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- Herausgeber: Pilyara Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: The Wild Australia Stories
- Sprache: Englisch
A boxed set containing three of Jennifer Scoullar's most popular books!
Book 1 - The Mallee Girl - Armed with nothing but some loose change and her beloved dog Duke, Mallee girl Pippa Black has finally found the courage she needs to escape a dangerous relationship. Two cryptic words written on a paper napkin send her in search of the one person who might help her - a long-lost brother she has always dreamed of finding.
Book 2 - Paradise Valley - Ambitious country reporter Del Fisher seems to have it all. She's just landed her dream job, along with an engagement to Nick, Winga's most eligible bachelor and son of local mayor and mining tycoon, Carson Shaw. But Del is blindsided when a feature article and its shocking allegations about the Shaw family is published under her name.
Book 3 - The Rivertown Vet - Local vet Jana Malinski runs a wombat sanctuary with her sister on their family's serene property by the Murray River. But Jana's routine is up-ended after a chance encounter with handsome accountant and single dad Mark - the man who broke her heart in high school.
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Seitenzahl: 1316
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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WILD AUSTRALIA STORIES
BOXED SET VOL 3
JENNIFER SCOULLAR
CONTENTS
Also by Jennifer Scoullar
The Mallee Girl
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
Acknowledgements
Paradise Valley
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
Acknowledgements
The Rivertown Vet
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
Acknowledgements
About the Author
ALSO BY JENNIFER SCOULLAR
THE WILD AUSTRALIA STORIES
Brumby’s Run
Currawong Creek
Billabong Bend
Turtle Reef
Journey’s End
Wasp Season
The Mallee Girl
Paradise Valley
THE TASMANIAN TALES
Fortune’s Son
The Lost Valley
The Memory Tree
THE MALLEE GIRL
For every woman who has found her courage
CHAPTER1
Pippa Black stared out the kitchen window at the dusty sun-beaten paddocks beyond. How could it be this hot at eight o’clock on a mid-September morning? Such early heat didn’t bode well for the coming summer. She used a cup to bail some washing-up water from the sink for her collection of potted plants on the sill. Basil, parsley, rosemary and thyme. African violets for colour and aloe vera for soothing bruises and sunburn. The only green things in sight.
The tiny town of Kilpa had recorded its lowest winter rainfall on record and, so far, the spring rains had failed too. Cade, Pippa’s husband, had given up on harvesting what was left of the wheat crop, and had turned their starving sheep into the paddocks. They were dirty brown blobs surrounded by dirty brown stubble. Even the few stunted mallee trees were brown, their customary grey-green foliage layered with topsoil from last week’s monster dust storm.
Their farm, ironically enough, was named Fairview. But there was nothing but sheep and dust and more sheep for as far as the eye could see. Even Pippa’s friends, the magpies, had fled. She missed their dawn chorus. Now she awoke to the cawing of scavenging crows. Dying sheep were easy pickings.
Pippa opened the window wider, hoping for the hint of a breeze. Sweat trickled down between her breasts, making her shirt cling uncomfortably. The house would be an oven by the afternoon. She wiped plastered strands of fair hair from her face. Pippa wanted to cut it short for summer – it would be so much cooler – but Cade liked it long. She sighed in resignation. There was no arguing with Cade.
Pippa slapped a ball of dough onto a floured board, working it with the heels of her hands. Drought meant Cade had slashed their household budget, insisting they could save money by baking their own bread. It was all right for him – Cade didn’t have to fire up the range in sweltering heat. And he wouldn’t even buy her a little fan for the kitchen.
Pippa fanned herself with a Women’s Weekly kept on the bench for that purpose. Her mother, Ruby, passed the magazines on when she’d finished with them. She loved their fashion and beauty tips, but Pippa couldn’t relate to the glamorous women gracing their pages. She was tall, blonde and thin, but there the resemblance ended. The models dripped with style and confidence. Pippa wore Salvation Army clothes, was shy as a mouse and her chin was too long.
She switched on the pocket radio sitting on the sill and kneaded the dough in time to Not Pretty Enough by Kasey Chambers, waiting for it to become smooth and elastic the way Mum had taught her. She winced as she worked; her wrist still ached where Cade had grabbed it. Pippa paused to rest her hand, worries churning through her head on repeat. She was her own worst critic. Blaming herself for the mess of her marriage. Wishing for the millionth time that she’d made different choices, better choices. What was it they said about hindsight? Always twenty-twenty.
Cade had found employment in the sand mine at Millburn, an hour’s drive away. There’d been no choice but for him to take outside work – the farm was running at a loss. Pippa had offered to help by resuming her old job at the Kilpa general store where she’d worked before they were married. The humble position that she’d once looked down her nose at now seemed like the height of fun. But Cade didn’t want his wife to work outside the home. It would be a humiliation, he said, so they were making do on his small wage and by selling off the odd pen of skinny sheep.
Duke, their clever red kelpie, scratched at the back door then opened the flyscreen with his paw. ‘You’re getting spoilt,’ she said as he trotted in. ‘Don’t get used to sleeping on the bed. Cade will be home for dinner.’
Cade had stayed overnight in Millburn to have a Friday night out with the boys. It had happened a few times lately. Pippa didn’t mind. It meant she could sleep curled up beside Duke’s warm, protective form. She could relax and dream. She could sleep late instead of rising at five to cook Cade’s breakfast and pack his lunch. He didn’t want her making sandwiches the night before and leaving them in the fridge. He said they had to be fresh. Yes, Pippa liked it when Cade didn’t come home.
The sound of a car in the distance interrupted Pippa’s reflections. She looked out the window to see a plume of dust billowing up the long, straight driveway towards the house. It was Cade, and he was in a hurry. What on earth was he doing home at this time? He normally slept in until lunchtime on Saturday mornings after a big night out. Duke began his loud guard barking. The big dog, who’d been a wedding present from her mother, always warned of Cade’s arrival as if he were a stranger. The habit had earned Duke plenty of clouts during the past four years.
