Chapter 8

‘Hey, I’m here,’ Zara called into the empty kitchen of the Rowberry Glen homestead.

The heart of the house hadn’t changed in all the years Zara had been alive, although the yellow curtains in the window were now faded, rather than the happy, bright colour they had been when Lynda had first put them up. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling over a floating kitchen counter, and the gas stove was in the corner, butted up against the door that led into the pantry. Indoor plants sat on every available surface, including on the cabinet full of plates and cups. The kitchen had always been the hub of the house: warm, inviting and friendly.

She called out again, ‘Mum? Will?’

There was no answer and a trickle of worry gnawed at her stomach. The ute was parked outside, so they must be here somewhere.

She walked into the lounge and found that empty, then along to the office, but there was no one here either. She opened the door to what had once been her bedroom. Not that it was her room anymore—it had been cleared out when she’d left and was used as a guest room. The curtains were drawn and the bed was made. Through the dimness she could make out a wardrobe and dressing table; again, neither was hers, they were both new. All the posters of her idols—Keith Urban, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Tim McGraw—were long gone. She shut the door and moved further on down the hallway; her mum’s bedroom was the next one along.

Then, from further on in the house, towards Will’s section, she heard a clunk.

‘Mum? Will?’

‘Down here,’ Lynda called. ‘In Will’s bedroom.’

Zara hurried towards the sound of her voice. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as she walked in.

‘There’s nothing wrong,’ Will answered impatiently from the bed. ‘Mum’s panicking over nothing.’

‘He’s in pain,’ Lynda said. ‘I’m trying to convince him we need to go back to hospital.’

‘We don’t.’ Will sounded angry but he looked grey and drawn. ‘I’m fine.’

‘But, love, you know what the doctor said. He can give you stronger meds. You don’t have to put up with discomfort.’

‘I know. But I also know myself. I’m all right. Just stop fussing.’ The last few words came out as a yell and both Lynda and Zara took a step back.

Defiance radiated from Will, as if he was daring them to say another thing.

‘Okay,’ said Zara, thinking quickly about how to defuse the situation. ‘How about we monitor you for a few hours and if you think the pain is excessive, we’ll call the doctor?’ She looked at her brother before adding, ‘It’s a compromise.’

Will sneered at her. ‘I’m dying, I’m not stupid.’

Lynda gasped. ‘Will!’

‘Hey! That’s enough. I don’t care what you are, but don’t be mean,’ Zara snapped. This was so uncharacteristic of her quiet, patient brother.

Will’s head dropped and the fight seemed to go out of him. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry.’