Darkest Place Page 10

  ‘I don’t know how he’s doing it,’ Carly said.

  Anne met her eyes, said nothing.

  ‘Look, I was in a bad way five months ago. I had a miscarriage, I was recovering from surgery and my husband …’ Left me. Told me he didn’t know how I could live with all the deaths I caused. ‘Yes, I took some pills. I was sad and exhausted and desperate. Not crazy. I don’t need this. I need to be able to sleep at night without being scared. This,’ she waved an arm around, indicating the detective and the police station, ‘I need it to stop.’

  Anne stood, picked up her file. ‘My advice to you is to get some help, Carly.’

  16

  Carly drove. Back and forth along the harbour, back and forth to the campus, not stopping, not able to release her hands from the steering wheel. Angry, anxious, sobbing.

  She’d thought moving away was enough. She’d thought she could leave the pain and grief behind and start over, be someone better. And now it was here with her, making her Charlotte again. Making her remember the day fate finally evened the score.

  She was at work at the post office when the pain and bleeding started. She’d reached twelve weeks this time, longer than the first two pregnancies. Only three months pregnant but Carly had already ached with love for her child. She took herself to the hospital – the baby was dead, and the night that followed was numbed by loss and nightmares. After the D and C the next morning, Carly still groggy with anaesthetic, the doctor spoke with Carly and Adrian. You can try again. Instead of taking Carly home, Adrian drove to her mother’s house, parked in the driveway and told Carly he was done. I don’t love you enough to try again. I don’t love you enough to stay around for your grief. He left her curled under the doona in her childhood bedroom, the place she’d waited for broken bones to heal, where she’d mourned her friends and burned with shame. This time, the air was infused with failure.

  Her first marriage was a disaster. It was a year after the night in the canyon, Carly fell pregnant and he felt obliged. He’d hit her once – it had felt like something she deserved. He walked away two weeks after she miscarried.

  Adrian had never been a good husband, but loneliness had made Charlotte accepting. Their first baby was unplanned, the sorrow when she lost it had been overwhelming. It brought back buried memories – that last day, their laughter on the ridge, their whispered last words – as though she was being reminded why she’d been punished. Adrian didn’t want to try again but a yearning, a need to love and laugh again, had taken hold in Carly. Only she’d forgotten she had no right to happiness, not when so many others had been hurt by her actions.

  You need to accept it’s not going to happen now were her mother’s words of comfort when she arrived home and found Carly where Adrian had left her. That buck-up-and-get-on-with-it attitude was the reason Marilyn never understood why Carly couldn’t sleep with the lights on, why she still woke screaming from nightmares. Her words the next morning had cut Carly like a knife. You’re thirty-three, you’ve had two husbands and three miscarriages. Happily ever after is never going to happen, darling.

  Carly stopped at traffic lights, squeezed her eyes shut, tried to block it out. But the movie had started and there were more scenes to be played.

  Memories had pushed and shoved in her mind all that day. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep without seeing the blood – of her friends, from her babies. The blood of six souls stained on her hands.

  A horn blared behind her. Carly swerved back into her lane, tears wet on her cheeks. If she’d got in a car that day, it might’ve ended differently. But she’d had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. It won’t help to lock yourself away, Carly. Selina’s coming over with the kids. We thought they’d make you feel better.

  A dam had burst then. Don’t speak to me. Don’t speak to me! Carly had yelled. She heaved a chest of drawers across the bedroom door, sat in a corner and watched the images of her life flash across the walls. She heard voices, a baby crying, her mother and sister demanding Carly come out and talk. She’d laughed at them. What the fuck did they expect from her?

  While they murmured in the kitchen, Carly held little pills in the palm of her hand. A lot of them. Thought about tipping her head back, letting them slide into her mouth, feeling sleep come, black and silent. She’d sat like that for a long time. Exhausted. Hurting. Passive. Like she’d been since she’d walked that ledge and called, Come on, it’s fine.

