The Lost Man(48)

‘They didn’t go walkabout! Someone was here and took them.’

At the other end of the table, Simon gave an awkward laugh. ‘Maybe it was Santa,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Lo gave him a look that could kill a cow. ‘Not Santa.’ She left the dickhead implied. ‘Someone else. Someone bad.’

She was getting upset now and Ilse took the pencil from her hand.

‘Lo, if someone was on the property, we would know. No-one has been here.’ But as Ilse glanced at the night sky darkening in the window, Nathan caught a hesitation in her voice. ‘We thought a few things had gone missing but we found them again, didn’t we?’

‘What kinds of things?’ Xander shifted in his seat.

‘My toys and clothes,’ Lo said.

‘But we found them,’ Ilse replied firmly.

‘Not all of them, and not straight away. Anyway,’ Lo pushed her mother’s hand away, ‘Daddy never found his things.’

‘What do you mean?’ Harry said.

Lo didn’t answer. She looked nervous. Her hand inched towards her confiscated pencil and she hid her face behind her hair.

‘No,’ Harry said, his voice unusually sharp. ‘Answer please, Lo.’

‘Sweetheart.’ Ilse leaned in. ‘What things?’

‘Money, I think,’ Lo whispered. Nathan was struggling to hear her. ‘And other things. I don’t know what. Daddy was searching but he couldn’t find them.’

‘How much money are we talking?’ Harry said, and Ilse glared at him.

‘For God’s sake, she struggles to count to a hundred, she’s not going to know that. Anyway, Cam wasn’t missing money. Or anything else. Don’t make things worse.’

Lo’s eyebrows shot up. ‘He was! He was, Mummy. He was looking everywhere. Someone has been here –’

‘Jenna.’

The name floated out under someone’s breath. Nathan wasn’t sure who had spoken until Liz pointed sharply across the table.

‘Shut it, Bub. I mean it.’

‘– And Daddy had lost things.’ Lo’s voice was rising. ‘I know, I saw him. He was looking in the sheds and the stables and everywhere. I knew you wouldn’t believe me, Mummy.’

‘It’s not that.’ Ilse’s protest was almost drowned out by her daughter. ‘If Daddy was missing something why didn’t he say so?’

‘Because he knew you wouldn’t believe him either, like you don’t believe me.’ Lo was shouting now. ‘That’s probably why he said to keep it a secret.’

There was a sharp silence and Lo put her hand over her mouth as though trying to claw back the words. Her tiny face was flushed an ugly red.

Ilse was very still. Her eyes flicked to her older daughter, who looked shocked. Sophie shook her head. No idea. Ilse turned Lo around in her seat so they were facing each other. ‘Lo, this is very important, what exactly did Daddy say?’

Lo shook her head, silent once more.

‘For God’s sake –’ Harry sounded frustrated.

‘Harry.’ The warning note in Liz’s tone was clear. Outside, the dingoes had started howling again. They sounded close.

‘Lo, it’s okay.’ Ilse leaned in so her face was level with her daughter’s. ‘You’re not in any trouble. Just tell the truth. You’re sure Daddy was looking for something?’

The little girl’s face was pinched and anxious. ‘Yes, I saw him.’

‘And Daddy told you to keep it a secret from everyone?’

‘Not everyone.’ Lo looked at her mother. ‘Just you.’





Chapter 17



Nathan sat on the porch watching the night creep in. The red from the ground and the sky bled into one until they both deepened to black. Lo had been unable – or unwilling – to offer any more useful information, and Ilse had eventually taken her off to bed.

Nathan had been putting Cameron’s instruction manuals away when he’d discovered a guitar in the hall cupboard. Xander was reading in his room, so Nathan took Duffy and sat on the verandah. The guitar was out of tune and the discordant notes jarred as he tightened the pegs. Across the yard, the lights were still on in the backpackers’ caravan and he could hear the murmur of voices. He couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone it sounded like an argument. Beyond the caravan, he could see nothing. He played softly, trying to get an ending right when he heard the screen door open and looked up.

‘That’s my guitar.’

Sophie was leaning against the door, her head haloed by the yellow light.

‘Sorry. I found it.’

‘It’s okay. Did you write that song?’ She sat down opposite as he started playing again.

‘Yeah. Nearly ten years ago.’

‘Does it have a name?’

He’d written it for Ilse. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Untitled. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. It sounds kind of sad. But hopeful. Kind of. You could call it “Sunrise” or something.’

‘Good name.’ More appropriate than ‘For Ilse’ at any rate. He played some more.

‘It’s nice. The ending’s not right, though.’