Chapter 19
The caravan that served as the on-site headquarters was empty, Falk could see as he followed Gemma across the grounds. The lanterns in the large tree overhead bathed the area in a soft glow, and she nodded to the folding chairs underneath.
“Grab a seat.”
Falk settled into a striped fabric director’s chair that was surprisingly comfortable as Gemma unlocked the caravan and went inside.
She reappeared in the doorway a moment later, holding up a range of drink options in turn.
Falk’s earlier run was starting to catch up with him and he could feel the pleasant warm burn building in his legs as he pointed gratefully at the cold water.
“Me, too,” Gemma said, coming out with two glasses and a filled glass bottle. She pulled up the chair opposite and then reached into her jeans pocket and put her phone on the table. “Sorry, I’m still on duty, so I have to keep an eye on it.”
“No worries, I know that feeling. Thanks,” he said as she poured the water for them both.
“Well.” She lifted her glass. “Welcome, Aaron Falk.”
“Thank you.” They looked at each other as they drank. He took a long, deep swallow. Where to start? “Hey, I used the diary, by the way.” That seemed as good a place as any. He’d been kind of wanting to tell her that for a year. “The one you bought at the station.”
“You mean, the one I randomly forced on you.” Gemma laughed, a little embarrassed. “God, I couldn’t believe I’d done that later. The wine went to my head a bit. So how did you find it?”
“Useful,” Falk said truthfully. “For all those reasons you said. Made the work chaos feel a bit calmer. I bought a new one this year, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” she said lightly, but looked quite pleased. “And how is the task force going? Is the chaos manageable?”
“Just about.” Although Falk suddenly, maddeningly, pictured his phone. Lying on his bed back in the Racos’ guesthouse, heavy still with calls to return and emails to be answered. He gave himself an invisible mental shake to clear the image. “Speaking of work, though. Gemma, this festival is—”
He waved a hand effusively to indicate the entire complex operation.
The night air was soaked with music and the steady hum of laughter and chatter from people enjoying themselves.
Benefits for local producers, too, Falk guessed.
Not to mention jobs created and money generated for the town.
He could only imagine the amount of work it took to make the Marralee Valley Annual Food and Wine Festival a success.
“It’s a serious achievement,” he said. “Amazing. You don’t need me to tell you that, but congratulations. Really.”
“Thank you. Yeah, we’re all pretty proud of it.” She smiled. “I’m happy you got to see it.”
“Yeah, I am, too.”
Falk watched Gemma across the table. Her hair looked darker under the low light from the caravan and the trees.
She hadn’t taken it down this time, he noticed.
He’d vaguely wondered at times what it would be like if he ever found himself in this situation with her again.
They’d spent one evening together sixteen months ago, and Falk was acutely aware that he’d probably airbrushed and edited at least some of it without meaning to.
But here in the warm spring air, sitting in front of each other in the flawed flesh, he felt the same as he had on that cold, wet Melbourne night.
Stay. She was watching him, too. He sat there in his running clothes and drank his water and tried to read her face.
They both blinked as her phone suddenly buzzed loudly against the table. Gemma leaned forward.
“Joel’s home. Good.” She sat back, but her face showed a trace of tension now. “Listen, thank you. For helping him clean up the plaque. It means a lot to him. And me, as well.” She paused. “I guess Joel told you what happened to Dean?”
Falk nodded. “Shane McAfee brought it up as well.”
“Right.” Gemma sounded sad for a moment. “Yeah, they both find the festival difficult, with the anniversary of Dean’s accident.”
“Do you?” Falk asked, curious. “Being so involved here?”
“Well—” She hesitated. “The anniversary itself’s never my favorite day, obviously.
But the festival, no. I don’t feel the same way they do.
I don’t have that association, I guess, maybe because this is a year-round job for me.
And…” She glanced out across the site. “I mean, we’d already lost Dean.
Who was a huge important part of life for me and Joel.
I really didn’t want to lose this as well. ”
“Yeah,” he said. “I can understand that.” Grief hit people in different ways, though, and Falk found himself picturing Joel once more. Down there at the reservoir on a Friday night, a lonely figure with his cleaning cloths. From Gemma’s frown, he suspected she was thinking the same.
