Where the River Runs Read online

  ‘No, Aria.’ Chelsea grabbed her shoulder gently and pulled her back. ‘You can’t go into other people’s houses if they’re not home.’

  ‘But he must be. He lives here,’ Aria said frowning. ‘I want to see him!’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t expect us yet. Perhaps he’s still out in the paddock. I didn’t see his ute here when we pulled up.’ Truth was, after all this time there could have been ten utes parked out the front and she wouldn’t have known which one was her father’s. She tried again. ‘Dad?’

  There was a crash from deep inside the house, then: ‘Hold on!’

  Chelsea recognised her father’s deep gravelly voice and instinctively held Aria’s hand tighter. She hadn’t realised she was so nervous about seeing him after all this time. Of course, the lady she’d recognised but whose name she couldn’t remember, and who’d warned her father wouldn’t be pleased to see her, had made her even more anxious.

  ‘Who is it?’

  The noise of boots on the wooden floorboards echoed through the large house, but they weren’t her father’s normal footsteps. It sounded as if he was limping.

  ‘It’s me, Dad. Chelsea.’ She paused. ‘And Aria.’

  ‘Chelsea?’ His tone went up in surprise and the footsteps stopped.

  Then started again.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, appearing in the doorway.

  As she saw him Chelsea sucked in a breath. This wasn’t her dad. Stubble covered his chin and cheeks, and his eyes were sunken. His shirt hung loosely from his thin frame. He was nothing like the jovial, heavy-set man he’d been ten years ago. Chelsea wasn’t sure that he could have shrunk in the years she’d been gone, but it certainly looked like he had. His hair, which had been the same mousy brown as her own, was now grey, and he had a bewildered look on his face.

  Clearly he’d taken her mother’s death hard. Of course he has, that little voice told her. On top of Dale’s death as well. Don’t forget you haven’t been here to support him either. He’s been alone.

  ‘Dad.’ The words felt like they were stuck in her throat.

  ‘Who are you?’ He looked down at Aria, who was standing next to Chelsea, her eyes wide.

  Shaking off her mother’s hand, she took a step forwards and smiled up at her grandfather. ‘I’m Aria and you’re my Papa.’ She opened her arms and ran to give him a hug.

  Startled, Tom’s eyes flew to Chelsea. ‘You’ve got a daughter?’ he managed to ask before Aria connected with his legs and threw her arms around them. His hands came down on her head and he touched her lightly on the crown, before looking back up at Chelsea.

  Cold fear dripped through her. ‘I’ve told you about Aria, Dad,’ she said softly. ‘I wrote to you and Mum when she was born overseas. I sent photos too.’ She paused. ‘And I told you about her on the phone, when I rang to say we were coming for Christmas.’

  ‘Christmas?’ Then recognition flashed across his face and something seemed to shift inside him. ‘Of course you did. Although I don’t know why you bothered after all this time!’ He focused on Aria, ‘Hello, Aria, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Now you come into the kitchen and tell your Papa all about your trip up to Shandona. Was it a long drive?’ He took her hand and led her through to the kitchen where he opened the fridge door and offered her a cold drink of cordial.

  Chelsea followed, a lump of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She was grateful Aria hadn’t noticed her reaction and was chatting happily away.

  ‘I’d forgotten you were coming,’ her father admitted, his initial anger apparently gone, his normal tone back. He took the empty glass from Aria and lifted her down from the bench where she’d been sitting. ‘You can see it’s pretty dry. We’ve been busy. Feeding the sheep and keeping everything alive. I haven’t made up your beds or got enough food.’ He looked distressed. ‘Maybe …’

  ‘It’s fine, Dad. We brought some supplies with us and I can easily make up the beds.’

  Tom looked around vaguely. ‘I guess there are spare sheets somewhere. Your mother …’ His voice trailed off then, without warning, the angry expression flashed across his face again. Chelsea braced for the onslaught.

  ‘Hello? Tom, it’s me, Cal.’ The screen door slammed, and a silhouette of a man wearing an Akubra appeared in the doorway, stopping any verbal attack from her father that might have followed.

