On a cool autumn evening exactly eleven months and twenty-nine days after the worst day of her life, Ginny Shepherd dropped the final spoonful of peanut brownie mix onto a tray. Crossing the old-fashioned kitchen, she slid the biscuits into the oven, folded her arms, and met the contemplative eyes of the black cat at her feet.
‘What do you think I should have done, Oscar? I know he’s not here, but they were his favourites and tomorrow I can sit on the step and gaze across the paddock while I dunk one in my tea—just like he and I did this time a year ago.’
‘Meow.’
Ginny picked him up and rubbed her cheek against his soft fur. ‘What would I do without you lot, eh?’ A deep rumbling purr resonated from the cat’s chest and she lowered him to the floor. ‘Come on then. I’ll feed you before I lock up the chooks.’
She scooped a cup of dry cat biscuits from the plastic container and dropped them into the bowl. Leaning against the veranda door, she waited as two more cats appeared, bending their heads together rattling the kibble around the dish. Leaving them contentedly eating, she stepped into a pair of gumboots and hurried into the fading light.
As she reached the wooden gate leading from the garden to the house paddock, her brow creased and she paused, lifting her gaze to the ridge behind the house. In the still air, the sound of cascading water drifted toward her. Peeping sounds and leaves rustling in the mock orange hedge signalled birds settling down for the night.
‘What really happened? You had so much to live for,’ she whispered. The lump that never seemed to leave completely, grew heavy inside her.
Her step slowed as she reached the fowl pen. Closing the gate, she slid the bolt as a chilly gust swept her shoulder length hair into her face. She rubbed her upper arms and shivered. Something didn’t feel right. Was he trying to tell her something? A dog barked from the row of kennels twenty metres away and she strode toward the sound.
Opening the latch on the first pen, she swung the gate and rubbed the side of the kelpie’s face. Yellow eyebrows shone against the dog’s deep red coat and her tail rapped furiously against the mesh as she squirmed with excitement.
‘Come, Flute. You can sleep on the veranda tonight and keep me company.’ The dog leapt out of her cage and ran in circles around her mistress while hopeful yips and whines emanated from the other kennels. Ginny walked down the row, speaking to each as she went. ‘You’ve had a good run today—and eaten your dinner. I’ll be back in the morning.’
As she and Flute turned their backs and walked toward the house, silence once again reigned.
A shrill ring reverberated across the lawn and Ginny ran, leaping up the steps before wrenching the French door open.
‘Hello?’ She held one hand against her chest to still her pulse while she took slow breaths.
‘Mum? Where have you been? This is the third time I’ve rung.’
‘Briony. Sorry, darling. I nipped out to lock up the chooks and took longer than I planned.’ A nutty, chocolate smell drifted around the open living area and Ginny glanced anxiously across the room. ‘Hang on a sec. I’d better get the brownies out of the oven before they burn.’ She dropped the receiver beside the vase of roses on the dining table and hurried to the stove. Seconds later, she picked up the handpiece and frowned.
‘It’s very early over there. Are you alright?’
‘Yeah. I’m okay. I woke early and have been on the laptop for over an hour trying to get a flight home.’ The girl’s voice shook with emotion, and Ginny raised her eyebrows.
‘Do you think you might be better staying put?’ Ginny’s reassurance wavered. ‘You’re a long way from populated areas. Maybe you could wait out the summer and try again after this confusion settles down?’
A flood of tears met her suggestion, and Ginny ached with sympathy for her daughter.
‘I just want to come home, Mum,’ Briony hiccupped. ‘Especially now. It-it’s a year tomorrow since …’
Ginny slumped onto the couch, steeling herself before she spoke. ‘I know. I miss him too and there’s nothing I’d like more than to have you girls here with me. But that’s not possible until this pandemic is under control—or at least until we all know more about how to deal with it.’
‘Have the police contacted you again?’
‘No. Last I heard it was still an open case though—so who knows?’ Ginny switched the phone to her other ear as she rose and began transferring the cooling biscuits onto a wire rack. ‘How’s Alex?’
A huff of breath echoed through the receiver, and Ginny blinked.
‘He’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t want me to leave. Says the Isle of Skye is the best place for both of us to sit it out—especially as the tourist season is just kicking off here.’ Briony snorted. ‘Fat lot of good that will be if Scotland locks everyone down like Australia did.’
Ginny twisted her mouth and squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s not go there. You’ve got a good job—at least for this season, anyway. And you’ve got Alex and a cosy cottage to live in.’
Briony groaned. ‘You’re right—as usual. I’m thinking of you though, Mum, and I wish I was home, sitting on the veranda and eating your delicious peanut brownies instead of planning the menus for the week.’
‘I’ll eat an extra one and think of you,’ Ginny said with a soft smile.
‘How’s Grandma?’
Ginny grinned to herself. ‘She’s fine. A bit annoyed at not being able to get out and about—or have visitors. Thank goodness she bought that iPad. Apparently Ryan, the young fellow who’s been teaching her how to use it sends her messages every day. He’s taught her how to play games and she’s forever on her Facebook page.’
Briony’s spluttered laughter echoed in Ginny’s ear.
‘She’ll be miles ahead of you then, Mum.’
‘That’s not hard. You forget how poor our internet connection is here. Anyway, even if it was good, I doubt I’d have a fraction of the time to spend on it that she does.’ Ginny huffed. ‘Still, she’s pretty good for eighty-two, isn’t she?’
‘Sure is. Give her my love when you ring. And tell her to invite me to be one of her Facebook friends.’
‘I will.’
‘Thanks Mum. I suppose I’d better go.’
‘Thanks for ringing, love. Have a good day at the lodge. Perhaps today you’ll meet some nice new guests to take your mind off things?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ll ring you if I have any luck with flights.’
‘Okay. Talk again soon. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Ginny replaced the receiver. There was nothing she would like more than to have her two girls home with her—especially now. She missed her husband so much. Lyndon had been a good father. He had been a wonderful husband—and the unfairness of his sudden death still tore at Ginny’s heart.
She rose and returned to the bench. Lifting the lid off the cookie jar, she layered as many as would fit inside, then stored the rest in a battered biscuit tin with a picture of a Labrador on the lid. Then she microwaved remnants of cottage pie from the previous night, switched on the television, and curled up in the armchair.
Once we’ve got through tomorrow, I’ll be better, she convinced herself. It’s always hard for the first year. But something puzzled her and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Lyndon was so careful. So methodical. His accident made no sense.
