Indigo Storm Read online

  Fleur McDonald has lived and worked on farms for much of her life. After growing up in the small town of Orroroo in South Australia, she went jillarooing, eventually co-owning an eight-thousand-acre property in regional Western Australia.

  Fleur likes to write about strong women overcoming adversity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences in rural Australia. She is the bestselling author of Red Dust, Blue Skies, Purple Roads, Silver Clouds, Crimson Dawn and Emerald Springs. She has two children and a Jack Russell Terrier, and is secretary of the Esperance & Districts Agricultural Society.

  Also by Fleur McDonald

  Red Dust

  Blue Skies

  Purple Roads

  Silver Clouds

  Crimson Dawn

  Emerald Springs

  My sister Suz—you are my inspiration

  Precious strong hands hold me up, even when they’re not seen or nearby. These hands will always hold my heart and never go out of style. Nothing will ever change.

  First published in 2016

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Arena Books, an imprint of

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 9781760112615

  eISBN 9781952533532

  Typeset by Post Pre-press Group, Australia

  Cover photographs: Fotosearch/Getty Images (girl);

  Jordan Cantelo Photography (storm background);

  and Jochen Schlenker/Alamy (Kanyaka homestead)

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s note

  Chapter 1

  Ashleigh looked out of the window. Through the heavy clouds that were threatening snow at one thousand feet, a sliver of sunlight was peeking. It was the first time the sun had shone in a week and she could see the tell-tale smudge of a rainbow.

  Putting her OUTBACK magazine down, she stood up and walked to the window. Lake Jindabyne was flat and a lone yacht was moored in the grey, unreflective waters.

  She sighed, feeling a restlessness stirring inside her. Her eyes searched the tree-covered mountains, as if the answer might be found in the landscape. She knew it wouldn’t be, but the view usually calmed her.

  Today it didn’t. Her heart beat a little faster, the knot in her stomach making her feel sick.

  Ashleigh held her hands level with her eyes and could see them shaking. Letting out an angry cry, she threw back her head and stomped her foot, before spinning around and pacing over to the wall where her wedding photo hung.

  Dominic, her husband, was strikingly good-looking—tall and dark, with small flecks of grey in his sideburns. He was much taller than Ashleigh, and she could remember how she had felt that day, two years before. In the photo, they were a happy couple, madly in love. Dominic was looking down at her and she up at him, as if they were about to kiss.

  ‘You’re mine now,’ he’d said quietly, just before the photo was taken. Briefly, she’d smiled, thinking how romantic he was, but then she’d realised that the possessive look on his face and the pressure of his hand on her waist told a different story.

  Ashleigh had told no one (after all, who did she have to tell?) that seconds after the click of the camera, he held her with a force that had startled her and said: ‘Don’t ever think about leaving me. You won’t get far.’ Then he’d smiled, the intensity on his face vanishing, and looked out at their guests, raising his hand as if in victory. The crowd had cheered and she’d been left wondering what had just happened.

  Now though she turned away from the photo and noticed the fire had burned low. Ashleigh threw another log on it and then made her way back to the couch. If she kept busy and could lose herself in someone else’s world, she would forget about the knot in her gut. She flicked the pages until she came to a large photo. Staring at it for a few moments, she slowly drew the magazine closer.

  A couple stood in front of a stone ruin. Behind them was a creek bed, covered in stones, and along the bank grew many large gum trees. There were a couple of other photos, of a lonely cemetery and a high, mountainous range. Both places were covered in blue and red flowers and low, prickly grey shrubs.

  Goosebumps rose on Ashleigh’s arms and a shiver went through her. She narrowed her eyes and studied the picture. The scenery was breathtaking. Suddenly she felt a sense of déjà vu. Why, she didn’t know; she’d certainly never been to the north of South Australia. It was a strange and unsettling feeling.

  She quickly ran her eyes over the story. None of the names of the places or people rang any bells with her, but why would they? As Dominic loved reminding her, she was an orphan. She had no one but him.

  The door banged shut and Ashleigh jumped as Dominic came into the room, shaking the rain from his hair.

  ‘Hi,’ he said as he peeled off his coat and bent down to take off his boots.

  ‘Hi back at you,’ Ashleigh said, getting up from the couch. ‘How’s your day been so far?’

  ‘Fine. Lunch ready?’

  A sliver of apprehension slid through her as she realised the hour. ‘Um, no. But it won’t take me two minutes to heat up the meatballs. Sorry. I lost track of time.’ She rushed into the kitchen without looking at him.