The black Ford ute screeched to a halt in front of the house, spraying gravel and nearly slamming into a verandah post. Cade threw himself from the cab, mounted the porch steps in a single bound and burst inside. Pippa stared, wiping floury hands on her apron and taking in his filthy face, dishevelled clothes and dusty hair. Cobwebs clung to one ear.
He fixed wild eyes on her and grabbed her arm. ‘We have to get out of here, babe – right now.’ His voice was low and urgent.
Pippa pulled away. ‘Cade, you’re frightening me.’
He scrubbed one grimy hand over his face while holding her tight with the other. ‘There’s no time to explain. Trust me, we have to go this very minute.’
Pippa started to protest, but Cade’s brow furrowed menacingly, and she went quiet. He was too upset to reason with, that much was clear. She took off her apron. ‘I’ll just wrap the dough to prove and get my bag from the bedroom.’
‘There’s no time!’ He was shouting now. Duke began barking in a high-pitched frenzy until a vicious kick silenced him.
Fear rose in Pippa’s throat as Cade half-pulled, half-carried her from the house and bundled her into the ute. He slammed the door shut, climbed behind the wheel, then swore and punched the dash. Pippa knew better than to ask what was wrong. She cowered as he leaped out and dashed back into the house. Moments later he came sprinting back and hurled his precious laptop onto the rear seat. The Ford roared to life, spun in a tight circle and tore down the laneway that led to the back gate.
Their farm bordered Hattah-Kulkyne, a vast, semi-arid national park known for its red dirt, native pine woodlands and mallee scrub. The park was popular with tourists, nature lovers and campers, which was something Pippa couldn’t understand. Cade and the drought had killed her childhood love of this harsh, ancient land. What was the attraction of poor sandy soil, sad stunted trees and searing hot summers? And why was Cade driving straight into that godforsaken wilderness like a madman?
‘Look out!’ called Pippa. A flock of startled emus raced ahead of them. The huge birds barely managed to dodge off the track in time.
Cade put his foot down harder and drove on with gritted teeth, heading who knew where. The old ute had next to no suspension, so each pothole and corrugation made Pippa’s teeth rattle. The kilometres flew past. When she finally plucked up the courage to ask Cade what was wrong, he didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to hear, so lost was he in some private madness.
Pippa sank back in her seat. She wore shorts and her bare skin clung to the hot vinyl. Bulldust streamed in through the half-open windows, choking her and leaving an ever-thickening film of dust on the dash. She tried closing her window, but that was equally unbearable. Within minutes the cabin became a furnace.
The ute wasn’t in good shape. It had a lot of dings and Cade was too miserly to re-gas the air conditioning. When he’d sideswiped a gatepost, denting a front panel and cracking the headlight, he’d repaired it with gaffer tape. This small act of stinginess was a constant annoyance for Pippa. Her family were proud of their cars. However old, they were always well maintained. On top of that, Cade said they couldn’t afford to fix her twenty-year-old Honda Civic, which meant she no longer had her own car to drive. She suspected that he liked it that way.
Pippa glanced at her husband, alarmed by his wide eyes, by his fixed staring at the road ahead. Frightened by how far he’d moved beyond her reach. Whatever had happened last night? Pippa coughed and gazed out the window. Nothing for it but to wait Cade out.
The nightmare drive seemed to last forever. How long had it been? One hour? Two? Hard to tell. The dash clock didn’t work. Pippa didn’t have her phone, and she couldn’t get her bearings in the featureless, flat monotony of red dust and mallee scrub.
At last a low line of trees appeared on their right – the Murray River. Cade headed for it and found a place to park near the riverbank, his frenzy apparently spent. Pippa glanced around. She knew this place – a remote branch of the Murray that was one of her father’s favourite fishing spots. He’d camped out here with Cade more than once.
Pippa looked across to where her husband was slumped over the wheel, head sagged on crossed arms. She eased the door open and climbed out of the baking cab, half-expecting Cade to give chase. When he didn’t move, she walked down to the boggy water’s edge to splash her face.
The once mighty Murray River that marked the park’s eastern boundary had been laid low by thirsty irrigators and years of drought. It flowed like a sluggish brown snake between dying red gums, imparting a sense of desolation and despair. Pippa closed her eyes and sank down in the shade with her back against a tree trunk, fanning herself with a switch of leaves. She felt naked without a scarf around her neck. She always wore a scarf.
A few minutes later Pippa felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped like a startled deer. Cade stood over her, offering a canteen. She gulped the warm water down greedily. When she’d had her fill, she stood up and inspected Cade’s broad face. His manic expression had been replaced by one of apprehension.
‘What now?’ she asked. ‘Can we go home?’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Now we wait.’
‘Wait for what?’ She kicked at the tree in frustration. ‘What’s happened, Cade? Tell me.’
To her utter astonishment he wrapped her in a great hug. He wasn’t a physically affectionate man. And were those tears?
‘I’ve done something, Pip.’ He let her go and moved restlessly from foot to foot.
‘Done what? Come on Cade, tell me.’
His expression soured. ‘The less you know the better.’
The sound of approaching vehicles made Cade stiffen. He ran to the ute and grabbed a rifle from the tray.
Pippa’s breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at the weapon. Her husband had lost his mind. Her first instinct was to flee, but to where? And anyway, she couldn’t outrun a bullet. So instead she huddled on the ground beneath a tree and made herself as small a target as possible.
CHAPTER2
A beat-up blue station wagon drove into view on the other side of the river, followed by a white Hilux ute. Cade lowered his weapon and shouted. The drivers got out and waved before inflating a dinghy and launching it into the water. Then the stouter of the two rowed across the muddy brown ditch and scrambled up the riverbank towards them.
Pippa recognised the man’s Mohawk and the Iron Cross tattoo on his bull neck. Dylan, one of Cade’s new friends from the mine. He’d been to the house a few times, joining in on the mysterious computer sessions in the spare room. Drinking too much. Murmuring obscenities to her when no one else was listening.
He marched up to Cade, grinning, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You did it, mate. Didn’t think you had the guts, but I have to hand it to you.’
