When Grace Went Away

  MEREDITH APPLEYARD lives in the Clare Valley wine-growing region of South Australia. As a registered nurse and midwife she practised in a wide range of country health settings, including the Royal Flying Doctor Service. She has done agency nursing in London and volunteer work in Vietnam. When a friend challenged Meredith to do what she’d always wanted to do—write a novel—she saved up, took time off work, sat down at the computer and wrote her first novel. Realising after the first rejection letter she needed to learn more about the craft of writing, she attended workshops, joined a writers’ group and successfully completed an Advanced Diploma of Arts in Professional Writing with the Adelaide Centre for Arts. Meredith lives with her husband and border collie Lily, and when she’s not writing, she’s reading! When Grace Went Away is her fifth novel.

  meredithappleyard.com.au

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  ‘A woman’s place is in control!’

  Anonymous

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  1

  Grace

  ‘Thanks,’ Grace said when the barman slid the glass of red across the bar. A drink while she waited for her brother … What an inspired idea.

  Six drinks later and with still no sign of Tim, the idea didn’t feel so inspired.

  As Grace stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, she swiped at the tears, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Firmly into her fourth decade, she’d driven the big white bus for the first time in her life. And ruined her favourite silk blouse in the process.

  She washed her hands, splashing cold water onto her face. After dabbing at the splotches on her blouse with a paper towel, Grace looked at herself in the mirror again and groaned. No matter how expensive the mascara, it always ran when you added water.

  Closing her eyes, Grace braced herself on the edge of the handbasin, swallowing against a sour wave of nausea. Her eyes snapped open when a pack-a-day voice enquired, ‘You all right there, darl?’

  Hovering behind her was a slim, weathered woman of indeterminate age. Brittle, copper-coloured hair was swept into a bird’s nest above her angular features.

  Their eyes met in the mirror. It was hard to say whose were more bloodshot.

  ‘I’m good … Thank you for asking,’ Grace said, her voice feeling raspy.

  The woman watched her in the mirror for a moment. ‘If you say so, darl.’

  Then the woman disappeared into a cubicle. A toilet seat slapped down.

  ‘Can’t even have a fag in the dunnies anymore,’ the woman said from the other side of the door. ‘Bloody smoke detectors.’

  Grace tipped back her head to scan the ceiling, wishing she hadn’t when her head began to spin. She leaned heavily on the handbasin, saliva pooling in her mouth. She rinsed her mouth.

  The toilet flushed and the door squealed open.

  ‘Maybe you should call it a night, darl. Go on home and sleep it off. He’s probably not worth it anyway.’

  ‘What?’ Grace said, squinting into the mirror. She made an attempt at finger-combing her thick, shoulder-length hair.

  Turning on the tap over the adjacent handbasin, the woman soaped up her hands. ‘Men … They’re why we drink.’

  ‘No, no, there’re no men—or man—only my brother. And I don’t normally drink.’

  Laughing, the woman dried her hands and patted Grace on the shoulder. ‘Keep telling yourself that, pet,’ she said, throwing the soggy paper towel into the bin and disappearing out the door.

  ‘There isn’t that kind of man in my life,’ Grace muttered, fumbling in her shoulder bag for her phone. She’d ring Tim, find out where the hell he was and ask him to come and get her.

  But that would mean leaving the car in the hotel car park overnight. Risky.

  Water. She’d sit quietly and drink water for an hour and then she’d be okay to drive. Or she could sleep it off in the car until she sobered up enough to drive back to the farm, where she was staying. Imagining her father’s reaction if he caught her creeping into the house in the early hours, reeking of alcohol, she quickly put the kibosh on that idea.

  On the occasions she went out on the town back home in Adelaide she booked an Uber. Maybe these days this one-horse town had a taxi service. Grace would ask the barman.

  Squaring her shoulders, she drew herself up to her full height of 168 centimetres. Plus her heels. Shoulder bag clutched tightly to her side she ventured out. Putting one foot carefully in front of the other she advanced towards the bar, and was almost there when a firm hand clamped onto her shoulder.

  ‘Whoa there, girlfriend,’ came a gruff voice from behind. Grace stiffened.

  She shrugged off the hand and spun around to face her accoster.

  ‘Just who do you think you are—’ The words died on her lips.

  The female police officer was tall and built like a brick you-know-what. She had cropped, white-blonde hair that was at odds with her eyebrows—thick, black slashes above the palest of grey eyes. Grace fought back a giggle and hiccoughed instead.

  ‘I take it that’s your black BMW SUV out there in the car park?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  The officer scanned the bar slowly before returning her pale gaze to Grace. ‘I know who belongs to every other vehicle out there.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I hope you weren’t thinking about driving it anytime soon. Here in Miners Ridge we take a dim view of people driving under the influence.’

