up?â
âI met David,â said Ellie. âCraig and I had been together for a couple of years. I was only eighteen. Iâd let Craig decide how things were going to be; Iâd sort of drifted into it. He was keener on me than I was on him, I suppose. He used to talk about me moving up here for good, living with Nana, getting a job. Heâd even talked about us getting married.â Ellie snorted. âAt our age! Crazy!â
âYour Nana Jean was nineteen when she married Clarry Hazzard,â said Sadie.
Ellie stared at her. âWas she? How do you know that?â
Sadie opened her mouth and shut it again. âI dunno,â she said feebly. âYou must have told me.â
âDid I?â Ellie frowned. âWell, I suppose she must have been pretty young . . . Anyway, as soon as I met David, I knew I didnât want to marry Craig Mortlock, no matter what a star he was at cricket, or how much land his dad owned.â Ellie fell silent.
âSo, what happened?â prompted Sadie.
âSomething awful,â said Ellie. âNow I wish I hadnât started this story.â
Sadie waited.
Ellie sighed. âOne of Davidâs mates asked him to go fishing on the lake â Lake Invergarry. But when they got there, it was a trap. Craig and some others were waiting for them. They â they beat David up. He nearly drowned.â
She was silent for a long time. Sadie stared at the floor.
At last Ellie said, âI let David down, back then. I didnât know what to do. I thought I loved David, but I knew Iâd hurt Craig. I felt guilty. I thought it was all my fault. So I ran away. I never want to be a coward like that again. Iâve got another chance now. I canât wreck it this time.â
Ellie reached for Sadieâs hand and squeezed it so hard she crushed Sadieâs fingers.
âWell,â said Sadie awkwardly. âIf you donât want to wreck it again, shouldnât you fix things up with David?â
Ellie laughed, and wiped her eyes. âYes, youâre right. Whereâs my phone?â She stood up, went back into the kitchen and returned with her mobile in her hand, thumbing the keypad.
âSadie,â she said. âBetter not talk about this. Not to Lachie, or Craig, or David, or Walter. Thereâs no point stirring it all up again. Just keep it a secret, okay?â
âOkay,â agreed Sadie. Then she added, âAnyway, Iâm not talking to Lachie any more.â
But Ellie wasnât listening. She pressed the phone to her ear. âHi, itâs me. Are you home yet? I wasnât sure youâd pick upââ She walked out of the room, and Sadie heard her bedroom door click shut.
Sadie sat on the couch. On the TV, a player was lining up a kick at goal. The umpireâs whistle blew, and the ball soared into the night sky, spinning yellow against black, and the crowd roared as it sliced between the goalposts.
Sadie aimed the remote at the TV and turned everything to black.
In bed, she closed her eyes. On the other side of the wall, Ellieâs voice murmured, talking to David, and the sound merged in her mind with the hum of drinkers in the pub, the roar of Lachieâs trail bike, the shouts of the football crowd, the gentle tick-tick of the clock in Clarry and Jeanâs kitchen, and rising above them all, the long, mournful lament of the crows. Waah . . . waah . . . waa-aah . . .
And it was those cries that haunted her as she sank into a troubled sleep.
T he next evening Sadie discovered that sheâd lost her gloves.
âOh, Sadie .â Ellie lowered her magazine. âNot again .â
Sadie hovered in the doorway, waiting to see which way Ellie would go. She might say gaily, never mind, we can pick you up another pair next time we go to Bendigo . Or she might insist that Sadie retrace her steps for the past forty-eight hours until she found them.
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