‘Why? Where’s Shelley?’
‘These officers are from the Craigsville Police.’ Kevin rubbed his jaw with grease-stained fingers. ‘They just want to see the camp site again.’
I’d seen enough cop shows to know that meant he was in trouble. ‘Are you a person of interest?’ I said.
The writing policeman looked up from his notebook, one eyebrow rising into a small hairy tent.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong, Sunny,’ Kevin said, but his face had greyed.
‘Can I come?’ I stood there with my arms hanging uselessly by my side, unable to think straight.
‘No, of course not. I’ll be back later.’
They went out to the police vehicle and I followed like a lost dog.
The notebook officer stopped and took a card from his pocket. ‘If you need to contact us,’ he said, passing it to me.
I looked down at the card. It had the number of the Craigsville Police on it, a mobile number and a name: Senior Detective Mark Dodds.
‘Why would I need to do that?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. We’re only making inquiries.’
The next minute Kevin was getting into the back of the police four-wheel drive and it drove away, the dust winding away from me through the trees.
I wandered aimlessly inside the house for a while, tried to read, tried to go back to sleep, but nothing would take my mind from Kevin and the despair on his face as he looked at me through the window of that retreating police car. The hours idled by until I couldn’t stand being in the house for a moment longer.
Shading my eyes against the glare, I crossed the yard and headed for the flame tree; its shadow offered only slight relief from the suffocating heat. I gazed at the screen on my phone. Matt had not texted since I ran out on him at the waterhole. Nothing. The ball was very clearly in my court.
I walked around under the tree and typed a message:
Are you angry?
That was stupid. I deleted it and typed:
Sorry.
No, too weird. I deleted that and wrote:
Hi, what are you doing?
Let’s pretend nothing happened.
I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply, and when it didn’t come straightaway, I figured that he thought I was unhinged after all. I’d acted like an idiot. Why couldn’t I handle myself when I needed to? At the time, I just wanted to get away from that water as fast as possible, but I shouldn’t have left him at the creek like that.
Stupid, stupid and stupid.
I collapsed onto the swing. Glancing at the garden under the tree I remembered that Rocket was buried here. Grandma had erected a wooden plaque with his name carved into it. The swing creaked with my weight as I pushed gently back, my bare feet in the dust, and my mind veered to the issue of Kevin like a drunk driver, struggling to focus.
Could he have killed Dylan? It would explain his shifty behaviour and the wrung-out look on his face all the time. My mind whirred in a silent film of what might have happened.
Maybe when Dylan had come back to the campground they’d had a fight; Kevin might’ve decked him and he might’ve fallen back against something, smashing his head. But why would they fight? And why did the police want the guns? Did someone shoot him? They couldn’t have known that. They hadn’t even found him yet.
It all seemed too unreal. And then there was that horrible image of Dylan in the water. As hard as I had tried, I hadn’t been able to forget about that. Visions of Dylan’s face floated before me, filling me once again with icy fear. Maybe he was trying to tell me something. Maybe Mum was trying to warn me.
To beware of Kevin.
I leant back and looked up at the huge canopy of scarlet flowers. They had begun to drop to the ground creating a perfect circle of red carpet. I made myself think about how the tree managed to produce the glorious display from the dry earth. Maybe a tap root plunged straight down to some aquifer. Or maybe the roots went down to Rocket, wrapping around his body like tentacles, forming a husk around his blood and bone, distilling his remains into the beautiful crimson blooms.
I wished Rocket were still alive and then I could be like a girl in a film who, when things get tough, jumps on her horse’s back and gallops off over a grassy hill with her hair flying in silken ropes.
Waves of melancholy pulled me down, pressing me into the swing. A little bit of that weight was for Rocket, but mostly it was for the child sitting high up there on his bony, bare back. If only he could have told her. If only she knew what was coming, she could have ridden off over that grassy hill of long ago.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a message from Matt. Did he hate me or not?
Hi Sunny. Not doing much. What about you?
He didn’t hate me.
Now I had to think about my reply. I didn’t want to screw it up.
My phone vibrated again.
Are you OK?
My thumbs darted over the screen.
Sort of.
As I looked up I saw a trail of dust above the trees, heading for the house. Someone was coming.
Can I see you? Talk?
Yes, yes, yes, yes. I definitely wanted to see him and I definitely wanted to talk. But just then I saw Leanne’s blue car drive in. Oh, God. What now?
Can we catch up tomorrow Matt? I have company now.
Sure, I’ll come over in the morning?
Yes. See you then.
He didn’t hate me. He didn’t hate me.
‘There you are,’ Leanne said as I wandered over to the car, pocketing my phone. She was pulling out some shopping bags. ‘Give me a hand, will you? I bought a few things at the supermarket.’
‘What’s going on?’
