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‘He did. It’s all mine, I told you that.’

‘Irma, we’re going around in circles. Would you prefer I don’t come again?’

‘Yes. I have no desire to look at your smug expression. What happened to that young man you were so keen on, by the way? Did he not stick around?’

‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘So you drove him away too, did you?’

It hurt to even ponder it. Fleur shook her head.

‘You should have stuck with Jimmy. Could have been married and in the family way by now, and no need to lie.’

Fleur frowned while she watched Irma’s eyelids flutter as though she hadn’t meant to say that much. ‘What do you mean?’

Irma simply smiled, putting a finger to her lips. She was enjoying herself, but she had underestimated Fleur’s ability to make connections with speed. Irma had let something slip,

Fleur wouldn’t let it go. ‘What did you do, Irma?’

Now her stepmother laughed openly, deciding there was little else to lose anyway. It was like entertainment for her on a boring day, Fleur decided, and if someone was watching, they could not be blamed for imagining Irma was not the one accused or facing a trial.

‘Tell me,’ Fleur said, trying to keep it firm: a demand, not a plea. Irma’s self-assured smile triggered her mind to chase down what her stepmother could possibly feel so conceited over, and then the jigsaw piece fell into its rightful place – the one she’d been searching for, for days since Tom had disappeared. ‘The letter!’ Her voice sounded small and hoarse. ‘You sent it?’ she said in an incredulous tone, shaking her head as if warding off evil. ‘Oh, Irma, what did you write?’

Her enemy chuckled. ‘Whatever it was, it sent him scuttling, didn’t it? I’ll be damned, Fleur, if you get to live out your happy life at my expense. You could have left things alone, even walked away with your young man and gone to live anywhere you please. I would have left you alone. Instead you decided to ruin my life. So I decided to ruin yours.’

‘What did you tell him?’ Fleur hadn’t realised she’d now stood and was yelling.

A policeman moved alongside hurriedly. Over Irma’s laughter, he cautioned Fleur. ‘You’ll have to keep your voice down, Miss Appleby, and return to your seat.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry.’

He moved away and Fleur did as asked, directing a scorching, almost fevered gaze towards Irma.

‘Look at you, Fleur, so much passion. At least we know someone can ignite your lust, because I’ve always thought of you as sexless. It’s as if—’

‘Irma, I know you’re enjoying yourself, so why not keep up your entertainment and enjoy watching me learn about your latest sinister actions?’

‘Nothing much to tell,’ Irma replied conversationally. ‘I simply warned him off.’

‘With what? I don’t think Tom is easily spooked.’

‘Seems he was once he learned that you had reconsidered your situation and decided to do what your family wants by marrying Jimmy.’

‘He would never have accepted that. We were planning—’

‘Clearly he did once he learned you were pregnant—’

Fleur’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

Irma filled the silence with a nasty sound of amusement before continuing ‘—and that he shouldn’t come sniffing around between you and Jimmy now that you were going to have Jimmy’s child to care for.’

There was nothing more to say. Fleur put her head into her hands and allowed the sound of Irma’s laughter to deafen her thoughts.

28

While Fleur had been preparing her father’s body for burial and awaiting news of a trial date, Tom was making his way to an address in Carrington Street. He knew that Irma Appleby had been arrested and that two witnesses had come forward with incriminating evidence that would most likely lead to a conviction. He didn’t want to know more; did not wish to be involved. The police had told him he was not required for the investigation, but they wanted an address where they could reach him. He’d given the post office at Farina, not knowing what else to say; he had temporary lodgings in the city but would be leaving soon enough. And ever since that moment, Tom had realised, not sure whether it was with a sinking feeling or just comfortable resignation, that he really would be returning home. He knew how to live in the bush, and it seemed that city life, as exciting as it was, might not be for him . . . not alone, anyway.

He helplessly reached towards memories of his mother. He could see her sitting at his side on his favourite big branch of the coolabah, using its vantage to appreciate a spectacular sunset. She was smiling the smile he loved, which seemed to shine straight from her heart. Her eyes, he recalled, were the colour of faded Vaseline glass. They could ‘fire’ when she was happy, as though the uranium in that glass was being illuminated.