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Heather pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Kane stepped away again as a small smile tipped her lips.
‘Hi, Ellie. Sorry, can’t talk now. I’m with Kane.’ Her voice lowered but Kane heard her soft whisper. ‘My turn.’
Chapter 12
Monday
Porter Farm
Shortly after Heather had cut her call short, Ellie turned her small sedan off the highway. The thought of Heather with Kane shouldn’t have bothered her, but it gave her a funny feeling in her chest that settled there until she reached the old farm.
By now they were probably in the bar having an after-work drink. Bloody my turn. She tried to tell herself not to be petty. After all, she wasn’t going to sleep with Kane again, so if he wanted to take up with Heather, that was fine by her.
It was.
As she drove up the rutted driveway, she briefly considered simply continuing nonchalantly past the house to the back of the farm, but old habits die hard. It was no longer her property, and she needed permission before she went wandering over someone else’s land.
The place still looked abandoned, no black Jeeps roaring down the driveway today. The front door was closed and the curtains were drawn across the front windows. The house sat sleeping in the late afternoon sun. There was no sign of Kane’s mother. Maybe she was out? In the far distance, a small plume of smoke rose in a lazy spiral. Not enough to indicate a burn-off, but enough to let her know that somebody was down at the back boundary.
Ellie parked the car at the front of the house, and slowly walked up the stairs onto the verandah. The old tank stand next to the kitchen still leaned at the same precarious angle. She and Emma had sat beneath that tank playing with frogs as the heavy rains of the wet season had clattered onto the tin roof of the house. Mum had been horrified and had scrubbed their hands and had spent days waiting for the warts to appear.
Another old wives’ tale. There’d been lots of them. Most of all Ellie remembered the laughter . . . and the smells: the pungent aroma of the tobacco from Dad’s pipe, the ever-present sweet scent of the mangoes in boxes at the top of the steps.
Ellie swallowed, trying to force away the ache that stuck in her throat. Those memories felt real – real enough that she half expected to peer around the corner and see Dad heading down through the trees on the old tractor. Real enough to toss her school bag into the old sleep-out and follow the day’s cooking smells into the kitchen, where Mum would be standing in her gaudy apron, her hair held back in a rubber band, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the old wood stove.
Standing on the familiar verandah, just being here, was very different to standing at the gate looking in from a distance like she had the other day. That had been like looking through a filter, or at a photograph, something that didn’t really exist. Now the creaking of the front step and the same old empty pots on the verandah took her immediately back to her childhood. Ellie hovered on the quiet edge of her memories and thought about turning around, getting into her car and leaving.
I can’t. Now that she’d seen the earthworks she was going to find out what was happening. Panos had been lying to her the other day. She was sure of that. Bill knew something as well, but for some reason he wasn’t telling either. She might have lost her father, but if this was a way to help her mother get out of that dark place that had ensnared her, it had to be done.
Gulping a deep breath, Ellie forced her feet to take her to the front door. She raised one hand and curled her fingers, hesitating as she thought of what to say if the door opened. She straightened her shoulders; if Panos Sordina came to the door himself, she would be polite.
She knocked and waited.
Maybe there’s no one here? Maybe she could just go for a walk through the old orchards and see what was happening. If anyone asked, she would say she was looking for . . . looking for something or someone. She’d figure out what if she had to. She turned towards the steps but the familiar rattle of the key in the front door made her stop. Turning back slowly, Ellie watched as the door opened and a tall thin woman leaned around to look at her.
‘Yes?’ The voice was soft and the expression wary. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Hello.’ Ellie stepped forward and forced a friendly smile to her lips. ‘My name is Ellie Porter. I used to live here and I was driving past and –’
‘Ellie! Come in, come in.’ The woman pulled the door back and stepped aside so Ellie could enter. ‘My son mentioned that you might drop by sometime.’
‘I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to –’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course you’re going to come in.’ She looked at Ellie curiously. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘No, I’m sorry. You’re Mrs Sordina?’ She was not what Ellie had imagined.
‘Yes, I am. But please call me Susan. I spent a couple of afternoons here with your mother when – before your dad’s funeral. You’ve grown up.’
A wisp of memory clung to Ellie’s thoughts. Her mother had had a friend called Susan. But this thin woman didn’t look like the woman she remembered at Dad’s funeral. That woman had been plump with blonde, curly hair. She took a step forward and followed Susan into the house.
‘It’s time for afternoon tea. Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?’ She looked at Ellie with a gentle smile. ‘I’d enjoy the company.’
Ellie’s throat closed up and she tried to think of a polite way to refuse. She closed her eyes for a second.
‘Are you all right?’
She opened her eyes and swallowed the lump. Susan was looking at her with a frown and the strong light streaming through the large kitchen window from the west accentuated the deep furrows in her forehead and the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She could see where Kane got his cheekbones. As Ellie looked closer, she realised Susan was still in her dressing gown.