  ‘Cal, how are you, mate? Meet my daughter Chelsea. And this little one is, um …’ Tom paused.

  ‘I’m Aria.’

  ‘Well, hello there, Aria,’ Cal said, squatting down and holding out his hand. ‘I’m Cal, which is short for Callum. How do you do?’

  Aria giggled then held out her own small hand and said shyly, ‘Hello. Are you a real cowboy?’

  Cal snorted. ‘Nope. No cows out here, and I ride a motorbike. My hat is to keep the sun off my face so I don’t get burnt.’ He stood up and looked at Chelsea. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  He didn’t smile or hold out his hand and Chelsea got the distinct impression he was not happy to see her. Apparently the nameless lady in town wasn’t the only one.

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ she answered, twisting her fingers behind her back. ‘You work here?’

  ‘Yep. I do.’

  Chelsea nodded. That explained the tidy overseer’s cottage.

  ‘Be lost without him,’ Tom said.

  ‘That’s great,’ she said, then wanted to kick herself. What was great about it? Her dad needed help?

  Cal turned and focused on Tom. ‘The tank at the back of the shearing shed is leaking,’ he said. ‘Reckon it’s just about buggered. We can get the bloke to come back and poly-weld it, but because it’s the main tank, I think we should order a new one. You right for me to give RuralCorp a call to order a newbie?’

  ‘Damn, I was hoping it would hold. I noticed a split in it a couple of days ago.’ Tom sighed. ‘No point in ginning around with poly-welding it. Get a new one, but get a different brand. That’s the second one we’ve had that’s split down the join.’

  ‘Sure thing. Right, I’ll be on my way. Do you need anything in town?’

  ‘Can you pick me up another script? I phoned the order in this morning.’

  Chelsea wondered what the medication was for. Depression maybe? That could explain the way her father was looking. She imagined living here, just one person rattling around in a house that could’ve held six people. It would have to be lonely.

  Cal nodded. ‘I’ll drop it in after tennis.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. Have a good game.’

  The room was silent after Cal left and Tom looked around as if unsure what to do.

  ‘Which rooms can we sleep in?’ Chelsea finally asked. ‘I’ll go and set them up.’

  ‘The top two. Think the bathroom up there works okay. Well, it did when your mother was alive. I haven’t had any need to go up there since then.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll get our bags.’ She felt like she was talking to a stranger. But what more could she expect? She hadn’t visited since she was twenty and her parents hadn’t tried to see her either. Chelsea had hoped her mother would come when Aria was born, but she’d been born overseas, and by the time she’d returned to Australia, Chelsea’s circumstances had changed … and life had continued without her parents in it.

  She’d been left to cope by herself.

  Anger swelled up in her as she remembered the endless nights rocking Aria to sleep, the pain of the birth which lingered for months afterwards, the silence from her mother. All in a foreign country. Well, her dad might have cause to be pissed off with her, but she had a good reason to return the feeling. Maybe coming back here wasn’t going to be the therapy she needed. Perhaps it would only unsettle her and make her angry again.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Phone call for you, Dave.’ Jack waved the phone to get Dave’s attention then put it down in the cradle.

  ‘Line?’ Dave asked, looking at the three flashing red lights on the switchboard. Three? Unheard of in the quiet to
wn of Barker. ‘Who else is calling in?’

  ‘Line two. Joan’s on the other one.’

  ‘Who’s the third? I didn’t know we had that many lines into the station.’ He picked up the phone and punched at line two. ‘Burrows.’

  The silence hissed down the line and Dave was about to hang up when he heard a noise.

  ‘Hello, this is Detective Dave Burrows, can I help you with something?’ There was a sniff and Dave realised the caller was crying.

  ‘I’d like to be able to help you,’ he said gently.

  ‘Dave, it’s Mandy.’ There was a pause. ‘Your sister-in-law.’

  Dave sucked in a breath. ‘Mandy? What’s wrong?’ His voice held a hint of urgency. The fact she was crying could only mean bad news. He wasn’t sure when he’d last spoken to Mandy. Maybe a year ago, when his father had died. Maybe his mum … No, he didn’t want to think about his mum dying too.