Cade shrugged his friend’s arm away, eyes blazing, and shoved him hard. Something must have happened between them. Had Cade found out about those lewd suggestions made behind his back? Pippa hoped not – she and Dylan would both be in trouble then. Her husband was a jealous man. But no, that couldn’t be it; Cade would do a great deal more than shove Dylan if he knew.
The two men moved aside a few metres, talking low as if not wanting to be overheard. Pippa pricked up her ears, trying to catch their words. Whispers soon turned into raised voices.
‘You said nobody would be there.’ Cade shoved Dylan again. ‘Now you’ve dumped me right in it. And what’s this shit about CCTV footage? You said you’d seen to that.’
Pippa drew in a quick breath. CCTV footage? She should have guessed Dylan was a crook. Had Cade committed some sort of robbery? It was possible. Their financial problems might have made him that desperate. She stood up and edged closer to the men.
Dylan spat on the dusty earth. ‘Relax. I disabled the main camera myself. If they’ve picked you up somehow it will just be the car, and you had dummy plates on, right?’ He pointed to Pippa. ‘Why’d you bring her for? She’ll just slow you down.’
Cade glanced at Pippa, then dragged Dylan further away so that she could no longer hear them. After a few more minutes of heated arguing, the men returned. Cade stood hard-faced. Dylan looked smug. He leered and lit a cigarette, taking in Pippa’s tangled hair, sweaty shirt and short shorts. His gaze lingered on her bare thighs. She sat on the ground again and moved her legs behind the tree, burning with embarrassment, trying to hide the bruises.
‘Tell you what, mate.’ Dylan kicked at a stick, raising a tiny cloud of dust. ‘I’ll do you a favour and take her back home.’
Pippa shivered, despite the heat. Much as she longed to go home, she didn’t fancy being alone on a long car ride with that creep.
Cade glared at Dylan, his face like thunder. He seemed strung tight enough to snap. ‘My wife stays with me.’ Pippa flinched as the muscles in his sinewy arms tightened, ready to throw a punch. Dylan saw it too and backed off.
‘Okay, no sweat. I guess she might be useful.’
‘Get up, babe,’ said Cade. Cautiously, she climbed to her feet, wiping her dusty hands on her shorts. ‘Take everything out of the ute. We’re changing cars.’
‘Why?’ She knew she shouldn’t ask but couldn’t help herself. She was desperate to know what was going on.
Dylan shot Cade a questioning look. ‘She doesn’t know?’
Cade frowned and gave the slightest shake of his head.
‘What don’t I know?’ said Pippa. Cade shifted uneasily. ‘Tell me!’ Silence. Rising anger made her abandon caution. ‘Suit yourself. Stay here if you like, Cade, but I’m going home.’ She held out an unsteady hand. ‘Give me the keys.’
He slowly withdrew a keyring from his pocket and twirled it. ‘So you want these? You want to leave me?’
Pippa lunged for them.
Cade struck her a vicious backhander, hurling her to the dust. ‘I said, we’re not going home.’ She tasted blood on her lip. ‘See what you made me do?’ he roared.
‘Steady on, mate.’ Dylan reached down and pulled Pippa to her feet.
She shrank away, rubbing her hand where he’d held it and eyeing Cade warily. He was battling to keep control. The struggle showed on his face: in his eyebrows drawn low and close, in the curl of his lip and the stiff set of his jaw.
Cade’s wild eyes found hers. ‘Everything will be fine, babe,’ he managed, roughly stroking her burning cheek. ‘Now clear out the car like I said.’
Pippa nodded dully, touching her aching nose. She waved away the persistent little bush flies landing on her split lip. She wouldn’t argue any more – not now, not when he was like this.
Pippa began pulling stuff out of the ute. She heaved a jerry can full of petrol from the tray. She dropped two ammo boxes in the dust, the searing hot metal casings scorching her fingers. Then, after checking to see whether Cade was watching, she dragged the boxes behind a stump. Him and his guns. It would serve him right if the ammo was left behind.
She set his laptop carefully on a broad mallee root, along with his wallet. She pulled out a pile of fencing tools and his filthy clothes from the mine. Toothpaste and deodorant in a plastic bag. Two empty water canteens. Thirsty as she was, she didn’t fancy filling them from the muddy Murray. There wasn’t much more in the ute. Of course there wasn’t – Cade had stopped her from packing them a bag.
He came over, rummaged through what was left in the tray and swore. ‘There’s bugger all I can use here.’ He picked up a pair of bolt cutters. ‘Oi, Dylan, help me move this stuff.’ He spotted the ammo boxes behind the stump and yelled at Pippa. ‘Why’d you put them way over there for? I might have missed them.’
The men carted the contents of the ute down to the river and ferried it all across to the other vehicles. Pippa watched them with dead eyes, then glanced over to the ute, a flicker of hope in her heart. Maybe …
She’d often thought about leaving Cade. The problem was that she was gutless. Everybody knew it. When Pippa was a child she hid from the Sunday lunch church ladies. Her mother, Ruby, excused this rudeness, saying, ‘Don’t mind Phillipa. She’s always been shy – timid as a mouse, that girl.’ When Pippa fled from their belligerent gander her brothers fell about laughing, saying, ‘Pippa won’t say boo to a goose.’ When she saw a tiger snake in the chook pen and was too frightened to collect the eggs for weeks, Dad had called her spineless. He was right. She didn’t have a brave bone in her body. For as long as Pippa could remember she’d been a coward, jumping at shadows. Scared of the dark. Scared of hell. Scared of her evangelical preacher father. Even scared of God, which was probably a sin.
Pippa was a grown woman now. She’d conquered many of her fears. Church ladies, geese and snakes no longer frightened her. But her husband? Cade filled her with dread. She glanced over to where he was loading the ammo boxes into the dinghy. Cade was far more dangerous than a tiger snake. How would she ever find the courage to leave him? There was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t find her. Going home to her family wouldn’t help. Even now, she could hear her father shouting from the homemade pulpit of his tiny country church.
‘Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife as Christ is head of the church ...’
