Scrublands(58)

‘Pretty sure. We’ve been able to confirm the real Byron Swift died in Cambodia.’

‘Good God. Do you think that’s got something to do with why he did it? Shot those men outside the church?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

They stand in silence then, overtaken by their own thoughts. Martin is imagining Mandy falling under Swift’s spell, sleeping with him, knowing that he was also sleeping with Fran Landers. What must Mandy think of Swift now, knowing he was deceiving them both, pretending to be someone he wasn’t? Evidently her regard for him endures: she’s still willing to defend him, to show her diary to the police, to clear Swift of abducting the backpackers. Is she still in love with him?

‘How do you feel about that?’ asks Martin. ‘That he was an imposter?’

Her forehead furrows, her lower lip quivers, her eyes reveal pain. She shakes her head, as if in disbelief. ‘Not good,’ is all she says.

Martin takes her hands in his, a gesture of sympathy and support. ‘Believe me, I want to work it out, find out why he shot those men. You were right, that first day when I came to Riversend: it would be a hell of a story. Will you help me?’

She nods, her face serious. ‘Yes. If I can.’

‘Okay. Let’s sit down. I’ll record it.’

‘Of course. You want to do it before the police start questioning me, don’t you?’

Martin wonders if his motives are so transparent. ‘Yes.’

‘Will you write about Byron and me? Byron and Fran? Please don’t. If not for my sake, for Liam’s.’

Martin looks again at the baby. ‘Mandy, is Byron Liam’s father?’

She looks up, meets his gaze, unapologetic. ‘Yes. But please, Martin, whatever you do, please don’t write that. You can’t write that. Liam doesn’t deserve to be branded with his father’s sins. Promise me that and I’ll help you.’ The look on her face is so sincere, her words so heartfelt, that Martin agrees. How could he not?

They’re interrupted again. A radio reporter after coffee. Mandy serves her and then posts the closed sign on the door and locks it. ‘Okay, let’s get on with it.’

Martin feels torn. Part of him wants to protect her, to shield her and her son; another part wants to interrogate her, to extract what she knows and write the story of the Lothario priest cutting a romantic swathe through the lonely hearts of the Riverina. It would elevate an already remarkable story to a sensational one. Just add sex and stir. A younger Martin wouldn’t have hesitated; he’d have written it all: named Mandy and Fran, revealed Liam as Byron Swift’s illegitimate son. He could still do it; by the time the anniversary story went to press he would have left Riversend far behind. He can picture his triumphal re-entry into the newsroom, admired by his colleagues and celebrated by his editors. His career would be back on track; there might even be awards and pay rises. But at what price? The emotional destruction of Fran Landers and Mandalay Blonde. He looks at the baby boy playing happily on his rug, eyes twinkling, and knows he won’t do it. Max Fuller’s go-to correspondent has gone. Gone for good. There are worse things than being trapped in a car boot.

‘What is it?’ asks Mandy, sensing his disquiet.

Martin shakes his head. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. But listen, if I’m going to report this to the public, give an accurate depiction of Byron Swift or whoever he was, how can I leave out that he conducted simultaneous affairs with women in the district? I’ve already reported he was having an affair with a married woman. I’m going to have to refer to it in some fashion. I won’t mention you or Fran by name, and I won’t mention Liam at all—I’ll put in some obfuscation, like you live in Bellington or something, but I can’t see any way around it. What do you think?’

Mandy smiles, an unexpected reaction. ‘That’s fine. If you can do it like that, then you should include it. Absolutely.’

‘Really? Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want me to mention it?’

‘I don’t want you to use our names, but of course you should include it. Don’t you see? This was a man who was having regular sex. With me, with Fran, with God knows who else. Does that sound like a paedophile to you? Have you ever heard of a child molester who was so obsessed with women? Who could sustain relationships with grown women? I’m almost thirty; Fran is in her forties.’

Martin returns her smile; his dilemma resolved. ‘Point taken. I might use that in my piece.’

‘Yes. You should.’

They sit in the armchairs near the front of the bookstore. Martin sets his recorder app going, places his phone atop a pile of books on one of the tables and takes up his notebook, although he suspects Mandy has already imparted her most important information. Mandy scoops up Liam and settles him on her lap, perhaps more for her comfort than her son’s.

‘Tell me about him, Mandy. What was he really like?’

‘Dreamy. At his best he was fun, considerate, charismatic. You just wanted to be with him.’

‘Charismatic? That’s something.’ She’s used the term before, so has Robbie Haus-Jones.

‘Yeah, but different. Charisma makes you like a person; Byron made you like yourself. Does that make sense? You know, the drought was terrible, and having him in the town, even if only for a day or two a week, made us all feel better. He and Robbie were running the youth centre. I remember how it gave Mum a real lift. She said it was proof that there were still good men in the world.’