“Joel had actually been doing pretty well for a while,” she said. “I mean, it’s six years now since Dean died and he seemed to be going okay. But then last year—God, that whole nightmare with Kim.” Her voice was tight and she picked at her thumbnail.
“Were you and Kim close?” Falk asked.
Gemma’s nod was automatic, but then slowed. “We definitely used to be. When we were at school, and then again when I moved back. Dean and Charlie were friends, and Zara and Joel were around the same age. Did you know her?”
“No,” Falk said. “We never met.”
“Kim was the first one who said I should go for this job, as festival director.” Gemma smiled a little at the memory.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I didn’t think I had any real chance when it came up, but one night Dean and I were at the pub with her and Charlie and Naomi, and we were talking about who might go for it and then Kim went and got a piece of paper from the bar.
She made us all sit there and list everyone and then compare my strengths and experience against theirs.
And we were laughing and everything, but by the end it made me feel like, yeah, I could actually do this.
And she was right. But if it weren’t for Kim, I probably wouldn’t have applied. ”
“Good on her.” Falk smiled. “And you.”
“Thanks. She was always doing things like that. Or she used to, anyway.” Gemma’s smile faded. “We’d grown apart in the last few years, so I hadn’t seen her for a while.” She examined the glass in her hand, and Falk could hear the guilt.
“Rita said something similar,” he offered, not sure if it would help or not.
She gave him a small smile and nodded. “It all got a bit tricky for a while after Kim and Charlie split up and she moved away. It’s no excuse, but time passed and we lost touch a little.
But she was still my friend, and what happened last year was—” She struggled to find the right word.
“God. So disturbing. And then Joel got dragged right in. He was only seventeen then, so it was a lot at that age. Any age, really. Losing Dean was bad enough, but this left him feeling very”—Gemma shrugged sadly—“alone, I think.”
Falk nodded. “Is his mum in the picture?”
“Not so much.” Gemma refilled their glasses and sat back in her chair.
“It’s not bad blood or anything, but she got married a few years ago and lives out near Port Pirie.
Has two little kids now, so it’s hard for Joel.
She definitely does her best, but she and Dean got together pretty young, and Joel probably came along before either of them were ready.
And now he’s this awkward teenager and his mum has a whole new family that she was ready for, and I’m not saying she doesn’t love him—not at all.
” She shook her head. “But it’s different.
And whatever you say to Joel, he’s smart enough to—”
Gemma stopped as they both suddenly sensed movement from the dimly lit patch of ground behind the tree. She leaned forward and craned her neck to see.
“Just me,” a voice called, and an older man wearing a festival T-shirt appeared out of the gloom. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and was frowning at a dull metal bolt in his oil-stained fingers. He raised his free hand, and Gemma settled back in her chair.
“Bloody canopy pin’s coming loose on the Chardonnay Revival tent again,” the man said. “I’ll replace it for now, take a proper look in daylight.”
“Great, thanks, Kev,” Gemma said as he paused in front of the caravan and held the bolt up to the light to examine it. “Do you need anyone to help?”
“No, you’re all right. Matty’s already over there.” The man went inside, and they heard the sound of rummaging. He emerged a moment later with a toolbox and smiled at Gemma. His gaze moved to Falk, where it lingered for a moment and cooled.
“I delivered Charlie Raco’s signed waivers to you last year,” Falk said, answering the man’s unasked question.
The guy snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you did.” The curiosity on his face flickered again, now laced with mild suspicion. “All right, well.” He kept his eyes firmly on Falk. “I’m on the mobile if you need me, Gemma.”
“No worries. Thanks, Kev.”
The bloke nodded smartly, then lifted a hand in farewell and headed off across the grass.
“So, wait a second.” Gemma laughed and leaned her elbows on the table as he left. “Does that mean you were the ‘intense bloke’ that he warned me was acting a bit strange?”
“Yeah, apparently so,” Falk said, but he was smiling, too. He watched the man disappear into the night.
“Kev’s words, not mine. He can be a little dramatic. The festival brings out some odd types occasionally, though, so he’s just watching out for me.”
“Fair enough. And look, maybe I was a bit intense.” Falk shrugged. “I was just conscious it was a pretty transparent attempt to see you.”
Gemma tilted her head. In the tree above, the lanterns swayed as the night air breathed through the branches. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”