  ‘It’s Dean,’ she said. ‘He’s had an accident on the farm.’

  Dave’s heart slowed and he waited for more information. It wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘What type of accident?’

  ‘He was fencing. Using the digger to drill pilot holes. The auger caught his shirt and dragged him into the auger. He … Dean, uh …’ A fresh round of sobbing started.

  Visualising the accident, Dave saw the drill going around and around and around. Once it caught hold of something, it would continue to pull in whatever it had caught, whether it was dirt, hair or an arm. He could hear his brother’s screams, the frantic attempts to flick the lever to throw the machine out of gear and stop it from turning.

  Dave could smell the blood.

  ‘Is, ah, is he alive, Mandy?’

  Her breath came out in a rush. ‘At the moment, he is, but he’s lost so much blood. They don’t think they’re going to be able to reattach his arm. He’s had two blood transfusions … The RFDS came. After the ambulance …’

  ‘And the kids, where are they? Are they okay?’

  ‘Yeah, yep. They’re fine. They’re here with me at the hospital.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dave tried to keep his tone calm. ‘And Mum?’

  ‘She’s here too. Dean’s still in surgery, so we won’t know too much until afterwards.’

  Dave thought about the farm and the timing of the accident. Bad timing—still, was there ever a good time? Of course not. But it was summer, and surely Dean should have been harvesting, not fencing? And there would be animals to feed and troughs to check.

  ‘Do you need me to come and help?’ he asked. ‘Where are you up to with the harvest?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Dave.’ Despair overtook her voice. ‘I haven’t had anything to do with the farm for the past six months.’

  Tapping his pen on the desk, Dave thought about how to respond. ‘Oh. Why’s that?’

  ‘Dean and I have separated.’

  There was a long pause while Dave processed that piece of news. Why in God’s name hadn’t someone told him? Surely his mum would have.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mandy. I had no idea.’

  ‘No, we kept it quiet. That was the deal we made. I’m still living in the house in the spare room. Just for a time.’

  ‘What? Why are you doing that?’ Dave was astounded.

  ‘I don’t hate him, Dave! And he doesn’t hate me. The farm can’t afford to pay me out at the moment, so we live our own lives, but still under the same roof. It’s working for the time being. Anyway, I didn’t ring to talk about that, but I can’t really tell you what’s going on farm-wise.’

  ‘Do you need help over there?’ Dave asked again. He was loath to go back. He hadn’t been there since he’d left at the age of twenty-three. And the communication he’d had with his two brothers since had been sporadic at best. He talked to his mum about once a month, and she usually reported the family goings-on, although she’d clearly failed in this case. But he’d never felt the need to talk to his brothers regularly, not since they hadn’t stood up for him when his father had kicked him off the farm.

  He knew what Kim would want him to do. Go home. See them all. Let bygones be bygones. She’d wanted him to do that the whole time they’d been together. He was resistant. He could still hear the words his father had shouted at him: ‘The quicker I’m rid of you, the better off we’ll be!’ It didn’t matter that his father was dead. The memories were still there and they hurt. Wind Valley Farm wasn’t a place he wanted to visit.

  Getting away from Barker in the lead-up to Christmas would be tricky too. Most police officers didn’t get leave at this time of the year because people seemed to turn into idiots during the holiday season. Drink-driving and speeding were the two biggest problems, but occasionally some really bad eggs would turn up. Two years ago they’d had a drug dealer book into the caravan park and start selling. It was only after the hospital had reported two ODs—not deaths, thankfully, but still requiring life-saving stomach pumping—they’d realised what was going on and arrested the dealer.

  But family was family. Even if they were a dysfunctional one. He would go if he was needed, but he wouldn’t rush there just yet. His heart gave an extra quick beat at the possibility of not seeing Dean again, before he refocused and put his policeman’s shield around his emotions while he listened to Mandy’s answer.

  ‘I don’t know. Jake’s able to do a lot of things.’

  ‘How old is Jake now?’ Dave felt awful he didn’t know. If Kim had been here she would’ve been able to slip him a note that said thirteen, or twenty-two, or whatever the hell he was. She’d been the one sending birthday cards and presents on his behalf.

