The Shadow House(6)

We stopped for a moment in the shade of a tree. Kara mewled in her pram. It was hot and she was getting hungry.

‘As you can see, there’s still a lot to do,’ Kit said. ‘The stormwater drainage on the top road went in last week, and that round house – you see the one over there with the cob walls? That’s finished now, too. We’re looking at renovating some of the old farm buildings next.’ His eyes lit up as he described plans for a backpacker hostel, a woodwork studio and a gift shop.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Gift shop?’

‘I know, I know.’ Kit laughed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘But we need the income.’

Beside me, Ollie sighed loudly. Can we go? he mouthed as soon as he had my attention. I’m bored. Kara, the little co-conspirator, kicked her legs and whined. I shot them both a stern look and held a finger up: Just one more minute. I was tired and irritable too, having spent most of the night awake, anxiously composing last-minute to-do lists and obsessively googling the endless ways in which my baby could die in an unfamiliar environment (exposed power points, choking hazards, germs, looping electrical cords, unsecured cupboards, sharp corners, unexpected pans of boiling hot water, cranky neighbours with potentially aggressive dogs; the list went on and on).

‘There are hiking trails through the forest,’ said Kit, oblivious to our silent family conference. ‘Just look for the signposts. And the dam is safe for swimming so feel free to take a dip whenever you like.’

‘Great,’ I said, trying to stay engaged. ‘The water looks beautiful. The whole place is beautiful.’

Kit smiled. ‘Thanks. We like it.’

‘How long has it taken to build?’

‘So far? About six years.’

‘And before that it was just farmland?’

‘Yep. As far as the eye can see.’

‘What kind?’

‘A flower farm. Quite a big operation, too – or it was, back in the day. You can still see parts of it. Some sheds, the greenhouses. And the paddocks over on the far side of the dam are still more or less as we found them.’

My eyes skimmed across the dam and up the undeveloped hill. ‘Will you build over there, too?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘What’s that over there?’ I pointed at the abandoned building I’d seen earlier, the one that looked like a painting. Single storey and elevated on stumps, with wide eaves and a plantation-style balustrade.

Kit followed my gaze. ‘That’s the old farmhouse, where the family used to live.’

‘It’s so pretty.’ I flashed back to one of my favourite childhood storybooks, about a little girl who lived in a big white house with a neat picket fence and had grand country adventures. I remembered tracing the illustrations with my fingertips, desperate to live between the pages.

‘It is nice,’ Kit agreed. ‘Or it was. It needs a lot of work. Occasionally we talk about renovating it but … I don’t know, we might just knock it down. No one wants to live there anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, it’s silly, but the house has a bit of a history. The farmers who used to live there lost a child; their son went missing. Most people round here reckon he just ran away, but some say there was more to it, and now there’s this local rumour that the house is haunted or whatever.’ He laughed again. ‘No one believes it, obviously, but you know how these things stick. Everyone here just gives it a wide berth.’

‘Huh,’ I said, reaching into the pram to tickle Kara, who giggled with delight. ‘A haunted ecovillage. Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.’

Kit laughed, too. ‘No, well, we like to think we’re unique around here.’

Ollie rolled his eyes and gave me another pointed look. Ignoring him, I smiled politely at an older couple making their way home from a swim in the dam: wet hair, bare feet, damp towels wrapped around their bodies. They waved and Kit beckoned them over to introduce us. They started chatting about something or other, and I tuned out. Turning around to check on my kids, I saw that Ollie had his phone out again.

‘Hey,’ I hissed. ‘Can you pay attention, please?’

‘To what?’ he muttered. ‘No one’s saying anything interesting.’

I fought to stay calm. I understood things had been tough for him lately, and he was struggling with the move, but since we’d arrived he’d done nothing but pout and complain.

My eyes fell on his phone. ‘Who are you texting?’

‘No one.’

‘Ollie?’

‘I’m not texting.’

‘So then what are you doing?’

‘None of your business.’

I bit my lip and tried to keep my voice level. ‘Is it Stuart?’

‘Nup.’

‘You haven’t told him, have you?’

Ollie sighed. ‘And what if I do?’

I hesitated. How much did Ollie know? How much should I tell him? As little as possible was the obvious answer. ‘It’s just … it’s better if he doesn’t know where we are.’

‘Uh-huh.’ My son regarded me coolly. ‘Might’ve been good to figure that out before you had a baby with him, hey?’ He tossed a contemptuous look into Kara’s pram.