glass away and sighed.
“Jesus. I really don’t know. Anyway. On that cheery note, think I’ll call it a night.
” He pulled himself up with a low groan.
“Or at least lie awake listening until my bloody daughter comes home.”
“Night, Charlie.” Rita watched him disappear inside, then shook her head. “God, I’m such an idiot,” she said in an undertone. “I can’t believe I brought up Dean.”
“No, it’s fine. He’ll be right. It’s just with Kim and everything else.” Raco rubbed her shoulder with his free hand and looked across at Falk. “Charlie and Dean were good mates at school and then again when Dean moved back here. So he took it pretty hard when he died. Obviously.”
“Shane, too,” Rita said. “I think maybe more so, even.”
“They were friends as well?” Falk asked.
“Yeah, all of them. Charlie, Shane, Rohan, Dean.” Raco looked at the album, still open on the table at Dean’s picture. “But Shane was first on the scene. He was out running and saw there’d been an accident. Had to make the call to the police.”
Falk nodded slowly. He thought about the memorial plaque, and pictured Gemma’s face across the restaurant table. He could guess the answer before he even asked, “So did they get the driver?”
“No.” Raco shook his head. A light went out somewhere inside the house, and Dean Tozer’s face darkened in shadow. “Never did.”