  It was a police officer who pulled her out of it. Tony Feathermill. She’d been at school with him, he lived down the street. Marilyn had rung him, told him she’d seen medication and Scotch in Carly’s bag.

  Tony Feathermill kicked in the door like he was raiding a meth lab. Ambulance officers followed. Yes, she’d taken pills. Some, two, three, maybe more, she couldn’t remember.

  This time, hospital had been a relief. She had a room to herself, there were staff to care for her, people with gentle hands and voices who passed her tissues when she cried. They pumped her stomach, discovered there was no need. The Scotch was her mother’s invention and it turned out she’d only swallowed three pills, she could’ve slept them off. She couldn’t remember whether she’d decided not to take more or fallen asleep thinking about it.

  She asked to stay and was there for a week – resting, refusing visitors, except Liam, her psychologist. And as she talked, she realised what fate had done. Three souls for three souls. It had taken from her what she’d taken from others. She’d cut short promising lives and shattered families. Thirteen years later, the score was even. She had paid her price.

  Liam had talked about finally forgiving herself, pleased with her progress. But it wasn’t forgiveness, it was release from prison. The one she’d built for herself when the police had decided there were no charges to be laid for the deaths in the canyon. Once it was gone, there was no reason to stay in Burden. It took her five months to leave. She needed to regain her strength after the miscarriage and the emotional trauma, and she needed money to make a new life work. When the house sold, she did the most assertive thing she’d done since she’d set off for that canyon – she bought her apartment. And now she was here.

  Actually, she was at the campus, driving into the car park on automatic. ‘Attempted suicide’ wasn’t on her enrolment form, she told herself. There was no exchange of information between educators and police, at least not of that kind. All anyone knew of her was that she’d moved from out west and hadn’t settled on a business idea. She was Carly Townsend, not damaged, guilty, anxious Charlotte.

  She turned off the engine. Two lessons had been and gone since she’d walked into the police station. It was ten minutes into the next one and arriving late wouldn’t go unnoticed. She checked her face in the rear-view. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen – she looked like Charlotte on a bad day. The urge was there to embrace it, to go home, cry some more, lose herself in reproach, fall back on old habits, but the gaze in the mirror locked on her own. Go to class. Be someone better. Don’t fuck it up.

  The teacher turned from the whiteboard as Carly stepped into the classroom. ‘Glad to see you’ve decided to join us, Carly.’

  The smile was easier than she’d expected. ‘No wonder I had to wait three hours for a plumber, half of them are here.’

  17

  Carly put her mobile on the kitchen counter, paced to the windows and back. Picked the phone up for the tenth time. Do it, Carly.

  ‘Adrian Townsend.’ It was his distracted work voice.

  ‘It’s Charlotte.’

  There was a silence on the other end that stretched beyond surprise. ‘Charlotte. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Marilyn? She keeps calling to see if I’ve heard from you.’

  Their first conversation since the house had sold and his thoughts went to Carly’s mother. Or maybe he was just sick of fielding her calls, Carly couldn’t tell, she just twisted the knife a little more. ‘You still seeing Danielle?’ Three weeks after he’d left h
er – after he’d lost a child – Adrian had been in another woman’s bed.

  ‘Yeah, about that.’ A pause. ‘I was going to call but I thought it was better to wait, in case it didn’t … well, no point if … So you’ve heard anyway.’

  She didn’t know what he was talking about, wasn’t sure she wanted to but she’d opened this door. ‘No, I haven’t. Why don’t you tell me.’

  ‘Fuck.’ He didn’t say anything for a while, his breath heavy on the other end of the line. ‘She’s … we’re pregnant.’

  Bile rose in Carly’s throat.

  ‘Twelve weeks. Past the danger period now. We had the scan yesterday and everything looks healthy.’ He said it as though Carly might be worried about Danielle. When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘You there?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want kids.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘That’s right. You didn’t want them with me.’ Tears burned her eyes.

