Cover

About the Book

Why had the house stayed empty so long? Why had it never been sold?

LOST

Nicole has left her city life for the sleepy town of Rosella Cove, renting the old cottage by the water. She plans to keep to herself – but when she uncovers a box of wartime love letters, she realises she’s not the first person living in this cottage to hide secrets and pain.

FOUND

Ivy’s quiet life in Rosella Cove is tainted by the events of World War II, with ramifications felt for many years to come. But one night a drifter appears and changes everything. Perhaps his is the soul she’s meant to save.

FORGOTTEN

Charlie is too afraid of his past to form any lasting ties in the cove.

He knows he must make amends for his tragic deeds long ago, but he can’t do it alone. Maybe the new tenant in the cottage will help him fulfil a promise and find the redemption he isn’t sure he deserves.

Welcome to the cottage at Rosella Cove, where three damaged souls meet and have the chance to rewrite their futures.

Dedication

For Karen

One

The gravel crunched beneath the tyres as Nicole slowed the beat-up Holden Barina on her approach to the cottage. Along the peninsula that spilled down the steep cliffs into the ocean below, the sun cast long shadows.

The cottage coming into view was smaller than she’d expected, but she supposed these things were hard to judge based on a few thumbnail pictures on the internet. Still, she was lucky to be here, to have somewhere to go, so she shouldn’t complain.

She pulled up beside the broken picket gate, barely visible beneath the tangle of weeds that smothered the old fence. She wiped tears from her eyes. They still fell sporadically now, the four-hour drive doing little to dull her emotions. At least the shaking in her hands had stopped.

A cool breeze hit her bare arms and she hugged herself tightly. The taste of salt touched her lips.

The air was sharp and clean as she drew a deep breath and counted to ten. She shivered; something was not quite right. Then she recognised it. Quiet. No sirens. No traffic. No constant hum of the thousand indistinguishable sounds that surrounded you in the city. Just the breeze and the gentle crash of waves she couldn’t see.

Nicole opened the boot and she stared at the contents of her life, stuffed into the tiny hatchback – one suitcase of clothes; one box that contained a knife, a spoon, a fork, a plate, a bowl and a couple of packets of food; one brand-new phone with new SIM; one laptop.

Deep breaths, she told herself.

She grabbed the suitcase and shoved the gate open, tearing off weeds to free it a little. If there was a path to the verandah, she couldn’t see it. Dragging herself through the knee-length grass, she hoped there were no snakes. Were there any snakes in this part of the country? She had no idea. She’d never even heard of Rosella Cove until a few weeks ago.

She went up to the safety of the verandah and opened the door. It creaked loudly and as Nicole stepped into the doorway, the air from outside whooshed in. She started coughing and choking as billows of dust swirled around her. How long had it been since anyone had set foot inside this house?

She flicked on a light and took in her new home. Home. Such a foreign word.

Above her the ceiling was cracked and yellowed, pieces of plaster missing here, sagging there. The paint on the wall stretching away to her left was peeling. The stench that assaulted her nose – old, musty, some sort of caustic funk – was almost too much to bear.

As she took a few steps in, the floorboards beneath her groaned in protest.

There was a thud and a screech.

Nicole jumped, dropping her suitcase, and it opened, clothes spilling into the dust.

In the corner of the room that opened out from the hallway, a pair of small yellow eyes stared out at her, daring her to make a move.

Nicole screamed. The monster ran.

Nicole’s chest pounded and she scooped her clothes back into the suitcase and ran outside.

Locked inside her car, she concentrated on her breathing – in, out, in, out. How on earth had it all gone so wrong? How had she ended up here?

She knew how. She just hadn’t come to terms with it and wasn’t sure she ever would. But she had to try. As hard as it was to accept, this was her new life now. For a little while at least.

September, Three Years Ago

‘No peeking.’ Mark’s hand rested gently across Nicky’s eyes. The warmth radiating from his body as he pressed against her back enveloped her, and he directed her towards the balcony of his fifth-floor apartment. Their apartment.

‘What’s this about?’ She laughed.

‘You’ll see.’

A warm breeze hit her as they went outside. The rumble of the constant traffic below, the music of early morning.

‘Okay,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Open.’

On the small glass table in the middle of the balcony sat a laptop with a fat pink bow stuck to its top.