  Grace shook her head, regretting it immediately when her vision started to pulse. She needed a tall glass of water, some painkillers and a long lie down.

  ‘Is there someone who can take you home?’

  ‘Um,’ she said, eyes darting around, trying to focus on the dozen or so patrons perched at the bar. She didn’t recognise any of them. Why would she, after all these years? And where the hell was her brother?

  The barman was watching, industriously polishing beer glasses. Cute and half her age, he’d kept refilling her wineglass, laughing and flirting with her in encouragement. She’d been flattered. Now she felt foolish.

  Turning her back t
o the bar, Grace looked everywhere but at the police officer.

  ‘I was going to drink some water, you know, wait a while before I drove.’

  The police officer tutted, shaking her head. ‘Without getting you to blow into the bag, my guess is the pub will close long before you’re ready to get behind the wheel again.’

  ‘I can run Grace home,’ a deep voice rumbled to Grace’s right.

  The police officer’s attention shifted. ‘That’s bloody decent of you, Aaron. They haven’t roped you into being on the Rural Watch committee again this year?’

  ‘Nah, not a chance. I’ve done my time.’

  Grace glanced from the police officer to the man who’d come to her rescue. Aaron. She might have had a bit to drink but she knew they hadn’t met before. She would have remembered.

  Aaron was taller than the police officer but not by much. He was broad, muscled, and wore faded denim jeans that clung to his thighs like a second skin. His shaggy hair was swept back from a tanned brow. Piercing blue eyes regarded her without judgement.

  Grace’s brow furrowed. The police officer cast her a cool glance before clapping Aaron on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, mate. I’m already late for the meeting. They’ve probably ordered their meals already. Catch ya.’

  When she’d gone, Grace studied Aaron. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Probably not, but I know you’re Grace Fairley and I know where you live. Let’s go.’

  Grace almost had to jog to keep up with him. He wove between the tables, through the foyer and out into the car park. It made her head pound even harder.

  ‘Tell me why I should get into a car with a man I don’t know?’

  ‘You heard the copper. If she sees you near your flash car, she’ll have you blowing into the bag.’ He stopped alongside an early model LandCruiser 4WD utility, gazing at her across the hood. ‘I’m sure a DUI is the last thing someone in your position would want.’

  Grace scowled at him. ‘And what position is that?’

  ‘Flash car, fancy clothes …’

  ‘Hate to tell you, but your prejudices are showing.’

  ‘Get in.’

  ‘No,’ she said, hands fisted on her hips. ‘Not until you tell me who the hell you are, and how you know who I am. I’m not so drunk that I’d get into anyone’s car.’

  ‘I know your family. Tim and I are good mates. We were at high school together,’ he said, yanking open the driver’s side door. ‘You look a lot like your sister Faith. And I was at your younger brother Luke’s twenty-first, and his funeral ten days later.’

  Grace’s anger fizzled. She did look a lot like her younger sister. They had the same dark colouring and hazel eyes—although Faith was taller, more athletic looking. And Luke …

  ‘Okay,’ she muttered, hauling herself into the 4WD. She sent the empty iced coffee cartons on the seat clattering into the footwell.

  ‘Put your seatbelt on,’ Aaron ordered.

  ‘All right already!’

  She found it and fumbled with it, finally clicking it into position before he put the vehicle in motion.

  They’d travelled the first few kilometres and turned off the main road out of town without talking. A couple of kilometres from the farm gate, Aaron broke the silence.

  ‘You’re the eldest, aren’t you.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I remember Tim telling me about your fortieth,’ he said, his eyes on the gravel road. ‘At some posh restaurant in the city.’

  ‘Good old Tim.’

  ‘You look amazingly good for a woman in her forties.’

  ‘Smooth,’ she said. ‘And what exactly should a woman in her forties look like?’

  ‘Carol Claremont?’ He laughed, a low gravelly sound. ‘Nah, just joking, everyone knows Carol’s over sixty, even though she insists she’s in her late forties.’

  ‘Well, I’m in my early forties. And I have no idea who Carol Claremont is,’ Grace said, ‘and no desire—’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Stop the car!’

  Aaron stamped on the brakes and the vehicle shuddered to a halt. Grace threw open the door and tumbled out, hunching over before heaving up the contents of her stomach. Or her stomach itself, she thought, because it didn’t feel like there were any contents left.

  ‘Oh, please let me die now,’ she groaned, holding her hair back with one hand and hanging onto the open door with the other.

  Something bumped her shoulder. ‘Here,’ Aaron said, passing her a bottle of water. ‘Rinse your mouth out, and drink the rest.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Grace did as she was ordered and spat water onto the road. The engine ticked over, headlights boring into the darkness.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Ask me tomorrow.’ She climbed in, rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Embarrassment could come later.

  ‘Not a big drinker?’

  Slowly, carefully, Grace moved her head from side to side. They travelled the remaining distance in silence.