She’d never admitted to her parents how bad things were in her marriage. She was far too embarrassed and, anyway, what was the point? According to Pastor Jay Sullivan it was her duty to endure whatever Cade dished out. Secretly, Pippa thought that it didn’t sound like something Jesus would say. She’d read the Bible. Jesus talked about loving each other. He was kind to prostitutes and adulteresses. He said to do unto others as you’d have them do unto you. Nowhere did Jesus say that particular teaching only applied to men.
She’d tentatively raised this inconsistency with her father. He’d accused her of defying him and unleashed a torrent of biblical quotations about children honouring their parents and daughters obeying their fathers. He hadn’t mentioned Jesus once. But then Dad had always preferred the Old Testament. At times Pippa harboured the suspicion that Dad wouldn’t much like Jesus if he met him.
Mum would be quietly sympathetic if Pippa left her husband, but she wouldn’t go against Dad – and Dad would send her straight home to Cade. There was nobody else she could turn to. Having been homeschooled her whole life meant that she’d made no real friends. The fifty-strong members of their church were mainly relatives, and all were in thrall to her father. The notion of escaping her marriage had always seemed like an impossible dream.
But now? Cade’s crazed flight into the bush could be the terrifying catalyst she needed. If she could somehow get away, she’d worry about the rest later. If the spare keys were in the car … Pippa opened the driver’s door and looked under the floor mat where Cade sometimes kept them. No such luck.
She collapsed in the dust beneath the poor shade of a half-dead red gum, head resting on skinny knees. She was chilled, shaken and had no idea where Cade was taking her or what he’d do next. Today had started out like any other Saturday morning, yet now she was completely lost, her world upended in the blink of an eye.
‘Well, so what?’ she said aloud, finding a fresh switch of leaves to fan herself with. Her world consisted of little more than misery and loneliness anyway. No great loss. But she was reminded of something her mother would say – better the devil you know. And this new, madder Cade was not the devil she knew. He was worse, much worse. What had he done, she wondered – the thing he wouldn’t tell her? What was her husband capable of?
Pippa gulped but couldn’t swallow. Her throat was like sandpaper. She tried not to think of Duke, abandoned at the farm; tried not to think of what would happen to him if she didn’t get back. The place could go for weeks without visitors. Pippa licked her bloody lip, but no spit would come. Her swollen tongue dragged painfully across the broken skin, rasping like a cat’s. She twisted a gum leaf between her fingers. It crumbled to dust.
The men rowed back across the river with buckets, spades … and were those fire extinguishers? The only things left by the ute were Cade’s laptop, wallet, and the jerry can of petrol. To Pippa’s astonishment, Cade opened all the ute’s windows and hurled his laptop into the cab, along with his wallet and phone. Then something else – the car keys. He picked up the jerry can, flipped the lid and took a box of matches from his pocket.
Pippa stood and squinted into the sun, unsteady on her feet, trying to make sense of the scene playing before her.
Cade looked grim. ‘Babe, get down to the river.’
She hesitated.
‘I said move!’ He shoved her towards the bank. Pippa stumbled to the water’s edge then turned, staring in disbelief as Cade poured petrol over the ute. He tossed a lit match. Dylan leaped back and hooted with excitement as the vehicle erupted in flames.
Pippa gasped and looked to Cade, but he seemed unperturbed, unmoved. Even from a distance the radiant heat scorched her skin. She closed her eyes and shielded her face with her arms. Could this day get any stranger?
CHAPTER3
Cade swore beneath his breath as his vehicle burnt. No going back now. When the fire was almost out, they rowed across the Murray towards the waiting vehicles. Pippa sat in the dinghy among the assorted tools, staring blankly at the burnt-out hulk of their car. When they reached the other side, Cade told her to get out and wait by the water.
Pippa didn’t argue. She just kept staring back across the river.
He and Dylan carted the dinghy and tools up the bank. Dylan pointed to the dark-blue station wagon and tossed something to Cade – car keys and a burner phone. ‘There’s some clothes in the back.’
‘I’ll need a bloody lot more than that now someone’s dead,’ he snapped. ‘The story’s all over the news. It won’t just be a matter of lying low for a week or two like we expected.’
‘I told you, we’re working on it.’ Streams of sweat ran down Dylan’s jowly face. ‘A word of warning. That old Holden’s a bugger to change gears,’ he said. ‘And she slips into neutral sometimes. But her tank’s full and the rego’s in your new name.’
Cade cast the car a contemptuous glance. ‘You could have stolen me something better.’
‘It’s not nicked,’ said Dylan. ‘The car’s clean.’ He handed over a wallet containing a driver’s licence in the name of Nathan John Jones, bearing Cade’s photograph.
Cade examined it. ‘According to this I’m fifty years old.’
Dylan grinned. ‘So you’ve aged well’
Cade shot him a murderous look.
‘Quit complaining. I drove a three-hour round trip for that. Luckily, they had some off-the-shelf licences on hand in Swan Hill.’
‘Who’s Nathan John Jones?’
‘A hobo living under the old Murray River Road bridge,’ said Dylan. ‘We pay off homeless guys and use their identities.’
‘Oi,’ yelled the man sitting in the Hilux ute. ‘We don’t have all day’
‘Is this who I’ll be from now on then – fifty-year-old Nathan Jones?’ Cade turned the licence sideways. ‘Where’s the hologram?’
The other man honked his horn.
‘It was the best they could do at such short notice,’ said Dylan. ‘The Melbourne boys are working on a whole new identity for you, and they really know what they’re doing. You should see their licences. All the security features just like VicRoads. Embossed date of birth under your photo, green strip, holograms – the works. But until then, that card you’ve got there? It should do for a random traffic stop.’
Cade looked at the fake licence doubtfully, then flipped through the wallet: two hundred dollars and a prepaid debit card.
‘Relax,’ said Dylan. ‘By tomorrow night you’ll be at the safe house.’ He glanced at Pippa, standing huddled by the river. ‘Will she be a problem?’
Cade stuffed the wallet into his pocket. ‘Pippa’s as loyal as they come,’ he said. ‘She won’t cross me.’ She wouldn’t dare, he thought, and thank Christ for that.
