The Lost Man(103)

Cameron walked back to the grave and started kicking dirt back into the hole.

I was going to but – His anger shimmered like the heat. I might go home first. Have a word with Ilse.

Cameron. Please. The trickle of fear was now a fast-running flood. The girls are at home.

He said nothing, then at last, he looked up. So? Maybe they need to hear this too.

And with the tone of his voice and the sun in her eyes, it was suddenly thirty years ago and Liz knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what happened when men like that came home.

She felt her hand reach out before she was quite aware what she was reaching for. She had done the calculation in her mind without realising it. Calculations that had become an ingrained instinct years ago. Fight or flight. He was five metres away, six maybe. And he was looking down, distracted, kicking the sand to paper over the damage he had done.

Liz was behind the driver’s seat in the time it took her to draw a first breath, and she had turned the key by the time she drew the second.

Cameron had looked up, but by then her foot was already on the accelerator. She wound down the window and unhooked the reins from the wing mirror. The horse followed obediently as she pulled away. Not too fast. There was no need; a cantering horse can outrun a man.

‘Cameron tried, though.’ Liz’s voice was hollow with horror. ‘He really tried.’

And he had, screaming as he chased her. He had known what was happening and he knew what it meant. It had taken every shred of self-control for Liz not to put her foot down and tear away from that terrible sound. But she kept a steady pace, with her ears shut tight and her eyes straight ahead. And eventually, much later, when at last she slowed and looked in the mirror, there was no-one else around. She was all alone.





Chapter 39



Nathan stared down at the graves for a long time before he finally spoke.

‘Cameron’s car wasn’t at the rocks on Thursday morning.’

Liz looked surprised. ‘You knew that?’

‘I thought someone had moved it. Or that I was going crazy. I wasn’t sure which.’

‘I made a mistake,’ Liz said. ‘I’d hidden it off the track near home. But I realised that night that it was too far away. He couldn’t have walked that distance. When they found the car, they’d know someone else had been there.’

‘So you moved it?’

She nodded. ‘Next day. I rode out early, led the horse on the reins again and drove to the rocks. I thought that was possible, for someone like Cameron. About ten kilometres.’

‘It’s nine, actually.’

Liz didn’t argue. ‘I just didn’t want it to be seen too quickly.’

Nathan said nothing for a while. He didn’t want to think about it.

‘I didn’t know what to do with Ilse’s documents,’ Liz said. ‘I wanted to give them back to her, but I couldn’t think how. The girls are always in and out of everywhere – my bedroom, the stables. Then Xander started pulling things apart in the sheds as well.’ She shook her head. ‘But everyone knows not to touch that bloody painting.’

Nathan stared out across the property. At Cameron’s car parked on the driveway and at the house where they’d grown up.

‘The way Cam died never felt right,’ he said. ‘I really thought for a while that Jenna Moore had something to do with it.’ He was quiet. The sun was approaching its peak in the sky, the horizon was a flat line in the distance. ‘I wonder what she wanted with him.’

When Liz didn’t respond, he looked over.

‘What?’

Liz hesitated, then reached into her pocket.

‘Caroline from the post office brought our mail with her yesterday. She thought we might not get into town to collect it for a while.’

She handed something to Nathan and he turned the slightly rumpled letter over in his fingers. Cameron Bright’s name had been written on the front of the envelope. There was no return address, but in the top right-hand corner was a stamp from the UK. It had already been torn open and Nathan pulled out the contents. The letter was folded into thirds and felt slightly worn at the creases, like it had been opened and read several times. He took a breath and looked at the words.

Cameron, it started. Nathan did not recognise the handwriting, but it was neat and firm. Please read this letter to the end. I am aware that you may not even remember me, Cameron, but I need to tell you one thing: I forgive you.

You may not want my forgiveness, or feel like you have done anything that needs to be forgiven. I truly hope, however, that is not the case. Regardless of what you might tell yourself, or what threats your father made on your behalf when he had me cornered and alone, you and I know what happened the night we met. You know what you did, and I do too.

I used to hope that you would be living your life with the same sense of regret and shame that I have for years. That is no longer important to me.

I have wasted years feeling guilty about something that wasn’t my fault, and I have given you a power over me that you do not deserve. With the support of my therapist and the love of my beautiful family, I am proud to say that this is no longer the case.

In so many ways, I have built a happy life. I wish the same for you, Cameron. Those in great pain cause others great pain, and I hope, for your sake and for those around you, that you have found some peace.