‘Happy six-month-aversary.’ His grin revealed dimples that gave her goosebumps. Man, she loved those dimples.

‘I thought moving in together was our six-month-aversary present.’ She hugged him tightly.

‘It is. But this is just a little something extra. You can’t keep using that dinosaur you call a computer. Not if you’re going to be a serious writer.’

A serious writer. It was all she ever wanted to be. And she’d finally written something that looked like a manuscript, but she couldn’t seem to find her flow to finish it. The story she’d been working on the last twelve months had stalled and she couldn’t find her way out of the funk.

‘You’ll get there, princess.’ He kissed the top of her head.

A tear slipped down Nicky’s cheek. You’ll get there – her mum’s favourite phrase.

‘Hey. It’s okay.’ Mark wiped the tear away. ‘I know you miss your mum, but you’ve got me now.’

‘I know.’ She was so grateful for Mark, every day. But nothing, no one, could replace her mum. Joy and heartache fought within her – six months with Mark, six months without her mum.

‘Why don’t we head down to the park after breakfast and you can take your new toy and see if inspiration strikes?’

Mark cooked up a delicious meal of eggs Benedict and smoked salmon and made a thermos of hot chocolate for Nicky to take with her. In the shadows of the skyscrapers they wove their way through the grey streets of Sydney’s CBD, past the businessmen in black suits, until they reached the green solace of Hyde Park. Middle-aged men rode their bikes at top speed along the paths and women in their activewear pushed expensive prams as they sipped on organic decaf soy lattes. Nicky had stopped going to the café on the corner of the park where the barista would frown down at her for ordering a full cream hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

Moving in with Mark to the slick suburb of Surry Hills, thick with its fashionable cafés and bars and boutiques, was going to take some getting used to.

When they got to the middle of Hyde Park, Nicky set herself down on an old wooden bench under a large Moreton Bay fig. Dark green leaves dangled on grey branches hanging from the trunk, which melted into the ground in ribbons of tall, thick roots.

Mark kissed her goodbye, put his headphones in his ears and continued on through the park to his office on Macquarie Street. Their usual Friday morning ritual. Only today Nicky had her new laptop with her. Some days her fingers would float across her old keyboard creating flowing paragraphs, her mind liberated of clutter, free to compose unhindered. Other days her fingers would lie motionless beside her as she watched the passing ensemble of city-dwellers glide about their day, oblivious to her scrutiny. Then, later that evening, all the images and sounds and smells would transform in her mind. The old woman in her sunflower dress walking her tightly crimped toy poodle might become the nosey neighbour of her protagonist. The tall, well-built man shouting at his child not to run away might have just the right jawline or hairstyle her hero needed. The smell of vinegar on fish and chips as two black-clad teenagers strutted by might help set the scene of her fallen heroine’s childhood home. Scenes that didn’t make it into her current work were scribbled in notebooks under her bed, waiting for their story to be told.

Lately, though, inspiration had been conspicuously absent. Nicky closed her eyes and took in three deep breaths. The sweet, sharp scent of freshly cut grass filled her head and when she refocused on the tide of humanity passing by her, her mind was clear. The tide of humanity. The tide of time. Was this the missing element to her story?

She flipped the new laptop open and her fingers darted across the keys. All background noise melted away until the only sound Nicky could hear was the tapping of the keyboard.

She stayed in the park till the cool afternoon breeze sent shivers up her back. Then she hurried home, stopping at the small supermarket one street over from their apartment on her way.

When Mark got home, Nicky was in the kitchen surrounded by potato peelings and torn basil and white fatty bits of chicken strewn across the bench.

‘What happened here?’ Mark lay his briefcase on the side table at the front door.

‘I did it. I figured out how to fix my manuscript and I wrote all day. I finished it.’

‘So you thought to celebrate you’d poison us?’ Mark laughed and started clearing up the meal, if it could be called that, that Nicky had spent the last hour preparing. ‘Nicky, I love you, but I thought we banned you from the kitchen.’

He put down the plates and wrapped her in a tight hug.

‘I know. I was just so excited. I wanted to do something special for us.’ Nicky looked up into his dark brown eyes, which crinkled around the edges as he held back more laughter. ‘Okay.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe cooking wasn’t the best idea.’

‘No, but why don’t we order in to celebrate instead?’

After dinner they sprawled on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms. Mark traced his fingers up and down Nicky’s hip while Adele played softly in the background. ‘Make You Love Me’, the song they first kissed to, came on and they looked at each other and smiled.

‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ He brushed her long black hair aside and kissed her freckled cheek.

No one had ever called her beautiful before.

‘And I’m the luckiest woman in the world.’ She rolled over and sat on top of his hips, running her fingers through his short black beard.

‘Good.’ He reached up and pulled her head towards his, kissing her long and hard.

Happiness surged through Nicky. Her life was more perfect than she ever could have imagined.

Nicole stretched, trying to loosen the crick in her neck. She’d slept the night in the car, too afraid to go back in the cottage in the dark and face whatever beast was residing in there.

She’d have to summon some courage from somewhere, though. There was no way she could spend another night in that cramped back seat.

Looking at the cottage in the stark morning light, she could see the decay the evening shadows had hidden.

Perched atop the peninsula, it sat all alone, a scar upon the green landscape. The corrugated roof was peeling off in sections, and its pale blue wooden exterior was covered in dirt so thick in places it almost looked like stucco. White – once white – posts separated the wrap-around verandah from the iron roof overhang, looking tired, as if they’d give way at any moment.

No wonder no one else had taken on the cottage. She knew six months free rent in exchange for light renovation had seemed too good to be true, but she had little choice. At least it was a roof over her head, despite the disrepair, and right now she needed that more than anything else.

‘Okay, then,’ she said aloud. She had a job to do.

Tiptoeing into the cottage, she listened for any sound that her creature housemate was inside. She peered into what she assumed was the living room. There, in the corner, a grey–brown lump was curled up tightly.

‘Yah!’ she screamed and the animal sat up, alert. It was the largest possum Nicole had ever seen and it didn’t look too happy to see her.

She shouted and waved her arms about and chased the unwanted guest out the back door. There was a small hole in the screen and she guessed that was how it had been getting in. From the stench in the place, she guessed it had been making the living room its home for quite some time.

Nicole walked around the cottage, inspecting for any other holes that a stray animal could use as an entry point.

A sense of dread swelled through her as she took in the scope of work the cottage would need.

There was the kitchen – torn, mouldy wallpaper, chipped cupboards, a couple of less-than-safe looking power points. It was a big job. She traced her fingers over the faded blue laminate benchtop and wondered what stories hid beneath the scorch marks. A forgotten pot as a mother rushed outside to rescue a child from a grazed knee? A cigarette dropped and left to smoulder in the middle of an argument?

There were the walls in the hallway and two bedrooms that needed to be stripped, cleaned and repainted.

And the floors. What was beneath the decades of dust that covered the entire cottage?

She had no real desire to turn the house or garden into a thing of beauty and warmth. Beauty and warmth were distant concepts she no longer understood. But she was duty bound.

So what if she’d lied about her renovating experience on the application? They’d lied too – about the extent of work to be done. She should have guessed when she realised the arrangement came with a stipend ‘to assist with the cost of renovations’. Stipend did not equal minor renovations. But, desperate people did desperate things. Hopefully this cottage would buy her enough time to figure out what to do next.

She’d have to be careful. The allowance wasn’t unlimited and the money she’d saved wouldn’t go far. Her freelance editing work would take care of her day-to-day needs, but wouldn’t stretch beyond that. She’d have to do most of the work herself. Thank goodness for internet searches and how-to videos. But where to start?

She pulled out the small notebook she always carried in her handbag and started to write a list. She’d need some supplies. Going into town was not something she particularly wanted to do, but she didn’t have any other options. She needed to fix the back screen door and at least give the place a thorough clean if she had any hope of sleeping inside tonight.

Nicole stood outside The Cove IGA, suddenly very conscious of her bedraggled appearance. In a town this size, a new face would certainly be noticed. Nicole only hoped she wouldn’t be subjected to too much direct questioning. She knew that townspeople in these sorts of places traded in innuendo and stickybeaking. She could cope with that. Their intrusive personal probes, however, she wasn’t looking forward to. Maybe the fact that she was only here for a few months meant there wouldn’t be enough time for them to dig too deeply.

She took a long breath and tried to smooth her wrinkled shirt before stepping through the doors.

She wheeled her trolley through each aisle, picking up the staples: bread, margarine, pasta, sauces and double-choc Tim Tams. She noted the different brands of items and was surprised by the variety on offer in such a tiny place.