‘You’re all good then,’ said Dylan. ‘Now go on, leg it. And by the way, the boys have set up a national fundraiser for you. You’re a bloody legend, mate. You’ve put our little cell on the map.’
Dylan’s flattering words calmed Cade down. A flush of pride suffused his tired body. It may have taken thirty-four years, but he was finally receiving the respect he deserved.
Cade called for Pippa and she stumbled up the bank. He pointed to the blue station wagon. ‘Get in.’ Pippa climbed into the front passenger seat. She found a half-empty bottle of water inside the door and drained it in two great gulps.
Cade stared at her. Even when half-dead from the heat she was beautiful. ‘We’ll stop for drinks once we’re down the road away,’ he said, more softly.
She nodded, face impassive. Dylan was right – he shouldn’t have brought her. But being without his wife was unthinkable. Nobody made him feel powerful and important the way Pippa did. Nobody else could soothe him when he was angry and build him up when he was down. Nobody else could satisfy him in bed. There’d been other women, but they’d been a waste of time. It was Pippa’s body that he craved in the dark. With the magic of her soft, slim form and willing ways, she transformed him into a king. Other women were demanding and opinionated, but not his Pippa. She knew what he liked and always delivered.
Of course, sometimes she pushed his buttons. She was a woman, after all. But when he lost his temper and hit or kicked her, she made allowances. He was sorry afterwards and she knew it. But not everyone might be so forgiving; Pippa was one in a million. And if he left her behind she’d find someone else. It wouldn’t be hard for a gorgeous girl like her. He’d rather die than let that happen.
The thought of Pippa with another man made his knuckles show white as he gripped the steering wheel. He glanced across at her sweet face, strands of sandy-blonde hair whipping against her cheek as she leaned out the window into the breeze. Leave her behind? Not a chance. A fresh start would mean nothing without his true love by his side.
Cade briefly rested his hand on Pippa’s knee, hoping for a smile, but she kept staring out the window. What was she thinking, he wondered? He needed to come up with some sort of an explanation for their frantic flight. He’d tell her the truth soon, but not yet. She’d need time adjusting to the reality of their new life first.
Cade wiped the sweat from his eyes, lit a cigarette and wound his window all the way down. Not that it helped much. The air outside was as baking hot as the air inside. Dylan could at least have given him a car with air conditioning. Still, it felt good to be on the open road with his girl, putting the miles between him and his problems. Paddocks and trees and towns slipped by. For the first time in days he felt tension slide from his muscles. He would have whistled if his lips weren’t so dry.
Pippa reached for the radio in the dash. Cade’s newfound peace vanished, and he slapped her hand away. She didn’t argue or ask him why. What was going on inside her head? Dammit! This was no time to be distracted. He needed to think, needed to keep his wits about him. Needed to make sure Pippa didn’t hear any news bulletins.
Cade’s stomach lurched alarmingly. Could she somehow sense the magnitude of what he’d done? He suddenly wanted to confess his crime. He wanted to tell her about the Renegades and how the patriot group had provided him with the kind of friendship and approval that he craved. Tell her about the emptiness that had been with him since childhood and explain why the two of them must start afresh. But he’d never been good at expressing his feelings, so he kept quiet and drove on, pondering the many unfairnesses of life.
Cade’s mother had died when he was ten. He sometimes still heard her voice as she kissed him and his big brother, Brodie, goodnight.
‘You boys can be anything you want to be. Follow your dreams and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
Cade had believed her – believed that he was special and destined for greatness. Then Mum lost her battle with cancer, abandoning him and Brodie to the tender mercies of their father. Cade had never forgiven her.
His father eked out a living growing wheat. He was a hopeless farmer, too lazy to fertilise the soil and too mean to hire help. More often than not he kept Cade and Brodie home from school to use as cheap labour. Sending them out on foot to spray hectares of thistles in the sweltering sun. Working them from dawn to dusk at harvest time. Using them as punching bags when he got drunk. Their mother wasn’t there to protect them any more or take the brunt of Dad’s anger in their place.
Brodie escaped the misery of home life when he and his mate went joyriding in a stolen car. Cade had begged to go along that night. The car hit a tree, killing both boys, breaking Cade’s heart. He wished he’d died too, and he added Brodie to the list of people who’d abandoned him, alongside their mother.
Cade left the farm straight after the funeral without saying goodbye. He found work as a roustabout with a mob of shearing contractors. As the kid of the group at fifteen, he never felt like he belonged. He dreamed of being a gun shearer, but it wasn’t to be. Shearing was back-breaking work. He earned the ire of the other men for being slow. He earned the ire of the station owners for being clumsy, leaving too many nicks and cuts on their sheep. His so-called mates laughed and named him The Ripper. Cade still felt a quiver of rage to think of it.
But he’d showed them. One night he burnt down the woolshed where they were all bunking. Some men suffered serious burns – served the bastards right. Suspicion never fell on him. The police blamed the blaze on drunken men and discarded cigarette butts, leaving Cade in the clear – but not with his fellow shearers. They knew. They ran him out of town.
Years of itinerant labouring followed. He was always the outsider, envious of others’ good fortune. When his father died, Cade inherited Fairview and married Pippa. He found God and joined Jay’s church, but it didn’t last. All that praying? He couldn’t keep it up. Sundays became like any other day. Pippa wasn’t happy. She missed her family, but she was his wife and would do as he said. And Cade was happiest when he had her to himself. Then the drought hit, turning his land into a dust bowl.
Cade’s luck changed for the better when he found work in the sand mine at Millburn. A steady salary eased his money worries and growing friendships at the mine eased his isolation. Dylan wasn’t some God-botherer sermonising about sin. He was an everyday bloke who echoed Cade’s own bitter dissatisfaction with the world.
‘We’re second-class citizens in our own country,’ Dylan said one smoko as he read a newspaper article about refugees. ‘Bloody foreigners coming here and taking our jobs. Muslims and all – damned terrorists, the lot of them.’
Not only were Cade’s own resentments reflected back to him daily, but he also picked up some new grievances.
‘All these bushfires lately?’ said another man. ‘It’s not climate change causing them, like those damned greenies say. It’s space lasers financed by the Rothschilds. Then they buy up the land of bankrupt farmers for a song and sell it off to China.’