  Banging the pot onto the stove, Ashleigh opened the fridge and grabbed the plastic container that held the spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce she’d made yesterday. Dom loved Italian food. He said it reminded him of his heritage. Not that he needed reminding; the little gang he had was almost Mafia-like.

  ‘Damn,’ she swore quietly. Her hands were shaking and she’d spilled some of the food onto the naked gas flame. It hissed before sending up a terrible burned odour.

  ‘Careful,’ he said.

  Ashleigh froze for a second. She had
n’t heard him enter the kitchen. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, hating the fear he aroused in her.

  Dominic came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Can’t have you getting hurt,’ he said, kissing her neck.

  Still wary, but hopeful now, she turned to face him, lifting her mouth for a kiss.

  When he was like this, he was more than nice. He was the man she fell in love with. She wondered how on earth she could ever think of leaving him. He was attentive, loving and kind. Dominic ran his hands down the sides of her body and gently tapped her hips. ‘What have you been doing this morning?’ he asked as he moved to the counter and got out the crockery and cutlery.

  Ashleigh stirred the sauce and turned on the oven, so she could heat the bread rolls.

  ‘Just the normal type of things,’ she answered. ‘I’ve washed and cleaned. Had all of that done by nine-ish, so I walked down the street, did a bit of shopping and came home.’

  ‘You walked? It’s all of three degrees outside.’

  ‘I know but I like the cold. It clears my head.’

  The rich tomato sauce began to boil, so she took it off the heat and ladled it into two bowls.

  ‘Who did you see down the street?’ he asked casually, but Ashleigh could tell it was a loaded question. If her answer displeased him, well . . . Like the weather in the Snowy Mountains, he could change within minutes.

  ‘No one really. I didn’t talk to anyone,’ she answered. ‘I saw Mrs Harper from a distance. There’s lots of blow-ins, though. Heaps of people combing the clothes stores. Must be a bit colder than some of the tourists expected.’

  ‘Crazy, they are,’ Dominic answered as he sat down at the table. ‘They don’t realise that buying the clothes up here is three times more expensive than if they’d bought them before they came.’

  Ashleigh said nothing as she placed his meal in front of him and then sat down with her own bowl.

  ‘Still, it’s good for the town’s economy.’ Dominic plunged his fork in, winding the spaghetti around it, and smiled at her across the table. ‘So, what do you have in mind for this afternoon?’

  The picture from the magazine flashed into her mind. She really wanted to research the little town of Blinman. ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. She stopped talking, wondering if this were the right time. It was clear he was in a good mood. ‘Dominic . . .’ She paused, about to tell him about the photo and the magazine article—how she had felt instantly drawn to what she had seen but couldn’t understand why. Something inside her made her stop.

  He looked expectantly at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. When it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything more, he frowned, before raising his eyebrows in encouragement.

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.’ Flicking her hand dismissively, she deliberately made her tone light, even though her stomach was in knots.

  Dominic narrowed his eyes and continued to watch her while he swallowed another mouthful.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No,’ she answered firmly.

  They finished the rest of their meal in silence but when Ashleigh got up to clear the plates, Dominic grabbed hold of her wrist.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ he asked, in a low menacing voice.

  Ashleigh tried to twist herself away, but realised there was no point. He had a tight grip and, once again, like the weather, he’d changed.

  ‘Who did you speak to downtown this morning? You’re not usually secretive.’

  ‘I’m not being secretive,’ Ashleigh protested. ‘I just forgot what I was going to say.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Somehow, she found her courage. ‘Well, I can’t help that,’ she retorted.

  ‘Don’t you forget,’ Dominic continued as if he hadn’t heard her, ‘you have nothing without me. I’m your everything. You had no identity, no family history, when you met me. That’s what being an orphan is. I made you someone. I gave you that history. Don’t make me take it away from you.’

  Ashleigh swallowed before nodding.

  ‘Right, we’ve got that clear. Again!’ It was as if Dominic was speaking to a small child.

  The anger in Ashleigh was overwhelming but she knew she couldn’t react.

  Chapter 2

  All the websites about domestic violence that Ashleigh had looked at said there would be a time she’d reach her breaking point. She had never believed this. In fact, she hadn’t even been sure she was in a situation like the one they were talking about. Dominic had never hit her. There were times she’d thought he was going to but then she’d seen something in his face change, like he was reigning himself back in.

  So, she hadn’t been sure, but then she’d seen a diagram of the domestic violence cycle. She hadn’t realised being kept away from people, or put down all the time, was classified as abuse. Nor had she known that intimidation, humiliation or power trips were classed as abuse. There didn’t have to be bruises.