  ‘Twenty-three. And he’s been working here for the past two years, but it’s such a big job for someone so young.’

  ‘What about Adam? Can he help out?’ Last he’d heard, his middle brother was working in shearing teams. Adam’s marriage, the one they had all thought would last, hadn’t. He’d hit the bottle fairly hard after Tiffany had left him, taking the kids with her. Lost his savings and the will to live, according to his mum.

  ‘I haven’t rung him yet. Just wanted to let you know what was going on first.’

  ‘Is Mum there? Can you put her on?’

  ‘I’ll get her to call you. She’s with Jake and Christy at the moment.’

  Dave racked his brains to remember who was the eldest child—Jake, he was sure of it. ‘What’s Christy doing now?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s in her second year of Farm Management at uni.’

  ‘Okay, good. Good.’ He was talking to himself more than Mandy. If there were two kids who had an interest in farming, it would make things much easier for Dean when he came home. If he came home. Dave pressed his lips together as he thought about that. Losing his brother was more than a sobering thought. ‘Let me know when there’s more news, okay. And, Mandy, anything you need, make sure you call.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks, Dave.’

  Dave hung up the phone slowly, his mind racing. A brother who’d hopefully lose his arm rather than his life, a marriage break-up he hadn’t been aware of, a possible return to the farm he hadn’t set foot on since 1990. He crossed his arms. He hadn’t returned when his father had died, citing distance, but he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to avoid it now if Dean needed help. Even after all this time, he could still feel the sting of his father’s betrayal in shutting him out of the business. He’d forced Dave to leave Wind Valley Farm, even though he’d known that all Dave had ever wanted was to farm that piece of land with his brothers. It had hurt him terribly that neither Dean nor Adam had quashed his dad’s heavy-handed tactics. His mum had tried but she’d been beaten down, whether by words or fists, he’d never been quite sure.

  Gradually their father’s bitterness had worn away at all of the brothers. Adam and Tiffany had left to try farming with her family. When that hadn’t worked out, they’d borrowed money and bought their own place. Bad seasons, low grain prices and high interest rates had seen them go under quickly. According to his mother’s letters, Ti
ffany had packed up one night and disappeared with the children. The last time Adam had heard from her was when he’d received the divorce papers. Adam had been desperate to contact his children, but continually trying and failing had chipped away at him and the bottle had finally taken him.

  In the end it had come down to Dean, who had given his father an ultimatum: let him take over the reins or he would leave too. At seventy-odd, Sam had had no choice. He hadn’t been able to afford for Dean to leave; he’d needed someone to do all the physical work.

  Kim had said more than once that it was incredible how much bitterness and resentment could brew in one family. The brothers couldn’t be more distant now, in either geography or relationship.

  Dave realised he could smell something and looked up. Kim was standing in the doorway, holding a container. He broke into a smile.

  ‘I thought I smelled you.’

  ‘What?’ Kim sounded indignant. ‘You won’t get any quiche if you carry on like that. And it’s your favourite, fresh out of the oven.’

  ‘I wasn’t meaning it in a bad way, as you well know. I could smell your perfume.’

  Kim stared at him, a small grin curving up one side of her face. ‘My perfume? I don’t wear perfume.’

  ‘Yeah, you do. Your cooking.’

  She laughed and came into the room, placing the container on his desk. ‘You’re looking very solemn.’ She leaned down and gave him a kiss.

  ‘Will you two just get a room!’ Jack yelled from the outer office.

  Kim giggled against Dave’s lips and he pulled away.

  ‘You’re just jealous!’ he called back.

  This was their standard banter now.

  Jack appeared in the doorway. ‘No, I’m not. How are you, Kim? That’s a nice-looking cheese and tomato quiche. Nice golden crust.’

  ‘Hungry, are you, Jack?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Always,’ he answered.

  ‘We’re going to have to find a nice woman to look after you,’ Kim said as she cut a large piece and handed it to him, along with a paper napkin.

  ‘Nothing on offer here in Barker. Thanks. That looks magic.’