  The farmhouse was in darkness, with not even an outside light on. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock but daylight saving had ended. Where was everyone? And why had her brother stood her up? It’d been his idea to meet for a drink after she’d spent the afternoon with Faith, at her place in town.

  Feeling a niggle of disquiet, Grace was reaching for the doorhandle before the ute had stopped. ‘Thanks for the lift … And for everything, Aaron. It was above and beyond.’

  ‘Give me your car keys,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your car keys. I don’t live far from the pub. I can drive your car to my place. Probably better if it’s not left sitting in the car park all night.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘I will, if you give me the damn keys.’

  She rummaged in her bag, hesitating before handing them over.

  ‘Promise I won’t steal it,’ he said, and held out his hand.

  She dropped them onto his palm. ‘All right. I’ll pick it up tomorrow, about lunchtime.’

  He rattled off his address and directions. ‘No one will be there,’ he said, and ridiculously, she felt disappointed. ‘But I’ll leave the keys under the mat at the back door.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  ‘And by the way, I thought you’d know who Carol Claremont was. Apart from being the woman who caught you throwing up in the ladies’, she’s Louise’s mother.’

  After a beat Grace said, ‘Should I know who Louise is?’

  Aaron didn’t answer, and in the gloom she couldn’t read his expression. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Who is this Louise? You obviously think I should know her and her mother.’

  ‘Louise was a friend of Luke’s.’

  ‘Was she. I don’t know anything about my brother’s friends or what they got up to because I’ve lived in Adelaide forever.’

  ‘She was at his twenty-first, and his funeral. I just assumed …’ Aaron trailed off.

  ‘Mum and I, along with Faith, catered for Luke’s birthday party. There were over a hundred people, and I don’t think I left the town hall kitchen once, except to take out the garbage. And as for his funeral, there were dozens at the church and, truthfully, the whole day was a blur.’

  Eleven years later it was still a bit of a blur. Grace hiccoughed, noisily and gratefully, because it disguised the catch in her voice.

  ‘Go inside, drink plenty of water between now and when you go to bed. A couple of painkillers wouldn’t hurt,’ Aaron said, when the silence lengthened.

  ‘Says the voice of experience,’ Grace deadpanned, slamming the car door. She waved half-heartedly, watching the tail-lights bounce down the driveway to the road.

  Luke.

  Everything had ended, and started, the day her youngest brother had died.

  It wasn’t until the sound of Aaron’s vehicle had faded that Grace tuned into the muted hammering sounds coming from the sheds, two hundred metres away. When she turned, there was no missing the block of light falling from the open shed doo
r. The dogs barked. Above, the inky night sky was a mantle of stars.

  Grace set off towards the light, then stopped, reversed her position and made for the house instead.

  Tim’s ute was parked under the carport at the rear of the sprawling stone farmhouse. The bonnet was stone cold to touch. He hadn’t been anywhere in it recently.

  In the kitchen under the harsh fluorescent light, the lamb chops, which had been put out to thaw earlier, sat in a congealed puddle of bloody liquid. So, the men hadn’t eaten.

  Grace slammed the mesh food cover back over the raw meat, stomach roiling. They’d expect her to cook. It was an unwritten law in this house: if there was a woman in the vicinity, even if she was just visiting, the men didn’t cook. Or do their laundry, hang up their bath towels, clean up after themselves.

  Grace had an idea of why her mother had eventually walked away. And why Tim’s girlfriends never lasted long. Two painkillers and several glasses of water later, she donned an apron and tackled the chops, shoving them in the vertical grill before peeling a mound of potatoes and a few carrots. Frozen peas made up the requisite three veg.

  It wasn’t long before the savoury smells had Grace’s mouth watering—in a good way. She set the table, filled the electric kettle and put out the teapot, milk, sugar and mugs.

  After drinking another glass of water and cleaning her teeth, Grace changed her silky top for a T-shirt, spritzing herself with perfume. She rolled the ruined top into a tight ball and stashed it in a pocket of her suitcase. She’d deal with it back in Adelaide.

  When Grace heard voices followed by the back door slamming, she flicked on the electric kettle.

  ‘You are here,’ her father said when he came in, dropping his hat onto a chair that was already stacked high with newspapers. ‘Didn’t see that car of yours in the driveway.’

  Close on her father’s heels was her brother. Grace briefly locked gazes with him. ‘I couldn’t start it,’ she said. ‘So I left it in town.’ Not a complete lie.

  Doug Fairley’s expression was sceptical; Tim smirked.

  ‘You’re late tonight,’ she said brightly, removing the plated meals from the warming tray and placing them on the table.

  ‘Tractor broke down,’ Tim said, all the explanation Grace needed.

  A broken-down anything meant you worked until it was fixed. No wonder he hadn’t shown up at the hotel.