  ‘Can you try to be happy for me? At least one of us gets to be a parent.’

  Carly wanted to scream, just open her mouth and howl at the flat emptiness of her belly. But she hadn’t called him to hurt herself. With Anne Long’s doubting voice in her head, knowing there was no one else trying to figure it out, Carly had kept going back to Dean Quentin’s words: If there’s someone bothering you, an ex, maybe. She wiped the wetness from her face. ‘Have you been in Newcastle?’

  ‘What? When?’

  She held onto his tone a moment, not sure if it was surprise or hedging. ‘You still do business down here, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When were you last here?’

  A pause. ‘Why?’

  Business, she’d suspected, had involved women at times. ‘I don’t care what you do anymore. I just want to know if you’ve been here recently.’

  ‘And I don’t need to explain myself to you.’

  ‘You do if you come to my apartment.’

  ‘You think I might visit?’ There was snarky amusement in his voice. ‘What, drop in for a bourbon and a fuck with my ex while I’m in town?’

  Carly clenched her teeth. ‘I thought I saw you here.’

  ‘At your apartment?’

  ‘Yes. I thought …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought you might’ve wanted to see where I was. There’s security here, you might’ve tried to get in, told someone you were my husband.’

  ‘You thought I got into your building?’

  She pushed two fingers into her forehead. ‘Were you here?’

  ‘I was in Newcastle overnight two weeks ago.’

  A man had sat on her bed two weeks ago. He’d done it more recently than that – and Adrian was loose with the truth. ‘Did you come to my place?’

  ‘I went to a meeting and dinner. I stayed with a … friend. I didn’t need help with a drink and a fuck. If you saw me, it wasn’t because I was looking for you.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut, ticked off, disgusted, but satisfied. ‘Okay, fine. Have a good life.’

  She tossed the phone at the sofa, crossed her arms, clenched her teeth. It was almost dark outside and she made a slow circuit of the view beyond the balcony – warehouses, streets, homes. Was someone watching back tonight?

  The trill of her mobile pulled her eyes from the glass. Her mother, interesting timing. Possibly a coincidence after talking to Adrian, probably he hung up and called Marilyn with a report. Carly thought about ignoring it, figured she may as well see it through or the phone wouldn’t stop.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Finally you answer your phone. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I just talked to Adrian, he said you didn’t sound fine.’

  ‘Are you ringing to get my opinion or hear for yourself?’

  ‘I’m ringing to see how you are. Why do you have to be so temperamental?’

  Carly took up her position at the window again. ‘I’m fine, Mum. The apartment’s fine. The course is fine. The weather is fine. It’s all fine.’

  ‘Adrian said you thought he’d broken into your apartment.’

  ‘I said I thought I saw him.’

  ‘He said you were upset about Danielle and the baby.’

  ‘Did he write a report or just ring to tell on me?’

  ‘Charlotte, please, I’m concerned about you. This imagining you’re seeing Adrian and the agitation, it’s very worrying. Have you talked to someone about it?’

  She didn’t mean a chat over coffee with a friend. ‘I don’t need to talk to someone.’

  ‘I knew it was too soon for this move. All that walking you did, not wanting to see Selina’s children, not talking to me. You should think about coming home before it gets too much for you.’

  Carly pulled in a long, deep breath. ‘Mum. Stop.’

  ‘You had a breakdown, Charlotte.’

  Something had broken that day. The thread that had tethered her to Burden. To memories of dead friends. She never attempted to explain it to her mother; they’d barely spoken after Carly’s stay in hospital. There was no point, Marilyn never listened, just like she wasn’t listening now.

  ‘I live here,’ Carly said.

  ‘You can just tell people you changed your mind. There’s no shame in that.’

  Carly’s voice was loud. ‘I’m not going back. You need to accept that.’