‘Space lasers?’ asked Cade, intrigued.
‘My oath. My wife says her hairdresser read about them on some science website.’
Cade hadn’t known about this outrage. He added Jews to his hate list. They were joined by socialists, communists, the government and feminists, to name a few. In the beginning he didn’t understand what all these groups stood for, but his new friends quickly educated him.
‘Feminists?’ said Dylan. ‘I ain’t holding nothing against women.’ He dug Cade in the ribs and chortled. ‘More’s the pity! But once they get these uppity ideas in their heads that they can do a man’s job – that they’re equal in every way? Well, it turns them into ball-breakers.’
Cade glared at him.
‘I don’t mean your missus,’ Dylan added. ‘Pretty as a picture, cooks a damn fine roast and she’s happy for you to be head of the house. That’s the kind of woman a man needs. But not everyone’s so lucky. My old lady found another feller, ran off with my kid, and yet I’m the one whose being hounded for child support. I bust my gut every day in that mine so that my ex can shack up with another man. Now I ask you, is that fair?’
A sheep strayed across the road ahead, interrupting his musings. Cade blared the horn, and bile burnt his throat as he recalled the story of Dylan’s wife. My old lady found another feller. Faithless bitch! He regarded his friend with a kind of pity mixed with contempt. How could a man let his woman get away with that?
Rage welled up from deep in his stomach. Cade pulled off the road and retched out the door. A hot wind from the north whipped his face. He felt like he’d vomited up the last drops of moisture from his body.
‘Are you all right?’ Pippa rubbed his back. ‘It’s probably heatstroke. We need to find a shop, Cade, get some drinks. This sort of heat is a killer.’
Her presence soothed him. Pippa was a treasure. Loyal and caring. Making a home for them on a shoestring in the middle of this terrible drought. He loved her for it, he really did – but if she ever pulled something like Dylan’s wife? If she ever even thought about it …?
Cade fought to relax his tightening fists.
CHAPTER4
Pippa leaned back in her seat as Cade started up the car again, a smear of vomit still clinging to his chin. She had no idea where they were, or where they were going. She knew so little of what lay beyond Kilpa. From childhood she’d been taught to fear the outside world, a world filled with all kinds of wickedness. She knew they were heading north, though. The sun told her that.
Half an hour of silent driving brought them to the small town of Dixon’s Creek. She didn’t recognise the name. Why would she? Apart from a week-long honeymoon in Noosa, she’d never been farther than Mildura, and that had just been to get her driver’s licence. Pippa made a mental note of the town’s name anyway. If she managed to escape from Cade, this knowledge could help her retrace her journey.
Dixon’s Creek wasn’t much more than a service station, church and war memorial, but there was a licensed general store. Cade slowed the car and angle-parked in the main street. Thank God. She was dizzy and nauseous, with a raspy throat and a thumping headache. If she didn’t get a drink soon she’d faint.
‘Wait here.’ Cade got out and marched into the store.
He took the keys with him, but Pippa didn’t have the energy to be disappointed. She was too sick to take advantage of any mistakes Cade might make. A few people passed by in the street or gossiped on the corner, aimless and free. She stared at a tall grain silo with a giant mural of a soaring eagle painted on its side. How had the artist managed it? The silo must have been thirty-five metres high. Pippa envied that beautiful bird, so brave and powerful. To her surprise, tears tracked down her dusty cheeks. She’d thought she was too dried up for crying.
Cade returned with cold bottles of Coke, hot sausage rolls and a litre bottle of whisky. Pippa couldn’t eat, but she guzzled the cola in great swallows, burping at the bubbles. With each gulp she could feel strength seep back into her dehydrated body.
He thrust a sausage roll at her. ‘Eat.’ She shook her head. ‘Eat!’ This time she took the offered food, nibbling at the soggy pastry as Cade nodded in satisfaction, trying not to gag. He started the car.
‘Honey, where are we going?’ she ventured, hoping his mood had improved with the food and drink.
‘I’ll tell you when we get there,’ he said. ‘It’s still a long drive. Hours. Why not get some sleep?’
She was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. Yes, sleep. That was what she needed. Pippa laid her seat back as far as it would go and drifted off.
When she woke it was dark, and Cade was shaking her shoulder. ‘Out you come, sleepy-head.’ He stank of whisky.
Pippa stumbled from the car. She stood in a gravel car park before a long, low brick building. An orange neon sign on the roof read The Welcome Inn and a smaller sign beneath flashed Vacancies in green lights.
Cade guided her to a red door with the number seven painted on it. Inside the hot, stuffy motel room was a double bed, wardrobe and a small fridge beneath a shelf. A toaster and electric kettle sat on top beside a small television. A threadbare rug lay over worn floorboards, and another door led to an ensuite with a shower, toilet and grimy basin.
The air stank of stale cigarettes. Pippa tried to open the front window, but it was firmly stuck with paint. She pointed to the high glass louvres on the back wall. ‘Could you open them, honey? I can’t reach.’
Cade obliged, then went out to the car and returned with soft drinks and two pizzas. He pulled off his shirt. The dark curly hair on his chest was damp with sweat. Cade poured himself a drink. The whisky bottle stood on the shelf, already half empty.
A big moth flew in through the open window’s torn flywire. It fluttered around the bare bulb in the roof. Pippa wanted to catch it and put it outside, but Cade would have scoffed and killed it anyway. Cade held a pizza box out to her. ‘Your favourite – pepperoni.’
Pippa forced herself to smile, while above her the pretty moth was bashing itself to death against the light. Her stomach churned at the thought of eating. Cade’s face darkened. He didn’t like it when she refused what he offered. She was supposed to be grateful.
‘I might have a shower first,’ she said. ‘Wash off the dust.’
Cade’s expression grew hungry and his hand brushed her breast. ‘Want me to join you?’
‘You stay here and relax.’ She managed a smile. ‘Have that pizza before it gets cold and watch the footy.’