  The cycle for Ashleigh had mirrored the diagram. There was the honeymoon period, when everything was rosy and beautiful. He’d bring her flowers, tell her how important she was to him, to his world, his happiness. Then ever so gradually it began to change.

  When the snide comments started, the threats weren’t far away. She could feel the darkness building inside him.

  When it happened, it usually started over something minor. She would be yelled at for burning the dinner or talking to someone she shouldn’t have. Maybe the bed hadn’t been made neatly or the bathroom wasn’t clean enough. Or maybe she hadn’t done anything at all. He just wouldn’t speak to her, for days or weeks. Among his friends, and out in public, Dominic was the perfect husband. He was attentive and caring, but was capable of making a touch look loving when, in fact, he was hurting her. He could pinch her waist while he was resting his hand on her hip, or crunch her fingers while he was holding her hand. Then, without warning, he would change back into the gentle, warm man he could be.

  The only difference between her experience and what the domestic violence websites discussed was that most men promised they would change, but never did. Dominic, though, never said he wouldn’t do it again. Did he even realise that what he was doing was wrong?, Ashleigh wondered.

  For her, seeing the photograph in OUTBACK that day had been a turning point. The couple in it seemed gentle and loving. It looked so peaceful in that little country town.

  She wasn’t having much peace at the moment.

  Lunch had ended with Dominic throwing his empty bowl at the wall. Then he had grabbed her shoulders and bent down to stare her in the eye.

  ‘Keeping secrets from your husband isn’t a good thing to do,’ he said menacingly. ‘Don’t do it, because I’ll always find out. Don’t ever doubt that.’

  All this because he thought Ashleigh was holding something back from him. She supposed she was. Her reaction to the OUTBACK article would stay her secret, at least for the time being.

  Later that afternoon, while bringing in the washing, Ashleigh daydreamed about how to escape her dark and loveless life. As she folded the sheets and towels, she fantasised about heading north to get a job, about travelling on endless roads, stopping only when she felt like it. Getting a job. Being independent and answerable to no one but herself. She thought about changing her hair, gaining weight; hopefully, he would never come looking for her. Ashleigh knew that Dominic wouldn’t let her go that easily. She was his possession. But she also knew that escaping was her only chance of getting out of this marriage.

  It would have to be done perfectly.

  She’d torn out the OUTBACK article and hidden it between the mattresses in the spare room. Maybe because the day she read it she decided she was going to leave. Or maybe because something kept bringing her back to the photo of the couple. Their faces seemed familiar. She’d also been drawn to the beauty and ruggedness of the background.

  By the
end of the day, Ashleigh had made her decision. It wouldn’t just be a beautiful daydream to help her get through the bad times. She would make it a reality.

  Over the next twelve months, she researched how to change her identity. She reread the OUTBACK article, the symbol of her escape plan, so many times that it became creased and fragile.

  While Dominic wasn’t home, she stood in front of the mirror practising her new name.

  ‘Hi,’ she would say, ‘I’m Eliza Norwood.’

  ‘Eliza Norwood, Eliza Norwood, Eliza Norwood,’ she chanted silently at night while she was lying beside Dominic.

  Eliza was her middle name and she’d chosen Norwood after looking through the phone book and thinking it sounded nice. Having been abandoned as a baby on the steps of a church, she didn’t even know what her mother’s name had been.

  She grew her hair. Ate a lot and put on a few kilos. That had caused more than one name-calling session. But she found she could silently deflect Dominic’s abuse now she had a goal. It was like a callus had grown over her heart. She only knew she had to leave.

  Syphoning money from her shopping allowance became some kind of normality. Ashleigh bought non-perishable items. Extra female hygiene products. She stored them carefully in the only place she knew was safe from him—the spare tyre well of her car.

  Later she would cut her hair, dye it, and start wearing glasses. One website had suggested putting a stone in your shoes, so you could walk with a different gait. Another suggested looking for headstones in cemeteries for people of similar ages to those of your new identity’s parents, siblings and children. Having details such as names and death dates would give her story authenticity. Another piece of advice was to choose a close friend’s childhood story to use as her own.

  That would have been fine if she’d had a childhood friend.

  Every time she bought something a little different from normal, she worried that someone would pick up on what she was planning. After all, Jindabyne was a small town. Everyone knew everyone and, mostly, everyone’s business. All she needed was someone to mention to Dominic that she’d bought hair dye even though her hair hadn’t changed colour, or bought glasses when she didn’t wear them, and he would be on high alert.