The Shadow House(3)

‘Huh,’ said Ollie.

‘You split the cost of the land but build your own separate houses, which makes it half the normal market price.’ I looked back at the lower level windows. The whole place seemed deserted. ‘I don’t think anyone’s here. Should I go upstairs, do you think? Or head back to the office?’

Ollie ignored my questions. ‘I don’t get it. You want us to buy a house with strangers?’

‘Not a house, a block of land. The individual house, once we built it, would be ours. You could help design it. Doesn’t that sound exciting?’

‘No, it sounds mental.’

I wandered back around to the front of the house.

Ollie followed me. ‘Why would we buy anything with people we’ve never met?’

‘Well, obviously we’d meet them first. That’s the point of the temporary lease; it’s like a trial run. Gives us time to get to know people, see if we like them.’

And see if they like us, I added silently.

‘What if no one wants to live with us?’ said Ollie, as if reading my mind.

I shrugged. ‘Then we leave.’

‘Right.’ He pulled his cap down over his eyes. ‘Of course we do.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘Don’t be grumpy. Look at the view!’ I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the forest on our left, the houses to the right, and the undeveloped land on the other side of the valley. Rainwater tanks sat in terraced gardens and solar panels reflected the sun. Butterflies and bees orbited nasturtiums and geraniums, and directly in front of us, just visible over the top of the neighbouring houses, the dam reached out to a rising hill and bright green grass stippled with shade. In an empty paddock, a single old farm building stood prettily like a scene from a painting: white weatherboard, a gabled roof and a wraparound veranda.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ I breathed.

‘It’s shit,’ came Ollie’s blunt reply. ‘Where are the people? Where are the shops, the cafes, the surf clubs? Where is the surf?’

I pointed out a volleyball net strung up between two poles, and an adventure playground under bright orange shade sails. Barbecue stations, picnic tables and a swimming jetty that stretched out over the glittering surface of the dam. The freshly paved roads, I said, were perfect for bike and scooter riding. ‘It’s like a holiday park, don’t you think?’

With a mere toss of his head, my son made it clear that he did not. ‘Can I have the car keys?’ he muttered. ‘I need to charge my phone.’

His dismissal hurt. I dug in my pocket and passed him the keys. As I watched him trudge back down to the road, I spotted something on the top step. A brown cardboard mailing box sitting in the shade of an overgrown shrub, half-hidden by flowers and leaves. I crouched down to take a closer look: was it meant for me?

The package was unmarked – no name, no address – and unsealed. Curious, I pulled back one of the flaps, revealing feathers and a tiny scaled claw. A single beady eye. And glistening pink lumps.

‘Oh, god.’ I jumped away from the box. Was that … a dead bird? I went back to check. ‘Ugh, gross.’ Definitely a bird. Definitely dead, squashed and mangled, like it had been gutted by a cat or a fox. Some of its feathers had been torn out and tiny bones were sticking out of a gash in its flesh. The inside of the box was smeared with a dark, oily-looking substance.

What the hell was a dead bird doing on the doorstep? Surely the rental properties were checked and cleaned before new tenants moved in?

Then I heard a noise. A swishing, crackling sound coming from somewhere nearby. It sounded like footsteps moving through long grass. I got to my feet. Turning in a slow circle, I gazed up at the house, my eyes travelling the walls to the upper level, the windows and the overhanging eaves. I looked at the neighbouring houses and into the forest, but as far as I could see, no one else was around.

I glanced down at my car to where Ollie was sitting in the front passenger seat with the door open, his headphones back over his ears. He already hated the place; smashed animal corpses wouldn’t improve his opinion. I picked up the box and walked around the side of the house. Finding a bin at the back, I lifted the lid, threw the box inside and immediately felt better.

But as I returned to the front of the house, I was gripped by a wave of panic so intense that I had to lean against the wall to stop my head from spinning. Was I doing the right thing, moving to Pine Ridge? The cumulative weight of my decisions threatened to crush me: all the things I could have done but hadn’t, all the things I’d done but shouldn’t have. Every choice suddenly seemed like the wrong one.

My heart raced, my stomach churned. All your fault. Shitty mother.

Closing my eyes, I tried to calm my thoughts but heard Stuart’s voice instead. Go on, run. Go ahead and try. I’ll find you.

I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Get. It. Together. Your children need you.

Right on cue, I heard my daughter stir, her soft kitten noises floating through the open car window. My breasts tingled as my milk came down in response – nearly time for another feed – and as Kara’s cries increased in volume, my own words to Ollie echoed in my head: Your actions, your consequences. Briefly I considered opening my mouth and wailing along with her.

But, no, everything would be fine. Better than that, it would be great. I had already done the hard part and now I would make us a new life. We would be okay.