Cade strode over to the screen and tore its plug from the wall. ‘The TV stays off.’ His eyes travelled round the room and landed on a clock radio beside the bed. ‘This too.’ He tossed the radio into a drawer. ‘I don’t want us to be disturbed.’
What? But he loved watching television. The large-screen TV in the lounge room back at Fairview was one of the few things Pippa liked about being married to Cade. Her parents had never owned a television. Dad called it the tool of the devil. When Pippa started watching daytime soaps, she could almost agree with him. All those glamorous, independent women embroiled in scandal after scandal, running their own businesses, having affairs. She was shocked at first, but it didn’t stop her watching. In no time the characters became like familiar friends, offering her an escape from loneliness and dull routine.
Cade also loved TV and always had some sports show running in the background when he was home. On top of that, it was footy finals season. His beloved Bulldogs were playing tonight. She couldn’t imagine what could stop him from turning on that television.
Pippa escaped to the bathroom and peeled off her filthy clothes. She filled the sink with water, scrubbed them with a small, hard cake of soap, then wrung them out by hand and hung them on the towel rail. They’d dry quickly enough in this heat and, anyway, she had nothing else to wear. She gulped some water from the tap then stepped into the shower. Her eyes closed and she let the rushing water enfold her in a soft, protective curtain, let it lull her into a pleasant trance.
Pippa jumped as the bathroom door opened and Cade pulled back the shower curtain. He stripped off his jeans and stepped into the cubicle. Cade held out his arms and she shrank away. She hadn’t meant to. Cade hated rejection, but her response was as instinctive as a rabbit cringing from a fox. It provoked a string of curses from her husband. He withdrew, leaving his jeans in a heap on the floor. She trembled against the slippery wall tiles, wondering whether she’d ever be brave enough to leave the bathroom.
Pippa dressed quickly and sat frozen on the side of the toilet seat. The more time she could give Cade to calm down, the better. But it wasn’t long before he called her name. She entered the main room cautiously, feeling the weight of his dark eyes on her. They were red and wild. Cade ran his hands under her damp hair and kissed her neck. Then he backhanded her hard in the face, slamming her against the wall. ‘You’re my wife. Don’t ever say no to me.’
Pippa touched her burning cheek and watched his hands ball into fists. The scene seemed to play out in slow motion as Cade’s punch landed in her stomach. She would have screamed if the wind hadn’t been knocked out of her. Instead she doubled over in pain and stumbled away. He kicked her in the lower back and legs, adding fresh bruises to the old ones. Seizing her by the hair, he forced her to her knees. ‘Will you mind me from now on? Will you?’
Pippa nodded, feeling oddly calm and disconnected as she noted how badly he slurred his words. He was very drunk. And when had he last slept? she wondered.
‘Now get up and pour me another drink.’ Cade let her go and sat down on the bed.
She gritted her teeth and used the fridge to help her to her feet. Her back ached. Her stomach ached. She could only take shallow breaths, as if she’d been thrown from a horse and winded. Pippa sloshed whisky into Cade’s glass until it was full. He emptied it in a succession of small swallows.
‘Take off your clothes and lie down with me.’
Pippa pulled back the bedspread, stripped and slipped beneath the top sheet.
He climbed on top of her, his whisky breath making her gag. The mattress squeaked as he heaved and grunted, making a half-hearted attempt at sex, but it was no use. He was far too intoxicated. Cade slid off her body, one heavy leg still holding her down, and started to snore.
Pippa lay paralysed for the longest time, taking stock. Reviewing her life as if watching a movie. She’d married four years ago with such high hopes, eager to leave behind the family farm, Utopia, where she’d grown up. Twenty hadn’t seemed too young. Mum was younger when she’d married Dad. At seventeen Pippa had wanted to go to Swan Hill or Mildura to enrol in a course. It would have been nice to live near a river. Her friend, Tracey, from the next-door sheep station had left to study bookkeeping at SuniTAFE, even living on campus. It sounded like a great adventure, but when Pippa suggested the idea, Dad had been horrified, and he was the one who made decisions in their family.
‘No daughter of mine will go gallivanting with godless sinners. I know about those places, full of degenerates and atheists. Full of girls dressed like sluts and fornicating in contravention of the scriptures. We didn’t spend ten years on your homeschooling so you could run wild as soon as you grew up. You’re the oldest, Phillipa. You must set an example for your brothers and sisters.’
So Pippa did just that, working at the little Kilpa general store on Saturdays and helping teach her siblings at home during the week – feeling like she might wither and die from loneliness and boredom and lost opportunities.
Her mother tried to console her. ‘It won’t be forever, darling. You’ll find a nice young man soon enough, maybe at church. Then you’ll have your own family to look after.’
Well yes, maybe. Except that Dad had stopped them from going to church in Kilpa after Father Gerald died and was replaced by a priest born in Mumbai – a priest who’d apparently been a chemist in an earlier life. Her father didn’t trust scientists, and he trusted foreigners even less.
‘How can a man like that call himself devout?’ he’d thundered. ‘From now on we will pray within the sanctity of our own blessed land.’
Dad built a little timber chapel beside their house and became a lay preacher. So much for meeting anybody. But in the end, someone had come along – Cade, a man hired to help with the harvest. He was tall, good-looking in a brooding sort of way and was ten years older than Pippa. The age difference didn’t bother her. In fact, she’d been flattered to receive the attentions of a mature man and had fallen hard for Cade. He’d seemed romantic and exciting back then, intriguing Pippa with stories of life beyond her narrow world.
He took her on picnics and brought flowers and little gifts. He was kind to her younger siblings. He told Pippa of catching crocodiles up north, mustering buffalo as a chopper pilot and managing a diamond mine in the Kimberley. She’d been gullible enough to believe his tall tales. After an eight-week courtship, her charming suitor not only proposed but had won the approval of her stern father, which was no mean feat. Cade ticked all of Jay’s boxes: a Christian conservative farmer with a proud nationalistic bent. He called himself a patriot and flew an Australian flag at his gate. He and Dad had that in common.