  ‘Charlotte …’

  She hung up, satisfaction and relief in the sudden silence. She watched the street for a good long while after that, trying to keep her focus on other things. People arriving home, lights coming on, curtains being drawn. Evening traffic. She recognised a figure heading from the shops, plastic shopping bags in each hand. Nate – hunched shoulders, slight limp.

  A few minutes later she heard a noise in the corridor and turned away from the window, crossed the apartment and stood by the front door. At the sound of soft footfalls, she unlatched the security chain and took half a step into the passageway.

  Nate was fumbling with keys, a bag of groceries at his feet. Only his head moved as he turned to look at her.

  ‘Hey,’ Carly said, her voice flat, a little hard, like it had been on the phone.

  Maybe he heard it and mistook it for a complaint. ‘Do you hear me when I come in?’

  ‘Sometimes. Good day?’

  He straightened, seemed to consider what to tell her. ‘Usual stuff. You?’

  ‘Just like old times. Feel like a drink?’

  His eyes stayed on her, maybe weighing up the voice and the invitation. Not even close to flirting. ‘Sure.’

  ‘You drink red?’

  ‘When it’s on offer.’

  ‘I’ll bring a bottle.’

  18

  Carly was in the corridor with the shiraz before she let herself think about what she was doing. A familiar mood had descended. She needed company, interference, something to block the thoughts that were gathering. Anne Long and her advice, Adrian, her mother – reproach would follow and she didn’t want it.

  Nate had left his door open. She knocked and went in. High ceilings, French windows, exposed brickwork, stainless steel. All the same features were there but they were turned around and out of place: the loft stairs on the opposite side, extra doors and a different-shaped kitchen.

  ‘Wineglasses are underneath.’ He pointed at the island bar. ‘You pour while I put this stuff away.’

  She liked his brevity even more tonight. Finding two large glasses, she poured a decent measure into each and set them on the counter. On the other side, Nate turned from the fridge and picked one up. ‘Cheers.’ He mimed a tap against her glass as though that was as close as he wanted to get. He took a single mouthful and went back to his unpacking.

  Carly wound a path through his living room, eyes skimming matching leather seating, a low table, a large flat-screen TV. One wall was painted deep blue, a single black-and-white photo at its centre – a yacht under spinnaker. No cushions, no books, no knick-knacks, as though an ef
fort had been made to select furniture and colours but the money or the interest had run out. Carly stood beside his windows and looked into the street. Same view, slightly different angle. If anyone was watching, they’d see her here – with her muscular male neighbour.

  Shortening her gaze, she took in the reflection of the room. The groceries were gone and Nate was at the counter, fingers on the stem of his wineglass, watching her across the space. Probably wondering what the hell she was doing here. Don’t be the weird neighbour, she told herself. The one who invites herself for a drink and then is tense and silent. She found a smile as she turned. ‘Your apartment has a different layout to mine.’

  ‘It’s a two-bedder. One up, one down.’ He pointed at the loft and a doorway she didn’t have. ‘Our ensuites are back to back. Nuts?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nuts. Some people are allergic.’

  ‘Oh. No, I’m not. Don’t go to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s nuts and a bowl. Take a seat.’

  She sat on one end of a sofa. Nate flicked lights on as he made his way over, slid the nuts onto the low table and took the chair beside her. ‘You’re my first guest. Lucky I picked up the dirty socks.’

  ‘First ever?’

  ‘Since I’ve been back.’ He tipped his head from side to side. ‘In a long time.’

  Carly thought about the grimness she’d seen in him, wondered if he preferred to be alone or if no one wanted to visit. ‘How’s your knee?’

  ‘No better, no worse.’

  ‘Any news from the specialist?’

  A hand moved to the kneecap, thumb kneading one side. ‘I see him in a month.’

  ‘Will he assess you for work?’

  ‘For surgery. There’s a chance it’ll repair on its own. If it hasn’t, I’ll have to go under the knife.’

  ‘What does that mean for your job?’

  ‘Long recovery, depends how well it goes.’ His shrug was tight-boned and brief.