When she got to the register she was greeted by a young man.

‘Afternoon, ma’am.’ He nodded politely.

‘Hi.’ She cast her eyes down.

He rang up the total and gave Nicole her change and receipt.

She walked across the wide road lined with old buildings protected by overhanging awnings painted in different shades of pastel. There was a hairdresser, a bakery and a gift emporium where, according to the window display, you could find wares to amaze even the fussiest of recipients.

At the end of the long street was a park of manicured green grass dotted with dark wooden benches and tall bottlebrush trees that offered shade.

Nicole spotted the hardware store, Trevor’s Tradies, and entered, taking her list out of her pocket. She moved quickly through the rows of shelves, grabbing only what was on her list.

‘You must be the new resident of Ivy Wilson’s cottage.’ The volume of the overly cheery checkout woman’s voice made Nicole drop her paint scrapers onto the counter.

The woman continued, her red curly hair bouncing with each emphatic nod. ‘So nice someone’s in there finally. You know, that place used to be the pride of the cove.’

Nicole forced a smile. The run-down cottage she’d stumbled across on the internet being the pride of anything was a strange concept.

‘All it needs is some TLC.’ The lady’s smile was full of warmth. ‘I can’t believe they found anyone to rent it given the state it’s in.’

‘It does need some work,’ Nicole said, nodding. ‘Can you tell me where I can find mould remover?’ She looked around.

‘Aisle three.’ The older lady at the next register butted in. Cheryl, as her bright yellow name tag indicated, waved her hand towards the back of the shop.

‘Yes, well, you’ll probably be needing that, won’t you? That place has been shut up for so long now.’ The redhead stuck her hand out. ‘I’m Mandy, by the way. Welcome to Rosella Cove.’

Nicole shook her hand briefly. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Mandy helped her load her things into the car, not stopping for breath as she offered up her son to help with the garden if Nicole needed it. That yard was in quite a state, after all.

Nicole thanked her for her help and drove off. In the rear-view mirror she could see Mandy watching her all the way up the long street.

Nicole moved slowly around the cottage. In the dappled afternoon light, she took in the sight before her. A thorough clean had certainly helped.

With the dust and mould washed away, she could now see what was in need of a simple cosmetic makeover – the laundry, hall and spare bedroom; and what was in need of serious repair – the kitchen, lounge room and fireplace, and verandah.

She pulled the small notebook out of her back jean pocket and made another list.

The items of furniture under the dust sheets, as few as they were, were in relatively good condition. Between that and the newly fixed door, she figured she was safe to stay the night inside. Safe enough, anyway.

With aching shoulders, and dust and who-knew-what in her hair, Nicole shuffled into the bedroom and flopped onto the old bed that came with the place. She buried her head in the pillow and contemplated her new life in all its uncertainty, and the life she’d lost, once so bright, now broken.

November, Three Years Ago

‘Hey, Nicky,’ Mark called as he came through the apartment door. ‘I’ve got news.’

Nicky wiped away her tears and closed her emails. Another rejection. This one stung, though, just a little more than the others. She’d met this editor. She’d thought they’d hit it off. Was ‘not right for our list at this time’ the publishing equivalent of an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ dating brush-off?

‘Nicky?’ Mark came into the darkened bedroom, flicking on the bright light. ‘Is everything all right?’

Nicky stood up and turned into his embrace.

‘Oh, Nicky. Another one?’

She choked back a sob.

‘I did tell you not to get your hopes up.’

She stepped back.

‘Not because you’re not good enough. You’re more than good enough. But this is a tough road. You tell me all the time how terrible the odds are, don’t you?’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘I just thought this time …’

‘I know. But you just have to keep trying. I believe in you. You’ll get there one day.’

Nicky forced a small smile.

‘When you work hard enough, good things happen.’ Mark moved back with his hands on his hips, a wide grin stretched across his face.

‘You got it?’ Nicky asked.

‘Yep. You are now looking at the youngest partner at Gregory and McIntosh Solicitors.’ He threw his arms open.

Nicky hugged him tightly. ‘Congratulations. You’ve worked so hard for this. We should go out and celebrate.’

‘Only if you feel up to it.’

Nicky swallowed hard. She didn’t really feel up to it, but Mark had been working towards this promotion for so long; he deserved to go out and enjoy his success.

‘Of course. Just give me a few minutes to get ready and we’ll head.’

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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