After a whirlwind wedding, Pippa escaped the loneliness of her family farm only to swap it for a new kind of loneliness – one far harder to bear. No more singalongs and games with her brothers and sisters. No more afternoons with her mother in the kitchen, bottling quinces, talking and laughing and cracking jokes. No more riding her horse, Pepper, alone in the bush, savouring the delicious freedom of just suiting herself. No more searching for malleefowl mounds and the rare domed nests of emu-wrens. No more harvesting the fruits of wild quandong trees so Mum could make jam. She’d loved the Mallee country back then. But after years of drought and isolation the land had become an enemy.
Pippa’s eyes stung with tears and she knuckled them away. No, Cade was not the saviour she’d imagined. Fairview was mortgaged to the hilt, for starters. So much for his promise of a prosperous life. He drank too much, didn’t go to church and spent hours each evening on the computer in the spare room with the door closed. What did he do in there? He was moody and jealous and demanding. Pippa had to walk on eggshells around him, and married life soon disintegrated into a procession of dreary days.
After twelve months the violence had begun. At first she could predict the coming storm. Cade’s face would grow redder and redder with rage, giving her time to prepare herself. Sometimes she could even calm him down. But after a while he started to snap without warning. She’d endured it for three long years, hoping it might get better, hoping he might change. She’d even got used to it, like someone who’d learnt to live with a savage dog. But Pippa understood now, after that final kick in the back tonight, that she’d been naive and foolish all along. Her thoughts were crystallising as if she was waking up and clearing the fog of sleep. If she stayed with Cade he’d kill her. It was that simple.
So, what was she going to do about it?
CHAPTER5
Pippa lay in the dark trying to gauge the time. Cade’s wrist lay under him so she couldn’t see his watch, and the fluorescent wall clock didn’t work. After what she guessed was about an hour, she slid carefully out from under her husband, so carefully that the mattress barely moved. She got dressed, ran to the bathroom and shut the door, praying it didn’t creak. She turned the light on and searched Cade’s jeans. Yes – she had the car keys! Next she went through his wallet: eighty dollars, some change and a bank card belonging to someone called Nathan Jones. There was a driver’s licence with the same name and Cade’s photo on the front. What on earth? Why did her husband have a fake licence in somebody else’s name? There was no time to wonder about it now.
Pippa shoved the wallet and car keys deep into the pocket of her shorts, switched off the light and tiptoed to the front door. This was it. Cade was still snoring steadily. She held her breath and grabbed the handle … It wouldn’t turn. Okay, stay calm. Don’t be a fumble fingers. She tried again … and again. No use. The door had been locked from the inside with a key.
Moonshine streamed through the small window, faintly lighting the room. She searched the two drawers, atop the wardrobe, in the fridge and under the television. Pippa knew what the key looked like. It was an old-fashioned, heavy-duty metal one, attached to a large plastic tag. She patted down the mattress, careful not to disturb the sleeping man, and then felt around beneath the bed. Nothing.
Cade stirred in his sleep and she backed away, thinking furiously. A small combination safe lay bolted to a shelf in the wardrobe. He must have put the key in there. Pippa sat down on the single cracked linoleum chair and started to shake, dissolving into a puddle of misery. Everything ached: her back, her face, her legs. Pippa rubbed her middle where he’d punched her, wondering if he’d broken a rib. When she’d gone to the toilet, her urine was pink with blood.
A loud scuttling noise on the roof made her look up. The silhouette of a ringtail possum appeared at the high louvre window, then leaped away. Dammit – even mangy possums had more freedom than she did. Gradually, a steely resolve replaced her despair. Cade must believe that she had the courage to leave – the key in the safe proved it. Well, she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d rather die than be in the room when he woke up.
Ever so slowly, Pippa dragged the bar fridge beneath the window. She winced with pain as she climbed onto it. Yes – she could reach the glass louvres. Beginning with the bottom one, she eased the frosted pane from its aluminium tracks, then got down and laid it on the floor. It took less than a minute. Good. Only four to go. But when Pippa reached for the final louvre, she found it was too high. She couldn’t lift it out and she’d never fit through the window with it in place.
Pippa climbed down and collected anything that might make her taller. A spare pillow and blanket from the top shelf of the wardrobe. The towels. Even the toaster. And when she piled them all up and balanced the chair on top, she could just reach. She eased the louvre from its tracks, almost falling when the chair slipped. Somehow, she kept her balance and brought the louvre safely down without making much noise.
‘Where are you, babe?’
Her heart stalled. She draped the blanket over the pile and raced to get into bed. ‘I’m here, honey,’ she crooned. ‘Just had to use the toilet.’
Cade mumbled something, scratched his crotch and went to the bathroom himself. Please, she thought, please don’t turn on the light. In the darkness, her escape pile was a mere shadow against the back wall. But in the light? She refused to think about what would happen if he noticed.
It seemed to take forever for Cade to return. He sat on the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands. ‘I’m thirsty,’ he said in a voice so hoarse she could barely understand him.
‘Lie back.’ Pippa wanted to shove him down. Instead she was a pillar of self-control, fluffing his pillow and kissing him softly on the lips. ‘I’ll get you a glass of cola.’ He murmured his thanks and relaxed, closing his eyes.
It took a few interminable moments to unearth the fridge from the pile. With an unsteady hand, she poured him a drink and hurried back with it. Cade drained it in two gulps, then gathered her in his arms. ‘You’re one in a million, babe, you know that?’
‘Go to sleep,’ she murmured, stroking his back the way he liked. He soon nodded off.
Pippa waited until he was snoring again, then eased out of bed. She half-filled a glass with cola, topped it up with whisky and sculled. The bracing tonic burnt her throat on the way down. She poured the last of the whisky down the sink, then set to rebuilding her pile. There, that was the best she could do.
She took Cade’s phone from the bedside table. It was useless to her – she didn’t know the PIN – but it would serve him right to lose it. Pippa dropped it in the toilet, along with his cigarettes. Then she carefully climbed to the top of the pile. It was now or never. She sprang up and dragged herself halfway through the window. Teetering on the sill and biting her lip against the pain, she wriggled forwards. Don’t look down, she told herself. What was the point of knowing about the coming fall? Concrete, gravel, blackberries – it made no difference. She was going out that window no matter what.
