Page 2 of Outback Secrets

Chapter One

Six weeks later

‘Well, Cecil, we’re home sweet home,’ Henri said, her grip tightening on the steering wheel as she drove past the welcome sign on the outskirts of Bunyip Bay, almost four weeks earlier than planned. She’d nearly come home a few weeks ago but hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion, and besides, she wasn’t sure she could stand any longer than a month living with her mother.

It was years since she’d officially been a resident of this town, but her mum’s family were founding members, having farmed in the district since the mid 1800s when they’d immigrated from a tiny town in Cornwall. Bunyip Bay was where Henri had spent her childhood until heading to Perth to boarding school at age thirteen. This was where her siblings and most of her friends still resided, and her answer when anyone asked where she came from. She’d adored growing up here, chasing her dad and brothers around the farm until she was old enough to muck in and help, and she’d hated her years at boarding school in the city. Not just because a lot of the girls only cared about make-up and fashion—two things Henri had no interest in whatsoever—but because she missed her dad, the aromas of the farm and the feel of the sand between her toes. Bunyip Bay was in her blood and, as she unwound her window and smelled the fresh salty scents of the nearby ocean, she felt some of the tension she’d been carrying the last few weeks start to ease.

Maybe her boss was right … maybe she did simply need a break, some time back home before she started her next contract. Some quality time in the ocean. Aside from flying, there was nothing quite as therapeutic for Henri as swimming and surfing. Of course she’d stopped at other beaches on her journey west, but she couldn’t wait to take a dip in her favourite bit of the ocean.

There was just one even more important stop first.

Driving on through the main street lined with dusty four-wheel drives and even dirtier dual-cab utes, Henri smiled at the familiar sights. The IGA, the Community Resource Centre, the medical centre, primary school, the old Memorial Hall, the bowling club, her best friend Frankie’s café and the iconic pub at the top of the hill where she’d spent many an errant night in her late teens, were all almost exactly the same as they’d always been. It was only The Ag Store that was new and shiny. Henri’s sister Tilley and her husband owned Bunyip Bay’s ag and hardware supplies, a business they’d literally built from the ground up after the old owners lost everything in an arson attack.

Even though it was only the very beginning of December, the festive spirit was already well and truly on display in the main street. There were Christmas decorations strung across the road, and koalas, kangaroos and, of course, bunyips wearing Christmas hats sat at the top of almost every lamp post. The shops had gone all out as well. Outside the front of The Ag Store stood a massive blow-up Santa Claus wearing red and green board shorts and an Akubra with corks hanging off it.

The Palace was the only building not decked out to the nines, but if Henri recalled correctly, the publican never bothered with such frippery, much to the frustration of certain people in town.

She continued on and then turned right, driving only another hundred metres or so before she came upon the local cemetery. It was barely ten o’clock but already the December sun had a bite, so Henri parked Cecil under an old gum tree, grabbed her cap off the passenger seat and started towards the entrance.

As a kid, she’d loved playing here with her siblings and friends while her parents had business in town. They’d spent many an hour making up stories about the bodies under the ground, scaring each other senseless, but back then she hadn’t actually been close to anyone buried here.

Now she felt differently as she walked over the uneven ground to her father’s resting place. Now, the cemetery felt sacred, much more so than anywhere else—even church—had ever felt.

‘Hey, Dad. How’s tricks?’ she said, pausing in front of his grave and using the saying that had always been his.

The black marble headstone was shiny and polished, much newer than many of the others, and there were fresh grevilleas and Geraldton wax from Bungara Springs in the ceramic vase at the base, indicating that her mother had been here very recently. Henri wondered how often she came. There were also a couple of Matchbox cars that she guessed had been left—accidentally or on purpose, she wasn’t sure—by one of her nieces or nephews.

She didn’t have anything to leave, but she knew her dad wouldn’t care. He’d always said her presence at Christmas was far more important than any presents.

Until his heart attack four years ago, coming home for Christmas had always been the highlight of her year, but although the farm ticked on with her mother and brothers at the helm, the place didn’t feel the same now that he was gone. Henri and her dad had been two peas in a pod, sharing a love of aircraft, vintage cars and the ocean. They just got each other, whereas she and her mum only ever seemed to get at each other.

This was the first time in four years she’d be back for more than a few days, but at least it would give her a chance to properly catch up with her family and Frankie.

A lone crow perched atop a slanting headstone a few metres away squawked as if Henri was interrupting his peace. But aside from the bird and the rustling leaves of trees that were almost as slanted as the headstone—thanks to the famous local wind—the cemetery was deserted, and for that she was grateful.

Dropping down to the ground beside her father’s grave, she crossed her legs and poured out her heart as if he were actually sitting here beside her. She told him everything. From her brush with death up in the Kimberleys to what had happened when she’d first climbed back in an aircraft almost two weeks later.

‘I feel so stupid, so frustrated,’ she confessed, picking up a nearby rock and ditching it hard. Many times over the last six weeks she’d felt like throwing or even punching something!

Henri had this weird feeling that if her dad were still alive, she wouldn’t be in this predicament because she’d have called him the minute she realised there was a problem and he’d have calmed her, talked her round. She hadn’t called her mother because she knew exactly what she’d have said. She’d never wanted Henri to become an agricultural pilot in the first place.

‘What do you think I should do, Dad?’

Of course, there wasn’t a reply, but she sat there listening to the wind and the occasional squawk from the crow until finally her sobs subsided. Then, she pushed to her feet, dusted the dirt, leaves and little gum-seeds from her shorts and started back towards Cecil.

‘Oh my God!’ shrieked her best friend when Henri stepped into Frankie’s Café over an hour later, her ponytail still wet from what she’d intended to be only a five-minute swim, tops.

Heads looked up from all the tables and Henri recognised most of them.

Seated right beside the door was sweet old Dolce Abbott, who’d owned the newsagency when Henri was little and always gave her lollies when her dad popped in for the paper. Henri had thought she looked like one of the Golden Girls and that she was ancient back then, but she still looked exactly the same. Also at her table was the not-so-sweet Eileen Brady, her hair purple-rinsed and her expression pinched. Eileen had taught her Sunday School until Henri told her parents she’d run away from home if they made her go even one more time. It wasn’t that she had anything against the content—some Bible stories were ripe with blood and gore—it was the delivery that made her want to set the church on fire. Eileen not only had a talent for making anything mind-numbingly boring but also spent at least half of every lesson telling the children they were full of sin.

‘What the hell are you doing here?!’ Frankie dashed around the counter and enveloped Henri in a massive hug. ‘Karen thought she saw Cecil pass through town an hour ago, but I said it must be another bright orange Kombi because I thought you weren’t coming home until just before Christmas.’

That was the one problem with having such a distinctive vehicle—it was hard to fade into the background. But Henri wouldn’t change her faithful Kombi van for anything, even if he did have a terrible habit of breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, she usually had the skills to fix him.

‘Change of plans,’ she said, willing fresh tears to take a hike. Hard-nosed Henrietta Forward didn’t cry—well, not in public anyway—and doing so here would be like putting a massive neon sign on her head alerting everyone to the fact that something was wrong.

Of course, she’d tell Frankie about her problem at some stage, but not now with the likes of Eileen Brady sipping her tea and eating scones and cream, just waiting for something she could turn into gossip.

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